She hits my foot from under the table. First it’s a mistake, then she beams up at me and does it again, on purpose this time. We both laugh. “What’s funny?” they ask. “Nothing,” we say. Her giggles sound more like squeaks. These moments with Jade follow a formula.
“What is Love?” asks every romantic hero ever. “Love is when you really feel it, you know?” answers every romantic hero’s best friend or mentor who has some authority of love or just guesses based upon some romantic thing they read or have seen. “What is Love?” asks me, and quite possibly most people in their teens. “
Set in the rural Bootheel of Missouri Sharp Objects drifts through its story like the gooey cherry pie its characters eat sticks to the roof of their mouths.
We go way back, film and I. In some ways there’s been some sort of relationship between me and the silver screen from way before I was even born. It wasn’t always positive.
My own personal, seemingly insurmountable dragon was metaphorical Grief, it was now a part of me, and I couldn’t imagine a world where I would be able to domesticate the vicious pain.
"Ditches here were layered; you got a front-line ditch, reserve line, and then artillery just outside the ditches. Each ditch was only about five feet wide, but they went on for miles to the flanks. This ditch was part of one that went clear across France and Belgium. Some people take comfort in the ditches’ snaked length, in their womb-like innards and phallic shape. At some point in the war every inch of it had been moved."
