CrispyPastas

  Jessie found herself in her basement. When she read books, people tended to wake up one sense at a time–hearing something, opening their eyes, feeling cold or bound–and she was overwhelmed when all her senses turned on at once. She was instantly alert and moving, like after hearing a cat start to throw up in the middle of the night.  Slatted sunlight streamed through small windows and she looked away so her eyes would stay sensitive to the darkness. Same piles of boxes. Same dust piled in corners: every time she did laundry, she intended to bring down the vacuum but never did. There was a mass of broken wood and subflooring materials next to her and her eyes tracked up. She stared at the hole she had fallen through, wondering why no-one had come downstairs for her. Why would her husband just leave her? He had called 911; if they wouldn’t let him come down, why wasn’t a firefighter carrying her upstairs?  She circled, craning her neck. Voices carried downstairs. Her hu...

  I was nine the first time I remember this happening. My parents were getting divorced. They thought they were good at hiding their arguments from me.  I’d just been watching them through the kitchen window while they screamed at each other on the back deck.  My mom said some stuff I didn’t know about my dad, and my dad called her a bitch.  This was what made me decide to go for a walk in the woods.  It was just a slim buffer of pine trees between our apartment complex and the highway, but it was the only place I really had to stew in private. I was going really fast with my head down.  I wanted to keep walking until I wore through my shoes and collapsed with bloody feet on the sidewalk in whatever town I’d managed to make it to.  I fantasized about my panicked parents showing up at the hospital and all the doctors and nurses giving them judgmental looks.  I almost tripped over a pair of antlers on the ground because I wasn’t really paying attent...

  I heard my husband sigh behind me, just a mild sort of prolonged exhale, and was instantly furious. Dude, the fuck? This whole thing wasn’t even my IDEA.  “I mean, I’m not saying that you shouldn’t have exactly what you want, it’s your kitchen, right? I’m just saying that…maybe I’m not totally understanding the vision, here.” She crossed her arms and leaned back against the vinyl countertop speculatively.  “Like, what part, specifically?” If it had been up to me, we wouldn’t have even started this project. This whole thing would have been a DIY paint job and new appliances. And new flooring. And tile. “Red, you’re saying red floor tiles? Pizza shop style?”  I never thought a kitchen designer would be mean. “No, um…” I turned around and looked at my husband, whose former business partner this was mocking my color scheme, and he looked evenly back at me. “Um, like…terracotta.”  “Which is pink, and” she cleared her throat pointedly “...and a bit out of budget. Wh...

  Hair Horse Jessie smelled Aaron’s head–it was a combination of powder and milk and warm, culminating in a swell in her chest that physically hurt. She touched his tiny head, resisting an urge to run her hand across the soft spots. He was completely, completely perfect. She twirled a tiny dark curl, marvelling, and made a small primal sound as he nestled against her. Looking down, she clicked her tongue like a camera. Ten months later, she was staring at that same hair with small scissors in hand. It had grown to cover his eyes and her husband was insistent that Aaron be able to see. Her hand trembled and she put the scissors down on the washcloth, next to his special bag. Deep sigh. She would have to do this someday. Jesse had been older at her first haircut; she remembered her mother singing: Scrunch your eyes And wiggle your toes Snip! Goes the clip And in the bag it goes Else Hair Horse will get this guy!  They were some of her most special childhood memories, that intima...