My Cardboard Balcony

Tonight, more than any other time since I first saw the results of the presidential election, I seriously considered leaving the United States. I contemplated going somewhere else - anywhere else. Maybe it'd be an adventure. Maybe it'd involve backpacking. Absolutely, it would include storytelling. But with just an Irish song in my head and a pain in my gut dictating my brain at that moment, I was more than half-tempted to call up a friend, tell him to pack his bags, and have him join me and my wife (were I able to convince her to accompany me) on the next flight out. I talked about how I felt with my wife when she came home from a performance. It was an emotional conversation: We both agreed that we fight a mental tug-of-war between being adventurous and being homebodies, and we both want a place to return to after traveling. My wife does not like traveling for prolonged periods of time, but I could feel my throat tighten when she told me that if I felt like I had to go some...

Beyond Limits by Belinda Roddie If I left this world, would you come with me?

Barry played piano, and Trisha trilled on the flute. Their parents danced together as their duet progressed, from bouncy to somber, to nebulous and then back to bouncy. I sat in the corner of the living room, watching the choreography and listening to the melodies and harmonies, sipping a glass of whiskey that was older than I was. When the piece was done, I politely applauded, and all four members of the Wright family bowed.

The Turkey Came To Life by Belinda Roddie The turkey came to life before my dad could carve it up. It sprang from the table and headed toward the door. "Have I gone mad?" I thought to myself, as my great-uncle leaped from his chair and chased after the cooked poultry. My mother fainted, the gravy knocked over as she fell. I stood and looked at my great-uncle trying futilely to catch the zombie turkey. My father fetched a broomstick, and my sister her gun - as if shooting an already dead bird would do the trick. My instinct was to run, and so I did, just as I heard the shot that took the turkey out, all nice and hot.

This Thanksgiving, I invited my lawyer over for dinner. No family. No relatives. No friends. Just my lawyer, still in a disheveled suit after a long stint at the office the night before, carrying in a pot of homemade macaroni and cheese and a bottle of red wine. "No turkey?" she asked. I smiled and escorted her to the table.

Out At School by Belinda Roddie She had her hair cut above her ears, a light fringe bouncing across her brow. She smiled and waved at the girls she passed, the sleeves of her new leather jacket rustling. Boys gave her high fives and fist bumps in the hall. They all had heard. They all knew. And they figured she was one of them - part of the pack, the gang, the motley crew, who knew how to woo a lady or two. As she walked to her desk, her English teacher smiled beneath a pixie cut of their own. Books were opened and characters analyzed, but newer stories were being told in raw, unhewn real time.

"Where the fuck is my truck?!" roared Chris, her cheeks red and her jaw cinched up tighter than a door hinge. She stood with her hands outstretched, staring at the space where her trusty automobile steed used to be. "I...I think they towed it, dude." Chris swore again, loudly. "I have a permit! I have a permit , for Christ's sake! Why does this always fucking happen?!"