Rolling My Eyes

It was her first day in town. Chewing on a fresh stick of gum, she was looking up and down the street; eyes sliding over the bustle of sweat and sin. 'Little girl lost?' I asked. And she sighed. I would say to her over and over again on that first day,'Laugh with me, Jenny," And sometimes she would. Especially when I made my funny faces at her. She would try not to; she would just roll her eyes at me, but that smile would come. White teeth and soft lips. And then she would laugh and laugh and laugh, until her body shook and her hair was covered her eyes. And I would want to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her... But I dared not try. I took her to see the kittens down at Paul's pet store. She held them close to her, rubbing them with her face, but she fancied the talking bird more. He said, "Hi, beautiful," when he saw her. Really, to any woman walking by, but she did not know. I took her down to see Bruno and his lunch-time sound; strumming his guitar an...

Mother complained, “When are you coming home?” And Father complained too. “The only part of Canada without decent skiing. Your mother is driving me nuts.” “My parents are dead,” she told him, serenely, as though thanking God. He constantly wanted to brush her hair out of her face, but she would fuss, even swear at him when he tried. “Please, don’t.” “Will you fucking stop?” But he would forget so easily, maybe on purpose, he was always just wishing to see her face, to see her burning eyes staring back into his. She found it rude to stare. She told him so. She liked to sneak glances at people who were unaware of her. Or at least unaware of her eyes on them, her hanging limp hair serving a purpose. He was in love with her. He told her all the time. But she saw it in his eyes, his movements, heard it in his voice and his everyday words, felt his actions, those of concern and care. She could see and recognize and accept his feelings. She could not be sure she felt the same. Of...

"I have let down the blood in several places, and applied the dressings to the wounds. Keep them in place for an hour. He will be comfortable now, but he will not last the night." He touched her shoulder briefly, as he continued shuffling down the great hall, letting himself out. She rushed to the windows and looked into the early evening light. Something was so good about these lands. Something so good, it overwhelmed her sometimes. Made her sick to her stomach. And they are to be mine now.... . She didn't want them. Of course she didn’t. She was only seventeen, and she had never left the walls of Caerleon. She wanted to rebel, to be free. She had wept on her father's chest for the last three nights in a row, but not for his coming death. "Find a husband," he had croaked out his solution, while he smoothed her hair away from her face. She had almost left Caerleon once. When the dark-haired stranger had shown up in town. He had slept with the horses l...

If she wanted it that way, then it was going to be that way. It had to be that way. There was no other way. Everything was black and white. Even if others did not want to admit it. Did it mean she felt an overall bleakness towards the foibles of humanity--no. Did it mean she escaped overwhelming emptiness sometimes--no. She was twenty-three years old when she left her hometown. She would not return. She knew she looked at everyone differently; she saw the things others did not, chose not. She knew their truths better than they did and they could read it on her face; she could hurt them with it. Sometimes, she did. She did not want to be cruel anymore. She left for somewhere new. Things would be better. And they were. In Los Angeles. That's where she went. Some nights she would dance in her living room to ZZ Top or paint pictures of fairies and Snow White on the cardboard of cereal and Hamburger Helper boxes. When it rained, she would put on blue jeans and her favorite sw...

And now it's thirty years later; she's almost 40 and she is lonely and sometimes she shakes her head and she wonders, Why, why, why am I so lonely? And then she remembers why. It's Daddy. She buried him five years a go. And good. She showed-up early in the morning and asked the diggers, if she could help. And they let her. She took off her heels and shoveled dirt till the end. Back when the summer shone everyday, she would run around or ride her bike, or swim in the lake with her friends, or run into the bush and meet up with Tyler Johnson and she would let him kiss her and she would let his tongue slide around all inside her mouth, or sometimes, she would just hang-out with her brother. However, he was mean, as brothers can be, and he would do mean things to her- like hold her head under the lake’s water too long or practice his karate moves on her-and she would cry to her Mom, "Make him stop." But she never would. No one ever listened to her. That's wha...

