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Weekly Contest #161
Mamá's lost her mind again. It happened sometime last night. I know because it's Saturday morning and her station wagon is gone, and the house doesn't smell like huevos rancheros, and I woke up an hour ago to find Papá sweeping broken lamp shards off the floor. This is the third time it's happened, so we know what to do now, what to expect. Last time someone found Mamá swimming in a fountain in a park a few towns over. Papá went and got her and she was home by dinner, shivering and sneezing like a Chihuahua. Maybe that's why he doesn't call...
Weekly Contest #160
Content warning: Swearing "I know it's your first day on the job and all, but don't worry, man. You're gonna do great. Trust me. We're happy to have you here at Wally's Water World." "Thanks. I'm happy to be here." "Great!" "I gotta tell you the truth, though. I only applied because my mom told me she would kick me out if I didn't get a job. She said thirty-five is too old to be unemployed." "That's great too. Exactly the type of can-do, highly motivated, problem-solving attitude we're looking for at Wally's Water World. Glad to have an...
Winner of Weekly Contest #157 🏆
Bonjour from the city of love! I don't have much space on this postcard, so I'll keep things brief. I'm heading to the all-you-can-eat crêpe buffet soon anyway. My new lover, Jacques, doesn't mind a woman with a few extra curves. More cushion for the pushin', you know? Oh, you should see him. Jacques is quite the looker, a total zaddy. Like George Clooney without the drug problem. I'm talking high cheekbones and a strong jawline. An accent that can turn cheddar into gouda. Washboard abs you could do two and a half loads of laundry on. I'm p...
Weekly Contest #155
It doesn't take much to lose your job as a clown. I know that now. For the record, I take full responsibility for what happened. We were stationed in Utah at the time, with its too-blue sky and overripe air. We'd been there four days when I decided to switch up my routine. Our ringmaster, Horatio Longbottom, advised against it, said it wasn't worth fixing something that wasn't broken. But when you give your best slapstick—rubber chickens and cream pies and squirting flowers—and all you get are a few lousy sympathy chuckles, I'd say that qua...
Weekly Contest #154
Prenatal The first time someone asks when your baby is due, during the middle of your second trimester, is the first time you truly feel motherhood begin. Not when your gums become so tender that a piece of floss can draw a river of blood. Not when your back burns from the burden of your newfound weight. Not even when you wake one night and catch your husband tracing your nascent network of varicose veins with his finger. It isn’t until you’re waiting for your ultrasound in the Radiology department, distracting yourself with the Home and G...
Weekly Contest #152
Content warning: Death When you came home from Vietnam in one piece, people called it a miracle. Not that you blamed them. Growing up, you attracted bullies and beatdowns like a magnet. You were never the biggest, the toughest, the strongest. You, who could loop your middle finger and thumb around your wrist and still have room. Quite a few bets were lost the day you stepped off that plane in Los Angeles, dressed in fatigues and feeling the way you looked. The homecoming was not what you had expected. At home your mother greeted you with ...
Weekly Contest #151
Content warning: Themes of racism The first time I went to Kyle Rockefeller's house, I spent the majority of my visit in the bathroom, marveling at his toilet water. He showed me around the place with the authority of a junior architect, gesturing to the porcelain tiling of the outdoor kitchen and reflecting on the rooftop spire that looked like an upside-down waffle cone. We moved leisurely. Save for Benson, the Rockefeller's mustachioed butler/chauffeur who'd driven us there after school let out, the house was empty. Always Kyle called i...
Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #150 ⭐️
Once, when I was a child, my father took me on a day trip to Nagasaki and said, "This is what can happen when you're not careful." He gestured to the Peace Park around us, the chestnut trees and the memorial statue and the plaques commemorating the atomic bombing. We were alone, save for a few crows roosting in the treetops, but he spoke like he was divulging classified information. "Your great-grandfather, for example. He passed away in the explosion, as did many others like him. Unprepared." He stood with his back to the sun, forcing me to...
Weekly Contest #149
The first thing I notice when I poke my head in the university's Indigenous Peoples' Appreciation Club is that there are only two members, one guy and one girl. The second thing I notice is that neither is Indigenous. They sit at adjacent desks in the corner of the classroom. The girl, whose platinum hair is brighter than the overhead lighting, poses for a selfie, closing one eye and flashing a peace sign Nixon-style. The guy preoccupies himself with a game of Pokémon Go, swiping violently at his phone screen and cursing his rotten luck. Ro...
Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #148 ⭐️
Content warning: Swearing, mentions of death The worst part of the divorce a year ago wasn't losing half my stuff. Back then, I could only watch as Linda descended upon our possessions like royalty, simply pointed to the couch and the blender and my favorite bottle of shampoo, and the lawyer made it so. If we had a baby, I'm sure she would've King Solomoned that too. And I was fine with it, had come to expect that much. It was a small price to pay for my peace of mind. The worst part—what I hadn't expected—was that she would move into the ...
Weekly Contest #147
Did you know India looks nothing like the city in Aladdin? I discovered that just now, a minute ago, as the wheels of the plane clapped the tarmac and the pilot's staticky voice rumbled above our heads like God himself, welcoming us to Delhi. When I finally summoned the courage to raise the window shade and look outside, there was no bazaar waiting to greet me, no kleptomaniacal monkeys in fezzes running amok. Just disillusionment. In my defense, my family emigrated from New Delhi to the United States when I was three, leaving me with nothi...
Weekly Contest #146
Dear middle school me, Let me spare you the suspense and come right out with it: fifteen years from now, you turn out to be pretty damn boring. Plain. Vanilla. Milquetoast. (But at least you know the definition of milquetoast now.) You're the type of guy to walk into the barbershop, not say a word the entire time, and leave with your usual crew cut. The kind of person whose pizza topping of choice is extra cheese. Hey, don't blame me. It's just the way things go. #sorrynotsorry (Oh, right. Hashtags are a thing now. Don't get too attached to ...
Weekly Contest #145
Trigger warning: Transphobia and mention of suicidal ideation A lot can happen in a year. For example: Around this time last December I spent a good ten minutes trekking through rows of sleek polyester suits and shiny Oxford shoes at Men's Wearhouse, searching for a Christmas gift for my younger brother, Justin. Today, I'm trudging endlessly through Macy's, fingering floral blouses and nylon bras and yoga pants, trying to find something for my younger sister, Dawn. They're the same person, Justin and Dawn. We discovered that last month at...
Weekly Contest #144
Content warning: Eating disorder My friends used to believe I was an only child. Whenever I'd invite one over for the first time and we passed by the framed photos on the way to my bedroom—of me and my mother smiling on the sandy beaches of Maui, or the two of us standing beside the Grand Canyon, arms locked in a sweaty embrace—they always took the pictures at face value, and not once did I bother to correct them. As far as they knew, Holly Johnson didn't exist. Though, had she appeared in any of our family photos, perhaps they would have mi...
Winner of Weekly Contest #143 🏆
Content warning: Swearing My cat, Oreo, is the best poker partner I've ever had. Hands down—no pun intended. Don't let those old Coolidge paintings fool you; dogs really don't know what the hell they're doing once you sit them on that rickety ladder back chair, and their paws just aren't made for holding the cards steady. Trust me: If you want a reliable means of collusion in a game of Texas hold 'em, British Shorthairs are the way to go. Of course, it also helps that Oreo can talk now. *** Last month my boyfriend, Mark, came into the li...
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