It had been a slow night. My daughter, Kate, reminded me it was finals week, and that all the kids were probably at home studying. Cramming is how she put it, in a way that sounded like she thought I’d never heard the word. She goes to the university, too. Part-time. On weeknights she helps … Continue reading
Monthly Archives: July 2013
Hobo Chronicles — Rashad Harris
The First Mistake Within the first few days of the fifth hour of my dogs death, some giant of a man lumbered up to me on the corner of Tavington and Sunset and slammed a club into my face. The backflip I did was fantastic, and the enormous man waved me off as I soared … Continue reading
Young Man Pallbearer — Peter Madsen
“I’m taking my mother and my sisters to the Opera and that new Persian restaurant downtown for Aunty Amelia’s birthday tomorrow.” My mother tells me at the dinner table. “Well, aren’t you going to invite the guest of honor?” “Honey.” A pause. “She died last year. You carried the casket. Remember?” “This’ll be your toughest … Continue reading
Something Good — R Dean Johnson
Brent only made deals with God when he was in center field, and only between pitches. “Please let me do something good,” he said aloud, far enough out into the grass that he was sure no one could hear him except, of course, God. After his ground out in the first, Brent was ready to … Continue reading
A Motley Spirit — Terry Heller
The Spring 2013 Fiction Issue is dedicated to: Dr. Terry Heller who is retiring from his position as a Professor of English at Coe College this year. Over the years,Terry Heller has made numerous contributions to The Coe Review both of terms of written works and support. The students of the college will miss him very … Continue reading
Hewn — Nick Bertelson
The Trans-Canada pipe-layers arrive to dig their trench. They will cut and pile the poplars on a tilled square of dirt where lazy heads of lettuce are purpling in the autumn sun. Their supervisor approaches my house, knocking on the front door. Sadie barks from her kennel outside as the trimmers chainsaw the poplars now … Continue reading
Free Parking — Ariana Lily Uding
We fuck on the Vespa. Greg tugs my jeans around my ankles, and presses me against Mrs. Schmidt’s garage. The one with the pink handle. The aluminum is chilly against my neck and paint flakes fall in my hair, white specks like dandruff. His arms are train tracks, shaking as he holds me up, but … Continue reading
