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Her Body, Her Self: Part II
After her beloved grandmother’s death, the specifics of Jayne’s molestation, stifled for so long, pushed their way out. The resulting confluence of grief, shame, and bewilderment caused Jayne to shut down completely. She was unable to concentrate, unable to lead her team of three other Covenant Players, unable to serve as their mentor out on
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Her Body, Her Self
Holidays were the worst. During the holidays, the family gathered together in one house, so he gave up his bedroom for the guests. During the holidays, he slept on the couch in the living room. As a “big girl” little kid, she slept on the floor in the living room. Her took her body from
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One Hot Day
Lawsy, it was hot. We’d weathered a memorable ride on a mini-bus (dolmus) to get there, a ride packed full of sweating bodies overlapping each other, a ride reeking of body odor, a ride without moving air to calm the overheated brain. Once we got off the mini-bus, we then had to walk down a
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Taking Stock
As one year ends, and a new one begins, it is tradition to slow down for a moment to take stock. Although I generally chafe at tradition, and although I tend to exhaust myself by taking stock every day of every year, I do like the notion of recording some of my favorite things from
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Merry Banana-mas to All, and May Your Pants Be Skin-Tight
“I’ll have a banana split,” said the nondescript man in the Member’s Only jacket, placing his order. A banana split? For high school girls working the counter of Rimrock Mall’s Hipster Doogan ice cream and corn dog emporium, an order for a banana split was cause for excitement. Sure, we scooped a lot of single
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That’s Right, Billy Joel: Here’s Another Fire You Didn’t Start
Last night, I told my husband, “In case you were doubting my power or questioning my influence–and it’s the wise man who does neither–I have definitive evidence that I’m changing the world.” “Really?” he responded, cagily remaining neutral until he figured out what direction this announcement was headed. “You got it, Mister. I was at
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While I Still Don’t Look Like A Model, I Am Closing in on Hairy Old Grandma
A group of girls–some of them my “best friends”–wrote this note and gave it to me in junior high. As much as the words still make my stomach hurt (do we ever lose touch with our 11-year-old selves?), and as much as I fall to my knees and thank the sky gods for the fact
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Flushing the Queer Birds out of the Bushes
She was built like a hobbit hut. Squat. Stout. Solidly constructed. Unlikely to tip over, even when besieged by orcs. Then she bent down to examine something on the path, and as the elastic waistband on her denim shorts stretched to its limits, the outline of her person both shrank and expanded. Her skin was
