Rolling My Eyes

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...

Nine Years Old The backyard was such a waste. Looking at it often made Tommy empty with thought. Nothing could be found for pretending with the uneven ground and the sad patches of grass and stone. The tree; short with pale bark. The fence line weeds. Tommy wished just once that they could move to somewhere with a nice backyard, so he could have some fun. ...but somethings never change , Tommy thought and felt grown-up, as he sat on the old wooden porch. It was painted red; flaking and all of the little pieces seemed to be pricking and sticking into his skin. He would brush at the blonde hair on the back of his leg often. The air tasted bitter, dirty. A fat rain drop landed on his colouring book. And then another. Enough to see through to the traces on the next page. He looked towards the kitchen window. The square patch of light. He could see the clock. It made Tommy noticed the lightbulb stuck, jutting out of the wall beside the backdoor for the first time; the soft yello...

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...