156. Fried Chicken, Octopus, and Pineapple Pizza
September 2, 2008
I heard this story from the valedictorian of my high school class. I’ve never met a more upstanding or trustworthy guy. In high school, he never drank or did any drugs, he never seemed competitive but he was good at everything he tried, and he did a lot of volunteer work. Our senior year, he even starred in the school musical. I thought he was cute and funny, but I never had romantic feelings about him, and at lunchtime I would ask him for advice about guys. After high school, he did very well in political science at a state university, and then he did some entry-level politcal work, eventually making his way to the city council. He’s been on the city council ever since, although sometimes he also teaches history as a substitute.
All in all, he’s not the type to make up stories just to mess with people. He’s well-informed and rarely wrong. There aren’t very many people that I will just believe, hands-down, on any subject, but he’s one person who just exudes truthfulness and accuracy. Read the rest of this entry »
147. Wine Bar
August 24, 2008
I dropped my daughter at preschool. Across the street was a wine bar in the middle of a strip mall, between a pet shop and a thrift store. I pushed open the glass door and went inside.
The floor was covered in Astroturf. Bottles of red and white lined the brushed steel walls. There were no other customers.
I don’t like wine. I just didn’t want to go home yet. Too much vacuuming to be done.
“A glass of, uh, red,” I said. The bartender raised an eyebrow and chose a bottle for me.
“Four dollars,” he said.
I passed him a five.
image: blackbirdboy on flickr
146. Gin and Tonic
August 23, 2008
The storm woke them up. It was just a little Pacific Northwest storm. It was no hurricane. The rain didn’t even blow into the open windows. But the thunder caused all four of them to jump out of their beds, running in robes to the living room, where the best window was. A cool breeze and the smell of wet pavement met their faces.
The lightning would slice the sky, and then the thunder would follow on its heels. Someone made gin-and-tonics, and they stood by the window drinking the pungent concoction, watching.
When the power went out it was morning. Too awake now for bed, but unable to turn on the TV, they made groggy, casual conversation.
“Ever make crank calls as a kid?”
“Yes, but they weren’t that inspired.”
“I tried the classic jokes. ‘Is your refrigerator running? Better go catch it.’ But people already knew the punchlines. I think the fun part used to be fooling them.”
“Like, you’d call someone, and they’d think you were actually the refrigerator company.”
“Yeah.”
“Those were the days.”
“What time is it? Eight?”
“Mm.”
“I guess I should be getting off to work.”
image: Nostromoo on flickr
92. Sweets on the First Night
June 30, 2008
Setting down the last grocery store banana box on the linoleum floor, Bee’s mom said, “Well, I guess I’ll talk to you later.” They hugged briefly.
“Thanks, Mom. For helping.”
“I just want you to know I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“You can come home any night you want, even a weeknight, and do laundry and eat dinner. And I’ll drive you to school the next morning. And you can bring friends with you, too.”
“Okay, thanks Mom.”
“Really, come home often. And don’t do drugs or have sex. And if you do, be safe. But don’t.”
“Okay.”
“And if you cross Newcastle, look both ways. And if you need money, call me.”
“Okay. Thanks, Mom.”
“Well. I guess you need to unpack.”
Bee looked around the tiny dorm room. There were several days before classes started. “Eventually,” she said. “You can stay longer if you want.”
“No, I’ll go.” Bee’s mom picked up her purse, and then she stopped. “Don’t leave drinks unattended. You know that date rape is a very real thing.”
“Mom!”
“You have to take these things seriously, Bee.”
“Okay Mom.”
“Okay. Bye, sweetie.”
“Bye Mom.” Read the rest of this entry »
90. They Were Hungry
June 28, 2008
After the barbecue, everyone sat around on the back deck drinking Mexican beers and Lynchburg lemonades. Those who smoked pot or cigarettes lit up, and the glowing cherries winked in and out in the gathering gloom. A Queen LP was on the turntable inside, the speakers pointed outward at the circle of friends. Freddy Mercury sang his heart out about lover boys and bicycles.
The large deck where they all sat was made of wood, slightly rotting and dilapidated but sturdy. Beyond the deck was Michael’s spacious yard, which in the gathering darkness was becoming less and less visible. Beyond that were the woods. Earlier in the evening, when they had served dinner, food had been laid out in Pyrex cake pans and dinner plates on the patchy lawn; there on the lawn the remnants now sat: a pound or so of cold, oily asada, still fragrant with the aromas of cumin and chili. Two marinated drumsticks, fruit juice redistributing itself within their cooked flesh, sitting in a baking dish next to a scattering of split and wrinkled hot dogs. Piles of drying lime slices, shredded cheese, pico de gallo, napkins, grilled peppers, forks, grilled mushrooms, and yellow pineapple and corn on the cob with carmelized brown spots and red flecks of spice clinging to their yellow skin.
Full, the group of friends reclined on the deck, making easy conversation.
“I feel like a cat is going to come and eat all this,” someone said, laughing lazily.
“Yeah, or a raccoon.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it.”
But a woman named Amanda, too comfortable and drunk to make conversation, watched the barbecue spread while they talked. Soon something did come out of the shadows, crawling low to the ground. But it was no raccoon, and it wasn’t a cat. It was the right size for a cat, but it had no fur.
The thing ventured into the light of a nearby tiki torch, and Amanda gasped. It looked like a big, brown insect. It was like a beetle, but with almost intelligent eyes. Those eyes were even more disturbing than its size. The thing grabbed the whole pound of asada in its mandibles and started masticating with a sick, wet sound.
