Vivian R McInerny
Bio
A former daily newspaper journalist, now an independent writer of essays & fiction published in several lit anthologies. The Whole Hole Story children's book was published by Versify Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2021. More are forthcoming.
Stories (75/0)
Clothes Talk
William Shakespeare is my fashion idol. It's not because of his puffy pantaloons or saggy tights or frilly Elizabethan collars though I could make a solid argument for a pantaloon revival in the New Year. They're probably more comfortable than yoga pants. And one could discreetly carry snacks in the folds of fabric. Have you ever tried to do a downward dog with a full-sized candy bar stashed in the tiny pocket stitched into the waistband of most yoga pants? Don't.
By Vivian R McInerny2 years ago in Humans
A Brilliant Idea
This was the precise moment I realized I was a saint. On a cold and velvet black December morning, I looked out the kitchen window and gasped. Perfectly framed in the frosty pane shone the Star of Bethlehem! The nuns told us stories about saints who saw holy visions and how, at first, they were called liars or crazy. I’d recently earned both titles after an incident involving my little brother’s face and my fists.
By Vivian R McInerny2 years ago in Fiction
Meditations and Me, Me, Me
I really should be enlightened by now. Some people envisioned their future with flying cars. I pictured not a car but my body flying, or more accurately, levitating. Nothing fancy, just a modest hover. Enlightenment would make me humble that way.
By Vivian R McInerny2 years ago in Longevity
White Out
My high beams hit the front porch like spotlights on a stage. The cop squints my way. Aunt Martha waves. She’s wearing a puffy down vest over pajamas tucked into winter boots two sizes too big. I kill the engine and roll into her driveway. The snow makes a muffled crunch beneath the tires. More snow is falling. The path is disappearing into white. Earlier in the week, I shoveled a strip from the house to the driveway down to the mailbox so Aunt Martha wouldn’t fall and break a bone. Now that seems the least of her dangers.
By Vivian R McInerny2 years ago in Fiction
A Bed Time Story
I’ve ditched chairs with no regrets. I once separated from a wool rug just because I wanted to see something else. And when a vintage dinette set — so charming during our first five years together — began to bore me, I threw it in the back of the station wagon, drove out to a charitable donation center and left it without so much as a backward glance.
By Vivian R McInerny2 years ago in Families
Dying to Know
Call me morbid. When my oldest daughter was little, we used to go for walks through a cemetery in our neighborhood. But I wasn't some ghoulish creature of the night with a fetish for death. We live in a city and the cemetery was one of the largest green spaces within walking distance. The big shade trees and cool stone markers offered respite on hot days. I'd often see people sitting under the branches of the elms, or leaning against the cool of a crypt contemplating life and the end of it.
By Vivian R McInerny2 years ago in Humans
Drawing Conclusions
My mother lit her cigarette and blew smoke toward the ceiling like a silver screen star. She enjoyed the drama of smoking back then. She used a fancy lighter with mother-of-pearl sides and small brass feet so that it stood on the coffee table like a delicate urn.
By Vivian R McInerny2 years ago in Fiction
Lost and Found in Afghanistan
It was late. We were lost. All the shops were closed and padlocked for the night. Winding our way through the tamped-earth streets of old Herat, Afghanistan, we tried to find our way back to the hostel. We went down passageways that seemed vaguely familiar, only to have them dead end or loop us back to where we'd come. My companion grew frustrated. I felt a dangerous combination of hunger, exhaustion and rising panic as dusk faded to black.
By Vivian R McInerny2 years ago in Wander
A Good Sister is a Great Friend
School pictures were like final exams for your face. They went on your permanent record. Back when good cameras were rare and film unpredictable, a “professional” school picture was the most reliable barometer of who you were and what you wore, albeit a stiff formal portrait version of yourself.
By Vivian R McInerny2 years ago in Families