The Beautiful Boy in Autumn

Hi, Sleepy. Tonight I drift through mirrors—my own face in the TV screen, the cold studio air, the autumn leaves scratching outside, and the eyes of my parents, now fragile and still somehow ocean-sized. I talk about self-doubt, about calling myself ugly and then swearing, in a forest, to never do it again. I tell you about driving my parents through the towns where they once fell in love, about being both their son and their caretaker, about rage and tenderness and the unbearable sweetness of still having them here.

It’s messy, contradictory, sometimes absurd—but that’s what family is. That’s what life is. And maybe, Sleepy, you’ll hear yourself in it too as you drift off to sleep into the great, strange night.

Sleep Tight!

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