Through His Eyes

I watched the car on the ride-hailing app circle my block three times. When the driver finally arrived, he said the GPS was wonky. Frustrated, I erred on the side of patience and guided him down Atlantic Avenue, then Flatbush, onto the Manhattan Bridge. As the city fanned out in front of us, he said, “Wait, we’re going to Manhattan?” “Yeah, Soho.” Our eyes locked in the mirror. He laughed. “I’ve never been to Manhattan!” He had only lived here two weeks, and I felt a spark of happiness, witnessing someone else bewitched by the city for the first time. — Marti Trgovich

Splinters in My Heart

Oct. 25 marks five years without my father. Every day, I sit at the oversized desk we built together, revisiting memories embedded like tiny splinters in my heart. He was a contractor who could build almost anything. According to him, we didn’t get lost on our lumberyard road-trip — rather, “We took the scenic route.” I still hear the roar of his circular saw, his voice instructing, “Measure twice, cut once and keep your fingers out of the blade!” Now, smoothing my hands over our final project, I am grateful for my busy father’s time, the memories he left behind. — MaryEllen Giombetti

Family Martinis

On our anniversary night, my husband, Chi-Fang, opened a present with the help of our 5-year-old son, Howie. Out came a pair of crystal martini glasses. My husband cheered; our son’s face dropped. “Why only two glasses?” Howie asked, his voice stern with disappointment. “There were only two of us when we were married,” I replied. “But you have me now,” Howie insisted, adding, “Aren’t we happy family?” On Howie’s 21st birthday, we bought him his own martini glass and made a toast to “our happy family!” Howie smiled wide, like a 5-year-old! — Yi Xue

The Concept of a Tomato

I ask my fiancé which outfit of mine is his favorite. “I love them all,” he tells me. “Which one?” I pry. “All of them suit you,” he assures. My bottom lip unzips in disappointment. I check my insecurity and remind myself that he isn’t being dismissive. Aphantasia, the inability to visualize pictures in one’s head, rips the threads of imagery from his memory. While I can envision various red and green tomatoes when I close my eyes, he can only hold the concept of tomato in his mind. Despite this unique blindness, I know my beloved truly sees me. — Ava Truckey

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