By now I’m supposed to feel like a grown-up, n’est pas? On paper, yes, all the boxes are quietly checking themselves in. Look at me pumping gas or sending certified mail or dropping my change in the Shriners’ roadside cans. If it refuels like a grown-up and corresponds like a grown-up and donates like a grown-up…well, it must be a grown-up. Read more
It’s like a terrible accident, with bloodied victims, in super slow-motion. So slow, it’s barely detectable. With every new sunset another piece of the relationship dies, decays, and drifts away. It’s unspoken; simply happening as if it were the natural progression of love. To stop having sex, to no longer hold each other in sleep, to skip the daily kiss goodbye…
But no one mentions the losses. Read more
If she told you that she wrote light fiction or poetry, she would be lying. She didn’t write anymore. Nothing more than a grocery list or an email. Ideas lay in the past, dusty and unmoving. Hard to resurrect after pausing for so long. Read more
I was late for work this morning–as usual–because 8:52 is the new I hate my life. I drove into the parking lot behind Widespread Panic Girl. I have no idea what her actual name is, but she has seven or eight Widespread stickers on her rear windshield so it’s no less fitting but infinitely more complementary than other potential nicknames like Dances With ProActiv or PocaHondas. Read more
I always imagined that if something ever drew me apart from the love of my life it would be another woman. She would be everything I wasn’t. She would offer him things that I couldn’t. She would be beautiful, fun, healthy, articulate and would hate buttons as much as he did. Read more
The first time I ever went to see a therapist, I was given a list of things to check off. Depression? Check. Not sleeping? Check. Relationship issues? Check. Sexual issues? Check. Parental and family issues? Check. Stress issues? Check. After a list of about ten or so items, I think the only ones I didn’t check off were abuse, rape, and addiction issues. I thought to myself, “Well. That puts me ahead, right?” Read more
We knew he was in trouble when we caught him suddenly singing “Come Together” by the Beatles in Chinese.
He doesn’t speak Chinese. Read more
Sunglasses in place.
Switch from NPR to jazz.
Twelve miles to home.
No, people, don’t stop.
There is no construction here —
Just an orange sign. Read more
There is something romantic about the New York City subway late at night.
I don’t mean romance in the hearts and flowers kind of way. That’s not my romance. That’s a postcard sold by Hallmark and Hollywood.
My romance is dark. And mysterious. Read more
It’s all in the way she holds her eyes. She used to, she—I used to say: stop daring at me. You couldn’t make her cry if you stabbed her with a fork.
I hold her. I touch her hair. I tell her it will be ok and I’ll get her things. I make her soup and deliver her into the comfort of the couch and music and I grab my keys and on the way out the front door, I reach into the closet and get her brother’s baseball bat. Read more
Great story. You did a good job with the dialogue here.February 1, 9:00 am by Anastacia Campbell
