Ghosts, fairy tales, and a last chance to hear family stories
Welcome back to Memoir Monday—a weekly newsletter and quarterly reading series, brought to you by Narratively, The Rumpus, Catapult, Granta, Guernica, and Literary Hub. Each essay in this newsletter has been selected by the editors at the above publications as the best of the week, delivered to you all in one place.
Snowed in with a Ghost
by Krista Diamond (art by Fan Pu)
In the warmth of the Silver Bell, I could feel Ramona waiting. I laid down on the bed, too numb to remove my jacket. She was sitting on the corner of the mattress. She was at the kitchen table watching the snowfall. She was the dust in the air, the bricks in the wall, the wooden floor, the ancient bathtub, the hairline cracks in the windowpane. She was everything and everywhere. Imaginary and real. Company. The only thing I had that night. She was the entire apartment, holding me.
The Only Way Out Is Through
by Hana Pera Aoake
A friend tells me it’s just as well I didn’t have a baby, because of the impending ends of the world. I never thought it was possible to become pregnant because of the amount of irresponsible sex I’ve had that never resulted in a child. So when a ‘thing’ unsuspectedly grew inside me and took over my body I was stunned. In a way that’s still difficult to make sense of, it reminded me of how the gelflings’ blood was drained from their bodies in The Dark Crystal. Carrying a child is a trauma.
A Kind of Fairy Tale
by Kelly J. Baker
Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved fairy tales. Her skin was freckled and unevenly tanned. Her legs always had bruises because she was easily distracted and clumsy. Her hair was not golden like the sun, but that shade of blonde-almost-brown that the adults around her described as dirty—or dishwater—blonde. When she started squinting at things far in the distance and inching closer and closer to the TV, she had to get glasses with pink plastic frames. She was a reader, her nose perpetually stuck in a book. She was a daydreamer who imagined different possible worlds than the one she inhabited. Worlds in which parents didn’t divorce, fathers loved their children unconditionally, people were kinder, she was a princess, and anything was possible with magic.
Reconnecting With My Grandad’s Heritage As He Began to Forget It
by Michael Chakraverty
Grandad’s stories began to fade just as I began to gain interest, and I felt the bite of shame as I realized how little attention I’d paid. Suddenly, an invisible force was slowly untying my family’s connections to its past.
Buried Deep
by Julia Cooke
At first, back in April or May, I tried to make my walks feel like museum visits: a recognizable aesthetic experience to replace what I missed and knew I would not have anytime very soon. Now, into October, that “very soon” has extended toward who knows how long. Devoid of a Sophie Calle installation, the cemetery in my town is, for me, now haunted by it. Every time I enter, I wonder how it would be different if it invited me to externalize the tiny secrets that float up above my daily routines as I walk through the gates.
By the way, have you voted yet? There’s still time—don’t be dissuaded by long lines or optimistic polls. You can find everything you need to know about your polling location, hours, and even your state’s rules for last minute voter registration at Vote.org.
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