From "Sic Transit" (4)

C made fun of my white Polack socks as a way of engaging my shame. But I was able to remain myself for most of those moments because it occurred to me that the real work was not to change the socks — change the mind and the socks will change themselves. It was ridiculous how many changes even my jeans had been through with him. It was ridiculous, the waste of so many moments. The source of my darkness was just my own dullness. I for whom all things should've been attainable had chosen the path of my resistance. The difference between the wild, precious life I'd chosen in Eternity and my life with C was just the watered-down fact of "how it stands": someone — me — didn't fulfill her promise, and so someone — not me — was living her life the way I should've been living mine. It was probably Madonna.

Suddenly I felt like the teenage me, sketching still-lifes of peaches on Saturdays at the Back-of-the-Yards Art Academy. And then I knew what I had to do. Any escape would be ascent because now I had peaches to protect. "Defenestrate this master," said the voice in my head.

The next time I saw C I was able to ignore him, because my only thought seemed to be "Are red Keds really sexy?"

... to be continued