First published in Belle Reve Literary Journal

She raced up the back stairs to their second story apartment. It was Friday and Talent Roundup Day on the Mickey Mouse Club. She ran home from school every day for her favorite television show. Friday’s show was her very favorite, but she jerked to a stop on the landing that held the entry to their place. The door was open. No one should be there. Mama was at work. She couldn’t move, didn’t know what to do. And then, through the screen door, she saw mama breeze into the kitchen.

“Baby, why are you just standing there? Come inside.”

“Are you sure? Is there a criminal with a gun in there making you act like everything’s okay so I’ll come in and be captured, too?”

“Good gosh, Zuzu. Get in here. Where did you get that imagination? Never mind. I know.”

… Continue reading

First published in Deep South Magazine

On Saturdays, Opal Pratt went to the Piggly Wiggly in nearby Vicksburg, Mississippi to buy groceries. On Sunday mornings, she went to church and sat alone on the back row. On Mondays, she did her small batch of laundry. On a daily basis, Opal did her chores, listened to the radio and hummed her favorite popular songs. In the afternoon, she took a creamy, sugary mug of coffee to the front porch and sat in her momma’s rocker. The table next to it still needed folded paper stuck under one leg to keep it steady. When she considered the table’s repair, though, she remembered the coin purse that held her savings for a television set. Most people had them.

The dirt road to her house was short making it easy to observe the goings and comings on the highway – delivery trucks, the school bus, the Trailways bus taking folks who knew where.

Opal’s life was small, circumscribed by routine and loneliness.

On this afternoon, …

Continue reading at Deep South Magazine

As soon as the velveteen curtains closed at the front of the stage, Francine Fontaine quickly grabbed up her discarded garments and escaped into the wings to get out of the way for the next dancer. On her way to the shared dressing room, she passed the toothless old doorman who made his usual grab at the tassel dangling from her right breast.

“God dammit, Papere.” She didn’t really care. She always swore at him with a smile. He always cackled and spittle always sprayed. She never even slowed down. Their daily exchange was as choreographed as her striptease.

… Continue reading at Deep South Magazine

Dorcas was just getting ready for bed when her cell phone chirped. Pulling up her jeans to avoid tripping, she retrieved her phone, looked at caller ID and froze. She shot a hard look at her husband and held out the phone for Tony to see. Despite his frown, she answered.

“Yes?”

“Where are you? I don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting and you’re still not here. You’re late. Why do you always keep me waiting like this? You never could keep up with the time.”

“Mother, where are you?”

“You know exactly where I am. I’m on the porch of the old folks’ home where you stuck me. Just stuck me away like I stick away your presents that I never like. You never had good taste.”

… Continue reading at The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature

She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. She couldn’t do any more. Amelia handed the test booklet to the proctor seated at a small, metal table just outside the door.

“You’ll have free time until lunch,” advised the proctor.

“Thank you.”

Amelia cocked her head momentarily, then started down the hall toward her room. She didn’t turn her head, but she knew others were chattering in clumps along the wide hall that always smelled of cleaning solution. They were comparing notes about the exams, the most recent one in particular. Amelia was generally not included in the camaraderie, but she didn’t care.

She didn’t want to be here, didn’t need to be here, shouldn’t be here. … Continue reading at NPR