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Showing posts from July, 2014

Bluebird

“I remember, I couldn’t even tell him ‘Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said.
The sweat from the beer can felt good on my hand. We had been sitting on the porch for a while. Neither of us wearing shoes.
“Why do you think that is?” I asked.
“I mean, that’s weird, right? To be dating someone and not be able to say, ‘Happy Valentine’s Day?”
I finished my beer and stood up. I ran my left hand through my honey-colored hair.
“Well, it’s not good,” I said. “You need another drink?”
“I want whatever you’ve got,” she said.
I went inside and got a couple beers from the fridge. I stood for a moment, my feet cold on the linoleum floor. I stared out the window looking at her. I know how she’s feeling, but I don’t tell her.
I walk back outside. The heat hits my face as if taking bread out of the oven. I hand her the beer and sit down. She lights a cigarette as I open my beer.
“It was easier for me to express my feelings on a fucking postcard than sitting next to him and actually talking to him,” she sa…

The Blanket (2004)

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," I said. "I know you won't care."

"Why don't you tell me anyway and I'll decide whether or not I care."

I took a deep breath. "It's been an intense week for me, that's all."

His back was turned as he searched for a bottle opener in his kitchen.

"How so?"

He continued searching as he walked into the other room pretending to listen. I just stared at the floor.

"Kate's dad came into the coffee shop the other night," I said. "I hadn't seen him since her funeral."

Silence.

"I ran into her sister the next day, too."

"Yeah, Kate's dead. Kinda weird, huh?"

He continued. "Friends start dying when you get out of high school, that's just how it goes."

Why did I come over here?

"I guess," I said.

He walked over and stood in front of me. He handed me a shot of tequila. He smelled li…

Midnight Toker

“You know, I think sex is the only thing we have in common,” I said.
He leaned over the side of the bed to grab something from his pants. He pulled out a bag of weed and started to roll a joint.
“We both like Rushmore,” he said.
The room was silent for a few minutes.
“So what happens when we can no longer use Max Fischer as an excuse for this ‘relationship’? ”
He lit the joint and very coolly responded, “can’t we just enjoy each other?”
I sank further into the bed and faced the other way.
“Maybe.”
The room was dark, and suddenly cold. The air smelled like incense and skank weed. I pulled the sheets closer to my body. I stared at the midnight wall and felt my heart racing. He always made my stomach hurt.
God, I really have to fart.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
Suddenly, his body was over me like a dark cloud. I watched the shape of his mouth become hostile.
“I don’t like those kind of questions.”
He pulled me closer and said nothing. I barely had to move, while he already …