|
Boxes By Judy Kronenfeld
Ruthie rocks back and forth, stroking the worn maple chair
arms. She studies the boxes in the open closet, above the rod
holding mother's clothes: a box containing a discontinued style
of cushioned shoe insert, several boxes of yahrzeit lights, and
the small box that she knows contains perfume samples in tiny
vials--Passion, Envy, Incognito, Deep Red--that mother
accumulated when she worked in Bloomingdale's, spraying little
white cards with scent and passing them out. There are also two
new clock radios, still in their original boxes, one of which
Ruthie has coveted for a long time. She has been sitting
in mother and father's bedroomdarkening nowin the
chintz-upholstered rocker, as mother always instructs her to
while she is at work, ever since taking a makeshift breakfast
from the kitchen fridge. She's put on a few pounds in the last
years, so it's a tight squeeze into the narrow seat. But her
fleshy, still unlined face remains beautiful as a plus-size Hollywood
starlet's, with its wide hazel eyes and Cupid's bow mouth. read the rest here....
The Fat Girl
Goes Steady By Kathie Giorgio
When the Fat Girl turned forty-eight, she began seeing Death
on every corner. She knew that most people saw Death on her corner
for years, that everyone assumed she would someday drop dead
of a heart attack because she hadnt taken good care of
herself. What else could account for the undulating roll
upon roll upon roll, gravity pulling down, skin falling in waves
from her abdomen to her thighs, from her thighs to her knees,
from her knees to her calves, and finally her ankles cresting
over her shoes? People never thought about all the trys
and all the failures, the diets, the pills, the exercise routines,
which always knocked off a few pounds and then stalled out.
It could be glands, the Fat Girl supposed, though the doctor
said no. It could be genes. But no matter what it
was, no matter what she ate, the Fat Girl was still the Fat Girl.
And if that was to be the case, then why not eat good, if eating
well and eating good were going to bring about the same results
anyway? read
the rest here....
Generations
By Gayle Brandeis
She thought it
was a miracle pregnancy, like Mary's. She thought she was carrying
a savior, a bodhisattva, maybe an alien. She thought she was
heralding the Second Coming. Lord knows she hadn't been coming,
herself.
She thought it was early menopause at first. Some of her friends
were going through it, too. Missed periods. Hot flashes.
Bone-deep exhaustion. But their hair was falling out and hers
was growing more lush. Their skin was getting dry and hers was
growing more supple, taking on more of a glow. Her friends accused
her of sneaking off to get chemical peels, Botox injections,
a prescription for Rogaine. She was as mystified as they were--she
didn't use moisturizer; she picked the cheapest shampoo at the
store. Why should she be the one to bloom? read
the rest here....
Green Tacos By
Heather Bryant
Tomas arrived on an early flight one morning in July and it
seemed he would never leave. A short visit,
Gina told Martin, Just passing through town.
But three weeks passed and still he walked up and down the halls
of the apartment in bare feet as though it were his own.
The whole place had started to smell of rotten fruit to Martin.
Something sour filled the air. read
the rest here.... |
|