The weekend following the accident my daughter would tell me of how on his arrival, the woman’s husband offered to and helped my daughter move the boxes of books, copies of my novels, from the back of my SUV, its back window blown out by the impact of the crash, into the trunk of my daughter’s car.
The woman, by then had
Of A Jeep Wranger, Corporal Punishment and Compassion … Read More »
Days after the accident I would later recall the smoothness of the woman’s pink skin–the woman who had slammed her SUV into the back of mind–its lack of lines and crows feet, all of which told me she had not reached the age at
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I abandoned the idea of driving myself to the hospital as I had when the mentally ill son of a minister driving around Berkeley and shooting women, had fired two bullets into my left wrist and two others into my neck. I had been thirty-four years old then, nearly 20 year younger and with no previous concussion.
Three decades of marriage to a surgeon and my experience working as a medical technologist in a blood bank had taught me much about recognizing your limits.
On hearing the woman speak the words, “ … husband … I’m going to call him,” I had thought
Of Bullets, Hospitals, and Revisionist Historians … Read More »
by miskin69 (cont.) I had been about to enter the bathroom when my mother approached me with the inch-thick padded bearing her last name. “You will go to church with me,” she stated. “No, I won’t.” I sat upon the carpet and crossed my legs like a
Of Companionship, Black and Blue, and The Buddhist Monk’s Pyre … (continued …) Read More »
by PINOY PHOTOGRAPHER I can only imagine what the months following my father’s death felt like for my mother. Though she had always worked as an elementary school teacher and made her own money, she must have missed my father’s companionship. They had long and routine conversations despite the fact that she regularly criticized him.
Of Companionship, Black and Blue, and The Buddhist Monk’s Pyre … Read More »
The woman who had slammed into the back of my Toyota 4-Runner was not happy. “What were you doing stopped up there in the middle of the street?” she demanded.
“I was making a turn,” I said.
Sunlight bounced off her strawberry blond hair as she looked past me to the street where the impact had occurred. The debris of glass and the right half of my back bumper lay on the pavement no more than 500 yards from where we stood.
She sighed in consternation then whipping around, walked to her SUV, its front
Of Worth, “ … Calling My Husband,” and “ … I’m Sorry,” … Read More »
by Don White (Central Park, Burnaby) My mother had remained calm in the wake of my father, her husband’s death. She later admitted missing him, an admission I found confusing at best since she so-often criticized him, and not until after his death listed the personality traits for that in her opinion had made him
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