Today was my birthday. My family and friends came for dinner, Charlotte made a cake with those stupid candles you can’t blow out, and then posted a video of me trying to do it, on Facebook. Great gifts, good food,… Continue Reading
When I was nineteen, my father began to talk about dying. “You’ll be the head of the house once I’m gone,” he’d say. “Don’t let those shysters at the funeral parlour take my money. Bury me behind the chicken coop… Continue Reading
“But when will I see you again, Mum?” asked Dylan. “Oh, by and by, my dear. You can be sure of it.” Orla smiled fondly at her son, struggling to keep her eyes open. It was just the two of… Continue Reading
Sasha asked if I would take her trick-or-treating this year, and what could I say but of course? It would be a cruel thing to say no. It was a frigid night; I knew I should tell her to wear… Continue Reading
I opened the curtains. Charlie, in his giant recliner, flinched, as if I’d thrown a bucket of water in his face. “What’re you doing here?” “Letting in the light, bro,” I said. “It’s good to see you, too.” Charlie wore… Continue Reading
On the day my mother died I woke to rain, a rhythmic tick-tick-ticking against the windows, the first real downpour we’d had in months. I roused Oliver, crouching beside his tiny bed and tugging at the blankets, the blunt comma… Continue Reading
I’ll always remember the way his car smelled, like stale Pall Malls and Vicks VapoRub. It was memories of court-ordered, every-other-weekend visits, chicken fingers and ice cream for dinner from the Dairy Queen, and peanut butter cups baked into the… Continue Reading
It was late August, and I was still too young to attend school. I remember walking with my mother on the hillside path near our home at Dark Byte, along the rugged Labrador coastline. We were on our way for… Continue Reading
I work a mixture of peat and shredded leaves into the hole, then arrange the bulbs pointy end up before blanketing them with a few inches of dirt. Planting crocuses is supposed to keep me from offing myself in the… Continue Reading
If I ignore the door hanging half off its hinges and the swallow’s nest surveying the dust from beneath the exposed center beam, Nana’s cottage is little changed from fifteen years ago, when Dad left me here to “find my… Continue Reading