If Kevin stole the lipstick, if he slipped the tube tagged Fuschia Shock into the front pocket of his jeans, poked it between the denim slits nonchalantly enough as if it were possible to pretend his brain was unaware of… Continue Reading
“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
We hadn’t spoken since we returned from the hospital. Ma and I lay side by side on our backs on a narrow bed in the guest room of my sister’s house. There was no place to even hold hands in… Continue Reading
The day my mom was admitted into the psych ward at Mass General I decided to lose my virginity. I was almost seventeen, and past all romantic notions of sex. It was not my plan from the get-go. I was… Continue Reading
Molly wishes her alive again and jumps as the door slides open. “Hi, there,” her mother says. “Knock next time!” Molly shouts. “You taught me that.” “Yes.” Her mother’s tone is apologetic, looking down at her bare feet. “You forgot.”… Continue Reading
My mother would start unpacking the Christmas decorations on what we now call Black Friday (the day after Thanksgiving when shoppers stampede stores.) The smell of leftover turkey still permeated our house as she filled the air with a regular… Continue Reading
A heart lands softly on the ground below the monkey bars, a left arm sways back and forth on the swing set, and at the foot of the slide, a human head balances topside down. She blinks. Not again. Delia… Continue Reading
My sister Bailey’s breathing is steady at night. I wait for it to change from shallow to the deep breaths of full R.E.M. She sleeps on her side. Her shoulder forms the smoky mountains sloping gently under the sheet. The… Continue Reading
Momma homeschooled. I’d kneel in the back seat of our Buick on a carpet of fast food wrappers counting the contents of the trunk. This was Momma’s version of education, having me remind her what we had in our stolen… Continue Reading
Humphrey Bogart’s life was, in all respects, banal. He was waiting for the next patient in his examination room, watching the hands of his clock parse time. Decades ago, doctors would have enjoyed this respite lounging in the facility break… Continue Reading