December 7, 2023

I watched the automotive on the ride-hailing app circle my block 3 times. When the motive force lastly arrived, he mentioned the GPS was wonky. Pissed off, I erred on the facet of endurance and guided him down Atlantic Avenue, then Flatbush, onto the Manhattan Bridge. As town fanned out in entrance of us, he mentioned, “Wait, we’re going to Manhattan?” “Yeah, Soho.” Our eyes locked within the mirror. He laughed. “I’ve by no means been to Manhattan!” He had solely lived right here two weeks, and I felt a spark of happiness, witnessing another person bewitched by town for the primary time. — Marti Trgovich

Oct. 25 marks 5 years with out my father. Day-after-day, I sit on the outsized desk we constructed collectively, revisiting reminiscences embedded like tiny splinters in my coronary heart. He was a contractor who may construct virtually something. In accordance with him, we didn’t get misplaced on our lumberyard road-trip — moderately, “We took the scenic route.” I nonetheless hear the roar of his round noticed, his voice instructing, “Measure twice, minimize as soon as and maintain your fingers out of the blade!” Now, smoothing my palms over our last challenge, I’m grateful for my busy father’s time, the reminiscences he left behind. — MaryEllen Giombetti

On our anniversary evening, my husband, Chi-Fang, opened a gift with the assistance of our 5-year-old son, Howie. Out got here a pair of crystal martini glasses. My husband cheered; our son’s face dropped. “Why solely two glasses?” Howie requested, his voice stern with disappointment. “There have been solely two of us once we have been married,” I replied. “However you’ve gotten me now,” Howie insisted, including, “Aren’t we blissful household?” On Howie’s twenty first birthday, we purchased him his personal martini glass and made a toast to “our blissful household!” Howie smiled large, like a 5-year-old! — Yi Xue

I ask my fiancé which outfit of mine is his favourite. “I really like all of them,” he tells me. “Which one?” I pry. “All of them go well with you,” he assures. My backside lip unzips in disappointment. I examine my insecurity and remind myself that he isn’t being dismissive. Aphantasia, the lack to visualise footage in a single’s head, rips the threads of images from his reminiscence. Whereas I can envision varied pink and inexperienced tomatoes after I shut my eyes, he can solely maintain the idea of tomato in his thoughts. Regardless of this distinctive blindness, I do know my beloved really sees me. — Ava Truckey

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