No era tu estilo, la pelirroja. Era del tipo con cabellera naranja ardiente y una impecable piel pálida. En una de sus fotos se la ve usando una apretada camisa de franela, recortada para mostrar su abdomen. De inmediato pensé en el Día de San Patricio. Ese era el tipo…

On art with a capital “A” — Gael is in the middle of making beer, shoveling wet, steamy hops from a steel keg to a plastic bucket. “This will go to my friend’s chickens,” he says. “Will they get drunk?” I ask. All four of us chuckle. Santi and Pablo begin to act it out. Pok-pok-bleeargh-pok-hiccup! Cock-a-doodle-twerk…

And what they’ve taught me about love — Years ago I stayed in a relationship for far too long. The kind where you make yourself smaller continuously, until your needs don’t matter anymore. For a long time I wanted to get a writing desk, and it was always a problem. It didn’t “fit in” anywhere in his beautifully…

Thoughts from a Hospital Hallway — Her name was Mary, but uncle Teddy may as well have introduced her to us as “Not-Donna”, since that’s how we all treated her. Vivian hated her. The other sisters didn’t hate her, but said they thought she was “a lot”, which meant the same thing. Not-Donna was big and…

You’ll Never See It — You were walking just ahead of me at sunset, closer to the water, your skinny, white chicken-legs sticking out of your dress shirt. You were wearing a straw hat, as old white men on Mexican beaches do. You walked in the sand as if it were the first time you’d…

It was almost October when Ruby decided to learn how to do the things that scared her. She’d told a counselor at Haven House that she dreamed of someday going to Mexico, but that she was afraid. The woman had tilted her head and peered over her glasses. “Life’s a…

It was the last day of the tour. Just cool enough outside to make you shiver and zip up your jacket. June in the Bay Area was like that, warm sunny days preceded by heavy coat mornings. I hadn’t put mine on, because I knew I’d only take it off…

Ignorance is bliss, but not when it comes to hereditary illness — The bogeyman: In Quebec, we call him Bonhomme Sept Heures; in France he’s Croque-Mitaine. In Spanish, it’s El Coco or Cucuy. Whatever you call him, he’s a mythical monster used around the world to scare children into good behavior. Adults like to pretend there’s no such thing as the bogeyman…

Oh, how I loved you, B. From the first time you flashed that show-stopping smile I knew I’d at least enjoy looking at you. You greeted every day with sunshine on your face and sand on your toes, toes that moved to the rhythm of the opposite coast. We were…