In addition to the parapet of Beanie Babies bordering his desk, I envied Andrew his hitchhiker’s thumb.
I’m told she skipped school.
It’s that moment after everyone is gone, all your friends, new and old …
My pulse hit below 30. Worse than the previous times.
I didn’t bring two mugs of tea up to bed this morning. Just an Earl Grey for me.
I wake up sweating because the electricity is out again.
My hands have been shaking more than usual.
The power lines stretch like a musical score, the perching birds a sonata unplayed.
A boy-man too young to be a doctor diagnosed me with Holiday Heart.
I stroke my late grandmother’s silver spoon, hung around my neck with black ribbon.
… I saw Chessie, chair bouncing behind, running up 18th Street …
I enter the kitchen through the crackle of bacon and my parents’ anger.
No one else in the hall was in love like we were, not my friends at the table sipping Cinzano, not the DJ, not even the other smooching couples.
As the morning fog cleared I realized that my mother was crying.
My mysterious neighbor’s lips curve in a sardonic smile and a single eyebrow rises mockingly when I hand her the bag.
I wasn’t prepared for the hormone-induced anxiety that accompanied my first pregnancy.
He plays gin, without cards and without any other players.
As I stumbled through the prayer book, I thought of my own bat mitzvah.
“What are you doing still awake?” followed by “Do you want a snack?”
“Can I tattoo you?” asks six-year-old Andrew.