Sheila Lamb interviews Rebecca Rosenblum, author of Once.
The Journal
Once: A Review
Sheila Lamb reviews Once by Rebecca Rosenblum
The Returning: A Review
Sheila Lamb reviews The Returning, by Christine Hinwood.
Do You Smell That
A man goes to the doctor. He says, Doctor, my memory is bad. Every morning I wake up and I can barely remember what I did the day before. I try to make resolutions to be a better person, to travel, to learn things, to lose weight, to stop bad habits, but then I forget and nothing changes. I make plans for the weekend, but then I forget, and I just sit there on my couch, not knowing what to do. I forget what I like and what I don’t like. I can’t remember why I have the job that I do. I can barely remember my childhood. My whole life is a blur, it passes faster every day and I don’t even know who I am anymore.
Shasta’s Monsters
“Floor ‘Z,’ please.” The school elevator was packed, but no one spoke. I noticed several kids glancing at me in the reflection from the brass doors. RING! “Excuse me,” I said, squeezing out into the hall. I was the only one. The doors closed and the elevator resumed its journey. I heard conversation as it sped away. They didn’t trust me. I threw my gym bag up over my shoulder and began down a short hall toward a set of very large double doors. “Whatever. They just don’t know you yet,” I told myself. A shiny plaque on the wall read: Acuity and Physiology. I paused for a second and took a deep breath, mustering strength. “You got this!” I said as I pushed one of the big doors aside and walked nervously to a large desk in a well-lit, modern-looking waiting room. “Hi.”
A Happy Place
“Roll them,” Asha said, setting down a round ball of flour she had kneaded into shape on the smooth marble slab. “Let’s make a circle, like this,” she gently massaged the dough with a rolling pin, Peter’s eyes growing more rounded as the ball of flour spread to the slab’s perimeter. The top of Peter’s blonde head came up to Asha’s waist. He had turned four a fortnight ago.
“I wanna make a parantha” Peter whined, tugging at her dupatta. “I wanna make one, too.”
Asha knew she couldn’t give in to Peter’s whim. She had to get dinner ready and give Peter a bath before Madam got home. Dinner was at nine, Madam would be back any minute, and so would Saheb.
The Heart Has Its Reasons, by Chuck Ralston
That Paris Year by Joanna Biggar (Bethesda, Maryland : Alan Squire Publisher, 2010) is a novel that recounts the adventures of five southern California ‘Junior-Year-Abroad’ female college students (dare I say ‘co-eds’) in Paris during academic year 1962—1963 while attending the Sorbonne’s Studies in French Language and Culture (Cours de Civilization Française) designed for visiting foreign students.
Angry Loner
The knock on his cabin door broke the mountain silence. He rose from his chair and answered. Four young women stood on the porch.
“Our truck broke down,” the tallest one said. “Do you have a phone we could use?”
He shook his head. “No phones up here.”
The Life of Umberto Cavallo and Other Matters
Berto’s earliest memory was not of a vision but a smell. It came from under the door of the room that he was forbidden to enter. He’d been playing a game with sticks and pebbles on the floor – war, against the Austrians – while his mother simultaneously nursed the newborn and rode verbal and physical herd over his younger brother and sister. The older brothers were outside working the vineyard with his father and the older sisters were for the moment out of the kitchen and on various errands of some sort.
He was oblivious to the domestic commotion around him. He put his head down against the stone floor and sighted an imaginary rifle. “Fump!” Down went an Austrian. Then “fump-fump-fump!” More white-coats fell. “Move ahead!” he commanded. Then in another voice: “Retreat! Retreat! Over the mountains and behind these trees.” His eyes scanned the battlefield with minute intensity while his arm and hand, descending from the sky, orchestrated troop movements.