Posts by Jennifer Dougan

  “The Greeks have butchered my language,” he grins. Ophir is our Jewish tour guide in Israel. We’re standing in an enclosed garden with olive trees and flowers, our group of twenty-three people and Ophir. “Gethsemane should be gat shemanim, place of oil, oil presses,” Ophir said.  “Jesus and his disciples would have been praying…

“Your shekels are in,” she said, this short-blonde-haired bank teller who shares my name. My heart jumped. Shiny green and yellow paper currency sparkles now in the sunlight on my kitchen table. Silver threads and imprints refract light. We are heading to Israel. My husband and I are joining a group from our church and…

“Pardon me.”  I smile at her, catching the woman’s eyes. “Your scarf’s on the floor. I don’t know if it’s wet…” my voice trails off, and I glance at the floor. Dry near her, puddles pool nonetheless elsewhere. Fresh white snow outside has been plowed and pushed into fifteen feet high mountainous walls, ringing parking…

“We’re going back to what’s familiar,” she said, smiling at her companion, “our normal version of Cribbage.” The older gentleman with her says something I can’t hear. Their voices are a dim hum behind me, flitting in and out of my attention. A woman across from me slices her egg frittata and pierces a bite…

Turning into a parking lot full of cars, I pull into a space and switch off the engine. Eighth grade Daniel in the chair beside me folds his tall lanky body over to grab his backpack. “Okay, classes with prefixes A or B are in that building,” I point behind us, “and classrooms with C-prefixes…

A knock at the door. Faces rippled and blurred in their movement behind the door’s cut glass window. Arriving in groups of two or four, they walked up our driveway, past the newly-cleaned flower beds where iris plants stood tall in narrow green wedges and daisy plants grouped in loping round-edged leaf clumps. “Welcome!” “You…

Popping open the lid from the sugar cookies container, I choose the most-iced versions of the two-inch sugar cookie men. At the dining room table, I pour another cup of coffee and bite a cookie figure in half. Clicking an ink gel-tipped pen into ready, I’m still processing yesterday’s time here. “Teach me to number…

“You’re from Living Faith Church, right?” She asks me, this woman in a public bathroom. “I saw your bus.” In a cement multi-stalled bathroom at Valley Fair amusement park, with chlorine-scented puddles on the floor, we stand in a corner of the hallway. Her warm smile draws my attention and I stop and recognize her.…

“They return at evening, snarling like dogs, and prowl about the city.” He writes the words as armed men on mission keep watch on his house, wondering if he is there. Creeping across his garden, they report back to a superior and continue to stare at his unlit home. Others roam the city, looking for…