Recent Stories: Fiction

May 14, 2015
On a certain bleak day in March, hundreds of mothers, fathers, and children are in a line snaking out onto the street in front of the JetBlue terminal, where the taxis and black S.U.V.s are double and triple-parked. Our family is no different.

On a certain bleak day in March, hundreds of mothers, fathers, and children are in a line snaking out onto the street in front of the JetBlue terminal, where the taxis and black S.U.V.s are double and triple-parked. Our family is no different.

May 5, 2015
Only your Singer knows how many times you pricked your fingers with the needle. How many times the bobbin bopped up and down, singing your praises.

Only your Singer knows how many times you pricked your fingers with the needle. How many times the bobbin bopped up and down, singing your praises. Since you were only 14 when you were forced to quit school and work in a sweat shop to help put food on the table, I wonder how often you talked to the old machine about doing something more important in your life.

April 30, 2015
My Aunt Bessie, who was known as Bobby, came to the U.S. in the early 1920s along with many other Jewish men, women, and children who had managed to survive World War I in the Russian Pale.

My Aunt Bessie, who was known as Bobby, came to the U.S. in the early 1920s along with many other Jewish men, women, and children who had managed to survive World War I in the Russian Pale. Bessie was about 18; she and three brothers and their parents managed to leave Kopulia (other names are Kopyl or Kapyl), which was about 50 miles from Minsk in Belarus.

April 23, 2015
If Pep were here today he would tell you stories that only a lifelong bayman could. He would predict the next week of weather based solely on the tides, the way the wind had come ’round, and the current phase of the moon.

If Pep were here today he would tell you stories that only a lifelong bayman could. He would predict the next week of weather based solely on the tides, the way the wind had come ’round, and the current phase of the moon. (He was usually right, which was good since his life had depended on knowing how to read the weather when he was at sea).

April 14, 2015

The Blue Chevy  
     
        

Star staff
April 7, 2015

The Star welcomes submissions of essays for its “Guestwords” column, of between 700 and 1,200 words, and of short fiction or memoir, of up to 2,000 words. Please send submissions for review by email, in text or Word format, to submissions@ehstar.com.

April 7, 2015

Joe and Mack were two guys who simply could not get along. This was a problem since they worked almost side by side in the office. A certain whistle, tap of a pencil, or voice inflection and Joe was at Mack’s throat. Nobody was ever sure why, but Mack almost seemed to enjoy being able to push Joe’s buttons, for whatever reason. Even though Joe was much bigger and stronger.

March 31, 2015

The drive along the Southern State Parkway was terrifying, as Emma pictured the accident in her mind over and over again and jumped as a car roared past her going at least 90.

She inched her way through the hamlets of Amityville, Bay Shore, and Patchogue, where the road narrowed to two lanes, and past the small-town farming communities of the Hamptons, a welcome sight after the bustle and noise of Manhattan.

She stopped at a grocery in Bridgehampton for a few supplies, the same store where her mother always shopped, and drove south on Ocean Road.

March 24, 2015

I met Walker back in the 1980s when I was doing public relations and marketing for a boutique law firm that specialized in real estate transactions. While escorting me to the elevators, one of the firm’s lawyers lightly touched my elbow and said, “See that old guy, our messenger? We hired him last week. He was once a promising welterweight in the 1930s and ’40s. I know you’re interested in boxing so you should talk with him.

March 16, 2015

Back in the day, living with my family in East Hampton, I had neither the right vehicle, despite the efforts of Mr. DiSunno, from whom I had purchased my Dodge in Amagansett, nor the expertise to drive back and forth to Queens College twice a week, where I was teaching in their Adult Education master’s program in philosophy, winging it as usual, just one page ahead of my students.

March 10, 2015

Fire

Star staff
March 5, 2015

The Star welcomes submissions of essays for its “Guestwords” column, of between 700 and 1,200 words, and of short fiction or memoir, of up to 2,000 words. Please send submissions for review by email, in text or Word format, to submissions@ehstar.com.

March 5, 2015

After I graduated “stew school” at Capitol International Airways on June 18, 1971, I got to fly all over the world. It was during the glamour days of flying — little white gloves, shoulder-padded blue skirt suits, coiffed hairdos, and broad smiles. At 22, I was fearless and faced turbulence and unruly passengers without blinking an eye.

