i began to cry and brought my weed- and twig-covered gloves to my face , as if i could hold back the tears or the words , as if i pressed the gloves hard enough against my eyes , the world would somehow shift and re-order itself like a puzzle , create a new pattern , a new reality where i didnt have to hide , where my mother didnt have to cower , where our biggest concern would be what wed be putting on the christmas tree or if wed be staying up late on new years eve to watch the times square crystal ball fall on television .