Nelle and Tru (For Harper Lee)

  “I hate going outside, I absolutely hate it, hate it, hate it,” said Nelle to the sad-looking boy standing at the porch door. “You’ve gotta come, ya just gotta,” said the boy. “P…l….e…a….s…e!” He said in one of those elongated ways, that folks from town always used. This was Alabama and the way people talked could be used as a weapon, as well as … Continue reading Nelle and Tru (For Harper Lee)

The House

Apart from an occasional family of coyotes, no one lives there any more. Leastways, not since Silas found his mother cold as ice in her bed that Thanksgiving. After they’d put her in the ground, he took the last of the money from the ginger jar and headed to the Panhandle to look up Sara, his sweetheart. Don’t let the way it looks fool you. … Continue reading The House

My Pal, Thing

Long after Thing had departed the valley, and long, long after those who were his kin had disappeared; a woman came calling on me, one oppressive day in May. Her name was Esther Williams, and she apologized for the way the sweat stains on her clothes had made her appearance look disheveled. “It was a long train ride from the District,” she said, and by … Continue reading My Pal, Thing

Me and Buzz and the Geetars

One night over by Cripple Creek when Buzz was working as a Bus Boy in Mama Leone’s Fish Factory, I went by to see how things were doing. That place was dead, I mean real dead, I mean as dead as Jimmy Manson wanting to play quarterback after that photo of him dressed as Shirley Temple went around the team; that dead. “S’up?” I said … Continue reading Me and Buzz and the Geetars

The Time of Storms

I was trying to think back to what year all of this took place, and I guess I would be right in saying that Hank Williams was still alive and so it must have been sometime in the winter of ’49. I remember that year ‘cause my daddy was always singing Mister Williams’ song, ‘My Bucket’s Got A Hole In It’ and then he’d wink … Continue reading The Time of Storms

Lives in 100 words

New York City, December 1963 I remember fighting a rather lonely wind as I crossed Central Park on that particular Wednesday before Christmas; an old faded newspaper flapped in the breeze against a wooden seat but I could still make out the headline: ‘JFK Dead’. They would be coming soon, those wise men from the east, the Beatles with their new English beat music. Perhaps … Continue reading Lives in 100 words

New York City, 1948 (100 words)

From that little room in the cold-water apartment you could smell Harlem. The top window being stuck open with the paint that was probably put on around the time of Pearl Harbor. Cooking smells danced in along with thumps and arguments from far off places. I decided that I needed fresh air and I headed down to 8Th avenue where the folks were drinking canned-heat … Continue reading New York City, 1948 (100 words)