Then Mr. Flip Flop says, “I would like the steak—the kitchen needs to cut it into cubes and skewer it.”
Read MoreI can’t recall how the argument began. It was one of those marital spats that started as nothing and became something it never should’ve been. Sweet grapes unexpectedly crushed, boiled, and barreled until they were so acidic they could cut tongues.
Read MoreThe house where I live is deep in the woods. The driveway is overgrown with moss. A defiant mushroom has pushed up through the tar where the drive meets the street. How its roots wound their way under and up, I cannot imagine. It is ready to pick, or poison.
Read MoreGrowing up in Alabama, I measured childhood in four seasons: summer; football season; Christmas season; and right after, stretching across the calendar until May, was always the longest season—tornado season.
Read MoreWhen I was at boarding school, it was my misfortune to be in love with my bullies. Their dark suaveness thrilled my bones.
Read More