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After the service, I became visible again. Folks asked me if I enjoyed the service, and I had to say yes, I did, because I did get into singing and clapping and all that. XY spoke to me. He told … Continue reading
Tag Archives: fiction
One weekend, my parents were out of town and Righteous was at some religious camp for good little boys. So Kurt spent the night. The Sci-Fi channel was running a “Prisoner” marathon that weekend, the show about an ex-spy who … Continue reading
(Editor’s Note: This story is an expansion of “The Burrito Kiss” which was published on the gar spot previously. The story is set c. 1992.) Saturday nights meant church service and that usually meant glares and taunts from Righteous, my older … Continue reading
Rick called on Lionel’s cell just as he was packing up his briefcase. It had been a long ass day filled with too many meetings about too much stuff that they had been dealing with for too long and he … Continue reading
Sonja didn’t tell her everything. She didn’t tell her about her father’s cackling. But she did tell her about the origin of the pink ribbon. She did mention Rick’s name. And she did tell her that Mickey met his late … Continue reading
“Sonja! Oh my God, girl, how are you? How’s it blowing?” “It’s blowing,” she replied with a smile that Leticia could hear over the phone. “It’s good to hear from you, Sonja.” As Mickey rounded out the ballad he … Continue reading
He stood eyes closed and let the notes wash over him as he leaned against the wall, a Diet Coke hanging from one hand. He barely allowed her to speak when she arrived. “Take it out and play something,” he … Continue reading
As soon as Lionel entered the family room, tie undone, shirt untucked, beer can in hand, his eyes fell on the saxophone. It has occupied the same corner, slouched at the same unaltered angle, for the past four days. Dust … Continue reading
“The Passion Flower series, Mr. Gale,” he said after a long sip of brandy, “you asked what was the inspiration.” “Yes.” “It was my pathetic attempt at career suicide. I wanted to destroy everything I had built up. I wanted … Continue reading
We stood in front of a shelf marked 1953. A gap sat in the middle of otherwise tightly packed volumes. He began stroking the dust from the empty space. Again, it felt as if he were stroking my skin. This … Continue reading