Photo by Leeta Harding
Bonnie Chadwick was the type of girl about whom other girls said, “I don’t know what they see in her.” This meant simply that Bonnie was a mantrap—envied, admired, and hated like poison.
“I love how you just sit there and take it.”
Meg has dreams about babies. Being pregnant. Tiny fingernails running ribbons in her stomach. The weight, carrying down her thighs. One minute slim and young with a tennis racket in hand and the next full with human, one rip away from holding that mess of blood and her own insides, being responsible forever. Forever.
One of those moments when the evil magician opened his bag of tricks and dumped them out on your head. All the wrong things came together at the same time. They were working way the hell out in the country. July in Virginia, ninety before noon.
A year ago I got grandma one of those drug dealer phones from CVS. It would cost me twenty bucks a month to buy a card to make phone calls – ten times cheaper than what the crooks at the nursing home charged for a room phone every month.