At fifty-three, there is an ungainly weight to Dr. Elijah Crutcher’s body, a lack of spontaneity that he feels in his thighs as he goes up, up dark steps, following his young lover’s angry flight. She is twenty-eight. Moments ago, at the art reception beneath, she laughed effusively with the gallery host, the curator, a…
Kei wears everything he needs to look the part: sunglasses, even when the sky is darkening; a black suit, the sort most people only wear to Buddhist funerals, with a pack of Hopes visible in the breast pocket. He never takes off his coat, no matter the season, and when the occasion presents itself, Kei…
He started in Calais, rolling his scooter off the ferry as the sun came up, not exactly looking forward to the thirteen hours he estimated were ahead of him but eager to see Allabella at the end of his ride. By lunchtime his ass was numb and he was bone-shivered and weary but his heart…
The lights come up on the office of DR. GEORGE FROBISHER, a psychiatrist. The office is pleasantly and expensively furnished. FROBISHER is in his late fifties or early sixties, a handsome man with swept-back white hair. He’s wearing slacks and a nice sport coat, no tie. He sits at his desk (stage left), making notes….
“They think I’m a fraud.” “They think I’m a fraud.” I like to repeat this to myself in the mirror before I go out and do my job. It might seem weird to say something cruel right before I perform, but I thrive on the self-doubt. If I go out there feeling too confident, then…
1. Where the Dead Speak Odessa, 1923: The executioners are all drunk, of course, and the snow is slippery as Prisoner Z stumbles to join the others before the firing squad. He pulls at his shirt, sweat-soaked, though he can see his breath. He’s worn it a week now. Beside him, fellow prisoners reeking of…
In the field behind Scoop’s house was an abandoned Pontiac Firebird and inside this Firebird was a three-foot-long rat snake, and I said, “Kill it,” but Scoop said no, that was bad luck, what had the snake ever done to us, and using a branch, he wrangled it from the driver’s seat. “The King of…
On the third day of vacation, we woke in our rental cabins by the ocean to find half our flip-flops were gone. One of the baby’s potato-size sandals was missing as well. By the door, out on the patio, wherever we’d left a pair of shoes, only one remained. From some pairs, it was the…
Graduation Day at New Castle Correctional. Hot and hopeful under the August sun, air crinkling above the highway. Except my very used Dodge Neon didn’t care for the heat, flatlining a few hundred yards from daycare. I glanced at Ryan, then coasted to the shoulder, gravel dinging the chassis. No way could I make it…
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