Wishes and Miracles_Colonel Mustard in the Kitchen Without a Hearing Aid_The Catfish_Baggage Claim
Catalog Guide:
Wishes and Miracles
I’m not granting you that ability. Sorry, and all that, but no. Truthfully, I don’t care if you got me out of this lamp. I’m going back in after your three wishes anyway, what’s the difference? Even if you wished for my freedom, which rarely happens. Well, this isn’t some cartoon, so pick something else—fine. But before I do, I’m telling my story. Maybe you’ll think twice. One day a man found this lamp in an antique shop. Let’s call him Tim. Thin, tall, thirtyish. Lived alone and worked as...we’ll say a shopkeeper. It’s close enough. You remind me of him, actually. It’s those blue eyes. He had...
Colonel Mustard in the Kitchen Without a Hearing Aid
Note: brief reference to ableist languageRachel stood at the kitchen sink watching the snow fall softly over the back yard, muffling the world in its white overcoat. She wanted to wrap her mind up the same snug way, but in the living room, her husband was watching some show where commentators loudly traded barbs and lobbed insults at each other. The noise was incessant. Oh! The noise, noise, noise, noise! she thought, visualizing herself poised on a snowy crag, ear cocked to the Whos down in Whoville below, except these were clamorous and opinionated Whos. I’m on your side, Mr. Grinch, she dec...
The Catfish
There used to be a pond just behind my house on Terry Street. It’s still there, actually, I’ve just moved on. It was surrounded on all sides by reeds taller than me or Max or even Carson who was the tallest. We went there after school, left our backpacks at home and picked up our fishing poles then walked just past the Barbers’ house down the hill to the pond. Oh no, it was the Palermo’s house with the wind chimes that sounded like thunder, not the Barbers. There were benches all around the pond to sit on and look out, little oak logs from the forest behind the pond with the tops shorn off to ...
Baggage Claim
The recently landed passengers of the red-eye from Calgary to London make their way from customs to the baggage claim. All eyes are on the LED sign indicating which carousel is designated for which flight. The businessmen with small carry-on suitcases bustle past them, too well acquainwww.onedoor.ccted with travelling and in too much of a hurry to bother with checking a bag. I move with the flow of the crowd, letting the overeager dads who hurried to the front guide me to my destination. My fellow passengers locate our carousel and all claim their own little spaces in the surrounding areas. I do the same, ...