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Domestic Violence
Essays, Memoirs & True Stories
The Gar Killer
When I was six, my mother finally got tired of the beatings and left my father for good. I remember the final blow: I was standing outside, looking through the front-door window at my father mercilessly pounding my mother’s face into the checked tile floor of our run-down two-bedroom house on the outskirts of Slidell, Louisiana.
February 2009
Essays, Memoirs & True Stories
Suki
I want to tell you about a cat — a sublime creature entrusted to me in my youth — that I allowed to die. There were extenuating circumstances, but there always are. I forgive myself nothing. She loved me, and I let her down. I committed a terrible crime.
October 2007
Readers Write
Decisions
To pull the plug, to go from judgment to acceptance, to leave a marriage
April 2006
Readers Write
Taking A Stand
Facing a flock of cowards wearing sheets, caring for a parent, making a new friend
September 2005
Essays, Memoirs & True Stories
Safety Planning
One night I meet a client at the ER, she grabs my arm, forces me to her, and says: “This here will heal.” She points to a broken nose, a smashed collarbone, a red eye. “But this won’t.” She thumps her hand against her chest.
May 2005
Essays, Memoirs & True Stories
The Last, Hateful Word
The day I met Harry, he was drunk and desperate. We were in a bar with a group of work colleagues, and he was ranting about how a woman had mistreated him. There was something about fumbled sex on a beach, and a long train ride, and a wound to the heart. His tone was dramatic, misogynistic, and self-pitying. I thought he was the most obnoxious man I had ever met.
May 2005
Readers Write
Apologies
Clipping perfect long-stemmed roses, having failed as a teacher, keeping people happy while they piss away all their money playing high-limit baccarat and blackjack
February 2005
Essays, Memoirs & True Stories
All There Is
“Your mother’s amazing,” my friends say. Several of them confide in her. They ask for and receive help from her on their deepest problems. Not me, though. She and I can sit in the same room for hours and barely speak. We’re like the north ends of two magnets, darting apart.
December 2004
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