Summer 2007 • Vol. XXIX No. 3 Fiction |

Have You Seen Us?

Sylvie was out there again, green jacket flickering through the bare trees at the end of the driveway. Then the red and blue of her two boys, spilling in and out of the mud, down around the roots of the pines and birches that made up the culvert in the circle at the end of the cul-de-sac where they lived. The culvert was not meant to be played in, rather it served a purpose as part of the drainage system—a natural ditch which led underground and into a small brook at the edge of Maggie's lawn; a lawn speckled with crusty remnants of a late autumn snowstorm. Sneaking looks out her window, Maggie could tell from Sylvie's body language—a slight turn, a glimpse over her shoulder—that she wanted to meet eyes and give a wave. But if she allowed herself this eye meet, this wave back, Maggie knew that Sylvie would grab the boys and drag them to her door and then she would be trapped. There was too much work. And she was behind, dammit, because of Sylvie and her endless bonding and

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Hands On

By T. C. Boyle

Sylvie was out there again, green jacket flickering through the bare trees at the end of the driveway. Then the red and blue of her two boys, spilling in and […]

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