Prose Selection
Stay Awake
Josh Denslow
After sustained begging, his mom wore the sweater he got her for Christmas. There was no doubt it was ugly: bulky and beige with a deep maroon stripe across the front. Noah had employed his most strident voice, even misting his eyes by remembering the time his mom left the gerbil cage open and Baron Von Whiskers crawled into an uncertain future, never to be seen again.
Noah had taken a keen interest in keeping his mom covered since she’d attended his holiday recital in a black skirt and low-cut floral blouse. Rick Gold turned to Noah after what was basically a dirge of “Frosty the Snowman” performed by twenty-two scared fourth graders and said, “Your mom is hot,” thus breaking the rule that the popular kids don’t talk to the unpopular kids. It was that serious.
Noah knew his mom didn’t want him to accompany her to the party. The girl who normally sat with him, Jessie from Apartment 4B, had laryngitis, and Noah’s mom couldn’t find anyone to replace her. She stood there with that horrible sweater hanging halfway to her knees dialing everyone she knew in their apartment building.
Jessie was over so often that she had her own key. When Noah got home from school she’d be on the couch, her knobby knees hanging over the armrest and Wheel of Fortune blasting from the television.
She was a fountain of information.
“You know your mom has a vibrator?” she might say as a greeting.
Jessie had straight red hair that hung limply over her shoulders. Once, after she’d fallen asleep on the couch, Noah wondered how long it would take him to lightly link the freckles on her cheeks and nose with the tip of his finger. She was the only girl in high school he’d ever talked to.
His mom turned to him, her slightly upturned nose suspended over a pout. “Guess it’s you and me, kiddo.”
Whenever she called him kiddo, things weren’t going her way.
A week ago, the snow had sparkled on the ground like his grandmother’s wedding ring. But when they left that evening for the party, the snow was plowed in brown, sludgy hills along the curb, and the grass along the sidewalk poked through the crispy layer that covered it.
His mom wore her baby blue winter coat with the shiny silver trim that wound along the sleeves like roads in the future. The beige sweater poked underneath it in a frumpy bulge that made her look like a puppet on Sesame Street.
She’d slicked back all of Noah’s hair until it appeared that a shiny beetle had died on his head. She made him wear the charcoal dress shoes that hurt his pinky toes, and he had to tuck his green button-up shirt into his jeans.
Steam swirled in front of their faces as they waited for the Nissan Sentra to heat up. “Whose party is this?” Noah asked.
“A friend of Linda’s. His name’s Frank.”
“Was he the guy that bought us doughnuts that morning?”
“No. But his name was Frank, too.”
“Oh, OK.”
His mom blew into her hands and then shifted the car into reverse.
“Who was the guy that watched the football game and kept licking all the cheese dip off his fingers?”
“Eric.”
“What about that guy who snored real loud?”
“Noah, can we please not talk about this now?”
The car wheezed through the parking lot and out onto the street, the snow crunching loudly under the tires. Last year, Noah kept a snowball in the freezer until the sun returned and the leaves began sprouting on the trees. One afternoon he took the snowball out — a hard, oblong piece of ice — and carried it out onto the stairs leading into the building. While all of the other tenants came home from work carrying purses, briefcases, and groceries, Noah watched the snowball melt slowly into a dark patch on the cement.
The turn signal pulsed like a dry cough, and the light flashed on his mom’s angular face. Noah loved how long and thin her fingers were, as if a skeleton were driving the car. He knew his dad’s enormous hands must look like that in his box underground. His dad liked to tell jokes, and Noah wished his dad were there to make his mom laugh, a high-pitched tinkle that sounded like the tiny bell around the neighbor’s golden cat. Every time it ran past his window or darted out in front of their car, Noah thought of his dad and how his voice made everything better.
“You think Dad would like that sweater?” Noah asked.
His mom grinned. “He’d say it looks like a trash bag.”
“Yeah. He probably would.”
His mom turned into a neighborhood full of houses so big they could be castles. Each driveway was immaculately shoveled as if snow was forbidden to fall there. The houses were draped in brilliant Christmas lights. Ten-foot trees remained decorated behind enormous front windows. He and his mom had set up a three-foot plastic tree with two strands of lights on the kitchen table. The day after Christmas, his mom had tucked it back into its box and slid it into the hall closet.
