“Trambolinden kucuk mavi eve yaptigim uzun yuruyusun ertesi gun babam geldi. Babaannemle dedem onu arayip beni almasini istemisti ama kimse bunu bana soylememisti. Ben hala annemle babamin beni verdiklerini sanıyordum ama babaannemle dedeme degil, onlar beni istemiyorlardi. Simdi nereye gidecektim? Beni kim sevecekti? Olabildigince kibar bir bicimde agladim, cunku babam aglamamdan hoslanmazdi ve ben hala umutluydum. Ama kimse benim kahramanca kibarlik gosterime aldiris etmedi ve babam gozyaslarimi fark etmis bile gorunmedi. Benden vazgectigi acikti.
Beni odadan cikardilar, alcak, ugursuz seslerle uzun uzun konustular, cantam toplandiktan, ben arabanin arka koltuguna oturtulduktan ve araba yola ciktiktan sonra bile, haia babamin beni eve mi goturdugunu bilmiyordum. Boylesi daha iyiydi, cunku babam beni eve goturmuyordu.
Cocukken, mutsuz olaylardan uyuyarak kacmayi seçerdim. O zaman da aynisini yaptim, uyandigim zaman yabanci bir odadaydim. Pek cok acidan, bu odadaki en tuhaf seyler, tuhaf olmayanlardi. Sifonyerim pencerenin dibindeydi. Yatak benim yatagimdi, uzerimdeki yorgan, babaannemin eskiden, henuz beni severken benim icin elleriyle diktidi, bastan ayaga aycicekleri islenmiş yorgan, benimdi. Ama cekmecelerin hepsi bostu ve yorganin altinda, silte ciplakti.” Karen Joy Fowler, Hepimiz Tamamen Kendimizi Kaybettik
“The day after my cross-capital trek from trampoline to little blue house, my father appeared. My grandparents had called him to come fetch me, but no one told me that part. I still thought I was being given away, only not to my grandparents, who’d turned out not to want me. Where next? Who would love me now? I sobbed in as decorous a manner as possible, because my father didn’t like it when I cried and I still had hopes. But no one admired my heroic restraint and my father didn’t even seem to notice my tears. He had obviously washed his hands of me.
I was sent out of the room, where a good deal of hushed and ominous talking happened, and even when my bag was packed and I was in the backseat and the car was moving, I still didn’t know I was being taken home. Which was just as well, because I wasn’t.
As a child, I chose to escape unhappy situations by sleeping through them. I did so now, and when I woke I was in a strange room. In many ways, the strangest things about this room were the bits that weren’t strange. My chest of drawers was by the window. The bed I was in was my bed, the quilt over me was my quilt—hand-sewn by Grandma Fredericka back when she’d loved me, appliquéd with sunflowers that stretched from the foot to the pillow. But the drawers were all empty and, under that quilt, the mattress was bare to the buttons.”
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