The sun seemed to slow down as it reached the horizon, as if it were reluctant to pass over that particular day. It spread heartbeat-red across the edge of the world, holding, holding, holding, like her breath as she watched, like her life as she waited, like her body, which she kept still as stone. Then it faded, the sky turning blue, then black above her. She had hope the light would return. She kept that hope inside her, ready to rise like the next day’s sun.
California line
December 22, 2011Before the ride, one operator took my picture, though I protested I was not a tourist. You’re so beautiful, he said. And you’re getting on the cable car. I should definitely take it.
It is the best of the lines, we agree, though the operators claim people who live in town never appreciate the cable cars as much as the tourists.
I do, I say. I wish I could ride them more often.
And with that, they begin the work of moving the car up the California Street hill, gliding, like magic, on a perpetual river of metal.
We know you will soar*
December 8, 2011At each departure, we hope for directions, guidance beyond the edge that marks one journey’s end, another’s beginning. We wish for clear signs and easy exits.
But no one has yet discovered how to map thin air—there are no paths to follow when one takes a brave, necessary leap. There is only the net that appears, made of many hands, some familiar, some yet-unknown.
The owners of those interwoven hands whisper, We know you will soar. They whisper, We will catch you if you need us. They whisper, We will see you very, very soon.
* To Jen Maiser, for this next beginning.
A call from the edge of the map
November 30, 2011On some nights, the air grew heavier around her the later it became. As the clock hands circled toward dawn, the world stretched out under the weight of it all, all the people she loved pressed further and further away. It was as if she sat in the center of some ever-widening map of relationships, the roads growing longer until the night ended.
She had forgotten how to convert the late-night load to something more modest, something that could be tucked in a corner, or under a bed. That’s why the phone, ringing at that hour, startled her so.
Miss Takes
November 26, 2011“They’re going to light the tree at Jack London Square tonight,” said the man on the free bus. “They’re going to plug it in. It’s a good place to meet girls. I mean, women. Maybe I’ll find Mrs. Right. I mean, Miss Right. I’ve certainly found a lot of Miss Takes.”
Hog brain
November 12, 2011In the tire store waiting room, the television blared an interview with a woman who eats mostly roadkill she finds near her home.
What? said the other man waiting with me. What? He began to laugh loudly—he was still in that jolly place that lasted the mechanic came to tell him he needed to replace all four tires.
How does a person develop a taste for roadkill? he said. Her brain just turned into a hog brain.
Sorry, Mom
November 8, 2011The two girls had moved to the bathroom to talk—it was the only place to escape the thump of the bass and the screaming crowd. The one with the nose ring stood closer to the sink. The one with arms that looked painted leaned against the paper towel dispenser until she pulled up one side of her pants to show her friend a new tattoo.
Oh, it was bad when I finally showed her, she said. “Why do you have a goddamn hamburger on your fucking leg?” And I said, “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry.”
100 Proof 