For the gazillionth time since my dad bought me this
laptop, I exit Microsoft Word with dissatisfaction. I ponder, for a
moment, on the possibility of scrapping this prospective novel and
working on another one, with a different plot. Read more
A city opened it’s arms to a younger man,
more nervous than he would cop to.
Accepting false bravado.
The city’s women opened their legs to the same man,
shyer than he would admit to.
Buying good-natured cockiness. Read more
He sat me down and looked at me. Quizzically.
“Okay, Daughter, why you put Kimberly as your name on math homework?”
I stared back at him in silence.
His eyes bored into my own, increasingly quizzical. “This your math homework or not?” Read more
This weekend will mark the one year anniversary since my
father passed away. So much of it all seems like it was a lifetime
ago. Was it really just a year ago?
So much has changed. Read more
I have my mom to thank for my long-time stance as a music snob. And it all started with the Holy Grail of every music snobs – a mix tape. Long ago before CD players, Mom recorded some of her favorite songs from her LP collection to listen to while driving. The tape became the soundtrack of my childhood: Marshall Crenshaw, The B-52s, Todd Rundgren, and Nick Lowe, among others. Read more
The field is as beautiful as you’ve ever seen. The grass, the greenest. The sky, the bluest. Even the clouds seem to have been impeccably, perfectly placed in the sky.
The lone tree in the middle of the field is a stone’s throw to the brook that runs alongside this exquisite field. The wind slightly ruffles the grass, coming down from the top of the hill.
I am there. Read more
When Emily gets home from practice after school, her father tells her,
“Your friend with the phone-sex-voice called.” She laughs, because it
is a ridiculous thing for a father and a high school teacher to say;
ridiculous, but not surprising. Since Emily was eleven, he has let her
read his Playboy, because the articles are “really good”; but Emily is
not allowed to go out with boys until she is sixteen — that wouldn’t
be appropriate. Read more
We moved to a new street when I was two. That was nearly 33 years ago. I have no recollection of this event, but it would shape the following 12 years of my life, through toddlerhood, elementary school, and junior high. We moved to a house in the middle of a crescent. Jeff lived next door. He was a year older, and as the story goes, he presented himself at the door of my house, wanting only two bits of information from my parents: Did they have any kids, and did they have any toys? Read more
In my dream, my son is far ahead of me, just around the corner, I think. I can’t see him, but I hope he is there. I move faster, my eyes scanning the horizon, ravenous for any glimpse of his small silhouette as proof he is not lost. He’s been gone for hours, but I control my panic and tell myself if I just keep moving, just keep looking, I will find him. When my fear can no longer be suppressed and I am on the verge of hysteria, I awake abruptly. Read more
Great story. You did a good job with the dialogue here.February 1, 9:00 am by Anastacia Campbell
