My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "I think my helper monkey is stealing from me." "No. No, it's not." "No, seriously. My watch disappeared yesterday, and now my cellphone's missing. My helper monkey's being a dick." "That didn't happen." "How do you know?!" "Because you don't have a helper monkey, John." "..." "..." "..." "..." "Okay, fine, Mr. Killjoy. But if I did have a helper monkey, I'm pretty sure it would steal from me." "Yeah. Great hypothetical situation." "Are you going to help me find my cellphone?" "After you're done making up imaginary support primates, yeah." "Hmmm...support primates..." "Oh, God, no. No. Do not tell me I gave you an idea." "No, but hear me out." "No." "What if...instead of service dogs..." " No.&q

I tried on the outfit that my father had laid out for me on the bed, and to my surprise, it fit me well. The navy blue blazer and matching slacks slipped easily over my gangly appendages, the cuffs of the white dress shirt caressing the spot where my wrists connected with my palms. He walked in as I was tying the black tie - a Windsor knot, of course.