.house.guests:james.nick.pat.

James, Nick, Pat 

(from right to left)

Jan 15 - 18, 2010

I've known James for some time now, and not only is he my son, but the co-father of our imaginary child. I was actually considering visiting Columbus over the long weekend for Dr. MLK Jr. Day, but could only find a rideshare to take me as far as Dayton. Not only that, but I would have had to skip some important classes. In a fit of indecision, I called James to get his opinion, and was informed that he, Pat and Nick were planning on coming to Chicago instead. Sometimes things just work out.

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Because I didn't have the time or effort to transcribe the half hour conversation the four of us had over dinner, I am instead going to include a link to an audio file that you can download and listen to at your leisure.

I know none of you will.

But for those of you that do, though, you will be treated to a conversation involving space lasers, angry Jimmy John's managers, and how Pat's haircut makes him look like a butch lesbian.

Click here to download interview audio 

Holding East

Holding East
Ruth Awad

I’d never seen my father on his knees except
during his daily prayers, his head to the rug
like a wild dog nosing for foodscraps, hunting
down God, until my mother stuffed her suitcase
full of socks and scrubs, pant leg caught in the lip.
From the hallway I watched my life unclasp:
my father shrouded in his flannel robe as my mother
loomed for a moment then stormed
around the bedroom, gathering her things.

Night swept in like curtains slowly closing.
No light from the stars, useless as snuffed candles.
My father paced the garden, past the wood violet
blooming lavender along the path, past lilacs
overtaking the fence. When he came back inside,
he scooped me in his arms and out to the car.
“A night-ride,” he said, but we circled the town
down side streets and houses of friends, looking
for her. I counted streetlamps that glowed
like little moons over us, my head pressed
against the glass blurred by my breath as we drove
through the night-fog, my father holding east.