Cleopatra and Frankenstein

They did not yet know what he did. That you could be gifted, hardworking, tenacious, even touched by a little bit of luck, and still not succeed, or if you did, not have it last. That never to experience achievements commensurate to your talent, never to receive adequate payment for your efforts, was a terrible, demoralizing thing.

“What do you do not to feel sad?” I ask.

“I let myself feel sad.”

That was the real inheritance from her mother, she thought, more defining than any facial feature or mannerism. They both wanted to disappear.