123. Thirty-Three Dead
July 31, 2008
The almost-dead went to the acupuncture clinic, as though being almost dead were a condition Jesse’s needles could solve. Maybe the feeling of release helped them cross over, or helped them come back. They never chose to come back, though. They always died. It was as if Jesse finally gave them the relaxation they needed to really pick up momentum and die.
Jesse would have complained sooner about all the corpses in his clinic, but the almost-dead were good paying customers. Besides, the county coroner was Jesse’s brother. After one of them died, Al would come over and make sure Jesse was all right, and he would take away the body discreetly. Then the brothers would sit in the park late at night, drinking beer and staring at the sleeping ducks near the pond. Read the rest of this entry »
122. Writing Assignment
July 30, 2008
1.
So then we agree that we are too egotistical? Fine. This is most likely a function of our very genetics. It is also social. Whatever the cause, we are too self-absorbed, and this makes us unhappy.
Wonderful. That acknowledgment is an excellent first step.
I would like you to take out paper and pen. Yes, Jonathan, you may use your computer instead.
Now, I would like you to write a thorough description of the way you react to situations. Here is a hint: some of you will want to write, “When I hear my friends talking in low tones, I assume they are talking about me. Then I find an excuse to get near enough to hear them.” Don’t lie about this if it is true for you; I’ve seen some of you do it.
Your papers will be anonymous. Do not be embarrassed. Read the rest of this entry »
121. Talking to Oscar
July 29, 2008
My lease was signed. I had finally gotten my few sticks of furniture where I wanted them. I had spent a pleasant first night’s sleep in my new bedroom. Now I sat at my kitchen table in a nightgown, looking out my new window and drinking morning tea. Idly, I flipped through my new hometown’s job listings.
One listing in particular intrigued me. “Easy work for a university professor, excellent benefits. Punctuality is of the utmost importance.” The address was a ten-minute bus ride from my apartment. I sent in my resume.
That afternoon, as I walked in my front door with a paper grocery bag full of new cleaning supplies, I saw I had an email from the professor.
“Your application seems promising,” it said. “Can you come in for an interview tomorrow at 10:30?”
The next morning, I wore a suit, and I showed up early. The professor’s office was on the first floor of one of the older university buildings. From the books on his shelves, he appeared to be a philosophy professor, although there were a number of biology journals, as well. His office window faced a gorgeous courtyard full of climbing vines.
“Wonderful. You’re early,” he said. “Let me tell you about the position.”
As he described the easy, repetitive administrative tasks that were part of the position, I marveled at his put-together appearance, which seemed somehow unacademic. The professor was clean-shaven and neatly dressed, with impeccably stylish steel-framed glasses. He had a slight build and looked quite young, although individual lines of white grew here and there among his thick, black hair.
“Of course, you will receive ample break time and very good health benefits. Any time you feel like taking a walk or getting some air, within reason, you should feel free to wander the grounds.”
“That all sounds very pleasant,” I said.
“I think you are the most suited applicant for this position. I’m especially impressed by your zoo experience and your career-counseling background.”
“Thank you,” I said, a bit puzzled. “Why my work at the zoo?”
He smiled as if he hadn’t heard me. “Can you start on Monday?”
Excited to be offered a job on my first try, I hastily accepted. “I’d love to.”
But I was still curious: why would a philosophy professor care that I had worked in a zoo? Read the rest of this entry »
120. The Autumn of One-Way Postcards
July 28, 2008
There are a lot of websites for anonymously sharing your secrets. The most famous example is probably PostSecret. That’s the website where a guy puts up scans of postcards with anonymous secrets on them. The postcards reach his mailbox from all over the world. Many of the postcard secrets are sexual, like a fetish or fantasy. Some are family confessions; a mother will admit her child was adopted, or a boy will wish his brother had never been born. And others are more lighthearted, like the note from a Starbucks employee who covertly pours decaf for rude customers. You’ve probably seen the cards, or at least heard of them.
For the past year, I’ve been creating fake secrets and sending them in. Read the rest of this entry »
119. Walking out of the Bathroom
July 27, 2008
“Dude, Brian, I just had a great shi— I mean duh— I mean cra— I mean, Ohhh, hi Great-grandma, gosh. When did you get here? Where’s Brian?”
Maybe Great-grandma’s a zombie too.
I’ve been slipping, guys. I’ve been tired and busy lately. BUT, this week, there will be FIVE stories I can be proud of. And if I like them, so will you.
118. Zombies
July 26, 2008
“Should we go out dancing?”
“Sure.”
“80’s or dub?”
