The Correspondent

Gilbert’s dying. It became the whole thing. You, Bruce and Fiona, my brother, our friends, my work, the house, our life, all of that was sitting on the sidelines, but I was in the ring wrestling, bloody, half-dead, with Gill’s death. Parenting the other two, trying to help them with their own grief, was like acting. I could say what needed to be said, but I was only thinking of myself in the ring with Gill’s death. I have asked Bruce and Fiona about that period of time. I was surprised to learn they’re both in therapy. I think neither of us was able to shepherd them in those first crucial months, submerged, completely, in the swamp water of despair. We were needing the same thing, you and I, a temple in which to tuck away and disappear from the earth, to mourn at the altar of our desolation, but we had the children, so we could not. Could we have held onto each other? I’ve wondered. We did the best we could and it was not enough. The four of us came away injured, but is there any other way for a person to come through? Oh, Gilbert. I do hope there is an afterlife as I have always believed, a heaven. I hope I will see him and know him there. I believe I’ve been looking forward to death on one hand.

From the archives

·

2016

Homesick for Another World

Otessa Moshfegh

·

2016

By eight o’clock, the rains had arrived in lazy, side-sweeping sheets, battering Jeb’s windows. The sky was black now, but lightning turned it amethyst and smoky each time it cracked overhead. Jeb had showered, put on a clean shirt, combed his hair with pomade, shaved, slapped his jowls with cologne. His dinner had been a boiled chicken drumstick, a small can of sauerkraut, a few tart early-summer cherries. Through the concert of the storm, nothing from the girl’s house had been audible at the basement window. Jeb’s own radio now reported downed power lines, flooding on the interstate. Fallen branches had forced some roads to close. It wasn’t safe to drive over the bridge, they said. The nephew called to convey a message to the girl: “Tell her I’m stuck. I can’t come tonight.”

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Homesick for Another World cover

Homesick for Another World

Otessa Moshfegh

By eight o’clock, the rains had arrived in lazy, side-sweeping sheets, battering Jeb’s windows. The sky was black now, but lightning turned it amethyst and smoky each time it cracked overhead. Jeb had showered, put on a clean shirt, combed his hair with pomade, shaved, slapped his jowls with cologne. His dinner had been a boiled chicken drumstick, a small can of sauerkraut, a few tart early-summer cherries. Through the concert of the storm, nothing from the girl’s house had been audible at the basement window. Jeb’s own radio now reported downed power lines, flooding on the interstate. Fallen branches had forced some roads to close. It wasn’t safe to drive over the bridge, they said. The nephew called to convey a message to the girl: “Tell her I’m stuck. I can’t come tonight.”

Homesick for Another World cover

Read more of this excerpt...

WORDS TO LIVE BY

The air is like being wanted, we say, and they nod approvingly. The air is like being pushed and pulled and yanked, punched and slapped and misunderstood and loved, we say, and the fishes sigh and touch our forearm sympathetically.

2005 ·

Short Short Stories
Dave Eggers

NON-FICTION

The Myth Of Sisyphus cover

NEW MUSIC

Jump Kutz