…And what is there to say. I guess I start with introductions. I’m Charlie– well Charlotte– but only my father calls me that, and he’s not around much.
Charlotte never suited me as a child. I was too much of a tomboy, playing with the neighborhood boys with dirt under my finger nails, refusing to wear dresses or have my hair brushed. I used to carry snails into the house, name them and leave them in a ceramic bowl. Harry. Mike. Jenine. I didn’t cover them up with plastic wrap because I wanted them to get plenty of fresh air. No dead snails on my watch. It drove my mom crazy, finding snails crawling up the bathroom wall while she was showering. Then I was Charlotte.