Sid’s stout appearance had landed him the role of Hanuman in his elementary school’s abridged re-enactment of Ramayana. He hated his teacher for dabbing his cheeks red with face paint and parading him dressed as a cute little monkey god… Continue Reading
“I hate funerals,” I whisper. “Who don’t, boss?” Ah, Lomax. In his 5’2”, motheaten glory, he’s doughy as flapjacks and almost as aware. “Assassins, morticians, beneficiaries of juicy wills, and we other lowly disciples of greed and grift. At least,… Continue Reading
Dear Jesus, there is a dead woman in my closet and she watches me as I sleep. Us. She watches us. I blame my husband. He brought this curse upon us, Lord, this undead woman who’s seen more of the… Continue Reading
He’s busking in the busy town square. His appearance is inspired by the classical master, Marcel Marceau. Black ballet shoes, black trousers with black suspenders, a sleeveless black-and-white striped shirt, white gloves, and white makeup juxtaposing his face with his… Continue Reading
Mikey sits in the backseat of his father’s T-Bird, smoking a joint. His mohawk, the near-white color of lime sorbet, glows orange briefly in the dark. Earlier today Mikey shoved an older boy up against a locker so hard that… Continue Reading
My helicopter crashed into blackness somewhere south of the Imjin River. My whole life didn’t pass before my eyes. Just the scene most worth remembering: Giselle and me strolling through Paris six years ago, November 1945. She wore a red… Continue Reading
My older sister Kolt storms into the kitchen like an angry ostrich, all neck and ruffled feathers and big round eyes. Her fists are balled, her face splotchy red, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She’s barefoot. I bite… Continue Reading
My cat is haunted. I don’t mean that Marmalade is possessed, demonic, or evil (well, he does have an evil streak, but within the normal feline parameters). Rather, a ghost attached herself to him, the same way they often stick… Continue Reading
After the sun goes down, Mummy and I sit in the dark. I brush my hair, then my dolly’s, then mummy’s, slicing through the strands with my comb. When I hear Daddy’s key in the lock, I know it’s time… Continue Reading
“It’s left foot forward and two steps back.” Cecily looks at her feet. She’s six and a half — seven next Wednesday. Leo says you have to know your left from your right by the time you’re seven or you’ll… Continue Reading