Utica in the Rear-view Mirror
Granta, 15 July 2009

I have this one black-and-white photograph of my mother and father on their honeymoon in Angkor Wat and I stare at it all the time. I wonder: who were they? My parents. Two people that met, had a child, then fought to rise out of the wreckage. But at one point, a marriage existed. She wore a ring and he held her hand. In this photograph, they look like the Kennedys. There is the allure of education, sophistication, youth and beauty. My mother sits in an upholstered armchair, on the edge of the cushion, poised to get up. My father sits on the arm of the chair, leaning forward, clasping her hand, believing in things he will later regret.

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