I was wrong about why the red collar stayed in my kitchen drawer for eight whole years. I always thought it was just a stray piece of leather left behind by some wandering farm dog who had better places to be when the winter winds started biting through the floorboards of our old place. I figured he belonged to someone up toward the ridge road or down past the creek where the willows grow thick and tangled. I was wrong about that, and I was wrong about a lot of other things during those years when Calvin could not string two sentences together without losing the thread of his own thoughts.

Posted on By bossmmo No Comments on I was wrong about why the red collar stayed in my kitchen drawer for eight whole years. I always thought it was just a stray piece of leather left behind by some wandering farm dog who had better places to be when the winter winds started biting through the floorboards of our old place. I figured he belonged to someone up toward the ridge road or down past the creek where the willows grow thick and tangled. I was wrong about that, and I was wrong about a lot of other things during those years when Calvin could not string two sentences together without losing the thread of his own thoughts.
I was wrong about why the red collar stayed in my kitchen drawer for eight whole years. I always thought it was just a stray piece of leather left behind by some wandering farm dog who had better places to be when the winter winds started biting through the floorboards of our old place. I figured he belonged to someone up toward the ridge road or down past the creek where the willows grow thick and tangled. I was wrong about that, and I was wrong about a lot of other things during those years when Calvin could not string two sentences together without losing the thread of his own thoughts.

I was wrong about why the red collar stayed in my kitchen drawer for eight whole years. I always thought it was just a stray piece of leather left behind by some wandering farm dog who had better places to be when the winter winds started biting through the floorboards of our old place. I…

Read More “I was wrong about why the red collar stayed in my kitchen drawer for eight whole years. I always thought it was just a stray piece of leather left behind by some wandering farm dog who had better places to be when the winter winds started biting through the floorboards of our old place. I figured he belonged to someone up toward the ridge road or down past the creek where the willows grow thick and tangled. I was wrong about that, and I was wrong about a lot of other things during those years when Calvin could not string two sentences together without losing the thread of his own thoughts.” »

Drama Stories

When Eleanor died, I didn’t cry. I honestly didn’t. I just stood by the kitchen sink, running warm water over a greasy skillet, and felt a long, heavy knot in my chest uncoil.

Posted on By bossmmo No Comments on When Eleanor died, I didn’t cry. I honestly didn’t. I just stood by the kitchen sink, running warm water over a greasy skillet, and felt a long, heavy knot in my chest uncoil.
When Eleanor died, I didn’t cry. I honestly didn’t. I just stood by the kitchen sink, running warm water over a greasy skillet, and felt a long, heavy knot in my chest uncoil.

When Eleanor died, I didn’t cry. I honestly didn’t. I just stood by the kitchen sink, running warm water over a greasy skillet, and felt a long, heavy knot in my chest uncoil. Twelve years. Twelve solid years of walking into family gatherings and feeling like an intruder who had tracked mud across a white…

Read More “When Eleanor died, I didn’t cry. I honestly didn’t. I just stood by the kitchen sink, running warm water over a greasy skillet, and felt a long, heavy knot in my chest uncoil.” »

Drama Stories

Terminal four at the neighborhood Kroger had a sticky barcode scanner that always forced you to rescan your items twice, which is why my mind was entirely occupied with milk prices and checking my canvas bags when I left my paper receipt right there in the narrow plastic slot. I was halfway across the asphalt toward my blue sedan when sandals scraped fast against the grit behind me.

Posted on By bossmmo No Comments on Terminal four at the neighborhood Kroger had a sticky barcode scanner that always forced you to rescan your items twice, which is why my mind was entirely occupied with milk prices and checking my canvas bags when I left my paper receipt right there in the narrow plastic slot. I was halfway across the asphalt toward my blue sedan when sandals scraped fast against the grit behind me.
Terminal four at the neighborhood Kroger had a sticky barcode scanner that always forced you to rescan your items twice, which is why my mind was entirely occupied with milk prices and checking my canvas bags when I left my paper receipt right there in the narrow plastic slot. I was halfway across the asphalt toward my blue sedan when sandals scraped fast against the grit behind me.

