Mark Brazaitis | The Sun Magazine

Mark Brazaitis

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Mark Brazaitis lives in Morgantown, West Virginia. He has worked as an English professor, a Peace Corps volunteer, a deputy mayor, and a carnival worker.

— From March 2022
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Ocean City

I’d never been taught how to say no to an adult — nor even to consider the possibility that it might be necessary to do so.

March 2022
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Locked In To Life

In a locked psychiatric facility you’re obliged to keep living — unless, that is, you’re extraordinarily desperate and creative about instruments of self-destruction: a half-pint milk carton, a Chutes and Ladders game board, a plastic spoon.

April 2014
Fiction

The Boy Behind The Tree

My father and I were on the third tee at Wildwood Golf Course when a boy in a red golf shirt stepped from behind an oak tree next to the ball washer. “Mind if I join you?” he asked.

April 2008
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

In The House Of Magic And Sorrow

Dogs on roofs. I noticed them the first time I visited my girlfriend in Chiquimula, a large town in the dry, eastern part of Guatemala: Small black dogs, beady-eyed and yappy. Collies with lion-like manes. German shepherds with enormous tails. They peered over the roof edges, growling, barking, or silent and majestic against the blue sky.

June 2003
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Giving

My mother insisted on visiting me in Guatemala, where I was working as a Peace Corps volunteer, despite my exaggerated warnings about how difficult — how incommodious, how dangerous, even — life there was. I knew my scare tactics would fail; had I been a soldier in a war, my mother would have parachuted into my foxhole.

June 2000
Fiction

The Bribe

Grace and I had agreed to pick up Paul at the airport in Guatemala City. Suzie, Paul’s girlfriend and our fellow Peace Corps volunteer, had to build chicken coops in a village near Santiago and couldn’t leave in time to meet him, so she’d asked us to go in her place.

September 1999
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

A Night On The Beach

To celebrate the arrival of the new year, Grace and I went to the south coast with our friend Pete. We stayed only a short walk from the beach, in a house that belonged to Andrew, a fellow Peace Corps volunteer who had flown home for the holidays.

November 1998
Fiction

The Eye Man

“Darn,” said the eye man. “Darn.” He ran a hand through his long black hair and shook his head. “OK,” he finally said. “OK, OK, OK. Here it is, right? Here it is: I can’t make eyes that will help her son see. No, I can’t do that. But I will make him eyes that will help everyone else see.”

February 1996
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