True Florida Stories
I’m afraid of my dad’s bedroom. The bare, unlit space smells of old urine and disease, holding nothing but a bed stripped of its sheets and a streak of blood staining the wall. A weathered wheelchair sits in the bathroom; on top, a folded cotton shirt and shorts he was supposed to wear the morning he was sent to hospice. I prefer to keep Dad’s bedroom door closed. It allows me to pretend he’s inside
Love seemed to be a facade, until I learned to embrace it. … Read moreRewinding the tape
The lights turn off, letting unrestrained darkness dominate the room. In seconds, it replaces every element that brought energy and agitation to the once-vivid auditorium … Read moreCurtain call
Luck doesn’t last forever. On Sept. 25, I had all the luck in the world. That changed overnight … Read moreParadise lost
“Has your mom been feeding you?” Surrounded by the white walls and paper-lined tables of an exam room, I was puzzled by the pediatrician’s question … Read moreThe other side of the scale