The weight on Mary’s shoulders felt lighter with every passing day. Slowly but steadily, she had kept scribbling ACCOMPLISHED beside the items on her list of things to do before the year ran out. She had gone on to register with her home union which usually held meetings on first Sunday of every month. This month’s meeting, being the last one for the year, had been more of a party. She had gotten to eat some native delicacies which she had not tasted since leaving home years ago. She had even joined other members to dance to the folk music played by the cultural troupe. That moment, she had made up her mind that irrespective of where her wedding would be held, she would pay any price to have this music troupe come perform. She was sure she would out-dance Deaconess Caro (Mother of the Day) and Jacqueline (Chief Bridesmaid) and her husband (Mr. Okafor). But what she had liked the most about this month’s meeting was that a team of medical experts had been invited to talk about a number of killer diseases and the ways to prevent them. In the end of the seminar, the medical team had offered free HIV/AIDS and Hepatitis tests for members. Mary had had her blood sample taken even though she was sure that the result would come out negative. She hoped to remember to go over to their office for the result later in the day after going to see Jacqueline, who had taken ill again for the fourth time in three months.
A Deep Plum Nightie
I was flipping through a tall stack of Mama’s magazines one afternoon when I was twelve years old. She was flying back to Iowa from Los Angeles and I was waiting for her in my room. Sitting with my legs crossed in bed, I spread a Victoria’s Secret catalogue in front of me—the Christmas edition. Women pranced around the glossy pages donning Santa hats, carefully placed atop long hair that curled down their backs like smoke. They wore matching lingerie, red velvet stitching and translucent mesh covering thin torsos in minuscule. White furry cuffs dangled loosely at one model’s slender wrists and I wondered who she was, this girl-woman, what kind of house she lived in, what her bedroom must have looked like, and who she would be surprising with her brand new see-through Santa robe.
Petra Searching: Little Bastard
Winter 2000
Maria leaned over our first-grade lunch table, her brown bob swinging. She wanted my last Cheeto, which I considered my end-meal treat. It had extra-large bumps, on which clung an ample dusting of cheese powder. It glowed fluorescent orange in the plastic baggie, taunting me. I practiced discipline, spooning applesauce until it was gone, before I would let myself eat it. My mom set rigorous rules for meals, one being that we needed to finish each meal’s designated fruits or vegetables before we ate a treat.
I Do, But Maybe I Don’t
It was my daughter’s idea for us to get married in her backyard. Leah had it all planned before asking us if it was something we might consider. I could tell by the way her eyes shone bright green with purpose. Already a caterer had been lined up and the menu planned. All we had to say was yes, and Leah would handle the rest.
Henry Spark by Jason Rice
Henry dreamt about Mad Men, and he had become a writer for the show and sat around and watched his words come out of the actor’s mouths. The one Tylenol PM he had taken before bed made his dreams more intense, but he couldn’t tell if it was the drugs talking or something trapped in his brain.
Buskers
At the time we had no money, our acoustic guitars, lots of cafes and bars to hang out at, friends to make, streets to meander and minds to expand and experiences to have, sights to behold, girls to meet, facts to unlearn, music to discover and ideas to mature. We were young and free-thinking and knowingly swimming against the current, and in all of that the world was our oyster, and we could just sit back on the beach and listen to the song of the sea.