My younger cousin Myrna came out of the womb asking questions. Why does a dog bark? Why is the sun hot? Where is my daddy?
“He’s a clown with the Venezuelan circus,” she said. “Hey, how about some ice cream before mass?”
“Mama, where’s Gertrude?” I asked, entering the kitchen where she was at the sink washing dishes. “I gave it to Myrna. You’re much too old for dolls, mija,” she said, not looking at me.
“Sonia, you don’t say anything about her father, you understand? You let Myrna have her dreams.” Then she told me never to bring it up again and sent me to my room.
She nodded and sniffled.
Myrna and I leaned in so we could hear every word. The table was really for a family of four, not five, and most of the time plates touched and elbows collided.
Fiction Issue 2015
“Salvage” by Kevin Leahy
“Migration” by Latoya Wolfe
