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We had lain together, skin on skin, been as close as two people could, and he was a stranger. He was that someone who you are afraid of as a child, stranger. They never told you that stranger might be someone you knew.

Deb Caletti

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Deb Caletti
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: June 16
Novelist
Writer
San Rafael
California
Someone
Stranger
Together
Skins
Might
Close
Children
Afraid
Never
Told
People
Knew
Child
Lain
Two
Skin

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Are you getting your period? She narrows her eyes. No! God. I hate that. I hate when every negative act is blamed on your period. Sometimes bitchiness is just bitchiness, happily unattached to anything hormonal. It should get full credit.
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You can hold a secret, hold it so far in that it drives nearly every thought and every move you make- your very heartbeat, almost.
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Accents are funny in that they have this odd draw for us, yet we forget we have one, too. No one is without an accent, but the one you’ve got seems like oatmeal to their caviar.
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Hurt is a weapon. Better weapon than most because it doesn't look like one.
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The world was large, so large. Bigger than it had been before. Family, too, a bigger word. That felt like a good thing. An essential thing. There was power in numbers.
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You could put your confusion and upset and worries into whatever book you were reading. You could sort of set them down in there, and you could come out with your head on a little straighter. I don't why stories worked that way, but they did.
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If your life truths have to be protected like some people keep their couches in plastic then ciao. have a nice life. if we bump into eachoter at Target, i'm the one buying the sour gummy worms and thats all you need to know about me.
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I tended to give a book a chance and another chance and another, sometimes seeing it all the way to the end, still hoping for for it turn out different. Maybe I was confused about what you owed a book. What you owed people, for that matter, real or fictional.
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so what brings you to the doctor today? hmm, im afraid i have the chronic desire to save people i know about that. i've got it too. maybe it's catching. not catching enough
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I thought I might cry, the way you do when someone gives you some kindness when you most need it but when it seems the most surprising thing.
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I put the guitar back in the case. I can't even look at it anymore. Instead, I want to make brownies. I want an end result there's a recipe for. I want to combine eggs and water and oil and chocolate and flour and sugar and vanilla and get something fulfilling.
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I would have spoken, had my heart not been in my throat
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The hurt affects your ability to go forward.
Deb Caletti
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I was like a chocolate in a box, looking well behaved and perfect in place, all the while harboring a secret center.
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But then there are the van Goghs and Hemingways and Mozarts, those who feel a hunger so deep, so far down, that greatness lies there too, nestled somewhere within it. Those who get their inner voice and direction from the cool mysterious insides of the moon, and not from the earth like the rest of us.
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She'd be one of those parents who left a kid behind at a rest stop, driving for miles before she noticed. We'd hear about her on the evening news.
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Yeah. When you want what's real and you try to find that in high school, you might as well be looking for a mossy rock beside a babbling brook on the corner of Sixth and Pine in downtown Seattle.
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...we are all a volume on the shelf of the... library, a story unto ourselves, never possibly described with one word or even very accurately with thousands.
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My subconscious speaks in a foreign language.
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It took me years to figure out that upset was upset, and tumultuousness was not the same thing as passion. Love isn't drama.
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