Running From the Family That Never Loved Me

On the first day of orientation camp, my sister sat in the folding chair my brother Antony Garner had carried out for her, eating the sweet bowl of porridge our mother was spooning into her mouth.

My childhood friend Ralph Fox stood beside her, holding up a little handheld fan.

I stood off to the side, my eyes lowered.

Listening to her chewing and the little "mm" sounds she made every so often, I couldn't help swallowing.

Fifty-five minutes later, she finally finished.

And I could finally lift my head and carefully take the thermos Antony held out to me.