Le postcard.
I think tomorrow I will write some more postcards. On the phone, I forgot to tell my mother that I might have broken my ankle yesterday. On the phone, my grandmother always asks if I have a girlfriend, how long have we been together. She always says that I'm too young to settle down, anyway. I think about her and my grandfather and I wonder if she's so insistent because of a mistake she made. She is Acadian, and when people make fun of Acadian french, when they call it "franglais", I think of her voice and I want to step on them. I want to explain that English itself is franglais, that no language is isolated, that no language should be judged for deviation from another. That is what makes a language. Anyone who opposes my grandmother is an idiot, a monster of opinion without thought.

I should send a postcard to my little half brothers. On the phone Michael talks about movies and war, Daniel says hello so quiet and shy and hands the phone off. I'll have to tell them all the bigger than life things in my life. I should lead a bigger life, for their postcards.