I used to be proud of my name.  When I was little, I got “picked on” about it a few times. I never cared, though, because “Grossman” meant “Strong Man” and “Maya Grossman” was a strong name. I was strong.

Sometimes I feel like a flower. “Maya” is too soft for me. “Maya” is too pretty for me. “Maya” doesn’t fit the jaded, hard-ass person attached to the name.

I’ve always wondered what the “T” in “T Hetzel” stood for. I don’t think I really want to know, though. Learning her name would be the equivalent of a magician revealing their tricks to the audience. “T” is a badass name and I wish I was strong enough to handle mine.


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