She thought the baby would come, but it did not. Matthew was in her car, parked behind the laundromat. He sat sideways, with his feet propped up on the dash. He smoked cigarette after cigarrette. Her 11-month old son was sleeping in the backseat. The front passenger side window was open, but just a crack. It was pissing down rain outside. He had met her almost six months a go. She was almost five years older than him. And three months pregnant. And he didn't care. He worked the afternoon shift. Drove the forklift, for cans of soup. Brought home his pay check. And he had cable TV and cigarettes. All the time. She was easy to get along with. He had decided love was only an action. And anyone could act. She thought the baby would come, but it did not. He drove them out to a country road. It was after two in the morning. It was no longer raining. And it felt so good, to be behind the wheel, driving too fast. He rolled down the windows. He felt the dampness of the June night right...

"I am leaving," she said, but he got to them first. "Give me my keys," she smiled sweetly at him. Damn. She still wanted to smile at him. He laughed and smiled right back. "Not a chance." "I don't want to be here," she replied. She meant it. "Give me my keys." "But I already took back everything I gave you. You're shit out of luck." He laughed, right in her face. She had agreed he could have it all back if he wanted, afterall, she knew. And it had not bothered her. Even though she would really miss the Guns n' Roses album. It had not bothered her too much. To give back the things he had gave her. She had not even thought of her car. Or the fact that he owned half of it. So while he laughed, she shook her head and when he was done, she said, "It does not matter. I did not own a car six months a go. I know how to get around this town." She reached down for the coat; near her feet. She put it on. ...

Ace and I mostly busied ourselves by keeping our eyes to the ground and not saying a word to each other. While we let her fix the truck. But I was looking her, when she jumped down from the bumper. I watched her as she wiped her hands, leaving greased-stained fingerprints against her buttocks, and I watched her as she reached high, stretched on her toes, to slam down the hood of the truck. Behind us, the moon hung high and large and I could feel its frosty radiance on every part of me; the hair on my arms prickled up from the moon-time air. And she was cold, too. She was wrapping her arms around herself, when she turned around. I put my eyes back to the ground and I tried shuffling my feet in the dirt, and then, so did Ace. And when I looked up at him, he was looking at me and that bastard was already grinning. He knew how stupid the both of us looked. "Well, which one of you is gonna get back in there and see if this fucking thing runs now?" she demanded. And because Ace i...

She had a real calm smile; it took its time creeping up into her eyes. And there she was looking up at me. She was sitting, right down there on the sidewalk, up against the wall of the bank. Her hand was wrapped around a red pen; buried into a magazine. And I was walking by her. Her eyes were brown. I did not smile back at her. One can never be too sure about anyone who is downtown. A few days later; it was grey and chilly, and I saw her again. With the same simple smile; this time growing into recognition. She stood just inside the entrance way of the video store, ducked, despite the fact she was barley five feet tall and the doorway was at least ten. Funny girl, I thought. Her smile passed by quickly, and then she bent her head down, to the inside of another magazine. She took a long, lipstick drag off a cigarette. "What are you doing?" she asked, when I was passing by her a day and a half later. And I stopped my step, for I was truly stumped. I looked down at my br...

James cut the engine and slammed his hands on the steering wheel, gripping and wanting to shake it, as the boys leapt at the car, happy and reaching in to pat him on the back. Fucking third ,he thought. The boys were thinking the same thing, but with exclamations points. The boys were happy. It was their best finish all season. And that is what pissed James off. He took off his helmet, felt the dirty sweat gripped to his head like ooze, and got out of the car. He did smile at the boys. He just looked at the sky and ignored everything else, but the smell of burnt rubber, always dirty in his nostrils. And he thought of the word dirty, and he thought of Jews and he thought of Niggers, and he knew dirty was a bad word, had been back as long as his goddamn mind could remember. And if what he smelt was goddamn dirty, why the fuck was he doing it? I am 36 years old, his thoughts just continued. 36 years old.

