Nova
I remember a white candle, as tall as a marble column, melting in the evening and slowly sliding down her hand and her wrist the way ice cream did when she wasn’t paying attention. And from the wax beads of pearly sweat, hot from the glorious flame, kisses of pain made her eyes shutter, but she would try to hide that from me. She would just hold my hand firm in hers and lead me through the dark, and I would worry. Maybe she could feel my hesitation in the way I walked behind her, dragging my feet along and looking back at our little house, so she told me not to be such a wimp, promising that we would be back by curfew. I asked her why she brought a candle because I thought it made more sense to bring a flashlight, but she ignored me and pulled harder on my arm.
“What if Mom finds out?”
Pretend
Under the tree there was an old bench that was made of wood, but the boards were cut unevenly and the whole thing rested on legs that were small tree stumps. On the bench the boy sat up right with his feet stretched out in front of him while crossed at the ankles. Not too far down the dirt road – and it was a dirt road – was a small colonial cottage, not pretty, but plain and dark and shabbily made. Earlier, he found a long blade of grass that was yellowing a bit and kept it at the corner of his mouth because his favorite book was Huckleberry Finn and he liked to look the way he thought Huck did in the story.
His little brother was walking back from the cottage with something in his hands.
“Look what I bought!” the younger boy said, and lowered his cupped palms.
“How much did you spend?”
“Not much.”
“How much?”
Lessons In Life #25
Sometimes, in the morning, I get a strong urge to pee in the shower.
But then I realize my roommates wouldn’t appreciate that.
…So I don’t.
Chelonia
The dawn wasn’t fierce on the shore, and in fact it was almost too nice and too pleasant to follow the rosy wisps of clouds which crossed the sky today the way crab legs cross along the damp sand as it comes and goes by the edge of the tide. He had seen many dawns like these before, and he had seen just as many sunsets, of the mosaic quality that memory tends to stir inside a fisherman. His feet and ankles were bare, as usual, and trouser legs were neatly rolled up to the shin. The sand was still cool under the balls of his feet and he appreciated this because it meant that the whole day was still ahead of him. He walked and hummed and over his shoulder, he carried a durable landing net while the wicker basket his wife made with her small hands many years ago was suspended at his hip. (more…)
Ironically
My mother always told me…
“Life is like a box of chocolates.”
Ironically, she’s a diabetic.
