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Tiny Love Stories: ‘I Want A Divorce:
Table of Contents
‘Pluck, Bandage, Smile’
When I was a kid, I’d get a splinter for every summer that went by. Some of the offenders included rough playground equipment and gnarled docks, both of which are essential components of an exciting day. As a matter of how often they occurred, I always reacted to a splinter as if it were the first time it had happened, crying every time. My great-calmness uncles were the key to my speedy recovery.
As Uncle Freddie fished the wood splinters out of his koi pond, I sat cross-legged on the ground nearby. Basically, all he did was pluck, bandage, and grin. To get my cooperation, they had to pay me.
A single maraschino cherry was handed to me, unwashed and straight from the jar, once I had finished my extraction. Healing tasted so good when you were a kid.
Clarity at Karaoke
Almost nobody was in the bar. He gestured toward a banquette and slid behind its back. “Just in case other folks prefer the bigger tables,” he said. I joined him in his seat, but there was no table nearby for me to set my beverage down on. The D.J. has brought a songbook for karaoke. I read it over and over, attempting to build up my assurance.
At some point, he inquired, “Are you almost done? I took a peek around me at the unoccupied benches and the stack of unused songbooks and realized that someone else could be interested in reading them. I pondered the situation. Many, many annoying things. I faced him now. I finally stated, “I want a divorce.”
The Spreading of Happiness
I had my first kiss with a girl buddy right before graduation. I told our common friend about this and she stopped letting me babysit her infant boy and even disinvited me from the wedding. Being with a man in the 1980s suburbs was simpler.
I pushed my bisexuality to the back of my mind, but it never stopped bubbling there. My queer daughter has come out and is happy to be herself. The level of acceptance she has received astounded and little envy her. I am free at last, and for once I will be able to celebrate with my happy daughter.
Something Bright in the Night
As a result of the Immigration Act of 1965, my mother waited 15 years in Kowloon before she could join my father in Brooklyn. When I was one, she passed away soon after we arrived. When I was four years old, my father and new stepmother, a widower and a widow were sleeping in the bedroom of our tiny Avenue U apartment.
My dad and I were sleeping side by side when he woke up and reached across the space between our beds to take my hand. With that touch, he gave us the assurance that we would someday feel the happiness he felt. To this day, I can’t stop thinking about