Upon the completion of the reconstruction of the un-motorised motorhome, Tim believed nothing bad could touch them again because his reason led him to believe lightening never struck in the same place twice, so why would a tornado? But as we can previously recall, all Tim's walk that fine line between stupid and idiot. Further proving our mutual knowledge, not understanding the value of money, Tim bought seven cases of beer with the cash he had saved on replacing the roof. Tim decided he was going to have himself a party. The party would be on the very next night. A Friday! But since it was Thursday and there were seven cases of beer, Tim decided he could drink one of those cases on this Thursday. And at least another on Friday! Tim was really happy. He thought it was a wonderful Thursday. But it was on this Thursday, in the night, when they were sitting outside and around the Hibatchi, roasting hot dogs with Justin, who had dropped-in, so Justin was drinking beer, too, whil...

Jill thought she should maybe write the journal. It was fast becoming her final decision. Her therapist, Johnson, said it would help. Jill knew Johnson really meant do something, anything. Don't give up. Life is good! Whatever. Jill knew she had never liked writing, but she thought about Johnson's words and she had rationalized down to: when was the last time she had wrote anything besides a grocery list, anyway? Jill knew she liked to talk and that is why Jill was a telemarketer. Higher paid than most. Her therapist was praised often, by others, who seemed sane. Jill would follow his advice. Jill thought to stop at the Wal-Mart on her way home. She needed dog kibble. She needed shampoo and a plant. And she needed a notebook, too, she reminded herself, when she walked through the doors of Wal-Mart. But Jill soon forgot, and then remembered, while she was in the checkout line. When she saw the bright orange notebooks. For ninety-seven cents. So, Jill bought one, and a bla...

Jack was a mighty, jolly chap. It is even what he considered himself to be. Yes, Jack was quite the fellow. Jack fancied polka-dots on his ties, only for the wearing of this type of tie, fit his definition of what it meant to be a fellow. Jack believed the world was his stage, that he was the lead actor and that everyone else on earth were co-stars, but only to each other. Jack lived his life. His way. Jack was jolly, so he was allowed to, by and large, by others. And others could never figure out why Jack was as jolly as he was, for Jack was as skinny as hunger. In his shiny black suits, to outfit his polka-dot ties. One time, Jack walked into a house and it had pale blue walls in the kitchen. White, painted polka-dots stood up from these walls, too. Jack bought the house and Jack lived in the house, although the kitchen had been the only room he fancied, in the entire house. Jack found the backyard was too big, too. But Jack was jolly, anyway. Fred, who lived next-door to Jack, ...

George Martin, a banker, was sitting in his living room in a well-to-do suburb of Boston reading a local story in the newspaper headlined "Barking Dog Saves Family of Five." But this is not the the story of George Martin. Or of banks. Nor is it the story of a dog who saved five lives. However, this is indeed, a story of a dog. A brown dog. A brown dog with rather large brown eyes. Who did not live in Boston. The brown dog was sitting on the floor, facing the front door. He was staring straight ahead. He had been sitting there for over an hour. The brown dog was just waiting. And thinking, too, for brown dog really wanted to smell something new. And the newest thing the brown dog knew of was the fat, gray cat that had been living in his house for close to a month now. But the fat, gray cat hated the brown dog. Or so the fat, gray cat let on. She would arch her blobbed back, her hair straight as arrows; thick as a well-kept lawn. She would open her mouth and her sharp ...

It was not a good day, the day Gwen’s mother never came back. Her father had made her sit in the corner, close to the fire all day. A hot day. She played in the dirt and the soot, fingers opened or closed, the filth still seeped through her hands. But all too soon her hands were streaked with sweat. A hot child. She sat at the fire for a long time (three hours), before she realized the silence. She wondered why. She knew it was Saturday. And Saturdays were feast days. And feast days were always loud. Her father was with her all day long; she wondered why he was. Gwen could not see her father; she could only hear him breathe. He had grabbed her, woke her from her sleep, earlier that morning. She screamed until she saw it was him, but he had dragged her to the fire anyway. “Sit here and shut-up,” he had said to her. They were the first words he had ever said to her, so Gwen had listened. Gwen did complain when she became hungry, nor did she wonder where her mother was until nightf...

