He always calls me on my birthday. My brother. Even though he’s been dead ten years. I wait, every year, not knowing what time of day he might call, or from what number. It’s always a different number. I imagine… Continue Reading
We’ve been scattered by the wind to all the corners, we four. Time has made us half-strangers, and we all feel it, looking at each other, seeing where the new lines have formed, the touches of grey, the softening around… Continue Reading
His cheque arrived in the mail this morning. Punctual. The way it is every six months. A note folded inside it that just says: I’m sorry. I stand by the letterbox, staring at it a while, blinking back tears, remembering.… Continue Reading