My earliest memory of my mom is overhearing her tell my dad to take her out into the woods and shoot her. I don't know how old I was. Three? Four? Young enough that I was still calling elephants "Bo-Bos." Young enough that I thought my rocking horse came to life at night. I was lying in the bed I shared with my baby sister, in the first house we all lived in together, the one down by the railroad tracks, too hot to sleep (it was always too hot to sleep), flipping my pillow over and over so I could feel the cool side against my cheek. Her wail ripped through the thick, Georgia summertime air. Why don't you just take me out into the woods and shoot me?!
The front door slammed and everything went quiet.
I flipped my pillow. Flipped it ag...
You've Reached A+ Content!
Autostraddle cannot survive without reader support. That's why we have our A+ Member program and A+ content like this, as thanks to readers like you who keep Autostraddle here for our whole community. Will you join A+?
A+ members keep this site majority free-to-read, so sometimes we have bonus content for members as thanks! A+ membership starts at just $4/month or $30/year. If you can, will you join? You get access to bonus content like this post, insider information, behind-the-scenes laughs, and the singular satisfaction of knowing you’re helping to pay it forward for other readers and that you're keeping this bastion of queerness on the internet here for everyone.
99% of our readers do not support. That means that less than 1% of our readers are keeping this site running. Will YOU be one of the people who helps to keep this indie queer media site here for everyone?
We don't need one person to do it all, we need many people each doing a part. Every member makes a difference!
Already a member? Sign in