July 2008
23 posts
drive-thru
She reaches out her hand. I reach out mine. In this sea of concrete, awash in artificial light, encased in shining metal and cold brick, we connect. I pull gently at her fingers. Her hands are dirty and stained with work. She looks at me wonderingly.
Next window, she breathes.
June 2008
21 posts
maybe
They would share secrets. They would get married on a rainy day. They would buy a house. They would cook and clean. They would have three little girls. They would talk late into the night. They would live in London. Or maybe he’d just let her walk off the bus.
mr. torrey is mistaken for dead
Mr. Torrey lay wrinkled into his faded towel. Dead?
He would have reached out his hand to assure the little girl of his life force, but feared it was too skeletal to be convincing. I should be dead, he whispered, but his voice caught in the now overwhelming towel fronds.
heartbreaker
Every full moon, the sky like black paper with a silver dollar on it, he’d stand on the back porch and sing. It was usually something he’d written when he couldn’t sleep—a whispery ballad, an aching eulogy to the broken hearts buried in his backyard.
He was awful sorry.
long time, no see
He looked beautiful to himself, though he hadn’t seen a reflection in years. His beard matched the gray of his eyes like never before. When he smiled, everything crinkled satisfactorily. Yes, he’d have to do this again. He stepped away from his face as a passing car splashed it into oblivion.
third date
I was looking at her through the bottom of my glass.
What are you doing, she asked.
I am looking at you through the bottom of my glass, I said.
You are so weird, she said.
I picked up my fork and looked at her through the tines. That better?
finish line
Jerry was a race car driver. His wife gave him the Sube driving gloves, the ones with “guaranteed improved grip.” But the only difference Jerry noticed, while taking corners amid the blast of his engine and the shriek of passing opponents, was that he thought of her at the finish.
aviators
Every day before today had been the gloomy kind he always loved. Now the sun was out, high and threatening. His dad let him wear his sunglasses. When he stepped into the hot glow of day, the sun was his, captured in each lens as a miniature globe of light.
man in the moon
She slept on the dark side of the moon. Henry would make the long walk as often as he could visit, though his eyes never seemed to adjust. They’d talk in whispers out of habit, sharing secrets and making plans. Stay with me, she said once, but he’d fallen asleep.
skeleton of amelia earhart
Wait, she said into the radio. Wait.
The islands looked like clouds and the clouds looked like islands. They were up and they were down. They would land on Howland Island. They would land around the world.
What now, he asked.
Now we put it down, Fred.
Down they went.
signs of life
In the cold gray mornings as I walked to work, I watched hopefully for signs of life. An errant ant, a jumping spider, the butterflies weaving like thrown confetti. I must have been walking like that for years before I noticed the brick smokestack. Who put that there, I thought.
keyboard man
Now he was popping the keys like his fingertips were raindrops, now massaging them oh-so-tenderly, now pounding them with operatic fervor. An oversized white tenny thumped to the off-beat, the toe just inside the light thrown by the disco ball. Maybe they couldn’t see him, but they’d hear him, alright.
shoe fight
She’d left her shoes behind: the stiletto heels, the peep toes, the flip-flops, the Vans, the snowshoes, the platforms, the slides, the flats, the slippers, the cleats, the tennis shoes, the sandals, the moccasins, the boots, and the loafers. And just when I started liking those Vans, Jean Marie reached.
20/20
Every individual leaf on every tree. The clefts of rocks on the mountains. The creamy swaths of snow at the peaks. The flecks of blue in her eyes. The last wisps of every cloud. The wrinkles of her pouted lips. The speck of high-flying birds. Thank you, Walmart Vision Center.
main street
There was a hot blast of breezy yellow light coursing down Main Street as Henry stepped over bodies as gingerly as if they were still alive. The distant sun was certainly a tint of orange he had never before seen. He felt like the last man on earth.
He wasn’t.
the escape
There was a hole in the outer fence!
Albert saw it first. The men crowded around the barred window and the wind dried their tears as they looked out. Albert started doing a little dance, a hop-skip on the dusty gray stones that looked a lot like the Lindy Hop.
the reach
I’m in a cylindrical hunk of metal with wings, thought Duke. Am I really flying through the air? Or am I falling? He could practically see the screws being shaken out of the cheap plastic molding. There was a ripple, ripple, bang! of turbulence.
He reached for the doggy bag.
bang
He was a pointer. An invisible gun-shooter. He’d wink his eye and bang his thumb and he’d hit you, oh, he’d hit you in the heart. That’s some aim, I’d say. I was shooting your friend, he finally said once. Oh, I said. Now he shoots twice to be sure.
fido
There was once an incessant neighborhood barking. Rhythmic yawping collided between the enclosed suburbs in a kaleidoscope of pitch. Mr. Norton, ancient and gray, was hobbling through the alley towards the beast. Jaw taut, eyes wide, small in stature, the barker stopped.
Two eyes pierced two eyes in perfect silence.
last steps
He took his time, yes he did. Each step went heel-toe, heel-toe, avoiding the cracks and singing under his breath about his mother’s back. There were some epic clouds hurrying above and their shadows slipped across the sidewalk. He would walk right up a shadow into heaven, yes he would.
young squires
As boys, we ran through the trees like young squires, the swords of our fearless imaginings glittering through the foliage-framed sunlight above, rescuing blue-eyed princesses we then only dreamt of.
Now we are men. The harsh rust of time has dimmed the brilliance of our blades, but not our hearts.