“Um… 80’s.”
“Okay. I’m ready.”
“Just let me get my keys. Okay. Ready.”
“It’s a nice night out.”
“Yeah.”
“You want to turn left here.”
“I know I want to turn left here. Thanks.”
“Sure. You want to turn right here.”
“I know. Thanks.”
“Sure. Should we be worried about those lights? Or that cloud of smoke?”
“Weird. It’s probably nothing.”
“Those look like—”
“Zombies? But—”
“Oh my God! Honey? Honey?“
117. The American Soprano Competition
July 25, 2008
There is almost no point in writing about this, since by tonight she will have won by default. Winning was to be my ticket out of this town, my passport to fame and fortune and world-famous conservatories. Now all I have is the private knowledge that I was the best. She will get all the glory and prize money, the world tour.
And I would have won, too. I know because I got the letter saying so.
That day I stayed home from work, because I had the flu. I had spent all night and most of the morning puking up celery and egg noodles from last night’s chicken soup, and then dry-heaving. I couldn’t even keep water down until noon. But it was uphill from there: after a glass of water stayed down for an hour, I tried grape juice and soda crackers. By afternoon, I was crunching down toast with peanut butter and feeling fine. I was still a little shaky, but the fever and the nausea had subsided. I was sure I could go to work the next day.
Around four in the afternoon, I could hear the mailman opening the squeaky mailboxes to my apartment complex. After the usual series of squeaks, I heard his shoes tromp away down the gravel path. I stepped into my slippers, which were soft fabric loafers with plastic, treaded soles. I went up to my mailbox, wondering if my letter would finally come. At this point, it was late.
I opened the mailbox for my apartment. It was completely filled by a large bundle of letters, rubber-banded, with a laser-printed receipt on the top.
HELD MAIL, it said. ANGELA LAMBIC. JULY 15TH, 2008 THROUGH AUGUST 1ST, 2008.
Held mail? I hadn’t requested a mail hold. Read the rest of this entry »
116. While Kids Played Kickball
July 24, 2008
It was a cloudy summer day. The world outside Barney’s window was washed in grays. Some kids were playing with a kickball in the street, but they seemed unreal, a projection from the clouds.
Smells from pollenating plants, ripe fruit, and garbage cans wafted up to his apartment. It was a simple apartment: cot in the corner, desk by the window, bookcase full of magazines, toilet, shower, kitchen.
Barney sat at the desk, staring at a tall stack of notes. He opened a word processing program. He was supposed to write the article by tomorrow. So far, the words weren’t coming. He needed to think of a way to start.
He started going through the neat pile of notes, organizing them into piles. He had a pile of notes on his subject’s mother, a pile on the father, a pile on short films made in adolescence, a pile on later work. The piece would be biography mixed with criticism, of course. But chronological order was so boring. Couldn’t he think of a more interesting format? Read the rest of this entry »
It was a steamy summer day. The humidity was so thick that you’d swear the air was ten percent banana pudding. And another five percent might have been cigarette ash, judging from the layer of grit that dusted our sweaty skin. By the time we had locked up the apartment and set foot on the street, we already felt like we had been camping for days without showers.
I had finished a raspberry Tootsie Roll Pop a few minutes earlier, and the aftertaste of seemingly real raspberries coated the inside of my mouth. It tasted like I was returning from picking fresh berries in a green, leafy patch. Like I had stood there in the sun for hours, sneaking every fifth berry in my mouth and carting the rest of the fragrant, bleeding fruits homeward in a heavy, shallow cardboard box. I could make pie with them, or scones. Instead, I was just heading out into the city on a humid day, a few minutes after finishing a sucker.
As our four slick arms collected their layer of city grime, I rolled my tongue in the berry taste on the roof of my mouth. It’s strange that the raspberry Tootsie Roll Pops taste like real fruit, while the cherry and grape and orange and chocolate always taste like chemical facsimiles. Somehow, Tootsie only got raspberry right.
We left my apartment, which was on the second floor of a building that held three other apartments. The building was made with bluish-green bricks. It had been built before 1900, and now some of the bricks had a tendency to crumble apart. When they crumbled, they looked just like soft, blue tofu.
Sometimes the building had strange problems. Like the doors wouldn’t shut in hot weather because they swelled. There was a leak in the ceiling over the toilet, so sometimes when I was sitting on the can I would feel a drop of rainwater in the part of my hair. Read the rest of this entry »
114. Two Lines about Working
July 22, 2008
“Sorry, did I not mention the part where I was trying to work?”
“Okay, okay. See you later.”
image: carf on flickr
