I didn't see the girl until she hit my windshield. Then I saw nothing but the girl. In the split second that lasted a lifetime, I saw that she wasn't dead. Panic speared through my chest. I got out of my car. I didn't feel the rain. "Are you okay? Oh my god." Traffic moved …
Continue reading Running People Over (or This Time I’m the Bad Guy)
We fall into patterns. Habits. Roles. You're the Helper, the Joker, the Troublemaker, the Listener, the Idiot, the Object of Desire--what more can you think of? Which role is yours? Take a wild guess at my role back in college. Now, I'd like to break out of the Insecure Writer role I've cast myself into, …
"You have to go to the principal's office," the teacher said. "Take your things. You've a doctor's appointment." "Oh," I said. "I do?" My arm was in a sling and a classmate picked up my books and put them in my bag. I couldn't remember anything about a doctor's appointment. The teacher frowned. "Of course …
This video made me feel better. So, what flaws would you like to trade? Let's see... I've got talks too much, obsesses, staph scars, varicose veins, insecurity, bad hair, half of my rib cage is concave instead convex, and a weakness for flattery. Any traders? Anyone? Anyone?
"You remind me of Lana Turner's sister," my dad would say to me. "Stomach Turner." "I put your school picture up to keep the roaches away," he said every year. And "If you're lucky, one day you'll be as good-looking as me." Not everyone finds the same joke funny. My friends thought my dad was …
"Where were you when Kennedy was shot?" I asked my dad. "What?" he asked. "Everyone always seems to know where they were when Kennedy was shot, so I just thought I'd ask." He shrugged. "I had to work." "What do you mean you had to work?" I asked. "I had to make lunch for 500 …
and this is on my mind... ...thanks, Louise.
I noticed that the young men all have shaved heads, but I didn't think they had anything to do with me. I was at a red light and they were packed in the car behind me. I checked the rearview mirror to see how my son was doing. He was happy in his carseat, close …
I called it The Tour of Death. "Six people died in this intersection," she said. "A semi ran the stop sign and killed a car filled with kids." "You remember when we drove by here and there was all that yellow police tape?" she asked a while later. "Man shot his son in the driveway." …
Continue reading Stories of Dead Girls & Other People You Don’t Want to Be
"They don't check IDs," C. said when he asked me to meet him at the bar. He was 22. I wasn't far into 18. I didn't tell him I didn't drink and that I'd never been in a bar. I convince my friend S. to go with me. She isn't the type to get flustered …
Marta Bacon 