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It was like we were exchanging codes, on how to be a father and a daughter, like we'd read about it in a manual, translated from another language, and were doing our best with what we could understand.

Aimee Bender

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Aimee Bender
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: June 28
Novelist
Writer
the United States of America
Language
Codes
Understand
Exchanging
Father
Manual
Another
Manuals
Best
Translated
Like
Code
Daughter
Read

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Light is good company, when alone I took my comfort where I found it, and the warmest yellow bulb in the living-room lamp had become a kind of radiant babysitter all its own.
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When the light at Vernon turned green, we stepped into the street and George grabbed my hand and the ghosts of our younger selves crossed with us.
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It is so often surprising, who rescues you at your lowest moments.
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We're all getting too smart. Our brains are just getting bigger and bigger, and the world dries up and dies when there's too much thought and not enough heart.
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I could feel the tears beginning to collect in my throat again, but I pushed them apart, away from each other. Tears are only a threat in groups.
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...a Dorito asks nothing of you, which is its great gift. It only asks that you are not there.
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My lover is experiencing reverse evolution.
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Language is the ticket to plot and character, after all, because both are built out of language.
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It seemed to happen in springs, the revealing of things.
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There's a gift in your lap and it's beautifully wrapped and it's not your birthday. You feel wonderful, you feel like somebody knows you're alive, you feel fear because it could be a bomb, because you think you're that important.
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…kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks.
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I want to be violated by insight.
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We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.
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I felt the crumpled paper that had taken the place of my lungs expand as if released from a fist.
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and I get refill number three or four and the wine is making my bones loose and it's giving my hair a red sheen and my breasts are blooming and my eyes feel sultry and wise and the dress is water.
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But I loved George in part because he believed me because if I stood in a cold, plain room and yelled FIRE, he would walk over and ask me why.
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But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
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It is all about numbers. It is all about sequence. It's the mathematical logic of being alive. If everything kept to its normal progression, we would live with the sadness-cry and then walk-but what really breaks us cleanest are the losses that happen out of order.
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With my hand in his, I looked at all the apartment buildings with rushes of love, peering in the wide streetside windows that revealed living rooms painted in dark burgandies and matte reds.
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