Browsing all articles from March, 2010

ex.: #2 Longing, something that I missed.

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Mar
29

Twelve is Too Old

‘The Playground’ we called it, was the high school two doors down from my house. It was a large blonde brick building that took up half of the entire block it’s black hardtop playground included basketball courts, a baseball diamond with batters cage, hopscotch board, and a scaled down football field ,all marked with thick white paint.

Mr. Gianelli was the head security guard there. An elderly man with thick black eyebrows, a year round tan and wavy white hair that looked like a rippling silver lake tamed neatly on his large head. Mr. G was constantly haunting the hallways and patrolling the playground from morning till evening with his cluster of silvery keys jingling from his belt loop.

I’d known him all of my life. I fancied him like a grandfather, replacing the two I had lost. He was a gruff man who scared other kids with his loud voice when you disobeyed a rule, wrote on a bench or threw your gum on the ground, but I liked him. He was a good whistler; that has always been, for me, an intriguing talent to posses. I thought he had a soft spot for me too. He started my nickname that followed me through my entire life in Jersey, ‘Little Lyons‘.

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Mar
29

Intersection

She rolled her eyes and screwed up her mouth and stuck her leathery face into his bland one. “You have no idea what‘s good for me!! I HATE you!”
Danny stared at his mother with a mixture of pity and regret. “How did she progress to this stage so quickly?” He wondered. It had seemed like only yesterday, they received the diagnosis. He felt guilty for not getting her to a doctor sooner. He thought everything was fine with her.. While he went to work, his mother stayed home, did some laundry, and watched a few soaps. When he came home ,they cooked dinner together. They both loved to cook. She forgot a few things here and there, but she was old and that seemed normal.

She had a little buddy she used to take walks with too. It was on just such a day when his mother and Margie Plotski took a stroll around the block that her descent into dementia became apparent. They parted ways outside of Margie’s front porch. His mother had only to walk two doors down to their place, but had kept on going. She walked all the way downtown.

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Mar
12

Another Evening With WriteByNight has come and gone. The event was deliciously literary, and the wine wasn’t bad either.

A great big thank you to all of our wonderful readers:
Marcia Davis, essay; Gerald Fitzgerald, short fiction; Lucy Fyfe, poetry; Susan Krzepisz, novel excerpt; Nicholas Manzino, poetry; Nicholas Morvillo, poetry; Amanda Smith, short fiction