Don’t You Swim? by Sara Lippmann If she’s smart about it, Nora can survive the whole boat ride without incident. The boat, a 60-foot catamaran, accommodates 12 other families. Plus crew. Equipment, buffet and bar. Maybe, it’s not even him, standing in line at the port with his wife, her straw tote and rash-guarded twins. His Dartmouth cap a giveaway, but maybe, he won’t recognize her. Abortion Roy. She will hustle to the stern and slather sunscreen on her children, […]
Sunday Stories: “I Become An Ambiguity”
I Become An Ambiguity by Jared Daniel Fagen I. Fracture It would be the longest plane ride I would ever take. Later on I traveled, but never did I achieve that distance again. There is no memory I can invent, no shame to give origin. Neither a resemblance, traits I could with accuracy trace as I aged. I knew only what I would not become, what I would repudiate, loathe to be. It was too late for me. By now […]
Sunday Stories: “From the Void I Saw Your Face”
From the Void I Saw Your Face by John Englehardt Something is wrong with your marriage. What that thing is, you don’t know. It can only be clarified by petty grievances. The actual problem must be some singular misunderstanding buried under an old road you’ve repaved. You can’t navigate it because you don’t know how it used to look.
Sunday Stories: “So You Want to Start a New Walden”
So You Want to Start a New Walden by E. Thomas Finan Realize that this is only a matter of starting: Thoreau’s enterprise was an experiment and a quest for beginnings, so this is the aegis under which to advance.
Sunday Stories: “The Man Could Put Out a Fire”
The Man Could Put Out a Fire by Janelle M. Williams She saw Keith two months ago. He had a girlfriend and a face full of razor bumps. She’d never seen him forego his three-inch beard, and she wondered how long he could keep the girlfriend without it. It’s hard to describe her own relationship with him, but the first word that comes to mind is inconsistent. They are consistently inconsistent. Every couple of months or so, she receives or […]
Sunday Stories: “I Am To Juice What Mozart Is To Music”
I Am To Juice What Mozart Is To Music by Sean Adams Which is why I am here, in this office, which is not so much an office but a kitchen, which is really not a kitchen but a room with three well-stocked fridges, a counter, and a blender that is called “professional grade,” though really it is of a much greater grade than professional grade, a grade not named due to the fact that it is available to only […]
Sunday Stories: “The Arena of Love”
The Arena of Love by Kurt Baumeister 1 The Little, Blue Gumshoe Reginald Van Meter wasn’t blue, but he looked it. And not euphemistically, in some down-in-the-mouth, bummed-out-pumpkin sense. Reg didn’t look blue because his wife, kids, and beloved dog, Sinatra, had left him. Though they had.
Sunday Stories: “An Oral History of Architecture in the Three Little Pigs: a tragedy”
An Oral History of Architecture in the Three Little Pigs: a tragedy by Dolan Morgan Introduction “Well documented,” “hashed over,” and “worn out”: these phrases perhaps best sum up the tale of the three little pigs.