closed my eyes and visited the cathedrals inside me, seeing myself all alone in them, praying for a sign that I’d made the right decision, staring up at stained glass windows so pure and vibrant that I wished I’d never been born. I realized why Mom couldn’t let go of the doll. The doll stayed, even as rats ate her. The doll never let Mom down.
I got up and turned the light back on. I turned on the TV, lowering the volume of Conan to just barely audible. I lay back down and looked at the walls of what I’d done. I had designed something that was too nice for me, too nice for the only life I’d ever known. I shut my eyes once more, tears skating toward my ears.
This is the punchline, I thought.