I wake up excited. It’s Saturday, and I’m free to spend the day visiting my collection. I think about the places I want to go and smell. I fix Mother some toast with strawberry jam and a cup of hot coffee. She’ll be sore, so I’m prepared to rub her legs with liniment. She says …
Start from beginning I didn't grow up wanting to be a library assistant. I work here for four reasons. One, it's right next to the post office. This allows me to visit it more frequently. I have a morning break, a lunch break, and an afternoon break with which to visit my beloved. It's only …
I reach in my pocket to find the bottle #2, and gather my courage. I rub my index finger over the smooth contours of its corners and over the rough surface of the little cork that held beloved scent of Mother. I thought of girls in my past who had rejected me and had been …
Mother was rather demanding with me this morning. At first her coffee was too hot. Then her toast was too burnt. Then she wanted me to rub liniment on her feet. I am a full fifteen minutes late to work. When I arrive, I duck into the back, hoping to avoid a cross word or …
“What the hell, Jim? Why aren’t those books re-shelved?” says Connor. I very much dislike when people curse at me. I am entirely unable to respond to that kind of language. Mother says that unless the “H” word is used in a religious context, it is foul and uncivil. He steps between me and the …
The clinking of all the tiny bottles in my satchel comforts me as I walk through the double automatic doors of The Gardens nursing facility and hospice care. “Well hello, Mr. Bronson. Nice to see you,” says Juliette, the large-bosomed woman behind the front desk. I’ve never spoken to her, and likely never will. I …
David Wilson-Burns 