This essay isn’t being written from a beachside towel line or from the opposite bank, where someone hands you a towel and asks how it felt. I’m writing this while I’m still in the middle of crossing, my arms tired, the current pulling at me, unable to see which direction will take me to land….
Read moreTag: Hidden battles
The Flavor of Steel
The Flavor of Steel Sunday’s roast was the first bite. I’d been waiting for it, just like I always did. My wife had prepared it the way she always had. I inserted my fork. Pennies and cardboard came back at me from the place where the fork had entered. I chewed. I swallowed. I stared…
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My Veins Have Opinions
“Which arm?” I’ve answered that question hundreds of times. At some point, I gave up waiting for it. I go into the lab. I sit in the chair. I roll up my left sleeve. I move my elbow toward the light before they say a word. Left arm. Above the crease. Always works. There’s something…
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You Look Fine
“But you look great.” She meant it as a kindness. We were standing in a grocery store aisle. I had spent ninety minutes that morning deciding whether I had enough in me to make the trip. I did. Barely. And here was someone who had known me for years, looking me over and delivering her…
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Alongside It
I found two photographs of myself. One from before. The second one from after. Both photographs were taken at the edge of a lake, and in both I held a fishing rod. In the first picture, I stood. In the second, I sat. In the first picture, I also held a cup of coffee in…
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