It's Monday, sheet day. I go upstairs to change our bedding - our bedding. I pull off our blue sheets with the sunny little dots on them, shake the pillows out of their cases, and clack-clack something falls to the floor. It glints golden in the last gleam of the afternoon sun. I pick it up. My hand cradles the ruby-studded medallion and delicate row of eight fine golden feathers hung below, as if someone shrunk a golden goose and plucked her feathers to make a thousand dreamcatchers like this - this big, hoopy, garish earring that isn't mine. LS
"Fiction gives a second chance that life denies us."