Of course, I brought it up to my mother, who was freezing milk and probably making the morning oatmeal with it. The confrontation led to the Great Freezer Fight of 2010, after which I refused to eat oatmeal, and my mother’s lasagna, on account of the frozen mozzarella. This fight would be repeated each time I needed something for a recipe and found that everything was frozen.

Alone is as simple as the car ride to and fro listening to music and singing at the top of my lungs without anyone to hear and without anyone to judge.  Alone is a long hot shower.  Alone is a walk, brisk or plodding, to plot the next course for later – in the day, the month or forever.

Depression is a colony of termites laboring so silently and ardently until your dwelling is unlivable. Unlivable. They crawl over me while I like your posts about your vacation and the hilarious thing your toddler said. Unlivable. They creep inside of me as I listen for the tenth time about your tenth lover, and what size U-Haul you should rent. I am genuinely excited for you. Unlivable.

I swiveled in my chair and gaped at the shadowy figure. Sure enough, it was my old idol, Kwai Chang Caine. He stood so close I could feel his breath on my right shoulder, though his gaze was fixed on the far wall. My voice burst from my chest before I could stop myself. “Hi David,” I said. “How was the concert?” 

Anything gory or bloody turns me off. I call what I like “domestic spanking”: a little reddening of some girl’s ass is okay, but welts, blood, and purple bruises give me the creeps. So does getting spanked. I don’t like actual pain.

I reasoned with myself: just because Brandon wasn’t taking afternoon French, Chinese, Arabic – any of the languages I now had to take as a second foreign language – it didn’t mean his real-life equivalent wasn’t. Surely, I thought, English native speakers were learning languages; it just wasn’t photogenic enough for TV.

As an adult, I have more curiosity about what would lead a group of young people into this counterculture lifestyle. I also have a deeper understanding. Adulting is hard, the world is terrifying, and finding some solidarity with peers doesn’t sound too bad right about now. 

He explained that that the house was haunted by many ghosts, and each had a backstory that he’d surmised from communicating with them. One of these ghosts was Chloe, an abandoned child with an affinity for playing with a yellow bouncy ball, which she would move of her own accord. He tossed the yellow ball into the center of the circle and all of us stared at it, waiting. A few minutes passed.

New to LA, and somewhat shy, I seldom spoke but often listened. The conversations weren’t profound, but they were somehow memorable, like when Gabriella playfully confronted Doris. “Oh, now, Doris, you won’t speak because you’re mad at me. But I can’t put those green beans in the soup when they’re still so fresh; we’ll use them tomorrow for the salad, I promise you.”

It wasn't clear what we were supposed to do now that we knew something existed that was 10 billion light years across. It wasn't clear how that information was supposed to affect our day-to-day. I continued using a brand of pomade called GOT 2B PLAYFUL that gave me a look I thought of as boyishly sophisticated.

Man, woman, child. We are not sent, we come. Some are brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, grandfathers, grandmothers, but all are poor. Just like the founders of this nation, we come, holding on to a promise. Un día, we say. One day we will have a better life, or at least die trying.

I can state with confidence that I’d never kick a robot. But then again, I’m the kind of soft-hearted fool who relocates spiders and bugs instead of killing them. (I once decided not to spray a cockroach because it turned and looked at me. It saw me, we shared a moment, and I balked.)

Thirteen is the age I learned that my body was a burden. A target, a distraction, an invitation. A reason to not be taken seriously. Not a powerful, cohesive part of my being but rather a collection of parts that were somehow attached to me. Parts I was expected to share.

I begin to write.  Jude, 2 years old, in need of diapers, baby food, formula, teething products, clothing if possible.  Signed, Richard M. Gonzales.  Great, now I’m lying about who I am to the Lord?  No way he’s not looking down shaking his head.

Select two vials – only two, one per arm, to make the samples last. Carefully uncap, so as not to flick or spill any scent inside. Stroke the plastic wand to my skin, one perfume per wrist.

We grew especially tired, though, of the 15 minutes of sunscreen application my mother insisted on before we jumped in the pool, which in Los Angeles was nearly every day. During these precautionary sessions, my father would stroll past the kitchen table, only to see the two of us standing upright, our arms extended outwards, creating a rigid t-shape with our bodies.