Lorrie Moore on the Carmelo Anthony/New York Knicks Trade

“Her rage flopped awkwardly away like a duck. She felt as she had when her cold, fierce parents had at last grown sick and old, stick-boned and saggy, protected by infirmity the way cuteness protected a baby, or should, it should protect a baby, and she had been left with her rage–vestigial, girlhood rage–inappropriate and intact. She would hug her parents good-bye, the gentle, emptied sacks of them, and think Where did you go?

“You couldn’t pretend you had lost nothing… you had to begin there, not let your blood freeze over.”

“I missed him.”

“I wondered about the half-life of regret.”

“When you find out who you are, you will no longer be innocent. That will be sad for others to see. All that knowledge will show on your face and change it. But sad only for others, not for yourself. You will feel you have a kind of wisdom, very mistaken, but a mistake of some power to you and so you will sadly treasure it and grow it.”

“I tried not to think about my life. I did not have any good solid plans for it long-term – not bad plans either, no plans at all.”


“I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about this.”

“How can it be described? How can any of it be described?”

“When she packed up to leave, she knew that she was saying goodbye to something important, which was not that bad, in a way, because it meant that at least you had said hello to it to begin with…”