Ruby Reds and Baby Blues
Saturday morning, and the sun was shining brightly. There was hardly a cloud present to dampen the rays of light gushing from the robin-egg blue heavens down to the smooth tanned shoulders of the pedestrians making their way along the off-white Plasticrete walks twisting through the city. The sunlight glinted off the silvery multitude of spotless windows covering the skyscrapers along the streets where a few quiet, clean and efficient electric cars hummed along, coated with polish that further reflected the perfect sunlight until the whole city was awash with so much light you’d think God...
Read MoreThe Mermaid’s Treasure
My grandmother’s old blue bicycle clattered loudly on the uneven dirt road. I wasn’t in any hurry to get to Vera’s, since she never wore a watch, and the dusty, wooden clock in her kitchen ticked loudly for another time zone. I reached my pink-tipped fingers out to grab another raspberry from the bushes as I trundled along. If I’d thought to bring an old ice-cream tub, I could have picked it full without getting off my bike. I popped the berry into my mouth and hummed a few broken lines from a tune that I only half-knew… something about the sea. The road turned, and the...
Read MoreModus Operandi
The madras dragon with the dog-gold eyes is waving. And so, once again, I go to his table. The dark-haired young man stood in the back of the restaurant. Leaning against the wall abutting the kitchen, he loosened his copper-toned bow tie, smoothed the wrinkles in his matching cummerbund and pleated trousers, and contemplated the restaurant’s ubiquitous brownness from beneath the glow of the wall’s torchiere light fixture. If not for his white shirt, he thought, he could blend in with one of the mahogany, faux-leather booths. A complete and perfect...
Read MoreThe Decree
He was the devil, plain and simple. This was true for our community, for our generation. As I sat in my aunt’s good living room in the suburbs of Toronto, my attention focused on Ammar Rizvi, it was the farthest thing from my mind. Us “kidz” were just lounging. The musicians had not yet arrived, and when they did, it would take them some time to tune their instruments and begin the qawwali. Our parents were already in the large finished basement; men on one side, women on the other. They would sit on plush carpet and pillows; laughter and traces of Urdu conversation making its...
Read MoreNumerically Speaking
Two. Pounds of dark chocolate that I ate slowly that Saturday morning while analyzing the e-vite that my ex-boyfriend, Andre, sent me. Forty. The pounds gained since I last saw him six months ago. Five. The ex-girlfriends on the 50-person invitation list. After the last piece, I dialed my friend, Mattie. “I’ve been invited to Andre’s 50th birthday party slash housewarming. His artist colony now has 15 members and is officially open to all lost Cincinnati artists with angst who need guidance and inspiration. And he’s invited several ex-girlfriends. But why am I surprised?...
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