THE MESSENGER BY BOBBIE WAYNE
Both Cary Grant and the Shah of Iran wore my grandmother’s underwear. “Nana”, as I called her, worked as a seamstress in New York City making custom shirts and shorts for gentlemen.
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WIRED BY BOBBIE WAYNE
I hid in the car outside the orthodontist’s, making myself small. Families entered and exited their cars; the parents acting cheerful, the kids, fretful. Someone tapped my window. Dr. Peterson’s technician, Lee, stood there smiling; beckoning. She had, obviously, done this before.
Read MoreI SAW THE WHOLE THING BY BOBBIE WAYNE
The whole time Roberta kept saying, “Nice doggies, nice doggies.” It’s a good thing she could climb or the dogs woulda eaten her! Then my mother called Mrs. Wayne back who had already called Mrs. Walsh; but Barbara Walsh said she couldn’t remember how we got there, (which is probably a lie).
Read MoreA MANHATTAN CHRISTMAS CAROL BY BOBBIE WAYNE
“In a one… horse… o…pen…,” we carolers sang in harmony. With the slightest trace of a smile as he passed us, the officer reached the door at the other end of the car, yanked it open and just before exiting announced, “No candles” over the train’s din.
Read MoreTHE AGE OF ASPARAGUS BY BOBBIE WAYNE
Maybe there is a certain age at which a person’s chemistry changes, like a breaker switch being thrown, after which everything you thought you knew about yourself alters. This might explain the unnerving development I began to notice about fifteen years ago.
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