The Squeeze

Seven years in, I’m finally holding my book in my hands, and I kind of feel like I’m disintegrating. That’s a good thing, actually. Here’s why.

Not a depiction of me, but a manifestation of my wish that my father could’ve delved into his own trauma and grief. Artwork by Adriana Cordero (after my clumsy sketch).

At the sound of the doorbell I jumped to my feet and fast-walked to the door.

Peering between the blinds, I saw the towering brown flank of a UPS truck. I opened the door hoping to see Jam…