Aunt Lorraine has a party every summer that she calls the “deck party.” Every year it’s the same: she’s leaning over the fence in a green tank top and a Sam Adams, telling us about her latest bad date or the neighbor’s lost cat. No one ever goes inside, though. Not once in all these years. If you need to go to the bathroom?“Sweetheart, go back to your place.” Do you want more drinks? “Stay put, I’ll grab them.” In the event of a storm, she will cover the grill with a blanket before she even opens the door. It…
Author: World Wide
The weekend was going to be great. We were alone in the country, and it was very quiet right before the baby was born. To show me where he grew up and “became the man” I fell in love with, he told me. That was a great plan. In the pasture, he pulled me close and kissed my face while cows grazed behind us. I thought, “This is it.” This is everything. But something about his smile… It was too far away for his eyes to see. I asked him what his favorite place was on the family farm. He…
At first, it seemed cute, like something out of a Hallmark movie about a small town. In the morning, Officer Brandt rides his bike around the block and smiles and waves as he hands out mail. In the afternoon, he comes back in full dress and writes tickets for expired tags or asks about stray dogs. He’s loved by everyone. Especially the friends who are older. “He keeps us safe and on time,” Mrs. Delaney jokes all the time. Then, on Tuesday of last week, I found a package in my mailbox. There is no return address. It’s just my…
It was cute at first. When my son Luca put on a sock with googly eyes and said, “This is Mr. Scribbles,” he was being very artistic. I thought it was just a cute phase because he helped me write. He would laugh and do his homework with the doll. When he thought I wasn’t looking, he would even whisper little secrets into it. I didn’t think twice about it until he asked for lined paper. It’s not for school. Just to “get used to Scribbles.” After that, the writing changed. It wasn’t Luca’s usual messy, big writing. It was…
You’ve probably seen him around before—old guitar, soft smile, that ginger cat perched at his feet like she owned the sidewalk. Every afternoon, same park bench. He’d play blues riffs while she sat there completely still, eyes half-lidded, as if judging every note. People thought it was just a charming act. “The Cat and the Chord,” someone nicknamed them once. But here’s the part most people missed—he didn’t bring the cat. She brought herself. He told me one day—half-laughing, half-serious—that she just showed up while he was playing one night. Sat down right in front of him, like she’d been…
I was told to smile. Took one nice shot before things “got crazy” during the holidays. I did that. I put my arm around her, grabbed our daughter, and smiled like everything was okay. The thing is, it wasn’t. I’ve been noticing little things for a few weeks now. She turned her phone over and now it’s always face down. It has a strange new password on it. She would quiet down when I walked into the room, like she was quickly switching gears. I told myself I was just being scary, though. We did well. Strong. But that night,…
They looked just like twins. It was like they were married because they slept, ate, and even watched shows together. Max followed my son everywhere he went, tail moving and ears perked up as if he understood everything. I loved it at first. Seeing them get along was like magic. Then little things began to happen. At night, toys moved around. Treats that were put high up on shelves would get eaten. My son began to say strange things, like what Max “told him.” It was cute at first. Not harmful. Do you agree that kids have wild imaginations? He…
When Pico learned new words, I always thought it was cute. His laugh was so much like mine that it scared me. He’d say “Good morning!” when I walked into the kitchen, and sometimes he’d just blurt out something like “Where’s my coffee?” But he began saying different things about two months ago. “Don’t tell her.” Over and over. The same quiet voice. The same pause between each word. I first thought he might have heard it from a movie or something I had on in the background. Things got stranger after that. Even when there was no TV or…
For weeks, he hadn’t had much of an appetite. But he was adamant that day. Tell me what you want, “I want tuna casserole.” “Just the way your mom used to make it.” “The one with the little onions that are crispy on top.” It was strangely clear. It was like he had been waiting for this chance to ask. It was served in a paper bowl, just like when I was a kid. He smiled so big when he saw it that it looked like the old him had emerged for a moment. Sitting on the edge of the…