489 A.D. Everything felt new to Gryfflette, as he wandered through the thick grass; it was damp and his ankles were cold. Everything felt new to Gryfflette because in a sense, everything was new. Springtime had begun and the many rains over recent days had started the growth of life. On this day, Gryfflette saw that the sun was sometimes hiding behind the clouds; they were rimmed in grey, but otherwise white. When the sun hid behind these clouds, Gryfflette would feel horribly cold; no relief he could think of for his bare arms. But this was not reason enough for him to go back home. The wind whipped his blond curls; sometimes covering his eyes, so sometimes Gryfflette could not see. Gryfflette was not far from home. He was only twenty feet away, down the small steep hill of Benwick, and his mother knew where he was. She knew her child and her child was always wandering, wandering. Malaline was Gryfflette’s mother. Malaline had lost Gryfflette once, but only once. Just for ten...

He walked out of the store; his legs alive, as were his steps. The Christmas carols that had been playing inside the store, also greeted him outside; blaring from the white speakers embedded into the green overhang. Dogs barking jingle bells. “Oh, my, what will you do with all of those?” asked the old lady in the purple coat with brass buttons. She paused; arm reaching for the pet store’s door. She smiled at him, her teeth just starting to gray. Unnatural pink lipstick. She was happy. He smiled back at her, pausing. His arms full of cage, holding four white rabbits. “I am working my way up to lambs,” he replied to her and smiled some more. Her body stopped; stiffened and her face blanched, a small, rosy circle on each cheek. He did not see the puddle as he continued walking to his car, but his socks felt the water fast, seeping through his sneakers. He stood at the kitchen table. Silver edge. Coloured top. The rabbits did not look nervous anymore, sitting in the large silver cag...

She was determined in her eye. "You just go on and get. Do what you got to do, Sir," she said, looking up at him; feeling the dust from the dry, empty road, as it swirled around her ankles and up into her skirt. "Why you gonna be saying that? You want to forget my name already?" She looked down at her arms; straight and folded hands, before she looked back up to him. Soft. "I really should be going, too. I said to Esther-." "What is wrong with you, Woman?" he demanded, throwing his hands to his thighs. “Dob says all is good. He is ready for me.” "So, then, you have just gone and given-up, have you, William?" "Aw, Helen, that place ain't opening back up; I have been telling you this," William shook his head. "Damn. You never listen." "Oh, I listen just fine," she snapped back at him; curling in her nails, barely. Catching dust and air. The trees rustled behind her; up in her ears. She wanted to...

She hitchhikes back and forth, from the Wal-Mart to the grocery store everyday. It is not so far; just a few miles. It is easier for her to ask for money when only one person is looking at her, when she is able to look at them and know they hear. She tells the woman she has a child, just a child. Her baby boy; he is so big now. He just started Kindergarten. And she has to be out here. Because she has to feed her child. She just needs the ride to the grocery store. She has been looking for work. In the mornings. But she has a child she has to feed. God, she hates to beg, but she has no choice. She cannot bring anything home to her child unless she does. A child needs to eat. The woman gets to be the hero. If she wants to. If she needs to. She tells the man she has a child, a child waiting for her at the other store. Just a young child and she is late. She puts the worry in her voice. She has lost her wallet. A few dollars to get us the rest of the way home? The man can save th...

We huddled close together, but not for comfort. It was the darkest night, yet the moon was full. There were heavy midnight clouds passing over often, hiding the white glow of the orb. It left the night too cold. He grabbed me when the train came. I listened to the murmurs of the others board, some of them already thankful. Some of them already forgetting. He stood us there until the train pulled away. I watched the other men left behind mull around waiting for orders. All their voices were thick and low. Mostly ugly words fell from their mouths. When he told them to leave, they did not question him. He dragged me across the grassland and I could hear her, the woman who had lost her children, somewhere near. She was pure animal now, past any point of misery. "Wir können sie töten," he taunted me in my ear; he laughed. If I had been younger, I would have offered to do it. I wanted to kick her in her teeth. End her. She was gone, already. The sound of the gun surprised...