Nonfiction | October 22, 2015
Late August 1997
We are having soup for dinner and I am in a terrible mood.
It is a ridiculous soup: vegetable broth with these flimsy noodles shaped like matchsticks. My spoon cannot catch them. And I am hungry. I want six bowls of this lousy soup, but I am not going to ask for seconds because Thomas had already been making jabs about my weight. Thomas, my host brother, is sitting across the table from me. At fifteen, he is a year younger than I and completely unremarkable. He is neither handsome nor intelligent, but he is the firstborn in the family and a boy; therefore his mediocrity in all things has been praised from an early age. My host sister, a year younger still, is clever and eager to gain her parents’ attention. The fact that she consistently fails at this has made her mean. I have no allies among the children in this household. I reach for another dinner roll.
This essay is not currently available online.
If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.
Want to read more?Subscribe Today
SEE THE ISSUE
Oct 30 2018
Afternoon with a Corpse
I skimmed the first two paragraphs of the fine print, then skipped the rest to sign at the bottom. The contract got me a membership in the gym and a
Oct 30 2018
You instantly wake. Sit up in immediate terror to a tiny swirling couple in spectator brogues kicking the inside walls of your heart to a frantic big-band beat that undeniably
Jul 24 2018
The Loneliest Moon
One of the most pernicious stages of insomnia is when it becomes an opponent. You want to outfox, outflank, outsmart it (lots of adversarial synonyms go through your head at