PART 1: The smell of my childhood did not resemble lemonade stands or fresh laundry. It smelled like hot asphalt after rain, truck exhaust clinging to the morning air, and detergent so strong it made my nose sting. It settled into the seams of my clothes and refused to leave, even when I washed everything twice on the long cycle. I grew up in Riverton, Ohio, a working class town with cracked sidewalks and more pawn shops than parks. People said it was a place you passed through, not a place you stayed, and yet staying was exactly what the world expected of me
