193 Chapters
Medium 9781574412406

9. Our Last Supper

Aimee La Brie University of North Texas Press PDF

Our Last Supper


We’re supposed to go out for farewell drinks at the Gingerman Tavern but Anne has developed a stomach-ache, caused I’m sure by the fact that she’s afraid to be outside. She doesn’t like the leather-jacketed teenagers loitering on the street corners and yelling, Hey, where you going? Or the broken bottles, potato chip packets, and cigarette butts lining the curbs, or any of the chaos of the city where I live.

What I hate is how Anne walks down the street with her shoulders up around her ears and how she ducks like a puppy about to be beaten when anyone raises a voice or if it looks like someone’s going to get shot on TV or if an old man walks down the sidewalk with a limp. I am tired of how she has to do everything a certain way, like washing her hands with antibacterial soap or measuring out the pasta in a glass cup, holding it up to the ceiling to check the measurement before pouring it into boiling water.

And how slow she is. It takes her forty-five minutes to shower and, believe me, she is not using the scrubbie for what I do, not my sister, who calls sex “making love” and who once confessed to me she can have an orgasm by thinking about her boyfriend asking her to marry him.

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Medium 9781574416473

How to Make an Island

Polly Buckingham University of North Texas Press ePub

Edith is leaving. Her friends are having a party for her on a boat. She invited me because we're always together and because she's scared of boats. She said she'd feel safe if I was with her. All around us is gray water and gray air. Fog moves among the coastal mountains. In the distance are low islands.

I haven't been on a boat in many years. I like the rise and fall, the openness. The rocking makes Edith a little sick, but she covers it up well. Her left hand, hidden behind her back, grasps the low edge of the boat. There are a few things in this world I forever return to. The rock of a boat on water, the smell of salt and air, the noise of waves against something hollow. And a few forbidden places where I take shelter. Like Edith. Like Cayo Pelau.

When I was twelve, my best friend Mac and I had planned a boat trip to the pirate island Cayo Pelau. It was cursed. My parents didn't want me sailing that far, but my father was going away, and Mac was staying at my house while he was gone. My father was going to the hospital to be with my mother. Then he was going to bring her home. I didn't know exactly what they were doing to my mom. I didn't really want to know. But that she was dying was clear. And that she was coming home to die was certain.

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Medium 9781574412017

everything valuable and portable

Michael Hyde University of North Texas Press PDF


what are you afraid of ?

listened as Joan read to them, turning the pages. The book began with a brief biography of the Virgin Mary and ended, on page thirty-four, with that of St. Boniface. Each page was devoted to an individual saint, some the children already knew of and others with histories more obscure. Each saint’s description was accompanied by a picture, drawn large and painted in brilliant colors.

After each morning’s reading, the children decided which saint they’d choose to play that day.

All the children wanted to be St. Dorothy of Montau, a peasant who’d given birth to nine children and was the patron saint of young brides, difficult marriages, widows, those who’d lost infants to death. She prayed with her arms spread wide, in imitation of

Christ on the cross, and died when her heart burst, unable to contain all of God’s wondrous love. The accompanying artwork depicted St. Dorothy as a young, beautiful woman with golden hair. At the center of her green tunic was a red heart, from which streamed light, stars, and small swirls of rainbows, beaming out all around her. Joan and William argued over who got to be St.

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Medium 9780253008381

Dixie Land

B.J. Hollars Indiana University Press ePub

In his mind, The Confederate lived in a log cabin in the backwaters of Tennessee, beside a rocky canyon and a stream that, many years back, overflowed with the thick blood of Yankees.

Though in reality, he resided in a twentieth-century Cape Cod on the outskirts of Nashville. A glowing BP sign illuminated just beyond the neighborhood trees. It was a fine home, complete with a two-car garage, a professionally manicured lawn, even a WELCOME mat in the backyard that played “Dixie” when stepped upon with the necessary force.

The Confederate had a son, Confederate Junior, though most called him Junior for short. Still clinging to his baby fat, the fresh-faced seven-year-old was thick around the midsection, though what he lacked in physical prowess he more than made up for with gusto.

While training in the backyard, The Confederate often commanded, “Junior! Bayonet ready?” to which his son snapped to attention, proclaiming, “Yes sir, Drill Sergeant, sir!”

It was a declaration that caused the old man’s heart to swell.

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Medium 9781574413199

Chapter One

Geoff Schmidt University of North Texas Press PDF

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