“I made Ryan feel like his New Balances were snakeskin boots.”
I was dating the son of a preacher man and yet I was the unholiest of girls, which was why Ryan liked me, and liked me enough to introduce me to his father. We were heading north on I-95, southern prairies turning to slabs of granite as we hurried along the eastern seaboard in Ryan’s dark green Mazda toward Rhode Island, where Ryan’s dad pastored. It was midsummer. We’d been together for nearly eight months.
The Brady Bunch
Sarah Sweeney writes poetry and nonfiction. Tell Me If You're Lying, her debut collection of essays, is forthcoming this fall from Barrelhouse Books. She lives in Boston. Visit her at www.sarah-sweeney.com.
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