He caught me again. Are you crazy? Jamaican moms do it. My baby’s not Jamaican. Who says it’s yours? He hogged the rest of the bowl.
He repeated his name for her, but she simply stared ahead, motionless. He watched their past disintegrate behind her eyes.
“I don’t get it,” I said to my great-great grandmother. “Heaven. It’s just like Wisconsin in the fall.” “You’re an old soul,” she replied.
She hid in the darkened alley. When the diner closed and the help went home, she lifted the dumpster lid. Her children would eat tonight.
“Check for monsters,” she used to say. “In the cupboard. Under the bed.” It never occurred to her that the monster was the person checking.
Ted and Vikki made up their minds—they didn’t want to be parents. Too bad it was six years too late for birth control.