Memoir Excerpt by Jeremiah Horrigan
My hands passed right through the lump of snow. My superpowers were already kicking in.
My hands passed right through the lump of snow. My superpowers were already kicking in.
She looked dismayed. Maybe she’d never seen such a reaction to one of her cures.
I didn’t see how I could say no. I knew if I were in her shoes, I’d feel the same.
She told me to never go anywhere without a book, a bathing suit, and a sweater.
He clutched my hand, and I felt his fingers bucking. They were always in motion, but my father held on as hard as he could.
I had to stay quiet. No one could know what was happening. I had to lie perfectly still or things would get even worse.
I have unwittingly raised a daughter too much like me: restless, willful, and walled against the fragility of life.
At the end of summer, tiny frogs swarmed on the long sliver of beach by the pond, darkening the sand.
I called my realtor and said, 'Find us another house. Cyrus the cat hates the apartment.'
The first bookstore in my life had two wheels and a nasal voice that called out 'Maga-zine! Maga-zine!'