OUR LAST HIDE-’N-SEEK

We played all day in the rain. Fifty teenagers on a summer program through Europe, spending the night in this castle-turned-inn. The sense that we are walking in a fairytale brings out our childish instincts; the ones we had almost outgrown, calling us to indulge our quickly fading youth for one afternoon. We soaked up the memories like the earth soaked up the rain. The potent rain caused us to forget about the future. We played until the last light left the sky and we were called inside. But we left our inner children there to play forever.

FATHER AND DAUGHTER

She’s there today as she has been every morning, always earlier than he in his postman’s truck. Today she has a donut and anxious eyes. “Still not going to tell me what letter you’re waiting for?” “Don’t want to jinx it.” He exchanges the letters for the donut. “Maybe it’s this college letter.” She gasps and tears it open. “Accepted! I’m accepted!” “Chicago is awfully far.” “You know I can’t stand my mom and her new husband.” She makes to go, then turns back with a grin. “Thanks, dad.” He watches her go with regret heavy in his chest. “Bye, daughter.”

PACIFIC RELATIONS

He had always known that they would bridge cultures and borders to find each other again. She had been so helpful to him once, and now he had the chance to be her refuge, to let her know how deeply he loved and appreciated her. At last she appeared at his door, travel-stained and hungry, having fled the poverty and deprivation of her own stricken country. Opening wide his door and his arms wider, he summoned the little English he had learned in the States as her employee: “Welcome!” he cried. “Welcome to Mexico. My house is your house.”

JUST DESSERTS

These days there’s silence at the lunch table. When someone forgets, and talks about the wedding they went to last weekend, the room freezes. My coworkers hunch over their sandwiches, eyes averted. It’s only been a month since his accident. I walk down the hall and conversations stop, turned to hushed whispers when I pass. Everyone curious: How is she coping? When will she snap, crazed with grief? Their eyes scan my face, my red eyes, the ring I still wear. A sign of my heartache, they imagine. Since he died, I eat dessert first. Now the ring can’t be removed.

WORD ON THE STREET

I have to tell you my best friends are kind of odd. For example, they have this habit of making a big production out of their meals. They set the table and say a prayer when a simple dish would do just fine. They spend all this time and energy being nervous meeting new friends when I can usually just size someone up with a simple sniff test. And boy are they finicky about their privacy – as a matter of fact, I think that’s him shutting the door so I won’t see him go to the bathroom in my water bowl.

DETECTIVE STORY

“Scissors don’t actually cut, they just put some over there, and some over here,” said the boy as he snipped the pages of her cherished letter. It expressed love from her dying mother and an apology for not having the money for the operation that would allow her to walk again. That evening, the detective, eyeing the blade at the foot of her wheelchair, pointed to the decapitated boy’s head and bluntly asked, “Did you cut off his head with that knife?” She replied, “No, knives don’t actually cut, I only put some of him over there, and some over here.”

RUDOLPH’S CARBON FOOTPRINT

Rudolph, being restrained in a van by three men, bleated out in agony with hoofs flailing. Santa burst into the van. “Who’s in charge here?” One of the men backed away and pointed. “Lenny.” Lenny stood poised with a surgical saw ready to remove Rudolph’s nose. Santa pushed Lenny away. “What do you think you’re doing?” “Replacing his nose with a CFL nose to cut down on your carbon footprint. You do know what CFL stands for, right?” Santa leaned close, fire shooting from his eyes. “Coal For Lenny. Now release Rudolph or your posterior will soon have a carbon footprint.”