Spencer Moseley

"If your cat ever harmed my daughter, I'd drown your cat," said Martha jokingly. *Context: Martha's 2-year-old daughter had been pulling Dana's cat's hair and trying to ride her like a horse until the cat hissed in frustration.* Dana leaned back in her chair. She put her left hand under her right armpit. After some time, she replied with no venom: "When I was little, my family had a big cat named Lila. She was a good cat. And she was blessed with long white hair. I had a habit of pulling on this hair with all my might when I was little, and usually, my dad was there to tell me to stop when Lila hissed at me. But one day, he wasn't. And I ignored Lila's hisses until she bit my hand. I screamed in agony, and my dad ran over from the backyard. As he bandaged my hand, he said, 'Well, that's what happens when we pull a cat's hair like that.'" "Well, I was just joking," said Martha.  "Very nice," said Dana.

I had never told a priest certain sins. I thought sins had a statute of limitations. St. Ignatius did not agree. His spiritual exercises called for a general confession: where I would be expected to confess the sins from my entire life (even if I’d confessed them already). And I didn’t want to chicken out now. I’d written them down and whispered them aloud to myself several times to make sure I could get the words out.  I opened the creaky confessional door and saw a Hispanic priest behind the latticed screen and breathed easier. Maybe if I said my sins quickly he wouldn’t understand them.  I said my sins. The priest gasped audibly. Fuck. He understood.  I was shaking and sweating and got out of the confessional as quick as I could. I walked briskly up the driveway to the dormitory, feeling proud. I’d said my sins. I wouldn’t have to go to hell anymore.  Now to basque in a feeling of fulfillment, I thought. I walked past the Mary statue and into the locker room. I lo...

I looked at my car. No, through my car. My car burglar had kept it classy (silver lining). Only small fragments of glass littered my backseat. When sunlight caught them just right, they did resemble those diamonds Snow White's dwarves worked so greedily to collect. Heigh-Ho. Heigh-ho. It's work from home I go. 😏 My buyer greeted me as I entered the backroom with a pleasure I didn't share. I had arrived early. Which meant she would expect me to help offload the truck. With a smile I hoped looked genuine, I performed at a level of insincerity that surprised even me: "It's great to see you; It's been too long; Good thing I'm here early to help." After that, I reflected that a simple "Hey, how's it going?" would have sufficed.  She talked in a frenzied flurry of ADHD. At one point, she even hit me with a "What the French Toast," which made me feel like I needed to brush spiders off my arms. I met her changing conversation topics wi...

Xuân Hưong might just be my new favorite soup spot. I ended up there like most sick people do, needing some hot, spicy soup to dissolve the phlegm. Okay that was gross.  I had two restaurant options. Lem's was right nextdoor and had higher reviews. But it had a chain feel. Bright neon lights out front. Special parking arrangements. And I began to sense that negative reviews for Xuân Hưong might be based on appearance. Xuân Hưong looked unassuming. One of the lights was knocked out. The building looked worn as if it was entirely made of drywall. But it looked homey. I trusted my gut and walked in. I waved at the waitress behind the counter and she grinned but looked down. Good. I like when they show respect but also have a bit of a "IDGAF" attitude. That's when you know the food will be good.  "I'd like to order to-go," I said.  "Menu?" she asked in broken English.  "Yes." I sat down with a spiral bound menu with four simple pages. App...

"I love. What I see. Of myself. In you." He stumbled through it just like that, sitting on the corner of his bed. Part of his plaid, very soft comforter was balled up in one hand.  She reached out and put her hand over his, which felt awfully mentorish. "I think you could do better than me though." He thought about saying, let me decide that . But it felt cliche and not unlike a therapist maxim. So he said nothing at all and watched as she slipped her bra on. He felt tears welling up and repressed the urge to run his index finger along her thigh vein. The one that popped well out of her pale skin.  He thought about trying to be grateful at least for the time they'd had together. The cliff jumping. The long walks in Galveston. That one time she'd popped a champagne bottle, scaring him, and how her drunk ass had offered sex to "make up for it".  But as he watched her putting her shoes on now he felt pissed. She'd wasted his time. But then he real...

          Three men bore gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to a stable beneath the Bethlehem sky. They knocked urgently. Mary, picture-perfect holding her baby, motioned to Joseph to let them in. The men smelled of camel’s hair, body odor and lentils. They wordlessly placed their gifts before the baby, murmuring words in their own tongue.  Mary thanked them with a smile, and they left in terror. Their gifts appeared like the gifts offered by the ancient Greeks to appease pagan gods. If these rich men were that scared, Joseph felt he should be too. “Let’s go,” he said to Mary. Her face said she needed more convincing. "I dreamed of this moment." She looked at him and, for once, complied. He strapped the saddle on the donkey as Mary nursed the boy. Joseph wanted to kill him, and he hated himself for feeling that way. He thought of Moses smacking bare rock with his magic staff in frustration. Relatable. He grunted at himself in disgus...