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Showing posts from May, 2014


Four Years Old

The backyard is caked with large patches of dirt between the shabby yellow grass and rocks. Tommy loves the backyard best when all of the rivers of water and mud appear after a good rain. He is thinking of one very late night, after a long thunderstorm that had kept him awake, Tommy slunk outside; flashlight and bath boat in hand and how he played until sudden stomping thunder almost made him pee his pants. Even though he banged the backdoor too loudly getting back in the house, his mother hadn’t heard him. He was pretty sure it would have been okay anyway. Momma never said no to the backyard.
Today though the backyard is hot and the bees are testy. The air is heavy with arid moisture, the kind that doesn’t reach the back of the throat when you breathe in. The only shade comes from an overgrown lilac bush, but at this time of day the shadow has fallen in on itself. Tommy sits close to the bush anyway and hopes for a breeze to make the leaves flutter their wind at him. S…

for another day.

Perhaps it is because she sits with the dying that she hears it more than most. "Life's too short," they all say to her eventually, "Live, laugh, love", or some variation of the theme. She just sits, holding their hands and nodding her head, pseudo-understanding; her days are long, so long. Every one of them is like she is trudging up to her hips through a wasteland of sand that never ends. "You're still so young," they whisper, they croak, they accuse her with their eyes. But no, she is 36 now. Not so young, if she ever was. She rubs her own hands together more often for the warmth these days and she can feel them papering, like wax paper now and she wonders if they will ever feel as thin as pages from the Bible.

She nods with her friends, with her co-workers, with anyone actually. "Where does the time go?" they ask and then answer themselves. In college, one day I started and the next I had my papers and now I sell cars, manage the gr…

vade mecum

My first memories reside in a beach town in Ontario. We lived in two different little white houses and we moved back to the new town when I was 5 years old. I believe I remember each house in detail.

I thought about the first white house. It sat on a corner lot, a chainlink fence around the backyard. I know the rooms, the circle-tiled kitchen, the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. I remember spilled cereal. Nicky crying. Grandma using milk from a can in her tea. The small park with swings. And a girl my age, I would run down the street to her house. She was the kind of girl who was always peeing herself. Her mother kept her fresh underwear underneath the coffee table. I thought that was weird. The underwear. And the peeing. But she always had gum and we would break off little, chewed-up pieces and roll them into tiny balls. Miniature Easter eggs.
I remember sunlight streaming through trees.

I thought about the second white house. The curve of the long driveway. Identical house…

#2 Unfamiliar

We like games of randomness the most. I frequent the card tables, poker and euchre usually. Kevlar and I like to play Scrabble together; a word board game where you pick up certain amounts of upside down, lettered tiles and try to make words out of what you have grabbed. Because you can build new words off what others have played, the game often ends up looking like a crossword. Sometimes Kevlar and I will put four or more boards together and add in extra sets of tiles so we can try to make bigger words. Others may play more physical games such as hockey, long distance speed skating, running or swimming and other forms of endurance competition. One week of every year is the Games of Olympus. The biggest event is always the pesticleous climb. 400 participants are given three days to see how far up one of the trees they can climb.
Some things I do by myself are to practice my lettering of ancient languages on my GSlab and read the Global Daily with its news of Elousa and the lists of …