{"id":21933,"date":"2026-04-18T14:00:46","date_gmt":"2026-04-18T19:00:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/?p=21933"},"modified":"2026-04-25T21:06:01","modified_gmt":"2026-04-26T02:06:01","slug":"the-empty-veranda","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/the-empty-veranda\/","title":{"rendered":"The Empty Veranda"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<ul class=\"wp-block-social-links is-content-justification-right is-layout-flex wp-container-core-social-links-is-layout-765c4724 wp-block-social-links-is-layout-flex\"><li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-facebook  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/profile.php?id=61556140010887\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12 2C6.5 2 2 6.5 2 12c0 5 3.7 9.1 8.4 9.9v-7H7.9V12h2.5V9.8c0-2.5 1.5-3.9 3.8-3.9 1.1 0 2.2.2 2.2.2v2.5h-1.3c-1.2 0-1.6.8-1.6 1.6V12h2.8l-.4 2.9h-2.3v7C18.3 21.1 22 17 22 12c0-5.5-4.5-10-10-10z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Facebook<\/span><\/a><\/li>\n\n<li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-instagram  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/boudin_mcneese\/\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12,4.622c2.403,0,2.688,0.009,3.637,0.052c0.877,0.04,1.354,0.187,1.671,0.31c0.42,0.163,0.72,0.358,1.035,0.673 c0.315,0.315,0.51,0.615,0.673,1.035c0.123,0.317,0.27,0.794,0.31,1.671c0.043,0.949,0.052,1.234,0.052,3.637 s-0.009,2.688-0.052,3.637c-0.04,0.877-0.187,1.354-0.31,1.671c-0.163,0.42-0.358,0.72-0.673,1.035 c-0.315,0.315-0.615,0.51-1.035,0.673c-0.317,0.123-0.794,0.27-1.671,0.31c-0.949,0.043-1.233,0.052-3.637,0.052 s-2.688-0.009-3.637-0.052c-0.877-0.04-1.354-0.187-1.671-0.31c-0.42-0.163-0.72-0.358-1.035-0.673 c-0.315-0.315-0.51-0.615-0.673-1.035c-0.123-0.317-0.27-0.794-0.31-1.671C4.631,14.688,4.622,14.403,4.622,12 s0.009-2.688,0.052-3.637c0.04-0.877,0.187-1.354,0.31-1.671c0.163-0.42,0.358-0.72,0.673-1.035 c0.315-0.315,0.615-0.51,1.035-0.673c0.317-0.123,0.794-0.27,1.671-0.31C9.312,4.631,9.597,4.622,12,4.622 M12,3 C9.556,3,9.249,3.01,8.289,3.054C7.331,3.098,6.677,3.25,6.105,3.472C5.513,3.702,5.011,4.01,4.511,4.511 c-0.5,0.5-0.808,1.002-1.038,1.594C3.25,6.677,3.098,7.331,3.054,8.289C3.01,9.249,3,9.556,3,12c0,2.444,0.01,2.751,0.054,3.711 c0.044,0.958,0.196,1.612,0.418,2.185c0.23,0.592,0.538,1.094,1.038,1.594c0.5,0.5,1.002,0.808,1.594,1.038 c0.572,0.222,1.227,0.375,2.185,0.418C9.249,20.99,9.556,21,12,21s2.751-0.01,3.711-0.054c0.958-0.044,1.612-0.196,2.185-0.418 c0.592-0.23,1.094-0.538,1.594-1.038c0.5-0.5,0.808-1.002,1.038-1.594c0.222-0.572,0.375-1.227,0.418-2.185 C20.99,14.751,21,14.444,21,12s-0.01-2.751-0.054-3.711c-0.044-0.958-0.196-1.612-0.418-2.185c-0.23-0.592-0.538-1.094-1.038-1.594 c-0.5-0.5-1.002-0.808-1.594-1.038c-0.572-0.222-1.227-0.375-2.185-0.418C14.751,3.01,14.444,3,12,3L12,3z M12,7.378 c-2.552,0-4.622,2.069-4.622,4.622S9.448,16.622,12,16.622s4.622-2.069,4.622-4.622S14.552,7.378,12,7.378z M12,15 c-1.657,0-3-1.343-3-3s1.343-3,3-3s3,1.343,3,3S13.657,15,12,15z M16.804,6.116c-0.596,0-1.08,0.484-1.08,1.08 s0.484,1.08,1.08,1.08c0.596,0,1.08-0.484,1.08-1.08S17.401,6.116,16.804,6.116z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Instagram<\/span><\/a><\/li><\/ul>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-large-font-size\"><strong>The Empty Veranda<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Swetha Amit<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">I don\u2019t remember it the way most people do. It comes back in fragments\u2014the heat on my skin, a flash of white paws just out of reach. The rest has been filled in by Ma, who recalls that day as if it never loosened its hold on her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">I was three, living in Bangkok with Ma and Pa. My world stretched only as far as I could see from our veranda. That\u2019s where I first found them\u2014the two Siamese kittens. Curled together, they were a single breathing bundle of white and brown, like snow dissolving into chocolate. Their green eyes shimmered with curiosity; their ears, sharp and alert, caught every sound.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cYou thought they were your siblings,\u201d Ma once told me, stroking my head. \u201cIt didn\u2019t occur to you that there could be a mother cat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">She said I talked to them in half-formed words, reaching out with my small hands, mimicking their soft sounds. I imagine myself sitting there, watching their tails flick, waiting for them to move so I could follow. They were inseparable\u2014when one stood, the other rose; when one wandered, the other trailed close behind. They were a pair, and I tried to belong\u2014to make us three. That is what I remember\u2014or what I\u2019ve chosen to remember.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cThey slipped off the veranda that day, just like always,\u201d Ma said, her fingers twisting together. \u201cThey ran into the street. It wasn\u2019t unusual. They always came back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">She paused.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cBut that day, you ran after them. I was making your favorite green chicken curry,\u201d she said. \u201cI dropped everything and ran after you, begging you to stop. But you didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The street outside was loud, alive, crowded \u2014 Bangkok in motion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cThey crossed the road,\u201d Ma said, her voice thinning. \u201cAnd you followed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">I remember flashes\u2014the blur of my steps, the kittens ahead, the sharp screech of a car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cI reached you just in time,\u201d Ma went on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">I faintly remember the sudden pull\u2014my pink frock yanked back. It was my favorite dress, embroidered with white roses. The fabric tore. I cried for the rest of the day. Ma said I stumbled as people shouted and the driver\u2014a stranger\u2014stopped just long enough to see I was safe, then drove on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cAfter that, I never let you out of my sight,\u201d her face paling, her voice breaking into uneven fragments. \u201cGod knows what would have happened if that car hadn\u2019t\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">But what stayed with me was something else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cThe kittens were still there,\u201d she said softly. \u201cWatching. Waiting.