17 3 0
|
i. 1980 I told the mechanic, Bill Muncy, I was taking my red VW Beetle—Illinois license plate ASH 114—on a cross-country trip, and he tuned her up. Days later, Jody and I loaded her with yellow split peas and fresh vegetables, a…
|
563912
|
Madeleines, which he hadn’t touched in twelve years, had a place in all this, were accessories in his daughter’s violation.
|
136263
|
Seph loved to scare her mother in the garden by picking up a worm with the tines of her gardening fork and chasing her with it, the dirty-pink body twisting on the end. Dee would scream a little, always eyes on the worm, and run slowly, as if…
|
104220
|
Look at this castle: fashioned from the sturdiest sand, pages of my name
|
4573
|
It’s got four seats and a wheel and it’s faithful as hell, her father used to say.
|
101752
|
The increasingly furrowed lines on his forehead made her stomach clench.
|
124830
|
“Listen, Mother – you’re my ticket out of this burg and I’m not about to cash it in!”
|
1992
|
Her hair when she bent over flipped across her face and caused a short but alterable period of sight deprivation. The thought that occurred to her during this brief interval centered on the day her mother came home from work and discovered a horror in the kitchen. To this…
|
15091410
|
Momma’s hands smell of vanilla.
|
98150
|
She sat Indian style against the strawberry tree. In her hand she held a little mirror and a note that her father left her that morning.
What a night, eh? See you in the morning.
That’s what it said.
|
127953
|
"Bortne! Bortne! Shushort!" she exclaims, shooting her hands over her wobbly head in pleasure, causing it to again pop off. This time, it's a three story drop from a balcony.
Terrified, he yells "Sneeeeew nuuuu! Oh nee padoooo!"
|
60175
|
After the daughter leaves, the mother develops a problem with food. There is always too much, or not enough. There is never the right amount of food in the house after the daughter leaves.
|
59107
|
“Can you let the love win?” she asked.
A reasonable question.
|
23767
|
Now it was, distorted as it was through the sepia tones of mourning. It's that sweet spot - the place where fantasy and memory collide. It's what makes reality livable.
|
7351
|
Another miracle is that the cake was a success, even without buttercream frosting. Yes, it was Swiss chocolate. It still is Swiss chocolate. The cake is still there. The cake is not gone.
|
