Fiction

Hover O’er Me With Your Wings

Back then, everybody smoked. I knew guys who could jump-start a Zippo lighter just by snapping their fingers. People smoked in restaurants, movie theaters, airplanes, trains, college classrooms, funeral homes. I’ve seen people smoking, chest deep, in swimming pools. Children smoked back then. Monkeys in roadside zoos smoked. In junior high school, we had a…

Prolific Donor

My brother—ever emotive, ever sentimental—did one of those 23andMe tests, which I had advised against, but that’s Harlan. Harlan and I are twins, extremely NOT identical—and were supposedly the product of donated sperm, plus a donated egg, which were combined and gestated in a surrogate mother. Three strangers, none of whom were our parents. We should have…

Memory

I It was possible, Mara discovered, for the smell of one place to cross oceans and airspace. One particular aroma—a drift of leather—had recently become a frequent guest, emerging for the first time in a long time on a cool July afternoon, as she sat on the balcony of her old flat in Bunga. It…

My Refugee

It is five in the morning in the worst of winter, and I wake up to a knock on the door (we bought the house last year, when everyone who could buy a house was buying a house, and were told to install a buzzer or a Ring or at least a peephole—everyone in the…

Sustain

The scam looks something like this: we offer you a piano (a concert pianist, elder statesman, has slipped this mortal coil; the piano just needs a home), the only cost being that we have to ship it to you. You know how pianos are—“unwieldy” an understatement—and so you’ll just cover the moving costs and we’ll…

Back-up Mom

What I wanted to do Saturday night was head to my crafts club meet-up at the Pride Center, one of the few queer spaces in Brooklyn where I could safely assume my craft-hating ex-girlfriend would not make an appearance. What I was compelled to do instead, per orders from my sister, Theresa, was attend my…

Havaldar of Rangoon

What you need to know about Havaldar is that he claims he can tame any animal—horses, feisty goats, guard dogs that keep barking fruitlessly into the night. But nothing is harder in the world than milking a newly calved cow. Everyone in town knows that. And so, when one cow proves to be particularly stubborn,…

Goodbye, Raymond Carver

Nick almost hit the boy. He’d been driving down Burns Avenue on his way to teach a class about a story in which a boy is hit by a car. His mind was empty, an unfamiliar vacuity that made the road—white line between lanes, hill plunging into curves and trees, truck in the rearview mirror—into…