by Meg Pokrass
house-painter card
T. looks like the man called "House Painter" on the Dream Date Card my friends and I played when we were twelve. We sit on the cold fire escape. Smoking. Watching the whores curdle and separate.
rat
I bribe T. with a bag of sunflower seeds to my loft. A futon, dust mites, overdue plays. Empty shells.
ring tone
One night I make my phone's ring a Medieval Druid Rap. He is acting like those poor fireflies I caught and jarred as a child, though he hasn't lost his flashing eyes. Yet. He wants to die cute. Like River Phoenix. His ice blue cell phone in his back pocket like folded money.
list:
almond message oil
almond sunset tea
dark chocolate 80%
dry rhubarb soda
lavender bath oil
musk candles
red light bulb
found memory
What's his name took my hand, led me to the bathroom, opened the door and slipped in behind me. The bathroom was dark. "Mari," he said. Through the window I saw file cabinets lined up in black, like widows. It was an office building, the late shift.
how we survived
We made calls, sold diet products. All of us were actors or models. Carla was the token "real person". I hoped she'd invite me to a real house for Thanksgiving. She had a real house, a real husband, and two real kids. I gave her Three Musketeers during break. I couldn't figure out why she wanted the late shift.
mari
He unzipped. "Mari," he said. His tongue tasted like fruit and tacos. Sweet and sour and rude.
sometimes
I can remember his name. Sometimes it escapes like a bug. He was so tall and stupid. These qualities often came bundled together. He (what the hell was his name?) wanted me because I was:
a.
b.
c.
d.
locked
Outdated things make me sad, like the word "howdy". Inside my life are moments nobody wants to remember. My jaw gets stuck in sleep, by the morning nearly locked, dreaming about the twisting coil cigarette lighter my father had in his car.
benadryl
I answer, in case he's decided to come for Thanksgiving. His friend is still asleep. He took too many Benadryls, he says. He knows because he saw the package floating in the kitchen trash.
"Not enough to kill himself," he said. He coughs, says he wants to come see the cats.
dressy beagles
We're sitting on the sofa in the den just a few feet from each other, holding the cats and turning on the laptop.
"Pick," I say.
He types "dressy beagles" into the search bar.
Four guys dressed like soldiers holding Beagles in pre-Civil War southern belle costumes. Bonnets and velvet dresses with leg holes and collar trim. The beagle's faces fall, but the men are smiling.
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this story ran in elimae - was chosen as a showcase story for Short Story Month 2009 by Storyglossia.
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This is a great piece, Meg. No wonder it showcased. The form is marvelous. (continued sound of snapping fingers...)
Loved it, Meg. Nice reading you again.
thank you Sam, you are so kind, i love the snapping fingers...
Tim- thanks so much for the nice words!
Delicious read Meg, thouroughly enjoyed this inviting piece.
Smiles!!
Thank you very much, R.!
wonderful images....sad, lonely and as always...funny!
twisting coil cigarette lighter my father had in his car.
Empty shells.
dressy beagles!
thanks, Doug!
Watching the whores curdle and separate...
That line alone should win an award.
I love lists. and this feels like lyric essay--love that way of bringing these images forward. Incites longing.
thank you, Jamey!!!
always loved this
thanks, Tim!!
minimalism at its best, meg.
Awesome piece, Meg.
Thanks, Ravi!
"Watching the whores curdle and separate" is one of the most disgusting sentences i've read in a long time-- good work! and yeah, the word "howdy" is sad.
except in the exorcist, when it's scary as shit.
ha! re ben's comment
great stuff, meg. i may need your help with elimae again. i'm an Ofer streak like you wouldn't believe.
these are really funny and sad...I think my favorite it "Sometimes" and these two lines: "He was so tall and stupid. These qualities often came bundled together." Ha! Yes.
Thanks, Ben.
Ha! Thanks Kathy! It is true, i've always wondered about it...
So many good things here. "Inside my life are moments nobody wants to remember." I think this says it all: the whole story is a string of these moments that have the potential to be forgotten.
Thank you, Katrina. It is so true, about moments that are easily forgotten. In my case, i have a bad memory (long term) and i have to reach deep.
Love how you played around with the form here creating these fascinating character snapshots. It seemed like a real firsthand glimpse into the lost & found box of memories and desires. Oh,what a surprising ending!
Thanks for the invite, Meg. This remains a favorite. I love how the fragments become a whole.
Through the window I saw file cabinets lined up in black, like widows.
so many images i want to put in a jar. and preserve.
Thanks, Arlene!
Kathryn, appreciated and thanks. Glad you're here! yay!
Lisa - thank you, I'm glad the images felt worth keeping. that is so kind.
This is good beyond words. Beyond my words, I mean--your words are right there. With the goodness. It is a complete and perfect gem.
you are too kind, Mr. Bailie.
This is great Meg. It works.
Thanks, Gay!
Unusual format that has a steep emotional pitch. Compelling. Very well done, Meg!
thank you, Susan!
Great. 'Medieval Druid rap' is my favorite. Perfect ending.
Very vivid scene creation in such a small space.