Category: story
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M(r)s. Jogger
I spend my days watching people. Yes, I recognize that this sounds creepy, but I assure you, it’s nothing like that creepster watching kids at the playground that Netflix would turn into a documentary that goes viral. I watch with innocence and wonder, marveling and curiosity. I watch to learn how to live and breathe…
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Summers at the Lake: Why We Talk About Leaving
It seems we ask about plans for leaving mid-bend and swing on the summer’s first cannonball off the wooden dock. We’re handing over the SPF30, Can you get my back?, and it has yet to soak in before we ask, And when are you leaving?, condensation barely pooling on our defrosting cans in the North…
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The Fear of Flying
Last night, I had two revelations: 1) I am out of Stress Relief tea, and 2) I can’t stop thinking about the young girl on the plane. She wore black chucks with low bright purple socks, hair in a high ponytail, glasses like the ones I wear before bed, and a shirt covered in…
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I will never forget the year of the flowers
Something beautiful happened in Baltimore yesterday: thermometers reached 78 degrees on February 21—a date usually blanketed with snow. Naturally, I found a path near water to walk at lunch and stopped for post-Valentine’s-ridiculously-on-sale flowers on the way home. Today I put on a shirt that looks exactly like a shirt would look if the…
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It takes time
On one end of my street, construction workers are knee-deep in building a multi-million dollar library. On the other end, a multi-million dollar fire station will soon have firefighters sliding down the poles they are staking in the ground. It is a mess. Literally. As I’ve walked by the construction zones on casual strolls…
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You’ve gotta write like there’s no such thing as a broken heart
Yesterday, I taught a writing class. We flipped through dogeared pages of Bird by Bird together on a screened-in back porch that overlooked a wooded lot with trees changing colors on me. We waited for the french press to brew our Starbucks medium roast, then wrapped cold fingers around steaming mugs as the temperature dropped.…
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Traveling back for the strength to come home
They asked me, “What brought you back?” “Just to visit,” I said. “Just to see you.” (Did I need a better reason?) This weekend, I had a few options for reunions: high school, college, or grad school. I nearly vomited at the Facebook invite for a ten-year high school reunion. Somehow reliving those years…
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To the person who broke into my car and tried to steal my new smile
I wrote the draft of this post in a composition notebook that I found from the year 2000 because you stole my laptop and my journals, along with the bible my aunt and uncle gave me for my 18th birthday. I found an old vocabulary quiz in this purple marble notebook with the word…
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The school of home
Today, I am mad. I am mad because I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and I refused to make an effort to roll over to the right side and try again. I am mad because the coffee beans spilled out of the coffee maker and into the dirty sink when…
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If time could talk
On tonight’s agenda: family dinner. My brother’s long-time girlfriend will pick up pizzas from Anthony’s, one large brushchetta and one large pepperoni. He texted in the group family chat, Does this work for everyone?, as if the guy at Anthony’s doesn’t know our name and our order and my womanly status by heart, every…
Ashley Fenker 