“Good lord, girl. You swelling!” The girl looked down at her belly, then beyond it down to her shoes, at this she was secretly satisfied. She was not pregnant and in punishment for her tardiness, her body had begun to form pockets
T he repass would be at our house. Gram’s closest friend, Mavis, would handle the floral arrangements. The funeral would take place on Sunday. Just when it seemed everything was in place, the mortuary called Mama and said Gram would need something
When her reflection stared back at her, proud and plus-sized often went horribly in these pageants. Ronda knew her place at such events; had long-since grown accustomed to the cookie-cutter shapes that she’d been forced into, and savored every second of rebelling.
The hand rubbing my back is not soothing me at all. Why are hospital gowns made so that at least one body part you’re not interested in showing the world is available for everyone’s viewing? Sometimes they give you a gown to
I stood outside of her room and took a deep breath before going in. I never knew how she was feeling or what she was going to say. Sometimes it was easier just to go with it, but on that day I
I sat in the passenger seat next to Ms. Kramer, my social worker, lookin’ out the window. I watched the dried up fields go by. Every now and then a house or cow or rest stop would come and go just as quick.
She slid out of the driver’s side of her SUV, not noticing the dark-colored sports coupe parked just on the other side of her. Head down and trying desperately to avoid the evidence of autumn’s chill, she sprinted to her rear passenger
On Monday, Venessa Stenson stared out the window during math drills. Mrs. Reynolds called to her, asked her for the solution in the problem set, and waited for an answer. Venessa looked at Mrs. Reynolds and shook her head slightly. “I don’t
“It’s been too damn long,” Jericho said, gazing at me from across the table, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. His dark eyes drawing me in like quicksand. “I agree.” I leaned forward, warmth too strong for the ceiling
“Do you know the story about what happened that day? The one that makes Momma cry every time Papa tells it?” I knew the story. It haunted my childhood. Papa only told it on his bad days when working down at Mr.
She went to see if he was dead. But when she got down to Olive Branch and saw Beanie in his hospital bed, his breathing was calm. He groaned, moved his head a lot. Constance’s blade had in fact punctured his left
I’ve been dreaming. In my dreams, my sisters sit in circle formation, our legs crossed after a long day of picking okra. We laugh and cry with one another. We share secrets and indulge in nostalgia. “Remember when we spent our days
“I’ll be damned if anybody beat me again, tellin me I’m ugly and worthless. What’s family? I don’t need you or your bullshit. That’s what I told them when I left. I was thirteen, but I was determined I could make it.
The leaves on the two maple trees in the yard beamed a spectacular fiery red as the blue bottles that hung from them shimmered under the late afternoon sun. It was an uncharacteristically warm Fall day in the small southern town of
The Solomon family car is small and green and was bought from a used lot seventeen years ago. It is not equipped for long drives. So the Solomons walked, or biked, or drove the car short distances at ten miles under the