He texted his landlord the lie that he had Covid, even though he knew Ben was away on a road trip. But Ben could come back at any minute. Maybe he’d grown a little paranoid. But the apartment had gotten that bad. In the kitchen, he had put out the apple cider vinegar and dish soap for the flies the night before. Weeks too late. There were dishes in the claw foot bathtub and compost in the kitchen sink. The drain to the kitchen sink didn’t work. But he couldn’t let Ben know that, of course, because Ben would have to come into the apartment to fix it and to let him in would be to get evicted.
In the main room, a sense of paper overwhelmed the eye.…
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I took two pills and danced my way through Sunday swaying in the chapel. Life started here, she met dad in the basement by St. Marks stained glass votive. Bible study, 1956, two college kids in the basement of a church unable to tell cigarette smoke from incense. Fire in their psalms, tongues, and palms. Julie and I shared a moment there, half whispering prayers to a god you both deserted for the new lights in Missoula. We both left Montana, Julie and I, though we will always find it to be home. Sickly sweet small town kind of love. Everybody pours out of doors to head to the big things, weddings, funerals, baptisms. What they won’t tell you is how they peek out of windows for the little things, pregnancies, breakups, Lydia and Marie’s lavender garden.…
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I didn’t reply to Jacob’s last text message to me, but I did show up to his funeral. I’d spent the entire morning deciding what to wear. A lot of the clothes that I once wore don’t quite fit me the way they used to in high school.
Is wearing black to a funeral mandatory? If funerals are truly meant to be a celebration of life, why can’t people wear something bright? I thought about wearing my orange polo, but I was worried I’d stand out too much. Maybe the key is to wear something somewhere in-between. So I went with gray.
A funeral is just a little bit different from a high school reunion. At high school reunions, you get to see who potentially has their life together and who doesn’t.…
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The directions were as follows: Apply a one-inch strip of toothpaste onto a soft-bristle toothbrush. Brush teeth thoroughly for at least two minutes twice a day (morning and evening) or as recommended by a dentist. Do not swallow. Spit out after brushing.
He wasn’t sure whether his toothbrush was a soft-bristle toothbrush. It may have been a medium- or hard-bristle toothbrush toothbrush. The toothbrush was old. He’d thrown away the packaging on the day he’d opened the toothbrush. Or within a few days thereafter, anyway. He wasn’t a slob. He examined the toothbrush. It bore no indication of the type of bristle, unfortunately. As a matter of fact, the only word to be found on the toothbrush was the name of the manufacturer. For the purpose of corporate branding.…
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I brought dinner to Martin and Elouise as they sat in their usual spot in front of the window of the nursing home. It overlooked the snow-covered courtyard and although it wasn’t much it was definitely the best seat in the house. They were silent but offered me the same smile of gratitude that had become a part of our nightly routine. Their liver-spotted hands shook as they picked up their silverware, feebly cutting at the chicken pot pie, and spooning tepid bites into their dentured mouths.
I returned to the kitchen thinking of their love, a sixty-year marriage filled with children, a home, good jobs; the adjective of their life would be stability and I didn’t know if this was something to envy or to pity.…
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A first-year teacher met her second husband in the supply room on the first day of school. He handed her the Post-it notes from the top shelf. She liked his Southern accent and his forearms. The way he had folded his shirtsleeves caught her attention, cotton like magnolia petals collapsed on the lawn of a sprawling estate. She sensed he would be important to her.
At the end of her first day in the classroom, the woman felt defeated. She cried at her desk, wondering what she had gotten herself into when he appeared in the doorframe a 6’4” Virgin Mary apparition sporting a goatee.
The faculty offices were in a back building; they were tiny dorm-like rooms, honeycombed with built-in desks and modest closets. Long ago, this space had been the living quarters of nuns from St.…
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Today I walked around the city with a white noise machine. Not an app played through headphones but a box, both futuristic and antediluvian, used during nights too loud or too silent to sleep. It ran on electricity so I snuck into my dad’s garage and took his generator, zipping it into a duffle bag and slotting my arms through the straps.
Then, I carried it around the city looking for you.
It rumbled against my spine, and I felt touched for the first time since your impression faded from that side of my bed. The soft whir distracted me from your high-rising, staccato accent, the one you explained as particular to your side of the Port. Despite the distance you traveled to arrive, were it not for the machine, I’d have heard you everywhere.…
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