“I’m just saying, it seems fucked up to tell her, she doesn’t even know who he is anymore,” Jenny said. “It’s more fucked up not to tell her,” Susan said. The sisters were continuing the argument they’d been having via… Continue Reading
I had hoped for an easy Saturday, but our toddler started yelling at 5am again. My husband Hyun and I dragged through the morning, playing a groggy game of bumper cars in the kitchen as coffee dribbled into the carafe.… Continue Reading
Thirty minutes past his mother’s scheduled appointment time, Milovan looks to the clock, pleads with it, says a prayer. He sees that it tilts to the left so that the “1” sits where the “12” should be. Or maybe his… Continue Reading
The bridge to my mother erodes in word-shaped chunks: broken sentences and hesitant pauses. Frustration traces the downward curve of Ma-Ma’s mouth, a bow with no arrows left to fire. “Na ge,” she says. Brittle fingers tug at her hair,… Continue Reading
My mother left with two suitcases. Instead of fleeing a lover, she fled a nation. Ran. From the advancing army. From tanks that rumbled over the earth and up through the soles of her feet, until her knees ached, and… Continue Reading
A fly buzzed around my head as I strode down the corridor leading from the chapter house to the quad. The sun shone though the Gothic windows patterning the concrete floor. My oxblood Doc Martens chose only the sunlit squares.… Continue Reading
Six-year old John barely fit in the storage cabinet, even with his knees pulled close to his chest. Red light pulsed in tempo with the blaring alarm klaxon, bleeding in around the door’s edges. Where was Mom? When the alarm… Continue Reading
Step 1 of 2: Please enter your 6-digit code. She nodded. Six loud clacks—3, 1, 4, 1, 5, 9. Accepted. Now loading… Easy, Nancy thought. The only numbers Chad learned by heart were those found in intricate formulas and equations.… Continue Reading
I’m getting married tomorrow. My mother calls, at ten minutes to midnight, to ask whether or not I am going to wear a dress. She’s drunk and the slur of her words pelts me through the phone line like wine-soaked… Continue Reading
Knocking. It’s him. I’m behind the sofa quicker than blinking. Harder now. Go away, piss off. Wearing his knuckles out and bothering my doorbell too. I try to avoid his phonecalls, but can’t keep that up for ever, so once… Continue Reading