I loved shiny things. I loved holding them, looking at my face in the warped reflection, and feeling the smoothness of shiny objects.
Thus, I put my hands lovingly around my mother’s curling iron one day. Oh how that hurt. She was in a rush to pick my brother up from school so I had to improvise. I pressed my hurting hands up against the foggy but cold windows of the car in an effort to decrease the heat.
It was a long car ride and I soon ran out of foggy areas on the windows to touch.