To understand my father’s murder, I had to adapt my view of life.
One morning fifteen years ago, in London, I woke to thirteen missed calls. I assumed they were from an ex-boyfriend who often randomly invited himself over after the pubs closed. I didn’t bother to listen to my voicemails until after I had drunk my first coffee. To my surprise, the messages were from my sister back in Canada.
“Jodi! Something has happened. Call home.”
“Jodi. Where are you? Call home!”
Then my mom left the message that changed my life. “Jodi. You probably already heard that Dad’s dead. He was murdered. We’re going to be okay. Don’t worry. We are all going to be okay.”
I sat at the kitchen table, stunned. I tried to call my sister back, but she didn’t answer. I turned to my best friend, Stuart.
“Stuart, my dad’s dead. He was murdered.”
“What? What? Hold on,” he said when he picked up the phone. “I just woke up.”
Stuart rushed over to my house. While my siblings eventually filled me in on what they knew, Stuart booked tickets for us both to fly home.
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der May 2019-Ausgabe von The Walrus.
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Diese Geschichte stammt aus der May 2019-Ausgabe von The Walrus.
Starten Sie Ihre 7-tägige kostenlose Testversion von Magzter GOLD, um auf Tausende kuratierte Premium-Storys sowie über 8.000 Zeitschriften und Zeitungen zuzugreifen.
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MY GUILTY PLEASURE
I WAS AS SURPRISED as anyone when I became obsessed with comics again last year, at the advanced age of forty-five. As a kid, I loved reading G.I. Joe and The Amazing Spider-Man.
The Upside-Down Book
In her new novel, Rachel Cusk makes the case for becoming a stranger to yourself
Pick a Colour
BACK HERE, I can hear a group of women trickle in. Filling the floor with giggles and voices.
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The Briefcase
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In the Footsteps of Migrants Who Never Made It
Thousands have died trying to cross into the US from Mexico. Each year, activists follow their harrowing trek
Blood Language
Menstruation ties us to the land in ways we've all but forgotten
Dream Machines
The real threat with artificial intelligence is that we'll fall prey to its hype
Invisible Lives
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My Guilty Pleasure
"The late nights are mine alone, and I'll spend them however I damn well please"