Extraction requires excavation, a digging through the flesh to come up with bones. It’s a mess in there. The little one says, I want us to put up halloween decorations like a family. She asks, are we irreparable? My son struggles against my touch. My mother hounds me about my isolation. My father tries. And I am left feeling selfish and alone, gripping the steering wheel through one song after another, charging into the night, heaving and sobbing and barely able to see.