After 25 years it probably wasn’t even the same door, but it could have been. It led to the same school, the same fetid swamp of teenage cruelty. My grasping the handle unleashed a fresh deluge of memories. My arm trembled, and my knees went weak. Obviously, the decision I’d…

I froze when Mom knocked. “Feel like driving to the airport?” she asked through my bedroom door. “Why would I want to?” It seemed like a reasonable question. She turned the knob but only cracked the door. “Because no matter how old you are, Mike, or how far away you…

There’s nothing like the sound of a mom reading to her children, when they’re your children too. It’s the exact opposite of their nightmares, the universal antidote to whatever imagined horrors the darkness may conceal. It works on me too, easing me away from today’s and tomorrow’s cares. …

Erin tried gently to pull me off the trail. It curved to the right; she wanted to go left. “Let’s go this way, Gary.” The heavy overcast made it dark for late morning, but I’d have seen another path if it were really there. We appeared to have the wilderness…

Getting to Maylee’s going-away party at all was a thing. My cousin Jaxson and I took a state highway into the country and turned onto a small road, then a smaller road, then one that rattled my teeth and wasn’t even paved. I didn’t complain. …

“It’s a meat market, Amber.” My roommate’s face in the mirror looks a little hurt, because I’m complaining about church. I’m in her room, tying one of my gym shoes, while she adds a little more curl to her long hair. I have a date with a treadmill. …

On my break I strolled around the block, admiring the trees which lined the streets. They had burst into pinks and whites over the weekend, making downtown smell like spring. They must be especially stalwart trees, I thought, to bloom so abundantly amid the concrete, asphalt, and exhaust fumes. …

Henry! Come up to dinner! Lights out on your way.” Mom was always going on about the electric bill. “Two minutes, Mom.” I crossed out what I had just written and tried again. I watched you wipe a tear away And smile, when “Wipe” was wrong. And “watched” and “when.”…

I’m with my critique group in someone’s back yard. They’ve read a draft of my latest short story this week, and it’s time for critiques. They won’t be cruel. They’ll praise what they like but pull no punches. I need them not pulling punches. We’re trying to become better writers. …