The faded pink Ramble might have been built in 1958, but my young friends and I reaped the benefits of that old jalopy in the 70s. With Audrey at the wheel, the neighborhood kids, ages five to ten, often piled inside, sometimes squeezing twelve little bodies in every...
The boxy Dodge Colt I permanently borrowed from Dad had decided to stall, often. Stop at a red light or press the brakes—stall. “Alternator,” Dad mumbled into the phone. “Or spark plugs. Bring it by. I’ll take a look.” At twenty years old, I needed wheels for college...
I’ve been saving recordings on my iPhone voicemail for the last decade. I keep both of my parent’s voices and swap out old for new so I don’t fill up the memory. I wonder about the day I will wish I’d saved them all. My parents are both in their 80s. Mom’s an artist...
I took my aunts to the casino a few weeks ago, but in reality, they took me. Aunt Linda is 82 and Aunt Sammie is 75—eighty is the new sixty. Everybody still drives and walks on their own and everybody certainly has a windy mouth on their face, including me. So, Aunt...
The boxy Dodge Colt I permanently borrowed from Dad had decided to stall, often. Stop at a red light or press the brakes—stall. “Alternator,” Dad mumbled into the phone. “Or spark plugs. Bring it by. I’ll take a look.” At twenty years old, I needed wheels for college...