The Red Door Society

Clay Reherman

To many, the phrase “hard times in America” brings to mind stark images of the 1930s: Ecological and economic disaster, powerful storms following close upon one another, high crime, starvation, despair, societal depression in every imaginable degree and mode. We may thank Mr. Steinbeck for this mental association: His painting of the “dust bowl days” in The Grapes of Wrath has imbued three generations with a notion of what it’s like when a nation is visited by the Angel of Death. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Fiction, Lent/Easter 2006 Leave a Comment

Anna’s Song

Amy Lemoine Stout

“Anna! Stay with your mother! Stay with your mother!”

The panicked shrill of a woman’s voice outside her window awoke Ms. Anna Braun of 37 Pine Street as if God himself had spoken into her ear. Heart beating wildly, she leaned up against the window. At the corner Anna could see the little girl who shared her name, dressed in a pink jumper, bouncing off of the city bus and skipping along the sidewalk while her mother scrambled to hold her hand. In her raven hair the little girl wore a blue bow that was faded and frayed and with every bounce it was slowly falling out of her sea of curls. The mother wore a uniform, blue with white trim and lettering that read “Value Mart” across the front. She was young and graceful when she walked, as if she had been a ballerina in another time, and her deep brown eyes looked kind, yet tired. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Christmas 2005, Fiction Leave a Comment

Loneliness Is My Contraception

Joseph Fino

My friend tells me he was born 1984. I was born then. My friend tells me he ran cross country in middle school. I ran track. My friend tells me he ran a marathon. I ran one last year. My friend tells me he ran his in ‘81. I tell my friend to shut up. He never talks again and I haven’t run a day in my life.

My dad tells me about his wife. “She’s kind of a beautiful woman.” I remind him he’s not married. “She has the hair of a lioness.” I don’t even know what that means. “She prowls around with intent.” I remind him he walks around aimlessly and wonder why mom didn’t leave him sooner.

My brother tells me I don’t understand anything. I tell him I understand that. He tells me I need to grow up. I kick him in the groin and tell him to man up. He cries like me. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Fiction, Sts. Peter and Paul 2008 1 Comment

The Short Life of a Bird

Amy Kopecky

Yesterday I saw a baby bird. I was sweaty and hot because I just got out of gym class and we had played my favorite game—dodgeball. I’m the best in the third grade! Except for Brian. Brian’s even better than I am and pegs me in the head every time. The teacher never gets mad at him, even though head hits are illegal.

Gym is the one thing at school that I’m good at. Everyday I hear, “Conner, you could be getting A’s in all your classes if only you’d stop talking!” I don’t know why teachers don’t want me to talk. On TV kids always talk in class and the teacher never notices. Actually, teachers are a lot dumber on TV. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Fiction, Sts. Peter and Paul 2008 Leave a Comment

499

Enrique García Máiquez

Translated by David Alexander

To the 498 Spanish martyrs of the 1930s and all those who suffered religious persecution during the 20th century.

The militia men shoved him out of his house, ready to make him the 499th martyr for some future beatification. Don Bartolomé let himself be pushed along, knowing that he had few hopes. Just the same as always. When he discovered that the leader of the so-called Death Squadron was Manolito–the kid from las Tejas–he thought maybe all was not lost. He had been Manolito’s teacher in the town’s school and he knew well that the boy’s brute force was matched only by his pride. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Fiction, Mary Queen of Angels 2008 Leave a Comment

What He Heard

C.M. Schott

Dear God,

Bryan says he doesn’t believe in you anymore. I think he’s just trying to be tough. Please don’t be angry with him. I still believe in you. Amen.

~

Dear God,

This is Leanne. Well, I guess you knew that. Uh, I haven’t talked to you in awhile. I guess you knew that. Look, this is how it is: I really, really need this job. If you help me get it, I’ll do anything. I’ll even go to church again. I’ll quit smoking. I’ll quit drink—Well, you get the idea. Look, I just need this job. Please, God. Uh, thanks. Amen. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Fiction, Sts. Peter and Paul 2008 Leave a Comment

The Game of Sean McTeague

Eleanor Bourg Donlon

Sean McTeague was the sort of fellow who used righteous anger for everyday occasions. Had he lived in epic times, Sean McTeague certainly would have been an epic hero…or perhaps an epic villain. The trouble with epic times is that the difference between heroes and villains is sometimes rather vague. Take Achilles, for example–a more sorry excuse for a human being has never lived. One treasures the knowledge of his heel and waits with bated breath for the moment when someone will have the inspiration to tap the blighter’s hamstring. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Fiction, Mary Queen of Angels 2008 Leave a Comment

Carla and Jaime

Arthur Powers

“Carla and Jaime” is an excerpt from my novel, Shadow Companion. In 1965, in a period of rampant inflation and weak democracy, the Brazilian military seized control of the government. After General Castelo Branco’s death in 1967, the hard-line wing of the military assumed control of the government. In 1968, there was a particularly severe crackdown. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Fiction, Mary Queen of Angels 2008 Leave a Comment

The Salvation of Glorianne

Dena Hunt

Brother Bob stood behind the pulpit and read the Scripture slowly and sorrowfully: “My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?” The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, so the golden curls covering his thin arms showed when he raised the open Bible. He had been preaching for over an hour. The shirt was wet almost all over with sweat. His red curly hair was combed back into an oily ducktail with curls on top and a single small corkscrew curl falling down on his forehead. His eyes were light blue, and they could look icy mean sometimes. That’s why Glorianne thought he must be a good preacher. [Read more...]

Filed Under: Fiction, Mary Queen of Angels 2008 Leave a Comment

Old Grace and New Beauty

Julie McGurn

At the end of the block on Main Street sits a small dry cleaners owned by the Choi family. It is a model of tidiness and precision. Every day the hum and whoosh of electric dryers and steam cleaners sound forth like the beating heart of a great giant. Mrs. Choi runs the register with an efficiency bordering on the brusque, but mitigated by her ability to greet each customer by name. The pronunciation may sometimes be wanting, but she’s got the raw data down cold.

No one could doubt her willingness to extend herself for her customers either. Like one February morning when a regular, Mr. Sam Gilette, came in with a black smudge on his forehead. After her usual boisterous hello, Mrs. Choi leaned over the counter, pointed to her own forehead, and whispered, “Your head,” [Read more...]

Filed Under: Christmas 2011, Fiction Leave a Comment
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