On the eastern face of the six-story Student Union Building, the architect had added a striking feature—the fire escape, instead of being clad in concrete, was enclosed in a glass shell, so that all twelve flights of delicate stairs, as though suspended in air, were visible from the courtyard below. The fire escape stairwell was thus transformed from a purely functional feature into what looked more like an Escher drawing that had somehow been straightened out. On a campus of drab buildings, the stairwell was an architectural gem.
It was precisely this aesthetic quality, this airy transparency, that caught the attention of Bernard W. Boggs, erstwhile graduate and successful entrepreneur, as he was escorted across the courtyard patio one sunny day in June. Boggs had been invited to campus for a special VIP Alumni Donor dinner at Eye in the Sky, the faculty restaurant on the sixth floor of the Student Union Building.…
...continue reading
The birds are singing again. Their melody wafts through the bedroom window, and a breeze soon follows, making the curtains sway, as if dancing to the rhythm of spring.
This was always your favorite time of year.
Even if the air had a bite to it, you said it was a small price to pay to listen to that song, to feel that breeze, to breathe in those wonderful scents of the season: lilacs and magnolias and freshly-cut grass.
We weren’t religious, but you always adopted a spiritual tone this time of year, pointing to its cyclical nature: with winter comes decay, yet a few months later, life springs anew. It wasn’t heady stuff, but I loved how spring made a would-be philosopher of you, my beloved accountant, your concrete world of numbers and equations briefly melting into something mystic, something beyond words’ limitations.…
...continue reading
The keypad on his door chimed that familiar tune, which he had memorized by now. The door popped open and Doctor Chin entered his cell.
“Hello Gary. How are you today?” The doctor asked.
Chin wore jeans and a button up shirt under his white doctor’s coat, and carried a tablet.
“I’m fine, Doc.” Gary said.
He hopped off his bunk and walked across the tile floor to where two chairs sat facing each other. They were soft chairs, gray in color and matched the Spartan décor of Gary’s room.
“Let’s have a seat.” The Doctor said.
Gary, wearing a one-piece baby blue jumper complied. The blue stood out against the beige color of the rest of the room. It was a very calm institutional color.…
...continue reading
Marla folded the last of the towels and slipped them inside a large plastic shopping bag she kept for her trips to the laundromat. She was happy to be leaving. The building, squat, gray cinderblock, was poorly lit, with constant noise from the machines and the smell of accumulated lint and fabric softener. Inside her car, Marla sat with her eyes closed for a moment, relishing the quiet. She really did hate the place. She looked up at the sign with half its neon winking on and off. The Suds-a-teria. What kind of stupid name was that, anyway?
On her way home, Marla stopped at the Dollar Bonanza for a couple of frozen beef pot pies and a two-liter bottle of pop. She bought the store brand. …
...continue reading
I couldn’t remember what I was dreaming, or if I was dreaming at all. But I knew I had been sound asleep. And I was rudely awakened by a random thought: Did I make James’s lunch for school? Damn it, Sharon, did you? I twisted under the blankets and turned onto my back. I stared into the darkness of my bedroom. Did I make James’s lunch for school? The question nagged. Was I going to have to get out of bed and check? Think, Sharon!
My mind revved like a reliable engine but churned out thoughts irrelevant for the late hour. I remembered tasks for later in the week, phone calls from two days ago, and which bills got paid for the month. My memory was blank each time I was able to circle back to James’s lunch.…
...continue reading
I was sitting on the loading dock with Charlie, eating a rabbit sandwich. This was mid-November, now. Charlie shot the rabbit the day before, on a Sunday, in the woods behind his dad’s farm. I thought Charlie didn’t like me, you know. So I was surprised when he offered me a rabbit sandwich. We didn’t talk much. I was an out-of-towner. I was lucky to get a job anyplace.
Charlie usually sat in his truck, by himself, during the lunch break, staring out into the woods and smoking. Now I was sitting next to Charlie on the loading dock between two empty trucks, eating a rabbit sandwich. I didn’t want to eat it. I never ate rabbit before. But I took the sandwich, said ‘thanks,’ and I ate the sandwich.…
...continue reading
Joe my brother says, spitting smoke toward the ceiling. Another long story.
Joe I say. Joseph.
Guy is a year and a half younger. We’re both Joe. Another long story. He tips back in the recliner. We sit watching football in the parlor of our youth, monk-bald middle aged men sinking into furniture. I am back for the wail and wallow of an Italian funeral. No need to be coy; it’s my mother’s, she whose legacy was to withhold all the Italian except the swears. Let them be American. So at eighteen I left to be a real American, go to college in another city in the dead center of the country. You can’t (or at least you don’t often ) go home again. A very American story. …
...continue reading