North of

[Fiction] Bob Dylan comes to Thanksgiving Dinner:

“We park in front of my mom’s house, my mom who has been waiting for us at the door, probably since dawn. Her hello carries over the lawn. Bob Dylan opens the car door, stretches one leg and then the other. He wears a black leather coat, and has spent the entire ride from New York trying to remember the name of a guitarist he played with in Memphis. I pull our bags from the trunk.

“‘You always pack too much,’ I say.

He shrugs. His arms are small in his coat. His legs are small in his jeans.

“‘Hello hello,’ my mother says as we amble toward her.

“‘This is Bob,’ I say.

Published: Jun 4, 2012
Length: 21 minutes (5,460 words)

Great, Wondrous

[Fiction] The lifelong impact of brief friendships. A woman meets three friends in college who have special gifts:

“Charles voice is controlled mortification. You fainted, he says.

“One of the girls holds my hand. You totally did, she agrees.

“Where are the birds? I say.

“They disappeared when you fainted, the other Earring Girl says.

“Her face is replaced by a mall paramedic demanding know what year it is, who is president, what my husband’s name is, what my name is.

“My husband’s name is Ian, I say.

“It is the wrong answer; their faces make this clear.”

Published: May 23, 2012
Length: 39 minutes (9,950 words)