A fifth-grade bully, a blossoming romance, a late-night crash
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Daniela Kuper lives in Ventura, California, where she spends her time writing fiction and building miniature rooms that tell a story of imaginary inhabitants. Her recent creations include an illustrator’s studio, the Charlie Chaplin suite of a Parisian hotel, and a grand-piano music room.
How could she tell her son that although she bathes, puts on clothes, laughs at Colbert, and has conversations with people, people don’t know. They don’t have a clue they’re talking to a bunch of scattered molecules trying to imitate a human being.
At first I thought it was learning or wisdom. Then it came to me: my husband was a ghost; he had nothing but what he could steal from people. He could take the things they cared about most. It was his great gift.
A woman prays her husband will never stop looking when she undresses. We’ve come so much further than that. Chuck doesn’t notice me at all.