Rolling My Eyes

Earlier That Day It was ten-thirty in the morning. Edward Julian Watson always woke up on Sundays, at ten-thirty in the morning. Only Edward Julian Watson was in a blue bedroom. And Edward Julian Watson usually slept in a white bedroom. Edward Julian Watson had a headache because he was on a bed, in a blue bedroom and it was a blue bedroom he had not been in before; at that. He rubbed his temples and that is when he noticed the crumpled green dress on the floor. Then, the rumpled, red hair and white pillow beside him. Edward Julian Watson could taste the grit on his teeth; sour rum (the real reason for his headache). "I have to go," he said, out loud. "Okay," said the red hair; the red hair that did not move. Edward Julian Watson always woke-up at ten-thirty in the morning on Sundays because Edward Julian Watson always met his mother for lunch at noon. Becki walked through the automatic opening door that brought her into the mall. Dim lights and brow...

Later That Day After finding out about lice and going out of business sale Edward Julian Watson took things for granted. Edward Julian Watson was on his way home from Sunday lunch, driving in his blue Datsun. The oil light was on, flashing red. Edward Julian Watson would stop at the gas station, close to home, he thought, as he ploughed through the streets. But the gas station close to home was closed and he did not understand why. The gas station was always open. So, Edward Julian Watson just drove his blue Datsun home. And watched the football game on the television. Becki was standing at the meat counter. In her yellow skirt. “I gave you an extra half-pound,” John, the man behind the counter, said to her, as he handed her the package of cooked ham; wrapped. “Thank you,” Becki smiled up at John. “You deserve it,” John replied. And Becki smiled at him, again. But she wondered what it was she was so deserving of? She wondered if it was important; whatever she had d...

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...

So, the other night Charlie is over. Sitting on my couch. And Jake is sitting at the computer. Jake is giggling sometimes and it is sometimes worth looking over your shoulder to find out why. Charlie has the television remote. So, me and Charlie watch an infomercial for ten minutes. About these ceramic hair straighteners. Made with REAL ceramic. So, this very night, Jessyca and I are having a chat. I am sitting in my living room. Hans Frauenlob is on my TV. And Jessyca loves my hair. I know this because she always says she does. Tonight was no exception. ...A ceramic hair straightener...she also says these words to me. On this very night. But, to get right to the point, Jessyca thinks I should try one. Assholes.

They were walking home. “I am not doing that,” Tommy yelled, and slammed his feet to a halt on the snow and sidewalk. He was not going to take another step. Ever again. Tommy hated cleaning his room. Momma stopped to turn and look at him and Tommy noticing, stomped his feet again, dirty, grey slush flying fast and hitting the white snow of someone’s lawn. “I mean it!’ he yelled, at Momma. And then Tommy took off his blue mittens and threw them. Into the snow bank. Turned to glare at Momma. She turned around and continued walking down the sidewalk. “I am not picking up these mittens!” Tommy yelled at her. “I don’t want them! I am staying here!” Momma did not answer Tommy. She just continued walking. “Momma!” he screamed at her, and again, “Momma!” She hoped he would stop now, not further this. Then she heard his boots pounding the sidewalk to catch up with her. “I am not going back to get them, either,” he said, not looking at her, when he did. “Okay,” said Momma. “I mean it,” h...

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high. She took a long drag off her cigarette. Tommy watched her lips slightly slip a part; watched the puff of smoke slide between them. "You still think it was all my fault," she looked at him. Longer than she wanted to allow herself. Tommy fixed his eyes onto the ground. Minnie could feel the hurt fly fierce into her eyes. She threw her cigarette on the ground. Tommy watched her blue sneaker grind it into the gravel. He watched her feet turn and begin walking away; shoes scratching. Fuck, she never looks back, he thought. "Minnie," he said, after her. Tommy... "Minnie," he said, again. And she stopped walking. Tommy had never seen Minnie cry before, so he went to her and he held her. They were in Tommy's bedroom. On the bed and near the open window, they passed the joint between each other, but not words. The radio played. I lose my head I close my eyes They won't touch me ...