February 24, 2015

What does it take to make my day? What brings a lilt to my step, half a smile, perhaps an amused preoccupation? These admittedly cliché experiences in and of themselves feel foolish and at the same time perfectly all right. Will anyone care, really?

Today, it is a fox sparrow. I see it from my bedroom window. My heart skips a beat. I’ve seen a few others, but only one before in my backyard.

February 17, 2015

Bob and Carol Goodman had taken their summer vacations down on the Jersey Shore for the past several years. It was always a pleasant time with their three children. This year, however, on the suggestion of a mutual friend, they were thinking of trying something different. The Hamptons.

Carol’s friend Sally, who was there the night Siegfried and Roy got attacked by the white tiger — blood was everywhere, Sally said — had a friend who wanted to rent his place in the peaceful hamlet of Amagansett.

Star staff
February 12, 2015

The Star welcomes submissions of essays for its “Guestwords” column, of between 700 and 1,200 words, and of short fiction, between 1,000 and 2,000 words.

Authors can email their pieces (in text or Word format) to submissions@ehstar.com, with “Fiction” or “Guestwords” in the subject line.

Submissions must be sent in their final versions. Rough drafts will not be accepted. A very short biographical note must be included.

February 10, 2015

A long, exposed T-beam cut the room in half and was covered in tacked-on dollar bills. “K+D, WANY” was written on one in thick black Sharpie. All of the other bills were covered in similar markings of blue or black ink.

February 3, 2015

Wednesday, January 28, at 8 a.m., after excavating the last chunk of formidable plow wake at the end of your driveway, you’re once again conferred the privilege of taking your wheels out on the neighborhood for a — thankfully we’re speaking metaphorically here — spin. It all goes down quite steadily and safely — and sunnily, oh the wonder of a drive after not having had one for a day! Refound freedom! A machine-operating renaissance! A second honeymoon with your Honda!

January 28, 2015

Part Two
My husband and I never missed a rent payment. The money was always deducted from our checking account by the landlord. Eight months into my pregnancy with the twins, maternity clothes sized in extra large no longer fit me. My bottom half was spared — I could still wedge myself into my black cotton maternity pants. Shirts were another story, nothing covered me properly. Bits of my bulging belly would stick out, revealing a brownish line extending from my belly button down to the stretchy panel of my pants, like an arrow pointing to an exit sign.

January 20, 2015

I heard a joke a long time ago that reminds me of my mother. It goes like this: Two cannibals are eating a clown and one says to the other, “Does this taste funny to you?”

I could never decide whether I was the cannibal, sitting with my mother, the cannibal, discussing the taste of the funny clown. Or perhaps I was the clown being chewed up by my mother. For the longest time I couldn’t figure out why it reminded me of her, but something about our relationship felt funny.

Star staff
January 14, 2015

The Star welcomes submissions of essays for its “Guestwords” column, of between 700 and 1,200 words, and of short fiction, between 1,000 and 2,000 words.

Authors can either email their pieces (in text or Word format) to submissions@ehstar.com, with “Fiction” or “Guestwords” in the subject line, or mail them, preferably on disk and saved in a text format, to The Star, Box 5002, East Hampton 11937. A very short biographical note should also be included.

January 12, 2015

Paul gave me a good old-fashioned radio for Christmas this year. My request. I love the idea of turning on the radio and having NPR or a local station for my audio backdrop as I putter about.

January 6, 2015

Early on a Sunday morning on Delancey Street on the Lower East Side of New York I accidentally met my father on my way to work at Max Hosiery on Orchard Street. I was 14 and hadn’t seen him since I was 10.     

Max Hosiery was located on this famous street and sold ladies, mens, and children’s hosiery and underwear, pajamas and nightgowns, wholesale and retail.

December 30, 2014

I am a coward. Yesterday, when I found the 20-year-old, unsent letter, I threw it away without opening or reading it. Why scrape at old wounds? You were lost to me then, as was our shared homeland, the Big Island of Hawaii.  Would sending the letter have revived our early love? Was I careless in forgetting to mail the letter, or fearful of your answer? I fear pain. I am a coward.