essays by shé

bookshelf

Tag: brother

  • Shift

    I am biking from Venice to my job in Santa Monica as office manager for an animation studio. I am pedaling fast as usual, intent on the destination, not the journey. It’s an old ten-speed, with lever gearshifts set below the handlebars. After gaining momentum, I shift up, and the lever breaks off. The piece…

  • Hurricane John

    Some things you don’t get over. Death of an Irish twin is one. Hours of parallel play. Racing snails. Matching cabooses. Peanut butter on toast. Picking huckleberries. Tying towels around our necks after a bath and flying around singing the Batman theme. The flat track for our tiny cars, with the completely satisfying 3-D gas station…

  • Meditations

    “What the fuck are you doing in Mexico?” scathed a thought during meditation. A beat… two… then, “I AM HEALING,” roared my inner Capitana, much to my surprise and delight. Usually I am cowed by these raging judgments and scornful doubts, and tuck my head in like a turtle resisting attack. But not this time. I…

  • Step Away

    “Step away from my brother’s grave,” I say. Two women have approached his headstone while I am at the water spigot by the road. One has her phone out and leans over, snapping photos. The other picks up the bubble wand lying next to a large lit candle. They ignore me. “Step away from my…

  • Closing

    When I learned the name of the buyer of my mother’s house, I knew everything would be okay, because Bianca (Kitty) was a very dear friend of mine. On closing day, while the human Bianca signed papers in New Orleans, I drove to Queen of Heaven Cemetery and found John’s grave. I cleaned the headstone…

  • Muertos

    They are holding hands, leaning back and spinning. Their twirling (or maybe their laughter?) generates light. Around and round, faster and faster, gazing at each other, eyes on the prize: mother and son. There is only Love. It was time: five months after she left her body. She began the process on Johnny’s birthday, May…

  • Essay #1: accent on E

    Today marks the 48th anniversary of my birth. To celebrate these years on the planet, I plan to post 48 personal essays here, one every Monday. Why? A few years ago, my best friend died. Again. The first time it happened, I was 4 and he was my brother John. The second time, I was…