100 Proof

Because smiles fascinated him, he always wanted to become a dentist. He traveled to America, ready to learn, ready to greet others with twinkling eyes, the corners of his mouth upturned, and we welcomed him, taught him the inner workings of the jaw.

No, no one smiles. The country he once called home is a drooling mouth decayed by war. The country he calls home today is close behind.

He still has more to learn about teeth, but right now, he just tries to discern what’s next in a country that seems to want to spit him out.

We made faces at each other through our child fingers, slouched as teenagers on our parents’ couches, made questionable young-adult decisions after seven too many beers, and grew into the people who should have noticed this was coming.

There were signs nailed to telephone poles, stories whispered on radio stations we never dialed in, sad-eyed people who would have told us if we had only stopped to listen.

Is it too late? Maybe. But in the meantime, we can put hands to the backs of those who needed our support long ago. We can listen outside our feeds.

Days after he ascended to power, she awoke voiceless. She opened her mouth to speak, and though her words shaped her lips soundlessly, her vocal cords muffled as if held in a vise.

She had calls to make. She had messages to leave for important people. She was determined to express her dismay. But it was as if her thoughts were moths trapped by a small bulb in the back of her throat, unable to fly out into the world, incapable of release.

It was a slow night, so when the call reported a great horned owl at a downtown construction site, the dispatcher acquiesced and let 10 cruisers and the helicopter report.

The owl tilted his head at the fan of cars below. He looked at the strange, hard beast above. The only way out, he knew, was between the metal on the ground and in the sky, and so he fled the scene on spectacular wings held parallel to the earth. Away from the searchlights, he banked into the dark.

The phalanx dispersed to normal duty, mourning wisdom and beauty’s departure.

Are you suicidal, sir?

No, said the man writhing on the gurney. I’m homicidal.

Homicidal? asked the EMT.

Yeah, the man gasped. I want to destroy the universe.

2000 was the last year of the old days, he said into the camera. 2001 was the first year of the new days. That’s when 9/11 happened. That’s how you know everything changed.

He took a drag from his cigarette. He looked up, for a long time, at the brittle-cold night sky.

That’s how we got to this shit now, he continued. Cops always watching. Just know that. Y2K. Peace.