Hilary Fannin: I don’t really believe in the notion of a truer, deeper self

At the beach, the dog would sniff out swimmers’ carefully tucked-away underwear and eat it

 Making friends: dogs on the beach at the end of a warm and sunny day. Photograph: Eric Luke

Making friends: dogs on the beach at the end of a warm and sunny day. Photograph: Eric Luke

I’m still trying to figure out if I agree with the notion that the death of both parents can be a catalyst to becoming one’s truest, deepest self. 

    I sat outside a cafe on the pier last weekend, idling, watching a woman of my vintage park her car in the disabled space, place a permit on the dash and disembark, pulling her coat tight against a mean wind that was yo-yoing the seagulls up and down over the fish boxes. I watched her patiently help an elderly woman from the passenger seat and wrap a scarf around her neck, and I kept watching as they walked hand in hand through the salted air towards the fish shops. Who’s to say, I thought, that those two woman, most probably a mother and daughter, aren’t being their truest, deepest selves with each slow step towards the salmon darnes?

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