Killing Me Softly
I went to school with Jeanna. Her mom was the coolest. In the backseat of her top-down, some-type-of-Ford car, she’d twist the dial of bass and volume on the CD player into the double digits. With her hip haircut and mother of four equally popular daughters, just being in the backseat, trying to sing along, I mostly just…
Call Me By My Name
Ma’am is a word thrown around here in the South like syrup at a Waffle House. I’m not a fan. It fits like a high school letterman’s jacket after forty years and an extra hundred pounds. I repel it, really. So when a peer, a native and respectable Southerner, says it, I’ve gone from inwardly cringing to externally…
Master Expert Extraordinaire
I’m monitoring a mini icon of Dave’s face on Google Maps. My me time is dwindling because in sixteen minutes, Evelyn, red-faced from playing in 90-degree heat with a feels-like temperature of 101, will walk in the door needing me. I’ve particularly savored the past three hours. Self-care bathtub time, tossing myself a Caesar salad, and much-needed household…
Let The Mice Play
I’m liking writing less. The freedom I fantasize on the page, to far-off castles and who I become diving headfirst through a rainbow, is a locked box. No matter how hard I bang and dent it, and beg the locking-of-boxes gods for an admit-one ticket, that playfulness is not for me. I was uninhibited last night. Seated on…
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