Non-Fiction

She was already talking about me before I was born. She made the decision that I would be named Jacqueline. She would peek through the bars of my crib and blow me goodnight kisses.

“Am I dying, Mir?” he asks me, as we lie together in the narrow hospital bed, holding hands in the darkness. I sit up and turn to him. “Yes,” I say simply, “You are, Bri.”

The gully behind my aunt and uncle’s new house intrigued me. It was deep and wild, and resembled a small canyon, with lots of wooded areas for city children…

Thank God things are quiet. I guess it’s medication time everywhere in the hospital, the same way it can be Christmas everywhere in the world.

It was unusual for Aaron to call so I always answered the phone when he did. These conversations were cerebral and sometimes hard to follow…

I often take pride in the testimony that I never wore dresses as a kid. But that’s a lie. At age 5 I wore one dress – a single dress and that dress only.

I’m trying to get into our new safe deposit box, but I haven’t brought the key with me. “Can’t you open it with yours?” I ask. She gives me a quizzical look.

As a child, any time I got to spend with Dad amounted to the thumb space at the toe of a tight shoe. Dad was a general handyman in the surrounding neighborhoods…