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JOHN FRANK writes memoir, fiction, comedy, and songs. His work has appeared in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency and The Louisville Review. His essay “Pink Suitcases” earned a mention in The Best American Nonrequired Reading anthology. He lives in Ohio.
I didn’t know whether Grandpa knew that I knew. “My dad told me,” I said. “I’m sorry.” Grandpa got misty, then nodded and said, “He’d had enough.” To this day I believe this is the most empathetic way to understand suicide.
March 2022We checked out of the motel and ate breakfast in an old diner next to a gas station. Teresa ordered a child’s portion of pancakes, and they came with a whipped-cream smiley face. I ordered a skillet named after a World War II battleship.
August 2012Mom ranted and howled and screamed about how she just gave and gave and gave and we just took and took and took. Dad ran his hand through his hair and looked out the window into the backyard at our lone, birdless tree. I stared into my mashed potatoes, imagining a mountainous alien world.
November 2010Has something we published moved you? Fired you up? Did we miss the mark? We’d love to hear about it.
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