Homecoming
I miss the energy. The companionship. The routine. I miss the rah rah school spirit and the constant activity and the sense that I was always accomplishing something (seemingly) important.
For Sale: Huge Dead Fish
I am going to window shop for a while, wish that I knew what to do with a giant dead fish so that I could say I bought a giant dead fish, and then I will go and buy some delicious tacos.
When My Parents Visit
They’d gasp at the dishes stacked in the sink in my apartment, and my mom would chide me about how I hadn’t bought any fresh kimchi for so long.
Seeing Staci
I didn’t say anything. Not yet. But I was getting drunker. Not off the single beer I had to drink, but off the flood of potent memories over our last eight years of friendship.
Ketchup and Blood
My future girlfriend laughed. After that, I probably didn’t say anything for the rest of the time at the table. I had peaked with that joke, already canonized in my head, replaying it over and over in my mind.
Monday Night
Founders is exactly the sort of place that my parents would hate, and I, too, will probably hate when the novelty of standing on a sticky floor until 12:00 a.m. wears off.
Going Home
I am no stranger to nostalgia. My mom tells me that when I was younger I used to hug the Christmas tree after it had been taken down and dragged to the curb.
Etching No. 43
A girl, age four, is in bed with the quilt scrunched up to her chin. Her blond curls quiver. She is petrified. There is a monster in the closet.
A Fire Devours Before Him
It started out as a family errand: Ahmed Haithem Ahmed was driving his mother, Mohassin, to pick up his father from the hospital where he worked.
Silver and Gold
Friends who I can count on to read my work and respond sincerely to it. Friends for drinking coffee, for studying, for drinking a glass of wine while playing board games.
