Hillbilly Elegy

mother, too. The color drained from
Mamaw’s face, and she refused to even
look me in the eye. What I had said had
clearly struck a nerve.
Though I meant these things, I also
knew that my urine might not be clean.
Mom collapsed onto the couch, crying
quietly, but Mamaw wouldn’t give in so
easily, even though I’d wounded her
with my criticism. I pulled Mamaw into
the bathroom and whispered a
confession—that I had smoked Ken’s pot
twice in the past few weeks. “I can’t
give it to her. If Mom takes my pee, we
could both be in trouble.”
First, Mamaw assuaged my fears. A
couple of hits of pot over three weeks