*****I found your card on the counter. *****Happy anniversary. The fifth celebrates everything “wood”—as in, gimme some wood, sugar; as in, we got roots, darlin’; as in, we done weathered some storms, huh? *****Yeah, hon, sure. Nice sentiment, but why’re you MIA today? *****A pile of unwrapped odds and ends surrounded it. Like you forgot, […]
Fifth Time’s a Charm Read More »
I once dated this girl who only ever moved half her mouth. She hadn’t had a stroke or anything, no weird neurological disorder, nothing like that; those were the mechanics, plain and simple. Half stiff for whatever odd biological reason: a marionette string that had snapped, perhaps. It was cute. Darling, even. The left half of her lips would hang there—neglected-houseplant limp—cognizant of their own futility, their persistent inability to partake. Whenever she smiled, the right side would curl into this Grinch-inspired smirk: a lopsided, one-sided grin that always, always caught me off guard. In a good way. I found the lack
