Afterward, when she let herself into the apartment, it was with a great sense of satisfaction. She felt easy, taut, sated; all her senses were heightened in a way that made her feel triumphant. She sure did have a knack for the During, but the After always made everything so delicious to her. The gentle music of her keys against the inside curve of the bowl by the door gave her pause, for instance. Why, imagine! Such a marvel that things so simple as door keys and her grandmother's silky white bowl could come together and make subtle, pleasurable sounds!... Continue reading

My cousin Amelia languidly stood there, young enough for her mouth to still be filled with innocent words. Looking tired was her form of grief, I suppose. She’d always sung with her mouth a perfectly sweet oval, her voice light as honeysuckle and bright as foil stars turning under a spotlight. That day was no different, save for the fact that the toes of her glassy black flats pointed straight at the head of our grandfather‘s coffin. When she finished her hymn she dropped her face toward the floor and gingerly took the five steps down that led to the... Continue reading

I was the life of everyone’s parties, wry and funny, self-assured and expansive. I strove to include, to uplift, to engage. When I was in their company, no one was allowed to be left out. I never sought my social footing in any group. I was happy and secure; I can assure you with unflinching honesty that is not some wishful construct of my very healthy imagination. In the here and now, though, it’s merely an act. I am busy redirecting attentions so that the more savvy among your number won’t see my Truth. For instance, I will show you... Continue reading

It didn't start with Mr. Clement, but it was his fault. It started five days prior, when Joseph's mother gave birth to his younger sister. (They lowered her little body into the ground during what Lucia had always thought was the grandest season of the year. Only it wasn't a body in Lucia's mind; the second they closed the casket up and re-seated the splayed tumble of wild grasses and black-eyed susans atop it the little body became a tiny skeleton crafted of air-filled bones, just like a bird's. Just like the birds that she had read about last year,... Continue reading

Charlie laid her palm against the piece, forever the dutiful daughter. Claudette relaxed slightly, giving her daughter a subtle attagirl with her posture. When Charlie was uncoiled and ready, she would turn on her heel and— “I had wondered how this moment might finally find you, Charlene.” She knew his voice as well as her own, but had never been allowed to see his face until now. Charlie bared her teeth in a grimace before turning abruptly to face this interloper; the knife at her throat became just a postscripted nod at hilarity. If the Maker was here, then none... Continue reading

Charlie had never trusted her mother. Sure, she believed effortlessly that her momma would do everything within her power to see that Charlene was brought up to survive; she even knew In a fairly concrete fashion that her mother would do the standard lay-down-her-life thing that most all parents would. In these things Charlie trusted Claudette implicitly. She trusted that Claudette would never put a condition on her love, and she trusted that there were no boundaries to that love. What Charlie didn’t trust her momma with, though, were the innermost places of her spirit where all the things that... Continue reading

In the room, in that room, it always seemed like a dream. When was it you decided that you could no longer do this? The woman’s voice cold, metallic. At least she had come away from her training with something that allowed her inside of people without having to put a bullet or blade in them first. This insight elicited a giggle from something deep within Charlie’s brain. It was the sort of something that is best left to slumber. “I dunno,” Charlie intoned, edge starting to creep up on reason, “One day or one-thousand….the when of it doesn’t especially... Continue reading

His father had exhibited a hint of prophetic leanings in naming him Slick. People questioned it all the time, looked at him with suspicion even as the earnestness he was forever fighting so hard to tamp down bubbled to the surface in his answer, “My daddy had them put it down right there on the birth certificate. Hell, he stood over my momma while she signed the paperwork to make sure she didn’t birddog him and change it.” Slick was his first and only given name; there was no middle name to qualify it or overshadow it or to even... Continue reading