Excerpt: Lip-Locked Rumor

When the police found my mother face down in a puddle of dirty rainwater and vomit they saw just another filthy, good-for-nothing, dead prostitute. When the reporters broadcasted her latest mug shot they saw a sensational boost for their ratings; each trying to outdo the other with what details they could provide about her life and death.

When I sat under the covers after my primetime show, I was stunned, grabbed by the three second news clip, the viewer catching preview of doom, demise and distain.

I don’t remember running to my father’s bedroom or flipping through the channels on his television. I don’t remember what he said to me but I do know he’d said something through his sleep-induced fog. It had been a while since I heard his voice. And I definitely don’t remember crying, but I know my face was wet.