Terminal four at the neighborhood Kroger had a sticky barcode scanner that always forced you to rescan your items twice, which is why my mind was entirely occupied with milk prices and checking my canvas bags when I left my paper receipt right there in the narrow plastic slot. I was halfway across the asphalt…

Read More “Terminal four at the neighborhood Kroger had a sticky barcode scanner that always forced you to rescan your items twice, which is why my mind was entirely occupied with milk prices and checking my canvas bags when I left my paper receipt right there in the narrow plastic slot. I was halfway across the asphalt toward my blue sedan when sandals scraped fast against the grit behind me.” »

Drama Stories

The silverware in the Maplecrest Hotel dining room had that dull, heavy clink against porcelain that only commercial dishwashers can manage. I stood at the end of the buffet line holding a white plate piled high with scrambled eggs I didn’t particularly want and four slices of dry toast. My legs felt steady enough, though my knees gave that familiar little pop whenever I shifted my weight from the carpet to the tile. At eighty years old, you learn to pay attention to the small noises your own skeleton makes. I was humming an old Benny Goodman tune under my breath, just letting the rhythm idle in the back of my mind while I waited for the coffee urn to finish sputtering its last dark drops.

Posted on By bossmmo No Comments on The silverware in the Maplecrest Hotel dining room had that dull, heavy clink against porcelain that only commercial dishwashers can manage. I stood at the end of the buffet line holding a white plate piled high with scrambled eggs I didn’t particularly want and four slices of dry toast. My legs felt steady enough, though my knees gave that familiar little pop whenever I shifted my weight from the carpet to the tile. At eighty years old, you learn to pay attention to the small noises your own skeleton makes. I was humming an old Benny Goodman tune under my breath, just letting the rhythm idle in the back of my mind while I waited for the coffee urn to finish sputtering its last dark drops.
The silverware in the Maplecrest Hotel dining room had that dull, heavy clink against porcelain that only commercial dishwashers can manage. I stood at the end of the buffet line holding a white plate piled high with scrambled eggs I didn’t particularly want and four slices of dry toast. My legs felt steady enough, though my knees gave that familiar little pop whenever I shifted my weight from the carpet to the tile. At eighty years old, you learn to pay attention to the small noises your own skeleton makes. I was humming an old Benny Goodman tune under my breath, just letting the rhythm idle in the back of my mind while I waited for the coffee urn to finish sputtering its last dark drops.

The silverware in the Maplecrest Hotel dining room had that dull, heavy clink against porcelain that only commercial dishwashers can manage. I stood at the end of the buffet line holding a white plate piled high with scrambled eggs I didn’t particularly want and four slices of dry toast. My legs felt steady enough, though…

Read More “The silverware in the Maplecrest Hotel dining room had that dull, heavy clink against porcelain that only commercial dishwashers can manage. I stood at the end of the buffet line holding a white plate piled high with scrambled eggs I didn’t particularly want and four slices of dry toast. My legs felt steady enough, though my knees gave that familiar little pop whenever I shifted my weight from the carpet to the tile. At eighty years old, you learn to pay attention to the small noises your own skeleton makes. I was humming an old Benny Goodman tune under my breath, just letting the rhythm idle in the back of my mind while I waited for the coffee urn to finish sputtering its last dark drops.” »

Drama Stories

When my five-year-old son, Toby, slipped from the wooden treehouse in our backyard, my life fractured beyond repair. At County General, internal hemorrhaging took his life on the operating table. In the hallway, my husband, Mark, pointed a trembling finger at me in front of the entire staff, snarled that my carelessness had killed our only child, and packed his bags that very night.

