Fiction

   Chubby, awkward, and full of dreams in 1970, I sat at the window of my parents’ house on Bayberry Lane in Amagansett Dunes. They weren’t called “the Dunes” back then. It was simply the big sandy area east of Mako...

Jess was sitting by the window watching rain split the sandy glass like wandering ant trails; rain for the first time in six weeks.             Rain here was like blood trickling into a weak body....

   “I see your brother outside,” David said. “What’s he doing?”                     Colin went over to the window to see what Mike...

   Look what the postman brought you, says my mother, holding out a worn manila envelope, covered with the familiar strong, black, smartly angled slashes of alphabet letters that create names and addresses. I recognize my name, and our...

   “Your teeth bothering you, Jack? I know a guy who can take care of that. Rip ’em out. Give you a nice set of dentures. You’ll be able to eat a giant bowl of ice cream, walk through a wind tunnel, no problem....

I have to say my past couple of Halloweens were a drag. Yes, it was certainly good to get out after months cooped up in a very small space and, yes, that crisp autumn air was always so invigorating. But, when you’re my age, the bones catch a...

    Mom, cocktail in hand, retires to the den and “American Idol.” Myra goes to the living room with a copy of Time. On the piano are rows of pictures of Tara. The little joiner. Tara’s extra-curricular activities...

   Tara always thought of repression as a myth, a psychological put-on. Now she lives with it. The rape itself she doesn’t remember. She remembers being on the bathroom floor and there being blood. She was drunk and had to get her...

   Tara always thought of repression as a myth, a psychological put-on. Now she lives with it. The rape itself she doesn’t remember. She remembers being on the bathroom floor and there being blood. She was drunk and had to get her...