Ruffle

I used to think looking up words in a dictionary was something very cumbersome. But I grew used to digging up an unknown word, and found it quite worth the shuffling of those dangerously thin pages. I don't use a paperbound dictionary now, but one time I typed in "ruffle" and just loved the example sentence:

"He ruffled her hair affectionately."

A dad and a daughter. A brother and a sister. An old man and a young girl. 

First Sentences

Ms. Hawkins at Ragdale always started the day with a list. Make a list of all the teachers you've had. Of all the childhood memories you have. Of people you are jealous of. And this is my list of first sentences I liked from The Best American Short Stories 2005:

"The girls were searching Arleen's room and had just come upon her journal." --Joy Williams' "The Girls"
I keep a journal, and I felt that Arleen and I have so much in common. And the girls. Why are they so desperate to read someone else's documented life? They must be friends with Arleen if they're in her room.

"He did not have friends." --Alix Ohlin's "Simple Exercises for the Beginning Student"
I did not cheat and read the second sentence this time so I have not the faintest idea why he doesn't have friends. I imagine a boy and I imagine a grown-up man. Probably a friendless grown-up man.

"They caught him after he had killed the second man." --Edward P. Jones' "Old Boys, Old Girls"
"They" are probably the police. "He" is probably some criminal. I wonder who the second man is.

Eight Pieces for the Left Hand

Nothing like I have read before. After reading it, I considered if it really is a short story after all. Almost a metafiction, like Margaret Atwood's "Happy Endings." And the best and worst thing about J. Robert Lennon's "Eight Pieces for the Left Hand" is that there are eight little stories, all unrelated, told by one consistent narrator. It's not even in chronological order--all the more confounding. I wish I could take out a quote and write it down, but it wouldn't make sense because that would not even amount to an eighth of the whole story. So I quote my favorite part:
"One night, while our cat was curled up on my lap, placidly purring, I noticed that his collar was somewhat crooked, and in the process of righting it I happened to catch a glimpse of the identification tag that hung from it. The tag, a worn, stamped-metal disc, told me that the cat's name was Fluffy.
     Our cat, however, was named Horace" (Lennon, 61).