Posted on By bossmmo No Comments on When my five-year-old son, Toby, slipped from the wooden treehouse in our backyard, my life fractured beyond repair. At County General, internal hemorrhaging took his life on the operating table. In the hallway, my husband, Mark, pointed a trembling finger at me in front of the entire staff, snarled that my carelessness had killed our only child, and packed his bags that very night.
When my five-year-old son, Toby, slipped from the wooden treehouse in our backyard, my life fractured beyond repair. At County General, internal hemorrhaging took his life on the operating table. In the hallway, my husband, Mark, pointed a trembling finger at me in front of the entire staff, snarled that my carelessness had killed our only child, and packed his bags that very night.

When my five-year-old son, Toby, slipped from the wooden treehouse in our backyard, my life fractured beyond repair. At County General, internal hemorrhaging took his life on the operating table. In the hallway, my husband, Mark, pointed a trembling finger at me in front of the entire staff, snarled that my carelessness had killed our…

Read More “When my five-year-old son, Toby, slipped from the wooden treehouse in our backyard, my life fractured beyond repair. At County General, internal hemorrhaging took his life on the operating table. In the hallway, my husband, Mark, pointed a trembling finger at me in front of the entire staff, snarled that my carelessness had killed our only child, and packed his bags that very night.” »

Drama Stories

The heavy scent of gardenias from the wedding floral arrangements still hung in the air when my mother, Margaret Cole, cornered me in the small vestry behind the altar of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church.

Posted on By bossmmo No Comments on The heavy scent of gardenias from the wedding floral arrangements still hung in the air when my mother, Margaret Cole, cornered me in the small vestry behind the altar of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church.
The heavy scent of gardenias from the wedding floral arrangements still hung in the air when my mother, Margaret Cole, cornered me in the small vestry behind the altar of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church.

The heavy scent of gardenias from the wedding floral arrangements still hung in the air when my mother, Margaret Cole, cornered me in the small vestry behind the altar of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. I was thirty-two years old, a high school history teacher and historical archivist in Richmond, Virginia, and that afternoon I was…

Read More “The heavy scent of gardenias from the wedding floral arrangements still hung in the air when my mother, Margaret Cole, cornered me in the small vestry behind the altar of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church.” »

Drama Stories

The afternoon my wife, Brenda, delivered our firstborn son at St. Luke’s Regional in Boise, an irrational wave of insecurity made me demand a legal DNA swab right in the recovery room. Instead of breaking down, Brenda merely smirked with icy detachment and asked, “And what if he’s not yours, Garrett?”

Posted on By bossmmo No Comments on The afternoon my wife, Brenda, delivered our firstborn son at St. Luke’s Regional in Boise, an irrational wave of insecurity made me demand a legal DNA swab right in the recovery room. Instead of breaking down, Brenda merely smirked with icy detachment and asked, “And what if he’s not yours, Garrett?”
The afternoon my wife, Brenda, delivered our firstborn son at St. Luke’s Regional in Boise, an irrational wave of insecurity made me demand a legal DNA swab right in the recovery room. Instead of breaking down, Brenda merely smirked with icy detachment and asked, “And what if he’s not yours, Garrett?”

The afternoon my wife, Brenda, delivered our firstborn son at St. Luke’s Regional in Boise, an irrational wave of insecurity made me demand a legal DNA swab right in the recovery room. Instead of breaking down, Brenda merely smirked with icy detachment and asked, “And what if he’s not yours, Garrett?” Enraged by her cold…

Read More “The afternoon my wife, Brenda, delivered our firstborn son at St. Luke’s Regional in Boise, an irrational wave of insecurity made me demand a legal DNA swab right in the recovery room. Instead of breaking down, Brenda merely smirked with icy detachment and asked, “And what if he’s not yours, Garrett?”” »

Drama Stories

The heavy scent of gardenias from the wedding floral arrangements still hung in the air when my mother, Margaret Cole, cornered me in the small vestry behind the altar of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church.

Posted on By bossmmo No Comments on The heavy scent of gardenias from the wedding floral arrangements still hung in the air when my mother, Margaret Cole, cornered me in the small vestry behind the altar of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church.
The heavy scent of gardenias from the wedding floral arrangements still hung in the air when my mother, Margaret Cole, cornered me in the small vestry behind the altar of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church.

