Wednesday, March 9, 2016
Friday, March 4, 2016
Umbrellas—short fiction
Originally published on Amarillo Bay in 2012.
In Santa Fe, in
the summer, the clouds build up over the mountains in the afternoon and around
three o’clock they rumble down the canyon and pour rain on the city for about
an hour, sometimes so hard that driving can be almost impossible and small
rivers flow down the streets.
Two blocks past the elementary school the girl stood under
a cottonwood tree in the downpour, hunched over trying to find the least wet
spot under the branches. He drove past in his car and she looked through the
window at him. He looked at her in the rearview mirror and saw her turn and
watch his car. He stopped, backed up and stopped again in front of her, leaning
across and rolling down his window. “Hello! Do you want a ride?”
With raindrops hammering down on the car roof he could barely
hear her small voice say, “No thanks.”
“Well, do you live close? Or do you know somebody nearby?”
Again quiet. “No. My mom’s supposed to pick me up. She’s
late so I’m walking home.”
“Well come on, get in my car at least and we can wait for
her.”
Her face dripping, long black hair starting to plaster to
her head. “No, I can’t. I’m not supposed to talk to you. I’m not supposed to
talk to people I don’t know.”
“Yeah, I know but...hold on.” He unbuckled himself and got
out, grabbing his umbrella. If anything, the rain got harder. He walked around
his car unfolding the umbrella. She only came up to his waist. He held the
umbrella over her and hunched over so they both were somewhat covered. “Here,
this rain doesn’t usually last for long.”
She looked up at him with just her eyes, her chin staying
tucked down. “Thank you.”
“How far is it to home?”
“Not that far.”
“Have you walked home before?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes my mom is late. Sometimes she picks
me up along the way. I don’t like to wait at school.”
“So she’ll know to come along this road to find you?”
“Yes.”
“Ok.” A thin stream of rain drizzled off the umbrella onto
his back. “You’re sure you wouldn’t want to wait in my car?”
“I’m not supposed to.”
He sighed. “Ok. What’s your name?”
“Rachel.”
“Nice to meet you Rachel. I’m David.”
“Hello.” She looked down at her feet. “My shoes are wet.
They squish.”
“Well hopefully your mother will be here soon and you can
go home and have some hot chocolate or something.” He looked at his car and
realized he had forgotten to roll up the passenger side window. “Fuck. Rachel,
here, hold this.” He gave her the umbrella and ran over to his car. Opened the
door, rolled up the window and shut the door and back to the girl, taking the
umbrella from her.
“You said fuck.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“My mom says I shouldn’t say fuck, but she does sometimes.”
“Sometimes people do.”
She looked thoughtful, then smiled. “Fuck.” She looked up
at him. “What does fuck mean?”
“Oh shit. Well, it’s something people do when they like
each other. It’s sex. Do you know about that?”
“Yes. Why is fuck bad to say then?”
“Well it also means....” He thought a minute. “It can also
be something someone does to another person even when they don’t like it? So
when you say fuck it means something bad happened to you when you didn’t want
it to. I guess.” He shrugged.
She watched a car pass them and watched the water spray up
from the tires. She silently mouthed the word fuck again and stamped her feet.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“A girlfriend? No. Not right now.”
“Do you like girls? Some men don’t you know.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I
know. Yes I like girls. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No, I don’t like boys.”
“Oh. Well that makes two of us.”
“Why don’t you like boys?”
“Oh, they start wars. I hate that.”
“But you’re a boy.”
“I know. I don’t like wars but I fantasize about killing
men who start wars. So, just as bad I guess.”
“I don’t think that’s bad.”
“Why don’t you like boys?”
“They’re mean.”
“Hm, well...”
She looked up at him again. “You don’t have to stand here.”
“Oh, it’s not a problem.” A gust of wind blew drops on them
and he felt water seeping into his socks. “You should get your mother to buy
you an umbrella.”
“She did. Somebody at school stole it.”
“Oh. You know, when I lived in New York, there were these
guys who sold umbrellas on the street. They were really cheap, like they would
only last a day and fall apart. But there were always lots of people who would
buy them because nobody ever wanted to carry them all the time. I remember this
one guy, I think he was from Africa, and he didn’t speak English, but he said
umbrellas like, um-brellas, with the
accent on the first part of the word. ‘Um-brellas!
Um-brellas!”
She smiled. “Umbrella.
That’s funny.”
“I always liked that. Seems like they should always be
called umbrellas.”
“I think so too.”
The rain started to let up, and suddenly patches of
sunlight started to show. “Et voilá, le soleil.”
She pointed. “Look! A rainbow!”
And it was. A full one, stretching from the mountains
across the valley toward Albuquerque.
A car stopped in front of them and a woman got out.
“Rachel! Rachel! Get away from him! Leave her alone you son of a bitch!” She ran over to the girl and picked her up.
“But mom...”
She glared at him. “How dare you?!”
“Mom, we talked about umbrellas.”
“What?” The woman carried the girl to her car and put her
in the passenger seat. She closed the door and turned to him. “I’m calling the
police. If you touched her I’ll kill you!”
“Ma’am, I was just—”
“Oh I know what you were doing.” She got in the car and he
saw her pick up her cell phone and dial as she drove away.
He shook his umbrella and closed it and stood a second
smelling the wet pavement smell and listening to the water drip off the
cottonwood tree. The rainbow was still there.
Thursday, March 3, 2016
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
the laughing heart by Charles Bukowski
the laughing heart
—Charles Bukowski
your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank
submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.
Saturday, February 27, 2016
The girl / La chica
These two poems appeared in THE ANEMONE SIDECAR poetry journal by Ravenna Press, Spring 2010.
The girl
The girl in the cafe / the girl at Painted Rock
The girl walking down the crowded sidewalk
The girl in the truck / the girl counting change
The girl locking her bedroom door at night
The girl on the Ice / the girl with girl tattoos
The girl reading Sylvia Plath / the girl driving a dirt bike
The girl playing guitar and singing Johnny Cash
The girl wearing pantyhose for the first time
The girl with other girls / the girl writing a letter
an
instant message / a to do list / a screenplay
The girl carrying a rifle / The girl watching tv
The girl learning Spanish / the Spanish girl
The girl on the magazine page / the silent girl in class
The girl looking at herself in your mirror
La chica
La
chica en el café / la chica en Painted Rock
La
chica caminando por la acera llena de gente
La
chica en la furgoneta / la chica contando cambio
La
chica cerrando la puerta de su habitación en las noches
La
chica sobre el Hielo / la chica con tatuajes
La
chica leyendo a Sylvia Plath / la chica manejando una moto todo terreno
La
chica tocando la guitarra y cantando Johnny Cash
La
chica llevando pantimedias por la primera vez
La
chica con otras chicas / la chica escribiendo una carta
un mensaje instantáneo /
una lista de quehaceres / un guión
La chica llevando un fúsil / la chica mirando el tele
La chica aprendiendo el español / la chica española
La chica en la página de una revista / la chica silenciosa en el curso
La chica mirándose en tu espejo
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
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