“Guys and breasts—what’s the big deal?” —mschristinewrites
Samuel struggles to keep his eyes above the raven haired woman’s chest as she walks out of Lamaze class. Samuel’s shoulder aches, the phantom palm of his father coaxing him forward. “This isn’t Everest,” the memory of Samuel’s father’s cigarette ash rasp unspools, ties around Samuel’s wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles. There are women who are like asthma, Samuel thinks, his eyes counting seams between floor tiles.