“Keep an eye out for six thirty-seven,” his mom said.
“You’re looking on the wrong side, Mom. That’s all the even numbers.”
She turned her head so she was looking over Noah to the houses slipping by. She stopped in front of a dull brick house flanked on either side by two twinkling Santa’s Villages. The lights were on inside and cars lined the driveway.
“Please don’t be rude, Noah. Make sure you eat whatever they offer you.”
“What if they want me to eat celery? Or fish sticks? Or hot dogs?”
“One bite won’t kill you. Besides, they won’t be serving fish sticks and hot dogs.”
“They better not be.” Noah stuck his hands into his gloves.
He remained a few steps behind his mom as they shuffled up to the front door. Noah could hear voices rumbling inside and the light tinkle of a piano. She rang the doorbell and then crossed her arms in front of her. Noah wanted to tell her that he smelled fish sticks, but she’d lost her joking mood.
The door lurched open to reveal Frank, a squat man with a pencil-thin goatee wearing an immaculately pressed black suit. He looked like the villain tasked with hunting down a cartoon mascot in a cereal commercial. He smiled broadly and winked at Noah’s mom. “You must be Denise. I’m so glad you could make it.” He didn’t notice Noah.
“Why thank you,” Noah said.
Frank furrowed his brow and paused, not wanting to make a bad impression. “Hi there, little man.”
“This is my chaperone,” Noah’s mom said.
Frank lifted his eyebrows and then winked at Noah. “Fancy,” he said, and then whistled lightly.
“The sitter was sick.”
“The more the merrier.” Noah wondered what it was about Frank that he got to keep walking around while someone like his dad would never see the sun again.
The three of them stepped inside to find twenty people mingling in the large living room with the rest spilling into the glowing kitchen. The house looked fake, as if it had been assembled for a catalog. Everything was brand-new and white. All the men wore suits, and the women wore festive dresses. If he could, Noah would have stopped Frank before he peeled off his mom’s jacket and displayed the hideous sweater Noah had begged her to wear.
“What a lovely sweater,” Frank said as he draped the blue coat over his arm.
Noah’s mom flushed and reflexively wrapped her arms around her midsection, ducking her head. “Noah gave it to me for Christmas.”
Frank turned to Noah and smiled. “You have great taste.” And that’s when Noah realized how nervous Frank was. His jaw was slightly clenched, the muscles knotted above his jawline.
“Would you do me a big favor? Could you take your mom’s jacket upstairs?”
Noah’s mom smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Of course he can, right Noah? He’s quite the gentleman.”
Frank draped the jacket across Noah’s outstretched arms. “Second door on the right. You can put yours in there if you’d like.” He then turned to the room and said: “This is Denise.”
“And Noah,” his mom added quietly. The partygoers raised their glasses and then commenced talking. Noah tried to catch his mom’s eye, but Frank had already whisked her into the kitchen. His first thought was to walk around the room and knock drinks out of hands to prove that he was there. Instead, he began climbing the stairs, his dress shoes slapping loudly on the hardwood flooring.
At the top of the stairs he encountered a large painting of a nude woman wearing a red and white flotation ring around her waist. She was pale, almost translucent, with skin dripping over her hips. Noah didn’t notice the parts that made her different from him. Her eyebrows curled up into her forehead and her dark eyes followed Noah as he walked down the hall.
Whispering emanated from the second door on the right. Noah shifted his mom’s coat to his right hand and leaned around the doorjamb. A hulking boy was digging through the pockets of each of the jackets piled on the ornate double bed, whispering over and over again, “What do we have here? What do we have here?”
He must have felt Noah’s presence because his shoulders tensed and he turned to the door, his forehead huge under his curly black hair. “You got a crush on me or something?”
“No, I was looking for the coat room.”
“Well, maybe your eyes stopped working. I see a shitload of coats here.”
Noah quickly checked the pockets to make sure there was nothing in his mom’s coat that this beast could steal.
“Are you in second grade?” the boy asked.
“Fourth.”
“Same thing.” He grinned and slapped himself on the chest. “I’m in sixth.”
Noah walked into the room and dropped the blue coat on top of the pile.
“What do you think of that?”
“Of what?” Noah asked.
“About me being older than you.”
“It’s fine with me,” Noah said, deciding to keep his own jacket on.
