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.
Author:
Source:
Electric Literature
Published: Jun 4, 2012
Length: 21 minutes (5,460 words)