Karen Kincy

“There’s something beautiful about forgetting, about letting your thoughts melt into wordless blur of scents unwinding on the wind and paws skimming the ground and a belly full of a stolen bite of tofu, of a rice flour candy given by the ragged woman in the park. In return for the candy, we gave her a blanket, an illusion strong enough to keep her warm through the snowy night.”

“We lie together, then, warm in the chill of the night. Outside, in the amber glow of the streetlights, it begins to snow. Gwen’s breathing slips into the slow rhythm of sleep. I glance at the door. I know I should go back to my own bedroom, but…just a little while longer, Gwen feels so good in my arms, like a puzzle piece clicking into place.”

“I don’t keep track of time. Im lost in the sameness of the stale air and humming of the plane. My eyelids keep slipping down, but whenever I close them, all I see is the white of snow. I don’t want to return to that dream. I already know what happens next, when that winter night blurred into an eternity. Frigid fear seeps through me now, like I never closed the door on that part of my life. Believe me, I’ve tried. My mother left me to the snow and the dogs. I was six years old.”

“I prefer not to be called 'cute' or 'little,' thank you very much." He grins again. "I should get a T-shirt that says that.”

“He looks sexy in a black army jacket - brass buttons and braids - over a white shirt.I have to admit, he's got style. I can only hope it's not gay style.”

“I always find grocery stores surreal. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, wide aisles tempting me to run, vivid ads tugging my gaze this way and that. It seems so far removed from actually eating. Sometimes I have a strange impulse to climb shelves or rip open packaging and taste everything. But I mustn't succumb to pooka mischief.”