The Last Stories, by Annabelle Kaufman
I wonder if Zack understood the message underneath the brush-off, because he never raises the topic again in his dad’s proximity; his dying becomes a new intimacy between us.
The Intertidal Zone, by Jessica Johnson
Pregnancy plunged me into my own biology and made me long to escape by gazing, to locate the relevant biology outside a detached self. Some women crave the experience of growing a baby, but I was not one of them.
The Gorilla in the Room, by Vanessa Phillips
I killed my mom when I was 11.
Unsolicited Child Training Tip #1: Benign Neglect, by Dawn S. Davies
We are the trailer trash of our solidly middle class, suburban neighborhood. I cut my family’s hair. We drive used cars and repair them in the driveway. We light firecrackers in the backyard just for fun.
Nearly Drowning, by Vera Giles
I wanted to tell her that when I was six, my mother took me by the hand and walked me into the ocean and kept walking until my aunt stopped her. That my mother was suicidal and eventually killed herself.
Anecdotes of a Girl, by Jacqueline Maria Pierro
I have only one visitor that nigh, my father; another visit in which I had to stare with empty eyes at the room’s hideous skin—my posters of innocence were obnoxious now, the cotton candy paint I’d picked out in Home Depot was ugly now.
Things I Remember About My Childhood Home, by Christine Juneau
Over the years, my family developed a summertime ritual. Every evening at dusk, just as we finished supper by the pool, we gathered at the edge of my mother’s perennial garden to watch her evening primroses bloom.
Stripes, by Alicia Chadbourne
I left home at 17, the day my father, a Vietnam vet, choked me for opening my bedroom curtains. He said “they” were watching us. Because of “them” I was never allowed a sleepover or guest.
The Loveliness of Ladybugs, by Banks Staples Pecht
They call it a loveliness when thousands of ladybugs gather.
The Other Way Around, by Elizabeth Richardson Rau
Now you look the other way when you pass me on the street and whisper about me in the grocery checkout line. You are relieved it is not your kid who got into trouble the way mine did.