- In retrospect, one can piece together the progression of a midlife crisis. Predicting the moment of explosion before the cinder cone blows is an imprecise science.
- Could the metaphor be more plain? If I survived the ice cave, I could change my life.
Washington state, fire evacuation levels:
Level 1: get ready
Level 2: get set, and
Level 3: go.
All of us have “go bags” to grab as we run out the door, filled with what matters most for immediate survival. Evacuation levels can and do change on a dime, sometimes in the middle of the night. We drive away from our home perched on the hill above a gentle curve of valley just ahead of receiving notice of Level 3. I do not permit myself a glance back.
On one sweltering, late-summer afternoon in Pennsylvania, the kind of day that invites a certain dreamy idleness, my grandfather taught me how to make clouds disappear.
New work, from Issue 15: Mathilda Wheeler's "Sex Ed"
If Daddy listened, he would put down his paper. He would turn off the TV. He would look me in the eye. He would take off his reading glasses. He would not joke. He would not say, "For crying out loud." He would say, "What is it, Tilda?" And his voice would not be impatient. It would be caring. And if I said, “Nothing," he would say, "No. Tell me." He would know to ask, to keep asking. And then I could tell him. I could ask him. About boys. About rules. About Ted Sayer.