"Do you want bubbles, Sissy?" Tommy asked. She jumped twice, arms flapping in front of her and then she stopped. She looked up at him. "YES!" she shrieked, then pulled at her clothes. The cookie clumped on her face and mashed between her fingers made Sissy look ugly, Tommy thought. Dirty and ugly. "Shut-up, Sissy," he said to her, as he bent over the tub, pouring shampoo into the warm water. And Sissy jumped some more, behind him. Sissy hated soap, so Tommy was very wet, as he sat down on the toilet lid, to wait while she played in the water, for awhile. The cuffs of his shirt were sopping and his wrists were itchy. He thought about rocket ships. He stared at the ceiling. Sissy was dressed for bed and they were standing in the bedroom, but now they could not find Lydia. And now Sissy was crying; loudly. Her fists were in a ball and her feet looked as though nailed to the floor. She was screaming and red in the face. Tommy ran out of the room and did no...

Edward Julian Watson was beginning to wonder why he ever bothered to look into the mirror. My cheeks are getting fat....GAWD, and he patted his hands against them. They were definately getting fatter. He then shook his cheeks with his fingertips. Oh, and definately wobblier. Edward Julian Watson was wearing a white undershirt. And blue boxer shorts. And brown socks. Edward Julian Watson was driving in his blue Datsun and it was 7:09 AM, his really cool digital watch had told him. He had glanced at it because he was sitting at a red light and really had nothing better to do. This is also why he looked in the rearview mirror. And noticed his cheeks again. Edward Julian Watson went dining on his lunch break. To K-Mart. Edward Julian Watson placed many white paper napkins on his lap, while he ordered the hot beef sandwich. The peas that came on the white plate were just too green to eat. Edward Julian Watson had drank too much coffee on this Tuesday morning. And poor Ed...

She opened the crumpled paper carefully. It was more than just another oddity spring cleaning turned up, though it was found buried in the corner with a heap of credit card receipts and discarded napkins. The letters were scrawled in a familiar hand. It was only the ink she didn’t recognize. She slouched down into the kitchen-table chair that resided next to a clutter she called affectionately, “computer desk.” The kids were screaming about something in the backroom. Sometimes sound has no meaning. Bills were pushed aside. The computer bleeped to say that Tom had just signed in. She laid the paper down in the small clearing in front of the keyboard. She didn’t like the strange silence of this new one as her fingers flew across its keys. Her eyes lingered over the paper, then she got up to find her cup of coffee. Then she sat back down. Then she got up again as there was no lighter to spark her cigarette into a flame. Before calling in the kids to find it, she looked at the words ...

She scooped the Kraft Dinner out of the thin pot, onto the gold and white plates and then placed a naked hot dog, beside the noodles. Wanted to vomit from the smell that filled her nose. "I want ketchup," Tommy said, from behind her. "Me, too. Me, too," Sissy echoed. No manners. But it did not matter. "There is none,” Momma picked up the smelling plates; her eyes watching a ray of sunlight splashing the wall underneath the cupboards. And Tommy said nothing in reply, but she could feel his eyes burning into the kitchen table; right through the metal. She turned and two steps and dumped the plates; fast, onto the table, in front of the two children. Then Momma left the room; headed towards the washroom. Could feel the bile, burning the back of her tongue. Her cold feet slapped to a stop in the middle of the living room. She took two, deep breaths. Relax... Momma sat down on the couch. She busied herself, pushing back her cuticles, from scratched nails. Sh...

One day, Edward Julian Watson had on a yellow dress shirt only; he had not done up the buttons on the cuffs yet and this is what Edward Julian Watson noticed, while standing in his yellow bathroom, looking into the mirror, that was above his bathroom sink. Of course, what Edward Julian Watson noticed was not noticed at first. In fact, Edward Julian Watson almost looked away from the mirror; but when his eyes snapped back upon the reflection of himself; those eyes widened; so wide were the whites. And yes, Edward Julian Watson's hand did indeed grip the edge of the sink, as he leaned forward and perched his puckered pinched fingers to his hairline. Edward Julian Watson was wondering if he should be fainting. Because his heart was pounding very fast and wanted to leap from his chest. Edward Julian Watson was scared. Because Edward Julian Watson noticed he was going bald. He just knew it. So, he did not touch his hair, not even with the very tips of his fingers. Instead, Edw...

