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143 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 1, 2012
fabulous-fictioneer. And I mean that purely as a compliment.![]()
Looking for a few Good Boys
“You rewarded him for being bad.”That last one is because everyone in the narrator's life who sees Stanley (her brand-new, rather nice dachshund) immediately and reproachfully asks "What's that?" To which our narrator imagines answering, "Duh, a dog."
“I certainly understand,” I say, “how you could see it that way.”
Corrina rescinded Marigold’s nickname when things were dire. [She calls him by his "real" name, Samuel, only as a punishment.]
. . . A mall paramedic demand[s] to know what year it is, who is president, what my husband’s name is, what my name is.
My husband’s name is Ian, I say.
It is the wrong answer; their faces make this clear.
In the backseat on an underweight ham sleeps Stanley, the world’s least identifiable dog.
I thought of my own heart, which has always been a traitor. Abandoning me at night to lay bets on cockfights and smoke filterless cigarettes. Hoisting me up the legs of whatever man was nearby. Holding in itself dangerous canals and thruways.
The heart is never safe, but it's the first house we know, and it's the only house we live in until the day we die, no matter how far we run, no matter where we escape to, no matter where we make our home.
Maybe all I need to say to get you to read it is this: when I got to the end of the very last story, I closed the book, put my head down on the table, and cried until the slight concaves of my glasses were shallow bowls of tears.
I then went online and ordered two copies: one for me to own, and one for someone I love, because I know they'll love it as much as I did.
My heart may not always be safe, but it's the only house I know.
Previously published at Insatiable Booksluts