|
|
Part 3
(Part 1, Part 2)
Mary found the white plastic shopping bag containing a framed color photograph in the trunk of his car. Bill removed the keys from his back pocket while walking across the teacher’s parking lot. The silver frame held the snapshot of a teenage girl with curly blond hair standing on the shore of a lake. He slid the key in the lock and turned it to the left. Judging by the faded colors and the girl’s blouse, Mary decided that it had been taken in the mid-seventies. He closed the door and pulled the
» Continue reading Friday, December 19, 1997 by Donald Breckenridge…
Part 2
(read Part 1)
Bill thought of taking her picture as she stood on the shore of Sylvan Beach. Sarah had removed her sneakers and socks, rolled up her jeans, and stepped into the dark gray water. “It’s sooo fucking cold!” He was standing five yards away when he framed her in the viewfinder and focused. She looked down at the miniature waves breaking around her ankles just before he took the picture. “Why were you playing a role?” Bill asked. Sarah’s shoulders were covered with gooseflesh, “I guess in some stupid way I felt that if
» Continue reading Friday, March 28, 1997 by Donald Breckenridge…
Unbearable Books, 2011 114 pages
Review by Ella Cinder
Donald Breckenridge’s This Young Girl Passing delves into a love affair between a young girl and her teacher, their eventual relationship three decades later, and their journey together through the psyche, through time, through aging, through facing each other.
Disclosure: In my twenties I noticed my own pattern of falling for older men, and wondered what was going on in my psyche. Was I guilty of “daddy issues?” I need wisdom, I need to be called honey, and I need to be held a lot. Are these daddy issues? Perhaps not,
» Continue reading This Young Girl Passing by Donald Breckenridge…
Part 1 Sarah contemplated his tranquil expression before saying, “I always thought you had,” in a soft voice. Bill pulled the damp condom off his flaccid erection, “that isn’t true.” The pounding in his chest had begun to subside. Sarah possessed a glowing intensity that radiated between them, “A lot of girls in school,” her cheeks were a rosy pink, “said they slept with you,” and her eyes were wide open. Sperm collected in the tip of the condom he held between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. She pressed her thighs together and sighed. He weighed
» Continue reading Friday, March 28, 1997 by Donald Breckenridge…
|
