Rolling My Eyes

Thank you...

MISTLETOE By Queenie I Saw You With Your Hands 1999 Tommy saw her. The snow danced in front of him, fat and plenty and heavy from the night sky; shimmering in the short glow of the streetlights. The headlights. Dim flashes of the seasons colours, blinking, muted in Tommy's background. The snow made the night awash with a cold brightness, blindly blocking views of the life around him. The Christmas shoppers and their loud packages. He could hear last minute swearing underneath breath. But he saw her. With him. And he was trying to grab her purse. Tommy was wearing his Reeboks. And so he stopped him. Above Your Head 2000 They were walking and almost to Tommy's car. “You did not seem to like the show,” Tommy bit the side of his mouth and looked at her. She looked up at him surprised, “No, I did.” “Are you sure?” he said. “I thought about it after I had the tickets. You work down here. You probably see all these shows whenever you want.” She laughed. He had no idea. “I ...

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...

...Old Stuff

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...

Minnie was 14. She liked bright red lipstick and getting high. The music was always playing in her room; always barely lit. let them them leave you up in the air let them brush your rock and roll hair They were on the bed. Minnie laying on her side and beside her, Samantha; on her back. Lips soft. Tongues softer. They kissed. It made the breathing seem heavier; almost as loud as the music. Minnie moved her lazy arm, laying across Samantha's nightgowned stomach and slowly slid her hand upwards. Samantha breathed even deeper and Minnie kissed her, as her hand reached up to feel nipples hard beaneath the cloth. Minnie moved her upper body closer to Samantha; pressing her tits to Samantha's body. Rolled Samantha's nipple in her palm. And Samantha moaned. Minnie lifted her whole body overtop of Samantha. "Boys will want to," Minnie reassured her. Still rubbing the same breast, the same way; Minnie lowered herself onto Samantha. And she rubbed her body against hers a...

This morning my alarm clock did not want to wake up. Instead of beeping, it said softly, "It is cold, you should go and fix the heater." I did not want to. "Stop being lazy," I told it. "You should get up and take a shower." But my alarm clock ignored me, and sat there glaring with red, tired eyes. I pulled the covers up close around my neck. I considered ducking my head under them, and tried it for a minute. It felt wonderful. I determined to stay there for hours.

Today I do not have to go where I go Everyday. It is pouring rain when my child walks in the door of his school. The sky was nasty, grey, dark. I hid under the covers until noon. I watch the sunlight stream through front window; five minutes after 12. I marvel the bluest of skies and puffy white clouds. Canada has been so colourless lately. But when I step out my door, the wind wants to knock me over and I want to run in to hide back under my covers. But I have to pay my rent. I write on the bus for the first time in a long time. Lately, I have been having to read, instead. "Would you like to do your banking online?" the bank teller says, too grandly. I wait for him to sweep his arm in an arc. He grins, and waits for my answer. I grin back. "No." "I can get you a password, right now!" "No, that's okay. I would forget it." He taps my cable bill. "It might make you remember other things,' he cocks an eyebrow at...

Grandma had The Livingroom. No one was suppose to go in there unless it was Christmas Day. But Grandma let you go in The Livingroom if you needed to lie down or if you wanted to do something quiet or if you wanted to follow her around while she watered the plants. There were two huge windows in the room; wood crossing wood and morning sunlight pushing through. Grandma would let me play with her Glass Dolls. I would line them up on the thick carpet. And play. My favorite was a girl with blushing cheeks, holding her herself in a green gowned curtsy. I thought she was Cinderella. So, many years later, Aunt Sue said something about the Royal Doultons and my Grandmother's death. My Grandma laughed. I piped up, "Oh, I do not want one of those. I want the green girl." Grandma replied, "Which one?" Then she got up and went into The Livingroom. She came back out holding her. "This one?" "Yeah," I said and smiled. "Your Mother ...

