Thirst by Tara Stillions Whitehead
Every time I thought about Analise, I pictured them putting on Chapstick, in slow-motion.
Recently Published
I no longer harangue every desk nurse at every hospital for a taxonomic breakdown of her bills. I don’t ask for the numbers of the Benadryl, the water cups, the abdominal touches done with gloved hands. I am the most American I’ve ever been—she costs what she costs and I eat it.
Every time I thought about Analise, I pictured them putting on Chapstick, in slow-motion.
We wear Saran Wrap cloaks because real invisibility cloaks are too expensive.
You stood for a second—my slack-jawed baby brother, looking up at me just before a river raged between us.
I went to high school with this bitch and she is definitely not psychic!