She counts the children as they come through the door—one, two, and three—to reassure herself that they are hers. She can’t say just how happy she is to see them; she’s missed them all summer long. She hardly recognizes them; they’re browner than ever before, and somehow warmer to the touch. She hugs them and her hands come away coated with fine grains of sand. Both boys come back taller and sporting fresh haircuts. The girl is fuller around the hips and her hair is braided in a different … [Read more...] about What the Tide Returns
NOTEBOOK FEATURE
Balikbayan
Two of my uncles hoisted the balikbayan box out of the truck bed. I heard the package hit the ground even though I was ten meters away, sitting on the porch, where I always sat. My seven younger cousins played with marbles in the shade, but when my uncles waved them over, they raced across the driveway to swarm the gift like moths around a fire. My aunts and uncles tore the tape away and removed a dozen toys, each wrapped in colorful cardboard and pristine plastic, jammed between hand-me-down … [Read more...] about Balikbayan
Rockaway
In May, Amy called to say she was squatting in the caretaker’s quarters of the Rockaway Motel. She needed her car; she wanted to sell it. When I pulled her old Volvo wagon into the dusky parking lot, I could see it had once been a nice getaway: empty pool in the middle of a courtyard surrounded by a clutch of cabins. Thick stands of pitch pine protected the motel from the sea. The caretaker’s quarters were cavernous and shadowy, a paneled welcome desk near the door. I shouldn’t have been … [Read more...] about Rockaway
The Chimp
Down slid the chimp. Not quite like a fireman, more hand-over-hand because the pole inside the four-foot-wide acrylic cylinder running floor-to-ceiling in the middle of my apartment had branches. Surely, shit piled on the floor below – the chimp was good at tearing off his diaper – but the beauty of it was I couldn't see it or smell it, and the rent was great because the chimp's owner kept the top and bottom apartments of the triplex. You'll never meet your neighbor, said the realtor, but his … [Read more...] about The Chimp
To Deaden the Nerve
https://soundcloud.com/americanshortfiction/to-deaden-the-nerve-by-christopher-notarnicola Marines sit on the ground with their feet in their hands, their bare knees against the wet morning grass to stretch their groins, to loosen their limbs, to gather themselves near the flight line behind company headquarters. They await the arrival of their instructor, the start of their next round of martial arts training. They wait to advance, to add to their takedowns and submissions, to harden their … [Read more...] about To Deaden the Nerve
She Said It Like She Meant It
There’s a cemetery on a mountainside in Kabul that’s running out of space. I read a New York Times piece about it years ago. A group of boys run grave maintenance, for a price, and one girl, six years old, works the mountainside with them. She brags like the boys about taking in mourners—too young to appreciate how much we mourners want to be taken in. She brags about what her father in Iran will bring her when he returns home. She prays for a Galaxy phone. I still think about her prayers and … [Read more...] about She Said It Like She Meant It