By Ruby Peru When, at ages twelve and thirteen, Maureen and I were deposited for safekeeping on an Arizona horse ranch for the duration of the summer of 1980, it was very much as if we had both dropped from outer space, but from completely different spaceships. The ultimate tomboy,…
By Alex Scarelli I drew in the dirt of our yard with a stick, watching the late summer sun fall from the sky and my Dad coming up the driveway in his pickup. When he parked, he got out and grabbed his lunchbox and a six-pack of Budweiser from the…
By Alex Scarelli I told my husband I was flying to San Diego for a week-long real estate convention, so I had him leave me at the curb for domestic flights when he dropped me off at Logan Airport and, after I’d kissed him and refused his offer to see…
By Alex Scarelli Thunder sounded as Claire stood from her garden and wiped the dirt off her bare knees. She took off her gloves and wiped her dewy forehead with her forearm. Her shoulders, exposed in one of her ratty tank-tops she used for her daily chores, felt tight and…
By Alex Scarelli Abby told me she had Stage IV breast cancer. There would be no miracle cure, no last minute turnaround. She would die in six months, three if she declined evasive medication. Sitting across from one another in the kitchen of our apartment, still dressed in pajamas and…