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Clayton unfolded the note and read slowly down the page, the color draining from his face with each passing word. When he finished reading, he slid the note into his shirt pocket and tried to think what he might say to the girl; it was hard enough for him
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119740
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My mother looked up and began to laugh, it was a nervous tittering, but there was delight in her eyes at the crazy spectacle of our small black puppy eluding, probably taunting all these armed police.
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1421915
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The first task was ridiculously easy. You rigged up the ladder from the unlocked communal laundry room. I climbed up and squeezed through the open bathroom window. I was skinny enough then to still fit through the bars, head, shoulders, and all. I opened the…
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He rose up from the ground, already feeling the headache left from the fall. He tasted blood. It was coming from his nose and lip.
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The mother continued to stand, marooned in her isolation and Isis' hostility in between table and bed and under the overhead which cast a blue tinge, she held the newspaper- The Daily Mail- which embarrassed Isis- aloft and at an angle, one leg position
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99365
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He doesn't call, not even on her birthday. She doesn't mention it or complain. She knows she doesn't have it as bad as some, even in this privileged Triangle of North Carolina. She is white and pretty and belongs to what's left of the middle…
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"I didn’t take my mother’s denial of my dream lightly. I wanted it desperately. I cried and pleaded, nagged and begged. On several occasions, I temperamentally got out of the car at a stop sign and walked. Once, my mother said that I was nagging her so mu
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33232
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And part of us wants to cry at the stained undershirts your dad wears.
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Still I've said: motherhood is not for me. / And my own mother has cringed, thinking / of how she has tied her whole life / around that role.
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No one in her right mind would cut off the arms of a starfish just to see, slowly, how they grow back miraculously with age...
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Just another two years and he could leave, like Walt had. The steam rose from his mug in a slow brooding way. His mother smiled from across the narrow kitchen table. The tablecloth had a pea-sized brown stain in one corner. A few years ago, Jeremy had cut
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"Who will now give us our bread?"
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The night my mother dies we'd watched Solaris at the Quad Cinemas Afterward Hauser and I videotape each other, ask probing questions like where do you go when you die, and what is God, and who are you now? …
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He kept one scarf. It was the scarf that she would tie around his eyes to play with him, long, until he was in his teens. A silly game that made her happy and he squirmed with delight until he got too old. She did not want him to see her, only to know if
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Now, gazing into Greg’s expectant eyes, the only Chinese word Deepti could summon was kuei. Ghost. Before that summer, her mother flipped through the pages of Maxine Hong Kingston’s memoir every day, as if she could glean magic from the touch of her finge
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