The Year of the Short Story
Before I moved into my new apartment (with roomates) my usual morning routine consisted of one cup of oatmeal, one pot of coffee, and one short story. A few of these collections were from familiar favorites, but some were great new finds. It feels right to start the list, like the day, off with these.
Reasons for and Advantages of Breathing by Lydia Peele
I chose it because it had the best title on the new release shelf. I wasn’t disappointed. These stories, set mostly in rural …

Sigur Rós – Glósóli from sigur-ros.co.uk on Vimeo.
I love it because it reminds me of being five and jumping from the back of our patterned cloth couch to the shaggy green carpet below. For a moment, I swear, I flew.

December, 2003; October, 2005
A beautiful two-story house with white columns on both porches and a palm tree in the front yard stands on a tree-lined street in a historic Columbia neighborhood. I drew the design of it on a napkin in Shoney’s; the builders were sitting across from me, and Caroline’s eyes were lighting up as she suggested changes she would like me to make.
“We can do that,” the builders nodded as they stared at the napkin.
It was Caroline’s idea to try to live downtown when we moved to Columbia. …

That was its beginning. That was the house. That was the porch. That was the place.
****
April, 2005
The rain was coming down harder now, splashing the tin roof above our house. We sat on the porch, crowded around a patio table, laughing, joking.
Brandon and I were smoking cigars. Nate was smoking his pipe. Derrick was coughing and his face was taking on a greenish hue. He wanted to fit in so bad, but he had never smoked before. My God, he was funny, though! Several weeks earlier, he spent the night …

Why do I look at another woman’s legs and sometimes see the tiny scar on hers?
“Tell me the story,” I used to say, my fingers brushing over it.
“It’s from a roller skating accident when I was a kid.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you ask me about it?
“I just like to think about you roller-skating when you were a kid.”
I can remember the way the light reflected differently off that small patch of skin on Caroline’s thigh, as if off of smooth plastic, but I can’t fucking remember which leg it was …