Chapter One You'll Find Something "I miss you," he whispered, into the phone. Sarah smiled because she missed him, too. "It is just another week until we see each other," she continued to smile. "I am so tired of this motel room. Thank god this show is almost done." "I wish I could have been there every night to watch you," he said. "Oh, yes. I am all shiny. I am a star!" she laughed and he laughed, too. "Do you remember what I told you about Dylan a few days a go? What he tried to do with the new colt?" he suddenly asked. "No," she replied. Chapter Two That's Enough To Keep You "I miss you," he whispered, into the phone. Chelsea smiled because she missed him, too. "I miss you," she replied. "Just two more weeks, then I will see you. We can go to the beach," he said. "I cannot wait until I have nothing to think about," Chelsea answered. "Although, I think ...

"Slow down," my son demanded from behind me, as we walked along to the store last night. "Whatever for?" I turned to ask, for I had not been walking fast. "I am trying to jump over your shadow!" he said and laughed. So, I walked even slower and he jumped over my shadow walking along behind me. Until a streetlight shot my shadow ahead of me. "Hey!" said my son, as he ran in front of me. And stomped on my shadow. "Hey!" I said. "Are you trying to hurt my shadow?" "No," he said. "That is good, or I would be stomping on your shadow's head right now." He laughed. And stomped on my shadow's head. So, I stomped on his shadow's head. And laughed. "Shadows are fun!" said my son. I beckoned him close to me. "I know some shadow secrets," I said, bending down towards him. "Watch our shadows." I pointed and followed his eyes to our shadows. It was funny my Moth...

Minnie was 14. She liked bright red lipstick and getting high. And she needed to get high right now. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched her father, as he raged. She watched him twist off his tie; his hand suddenly flying in the air. "Nowhere!" he yelled. Then he slammed his fist down into the green countertop; knuckles deep. Minnie wanted to close her eyes. "And go get that shit off your face. I do not know why you would even think I would let you out of this house looking like a whore. Jesus Christ, does your Mother let you leave the house like this in the morning?" He grabbed his drink from the counter and stepped closer towards her. "My daughter is a little whore," he said. He shrugged his shoulders. He shook his head. He laughed; looking upwards. "My daughter is a whore," he said, softer. Minnie bit her lip. "You're such a bastard," she said. She had to or she would cry. His finger flung up into her f...

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...

It was an off grey over most, such that you would almost think brown on a cloudy evening. The sort of evening though where the clouds gave way to the moon. The eyes were blue. On the second day, I named her Sam, just in case. As a rule, Cats are Girls, and I figured Sam was, too. But you can never be too sure and have to watch them a bit before you decide. She had looked up at me from my blue cloth chair on that second day the same as the first. I looked back down at her on the first day the same as I had on the second, and locked my door. I did not kick her though. Or say, 'shoo cat' as I might normally. She seemed to belong there, on the porch, on the blue fold-out chair. On the night of the second day, it was canned chicken that had to do. She still looked off grey rather than brown. Sam didn't seem to mind that it was not tuna. She apparently hadn't eaten for a while. After several mouthfulls and rapid chewing, she stepped away and put her back too it. Then ...

Eight Years Old We were walking up Chapel Street hill in the dark. My brother was done his Thursday night meeting with other boys. My mother and I were done our weekly trip to the library. There were no leaves. There were no patches of green. Snow crunched beneath our steady footfalls. The air bit up inside of my nose and my cheeks tingled with chill. My breath was a steady stream of white that would sometimes mask the stars that I would often look up at. I was not tired as we walked up the hill. I was not cold. I had a good book in my bag, I knew. We would be home in time to watch The Cosby Show. My mother sometimes looked up at the stars, too.

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...

I believe he stepped on the baby's head on purpose. Mud splashed on his pant legs. His eyes were still red. I could see that from where I stood. I watched his eyes turn on me as he drew nearer. He looked away. But he looked back again. That is probably why he chose me, as another man grabbed me from behind and issued his order of which pile I belonged in. "Nein! Sie kommt!" the man with red eyes shouted, walking himself towards us with a finger pointed. The man behind me wanted to say something, but he stopped short. I heard the catch in his breath. He gripped my shoulder tighter for a second. I do not know if to issue me pain or if he was scared himself. He loosened his nails from me and I felt his fingertips slide down my back and off of me. It seemed to last a lifetime, as I watched the man who had saved me, come to stand before me. He looked into my eyes. He had decided he wanted to watch me die. He smirked at me until I would not look away. The man behind me s...

