Hania grew up in a southwest Detroit neighborhood where most people understood English well enough to follow radio broadcasts of Joe Louis fights and fireside chats. But they were far more comfortable conversing in Polish. It was the language of… Continue Reading
“Mm. Morning.” Cass opens her eyes slightly, smiling at me as I tousle her hair. “Morning,” she croaks. “Ugh. Morning voice, sorry.” She rolls to her side, grabbing a glass of water from a stack of plastic storage containers that… Continue Reading
“Humbug” was Marissa’s matter-of-fact reply to the carol singers that evening. She was particularly pleased with her idea to pour humbug sweets from the bedroom window, akin to hot oil in old castle sieges. It had added an extra dimension… Continue Reading
What Samuel loves most about going to his Aunt Virginia and Uncle Joseph’s house is the fish tank, though it usually isn’t kept very well. Last time the glass was covered in a thin layer of grimy algae, and the… Continue Reading
The first time I cussed around grown-ups was at my Uncle’s house in Virginia on Thanksgiving and they all needed to hear it. Here’s what Thanksgiving was all about back then: piling into the cramped sedan for an eleven-hour drive… Continue Reading
The butterflies were in Anna’s head, not in her stomach — a swarm of glorious, golden images she couldn’t seem to suppress, even when she told herself to count sheep, or recite nonsense rhymes, to try and lull herself to… Continue Reading
My dog caught a fish once. We were at a pond out by the ravine. I was on the bank looking for frogs and turtles, tip-toeing over the soft ground so as not to muddy my new tennis shoes. She… Continue Reading
“The only information I can give you about the episode,” said the rep, “is that its title is ‘My Dirty Little Secret’.” Helen stood paralyzed in her kitchen as the phone call’s initial excitement swerved into a loop de loop… Continue Reading
He spoke as soon as she reached the kitchen. “You go through the boxes on the table. Kimmie left those for you to get rid of.” “Okay, Papa.” The clean-out had begun. Her mother’s things were being sorted and awarded… Continue Reading
The third year of drought left Birdie motherless and mute. For months she’d listened as her parents argued over water, whether small reserves should go to mama’s flower business or the horses. In the end, as hard as it would… Continue Reading