Tag Archives: story

Grandfather

Posted on January 21, 2018 by John Biscello

   The only time I had ever seen my grandfather cry was also the first time I had ever seen an adult blatantly lose touch with reality. His first wife, my grandmother, Angelina, had died when I was five. She … Continue reading →

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Fathers and Sons

Posted on January 19, 2018 by John Biscello

   I see and hear throughout dinner, how my father so desperately wants to impress my grandfather, wants to be applauded by him, recognized, seen. My father bulldozes in with his own stories. About having met and become friends with … Continue reading →

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Atlantic City

Posted on January 19, 2018 by John Biscello

   We check into the Trop, where my grandfather and his wife are also staying. My father calls my grandfather and we make plans to meet for dinner at 5 at one of the restaurants. When he gets off the … Continue reading →

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Disability

Posted on January 18, 2018 by John Biscello

Receiving disability was another gold ticket ambition of many of the men in my neighborhood. Years ago, my father had lucked into this fortune by hurting his back while working and had been able to parlay that into a ceaseless … Continue reading →

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Reckoning

Posted on January 17, 2018 by John Biscello

I realized that there may never come a reckoning that equated to a clean or true do-over. And what was it I wanted to break from? Was it the past, was it a worn and outdated mode of self that … Continue reading →

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Grandmother

Posted on January 15, 2018 by John Biscello

   She was short, a spud of a woman, who in the summer looked like an overbaked potato.    Her hair was a mushroom-cap, a helmet-poof petrified by copious amounts of Aqua Net hairspray. My grandmother was sweet, exceptionally sensitive, … Continue reading →

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Saturday Night Russian

Posted on January 8, 2018 by John Biscello

   It was Jake who first called Anya the Saturday Night Russian. It started when Anya was twelve. Up until that point her wardrobe had been pretty subdued, pretty ordinary. Jeans or capris, T-shirts, sandals or sneakers. Then, seemingly overnight, … Continue reading →

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Center of Nowhere

Posted on January 8, 2018 by John Biscello

    I come from nowhere Daniel, and nowhere is the exact center of the world. Isn’t that exciting?    I agreed with Anya that it was, even though I wasn’t sure what she meant. And I knew if I … Continue reading →

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House of Incest

Posted on January 8, 2018 by John Biscello

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress.    Toward the end my mother began to open up. Of course I didn’t know the end was coming, nor did my father.    My mother, during the last several months, had become a … Continue reading →

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Boneyard

Posted on January 7, 2018 by John Biscello

Sometimes you have to walk through the boneyard, in order to reach the garden.

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