~
She also has an extensive library of self-help books, which implies that, for all her intelligence and self-possession, Dara may have some problems. She is for sure a recovering alcoholic; one of the first things she told April P was that she doesn't allow drinking or drugs in her house. Also, and she did not warn April P about this, Dara is a toucher. She keeps finding reasons to squeeze April P's arm, pat her hand, give her a mini shoulder rub.
--From "Rosendale," a short story by Paul La Farge, The New Yorker (September 29, 2014), pp. 72-77.
He came back. I saw him
in the grass, the white of him
glowing in the floodlight, . . .
--From "After We Buried the Dog in the Dark," a poem by Jin Cordaro, The Sun (December 2020).
My grandma usually supervised me while my parents were at work. She'd drink screwdrivers and do the crossword, I'd run around the house and do whatever. If she hadn't seen me in a while, she'd check to make sure I still had all my fingers, but escaping wasn't a big concern. The doors were locked. Just in case, there were jingle bells on the handles.
The dog door was the single weak point in the fortress.
--From Solutions and Other Problems by Allie Brosh (Gallery Books, 2020). It's essentially a sequel to her earlier book, Hyperbole and a Half. (I referred to that one as a "tragicomic illustrated memoir," which seems about right for this one as well.) The section above is from page 20 of the hardcover.
The bride and groom had two wedding receptions: the first was in the basement of the Lutheran church right after the ceremony, with punch and cake and coffee and pastel mints. This was for those of the bride's relatives who were stern about alcohol. The basement was low-ceilinged and smelled of metallic furnace heat. Old ladies wearing corsages sat on folding chairs, while other guests stood and managed their cake plates and plastic forks as best they could. The pastor smiled with professional benevolence. The bride and groom posed for pictures, buoyed by adrenaline and relief. There had been so much promised and prepared, and now everything had finally come to pass.
--From The Year We Left Home, a novel by Jean Thompson (Simon & Schuster, 2011).
They let me tend to my husband's burial and settle his affairs, which means that for a few days I get to stay in my house, pretend he is away on business while I stand in the closet and smell his clothes. I cook dinners for two and throw the rest away, or overeat, depending on my mood. I make a time capsule of pictures I won't be allowed to keep. I bury it in the yard for a new family to discover.
But once that work is done, the Placement Team orders me to pack two bags of essentials, good for any climate. They take the keys to our house, our car. A crew will come in, price it all, and a sale will be advertised; all the neighbors will come. I won't be here for any of this, but I've seen it happen to others. The money will go into my dowry, and then someday, hopefully, another man will marry me.
--From Man V. Nature, a short story collection by Diane Cook (HarperCollins, 2014). This section is from the first story, "Moving On," which was originally published in Tin House.