Trespassers
Centipedes crept out of the drains of our old house at night. They materialized suddenly, high on the white walls, reddish and hairy, terrible. The sight of their countless filament legs made my nose and ears itch, and my skin crackle. It was awful to rise in the morning and see one quivering near the...
A Brief History of Sex Education
In the summer of 1979, I was Mark Merlini’s girlfriend for four hours. He lived down the street and suddenly seemed cute, so we kissed for about a half-hour on the hill behind his house, facing the Route 11 bypass in Gilford, New Hampshire. He kissed with his mouth open so of course I opened...
The Boat People
The women here put on their makeup like rust-proofing. Preschoolers toddle through the trailer park mud puddles, splashing and pimp-cussing. Teenage girls in sweat pants and ratty NASCAR t-shirts smoke over parked strollers, hips set at a permanent baby-propping cant. The afternoons oxidize like trailer tin. Still, there are boyfriends, and emotions worth screaming over,...
The Power of the Cap
I used to drive defensively through thirty miles of back roads on my way to work. In a land of pick-up trucks and long-finned, rusty Cadillacs, if I overtook, or tailgated, or flicked my brights too often, I could get the finger. Or an angry male might speed up, so I couldn’t pass in time...
Answering Personals
The one I don’t want has telephoned three times; the one I want has telephoned once. The one I don’t want will wear Bermuda shorts, a sleeveless tee, sneakers, and wait for me at South Station so I can buy coffee at one of the kiosks there. The one I want will wear a Brooks...
In Seventh Grade
We lived in a gated yellow palace with a staff of servants and a flat roof in the Indian Sub-continent. Maybe it wasn’t a palace, but by American standards we lived pretty high on the hog. We had a cook, house-boy, gardener, two drivers and a night security guard, who all lived in a cramped...
But What About the Babies?
Despite his now wasted muscles, he slides the iron deftly over the old-fashioned, striped pajama shirt he irons on the living room floor. He learned this way as a kid, he confesses, sitting in a chair and bending from the waist. He always did his sisters’ dresses, and still loves to iron. At first glance,...
Taste
Our grandmother, our Bubbeh, was proud of her ability to turn a cooked cow’s brain out onto a plate with all of the delicate folds intact. Zaydeh smacked his lips as he covered the surface of the brains with coarse black pepper. He held out a forkful of spicy thalamic lobe to my older brother....
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