My senior year of high school I kissed a boy in the parking lot of a supermarket and found out the next day that my grandmother had died of liver failure.

That morning, I rolled over with the intention of apologizing. I'd meant everything I'd said, but none of it was enough for me to end anything. It was the hazards of a relationship; I had to decide if I was losing myself or becoming better.

We both found ourselves giggling at the situation three beers deep, both of us watching how our fingers raced to hug the other’s.

I read the article and passed her the phone.

On the drive home, I waited in the dark of the third-row seat for Z to act, reach for my hand or kiss my cheek. But he wouldn’t do anything until college, until I cornered him in the bathroom at a Halloween party and forced the space between us to shrink.

Between beeps and coughs, he begged to be unplugged, begged for them to let his fluid tanks run dry.

Picture a baby shower.

“This one’s kind of a dud,” he said, turning the page. “It’s fine, but I’m not sure where it goes.”
“That’s like me on this path,” she said.
“It’s really not.”

The best wrestler he'd ever seen.

You look like a zombie who’s just seen a ghost, the mirror mouthed back. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” I whisper, “the Lord is with thee.”

“The Lord doesn’t give a crap about us coloring eggs,” says Bee.

She didn’t look mad, but she was something. She was moving slow-fast like a cat, something I’d never witnessed, like I could feel how fast she wanted to go but wasn’t going.

All around him the congregation erupted. Tears of rapture. Hugs of friendship. Compassionate embraces. Passionate kisses. Erotic caresses.

Are you in my head? Do you know what goes on up here? Do you know what’s preceded all that goes on up here? 

A tendril of smoke dissipated above us. She made an opening in her hands, revealing a little frog. Its throat pumped rapidly.

His subconscious deemed them too short, or not steep enough, or their grass was flecked with yellow and brown. He had succeeded in agitating his appetite and wondered what he would have for dinner.

People hung around outside of convenience stores with their hands over their mouths blowing smoke. Stereos played loud Christmas music.

Hank sucked what was left of his cigarette back in one pull and flicked it into the alley.  The hot light of the ember cartwheeled through the air before disappearing into the snow.

“Hm,” Yoda grunted, considering the foyer, it’s openness, how exposed he was, and what he could do about it. “Hm,” he grunted again.

He tells them, pays for the burgers and, as they drive to the mall, as if to encourage them, a general addressing his troops, he tells them about fights with broken bottles, about fighting the black kids because he was white, the Italian and Polish kids because he was Jewish, the rich kids because he was poor.

When I wasn’t on the road, I ate lunch at the diner just to watch Cathy polish the cutlery. 

Well, at least we aren't just dead, she said.  

What?

At least we aren't dead, right?

Yeah. 

When our baby arrives I am feeling a funny mix of elation and terror – what have we done?

A woman at our airport gate is eating a box of powdered donut holes and not licking her lips. She is capable... more

Sometimes we’d see a slip of moon hung in velvety sky, and we’d find ourselves crying for no good reason, or maybe every reason that we could think of.