Barricade

By Sarah Rose Thomas

“Oh hey, Jan.  Sure I can talk for a quick minute. I’m trying a new recipe tonight. I’ll post some pics later. Zoodles and alfredo. Any way I can disguise zucchini. Tim keeps bringing it home from work. There’s a free box in the staff break room, and you know Tim. He can’t pass up free.”

“It was going to be chicken nuggets, but I have a little more time tonight for cooking. The kids are playing ‘barricade’ again. Couch cushions, bean bag chairs, even Nolan’s little night stand—you know, the one you painted soccer balls on the drawer pulls—they heaved it in front of their bedroom door. They’ve been quiet as corpses for a good fifteen minutes. They let me be the ‘intruder.’ Every once and a while I have to sneak upstairs and rattle the doorknob. You know, so they don’t think I forgot about them. It sure is nice that they can find their own fun.”

“Oh, yeah, your little Annabelle, she wouldn’t be playing barricade yet. They learn it at school.”


Sarah Rose Thomas teaches high school English in Northeastern Wisconsin. She spends most of her time correcting essays, wrangling her six sons, and working on her Masters in English. Though she mostly writes poetry, her recent coursework has given her the confidence to branch out into flash fiction and memoir.


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