“Have you ever seen a ghost,” my friend asked.
We were having breakfast at Cafe Dewitt. I was on the banquette with my back to the fishtank. We were early so no one was seated nearby but they would have been intrigued.
“I haven’t seen one, though I have always wanted to,” I responded. “But I think I heard one once.”
So I told the story. Read more
This is so not a picture of Coyote, but it’s cool.
Coyote Reading a Candy Wrapper
North Central Washington Museum
1995, cast aluminum
“So how’s that novel coming?” Coyote inquired. Innocently. He was reading a newspaper, which I found quaint.
“Why does everyone have to ask me that?” I was counting stitches to figure out where I had dropped one.
“Oh, just curious, I guess.” He pushed his glasses back up a little way on his nose. If he had had a mob cap he would have borne a striking resemblance to the Wolf impersonating Grandmama. Or so it seemed to me in that moment. Read more
A friend is writing about stories in her family that turn out, upon investigation, not to be true. That made me wonder if the stories in my family that I always accepted as Truth, might have happened some other way altogether.
1. Seven (or was it nine) ancestors came over on the Mayflower. One of them was washed overboard by a wave and the next wave washed him back on.
“I don’t know how Stephen King does it,” I said, looking up from my notebook.
“Does what?” Coyote asked. He was mixing a drink. I’m not sure what was in it but the bottle he was using had a faint green tinge. At least from where I was sitting.
“Keep writing all those scary stories that everybody loves so much,” I said, eyeing the bottle.
“Well, I didn’t think much of Cujo,” he said, looking through the liquor cabinet for something else.
“Oh?” I wondered why there was only one glass.
“Lacked subtlety,” he said, opening the fridge. “Do we have any limes?” Read more