“Well, I’m like the boss of you.”
Noah’s dad always said that a bully just wants a hug, but the idea of hugging this behemoth was disgusting. He looked moist all over, as if he never stopped sweating.
“Have you found anything cool in the pockets?” Noah asked, trying to act approving, maybe even complicit.
The boy held up a small square-shaped silver wrapper. In the middle was the outline of a small ring. It looked like it came out of a gumball machine.
“This is a condom,” the boy said.
“Oh.”
“You don’t know shit, do you?” He ripped the corner of the wrapper and pulled out a balloon. He unrolled it until it resembled a limp banana. “You put this on your pecker.”
That couldn’t be possible. It was too big for that.
“I forgot how stupid fourth graders are.” He immediately started tugging at his pants, fumbling with the button. “Stop staring.”
Noah turned his back to the large boy and heard the sound of his zipper. A little more fumbling and then: “OK.” Noah took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder. The boy had his yellow-stained underwear pulled almost to his waist and the top of the condom stuck out of the band. “See.”
“Yeah.” Noah wished he was back in the apartment, at school, at the cemetery — anywhere but in the coat room.
“You probably don’t even know that boys make baby juice. It goes inside girls and turns into a baby.”
Noah’s mouth went dry. There was no way that’s where he came from. His dad would never do that to his mom. He still hadn’t figured out where he was before he was born and where he would be after he was dead, but he was sure that this boy didn’t have his facts straight.
The boy pulled up his pants, leaving the condom inside. “Get out of my face, second grader.”
“No problem.” Noah backed out of the room. He could hear the light murmur of voices downstairs punctuated by bright bursts of laughter, like fireworks at a funeral. He tried not to look at the painting as he made his way to the stairs, but he could feel the nude woman’s eyes boring into him.
There was a creak on the stairs followed by his mom’s friend Linda. “Noah! Check you out. You’re looking more and more like your dad.” Her voice was too high-pitched to talk about anything serious, like she was doing an impression of someone instead of using her normal voice. But she was also the only person he ever saw who had known his dad.
“Really? You think my hands will get as big as his?”
“Of course they will.” She patted him on the head. “Have you seen the bathroom up here?”
“No. Is Mom still downstairs?”
Linda knelt down in front of him and put her hand on his shoulder. “I want to tell you something, since it’s just the two of us. Frank’s a really good guy, Noah. I think you’ll like him. Give him a chance.”
Noah stared at the skin stretched over her knee, the light blue veins that traveled up her thigh into her wool skirt. She dabbed her fingertips on his cheek and smiled, her front two teeth crooked and yellow. “Trust me.” Then she got up and proceeded down the hall.
The boy in the coat room poked his head out and grinned. “My dad is totally going to fuck your mom.”
Noah was roasting in his puffy coat. He’d found a spot in the corner of the front room between a recliner and a potted plant. A few minutes after Frank offered everyone an appetizer on a serving tray, a rotund white cat puked up something hairy and red on the white carpet behind the plant.
Noah looked around the room and attempted to listen in on the guests’ thoughts. The man with the big nose carrying a drink in each hand was thinking, “Even if I drink both of these, it won’t make anyone like me.” The woman with the tight dress: “I have the biggest butt crack in the world!” His mom’s friend Linda: “I’m better than Cupid. And much taller, too.”
His mom walked out of the kitchen holding a drink, looking small next to everyone else. She was thinking: “Can I be happy?” Frank sidled up next to her, so oily that it looked like his suit might slide right off him. His thoughts: “I will devour this woman and send her pesky son to a boarding school.”
Noah tried to imagine what his dad would add to this round of the thought game. He would probably say that his mom was thinking, “I’m the most beautiful woman here.”
And she was.
Every time Frank lightly placed his hand on Noah’s mom’s back or leaned in to whisper in her ear, Noah shot daggers from his eyes and watched them pierce Frank in the throat, the brilliant magenta blood spurting onto all the guests. Not one drop landed on his mom.
She frowned at him and made her way across the room. She always knew when he was thinking terrible thoughts.
“I thought that green shirt was your favorite?”
“It is.”
“Then why do you have it covered up?”
“This jacket makes me invisible.”
She frowned at him. “I think hiding in the corner is making you invisible. You know Frank has a son your age.”
“He’s two years older than me. And he’s a pecker.”
