Clouds spun out in pillowy strands, like cotton candy. The frozen leaves on the rhododendrons collapsed in on themselves like umbrellas. They had a copy of The Corrections in the lending library on the dead end street so I nabbed… Read More ›
Memoir
Why it’s hard getting rid of things we identify with
I couldn’t imagine getting rid of the African robes. Dawn’s on this kick now from a book where you categorically go through things to determine what brings you joy and if it doesn’t, you get rid of it. We’re putting… Read More ›
‘Time is on my side’
It was the first spring we were in our new house mom and John came to visit. I had some time off from work and it was only May, but the weather forecast was like summer, with everything in bloom,… Read More ›
The Stack
Unfinished table by IKEA, manual typewriter, one-bedroom apartment, the stack of pages sitting there as evidence, the same place I eat and drink. The answering machine, pictures of heroes on the wall. Rapping the keys until the bell goes off,… Read More ›
Sure
Seven years old, in the bathroom at the Jersey shore, I had to use the one in my grandparent’s room and there was my grand-dad’s reflection in the bathroom mirror, through a crack in the door. He was napping with… Read More ›
Chantez, chantez
Laurent told my mom he had to go to the car to get some things, and gestured for me to join. It was the kind of gesture that implied wrongdoing, a wink from across the table. We were in the… Read More ›
Mirrorball
Pat Dolan and his brother Damien lived up the street. Their dad Mr. Dolan was a cop, a huge cop: he filled the doorway when he stood. We sat on the front doorstep and spat. We had just learned how… Read More ›
Us
I was making my nest: a studio apartment at the base of Pill Hill in Seattle, basement floor. It looked onto a courtyard no one could access, and the top half of a parking lot. My bed was up on… Read More ›
The Crawl Space
We stood in the doorway of the kitchen watching Phyllis eat the mouse. Normally diminutive, she had a wild look now, jowls besmirched and wet. We listened as she chewed, and watched as she gagged-down nearly all of it, leaving… Read More ›
Little Stevey and the stolen goods
I discovered at a young age I was good at stealing. As a bright, normal-looking 10 year-old, I could walk into a store smiling, say hi, and walk out with a coat full of baseball cards, candy, cap guns, Playboys,… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 