She knew how much I liked
dehydrated ice cream, which was one of my very few exceptions to veganism, because it’s what astronauts have for dessert, and she went to the Hayden Planetarium and bought it for me.
a statement that is assumed to be true and from which a conclusion can be drawn
The longer your mother and I lived together, the more we took each other’s
assumptions for granted, the less was said, the more misunderstood, I’d often remember having designated a space as Nothing when she was sure we had agreed that it was Something, our unspoken agreements led to disagreements, to suffering, I started to undress right in front of her, this was just a few months ago, and she said, “Thomas!"
Everything was forever fixed, there would be only peace and happiness, it wasn’t until last night, our last night together, that the
inevitable question finally arose, I told her, “Something,” by covering her face with my hands and then lifting them like a marriage veil.
He was an
intellectual, although he wasn’t important, maybe he would have been important if he had lived longer, maybe great books were coiled within him like springs, books that could have separated inside from outside.
The day Anna and I made love for the first time, he met me in the yard, he was standing with a
disheveled man whose curly hair sprang up in every direction, whose glasses were bent, whose white shirt was stained with the fingerprints of his print-stained hands, “Thomas, please meet my friend Simon Goldberg.”
I touched my fingers to her eyelids and opened her eyes wide enough to
convey every possible meaning, I was about to leave her behind without saying goodbye, to turn my back on a marriage of millimeters and rules