“They’re all going after the unicorn,” said the man. “What do they have against unicorns?”
“I don’t know,” said his companion. “But I guess that’s why they don’t have any anymore.”
Advent
December 16, 2007Things pair up in my memory of Germany: a thunderstorm and the green sofa my friend and I used as a ship to ride it out, hard candy and the velvet of the seat at the Cologne opera house, the lighting of purple candles and singing O Come, O Come Emmanuel with my parents at the dining room table, the whole house dimmed in reverence.
“That one,” I told my friend. “That one is my favorite carol of all.”
The Ugly American
December 14, 2007She said they visited Paris and drove through Germany on that trip.
“We had to take Kristen to Hard Rock Cafe just to get her to eat,” she said. “She had chicken and macaroni and cheese. I didn’t care. I said, ‘I don’t care if you eat or not. You are 18 years old.'”
Snow globe
December 12, 2007She awoke to find herself living inside a snow globe, her house encased in a bubble of clear, impenetrable ice. She had gone to bed knowing the world needed to be shaken up a little, but never imagined just how beautiful it would be when it actually happened.
My own white knight
December 10, 2007“I am my own white knight,” she said.
She picked up her skirts and strode away from him, her glass slippers clicking along the sidewalk.
Behind her, the mice took one look at him and decided loyalties. They picked up the pumpkin with their tiny paws and carried it after her, toward happily ever after.
Shopper
December 8, 2007The store swam about her, the mist of perfume, the waves of shoppers through the aisles, the pearls at the jewelry counter. She had come with a list, but it slipped from her hand like a shell falling back to the ocean floor.
On a nearby shelf loaded with crystal, a music box played, tinkling like a boardwalk midway somewhere down the beach. She gasped a bit, wishing she could catch her breath in the riptide of the season.
Mushroom
December 6, 2007Around her, the apartment building echoed with the lives of the other dwellers. She heard footsteps and laughter, the clatter of a dish hitting the floor, a door slamming. The radiator jangled for a second, then sighed.
Late in the night, she smelled mushrooms, sautéing somewhere in butter and red wine. She breathed deeply, the scent so earthy it was as if she could sift the other occupant through her fingers.
100 Proof 