February 14th Dear Tommy, You asked me once about God. About what I thought. I said, "Who the fuck knows?" Then we kissed. We were in Krystal's backyard. But I know that is not what I was really thinking. I always think the same thing, when I hear the word god. I was probably four years old and we were standing on the front lawn. Me and Mom and Daddy and there was other people, too. Two others. I do not know who. But, I was wearing a purple dress that day, pretty and pale and down to my knees. I had in my hands the most beautiful heart, cardboard; something I had cut out myself. I had painted it red. It was for my Uncle Garth. I liked looking at it and paid no attention to the grown-ups. It started to rain. On my heart. So, I looked up. The sky was full of huge, grey clouds. It was dark suddenly, just like it was going to be nighttime soon and I had not even had my lunch yet. And the rain would wreck my heart. I told my Daddy that I wanted to go inside....

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high. She was walking down the hallway, to meet Krystal at her locker. They were going to the pizza shop for lunchtime. Tommy was lounging against Mick's locker and their eyes met. But Tommy looked away. Minnie was getting used to that. "Tommy," she said, deciding; she walked towards him and Tommy pretended to ignore her. "Tommy," she said, again. "I got you something." And she stood in front of him, reaching inside her blue binder; rainbow stickers and pot leaves on a background of magic-markered lines. The words THE WALL scribbled in the middle. She handed him the worn, red envelope. Tommy took it from her, without looking at her. Until she was walking away. And then Tommy shook his head. He sighed. That girl never, ever looked back. Minnie could tell Krystal was really excited. "I think Mick wants to get back together. He asked me after math if I would spend lunchtime with h...

Sunday She sat on the edge of her bed and looked at her bare feet, her cold feet. The nylon scratched all her skin, when she inched the panty hose up her leg. It was summer. And Momma was tired. She stood and put on the navy dress. The one with the white collar. The only dress that owned a hanger. ... and white shoes look best , she thought; not even aware she had. Tommy was waiting, sitting on the front porch. He looked uncomfortable in his brown corduroys and white shirt. Momma thought he looked like an angel. "You look like an angel, Tommy," she told him, too. "Why are we going over there?" Tommy demanded; chin slamming into his palms and elbows on knees. "Because we have to," she replied. "No one is even there. Why do I have to go with you?" In case I get caught, she answered Tommy; and only to herself. She could feel the itch and trickle of sweat down her back. A bare hot leaving her skin scratched more. The sun; bald and white. The...

Forty-five miles and forty-five miles and then I'm gone forty-five miles and forty-five more. Add a few and I'll be there and it'll be done and the wheels will stop rolling and my heart will stop racing and my life will keep going but the engine stops turning and the engine will stop and I'll be there and so will she. She will be there and she is. And I have to stop, to catch my breath, to breathe. Because she can't. Not on her own, not with out them. It's the last round of a knockout, a boa constrictor is wrapped around my spine. It's cold in here. It's the middle of July.

I took two breaths and was out the door. I left it open. The church bell was caving in like wind blown down through a chasm, leaves sweeping across the floor while the flag hangs, lifeless. I've heard the same four sentence story now more times than I can count. What the nurse said, what he said. There's no telling really. I'm dead these last four years and she has been too. There's nothing changing. There's nothing going on. The only difference is that she always did the talking. I just listened and waited for the end. What difference do the words make anyway? They just float off like smoke when it's all said and done. The bubbling noise though, the gurgling, that said something louder. Those two pieces in my ears, that round circle on her chest. It must be cold, she wants it off, wants the people to stop listening for a change. She'd rather the warm embrace of a darkness, the eerie silence of a bell...