I watched them move amongst us, flint in their eyes. Watched them grab us, handle us with no care. Good. Bad. Good. Bad. Like we were the pigs. Long fingers, sinking into our flesh as they sorted us. I watched the men with pointed guns. They smiled too much, but each one of them had nice, solid arms. Everything about those armed men was so primal. They were more alive then our soft cries and the occasional shrieks of names. The man beside me was quiet in his black suit. I am sure he was cold. "Are you cold?" I asked him. And his eyes turned on me. "I do not want to live this. I do not want to live this," he spoke. I watched him curl in his hands, slowly. More a prayer than an act of strength. I looked around me. The cleanness of grey. The dirt already in the hair of women, clothes, tattered. One young girl with a breast exposed. And the baby left where it lay. Stepped on. Pushed into the earth. It was too much to see, so I looked at my own hands. I look...

Tommy wiped his wet hands on his jeans as he walked out of the bathroom. The jeans felt damp against his body anyway; the air was dense and heavy. He made his way over to the couch and laid down on it, putting his hands behind his neck. He was too lazy to take off his sandals. The sun was just the last thick orange glimmer of day coming through the window. Tommy swore he could feel it all sliding against his bare chest. He brushed the feeling on his head away with his hand. He heard a voice and the feeling replaced. Momma was trying to get his attention. Tommy opened his eyes. "I am awake, Momma." He looked up at her and her wide smile. Tommy moved her hand away from his head. He could smell her sweet breath. Tommy could see Momma was happy with herself. He could see the dark sky creep through the moving, open curtains. The air had started to stir slightly. He felt thin wisps of that air tickle his exposed skin. "I got you new shoes-" she began, her...

Tommy had a Band-Aid on his nose. It made his nose sweat. It made his nose itchy and he wanted to take the Band-Aid off. The day was so hot. Momma was in her white dress, the one with the yellow flowers on it. Her white sandals were getting old. She had her black purse already over her shoulder. "I will not be long, Tommy," she said. "Just an hour. It will just be getting dark before I get back. It is only an hour." Tommy did not care if Momma left. "Just an hour. I promise," she said again, her hand on the doorknob. "Is your favorite colour still red?" Tommy looked at the shine in her hair coming from the evening sun entering from the small window in the wooden front door. He did not say a word to her. Then when he was done looking at her, he looked across the room to Sissy, sitting on the floor. "Want some cookies, Sissy?" he asked. He did not watch Momma walk out the front door. Tommy let Sissy sit on the couch with the co...

I like socks. I buy socks. All kinds of socks. Some because I have to. And some because I want to. The I want to socks are the most fun. Every now and then the I have to socks become the I want to socks. I have a large, brown cardboard sock box. It sits in my closet. It contains socks. Lots of socks. Because there is lots of socks in my house. The socks are many colours. None of them match. Because washers eat socks. Because children eat socks. Because for some strange reason, people come to my home and like to leave behind one sock. I imagine it is because they might have had to eat their other sock. Sometimes, I forget to feed people. No one ever admits to owning these spare sock. But I would not admit to eating socks, either. All the spare socks are put in the sock box. Then the sock box is ignored until there are no clean pairs of socks to be found in the house. Then the kids and I play a quick game of Make-An-Almost pair. I remember back to last winter....

The First Night I just stood there. And I thought fuck to myself. My roommate, who was responsible for breaking the handle on the toilet, had just left for a few days vacation. The toilet had stopped running the other two times it had over-flowed pass the brim after three seconds this week. Oh. But not this time. Nope. This time the water just kept spilling on out. And the taxi was going to be in my driveway in 8 minutes to pick me up and take me to the airport. The water was almost to the bathroom door before I did anything. Which was to try to dry the floor first with a big towel. And a little towel. So, when I had to hike up my jeans to avoid getting them wet, I thought maybe I should stop the water. I did go for my plunger first. But it is not what stopped the water. But I did stop the water. I also used almost every clean sheet in the hallway closet on the bathroom floor because the taxi cab driver was then in my driveway. That is when The Voice laughed at me. Eat shit, I mut...