Lovelock

Presents a short story about Benjamin Scott, an ex-convict whose life turned a different course after a one-night stand with a retarded woman in Lovelock, Nevada. Promise of a job in San Francisco; Memories of traveling from state to state to get to his destination; Meeting Ana and her sister Lisa; Feelings of guilt for sleeping with Ana; Apologizing to the sisters; Decision to follow Ana to San Diego

My Psychologist, My Psychiatrist

I could not distinguish between them except by what we did. I was ten, then eleven. I would not ride the school bus. I always slunk home saying I missed it. I made my mother come to school with me every day, and sit in the lobby so I could wave to her during recess and class changes. In the evenings my father would come home from work, hear my mother\u27s report, and storm upstairs, his weight pounding on the hardwood steps. I would be out of breath with crying, my head in the pillow, waiting to feel what he would do. He never touched me, but several times I was unable to resume breathing, and they\u27d take me to the emergency room, where a doctor or nurse would look me over, measure my pulse and temperature, and send me home. At night I stole into the bathroom and with my fingernails dug as deeply into my bare arms as I could tolerate. [excerpt

In Another Country

That summer we lived in an icebox of a house, where nothing worked. The gas stove was stuck in a chimney that had no fireplace, plaid linoleum covered the chipped and rotting floor, a cold wet wind blew through the cracks in the doors and windows, the light bulbs hummed and fluttered, the clock struck at odd and unwarranted times, and we weren\u27t allowed to drink the water from the sink because it came from an impure place. [excerpt

Out Cold

Walter had just completed his five-mile route on the treadmill and was headed from the gym to his car in a nearby parking lot - he was in fact circumnavigating a field on which a few idiotic teenagers were kicking a soccer ball at a field hockey goal, so as not to approach near their game - when he was struck in the side and back of his head by something large and forceful and solid and round, and it sent his glasses flying from his face and his bright white tennis cap skittering from his head and it flattened him on his back on the grass. God damn. He felt for a moment as if he had been shot by an extremely large bullet in the shape of... in the shape of a ball. [excerpt

We Are Not Friends

There is something about the way the phone rings that lets you know it\u27s Them - a kind of glitter in the chime, a certain je ne sais quoi to the cadence, which seems to skip a beat as if it can\u27t believe that They are calling. You pick up, heart throbbing, getting ready to move your mouth, a sly frisson of sweat striking your palms. They asked me to call, Their assistant says. They want you at the house next Thursday. And then you\u27ll all go somewhere. A plane will be involved. You\u27ll want to bring a passport. Until Monday, let\u27s say. Can I pen you in? Of course, you say. Because, really, you know no other response. And you want to. And you like Them. [excerpt