The Beast in My Jungle_Stressed Friend_The Summer We Lived in a Tent_Bitter Tea
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The Beast in My Jungle
The Beast in My JungleBy Robert FordWhen I was a sophomore in college, I took a literature course that was devoted to the extensive novels and short stories of Henry James. Among his many works, I fixated, almost to the point of obsession, on his short story The Beast in the Jungle. The main character is convinced that his life will be defined by some catastrophic or spectacular event and that the event is lying in wait for him like a beast in the jungle waiting to spring. I decided to eliminate the idea that I would suffer a catastrophe. Instead, I became convinced that my life would be defi...
Stressed Friend
Jasen doubled over in his patio chair, clutching his abdomen, a bead of sweat glistening in the mid-afternoon sun and swelling in the furrow between his brows. His raspy groan hit her like the blare of an air horn at close range.“Jasen, you okay?” she asked, breath leaving her.“Jolly good. Just a…a smidge of pain…”“I’m calling 911、”“Oh, don’t—““You need it, Jasen.”As expected, he continued to argue. She ignored him, grabbing her purse from the filigreed wrought iron table, her phone from her purse. Dialing with trembling fingers. Telling the dispatcher what little she knew.Where did...
The Summer We Lived in a Tent
The Summer We Lived in a Tent By Laura CosteaKelly Baker didn’t know that when she said “Yes” to the house, she was also saying yes to being homeless that summer.Well, not homeless in the truest sense of the word. But when you couldn’t sleep, shower or cook in your house, what were you supposed to call it?When Jake had gone to the house inspection, he’d donned his ball cap and faded jeans, looking every bit the HGTV-professional. When he’d come home and said, “It’s great,” Kelly had believed him. “The kids will love the yard,” he’d assured her.Kelly looked at the pictures online every day and ...
Bitter Tea
I remember the first day Gram let us pick out our own cups. Nennie and I twirled through the tearoom, giggling as we brushed our tiny fingers along the display. Fifty years’ worth of teacups lined the walls—every color, every pattern. Nennie chose a pale-yellow cup with purple pansies and matching saucer. I picked out a squat, blue one."Oh, Nennie,” Gram cooed at my sister, “That's very grown-up teacup. You have wonderful taste!”Gram turned to me. “I forgot I had that one, Deborah. Your grandfather gave that to me years ago.” She scrunched her nose. “Awfully plain, isn’t it?”***“How bout I ma...