All This in Upstate New York

Pretty and dark-haired, fatherless and welfare-raised, my mother was just Gillian Black growing up, no more. Now she was marrying up, if only incrementally.

My mother's parents had strange taste in
middle names. Their eldest son, John, got
Rand, after the Poor-loathing author (that
was the father's choice, before he walked
out on them), while their second son, Ian,
got Herrick, after who-knows-what (the
mother's choice, high on drugs). Neither
could think of what to put with Gillian, so
my mother never got one. Pretty and dark-
haired, fatherless and welfare-raised, with
a steady stream of social workers checking
in each month, my mother was just Gillian
Black growing up, no more. And on mar-
rying, after studying at Johns Hopkins on
scholarship, her maiden name became her
middle name, the Black sliding easily into
that empty, welcoming slot which she'd
learnt to be grateful for. But if she'd had a
middle name, then which name, I wonder,
would have been forgotten, shoved aside
with the rest of her past by the thick ivory
satin of her wedding gown? She was mar-
rying up, after all, if only incrementally.
Her husband’s dark green Army uniform
so impressive as he handed her his ring.

Author's Note

Published in Jet Fuel Review, December 2025 issue
https://www.jetfuelreview.com/sean-eaton-fall-2025.html