Standing at the pool’s edge, he planted his eyes on the V-shape of my body where my legs met at my hips, where I felt the water drip. I saw his brown irises turn hard and hungry.
Does the time come for everyone when holding it in just won’t do anymore? I kept the story of my abortion to myself until Michael broke up with me two years later.
I’m so mean-spirited. I wrote all my mother’s slights down. There were so many of them. So explains Sally Mann, photographer and author of recent memoir Hold Still, who goes…