ArchiveApril 2016

Scarlett drives a red Mercedes with dealer plates. Every time she turns in, the harelip BMW follows. Some Saturdays her fiancé will run fifteen minutes late. She’ll be cutting into her second pancake when he pulls in. I love those Saturdays. I have fifteen minutes to initiate a conversation. I have fifteen minutes to pour myself a cup of coffee and join her. I have fifteen minutes to hear her...

I love the way her name feels in my mouth. Sometimes I whisper it to myself in the bathroom because I wouldn’t dare to mispronounce it. I sometimes sing her name – draw it out like an opening note to a song. I’ve been told I am tone deaf on more than one occasion, so I know my rendition could never do her justice. Her name is a line of poetry, a preface to some long lost tale, an easily...