“Guinevere!” my mother said. My waking eyes saw everything as slow, disparate images on a just-light background; she was a flash of red athletic wear and a sudden weight on the end of my bed, a frenzied face and a… Continue Reading
My sister slices the pie, her lips drawn together in a tight purse, the disapproving grimace of a person performing an unfamiliar task. We sit at the dining room table. I look because I can’t stop myself from staring over… Continue Reading
One swing of the bat and a frozen rope laced foul from the barrel of a 32-ounce bat beaned my Dad straight in the left temple, and he crumpled in my lap. It was opening day. I was ten years… Continue Reading
After the service, everyone came up to console me. Women enfolded me in scented hugs, cooing like so many mourning doves, “Deepest sympathy,” “So sorry for your loss,” and “She’s in a better place now.” The men patted my shoulder… Continue Reading
My younger brother Ben and I sit shoulder to shoulder on the worn leather couch in our family room. “I promise you both Dad is going to fight this,” my mother quietly says. Her eyes meet mine, and I see… Continue Reading
My old man’s dad died just a month before I was born. I always wished I’d met him. He was, by all accounts, a real character I’d have enjoyed talking to. Ma’s dad was still with us, so to differentiate… Continue Reading
There’s a dirty brown puddle at the bottom of West Street where the snow has melted and turned to sludge. Not that many years ago she would have dived in with both feet, splashing till her socks and trousers were… Continue Reading
Her father was still there. She watched as the wrinkled white sheets slowly rose with each breath — a movement so slight it seemed not to justify the word. Sometimes, she would place her head on his chest just to… Continue Reading
The first knife my dad throws at me lands within a couple inches of my right ear. It comes as quite a shock. Not the ‘my dad’s trying to kill me’ part. That’s what he paid fifty dollars to do… Continue Reading
On my drive home last night, the flakes danced in and out of my car’s headlights, and a dusting of snow moved in low eddies over the pavement. The sounds of Pachelbel’s Canon in D echoed the snow’s dance. The… Continue Reading