Two months into sixth grade, Mom dies. I did my Pivotal Moment Project on it. With chalk crumbling under my grip, I wrote MELANOMA in big, bold letters on the blackboard. My hands, dusted white, made me think of ashes. I said, “This is my pivotal moment. I thought dying was what happened on TV, and now I know I’m going to die, and my dog is going to die, and—and the Dalai Lama is going to die—and…” A kid near the front of the class said “My grandma died last year and Mom said she’s in a better place.” After
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Listen to a reading of “The Space between Leaving and Going” by Emil Ostrovski. Sometimes you sit in Starbucks and appraise young men. He will nod at a slim blonde in a way he thinks is inconspicuous; you will brush a strand of hair from your face and wish. Then you will say, “You and blondes.” And he will say, “All pretty boys are equal.” It is not just about sleeping with him. It is about him wanting a job in the city. “You’ll visit me, of course,” he says. “Of course,” you answer, and wonder at the shelf-life » Continue reading The Space between Leaving and Going by Emil Ostrovski… Listen to a reading of “Double Homicide” by Emil Ostrovski. She said not to wait up, that she’d probably crash with her sister. The next morning she is headline news. At the police station, on an uncomfortable chair. “We got the son-of-a-bitch,” they say. “He’ll be tried for double homicide. Once we get the report from her doctor. That’s what’ll happen.” Home to crushing quiet, you look up the definition of homicide over and over, waiting for it to change. Also: rape. Then: anger. Pain. Loss. Death. Life. Grief. Listen to a podcast of Emil Ostrovski’s “Scream.” You hear that? You hear it? No, not the rushing cars, not the trickle of rain, not the footsteps on the pavement. Not music from open windows. Not the laughter of drunken friends. It is the sound of negation. It destroys everything else, everything, until you are alone, completely alone with it, standing at the edge of an alley, looking in and seeing shadow and shapes in shadow and shadow in the shapes. You stand there, your heart hammers, you lick your lips, look around, look to see if anyone else has |
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