from Renovation: A Love Story (memoir)
chapter I: The Mystery House
In December 1999, when Jill and I first saw the big brick Victorian row house in an old Baltimore neighborhood, it had sat abandoned for nearly a year and was such a wreck that most prospective buyers walked in, took one look, then promptly walked out. The place had been owned by a notorious fraternity for one riotous decade. We didn’t know this at the time. You couldn’t tell from the outside how bad the inside was. Three stories tall, made of pumpkin-colored brick, with three bays on every floor and a witch’s-cap tower at its foremost corner, the house was the jewel of the block—or had been. It seemed the kind of place that might have grand rooms, secret passageways, and ghosts. I imagined Jill and I roaming it from basement to attic, flashlights in hand. more from My Small Murders (new story collection)
Save the Poor, Dumb Creatures
A lot of girls think all you need is looks to do this, but you need smarts too. All of my girls have smarts. In fact, most of them were studious in high school--the awkward girls you'd see on the fringes, a little too tall, all elbows and knees, their smiles too nice for teenagers trying to keep their cool. more
from A Nation of Children
(novel)
chapter I: Rescue
After
they amputated Cooper's right leg, just above the knee, they offered to
send him home. They were very nice about it--it didn't sound like he'd have
to pay anything for the rescue or the surgery and certainly not the airfare--but
no one was talking about rehabilitation or follow-up. Despite the heavy
dose of drugs, which neatly tamped down his panic, he was aware enough to
realize that, if he did request a return to the States, he would be on his
own. Without medical insurance. And without a job. He was quietly amazed
that they thought him this stupid. more
from Kiss Me, Stranger (illustrated novel)
chapter I: A Handful of Nails
Unbeknownst
to the children, I added wood shavings to their turnip stew last night:
pine to be exact, which I grated meticulously as if it were a hard cheese.
At my most desperate, I've had to do such things because my children, like
most children, don't understand deprivation, they understand only their
own appetites--which is what makes children so appealing: they are all desire,
wide-eyed and voracious.
more
from A Bed of Nails (BkMk Press, 2003, 2006)
The Day His Wife's Face Froze
He
was teaching art to his sixth graders. They were making papier mache masks
for Halloween. He was thinking of the turning of leaves, the sunburst colors,
the acrid scent of leaf rot and tannin, leaf stains on the sidewalk like
paleolithic handprints. One of the boys had just painted both of his hands
red with tempera--as though he'd dipped them in a bucket of blood; he was
flashing them like spooked bats over the girls' heads. Some of the girls
squealed in delighted fright, others laughed. He sent the boy to the vice-principal.
more
The Ape in Me:
I'm
supposed to strangle this beautiful young woman today but my heart's not
in it. Toni, my girlfriend, tells me I should be used
to it by now, I've murdered so many women. But that's
the problem: I'm tired of being the heavy. Just once
I'd like to be somebody's sidekick or the nice guy whose untimely death
makes the audience sob with regret. Listen, I'm realistic.
I'm not asking for a big piece, just a different angle, a character
I can like for once. Because, honest to God, I'm starting
to get nightmares about these things, finding myself really killing people
on the set but not meaning to--losing my touch. When
I wake up, I can still see the crew's terrified faces, their fingers aimed
at me: "Christopher, what have you done?" I hear them crying. more
