The American Talisman

I have a deep abiding love for convenience stores. They are clean and succinct. They don’t require anything extra of me, neither bra nor brush, conversation or confrontation. They give me protein, caffeine, and those pillowy  “Bon Appetit” cream danishes that can set the worst of worlds to rights. There are lots of convenience stores…

This is where it hurts.

And don’t we all have our gashes. That wound that is just yours, in your secret tender spot. 100 people, poked in that particular place, might wince, might slap away a tiny sting in irritation. But you, you can’t stand even the thinnest chafe, the warmest puff of wind. The nerves are inflamed, torn muscles…

Fester like a sore – and then run.

  What happens to a dream deferred?  I can tell you. The problem starts when you realize the life you assumed was just going to happen, like it does on TV and for your favorite famous people, requires a shit-ton of suffering to get. Years of it. And, you have to be naturally good at…

People will pay you to be inhumane.

The papers were not in the order they’d been given to me on the clipboard. The writing on them was a silent, jagged screech of protest against clipboards that are bigoted against left-handers, though I’d be hard pressed to explain how a flat board accomplishes this. I just know it does. Also, I hate paperwork.…

Goodwill, Unopened and Cruel.

Crystal died so fast.

She never knew what to make of me. Our daughters had been best frenemies since age six, their squealing little naked bodies careening through our small house, slipping on laminate, streaking from their daring “night swim” in our inflatable Intex Quik-Set into a hot shower.