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">That is the part etched into me: two small bodies, side by side, as if nothing had happened. Ma said I tried to go to them again. I wasn\u2019t crying. I only wanted to bury my hands in their soft fur, as if that was where I belonged. Eventually, she carried me home. Later, the kittens returned too, slipping back into their corner of the veranda. I sat with them, and they rested their heads on my palms, quieter than before, as if they understood something I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">A few days later, they left again\u2014and this time, they didn\u2019t come back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The veranda felt larger after that\u2014emptier. I remember sitting in the same spot each day, watching the corner where they used to curl into each other, waiting for the flick of a tail, the soft press of fur against my hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Soon after, we moved back to India when Pa was transferred. The kittens faded into memory, but something in me didn\u2019t. I began noticing every cat I saw\u2014feeding strays, trailing them with quiet fascination. We never had one of our own; Grandma was allergic. So, I found companionship in the gray and black cats that wandered into our apartment complex, their yellow eyes gleaming in the dark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Once, I chased away a boy older than me with a stick because he was hurting them. Ma had to apologize to him and his mother. I never did. Then one day, those cats stopped coming too. I was left alone again\u2014this time, I felt it. Around the same time, Ma went through two miscarriages. Grandma passed away in her sleep. Loss settled into the spaces around us\u2014quiet and persistent. Still, I never stopped looking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Fourteen years have passed since that day. Even now, I stop to pet stray cats, to feed them, to stand between them and those who try to harm them. Ma said my love for them must come from some karmic connection. Her voice is more composed now.&nbsp; Smooth and steady.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Sometimes, when a cat leans into my hand and goes still, I feel it again\u2014that quiet, fleeting certainty that I am exactly where I am meant to be. Then the cat pulls away, and the moment breaks. Something small and wordless slips out of reach. I used to think I was looking for those lost kittens\u2014for the two small bodies that once made space for me beside them. But it wasn\u2019t them. Not really. It was the feeling of almost belonging. Of reaching out and, for a second, believing something might stay. The fragments never became a whole memory. They never will. But they left behind a shape\u2014a space I\u2019ve been trying to fill ever since. And sometimes, in the brief warmth of a living, breathing thing beneath my hands, I come close enough to forget it was never mine to keep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Swetha Amit <\/strong>is an MFA Graduate from the University of San Francisco. She is the author of a memoir, <em>A Turbulent Mind<\/em>, and three chapbooks. Her words appear in <em>Had<\/em>, <em>Bending Genres<\/em>, <em>Ghost Parachute<\/em>, <em>Gone Lawn<\/em>, <em>Cream City Review<\/em>, and others. A member of the Writers Grotto, her stories have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, Best Small Fiction, and Best Microfiction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>__________<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"alignleft size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"438\" height=\"211\" src=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-15484\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg 438w, https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1-300x145.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 438px) 100vw, 438px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-large-font-size\">&lt;&lt; <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/when-my-hands-touched-the-sun\/\">Back<\/a> <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/clues-blues\/\">Next<\/a> &gt;&gt;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">To learn more about submitting your work to <em><a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/boudin-submissions\/\">Boudin<\/a><\/em> or applying to McNeese State University&#8217;s Creative Writing <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/mfa-application-submissions\/\">MFA program<\/a>, please visit Submissions for details.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The Empty Veranda Swetha Amit __________ I don\u2019t remember it the way most people do. It comes back in fragments\u2014the heat on my skin, a flash of white paws just out of reach. The rest has been filled in by Ma, who recalls that day as if it never loosened its hold on her. I&hellip;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":97,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[251],"tags":[75,146,26],"class_list":["post-21933","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-third-annual-pet-writing-contest","tag-boudin","tag-fiction-2","tag-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21933","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/97"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=21933"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21933\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":22157,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21933\/revisions\/22157"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=21933"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=21933"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=21933"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}