“Noah. Watch your mouth.”
“Sorry, Mom. I don’t sugarcoat the truth.”
She smiled. “There’s a lot of nice people here that I’m sure would really want to talk to you. You’re making a strange first impression, standing here with your jacket on, refusing to talk.”
“OK. First, tell me what I’m thinking,” Noah said.
Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips, creating a slight dimple on her chin. “You’re either thinking that Frank doesn’t like you, or how that lady has a huge butt crack.”
A laugh jumped out of Noah’s throat and coated the room like syrup. “You’re good.”
“I know. I invented the game.”
Noah put his hands in his pockets. “You can be happy, Mom.”
She smiled sadly and tousled his hair. “When you’re ready, come look for me and we’ll find someone interesting to talk to.”
When his dad was still around, Noah used to wake up as soon as the sun poked through his window. He’d jump out of his bed and run down the hall to his parents’ room. He’d fling the door open and launch into their bed. His heart racing in his chest, his dad’s beard scratching on the pillow, he’d curl up between them with the smell of soap and sweat.
A year ago, Noah found a man snoring in the spot where his dad used to lie. Noah had no idea how he got there. His mom had come home the night before and given Jessie ten bucks and tucked Noah into bed. The apartment was quiet, and Noah dreamt of his dad. He could feel the warmth of his dad’s arms and smell the mint on his breath. In the morning, for the first time since his dad moved underground, Noah scrambled out of bed and ran into their room. He almost jumped into the bed before he noticed the man. He was lying on his back, unlike his father, who slept on his stomach. The snores rumbled out of him like a brewing storm. His mom was curled on the edge of the bed, as far as she could get from him. Had a burglar entered their home and fallen asleep? Noah’s first thought was to smother his birdlike face with a pillow. Then he realized his mom was awake. She put a finger to her lips and waved him gently from the room. Without his even realizing it, tears had curved down his face. He backed out and slammed the door as hard as he could. It vibrated in the frame until he was safe in his room. He never saw that man again, but from that point on, Noah’s mom began locking her door. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Noah would creep out and put his hand on her doorknob and give it a slight turn, hoping that she had forgotten.
He spotted his mom across the room talking with Linda. The beige sweater hung on her like a curtain, and Noah felt a surge of love for her, as if his feet had been magnetized. He pulled off his jacket and emerged from the corner. Linda was tying up her thick blond hair in a tie. “Here comes your son now.”
“Frank’s cat puked on the carpet,” Noah said.
“Frank has a cat?” Linda said.
“It’s disgusting.” Noah scrunched up his nose like his mom did when she disapproved of something.
His mom wrapped her arm around him. “I’m glad you found me.”
Frank walked up with two glasses of wine and handed one to Linda. The other sat in his hand waiting for Noah’s mom to take it. “I’ll just stick with water,” Noah’s mom said.
“You have a cat?” Linda asked.
“I do indeed. A Persian.”
Linda gave Noah’s mom a baby face. “That’s so sweet.”
“I know. Peel back the layers, and I get better and better. Like that sweater.”
“Noah, why don’t you tell Frank where you got it,” his mom said.
“I don’t want to give away my secrets.”
Linda snorted a laugh. “He’s got his dad’s sense of humor.”
“And his temper,” his mom said.
“I’m curious, though.” Frank grinned at Noah, trying so hard to be nice that he looked like he might pass out.
“They did a clothes drive at his school. For the homeless. Everyone brought in clothes, and Noah was the only one to take some home.”
“Maroon’s her favorite color,” Noah said. “Also, I asked my teacher first.”
“That’s a lovely story,” Frank said. “My son never thinks about me during the gift-giving season.”
Linda giggled and suppressed a belch. “And it’s not like Noah has a job.”
“Maybe you’ll rub off on Toby.” Frank punched Noah lightly on the arm.
Of course his roly-poly son was named Toby. Might as well have named him Fatty. Noah laughed and his mom pinched his ear. Noah squirmed out of her embrace.
“You should really talk to Toby,” his mom said.
“I’d rather eat the cat puke.”
“Noah!”
“Did my cat puke somewhere?”
“Over by the plant,” Linda said.
Frank tapped Noah on the back. “Why don’t you give me a hand?”
“Go on,” his mom said.
“But it’s not my fault.”
