Crisp and white, bars of light crept across the bedroom floor. I sighed and lifted the covers, awake after crawling to bed and not sleeping for five hours. I slouched to the window and lifted a slat to see a fullish moon hanging above the rooftops, washing out the imperfect glow of street lights lining […]
Rest. By Richard Jones It’s so late I could cut my lights and drive the next fifty miles of empty interstate by starlight, flying along in a dream, countryside alive with shapes and shadows, but exit ramps lined with eighteen wheelers and truckers sleeping in their cabs make me consider pulling into a rest stop […]
They’re wedged in the backseat, grandfather and grandson, en route to theWay of Lights, because even after Christmas there is always the Way. It’s a bring-your-book road trip, but magazines are okay, too. Scientific American this time, its cover a radiant brain floating in sapphire. Which is how I imagine the inside of his skull. He flips the […]
Ever since Pac-Man and Jules Verne, Ian pays special attention to the Doodles.
Chapter six is titled, ‘Out of the Frying Pan, into the Fire’. Seven-year-olds are intimately familiar with the concept, but I’m not sure if Ian’s ever heard the expression. ‘Do you know what that means?’ He shakes his head. ‘Well, imagine you’re a piece of meat, frying in a pan.’ He throws his eyes open […]
Friday at the dollar theater. Boys’ night out. Mommy at home, not disapproving of the box of Raisenets or bag of M&Ms. We’re snuggling in the arctic chill of a movie theater, and watch as the Love Interest trembles but takes the hand of our Hero as he leads her to the edge of the […]
On the tailgate of the truck parked next to our car was a bright, yellow ‘#1 Dad’. I pointed and shook my head, ‘Well, that’s just incorrect.’ Ian looked at me and frowned, because it’s a foregone conclusion. ‘That’s right, Daddy. You’re one dad!’
Lost Childhood By: David Ignatow How was it possible, I a father yet a child of my father? I grew panicky and thought of running away but knew I would be scorned for it by my father. I stood and listened to myself being called Dad. How ridiculous it sounded, but in front of me, […]
Lasagna, left-over or otherwise, is a soothing balm unto my soul. It is comforting, restorative, and cheesy. It was dinner tonight, with warm, crusty, garlic bread. I was a happy man, and made it known. ‘Daddy,’ Ian said, ‘you’ve got a whole lasagna thing goin’ on in your life.’
Ian didn’t say anything. He took a breath, stopped, and looked at me with…not panic. Not fear. But there were questions.