“A girl stabs her own father to death. Another shoots her stepfather. A third is a thief. They have all lost something, or never had it in the first place: parents who loved them enough, an environment that supported them in times of trouble. Why would people like my parents want a child? Sabina asks, her voice trembling.” —From the afterword to Daughters by Lilla Szasz.
This photograph brought Miss Szasz and I together. How many years ago was it now. In Madrid of all places. And me, I never travel. And I’m looking at her photographs, she who has since returned to hang with Avedon, and me who is like, me, I’m supposed to know what I am talking about (smile).
And Daughters arrives in the mail yesterday or the day before, I don’t know. This has been quite a week. And of course it arrives exactly now and I’m looking at it and first of all… uncoated paper!
Am I a nerd or what? Except, this is IT. Uncoated paper is what I need in my life. Right. Now. And Miss Szasz delivers it. But that’s just the surface. It’s so much more than this.
I’m asking her to send me this photo, the one that brought us together, the one I have published myself. And I’m looking at it and I’m remember this brief text and I’m saying, “Wait. I didn’t get it. I didn’t get it.”
But I do now.
Miss Szasz and I are daughters.
Ohmagosh, how that sounds.