When he dreams now, all of his dreams seem tied to food, and all of the food is tied to memory. And the dreams he remembers most clearly are the ones that go back a long way, to the farthest jurisdictions of memory. Back to when he was a boy in Augusta, short enough to pass beneath the counter without bumping his head.
Read MoreWhen my mother says it’s nice to see me again I know she means her love for me could fill a lake, because when she told me she left a lizard in my room it was a crocodile…
Read MoreCaitlin enunciates the words mother and kitchen and mopping like each syllable has scrubbing properties, like she’s flossing with vowels, cleaning her mouth out for Mr. Gilcrest, our drama teacher. She hopes he’ll notice her A-plus-elocution and become her love slave.
Read Morex got off the c train & plodded through the port authority doors around 8 // the line at au bon pain snaked all the way to the pay phones on the wall // but it seemed to be going fast //
Read MoreThings had gone bad, and toilet paper was out of the budget. Luckily, Griff's place was a quick walk from Walmart. At any hour he could crash in, deliver a clenched hello to the greeter, and, a few steps later, void himself in a corporate environment. No men's room door, just a labyrinthine entryway; no paper towels, just weapons-grade blowers; and best of all, no questions.
Read MoreWhen you're a failure at everything else, write a novel. That was the first line of my novel, spoken by Dorian Vandercleef—musician, artist, and social provocateur. My main character would never achieve fame, but I was confident this novel was my ticket to literary stardom.
Read MoreIf Tara hadn’t crossed the rope bridge that bounced over the dry creek, she wouldn’t have agreed to go whitewater rafting with David and her camp counselor and the camp counselor’s girlfriend with the long, red highlights. Tara wouldn’t have laughed after the water roared in her face and the cold clapped away her breath.
Read MoreAlthough he has observed her in the hallway before (usually sporting white earphones, cord trailing to the iPhone in her back jeans’ pocket), today is different because she also clutches a notebook, the expensive kind (what is it called? mole something?) he saw on a Barnes & Noble display a few weeks earlier while shopping with his parents, and observing this girl again
Read MoreMom worried that Gertie didn’t have any friends. Gertie never asked to go to someone’s house, and the avocado green phone that hung next to the refrigerator never rang for her. She didn’t talk about other kids from school. She didn’t talk much period.
Read More"Your parents told me I could have a pool party on my last night,” Lori said.
She finished rubbing baby oil into her legs and spritzed her hair with Sun-In. I treaded water. My parents hired Lori to look after me so they could “work on their marriage” in Hawaii …
Here is Lacy in the Snacks aisle of the drugstore, a cornucopia of sweet and savory goodness. Here are the enticing rows of potato chips, corn chips, pretzels, cookies, cakes. Here are the brightly lit refrigerators with their myriad juices and colas and wine coolers.
Read MoreBack in Minnesota, my mother is preparing to preach a sermon to her conservative congregation about how it is God's plan for us to welcome Muslims into our communities in no uncertain terms. She fully expects to be booed out of the pulpit and possibly fired, but she is doing it because she knows it is right.
Read MoreIt’s a shameful thing to discover your ten-year-old stepson sucking face with his foot-tall Princess Amidala doll. In broad daylight. For anyone walking by his room to see. I’m quiet at first; I’m not here to give the kid a complex.
Read MoreIt was at exactly 2: 22 Mountain Time when all the dogs started barking and howling, no growling, no whining, and the Light Sleepers woke first, and started yelling hush, and the more Concerned Sleepers got out of bed to see why their dogs were barking…
Read MoreThat night, I heard the sound of someone being killed. Not simply dying, being killed. It was a scraping, metal sound. I was the last to leave work that night, locking the back door behind me.
Read MorePicture this: you go to drinks with Mr. Clean. You’re attracted to him—he’s serious, quiet, laughs softly at your jokes. “We could go back to my place,” you say. Mr. Clean nods, not that enthusiastically. He’s playing it cool.
Read MoreWe Californians don’t know volcanoes, at least not the active kind. We don’t appreciate the viscosity of molten lava, for instance. We can’t distinguish between lava and magma, though we’re fairly certain either one can kill you.
Read MorePut the brush down for one goddamn second, her father says. But she doesn’t. She won’t. She stands by the kitchen window and pulls the brush through her hair, thick and wavy, the glory of it all fanning behind her in the sunlight like a mermaid’s.
Read MoreI am standing on the corner in my blue flannel nightgown that I’ve had since high school, waiting for the bus to come in. Cesar is on that bus, I know it. I saw him get on at Geary and Van Ness when he switched from the 28-Geary downtown to the 43-Van Ness to the beach.
Read MoreOur neighborhood had two in-ground pools, and I never got to swim in either one.
The fancy, lagoon pool may not have really looked like a lima bean. I never saw it, only heard the Jackson 5 music vibrating into my bedroom during one of the Smith’s* frequent evening pool parties.
Read More