I shifted in my seat. I slid my jaw from side to side. I bit down on the inside corner of my mouth. Then, I pursed my lips and inhaled as if I were about to respond. Only, I had nothing to say. All the possible answers that occurred to me felt wrong. The air felt thick. And when my wordless breath escaped, I felt small.
My 7-year-old niece had asked me a simple question. Without filter, pretense, or padding, she blurted out, "What are you?"