“the only identifier” by Sasha at her desk

Wednesday August 7, 2019
10:24
5 minutes
Orange Socks
Kate LeDew

  1. Make a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich. Cut it in half, diagonally. Leave it on the plate for a few hours. You aren’t hungry. Haven’t been for almost two weeks. Funny how appetite becomes the barometer for feelings, at least in your family.

  2. Find the sandwich, only a bite taken. The contents have seeped into the bread. The bread it turning hard. Take another bite.

  3. Phone rings and you ignore it. You can’t bear to put something on your voice, the connective tissue to the truth. You would have to if you answered, no matter who it was, let alone Miranda.

  4. You open up the sandwich and run your finger through the jam. You lick your finger. You say a small prayer to the strawberry seeds.

“Sharks spotted” by Sasha on the Queen Streetcar going West


Monday February 17, 2014
12:21am
5 minutes
the news feed at Ossington Station

“Michael?!” She calls, “What are you doing in your room? It’s so quiet!… Are you… meditating?” She’s right up close, I can practically hear her nails tapping on the door. “I’m fine, Mom,” I say, quietly. “What?” She says. She waits. “I’m making you a sandwich. You’re getting too skinny.” She trots down the stairs. I close my eyes. I breathe in, covering one nostril and out, covering the other. I picture white light surrounding the house, Alfalfa and Ruby. I spot a shark coming in from out of nowhere. I used to have nightmares about sharks but haven’t thought about them since I reached puberty. The shark swims through the window in the kitchen, takes one look at my mother, and eats her whole. “Shit!” I shout, my eyes opening, my breath rising high. A light tap on the door. “Michael?” She says. I sigh. “Yeah?” “I’m leaving an egg salad sandwich outside your door. Come and get it in a second or two or Alfalfa will have diarrhea for a week because of you.” I go to the door and open it. I kiss her on the cheek. I take a bite out of the sandwich.

TJ & Sam by Sasha at the these five minutes: writer’s workout at the Fringe Creation Lab


Sunday February 2, 2014 at The Fringe Creation Lab
1:03pm
5 minutes
these five minutes: writer’s workout

TJ’s got her hands in her pockets like she’s some kinda cool kid, like she forget to lock the door. TJ blows bubbles with her gum and lets them bubbles pop on her own face and then she peels it off, bit by bit, and drops the gum balls on the carpet. When TJ makes a peanut butter sandwich she eats a spoonful of straight peanut butter, straight heart attack. She uses the same spoon for the sandwich. Who makes a sandwich with a spoon, anyway?!

Sam says nothing. He watches her and sometimes makes a small grunting sound. TJ has chosen to forget which sound means “good” and which sound means “bad”. TJ has disentangled herself from those words altogether. It’s all grey to her – the sky, the sidewalk, Sam’s hair, the snow.

“I ordered a half sandwich” by Sasha at The Holy Oak


Saturday February 1, 2014 at The Holy Oak
12:05pm
5 minutes
The True Secret of Writing
Natalie Goldberg


Walked up to the counter and thought, “this is the first day of the rest of my life.” The guy in the orange toque said, “What would you like?” “A reformation?” He didn’t get my joke, or whatever it was. I ordered a half sandwich (tuna), sat down and waited. When the guy came with the sandwich I said, “sorry for being weird. I’m having a rough week…” He smiled. He started to walk away. “I’m just… I got evicted. I’m pretty much homeless as of next month. And my family’s not from here so it’s pretty…” he turned around. “Sorry to hear that,” he said. I felt like an asshole. I felt like a walking “over-share”. I ate my sandwich. A minute later the guy came back. “Here’s the other half,” he smiled. “I think you need it more than I do. Tuna is the best.” I started to cry. “Shitshitshit,” I said, blubbering mayo and bits of fish and celery. “It’s okay…” He gave me some napkins. He looked sorry for me. He looked gentle and sweet and like he probably has really soft flannel sheets. When it was time for me to go, I left a twenty on the table. Even though it wasn’t the kinda place where you tip.

“I ordered a half sandwich” by Julia at The Holy Oak


Saturday February 1, 2014 at The Holy Oak
12:05pm
5 minutes
The True Secret of Writing
Natalie Goldberg


I had just spent the day talking to Olivia about her juice cleanse and how she felt invigorated by life and her own body and the new colour of her urine. I was half listening to her go on about it and half just imagining her peeing every seven minutes as if the juice was speaking to her through her urethra. That’s literally where my mind went, so when she asked me how mine was going I just said, “so great!” She was like, “where is yours?” And she meant my juice. She said it as she was drinking back a goopey red thing that looked more like period blood than anything, and I waited before I answered to see if she’d get those “strawberry wings” on her mouth…
“I drank my morning one at home!” I told her. I lied. I always lied to Olivia. Truth is, I had eaten an egg and mushroom tuna melt on marble rye and I was so damn pleased with myself that I didn’t even feel bad for bailing on our “joint cleanse”. She looked at me from the corner of her eye and paused. A little red period burp escaped her wet lips. “Oops! Excuse me!” I suppose her juice was speaking through her again…