Edward Julian Watson kissed like a frog, his gaping wide-open mouth is all tongue long enough to lick to the back of her molars and beyond. He mashed his face hard into her mouth whenever he kissed her and his teeth bit painfully into her lips and when she reacted in pain, he seemed to like it more. He wasn't pleasant to kiss. Becki wonder why she even bothered at all. But she knew why. She felt obligated to. Edward Julian Watson was always asking Becki out on dates. Fantastic dates. He would say to her: “Becki, I would like to take you to the turtle race down at the Farmers Market this Saturday morning.” “Becki, there is a King Arthur festival at the edge of town. How does Friday evening sound?” "Becki, And presently, "Becki, Becki always wanted to do the things he asked. Every single one of them. The dates sounded charming to her ears. Indeed, Edward Julian Watson was quite the man. Besides the kissing there were other things Becki did not like about Edward Ju...

3:33 p.m. Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high. The stairwell was warm with brown carpet and cream walls. The stairwell was warm with the smell of piss. Three year old boys on their playground and grown men with even less sense of themselves. Minnie and Krystal sat on the second step of the first floor, so they had time to move if anyone needed up or down the stairs of the five-story apartment building. Minnie and Krystal were on LSD. "This sucks. I am high and this sucks," said Krystal, rubbing at her hair, head bent and sighing. "Amber is taking forever. Let's get outta here." "No," Minnie said. "Amber paid for the acid. I'm waiting for her." "Well, I am not,” Krystal wore her scowl, stood up , patting her legs, her purple jeans. "Maybe I'll go find Micky and Tommy." "Have fun," Minnie smiled up at her. bitch... Krystal smiled back at Minnie, too; and then she left....

"Bisakah anda bicara... english?" The words slow and broken as they were read. She saw kind eyes pleading towards her and somewhat desperate. "I speak inglis little," she replied. She saw relief flow into this bright haired and blue eyed mystery. She let her eyes drop down then traced them up slowly over the sandled feet, on past the curve of hips in the soiled kakis and up to the roundness of her breasts. At last, it was the cool white V of flesh peaking from the unbuttoned collar of her shirt that held them. A hand was placed on her shoulder. "Today, you will be my saviour." Her eyes looked up into the blue. "My name Onahjay," and she placed her fingers on top of the hand. The blue eyes looked over her new friends dirty rags and swollen belly, wondering why in the streets so late. "Can I call you Jay?" The two stood looking at each other for a while. There was nothing else really to say.

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high. “Walk me home after school,” she offered Tommy, as she passed him in the corridor, bumping him with her elbow. She was on the way to her history class. He watched, as she walk away, in her skirt; black, red and white plaid. Her hips straight. Blue sneakers squeaking down the hallway. Tommy waited for her after last class, looking tall, leaning against her locker. She liked how he looked in his blue jean jacket. When it was warm weather, Tommy would roll the cuffs up, but it was the first week in October. “Have you missed me today, Tommy?” she asked him. Tommy wished he knew what to say to her, but he hardly ever did. Tommy shrugged his shoulders and looked away from her. He noticed Mick walking out of the front doors of the school with Melanie Atkins. It was quiet. Minnie and Tommy glanced at each other sometimes, as they passed the joint between themselves. They sat on the bleachers overlooking...

Shifting I love Sunday Nights. I try to leave them free whenever I can. Sunday Nights are the nights I stay up until I do not want to. 3 A.M. at the very least. Because I hate Mondays. I do everything and anything I want to do for myself on Sunday Nights. I may or may not answer my phone. Because I may be in the bathtub for two hours. Or doing crosswords. Or might be in the land of fairies. Or Waterfalls. I have as much fun as I can on Sunday Nights because I hate Mondays. The place where I go Everyday has recently requested a required change to my daily hours. Quite lovely of the people in charge, I thought, when I saw my new hours for the first time. But I am not going to complain because I am fairly new there. And because of Mondays. I do not have to arrive at my Everyday until two in the afternoon on Mondays. And I hate Mondays. This is pretty cool, I thought, out loud. I can do things on Mondays. Like sleep! You don't even like to sleep-in, The Voice...