by Brattle Street Review | Jul 21, 2026 | Essays, Issue #05
I didn’t know it was called “mercy.” Growing up, my parents worked a lot. They were both educators which meant all of us spent our days in a classroom. Mom had started to move up to administration, so she not only taught during the day but at night as well. She...
by Brattle Street Review | Jul 21, 2026 | Fiction, Issue #05
The movie house was not nearly as crowded as Alice had hoped it would be. She glancedaround at the few clusters of people littering the lobby. Some stood near the snack and popcorncounter; others hovered across from the ushers, waiting for the okay to head to their...
by Brattle Street Review | Jul 21, 2026 | Fiction, Issue #05
We never had one when I was a kid because Mum was British. Well, my grandparents were British, Mum was born in Charleston, South Carolina. But she picked up the accent at home and worked hard not to lose it. She would say things like loo, and carpark, and petrol. So,...
by Brattle Street Review | Jul 21, 2026 | Essays, Issue #05
I had never heard that word before, but I knew it was racist. Being in the marching band was one of the lowest orders on the high school social hierarchy, and I was at the bottom of that group. There were several reasons for that, but one had to do with uniformity. It...
by Brattle Street Review | Jul 21, 2026 | Fiction, Issue #06
“Oprah invited you for tea.” “Again?” I roll down my waistband. “That’s four invites this month.” Kendra places the syringe horizontal between her teeth so her hands are free to heat the cooker. “Five if you count Montecito.” She takes the syringe out of her...