Our Oak, My Oak

Our tree breathed. Its bark flaked like eczema-ridden skin; its insides thrived yet rotted like ours,  stuffed with (gummy) worms and (chocolate) animals. Our tiny hands gripped the tree’s crevices as we climbed upwards, beyond the reach of our yelling father. We hoped she would keep us safe. Our tree breathed. The science teacher at…

Seven Boxes of Cheez-Its

The forced breeze of cars zooming by tickled his face. He feels wired, every inch of him alert and open to the slightest of touch.             For the first time in only his therapist knows how long, John feels alive. Although his eye-bags are deep and dark, his skin glows. His smile illuminates. His newfound…

Oreo in Love

The smell of twist fries, fried meat, and brown whiskey clash in the air. People age 21 to a daring 43 sit around, screaming obscenities, taunts, flaunts, and proclamations of happiness – in other words, conversing in the way drunk people do.             Sweet Bubba’s Pub is an ordinary place full of ordinary people who…