Oh Tonya, this story reminds me of Earnest Hemingway's In the Heart of the Big-Hearted River where he describes in detail his process of setting up camp on an island in the middle of a river. Mixed among the descriptions, he hinted at the love he had just lost. He was trying to put it all together somehow. You were trying to keep it together. The poignancy of this story goes straight to the heart.
Wow, that's an amazing comparison. I love his short stories for that exact quality, the tension between the surface action and all the unspoken emotion underneath. Thank you so much, Sue.
I found your essay devastating in the steadiness of its voice. What it withholds carries more weight than what it states. No melodrama, no accusation, just a measured account. The sink functions as both anchor and trap, a place of refuge that's also evidence of erasure. Cleanliness and order, yes, but at what cost? Perhaps a decade spent learning to disappear.
Thank you so much, Luciano. It's something I admire in your work as well. That kind of restraint is a difficult exercise; it takes real intent to avoid tipping into total opacity, or else falling back into emotionalism.
Christ, Tonya...I am no longer surprised at the glorious quality of your writing, but it rocks me every single time. So evocative - you put me right there next to you at your sink sanctuary. Your eastern redbud tree put me instantly in mind of the Tree of Life in my beloved A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN. You make the most of every situation you find yourself in & that is life-affirming beyond words. That Jane Jacobs quote is everything. Thank you for this. ✌🏼❤️
What "were" you thinking? is what I got caught up in. To me, this piece reads like a survival story because you made so much grow and work that enriched you despite the leash you also felt it all had on you? I think I caught the treastice, too, about being a "good" girl. That characteristic messed me up, and still does. Tonya, your fine writing and certainty plainly gets me to think things through. Lately, it's a daily battle to get a better hold of myself, but then a breakdown is an inside friend telling me the truth. I need to change, starting with the off-switch of the iron fist I can use against myself. "Life's a bitch and then you die," I once said to my mother, waiting for a light in a crosswalk. I never heard her laugh so hard. From the real gut. That's one of the nice memories. So funny. Life. Sure, I might drown in my sink's suds. But not today. Thank you as always for your writing. So so wonderful. It picks me up and puts me down with so much grace.
I love the thought of you and your mom laughing while waiting for the light. Sometimes grace surprises us like that. Thanks so much for this beautiful comment, Connie
I love this piece. So glad it's seeing the light of day. Thanks, T.
Oh Tonya, this story reminds me of Earnest Hemingway's In the Heart of the Big-Hearted River where he describes in detail his process of setting up camp on an island in the middle of a river. Mixed among the descriptions, he hinted at the love he had just lost. He was trying to put it all together somehow. You were trying to keep it together. The poignancy of this story goes straight to the heart.
Wow, that's an amazing comparison. I love his short stories for that exact quality, the tension between the surface action and all the unspoken emotion underneath. Thank you so much, Sue.
I found your essay devastating in the steadiness of its voice. What it withholds carries more weight than what it states. No melodrama, no accusation, just a measured account. The sink functions as both anchor and trap, a place of refuge that's also evidence of erasure. Cleanliness and order, yes, but at what cost? Perhaps a decade spent learning to disappear.
Thank you, Tonya, for the read. Best wishes.
Thank you so much, Luciano. It's something I admire in your work as well. That kind of restraint is a difficult exercise; it takes real intent to avoid tipping into total opacity, or else falling back into emotionalism.
If there was ever a perfect title to an essay, this is it. You absolutely nailed it. The "art" of suppression is throughout this piece.
Thanks so much, Karen. It's amazing how many applications I've found for that particular line from Jane Jacobs. It's true in all cases.
Christ, Tonya...I am no longer surprised at the glorious quality of your writing, but it rocks me every single time. So evocative - you put me right there next to you at your sink sanctuary. Your eastern redbud tree put me instantly in mind of the Tree of Life in my beloved A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN. You make the most of every situation you find yourself in & that is life-affirming beyond words. That Jane Jacobs quote is everything. Thank you for this. ✌🏼❤️
Your responses are always so thoughtful and so kind, Ellen. Can't thank you enough.
What "were" you thinking? is what I got caught up in. To me, this piece reads like a survival story because you made so much grow and work that enriched you despite the leash you also felt it all had on you? I think I caught the treastice, too, about being a "good" girl. That characteristic messed me up, and still does. Tonya, your fine writing and certainty plainly gets me to think things through. Lately, it's a daily battle to get a better hold of myself, but then a breakdown is an inside friend telling me the truth. I need to change, starting with the off-switch of the iron fist I can use against myself. "Life's a bitch and then you die," I once said to my mother, waiting for a light in a crosswalk. I never heard her laugh so hard. From the real gut. That's one of the nice memories. So funny. Life. Sure, I might drown in my sink's suds. But not today. Thank you as always for your writing. So so wonderful. It picks me up and puts me down with so much grace.
I love the thought of you and your mom laughing while waiting for the light. Sometimes grace surprises us like that. Thanks so much for this beautiful comment, Connie