The air is damp, my forehead pressed against the cold window. A car sits in the driveway next to the house...

Once the spine gives way, the rest is easier, and now I have at it. I tear it apart; I rend and destroy.

I’d been flying into closed windows, falling to the ground momentarily dazed, then picking myself up and taking flight again.

…not Barbra a la Streisand. They’re pronounced pretty much the same in English, but in Spanish, my name is pronounced Bar-bar-a, with a slight roll of the ‘r’s.

In my mind, Aunt-Blanche-Uncle-Ernie-and-Carla are almost one person, because I rarely think of one without the others.

Once an art teacher had given our class a homework assignment to collect photos for a collage, including a baby picture. When I’d asked my mom for one, she’d told me my baby pictures had been lost in a flood; yet, here they are.

I grew up in Hollywood and just knew I’d end up famous. My mom was a top talent agent, my brothers co-starred in a TV series, and we regularly rubbed shoulders with celebrities.

I was afraid I might be dying, or have brain damage from the recreational drugs I’d taken, or that maybe I was going crazy. Because people do go crazy, right?

Since David went behind bars, I’ve been couch surfing, Erin and Bosco in tow. I put most of my furniture and stuff in a small storage unit and spread the word that I’m available for house sitting, pet sitting, plant sitting, sitting of any kind.

Her eyes pop open, her face lights up, and she looks at me like I’m the last person on earth. She is overjoyed to see me.

I have the distinct impression of brightening light, as if the sun has just moved out from behind a cloud.

I guess I’m looking for signs that he’s my father, but he just looks like, seems like, acts like an ordinary man to me, any man.