I’m at a wedding in the Languedoc. It’s the last weekend of September. I’m relieved the hot, cruel summer is almost over. There’s a woman on the table next to mine with bleached hair and a magenta mouth. She looks like an eighties rock star. I can’t take my eyes off...
In those days, we woke with bedheads and foggy eyes and boggy brains, comfy in our slept-in yoga pants as we headed to the kitchen to make our pot of coffee, our go-to prop for endless hours of video conferences with others, also at home, also in yoga pants they’d...
She takes the empty urinal bottle from the nightstand and sets it aside quietly in a corner of the room. It was there for him to use when he couldn’t make it to the bathroom. The floor creaks beneath her as she bends over to pick up the package of adult diapers she...
Jessy, at thirteen, was a serious birdwatcher and carefully cataloged his sightings. Junie, his best friend and three months his junior, fancied herself a trail interpreter. When they rode their bikes through the deep native woodlands just beyond their small town,...
I. You are still little, and your neighbour has a cat called Moonface. An impossibly beautiful creature, all languor and white fluff and huge beryl eyes, and yet, as should be expected of her kind, a sadist and a killer. Moonface is in the habit of decorating the edge...
The couple at the next table has brought a three-year-old to the wedding reception. Martha sports a pinched look, but we do not speak. Words have failed us. The child’s mother pours herself a third refill from the bottle of red; the father devours a shrimp cocktail....
One time, a porcelain doll lived within a music box. Beautiful, everyone who saw it said, pale skin and dark hair, raised en pointe with hands brushing the sky, forever dancing in an endless twirl. The doll was fragile; everyone knew that, but no one paid much mind....
Cora couldn’t explain why she was baking a blackberry pie at three in the morning, even though she hated blackberry pie. She couldn’t explain why she dug into every cardboard box, searching for all her kitchen tools. She couldn’t explain why she tossed everything else...
The sky went dark on a Monday, pushing the straining sun behind a curtain of smoke, creating an opaque swath of grayness where light would catch – lost – never making it to the retina, never lighting up the things we had been used to seeing: tree leaves in the...
Back home inside our first floor apartment at 2PM, as we were, after a morning at the city library where we spent several hours while mom searched through the mysteries for one that suited her and I picked out a couple of graphic novels, after mom had splashed the...
Dad calls it “Eyesore Trashtown”. I don't read perfect yet, but looking at the letters on the sign, I don’t think that’s right. “It’s called Eastlake Terrace,” Mom says, hugging her purse tight and shooing me into the elevator. “Dad thinks he’s funny.” Dad wasn’t...
His body was cocooned in ice. A casket of ice. Like one of those gag gift ice cubes—plastic-clear with a fly trapped in the center. Illinois winter was that plastic cube and he—that boy—miles and years downriver—he was that fly. He was that fly. If he’d been alive...