Illinois, Illinois

“Tell me about your corner of the world,” the hairdresser says. She yanks a comb through my hair, which is thick enough and wavy enough to flummox her. She’s already asked me if it’s natural, if I put anything in it, if I dye it. I’m not sure what she’s asking now. “Plainsboro?” I ask.Continue reading “Illinois, Illinois”

Thanksgiving

The instructions say, Make sure the skillet is screamin’ hot, and I can hear those directions drawled in my mother-in-law’s East Texas accent. A year ago now, maybe two, I stopped calling my mother-in-law every time I wanted to make her cornbread—real cornbread, she would tell you, because the recipe doesn’t call for flour. EarlyContinue reading “Thanksgiving”