The heavy scent of gardenias from the wedding floral arrangements still hung in the air when my mother, Margaret Cole, cornered me in the small vestry behind the altar of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. I was thirty-two years old, a high school history teacher and historical archivist in Richmond, Virginia, and that afternoon I was…

Read More “The heavy scent of gardenias from the wedding floral arrangements still hung in the air when my mother, Margaret Cole, cornered me in the small vestry behind the altar of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church.” »

Drama Stories

The cold air off the dairy display case always hits the back of my neck first when I walk into that store. I was moving on autopilot that Tuesday, pushing a red plastic cart with a squeaky front wheel that kept pulling toward the endcaps. My list was small. Just ground beef, two gallons of whole milk, a bag of yellow onions, and some oats for the week. The store had that midday hum to it, quiet enough that you could hear the distinct clink of glass bottles in the aisle over and the low drone of the overhead vents. I didn’t know anything was wrong until I had already paid at terminal four, grabbed my canvas bags, and walked ten feet toward the exit.

Posted on By bossmmo No Comments on The cold air off the dairy display case always hits the back of my neck first when I walk into that store. I was moving on autopilot that Tuesday, pushing a red plastic cart with a squeaky front wheel that kept pulling toward the endcaps. My list was small. Just ground beef, two gallons of whole milk, a bag of yellow onions, and some oats for the week. The store had that midday hum to it, quiet enough that you could hear the distinct clink of glass bottles in the aisle over and the low drone of the overhead vents. I didn’t know anything was wrong until I had already paid at terminal four, grabbed my canvas bags, and walked ten feet toward the exit.
The cold air off the dairy display case always hits the back of my neck first when I walk into that store. I was moving on autopilot that Tuesday, pushing a red plastic cart with a squeaky front wheel that kept pulling toward the endcaps. My list was small. Just ground beef, two gallons of whole milk, a bag of yellow onions, and some oats for the week. The store had that midday hum to it, quiet enough that you could hear the distinct clink of glass bottles in the aisle over and the low drone of the overhead vents. I didn’t know anything was wrong until I had already paid at terminal four, grabbed my canvas bags, and walked ten feet toward the exit.

The cold air off the dairy display case always hits the back of my neck first when I walk into that store. I was moving on autopilot that Tuesday, pushing a red plastic cart with a squeaky front wheel that kept pulling toward the endcaps. My list was small. Just ground beef, two gallons of…

Read More “The cold air off the dairy display case always hits the back of my neck first when I walk into that store. I was moving on autopilot that Tuesday, pushing a red plastic cart with a squeaky front wheel that kept pulling toward the endcaps. My list was small. Just ground beef, two gallons of whole milk, a bag of yellow onions, and some oats for the week. The store had that midday hum to it, quiet enough that you could hear the distinct clink of glass bottles in the aisle over and the low drone of the overhead vents. I didn’t know anything was wrong until I had already paid at terminal four, grabbed my canvas bags, and walked ten feet toward the exit.” »

Drama Stories

The notification lighting up my phone screen while I was standing in the middle aisle at the grocery store read simply: Sunday roast at five, and bring your checkbook for the new deed copies.

Posted on By bossmmo No Comments on The notification lighting up my phone screen while I was standing in the middle aisle at the grocery store read simply: Sunday roast at five, and bring your checkbook for the new deed copies.
The notification lighting up my phone screen while I was standing in the middle aisle at the grocery store read simply: Sunday roast at five, and bring your checkbook for the new deed copies.

The notification lighting up my phone screen while I was standing in the middle aisle at the grocery store read simply: Sunday roast at five, and bring your checkbook for the new deed copies. That was the text Frank sent me four weeks after he called to tell me the locks were changing in more…

Read More “The notification lighting up my phone screen while I was standing in the middle aisle at the grocery store read simply: Sunday roast at five, and bring your checkbook for the new deed copies.” »

Drama Stories