I “We get in, get the tree, get out,” says Dad. “Got it?”Football begins in less than two hours; my family is on the clock. II Marc points out that Christmas trees do not grow in Bethlehem. It would be… Continue Reading
“Grandma, did your son die?” I gasp at my six-year-old’s innocent question to my mom. We are outside on the patio, enjoying pasta salad and barbecue, lost in mundane conversation about swimming lessons and arranging who will pick up the… Continue Reading
The man did not speak. He beckoned me to follow him with a hand sheathed in a greasy, surgical glove. I had never seen an auto mechanic wearing latex gloves so I asked him, “Is that the thing, nowadays?” I… Continue Reading
(content note: absence of a baby and obliquely implied rape of a character who might be a minor) I didn’t set out to lead a life of crime, but then again, I didn’t set out to do a lot of… Continue Reading
He barely remembers “Uncle” Willie leaving, just a blur of the man’s back. He’s just shy of two years old and that man who walks out the door is never truly his father. He’s a distant “uncle” his mom protects… Continue Reading
(content warning: rape) You are a girl. A young girl. Naked in front of your bedroom mirror, you run your finger down the barely perceptible indentation between your undeveloped breasts. You are not yet ashamed of your body, but you… Continue Reading
“Your father loves you. He just doesn’t know how to show it.” The screen door slammed and Dad’s boots pounded down the stairs. Mom said he wasn’t himself since the war. I never met “himself” but I learned to take… Continue Reading
Everyone in the village knew that Mitros was humping my wife; but what can you do? All I had belonged to my father-in-law: the house, the land, the donkey — hell, I had even worn an old suit of his… Continue Reading
We’re screaming down the highway in a VW bug and I’m sitting in the back seat, my ass burning. Will driving. Martin shotgun. Me doomed. “Um, guys, I think there’s something wrong back here,” I stammer. “What’s up, dummy?” Will,… Continue Reading
In her English class, Gillian was assigned an ode. She wrote to the jagged Zorro scar above her knee from the August night she taught Benny to surf in the rickety trailer camper their father towed. They’d been banished from… Continue Reading