She faced
him as she spoke of how her stay was at her mother’s. She sat on a low wooden
stool on the floor, peeling the radishes and slicing them in coin shape.
Already, her nose had scrunched up. She found the smell of radish overpowering:
why even eat this thing? It’s known to cause gas in the stomach and then loud
farts. Her husband was not immune to them. But the radishes were his favorite.
Saute them in oil, turmeric, salt, and he would cram down two bowls of them in
one meal. And then he would belch and fart in his sleep all night long,
punching the fresh air out of the room. But, she didn’t want to say no to
radishes today. Not today.…
...continue reading
“Some things about living still weren’t quite right, though.”
-Kurt Vonnegut, Harrison Bergeron
Molly Stevens was feeling pretty good. No, Molly Stevens was feeling pretty great. It’s true she had been nervous this morning, everyone was nervous the morning of their annual, but things could not have gone any better. Molly swung her feet against the exam room table.
Molly’s interviewer this morning, Shelia, had been
impressed with Molly’s dietary journal, as well she should be- a three day
cleanse every four weeks and nothing less healthy than a handful of walnuts and
unsweetened craisins as an indulgent afternoon snack. Shelia had even
complimented her on her lipstick choice. Becoming.
That was the exact word she had used to describe her make-up. A very good sign.…
...continue reading
Her
fingers move up and down the neck with the nonchalance and silky smooth rhythm
of an old master. They don’t even seem
to be touching the strings and frets.
The gentle yet commanded rise and fall of her right wrist, as sure and
steady as a metronome, brings to mind the repetitive yet precise swinging of a
pendulum, back and forth, back and forth, each stroke as methodically beautiful
as the next, the lost momentum subsumed by subtlety. It’s like her entire body’s an extension of
the guitar, and the rhythm seems to be rising from her feet like the duende of
the flamenco maestros Lorca knew so well, slowly, steadily swelling up and
swathing the rest of her person, guitar included, ‘til it rushes over like a
wall of water, cascading onto the crowd and drowning their inhibitions, replenishing
minds and bodies of those fortunate enough to bear witness. …
...continue reading
Britain
Evangeline Pursley announced her presence by arriving late to the first day of
my father’s class, The Ethics of War. The
door slammed shut behind her, with her poise like a sail that caused everyone
to stare.
Her
voice came defiant, as she told him, “Sorry, big building, small minds and a lot of people who think they own the
hallways.”
My
father didn’t appreciate tardiness, and really wouldn’t from her if he knew why
she were here, but he didn’t know and wanted to keep his reputation as the
“cool professor.” He told her it was alright, “Take a seat right here up front
beside my daughter.”
A
wave of eyebrow lifted her face. “No problem Dr. Orrico.”
She
didn’t care about their eyes.…
...continue reading
“My uncle just moved in,” Casey said.
I knew there was more.
“Don?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Well that will probably be good for
your dad, won’t it?”
“Maybe.”
“What’s up Case?”
“Don.” He was unable to speak the
words that came next.
“Don? I don’t follow.”
“I’ve never told anyone this
before.”
“I’m not anyone,” I grumbled.
“Don raped me.”
My face was blank. Casey was
serious. He kept his eyes staring at the ground and said it again, “I think he
raped me.”…
...continue reading
“I’m leaving for the day,” Robert shouted into the depths
of the big hollowed out tree.
Robert and his
wife were doing very well for themselves. These were hard times for squirrels.
Some squirrels were sharing a tree with two to three other families. But not
Robert and Vanessa. No, it was just the two of them in a big redwood near a
large park. That’s right; they were doing so well; they were living park side.
“Don’t
forget to pick up an extra acorn! Donny and Faye are coming for dinner!”
Vanessa shouted back at her husband. So, with that, Robert was off to work.
Vanessa’s heart always sank a little after she heard her husband scurry down the large redwood. She no longer had a job, and their babies were full grown and long gone.…
...continue reading
Soft piano music plays from the parlor as Dahlia hovers in the foyer. Her pink lace jacket is distinctly out of style. Her auburn hair is not ineptly styled, but Poppy is eyeing the white streaks with an affected air.
“They’re all in the
parlor,” Poppy says. “The other ladies are already having their biscoff. It’s
fat free,” she adds.
Dahlia’s shoulders
curl forward over her unshapely form. “That sounds wonderful,” she says, eyes
darting.
Poppy exchanges a
look with Daisy, who is idling by the door the parlor, holding a bottle of red
wine in one hand and a bottle opener in the other. “You can open it,” she says.
Dahlia passes Daisy without looking her in the eye.
“Give her plenty,”
Poppy mouths.…
...continue reading