trying to think of when it started. maybe it was during those terrible weeks in april, when every thing i touched turned to a pile of glass on the floor, and every person that i spoke to seemed to read the word DUMB on my forehead, but he told me he didn't see it. maybe it started before that even, when i said that it took me eighteen years to figure out that my dad complains about me to tell me that he loves me, and he looked me in the eye and said his does that too. maybe it was the day he got back from canada, after i'd been hired, meeting him the first time, scared but confidently introducing myself to those sarcastic eyebrows for the first time. or maybe it was just this morning, being held in his arms like the most delicate thing.