Chanelle Leonhardt
Bio
Stories (3/0)
Train of Thought
Rain smacked against the fog coated window. Its tat tat tat slowly prompted Parker’s eyelids to peel open — her head leaning against the cold hard glass. The sky outside was flickering with bouts of lightning, but the sun was still slightly visible.
By Chanelle Leonhardt2 years ago in Fiction
A Mother's Love
I numbingly stare at the dress hanging against the window, and only now on the day of my wedding, do I question my decision to not postpone it. It’s hard to imagine that a mere four weeks lie between today and the day I walked out of the fitting room to have her lace up the back of this very dress. Her dress. The dress she bought off the rack in the summer of 1983 for her July wedding. It was out of season, with its long sleeves and turtle-neckline, and only cost her seventy-five dollars — less than the amount it cost me recently to get it dry cleaned. The lace that held it together from top to bottom, and ruffle upon ruffle, was thin. It was a delicate, simple beauty. And today it is mine.
By Chanelle Leonhardt2 years ago in Fiction
Hunger Pains
I stepped off the 7 train and onto the platform, lugging my leftovers from Second Street Bakery. Two large, fluffy pancakes oozing with blueberries and saturated in melted maple butter were waiting for me. It takes a certain level of commitment to a food if you are going to traipse around the city with it afterward rather than allowing it to be swept up by some busboy, and I had just that level of commitment for these pancakes. I carried them from the Lower East Side all the way to Queens to see James, with only a little less protection a new mother would have carrying her baby. And now here I was still holding onto them as I waited on the platform for the 4 train to take me home.
By Chanelle Leonhardt3 years ago in Fiction