March 6, 2012

weekend-readsFirst Confession

The smell of roasted peanuts takes over our one-room thatched hut. My stomach growls and churns. Numbers from the multiplication table bounce around. I close my eyes picturing the glossy golden peanuts waiting by the open fire pit. The fire pit is five steps away from Bu’s wooden box. My mother keeps her dry goods in the box. She sleeps on it with her three youngest children. “Recite!” Bình raps my head with his knuckles. I should call my immediate brother Older Sixth Brother. But we call one another by name from number three down to number nine. I like it. I feel equal. “Six times seven is forty-two. Six times eight is . . . ” I try to pick up where I left off. But the aroma pulls me into a trance. My sisters are chopping and dicing and slicing. So no one is tending the peanuts? If only I could sneak into the kitchen and grab a handful. “Finish it up,” Bình urges. “Still have to fetch water.” “What are sisters cooking? I smell peanuts.” “Your chicken,

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Longitudinal Study

By JP Grasser

The smell of roasted peanuts takes over our one-room thatched hut. My stomach growls and churns. Numbers from the multiplication table bounce around. I close my eyes picturing the glossy […]

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