Amanda made a horrified, strangled gasping noise. Hearing her, the thing looked at the crowd of people and actually started. It was clearly seeing them for the first time. It looked left and right for a second, apparently thinking, and then darted quickly into the darkness, bringing along its mouthful of steak. Read the rest of this entry »
89. Into the Trash
June 27, 2008
1.
“Something to drink, miss?”
Sarah looked up from the tiny square napkin on her tiny tray.
“Um, Jack Daniels and Coke please.”
“All right, miss, I’m just going to need to—”
“Here,” Sarah said, handing across her passport.
“OK, there you go, and five dollars, and thank you. Something to drink, sir?”
Sarah mixed her tiny, sweet drink. She wished she had asked for no ice. She drank half of it quickly in tiny, cold sips. The passenger in front of her ratcheted his recliner back. Sarah’s hand lay clenched in her lap, one longish, French-manicured thumbnail biting into her index finger and drawing eensy pinpricks of blood. Flying was always torture. What if she never saw Lee again, or her parents? If the plane crashed, Lee would be left to sort out her stuff. They’d only been dating a year. How he would resent her!
Knowing it was neurotic, she lost herself in this strange daydream. Going through her estate would cause her parents and boyfriend to see her dirty socks and underwear, her botched art projects, her old love letters. Draining the last of her Jack and Coke, she thought about her childhood diaries, vitriolic and unedited and full of one-sided, immature ranting.
She decided not to die without giving them a thorough proofread. Read the rest of this entry »
86. A Glass of Beer and a Pepper Mill
June 24, 2008
A young man with a messenger bag walked into a tavern next to the bus station. This bar was adjacent to the station for long-haul buses—not merely one of the numerous city bus stops that were sprinkled across the city.
The young man sat down at the bar. He made a great show of weariness, or perhaps was simply very tired. He took off the bag and placed it on the adjacent stool. He sighed heavily.
The bartender had wet-looking, gray hair that was cut into a perfect straight line, just below his chin. He had tiny round glasses, just barely tinted gray. He raised his eyebrows and asked the young man what he would like to drink. The bartender had a Southern California accent.
“Budweiser,” the young man said.
The bartender poured the glass of beer. The young man took a sip and looked around at his surroundings. An old woman in a purple cotton dress and a faded pink cap was playing video poker and smoking skinny cigarettes. A boy and girl in high school varsity sweatshirts sat in a booth, busily eating cheese fries, piles of luggage at their feet.
The bartender, who was wiping down the bar, asked how the young man’s day was going.
“My flight was delayed,” said the young man, “so I missed my connection. I just got home, thirty hours late.”
The bartender laughed raspily. It was a strange sound, like the grinding of a pepper mill. The world seemed to slough away layer by layer in the bartender’s rustling laugh, like a pad of tracing paper or a book of soap leaves.
image: mousiekm on flickr
71. The Hole in the Wall
June 9, 2008
Every time Jennifer went on a weekend business trip, Dan did the same things. He wore underpants or a robe, and often nothing at all. He watched TV and ate take-out crap and drank too much. He passed out on the couch and stopped shaving. This weekend was no exception.
Naked on the couch and suddenly awakened, Dan sat up. It was four in the morning. A half-eaten pizza—slathered with cold, perspiring extra cheese—and a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s sat on the coffee table. The TV played an infomercial for some fat-busting, vibrating strap. His eyes were bloodshot and dehydrated from booze. Sore in a dozen places, he stood up and absently scratched the side of his balls. He smacked his lips. He padded into the kitchen, loaded a tumbler with ice cubes from the grinding fridge-front contraption, and filled the glass with water. He stood stark naked in the kitchen, drinking the water and scolding himself.
I’m getting too old for this.
In the living room, the male announcer extolled the virtues of the his fat jiggler. Act now and you’ll get a free mustache plucker! Ladies, can you afford not to?
Disgusted, Dan went back into the living room and switched off the advertisement. He had started watching Thinner at midnight but hadn’t even stayed awake for the gypsy curse. Now it was almost five AM. Time for bed.
As gloomy slience replaced the TV’s chatter, Dan realized he heard a strange noise coming from the den. Like paper crinkling. Or something crunching.
“What the hell,” he muttered. “Fine.” Might as well take a look. He limped down the hallway, scratching his balls again. That crunching sound got louder.
He eased open the door. Everything looked normal and still. Books lined the shelves. The old Mac tower stood cool and silent next to the black dead rectangle of the monitor.
Crunchcrunchcrunch. There it was again, louder. Now he realized it was definitley not paper crinkling: this was a crunching. Read the rest of this entry »
55. Kiss Raffle
May 24, 2008
“Here, Amy, let’s give people these raffle tickets I just found.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re bored.”
“Oh yeah. OK.”
Amy and Kel left their dorm and started passing out raffle tickets to everyone they saw. Kel kept half of each ticket in a big jar. People peered at their tickets and put them in wallets and pockets.
“When’s the raffle?” everyone asked.
“At five in the quad,” Amy said.
Five rolled around, and they had no prizes to give away.
“Do you have any beer or cigarettes in your room?” asked Amy.
“No, I want those for myself,” Kel said.
“Well, we could make it a kissing booth, and the winners could win kisses.”
“That sounds great!”
There was a mini crowd waiting in the quad, and Amy and Kel drew tickets and called out numbers. People got to choose between kissing Kel and kissing Amy when they won. When Kel and Amy had had enough kissing, they said the raffle was over, and then they went home for beer and cigarettes and kissed each other.
image: alykat on flickr
54. Checkers
May 23, 2008
It was summer. Pete and his imaginary friend went into the barn to play checkers. It was yellow in there, and a little dusty. Pete’s imaginary friend won, but that was cool.
Then they drank mint juleps.
image: glynnish on flickr
