Then the quiet returns, rising on the congregation’s collected breath. Church bells chime a quarter-past, and a breeze blows through the window that looks out over the poplar trees. A sniffle, a cough, a motorcycle going by outside. The click of prayer beads as worshipers slide the tespih across the carpets. The old men leave, the Mufti of Banja Luka takes off his hat, and one by one, the suspended chandeliers go out. Share

There were men who minded and let me know that they minded. There were men who did not mind. In any case, I always minded.

Ultimately, I resigned myself to a bad toss and began to wear padded bras. I think about them now, think about all those years in high school that I went around in them, my three padded bras, every single one of them with different-sized breasts.