Her father had slapped her twice already. Her face is still red from the blows. Tears run down her cheeks. She is obstinately silent. They sit in the beige Formica kitchen on the first floor of their new, still bare… 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
When I was a boy, my father showed me a hunting knife that once belonged to my grandfather. The knife was serrated, hefty, meant to saw through muscle and bones. My father told me my grandfather had killed himself with… 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
I brought my father’s picture with me so I’d recognize him. The photo showed him with both arms draped around my mom’s shoulders as if he were protecting her from some unseen foe. I guess that’s what my high school… Continue Reading
The building was a drab gray, accented here and there with streaks of black and green mildew which appeared to have eaten through the paint in a few places. Holly hedges grown high as the roofline ringed the outside, covering… Continue Reading
Hey Dad, I’ve been thinking about you lately. I remember you sitting in that big, overstuffed chair in the living room of our apartment in Brooklyn, smoking your pipe and watching the tiny black and white TV. Those were the… Continue Reading
I found Dad at the train yard when I arrived for work. Dressed in overalls and a flannel shirt, he smelled of sulfur and cigarette ash. “Case,” he said, giving me a nod as if we were old chums. “Dad.” … Continue Reading
We ran. We fled as if we were both insane, as if chased or possessed by demons. And maybe we were — possessed, that is. Kathy unfolded the map too much. It spread across the dash and fluttered against the… Continue Reading