Surprisingly, becoming a mother didn’t wait for my son’s birth. Mid-pregnancy I awoke with the thought that “I am a mother.” Shock, then awe as I realized my position within the universe had irrevocably changed for all eternity.
Forty years parenting, ten years grieving. Still a mother. Still his mother.
Eileen has four sons spread throughout the universe, with three still with her on Earth.
“I see things.” Her words send a shiver down my spine. “Mama’s red hair. Papa’s scowl.”
“Liv…”
Memories flicker in her eyes. Endless nights of quilt-cover armour and tears.
“I’m afraid they’re back.”
I glance into the hallway, where our parents’ silhouettes hover. I can’t tell her they never left.
Anna Sanderson writes about the world as she sees it (with the odd twist and turn). You can follow her story on Twitter at @annasanderson86.
She is sitting at the table, laughing and talking. No special occasion, just one of those days when you are grateful to be surrounded by family.
There’s serenity to it. Ineffable, really.
She glances at her wrinkled hands with a deep sigh.
For a second the picture comes to life…
Andrea Damic lives in Sydney, Australia with her husband and a six-year-old daughter. She is an accountant by profession but writing was always her first love. The only time she can actually write is at night, when everyone is asleep. She has written two children’s picture books (no publications yet) and is working on a novel as well.
We’ve not moved for ages.
“What’s the square root of New Jersey?” asks my daughter from the back seat.
“Hmmm,” I say solemnly, as though this is the kind of question with which I grapple every day. What might the answer be? Springsteen?
I could sit in traffic all day.
Carolyn R. Russell is the author of two novels and a book of film criticism. Her essays, poetry, and short stories have been featured in numerous publications, including The Boston Globe, Flash Fiction Magazine, Club Plum Literary Journal, The Ekphrastic Review, and Dime Show Review. She holds an M.A. in Film Studies from Chapman University, and has taught on the college, high school, and middle school levels. Carolyn lives on and writes from Boston’s North Shore. See more at www.carolynrrussell.com.
Tender grass grows in the pavement beneath him.
He is underprepared for the August heat.
Settling blood is thickening to jelly in paper.
Cars coil around the Dave & Buster’s parking lot.
His son cancelled on him today.
The truck was supposed to be insulated.
He can’t sling rib-eyes much longer.
Tori Tiso (she/her) is a writer, feminist, and cryptid enthusiast hailing from Wisconsin. She earned a BA in Creative Writing from UW-Madison in 2020. Lately, she has been embroidering cow sweaters whilst eating cheese in the Dairyland.
“June?”
I turn at the sound of her voice. Same height as me, same build, her face a reflection of my own.
We try to compress fifty years of missed hugs into that first one.
“Look,” she says. “Same coat.”
We laugh, twin snorts escaping at exactly the same time.
Laura Besley writes short fiction and squeezes her writing into the bookends of her day. She has lived in Holland, Germany, and Hong Kong, but now lives in land-locked central England and misses the sea. Her flash fiction collection, The Almost Mothers, was published in March 2020. She tweets at @laurabesley.
The clink of ice cubes being dropped into a crystal glass. The pop of the decanter’s stopper, then the glugging sound of scotch being poured. Noises more familiar to my ten-year-old self than laughter or conversation. The shouting will start soon.
I escape to the silent sanctuary of my bedroom.
Paula MacDonald is pursuing her life-long love of writing fiction, after a cancer diagnosis put things in perspective. Do what you love.
In a restaurant, after the entrees were cleared, her mother would take out her compact. For Grace, it’s the phone. The device whispers sweet gossip, swaps intimacies, but in the family tradition, the reflected image is never flattering enough. Like Mom, when cracked by disappointment, she doubles down on dessert.
Jon Fain’s most recent publications are a short story in Fiction on the Web, a humor piece in Riot Act, flash fiction in Back Patio Press, and a personal essay in Kaleidoscope: Exploring the Experience of Disability Through Literature and the Fine Arts. Twitter-wise, he’s @jonsfain, where you can find links to his published work in 2020.
Before the last shovelful. Before the words spoken in the rain by the mound. Before the whispering ventilator. Before the cough that stole the taste of food from his tongue. Before the state of everything changed.
Long before. My father hugged me after a scraped knee. A minor comfort… everlasting.
Jonathan enjoys playing out of tune solos on his daughter’s ukulele while she demands he stop. He enjoys writing very short fiction and very long fiction. At this point in his life, he is beginning to suspect a thief is at work stealing his hair while he sleeps.
Awards, diplomas, and trophies cover the walls. Her desk’s concealed by to-do lists, empty coffee-cups, and pencil stubs. Her fingernails are bitten down to the beds, eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights. Her family praises her, but a mother who ran makes her wonder if she’ll ever truly be good enough.
Karalyn Wayne enjoys writing stories with a hot drink in hand and her dog at her feet. When she isn’t procrastinating, she writes. This is the first time she’s been published.