“Of course it’s not. She does it all the time. I even have a special cleaner. Follow me.” Frank gave Noah a thumbs-up and set off into the kitchen.
His mom clamped her hand around his bony shoulder. “If you do this, I’ll forget about your rude outburst. And when you imagined shooting arrows into Frank’s eyes.”
Linda’s mouth opened into a slight O. With her deep red lipstick, it looked like one of the Fruit Loops Noah ate every morning.
“It wasn’t a bow and arrow. It was knives in the throat."
“That’s a new one.”
“I know. I was pretty proud of that one.”
“Did you hit an artery?”
“Yeah. Blood went everywhere.”
“Go help Frank.”
“OK.” Noah walked past a few people into the kitchen.
Everything was stainless steel and smudged with fingerprints. Empty glasses were littered across every available countertop. Frank had a door propped open, and Noah could see a blue BMW parked on the other side.
“This way,” Frank said.
The two of them stepped into the garage.
One whole wall was lined with cabinets, hanging tools, and rusting toolboxes. Noah’s father had always wanted a place to use as a workshop. He told Noah about the huge house they would have one day and the furniture the two of them would build. It was hard to imagine that Frank could have anything in common with his dad.
“You’re the man of your house, Noah. And I respect that.”
“Thank you.”
Frank knelt down and opened a small cabinet. He pulled out a dirty white spray bottle. Still in a crouched position, he turned toward Noah. “My wife died. I don’t know if your mother told you that.”
“She didn’t tell me anything but your name.” Noah watched particles of dust hover above Frank’s head.
“It’s been hard on Toby. They were very close. And I know he can be a bit rude.” Frank looked him in the eye, as if they were both adults. “I’m not expecting you two to be friends. I’m not expecting anything. I’m just taking each day as it comes.”
Noah thought about what his life would be like if his mom had moved underground instead of his dad. His chest shuddered.
“Can I ask you a question?” Noah asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Do boys make a baby-making juice that goes inside girls and turns into a baby?”
Frank stood up, the spray bottle dangling at his side. “Toby told you that, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to tell you the truth?”
“Yes.”
Frank opened the door and the sounds of the party washed over them. “Yes. That’s what they call fucking.” The door shut behind him as he disappeared into the house.
Linda was asleep on the couch with her mouth wide open. Noah counted four fillings in her top row of teeth from where he sat on the floor. Frank put a small quilt over her and then called upstairs to Toby. Noah’s mom was picking up glasses.
“You don’t have to do that, Denise,” Frank said.
“I don’t mind.”
“Toby will do it. Please, sit down.”
She sank into the couch and put her head on Linda’s shoulder.
Toby stomped down the stairs wearing Noah’s mom’s coat and Noah jumped to his feet. “I’ll take that.”
“Whatever, second grader.” Toby pulled off the coat and threw it on the floor. Frank didn’t seem to notice. Or he didn’t care.
“Get these glasses into the kitchen,” he said.
“How come he doesn’t have to help?”
“What do you say, Noah?” Frank said. “Feel like chipping in?”
His mom yawned loudly. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner they could go. His eyes were threatening to close and he was daydreaming about his bed.
He grabbed two glasses and walked toward the kitchen. Frank sat down next to his mom on the couch. He leaned in and whispered something into her ear. Her face didn’t change.
Toby shouldered him as he barged into the kitchen, and Noah almost dropped the glasses he was holding.
“My dad has girls sleep over all the time.”
“Well. My mom has guys sleep over all the time.”
Toby laughed loudly, wispy for his big frame, like the sound of an eraser on a chalkboard. “Your mom’s a slut!”
“Your dad’s a slut.”
“Guys can’t be sluts, dumbass. Only girls. She’s probably too gross for my dad to hook up with.”
As far as Noah knew, only that one guy had slept over. “She doesn’t have lots of guys over.”
“You can’t take it back. Your mom’s a slut.”
“Well, at least my mom isn’t dead.” Toby’s face crumpled. Noah imagined a giant knife dropping from the ceiling and landing directly in the middle of Toby’s head, the hilt glinting in the track lighting.
They just stared at each other, neither of them breathing. And then Toby’s hands were around his throat. Noah tried to yell but no sound came out. Toby’s face turned purple as he squeezed harder. Brilliant flashes of light popped in front of Noah’s eyes. His legs gave out and he slumped forward. Toby loosened his grip and attempted to get better footing.
