Fiction

Our summer celebrity. Wrangled by Marlboro Man of the sea, primordial weapons silenced by a rubber band. Tenement tank housed, royal beast demeaned, indolently waiting. Precarious scale — it could cost. Cooking awkward, a twinge....

It began with a serendipitous experience five years ago this month: I accompanied a friend on a weekend of house hunting in East Hampton. When we opened the gate to the property, I felt the earth move — the grounds took my breath away. My...

It was hard for the old man to unravel the knot he had tied at the end of the plastic bag. No matter, he was in no hurry, and the birds would wait. Today they would have to be especially patient. The extreme cold had penetrated his gloves and slowed...

When I met her, she was Cathy. Later, she was Catherine. Still later, she was Cleo, Chloe, and Cologne. But to me, she will always be Cathy, for that was her name when we first met as teenage acting students. From what she told me, she was raised...

    Airport limo drivers are like fighter pilots. Hurtling towards oblivion on the B.Q.E. or the L.I.E., the Grand Central Parkway or Utopia Parkway, the Jackie Robinson or the Van Wyck. The chaos of Queens is the chaos of now. My...

    I noticed the children were all taking off their shoes as if they were entering a shrine, as if they were about to enter a special, consecrated place. Then quietly and with reverence they began the walk to explore.

Part Two Mr. Papadopoulos’s Cousin Lalekos     The time came when Etienne and I desperately wanted a boat. We saved. It would have to be a used boat, of course, but we found family backing, matching funds and so on from...

Part One The Idea of a Boat

White translucent balloon lost from a child’s delight skips freely for a moment along the sandy landscape draws pattern on the wind. Sapphire sky backdrops its wild frolic. Time shifts. Afternoon light kindles the beach bright umber. A...

    This is my story of the summer of 1949. I was 9, chubby, not too athletic or to be more honest not athletic, but doted upon by many assorted aunts, maternal and paternal, and, of course, by my mother. I worshipped my fourth grade...

Before the onset of age and arteries breakfasts were freewheelin’ affairs runny sunny-side-up eggs on a stack with crispy bacon and greasy home fries buttered white toast and java black heated debates with friends and foes cigarette...

    Southampton, Majors Path, age 5: Sunday late afternoons Dad would lift me onto his bike and pedal through long green lanes to Sip ’N’ Soda, where we’d lick matching banana cones. Wet creamy fruit on our tongues,...

    It seemed like a good idea at the time, if not a little bizarre; things were getting worse with Mother.     When we wheeled her to the park, the only thing that made Mom smile was the sight of children,...