The phone’s ring pierced my mental fog as I lay in the hospital room.
The phone’s ring pierced my mental fog as I lay in the hospital room.
“Alexa,” I call out. “Set the timer for five minutes!”
We’re scared of waves slinking up the shore, with each salty breath gasping and spitting foam …
I said I’d foster one adult cat, yet here I am taking three.
My seven-year-old and I arrive at our traditional pumpkin patch. She picks out a huge, tall monstrosity.
I climb aboard the giant orange pillow, socks sliding on the rubber, and find my spot in the jostling hordes.
My dad rented out part of a resort. Loot bags, each waiting to be taken home by a party guest, stand neatly arranged in rows, like soldiers on a training field.
A hand-stenciled sign planted beside the tree read, We must live together as brothers or perish together as fools. Martin Luther King, Jr.
I was anxious and bumbling. Compulsively feeling his forehead for fever. Joining him in crying jags.
Father motions her behind the steering wheel. We’re on the field he graded with a landing strip in mind, so where’s the harm?
My loving, difficult sister offered to come the weekend before my first child’s birth.
My 77-year-old mother and I have a system: She texts me an emoji every morning when she wakes to let me know she's alive, and I text one back as a receipt.
Miss Harvey announced that Bobby’s parents wanted to dedicate a tree for him. He was in our class before he died.
“Uterine atony,” I hear the doctor say as the neonatologist is showing me my brand-new baby. I glance at my blood pressure before looking at my son.
“First,” I say, “we need to beat the cream cheese until it's smooth.”
The leash suddenly went taut as Louis spotted the dead squirrel and took it in his mouth.
“911. What’s your emergency?” “I’m having a brain hemorrhage.”
I think the world must have stopped hurtling recklessly through space.
I had been sitting at the front of the school bus when it happened.
Mom buttoned me into my best pink dress, a ribbon tied in my hair, and sent us off to the restaurant where a famous pianist was booked.