Fiction | By Cara Blue Adams
The Birdcage
When I was young—nineteen, twenty—and home for an indeterminate stretch, feeling aimless and lost, I met Renee, who carried a parasol to protect her pale skin and who, she told me, was looking for a hat like the ones the Vietnamese wore. Renee was a delicate girl, frail, red-haired, with a perpetual look of dissatisfaction …