Laura Goodman: Why I Write

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Lucia and I had broken up a few months before, and I was still mourning the loss of her, my best friend. We used to do this thing together, obsess over the Instagram feed of a punk-pop singer and her family, especially her two daughters, Olive and Adeline. Adeline was my favorite, the younger of the two. Lucia and I watched Adeline grow up on the punk-pop singer’s photo feed from the day she was born until two years later when our relationship deteriorated. She grew into a sassy toddler with fat cheeks, a wide nose, eyes big and round and blue and the curliest pink hair with bangs, both of which she asked her mother for. She grew to have a special bond, different from that of the other family members, with their golden retriever, whom the family bought around the time of Adeline’s birth. In videos, she was clumsy, goofy, tumbling around with her toes pointed inward toward each other. She asked her mom things like: Why are clouds flying? How do people make gummy bears? Why is our car red? Can I taste your coffee? I want alone time. Don’t laugh at me! Lucia and I