NAPPED My soul mate had one eye, one kidney, seizures, arthritis, high blood pressure, back problems, little to no hearing, the scar of a severe but healed abscess under his chin, and gingivitis. He got this way at a relatively young age and, for much of the life I had with him, I knew that I would be content when
Out of Egypt I Called My Father—40 Years After He Left On His Own
Out of Egypt I Called My Father—40 Years After He Left On His Own My father crawled as best he could, holding out a flashlight that blinded me when I turned to look at him. We moved together and with no one else inside the entry vein of the Red Pyramid of Dahshur, Egypt. As the guards assured us, about
Teta
My grandmother has worn black in bereavement for 40 years. Now, I think, she wears it for herself.
Love Can Bite Me
Love is a durable inconvenience. It doesn’t budge, not even when I will it far, far away in anger or sadness.
We Are Different
We will host you again, any time you put yourself at our doorstep. The door is always open because, if we close it, we choke ourselves in the smoke of our extinguished hope.
Hardships Over These Blue Seas
In one week, I lost newfound innocence. I learned new, hard ways that this world is cruel. Three things happened.
The Most Open House
About four blocks away from these typing brown fingers, there is a townhouse with swastikas inlaid into a custom hardwood floor border. I was not invited in, but I was in that house and I walked over the glossy unmistakable emblem that marked each corner of the empty living room with my own feet. The functional fireplace sagged between a
Halloweirdo
I’ve always loved Halloween. I was about 13 years old when I discovered I loved it an inordinate amount. My mother was startled by what I considered brilliantly thrifty decorations. I used all sorts of ordinary household items to create an interactive haunted house in my room. I stuff plastic bags into my black tights, to make thin, frail, crunchy
Homing Pigeon
I’ve consumed so much Egyptian clarified butter that it flows out of my pores. I don’t even like it. It is discriminately used in select traditional dishes, like a green mucous soup made of Jews Mallow or thick holiday cookies, and I find it irresistible only because my American-Egyptian stomach cannot resist it with a clear conscious. My palate does
Hug Free Zone
“You never hugged me, Mom.” “You’re a liar, Monica. I always hugged you and I wiped your butt too,” she defended herself. “How could you say I never hugged you?” That’s not how I mean it.