He was born, he may have lied and then he died. I knew very little of about my father. I know his name was Juan Lopez and the streets called him Papo. I know that he was born in Juan Diaz, Puerto Rico and the island called him Collore. I knew that his mother abandoned
Mother has been bothering me about taking on a mother role to a kitten or two in Newark. Both myself and my son have told her that I have asthma and I am severely allergic to them. I am not quite sure when the allergy developed because I have had cats before. Nosky, the youngest
I never mentioned those five weeks on campus at the Hill Summer Program where I met your dad. It’s the same place I met his current high school adviser. I never said anything about how we both went our separate ways our 9th grade year until that one track meet in the spring of 1996. How
The waiting room was unchanged. The walls were a blue sea green that held hand painted pictures of flowers and mounted in frames of compressed wood dust. It was still filled with those uncomfortable chairs whose padding was made of hunter green plastic leather and had absolutely no back support. There were eight chairs in
My phone vibrated against my thigh. “I’m so sorry Sugar. I’ve been busy working. I meant to answer you earlier.” I read the text message from one of my “friends” about four times before I realized that it was doing something to me I didn’t quite understand. I suddenly remembered there was only one other
I stood in front of the stove seasoning my son’s chicken. He loves my arroz con habichuelas y pollo frito. Eric sat at the kitchen table doing homework. It was our normal after work routine. He’d sit at the table I bought used for forty dollars from a co-worker who was moving overseas to Shanghai
The old fashioned radiator hissed at a soprano note cutting through your concentration while spitting small specs of moisture into the air as it maintained the eight nine degree temperature. The living room window was propped open but was not our savior. The one bedroom apartment situated on the top floor of the low income
Querida abuela, I hope that when you receive this letter you are in good health. Your daughter called me the other day from a number I didn’t recognize. I was driving my car out of the Wal-Mart parking lot when I answered and heard her aging voice say my name. Without hesitation I asked “what
I walked out of the 9th street exit of 13th Ave School in Newark NJ. These doors were used for kids to get to and from the lunch room and at this early hour breakfast was being served. The air smelled like garbage and to my left there was a decade old dumpster that looked like it