Chapter Twenty-Three
St. SebastianAfter a long five days in Bristol learning how to be a student again, coming back to my childhood home is a relief, although I’m not sure why. It hardly even feels like home now, with most of the furniture donated or sold, with most of my mother’s things either packed away or gotten rid of, with my sprawling collection of books given to charity shops and the YOI in Exeter.
It’s a house of bare shelves and naked walls. There’s no more half-read magazines or pictures of Jesus watching me from the hallway. There’s no more old cookie tins filled with sewing things, there’s no more well-worn blankets folded over the back of the couch, there’s no more anything that says Jennifer and St. Sebastian Martinez lived here and were mostly happy.
Nothing, that is,
