In a chemistry classroom somewhere along the Gulf Coast, students struggle to complete a laboratory experiment involving colorful liquids in glass test tubes while their teacher looks on. A mounted television monitor is tuned to the weather channel. The sound is muted, but it’s clear from the map that a major hurricane is headed towards the city.   *   Stiltski (“it’s Polish,” he tells everyone, even though he is clearly not of Polish descent), the smallest boy from the chemi

It came silently in the night but not without warning. And now she marveled at how quickly and completely the interloper had overtaken the landscape. The intruder’s blanket of white was indeed quite a sight. But how such beauty could cause so much angst for her she deemed bitterly ironic. Her teenage children were ecstatic that their school had closed due to the winter storm. But she had no reason to celebrate. She’d be expected to work, albeit from home, while her offspring

James arrived at the synagogue early. Almost fifteen years had passed since he'd last been here. It hadn't changed, a stark structure of old brick with no adornments of any kind. In the cool morning air the sounds of his leather shoes were sharp on the stone steps. The sun was bright, the day brisk. He took a deep breath, barely invigorated by the cold rush that filled his lungs, and opened the heavy wooden door. Exhaustion wrapped his body like an old blanket. Too many

Dr. Benoit was only a bit saner than his patients. Volunteering on Christmas Eve felt rash to his office partners, but the veteran psychiatrist insisted. He’d received an emergency call from a healthcare protection officer at noon, and by twelve-thirty, Dr. Benoit drove his compact car five hours downstate through hoary weather, listening to past recordings from the involuntary psychiatric wing’s most precarious patients including… her . When he arrived at Gray Ridge Hospital

Dust danced between the sunbeams shining through the front window of the old shop. The smell of lavender and mildew drifted through the small space, which was filled with a maze of bookshelves, many of them pressed at odd angles against each other. The individual shelves were organized in a similar manner, each decorated with random objects—books, jewelry, herbs, vials, clocks—all ranging from magical to ordinary.   Lena had spotted the shop as she roamed the cobblestone st

Mr. Morton needed a new pair of shoes.  That’s what Grace had said in her message.  His loafers were tattered and the soles had worn thin.  But even more than replacing the loafers, he needed dress shoes.  Something nice that would go with the black suit hanging in his closet.  It just wouldn’t look right otherwise is what Grace had said.  And now the shoes had been added to Rosie’s “To Do” list.  A list that Rosie had never failed to fulfill. Rosie was wondering about the

A magnet held the snippet to Leah’s refrigerator door. She remembered the jagged hole the words left when she desperately cut the lines out of the Burgundy Square Gazette  on that rueful May day in 1983. The divorced man’s inability to commit is his problem and has nothing whatsoever to do with your supposed inadequacies. And the biggest mistake a woman can make is to assume she is responsible for a divorced man’s unstable feelings. She knew she ought to throw the littl

I leaned against my father’s truck, breathing in the humid city air. I didn’t live in this part of town. It was too rich for my blood. But my father delivered ice to over a dozen restaurants in the city, including a couple in this area. “Hey,” someone shouted from across the street. I looked the man’s way and raised my index finger, pointing it at my chest. “Yeah, you,” he said. “Come here.” I glanced over my shoulder, spotting my father inside the restaur

The fishermen saw the smoke first. Their shouts alerted the men in their workshops on the hill, who seized what tools might serve for...

When we practice generosity and forgiveness, we reflect the image of God. – Mac Canoza I was sitting on the toilet when I got the...

She lived for the cool night breeze, like a cloud in the sky, free and easy, always wandering. I often wondered if she’d just wandered...

Dedicated to Louis Clinton Carrier, my grandfather          I remember running through the forest of endless trees, skylight breaking...

The tracks parallel the Japan Sea coast. On one side, a fishing boat’s lights on dark water, on the other, towns too small for a stop,...

Do I or do I not cross? The question echoes in my mind as I watch the rolling hills outside my window. Clumps of green that rise and...

I was thirteen years old that July in 1952 that they let Uncle Buddy out of the pen long enough to come home for Mammaw’s funeral, or so...

One night when I was about 10, I dreamt I was in a library. A lady walked up. She looked familiar. She didn’t say anything but when...

Four weeks in, as a petition for absolution, I hiked, occasionally encountering other pilgrims as we weaved France’s verdant, wooded,...

I didn’t know at the time how I came unstuck. It happened on a day like any other day. I was taking a walk in my neighborhood. I do this...

The white GM box truck with ‘J Corduroy, Antiques – Collectibles’  on the side in scraped brown paint bounced us as the big tires rolled...

Which is the more difficult thing to do—love your immediate surroundings for the way they nurture you? Or hate them for all that they’ve...