Short story
Quilts by Claire Geare
I
am not Claire. I am Beatrice. I am Deedee. I am Katherine. I am Little Girl No. 2. I am 40 men in suits. I’m 2,000 script pages and 643 restless nights. I am four dead families and eight different counties. I am 99 patchwork quilts. A sarcastic fridge magnet. An ironic bumper sticker. I’m my car, or my house, or his house or your house — it wouldn’t matter. I am an idea, a project. Five boys’ wet dreams. 17 men’s unsuccessful victims. Two parents’ failures. I am anything but real, an unidentifiable object. I am two new sneakers made to look dirty. I am him, or I am her, or I am 72 minutes of voice-over in a Chinese animated movie. I am desperate for help. I am eight boxes of hair dye. I’m 116 pounds. I am lonely. I am your girlfriend’s daughter. I am 21 hours of film. I am the burdens of those before me. I am my mother’s daughter. I am trying. I am something. I am nobody at all.
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