Nephilim

Excerpt

Freda weighed eighteen pounds when she was born. Her feet were each six inches long. At ten, she was taller than her father. Five feet eleven and one-half inches standing in her socks. I can’t keep you in shoes, her mother would say, and they went to Woolworth’s for men’s cloth slippers. Her mother cut them open up front to leave room for Freda’s toes. She’d stitch flowers in the fabric to pretty up the seams, forget-me-nots and daisies and yellow bushel roses. They sat beside the radio and listened to The Doctor’s Wife and Tales of the Texas Rangers while her mother worked the needle. Some of your daddy’s people are tall, she’d say. Your Aunt Mary had hands like a butcher. By God, her grip was strong.

Sometimes Freda felt her bones growing while she lay in bed. This was when the sensation was still new. Before it became as familiar as the pounding of her heart. The house was quiet except for the planes out by the base and Tishko, the Weavers’ dog, who barked at the moon and stars. That dog’s got a streak in him, Mr. Weaver always said. I bet he’s part wolf on his momma’s side.

L. Annette Binder

L. Annette Binder was born in Germany and grew up in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Her stories have appeared in The Southern Review, Bellingham Review, The Beloit Fiction Journal, Avery Anthology and others. Her work was a finalist for the 2010 Flannery O’Connor Award for Short Fiction. She is a student in the Programs in Writing at the University of California, Irvine.