Author: ruhlwrite

The Rev. Dwayne L. Jackson is standing tall in the pulpit staring at the empty pews. The First Reformed Church of Astoria, the red Gothic Revival building wedged between the houses of 12th Street like an afterthought, holds 300 faithful. On a good Sunday — there are no bad Sundays or any other days of the week in Dwayne’s mind — attendance has never topped 50. Today’s Saturday, the day Dwayne puts the finishing touches on his sermon, so the fact that he’s alone with…

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The tail of the “Y” went missing at Rudy’s Hobby Supplies. Sometime in time, someone painted it in to match the rest of the bright cobalt name on the 3-D sign. It’s an expert stroke of brushmanship, so this flat portion isn’t noticeable from the street. The left plate-glass window of the shop (Trains-Models-Paints-Magazines) on 30th Avenue is filled with rosaries, car magnets bearing the engraved images of saints and statues of Mother Mary and Jesus in various pious…

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With the gracefulness of the dancer she once was, Malini “Mala” Ekanayake primly sits on the park bench, puts her feet together in perfect alignment and closes her big, brown eyes. While she meditates, the physical world vanishes. She’s not in Astoria Park or Sri Lanka, her home country, any more. It’s 6 a.m., and this is her second meditation of the day. She’s been in the park exercising since 5 a.m., and she’s been up since 2. It helps that she calls it a day…

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Orlando Anthony Pavich wasn’t expecting morning to come so soon. He’s hasn’t shaved yet or put on a shirt. Zoe, his 2-year-old dachshund, is scurrying around the living room, jumping on the couches. The little hot dog has a big bark and poop the size of grapes. Orlando was out until 2:30 in the morning, and his coffee table, which holds a vase of dead flowers, a pair of sunglasses, a half-drunk bottle of water, a TV remote and a folded up sign-out sheet for the movie , looks like…

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Luisa Radeschi‘s been carrying the photo around for as long as she can remember. She just turned 94, so it’s safe to say that it’s been going on 70 or 80 years. She digs through her black handbag and brings it forth. The hand-size print, resting in a simple plastic slipcover, is as wrinkled as a prune. The people in the photo are her family. Her mother had already died when it was taken, so it shows only her, her father, her brother and her sister. Luisa is the little girl on…

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