Stories tagged nostalgia

December 1999

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... and you can’t balance your checkbook or divide a three-way bill in a restaurant but you can still recite all the sixteen ways of SHAUN CASSIDY TELLS: 16 WAYS TO TURN ME ON!

Intricacies

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None of the tables were cool. How did I get mixed up with this lazy crowd of mediocre mind rapists? Their hygiene was suspicious. Their eyes did not match.

Progress

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We drown in the details— what to bring to potluck, where to meet for coffee. There's a Starbuck's on the corner where we once sold lemonade, our homemade sign coming apart in an attic somewhere. We sift through the rubble for the…

The World of YES

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You could almost taste the candy apple lip gloss and salty kisses from guys with wet brown hair and names like Chad and Heath.

Monkeytown excerpt 2

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Sometimes I envy Grandpa Phil, sitting in a well-lit room in Fort Lauderdale, gently sinking under the faded ripples of an Alzheimer’s sunset, his memories only reappearing in brief, almost incoherent kaleidoscope bursts. Sign me up.

An Excerpt from "Lucidity"

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It had been early December. We were dressed in gym shorts and tanks, only one towel to share between the two of us. We had managed to sneak into the public swimming pool area without being noticed by security, Schmidt always convincing me to accept sponta

Wintry

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I heard the sound of a frozen flag clanging against its pole, ice on metal, the present on the past.

Prayer to Ray Bradbury

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Dear Ray Bradbury, yesterday was my thirteenth birthday, and I could not stop thinking of the Mennonite girl in the milkwhite bonnet, the squint of her eye, the twitch of her anxious finger on the trigger, sudden holes bloomi

Tonight

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Let's fuck like 20-year-olds, darlingwrap ourselves around each otherand fuck our way to the starsLet's cross that line between you and meand the stuff people pay to seeI know pleasure and it is thisall over me, you, covering,…

SNOW ANGEL

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I do this when I think of you. Today we took the first steps towards you're never here.

Fragile Things

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She asks me what she should do, and I say I don't know because I'm no good at handling fragile things. She says, let's talk about you. I say I can't - phone signal, you know. She calls me anyway, twice, then leaves a message saying that she just wanted to

Post-Probity

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After dividing the sabliereand after the outliers roll away,disappear,or sit like a thrombus between two fingers,will there be enough in the dayfor you to watch the sun saginto its everyday tomb,to listen to the sagittal sighof a passing evening,to eat the last fruits of a…

Olfactory Hues

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When summers at the dacha come to mind, the memories are scattershot. I like when they surface, but I don’t hold on to any of the fragments for too long. Not because anything unpleasant went on there; to the contrary, I remember those summers spent at our

Trout Flies

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Then he told us tales of skulls and planks, galleons and parrots, silver and gold on crystal Jamaican seas under deep ruby skies.

The Wren

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1975. Mouthfuls of good champagne. Tailor-made jackets. Orgies on yachts anchored only a mile off Sandbanks. Silky Vanderbilt patterned linings. Cherry red lipstick stains. Cut-glass bowls brimming with icy white powder.