Short Stories

Unknown Unknowns

The question of belief—of the gap between knowing and not knowing—interests him. Do you believe in Santa Claus? he asked. To hedge, I said I’m not sure one way or another. He told me he had two questions to help me think through it. Have you ever woken up on Christmas morning, he said, and seen a huge pile of presents? I told him I had—what about them? Ask yourself, he said. Who put them there? Also, have you ever seen an old man with a long, white beard? I told him I had. Ask yourself, he said. Who is that man?

—The Chronicles of Now, March 2020

Puppet-Master Made the Puppets

One morning I use my fingernail to scrape the brown from the other nails. I make a little ball with it. Hide it in the bathroom drawer behind the safety pins. The next day I make the ball bigger. I have to roll and roll to make it round. A pearl.

—McSweeney’s, August 2017

I, Buffalo

And it’s true that it was hot that day. And it’s true that I was sipping from my bottle. But the strangest thing happened. Having eaten, the buffalo raised her head again, and I felt a great topspin of joy at this. She continued her walk in my direction. She was so close I could see her eyebrows, and this, too, seemed miraculous. An instant later, she tumbled to the ground on her side as if felled. Her body sent up a puff of brown dirt. In that moment, I had a really strange experience. I felt as if I had fallen to the ground myself. I could taste the dust in the air. Every muscle in my body relaxed. I was not a thinking being. I was free. This lasted for only an instant. Then the buffalo rolled onto her feet and stood, and I was myself again.

—Tin House, September 2013

My Love Story

Once, sitting there in her hospital room, we glanced up from our books at the same time and smiled at each other. Our souls, she said, had drifted together and touched. She had felt my soul, she said. It was a warm, full feeling—a feeling of being so together with another person that it was as if you formed one person together. “That feeling is the meaning of life,” she said, and I raised my eyebrows and said, “The meaning? Of life?” I didn’t know what to say. Later, she vomited into a plastic basin, washed her face, then vomited again.

—Epoch, October 2009

This is Salvaged, This is Salvaged

It would be a real ark, based on the specifications of the King James Bible. He would employ homeless Seattle residents for the construction, and, upon completion, it would be moored at the beach and host rotating exhibits on climate change.

—Assignment, May 2018

We Were Here

Mariam had brought over a tray of Lebanese desserts—pastries stuffed with balls of buttercream, flavored with rose water and orange peel. At the kitchen table, the three of us ate, and Mariam complained about her abusive husband, and my mom complained about not having a husband. Which was worse? That was the running debate between them. They changed sides all the time. Neither of them could ever decide.

—Zyzzyva, September 2014

We'll Rise Above the Sky

“I had a crush,” Mom says, “on one of my dad’s servants. They weren’t his servants: they were servants for my dad’s hospital, but my dad made them wash our clothes and bring him tea on the porch for him and his cronies. Not cronies: friends. They sat around my dad and laughed, and the servant brought tea. Only once, he said, ‘It’s not my job.’ My dad made a joke out of it, and his friends laughed. The servant went away and never complained again. But my dad never beat him. So in a way, he was kind. Later, the servant died of syphilis.”

—Glimmer Train, May 2011

A Girl is Turning Ten

The girl wants to be alone for a while. She takes off ahead of her father and the stranger. Soon, they are far behind her, paddling slowly next to each other. The river seemed pretty from afar, but is dark and greenish up close. The girl's paddle stirs up pieces of algae. She looks back. Her father and the stranger are far behind, paddling side by side. When the girl looks ahead again, she sees a dark form emerge from the water, then duck back down. She looks at the spot where the form emerged. It ripples and bubbles. “Daddy?” the girl says.

—Black Warrior Review, February 2009