Dave Wright Writes

  Epiphanies at the Pool by Dave Wright My daily ritual usually includes some type of exercise. Weather permitting, I prefer outdoor activities like hiking, biking, or cross-country skiing. Today is cursed with a bitter north wind, indecisive precipitation—something between rain and sleet—and plunging temperatures. I resign myself to the health club. I’m not a fan of gyms and locker rooms. There’s the usual jock-talk patter: “Hey, man. How’s it hangin’?” “Loose and low, like always.” “How’s the wife?” “That’s why I’m here.” There’s the preening body builder who gazes at his profile in the mirror. My eyes roll to the ceiling. On the other end of the fitness scale, there’s the specimen of obesity who plops his bare cheeks on the bench by his locker hoping with despair that one day he might glimpse his toes. (Am I being judgmental? Yes. Sorry. Another of my many character flaws.) Then, there’s the illiterate who can’t decipher the poster on the mirror over the sinks: A ...

  No Good Deed Goes Unpunished by Dave Wright The colorful calico cat lay sunning itself below our cabin window. Like us, it was gazing at the lake, which was quickly changing from dark ice to open water in the March sun. I paid little attention to the cat, assuming it had stopped by for brief rest while patrolling the neighborhood. A couple of hours later, the calico was still in the same place but was now in lateral recumbency. Curious as to why it had not moved on, I approached for a casual exam. I offered it a bowl of water, but it only lifted its head, sniffed once—perhaps out of indifference, perhaps due to illness—and returned to lay back in the grass. Upon further examination, it appeared unable to move its rear end. Two superficial lacerations sliced across its back, and when I lifted its rear leg, I was rewarded with an insolent hiss. I had just enough time to notice that it was a tomcat. That could explain the cuts on its back, but it is more common for a prowling t...

  A Dispersed Family by Dave Wright Jeremy Espero drove with his eyes flickering on the rear-view mirror as he drove south of Socorro, New Mexico on Highway 85. A tornado had left his hometown of Helton, Minnesota, in shambles, but also laid bare his fears for the future. His young wife Maria, an undocumented immigrant, clung to the door of their rusty Ford pickup. Their eight-month-old son, Toby was strapped in the car seat between them. A refurbished ‘65 KenCraft camper trailer, a wedding gift from Jeremy’s Uncle Bill, trailed behind them. The young family fled Helton after the tornado leveled the packing plant where Jeremy’s father, Juan had been working. The city had applied for federal disaster relief, but officials from Immigration and Customs Enforcement arrived in town before FEMA. Juan was certain that ICE would track down immigrants and send them back to Mexico. Jeremy was also on the run from his former employer, Harvey Bull who had publicly accused Jeremy of arso...