The Recurring Dream
One upon a time there was a young girl sitting at the breakfast table hunched over her cereal bowl, just as she was every weekday morning. Each morning this girl would tell her unlistening family about her recurring dream, a dream she had nearly every night. “What are you babbling on about?” snapped her older, incredibly tedious sister. This sliver of attention was her cue to retell the dream again, in…
Almost
The man who was almost my father was a Boston Bruin goalie. Brent, a youthful, strong athlete in the prime of his life, handsome in his iconic black and gold uniform with imposing B set in sharp features. His sculpted jaw and cleft chin were saved by the grace of the recently adopted facemask for NHL goalies.
The Young Girl Dancing
The van smells of patchouli, dog hair, incense and cake. She is being expertly piloted through the dark wooded roads by the driving and navigation team of Dad and Uncle. Her mother deftly balancing a cake with five lit candles on her knees as the chorus of “Happy Birthday” begins