At the Car Wash

Dirty. My husband eases the car into the small, dark building until he hears a buzzer like a prison door alarm. He shifts into neutral, restraining us inside the concrete cell. Soft whispers of cleanser land in ribbons on the windshield. A sprinkle of water falls. An increase in pressure turns the sprinkle into a…

Surf & Sand

“I’ll walk with you. Let’s go,” my sister says, lifting her head to the side, to the sea. She adjusts her sunglasses and starts walking up the access path. I hand my cane off and follow her. Where won’t I follow my sister? The sun warms my skin. I slip off my flips and bury…

Everybody in the Pool

My summers start on Memorial Day. It’s those nostalgic days at the swimming pool, or attending parades, or just my pale legs in shorts absorbing the heat of the sun finally after a long winter and a cool spring. I spent my summers at the swimming pool growing up. The sound of splashing water and…