[2011] Joyshower

My body shivered, starting with the edges of my ribs and slowly the cold worked its way in towards the sternum, where it shot up into my jaws and started my chattering.

“Cold?” He shot me a wry look, his head tilted to the side.

I stuck my tongue out. “No.”

“Do you want my jacket?”

“I have my own.”

“Really, it’s fine. I don’t mind.” One of his hands began to tug at the sleeve on the other arm, but his eyes remained set on me, as steady as his always patient hands when they reached out to correct one thing or another.

“No,” I insisted, this time taking out any pitiful whine it might have had earlier. “I like things this way.” The cold seemed to dissipate a little, as if my determination made some of it slip off in fear. I felt rather proud of myself. Huzzah, frigid rebels! I have defeated you through sheer willpower! I laughed at the thought and he, although a little surprised, soon started laughing with me.

Our voices rose into the air and spread out across the sky, as if the dark clumps of rainclouds soaked them all up like a sponge. If our laughs were taken up, where did they go afterward? Did they slip into raindrops that fell back down on the earth? Somewhere under this vast, vast sky, did someone dance in his laughter? Did someone cry in mine? If they shouted or whispered, did their sorrow lift into the air and disperse as well? I lifted my head so the little droplets that had previously only grazed my nose began to touch me, more wholly, more truly. My glasses were getting blurry, so I pulled them off and stuck them into my jacket pocket, and closed my eyes this time.

I felt his gaze on me as he noticed my silence. Something moved between us and it took me a moment to realize that his silence was pressing into mine and so I let it happen, until we shared a…something, an indistinct and hazy something, that filled the gap between us.

The park was empty, except for a few boys skateboarding in the rain and stragglers here and their moving their way through the plaza. Everyone else in the group had gone into the coffee shop, to order a mocha this or chai latte that. We had both promised to join everyone else soon and I knew that in a few moments he would stand up and corral us both in that direction, but for now he only sat next to me under this steady pattering.

When it came time to go in, he stood up and looked at me. I wiped my glasses quickly and put them back on, my eyes readjusting to this grey half-light. He still had that teasing look, but somehow it had softened.

“Did you hear anything?” I asked. “I think raindrops carry secret messages.”

His dark brown eyes never left mine, quickly shifting from steady to a little jumpy, the sort when he made fun of me or the when he was nervous because words slipped out his mouth before he could stop them. “Really?”

When I nodded, he only said with a half-smile, “I hope you heard something important then.” As I stood up, in the space of one blink to another, I felt his hand brush my arm. Before long, he was ahead of me, his broad back growing smaller and smaller. I realized our shared silence was growing thinner by the moment and that neither of us were to blame. With this, I ran towards him, calling out his name with a smile. “It’s laughing!” I said. “The sky’s laughing at how weird we are!”

[2010] Connected

Two arrows thrummed against the cylinder that contained them as she sprinted across the forest. Ducking under branches and sweeping past tree trunks, her senses absorbed the area for telltale markers: the crooked tree, the vines that turned crimson in the afternoon, the call of ghost-birds near the bushes…and the particular scent of demons in the heavy air. She felt it, the nearness, felt the arrows’ bouncing match the pace of the undergrowth, match the pulsing in her souls.

She stepped onto a fallen tree and pushed deep into it; she leaped into the air and pulled out an arrow from her back. The woman touched the ground with a bending in her knees, immediately in an offensive stance as she strung her bow. She snapped her brown eyes open, dark as the ebony of her skin, and met the gaze of countless men and women. Their eyes, pure white irises with a rim of black, all blinked in unison. The one in front, no more than sixteen winters, crossed his arms. He wore two new necklaces, beads of white and black that rested on his collarbone and clattered noisily together, scraping past each other to escape him.

“Are you trying again?” he sneered. Three warriors moved in front of the boy, bows and arrows at the ready.

She knit her eyebrows together, just slightly, and set her mouth in a grim line. “I see the elders do not trust the prophecies.”

“It is not that we do not trust them. We do not trust that they must come to light. Something foreseen to overtake and end this world can only be made of evil.”

She laughed, scorn seeping into every sound. “You all are so arrogant. This world is made of nothing but evil. What ends it can only be good.”

Her souls stirred and stretched towards them, crying for starvation, temptation. The warriors took a step back, surprised at her power, at their power. They dropped their weapons. There was no way to match this, whatever this was– What exactly was this power? What was its name?

Then they heard the sharp gasp of the young boy. They looked over to him, saw an arrow lodged just under his collarbone, white blood seeping out. It had cut the string of the necklaces and the beads began to hover rather than drop to the ground. Some tried to look back at her, but she was already running towards the cliff side. They ran, but none could catch her before she jumped into the canyon.

The sky sucked away her breath as she fell and she watched the beads, one by one, take their place in the heavens and dissolve into the blue. She closed her eyes, a gentle smile on her face as blood followed her down into the river.

A newborn just arriving from the womb opened its mouth and cried. The workers on that floor of the hospital all stopped for a moment, as if hearing a song they once loved. The child, covered in blood and so much liquid, reached its hands outwards, its fist clenching tightly, as if grasping for the sky outside. The night sky revealed the multitude of stars in the sky, shining and tiny like small white beads.

