Do Not Lose This Form

If you lose it, we're f**ked

This was a time in my life when my days were measured by forms, homework, other people’s children’s birthday parties, and whether traffic would make us late for school.

My coworkers, somewhat younger and mainly childless, were pedal to the metal, building the greatest thing in the world and vacationing in Bali and Ireland.

It was a tough time for me.

In retrospect, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Would I want my kid to be someone different? Would I not want to take the lessons I took, or the stories I now have? I’m working on a graphic novel, a literary visual storytelling of this time in my life. A memoir, you know, like an old person. Looking back from my vantage point is tremendous and interesting. So much is in these few panels. The knock on the door, the pregnant words about the piece of paper in the folder. Chekhov’s piece of paper, as it would turn out.

Luna’s mom calls to her, but three panels later, she still hasn’t come out; the voice comes from offstage as Luna must be retrieved. I can still feel it, standing there, as if it were this morning.

Now, of course, Luna calls to tell me about car trouble, job hunting, and the joy and woe of home ownership. Luna has become me; I have become something new.

I will write about that, too.

These panels are from the ongoing visual narrative HACK.