My Little Golden Book of Phobias

I fear it is ****meat smell****wafting up the stairs. When I offered my home to the Taiwanese ladies (for 2 months! sob!), I didn't stop to think, a comment my mother often spat in my direction---"you never stop to think!!!---well, I didn't think about the food issue, or the shared space issue or the memories of my father intruding when I just want to sleep. You know that one. You wake up at night because you've been falling and you just landed with a thud, quick breath out and you are staring at the ceiling (or in my case, the dark skylight). You saw a spider earlier and you wonder if it is under the bed or in bed with you, biting little circles on your arms. Your father is holding your hand and driving the Chevy at the same time. The other kids aren't around. He shares his Necco wafers with you. You're wearing patent leather shoes so it must be a special day. You and Dad. Maybe you'll drive all the way to the country for roadside corn and strawberries. And you will eat all of them before you get home. There are juice stains on your dress. Your fingers are stained red. Strawberry seeds between your teeth.