By C.E. Alexander
Florence knew we would marry long before I knew. Until the day came she nodded at my homework, prompted others to laugh when I joked and, in time, touched at my stomach through a shirt. Her fingertips did something to my breath. She always breathed like that and only then did I understand why.
We left Carlsbad. I had learned to fear spiders in that part of California, behind my father’s chalet-styled home. I had learned how he argued by shouting without words, by pounding the walls with what sounded like masonry blocks. I suffered my worst nightmares there and was happy to leave. Continue reading