This story, which won The Moth Short Story Prize, is chosen by Louise Kennedy
1. Because you are on a plane, on the way home from your latest holiday with your wife. There is you and a sky and your wife and a cross-shaped piece of metal holding all that together, at altitude. It’s rattling. The rivets on the wings are cutting through cloud the way they should. .
5.
12. You always call me when you’re away on business, and sigh down the phone a lot about restructures, deals in freefall, ongoing burnout, but also your stratospheric pay, the totally fucked but upwardly mobile quarterly bonus trajectory you’re jammed on, though you routinely drink to the bottom of the complimentary bar and think about just relaxing off the edge of the balconied five-star room they book you into.
19. My mother would try to outrun my father’s company car as he exited for the airport, stumbling the asphalt in assorted nightgowns that made her look like a sylph from the hood, torn at the ornamental wings off the chrome as his goodbye accelerated.
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