There are mountains hidden downstairs in my grandpa's country house with craggy granite boulders no bigger than a mouse. Little trees of twigs and moss hug miniature ravines, where compact wooden ... [+]
Originally published in Jellyfish Review
In college, I went on a date with the son of my mother's coworker. I couldn't remember if his name was Jason or Justin, so I spent the entire night maneuvering my way out of saying his name. He was handsome in the way most college guys who do their own laundry are handsome, and my mother always said to decide at the beginning of the date whether you would kiss a man or not, so I watched his lips as we talked and the way they stretched wide to wrap around his burger. They were fine lips, if a little chapped, and he opened doors for me, so I thought I could endure a kiss. Maybe even enjoy it, if