The mother, her eyes soft and dark, smiled at her baby. Although the hospital smelled sharp and cold, the distinct lack of heaviness in the air and the fact that she could only hear the pulsing of two heartbeats responding to one another reassured her tired soul. “There is so much love here,” she said quietly, and the baby continued its crying, so sorrowful and yet so jubilant.

We’re connected at each and every place so
when I think this word, you’ll already know.

“Connected” by Ayumi Hamasaki

 

 

[2010] Imaginary Facts

She walked on the curb, stuck one foot far out in front of the other, and eventually made her way to the front of the group. She hummed, sang little phrases, and listened to her friends chatter on about something or other. Sometimes she could sense them smiling at her. How cute, they thought. She’s so lighthearted.

A puff of air escaped her lips, painted white by the cold, and she giggled at it as she watched it dissipate into the morning light. They stopped at the final crosswalk, and she looked to her right. The train was approaching, large and silver and very train-like, as it should be.

“Choo-choo!”  she said, under her breath.

Then she played the ‘What If?’ Game. What if the curb was thirty feet higher? What if it was two point four feet narrower? What if blood was in this season, and all the roads were wearing it in her shade? What if she just jumped?

She laughed, jumped up and down (still on the curb, always on the curb) and bellowed “Choo-choo!” The hood on her jacket bounced with her, urging her to stop playing the ‘what if’ game, to start playing a new game, something more rational and science-based, something with concrete (bloody) evidence.

“But everything’s so big!” she replied, frowning and scrunching up her eyebrows. “Too, too big!” She turned around as the train passed behind her. She was still bouncing on the curb like the sparkle-bounce balls she would find at the bookstore with the mega crayons and the inflatable walking sticks in the back because the bookstore had no self-esteem and didn’t think anyone would love it enough if it only had books.

She would jump another day, she decided, thinking about how sad the bookstore would be if she played a new game. The bookstore loved to play the ‘What If?’ Game with her.

“Do you guys ever tell the bookstore that you love it? It needs to know, you know.” she said to her friends, and let out another puff of breath.

How cute, they thought. She’s so lighthearted.

[2010] Camera 4

The actor, a fresh face of twenty-six (so not really that fresh, but makeup artists knew their trade well) leaned against the peeling doorframe of classroom 116 as the lights came on and the cameramen adjusted the focus of their lenses to match the requested shots. He had his doubts about Camera #4. It seemed too far down, too far left. The director paused in his work on seeing the actor, and stared at him, questioning.

“What now, Mistah Hotshot?”

“I just think Camera 4 isn’t set right, Joe.”

“Lew, zip it boy-o. He’s jus’ makin’ yoah head look moah symmetrical, tha’s all. ‘Sides, we gotta hide that scah makeup for scene foahteen. Ey, getcha military pins all settled out,” he added and pointed to the leaning metal pins along the uniform’s lapel. The director muttered a ‘sheesh’ before skittering down the hallway at the beckoning of the producer’s snapping fingers.

Lew sighed, giving up the fight, ignored the squeezing in his chest,  and brought a hand up to his face, careful not to get any powder on his fingers.

Trivia fact #1: Sixty percent of the scars on his face was really makeup. They’d put that on the DVD later.
Trivia fact #2: It was actually eighteen percent. They’d leave that part out. You couldn’t be Hollywood’s new pretty boy with that stuff leaking out.
Trivia fact #3: He actually was a war vet. They had already released that one to the press.

He brought his arm down but the elbow nicked a poster on the wall. It clacked as it hit the ground. The words “All Quiet on the Western Front” demanded his attention in stenciled orange letters. A toy soldier, drowning in clear glue, pointed its rifle at him.

[2010] How to Bake a Sunset

Stretched into a vast shimmering, night covered most of the sky, save for a boutonniere of rose and amber light to the west. I thought of a child lifting a cookie jar to get a peek at the contents. Did that make this desert a granola cookie? Certainly not chocolate chip. I settled on a snickerdoodle and relayed this to Nikki.

Aren’t we more of a bizcochito? she pointed out.

I shrugged. She was right though. I was just too lazy to change my mind.

We turned the corner, parallel to the trains that had stopped for the day. Three crimson and yellow roadrunners spied on us as we walked. I stuck my tongue out at them, the monsters.

Nikki dragged her hand on the fence to her right, the metal diamonds shuddering at her touch. A screeching guitar rift began to invade our silence. I giggled. Gross.

We’re getting closer, she commented.

You’re making them cold, you know. I pointed to the fence, to her hand. The tips of her longest fingers had adopted a weak grey. They look like comet glitter, I said.

Thanks.

She yanked me down by the arm so I bowed to her from the waist, and swiped her middle finger on my forehead. Either a fuck you or our personal Ash Wednesday. I thought of him then. Who he was screwing on his altar now. Not me. Not Nikki. I wondered about when they would find us. Oh well.

Warehouse five-oh-eight smelled of hormones, Costco cake, and misplaced shoes. I liked it. It was…not him, that’s why. The doorman stared us down. Want change? he asked me.

Everything, I responded. He kept the money.

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