Biography:
Michele Abercrombie (she/her) is a visuals editor and art director at NPR. In her editing she is passionate about assisting photographers reach new audiences. Her personal work uses archival photographs and illustration to tell social justice...
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I've found that throughout my young adult life my closest friends are very protective of me. And they're very patient. During COVID19 I've been living rent free with one my best friends and her roommate. During the evenings and on weekends we find ourselves looking outside for wide open spaces. The Arnold Arboreturm in Boston, Massachusetts has become one of those spaces for many people.
May 1, 2020 marks the 5 year anniversary of the day mom, Leah, Daniel, Caleb and I moved into a safe house. My father was served a restraining order at work and from that day forward we only see him during court appearances. After the first few months in the safe house, the subsequent years were spent first in my mother's mother's house and then in my mother's father's house when she passed. When my mother's father passed we moved back to my mother's mother's house in 2018, which had remained in the family, and today it’s our home. My sister, Leah told me it’s the first place, in her life, that she’s felt safe. When I visited home today my mom wished me happy Freedom Day and she showed me the text from Leah wishing her 'Happy Anniversary.' I expressed wanting to do something –– “Daniel, Want to go for a drive? I haven't been in your new truck” “That’s not a half bad idea –– do you want to try out my canoe?” I had already heard about Daniel’s canoe –– he had found it discarded on the side of the road –– it’s only fault being the small hole in it’s side. Now, during the days of COVID19, the canoe is a true blessing –– Daniel and Caleb taking it out at least once a week. Daniel assured me, “You can stay out for about an hour before the water leaking in becomes a problem. But you can stay out all day if you bring a ladle.” Out on the pond I asked him, “Does it feel weird that it’s been 5 years?” “No.” He responded simply, before gazing over the lake. He pointed. “You can hear the people at the edge of the lake talking. Do you hear them? And they can hear us. Not words. Just mumbling. It’s because of the wide open space.”
Do you remember the fairies and the flowers and the soap we would eat? Do you remember the ice queen? That's the name he would call her but her ears were closed to him.
Maria Curcio relaxes in her room she shares with her daughter (the photographer). Curcio and her children all obtained restraining orders from Maria's husband – her children's father – in 2015. She moved into a small home with her two adult daughters and two teenage sons.