Noah belted out a scream that tore through his throat like gravel. “Dad!” he yelled. “Dad!”
Toby pushed him to the ground and sat on his back. He slapped Noah on the back of his head until it felt like it was on fire.
Frank and Noah’s mom burst into the kitchen. “Get off of him!” Noah’s mom yelled. Frank grabbed Toby around the midsection and hoisted him to his feet.
“He made fun of Mom!” Toby kicked his legs toward Noah, who rolled away from him.
Noah’s mom knelt down next to him and cradled his head. “You OK, sweetie?” She smelled like the cheesecake that they had eaten earlier.
“What did you say?” Frank demanded.
“I’m sure Noah didn’t say anything about your wife.”
“Let him speak for himself.”
Noah propped himself up and leaned against his mom. His voice was barely a whisper. “I only pointed out that she was dead.”
Another spasm shot through Toby, and Frank dropped him to the floor where he began to cry loudly.
“Noah. Why would you do that?” His mom looked concerned.
Frank glared down at him.
“He called you a slut, Mom. He said his dad had girls sleep over every night.”
“That’s not true.” Frank’s face reddened.
“What’s not true? That I’m a slut or that you have a lot of girls over?”
“Both.”
Toby choked on his tears, no discernible words escaping from his mouth.
“Toby would never say something like that. Noah’s making it up.”
Noah’s mom got to her feet.
“I didn’t make it up,” Noah said softly.
“Your son is obsessed with sex. He asked me about it earlier in the garage.”
“My mom only had one guy sleep over. He snored really loud.”
Noah’s mom took his hand. “We don’t have to explain anything to them.”
They walked out of the kitchen. Linda was still passed out on the couch, a small amount of drool forming on her chin. Noah’s mom picked her coat off the floor and put it on.
Frank followed them out and leaned against the wall. “Can I call you?”
She opened the front door and pulled Noah into the cold. Noah grabbed his gloves from his jacket pocket and put on his hat. His mom’s hand shook as she slid the key into the car. Noah kept twisting around to see if Frank would open the door. But everything was perfectly silent. Snow whispered in the air.
They sat in the car for five minutes waiting for it to heat up. They both stared at the door. The front lights went off, followed shortly by the lights in the house.
His mom’s head kept dipping forward, her eyes staying shut longer each time she blinked.
“Mom? Are you OK?”
“Everything’s great, kiddo. Just you and me.”
“I wish Dad was here.”
She put the car in reverse and pulled into the street. The engine clanked under the hood. “Thank you for my sweater. It’s so warm.”
“I thought it might be.”
“It’s like being in a big hug.”
“I’ll give you the biggest hug when we get home.”
She smiled, but Noah knew it wouldn’t be big enough. Her head tilted forward and the car drifted toward the shoulder.
“Mom!”
“I’m going to need you to keep me awake, Noah. I’m really tired.”
“How am I going to do that?”
“Just keep talking to me.”
“What should we talk about?”
Her eyes drooped again. Noah pictured both of them flying through the windshield and landing in the shape of perfect snow angels on the side of the road.
“Maybe you should talk to me, Mom.”
She looked at him, her eyes two slits in the dark. “This sweater is so warm.”
“Tell me about the snoring man.”
Her eyes opened a little wider. “He doesn't matter, Noah. He never mattered.”
The heat mixed and twirled in the air between them. “Will you leave your door unlocked so I can visit you sometimes?”
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.”
“I’m sorry your dad isn’t here anymore. I feel all alone.”
Noah looked out the windshield as the snow began to fall harder, like the car was going into warp drive. “What should we talk about next?”
One day, Noah would buy a big house. He’d have a workshop where he could make furniture. He’d hear his mom laugh again.
One day, he’d be able to stand up to people like Toby. One day, he’d be old enough to drive his mom home.
*****
Josh Denslow lives in Dripping Springs, Texas. His stories
have appeared or are forthcoming in Black Clock, A cappella Zoo, Storyglossia, Upstreet,
and Twelve Stories. He has written and directed five short films that
have played at a few festivals. His short story collection Frequently Mistaken and
his novel TOUCH are both looking for homes.
“Stay Awake” appeared in the Fall 2011 Issue 9 of Fifth Wednesday Journal.