Her Numbers
First there is the number I found affixed to the sole of her foot one summer night, as she slept, her hair cascading, her face calm in repose, the faraway hollow ringing of a bay buoy in the night air: 75365, printed on a tiny slip of paper. After a moment I realized that it...
Just Desserts
It seemed only fitting that the Manzelli boys should be poisoned in our garage. It was there, after all, amid the monkey wrenches and hopelessly sealed cans of turpentine, that they perpetrated some of their most memorable mischief: dropping a pencil into the gas tank of Dad’s ‘69 Camaro, pouring varnish on our lawn mower,...
The Weekend
It was the end of a perfect day. If only her best friend could see her now. It was a haul to get to the vineyard and expensive considering her small salary as a receptionist. Whatever she earned was already spent on her apartment, her food, her dry-cleaning. She dipped into her paltry savings for...
Green Plastic Buckets
There’s a particular tint to the plastic buckets in Calcutta that you can’t find anywhere else in the country. A green plastic bucket in Calcutta is not the same green that you will find in Delhi or Bombay or even Madras, close as the South Indians are to the Bengalis, brothers in intellect under the...
Hurricane
Hurricane Cleo hit my home in Lake Worth, Florida when I was nine years old. My family should’ve evacuated, but the sad fact was that we couldn’t afford to. Half of the time we couldn’t afford to put gas in the car, much less drive it to a safe place, miles away, inland. My mother...
Fishing for Control
“We’re gonna hook up with a marlin today,” Captain Dennis says as we pull away from the dock of the Big Game Club in Bimini. I think of Hemingway who avoided fishing tournaments because he hated to lose. Like Hemingway, I, too, cannot stand losing. I was 12 when my father died. Mother lost her...
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