*Interim while I have a new chapter ready, here’s a short story that will whet your appetite of what’s to come and everything I’m working on! Also, I haven’t edited this in awhile. It might be riddled with cliches and too much telling.
Josh and Ginger were in his bedroom, kissing. He slipped his hand under her shirt and squeezed her left breast – a little too hard.
“Ouch,” she said. “I like it rough but you’re hurting me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said through his breath. He loosened his grip.
They continued kissing as he squeezed it gently and squeezed again. He knew how far he could go before he got what he wanted.
“Ow,” she said again. “Stop.”
He smiled at her with a hint of malice and shoved her on her back. He grabbed the handcuffs in his back pocket and attached her hands to his bedpost.
Ginger relaxed. “That’s more like it.” She smiled seductively.
She has no idea why I like it this way. Continue reading
The phone rang, rang…and rang. And just when I thought it would go to voicemail, I heard a “Hello?”
“Hi,” I said. “It’s Jazmine.”
“Jazmine!” he said, his voice full of recognition and authentic surprise. “I was hoping you would call. I wanted to call you but then I realized I didn’t have your number at all.”
“Yeah, I realized that too in hindsight.” And also realized that we were Facebook friends (or maybe I imagined we were?) and he could’ve contacted me that way but alas, Facebook is not the real world. Continue reading
Our conversation turned to more mundane things like what was happening in my life, love life, and miscellaneous topics you talk about with your parents.
Then I asked what I didn’t think I’d have the strength or energy to ask.
“When is she being buried?”
“On Monday morning,” he said. “Are you going to be there?”
I was going to tell him, “I’ll try to make it,” but realized if I wanted to heal, maybe this would help me get closer to getting closure with her.
I paused. “Yes.”
“You sure you’re okay to handle it?” he said, his gently eyes probing mine.
“Yeah, Dad, I’ll be fine.”
That settled it and we said our pleasantries. I told him I’d be exploring more of the city on Sunday and that I’d meet him at the cemetery on Monday morning.
He got up to leave but I stayed in the same place. Continue reading
When I look at my wristwatch, I noticed that time had flown. I was going to be late. I hopped on the closest subway to go to Williamsburg. Oh, Williamsburg, Brooklyn – how I miss you but am glad that I live away from you. As the saying goes, distance really does make the heart grow fonder.
I stepped off the Lorimer stop on the L train and walked on Union Avenue to the other side of the Brooklyn Queens Expressway (we just call it the BQE). In the Southside, there are two sides because the BQE divides them. For a long time I lived on the Northside of the BQE but then moved to the less gentrified version (at the time, in the nineties) of the Southside. Continue reading
Posted in Novels
Tagged brooklyn, childhood, crush, death, grief, mother, mothers, relationship, spanish, the southside stories, williamsburg