Netflix decided to credit my legal name for my Maid work, so I have officially split off into another person: Rebecca, who, when I was young, I decided was too Old to be Me, hence my decision to be Bekah. But now, I am Her, but I’m not. She’s a Woman who gets her teeth cleaned twice a year and rolls her underwear into neat little lines, who has memorized her mortgage rate and does not find roaches in her shoes, she flosses and has memorized many supreme court Cases and doesn’t spiral over all she’s said and didn’t say. She knows what she believes in and fights for it, she packs her lunch. She doesn’t pick at the zits buried in her eyebrows and her foot never goes into her mouth. She’s always next to me, but I can never quite see her, but I can hear the hum from the podcast she’s listening to, Brain ever growing, eluding my own.

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