My Father Told Us Stories. . .

　　 by Eula Biss

　　 My father told us stories every night about strange little animals

　　 that came out in the dark. When my father was away，

　　 my mother read us fairy tales that always ended in marriage.

　　 Sometimes， when I missed my father， I slept under my bed in

　　 mourning and the mice crawled all around me.

　　 I stand at the window of a bridal shop where huge dresses

　　 hang ghostly in the dark. At the back is a collection of veils

　　 like a row of sleeping jellyfish. One whole wall of the shop is

　　 a mass of white cloth. The wedding dresses are enormous.

　　 They are twice as big as me， and bigger than any woman on the street.

　　 This is the year that everyone is trying to fly around the world

　　 in a balloon. I don't know why.