The Monthly Theme Essays are a collection of essays written each month on a predetermined theme. These essays are always published during the last week of the month. To submit a Monthly Theme Essay check out our upcoming themes.
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“Why are we here?” Karl asks and sinks back into the floral, wing-backed chair. His lower legs jut straight out of the seat.
“To dress Dad’s body for the viewing.”
I see Rob’s family arriving.
Ansel goes on a hunt for funeral home candy. Barely-a-teenager, he returns with slump posture and announces, “No candy!”
“Darn it,” Helena, my cheeky tween says, pretending to be angry. She gauges Ansel’s woeful expression and laughs.
Read MoreTall ships lined up like regal ducks in the Delaware outside the floor to ceiling windows of the Rusty Scupper. The lights from Penns Landing illuminated their bulky masts, casting cross-shaped shadows upon the concrete. It was nearly midnight. Two parties hung on for last call: a middle-aged couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and two handsome guys who’d been downing gin and tonics for nearly two hours. Exhausted after a long shift, I looked forward to washing the smoke and liquor off my body and crawling into my bed a few blocks away.
Read MoreI remember the sound as a thud, an enormous, blunt thud, louder and more resonant than anything I ever heard before. My head jerked sideways, then returned to center buffeted by a wave of air. I knew something bad had happened, something irreversible; nothing good makes a sound that big.
Read MoreMy mind is fucking racing. I lay here in thick, suffocating silence, stranded in the gulf between nausea and despair. Curled in the fetal position I stare. I stare at the poster haphazardly hung on the wall outside my door. It’s unframed, the corners curling at the edges. I used to love this risograph print of Margot from The Royal Tenenbaums, sitting in her bathtub, hands draped over the edges as she stares at something I can’t see.
Read MoreMy father suffered from alcoholism. As a result, we all suffered. I was three-and-a-half years old when my parents’ divorce was final. My baby sister was still an infant. While some may believe toddlers won’t remember, I assure you, that is a myth.
Read MoreSo I guess my change of heart could be summed up as this: that of an adoring, unconditional love to one of hate, and finally sympathy and distance. I guess some stories are incapable of having a happy ending for everyone.
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