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Navigation

March 28, 2008

At nightfall, she embraced each star as it came out, and in turn, they guided her across the glass-smooth sea. To port, a whale surfaced. To starboard, a flying fish leapt, then crashed to the water again.

At one point in the night, she peered over at the ink below her gunwale. She drew a blanket around her and nestled herself on the deck. She fell asleep quickly, hoping when she awoke she’d know where she was.

The day dawned red, and she wanted to warn all the other sailors, but there were none around.

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Dining alone

March 26, 2008

The world appears filled with couples, until you realize that it only seems that way because you go where others fear going alone.

After all, if everyone in the world was comfortable enough to take themselves to a nice dinner, why would any of us need each other?

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The chip

March 24, 2008

“This one has the chip in it,” the passenger said, sliding her passport across the podium.

“The chip,” said the TSA agent. “That’s just one of those measures they’re using to…”

He paused a long time for a man facing a long line. Then he used his fingers, which were gloved in blue latex, to mark two languid quotes in the air.

“…keep us safe,” he said. Then he winked at me.

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Where a meltdown is awkward

March 22, 2008

A bookstore. A crowded bar. The hallway at school. That park that the tornado decimated as it careened through the center of town.

Before singing the National Anthem. The corner pizzeria. The down escalator. On the phone, when one’s boss is on the other end.

A press conference. A parking lot alongside the river. On the bus to work. One’s own back yard, when there are houseguests.

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Scuff

March 20, 2008

At the bus stop, she scuffed her foot against the groove between the curb and the sidewalk. Her mother looked up at the sandpaper noise, thought to say something, then returned to her magazine.

Years later, the girl looked down at the outside edge of the shoe she was wearing, and could not, for the life of her, figure out why it was so worn. She had long stopped taking the bus, after all.

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Steam

March 18, 2008

“Why are you the one crying?” he asked.

She could not get the explanation to leave her mouth. It would make only as much sense, anyway, as steam in the air over a boiling pot. If only she were designed more like a tea kettle, she thought. If only she were built to shriek.

She set down the phone, roiling. She pressed her palms against the table. When she lifted them back up, they left damp ghosts where her hands bore down.

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Shark

March 16, 2008

At one time, the allure of this particular Irish pub was the shark in the fish tank. It circled, one sullen eye always on the patrons. Other fish stayed out of its way.

Only recently, I realized the shark was gone. Perhaps it demanded a pay raise, tired of serving as cheap entertainment. Perhaps, barring that, it bought itself a ticket to freer seas.

I’d like to believe that the shark is elsewhere and didn’t just die of boredom. But there are many other Irish pubs, so I suppose he could be swimming at one of them, instead.

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