Grandma gets cranky when I ask her about Dad, so I wrote deceased under his name on the family tree. I thought it was a stupid assignment anyway.
Sister Mary Agnes calls me in during lunch. I sit in the creepy chair next to her desk, the low one that makes you feel like a little kid.
“Bring the rest of your lunch,” she tells me, but I throw it away when I follow her inside.
She takes a bite of her peanut butter sandwich, sets it down on a paper towel then twists the cap off her thermos and pours water into it. After a sip, she asks if Dad has died.
“No, ma’am,” I say.
“He moved, didn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Grown-ups ask questions they already have answers for.
… Continue reading
expired restaurant coupons from the old neighborhood, bread bag ties, hair band, tangled tape measure, wooden matches, half a packet of cut flower preservative, green plastic Brontosaurus, 37-cent postage stamp, a crazy idea, empty Scotch tape dispenser, calculator, one pill with no name, six inches of red Christmas ribbon, corks, … Continue reading
make your mouth noun
shaped now make your hands
– Pattie McCarthy, Nulls
He vanished long enough ago that he’d most likely been forgotten or declared dead. Possibly both. He’d managed to completely step away from a home, mortgage and a good paying job. Had anyone noticed? Scattered relatives, perhaps. Most likely long dead, themselves. His sister. He knew his absence would have left few to bother asking, or seeking him out. There might have been rumours. A speck in the news, and then gone. … Continue reading