The Elephant in the Room_The Specator_These Dry Bones_The Hands Down Truth
Catalog Guide:
The Elephant in the Room
I promised myself I would change, but it's happening again—at my third job this year at a New York based charity, my coworkers have started calling me ‘controlling’. At first, I heard it just out of earshot; then yesterday, Ashley told me straight to my face. All of I have ever done is try to help people and offer them suggestions to improve themselves.And about the job, even though the weekly salary is low, I enjoy working for charities, at least that's the story I tell myself. Maybe I'm just not good at anything else. I see Sharon from Linden wearing the same green blouse that reaches up to ...
The Specator
Warning: Contains some (minimal) gun violence.I was near enough to the door to catch the kiss of ice when it opened and to be reassured when the frigid blast shrunk proportionally to the width of the narrowing crack that the chill that still resided in my bones would eventually diminish.A family came through. I only dared to catch a glimpse from my station as I posed over the half-empty coffee cup that graces the three-foot-diameter table my elbows rest rudely against. The father led, head held high with a gray fedora and a black band tilted like Fred Astaire over blue eyes. A black overcoat l...
These Dry Bones
The distant rumble of thunder followed Tess as she made her way into the house, laundry basket balanced against one hip. She paid no attention to it; there had been thunder in the distance every afternoon for nearly three months, and still, there was no rain. Heat thunder, her grandmother called it, claiming that it was common during the Dust Bowl. The intermittent rumblings brought no sign of relief from a nearly year-long drought and summer of relentless, triple-digit heat. Looking at the brown grass, dead tree leaves, and withered backyard gardens, she had a hard time imagining the Dust Bow...
The Hands Down Truth
My older brother Geoff screamed over the roaring sound of the train’s wheels rapidly clacking against the rail joints, “Run faster, Tommy!” His blonde shag haircut blew across his face as he leaned from the boxcar’s entrance with an outstretched right arm, waving me toward him. I wasn’t as athletic as him. One year behind him in age and the lanky appendages of an eleven-year-young body left me at a detriment and I was struggling to catch his hand.“You can do it, Tommy! Just reach up!” he yelled as he pulsed his hand opened and closed.I lifted my hand to within inches of his. We both smile...