Surrounded by all things bright and beautiful, writing all things dark and gloomy.
In the Swell
On the twentieth of June, my son drowned while I got my dick sucked at a cheap motel in Annandale. I faked a call from work and met my ex in the same room as always. I came home late that night to an empty house and when I turned my phone on, I had a hundred missed calls. As the clock turned and the day with it, I drove to the hospital to find my family destroyed.
Gratitude, Part 1
Wednesday Morning 1. Susan If there's a holiday I don't care about, it's Thanksgiving. But Bobby's family just goes nuts for it. Every year it's a whole procedure. Three generations of extended family (thirty people!) descend on the family farm to eat, drink, and fight over board games until the weekend is over. There's a strict schedule, a dress code, and bizarre traditions that make no sense. At least not to me.
Hot and Cold
When I think back on my high school days, I remember how cruel we were. To ourselves, to our parents, to each other. I tried to remind myself of that every time Mariah gave me sass or did something stupid, but it didn’t help me understand her. She often said I just didn’t get it, and she was right. They say your brain isn’t developed until your mid-twenties and it must be true, because I can’t remember why we were so cruel, or what logic went into the dumb shit we did. My memories of my young years are glazed with hormones, hot with the conviction that everything was rigged against me. It’s not like I woke up at 26 and thought cool, I’m done cooking now. What a weird ride that was. It’s more like one day I called my dad and realized we weren’t talking past each other anymore. We were finally speaking the same language.
Songs of Love and Loss
Led Zeppelin - Stairway to Heaven Once a month on Friday nights, your middle school hosts a dance in the school gym. You wear as much makeup and as little clothing as your mom will let you get away with, shedding layers and borrowing lipstick in the girl's bathroom once you get there. Your dad ruins your life by volunteering to chaperone every single dance.
The Artist's Way
For as long as I've been alive, I've wanted to be a writer. My mom fondly recalls that as a toddler, long before I could write, I would scrawl long, doodley lines on paper and make her 'read' them to me. All through middle and high school, I wrote constantly. I wrote for pleasure, but more importantly, I wrote for compliments. Nothing frustrated me more than editing. Nothing disappointed me more than my teachers' criticism.
In the Glow
It was a time of cigarettes lit in subway cars, of armed robberies at every bodega in my neighborhood, of waste. Bars were drawn over every storefront. Lines stretched around the block of my grocery store all day, every day. Construction stopped and stalled. Gentrification crawled its way back to the suburbs and stewed there.
- First Place in Sensational Challenge
- Runner-Up in Broken Mirror Challenge
The TrickRunner-Up in Broken Mirror Challenge
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. It was almost mine. But the brows were pale and fuzzy, the lips cracked and bleeding. I twitched; the reflection twitched too. I slid a finger across a brow and brought off the chalky residue of brow gel on my fingertip. I slid my glossy lips together. The reflection mirrored the action, but grimaced as drops of blood smeared.