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another unfamiliar bed. although this one is oddly familiar.
she stares at the institutional acoustic paneling on the ceiling, looking for patterns in the tiny holes, stringing together constellations, waiting for the transition between one unreality and another. More »
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the credits run out and the lights come up. everyone else has left the theater, but they’re still not ready to return to reality.
she blows her nose, while he presses his palms into his eyes, in an effort to stop the tears. “oh, man,” he groans.
they turn to each other and start to giggle. it’s like looking in the mirror, eyes red, noses running, puffy cheeks, satisfied smile.
she finds her voice first, “yeah, it was pretty good.” the sarcasm is obvious. More »
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he’s hungover.
he stares in the mirror. his face is fleshy, somehow misshapen, as if viewed through a wide angle lens.
he swallows a handful of aspirin and starts the shower. hot water only.
she was up before him. her side of the bed was made. her clothes from last night were folded and draped over the back of her chair. his clothes lay rumpled on the floor, a trail of breadcrumbs from the door to his pillow. one of his shoes is missing. he is still wearing one of his socks when he steps into the steaming shower. More »
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she turns off her phone after the third call in an hour.
she smiles at her date. she has to say something.
“my sister wants to know how it’s going.”
she’s certain her smile isn’t coming off correctly, that he picks up some sign of discomfort.
she adds, “it’s been a while since i went out with someone new.”
More »
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william holden is face down in the swimming pool.
the police arrive followed by the press.
flashbulbs pop. questions go unanswered.
gloria swanson creeps down the stairs. an elderly spider, patient, arms held at unnatural angles, ready to dance or cast a spell. her head tilts off center; her once lovely face pulled tight by a humming tension. her moment, her final scene, the climax. More »
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when his mother told him a month ago that they were moving to south carolina he was pissed off. beyond pissed off.
“next year is senior year! are you kidding me?!”
his mother’s tears killed his protest in an instant.
he had never seen his mother cry before. More »
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the kids screamed that they weren’t tired.
he suppressed the flashing urge to drown them in the bathtub, and held on to more modern child-rearing principles.
a child at the end of a day of presents, new toys, and two dozen candy canes is little more than a wild animal. sleep will return the beasts to their normal rosy-cheeked selves. at least until they start the fight over watching morning cartoons and why can’t they kick a soccer ball in the kitchen. More »
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mr. luchesi starts from a shallow sleep.
the alarm clock says 3:34 am. that makes two-and-a-half hours sleep he’s managed since crawling into bed at 9:30, out of ideas, resenting his wife for making him put the kids to bed a third night in a row.
she sleeps soundly beside him. she must have arrived in bed sometime between 11:30 and 12:45, his longest successful streak of unconsciousness tonight. More »
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after his third beer, the old records came out. all the best are worn thin from late night listening sessions years ago, eleven college kids crammed in a small room, cigarette smoke, empty beer cans, loud conversations about politics, breakfast cereal, and music: pulling out “after the gold rush” to prove that neil young’s voice is more expressive than nilsson’s.
the once obsessive application of cleaning solution has left the track almost unlistenable, but neil fights through the static. and though it sounds like it might skip at any minute, the needle miraculously holds on till the end.
but there’s no resolution.
like the key changes and just hangs there… More »
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sally mccarthy bathes her daughter in a shallow tub on the kitchen table. the baby fusses but stops short of crying.
as she sponges her tiny hands, sally marvels at the soft palms, just starting to prune. and her uncle carter’s voice speaks up in her memory.
“i don’t see what all the fuss is about. if i was jesus, i would have begged to be crucified.” More »
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