Accessory To His Death

Jeffrey stood out from the rest of us. His skin was a lot whiter for one thing. A lot whiter because he came from one of those really white-skinned families that moved here from the mid-west or someplace like that. Some place where people only came in the palest shades of white, so translucent that you could see the blue veins peeking through. Jeffrey’s round freckled face and his plump little legs in his plaid madras or seersucker shorts, burned a deep scarlet any time the sun fought its way through the smog and burned down on the pavement near downtown Los Angeles.

Their Silent Language

A few years before my mother died in 2001, I was visiting her for her birthday. She told me that since it was her eightieth birthday, she was going out to eat with her friend that afternoon.  She pronounced the name of her friend; it was an Armenian name, and I don’t think she pronounced it correctly, because she always […]