In between the latticework of a crowded calendar, they found gaps, slipped through them in search of adventure. They took photos on the other side of the fence and brought them back—they didn’t want to be the only ones who saw what was most interesting. Each time they escaped, she glanced back, surprised again and again by how easy it was, by how much more exhilarating to live like this, out in the greener grass, the bluer sky, the place where her heart felt safe for the first time in years.
Greediest guests
April 8, 2011She stared at the pin-thick bones strewn across the ballroom floor. She had spent months planning this day, and now everyone she loved most was crying, fighting or both.
I wish to apologize for the disaster, said the banquet captain. I have no idea why everyone rushed toward the salmon–there was perfectly good prime rib at the other table.
She looked across to where a chef still held carving knife and fork. She marched over and demanded a slice of the roast’s rarest part, determined to take pleasure in the blood left behind on her white china plate.
The babysitters
April 6, 2011They made note of the dangers, of the sharp edges and small biting mouths. They developed escape plans and taped them to the backs of closet doors, because it’s wiser not to leave before grabbing a jacket or sweater. They held conversations in the back yard where they could not be overheard. It is important to watch out around the varmints, one said to the other. It is important to maintain solidarity at all times.
Doomed from the get-go
April 4, 2011She was not a woman who requested evenings when mornings were an option. She preferred sunlight when it was freshest and most brittle, and dew evaporating from blades of grass. She preferred tea to coffee, and wheat toast served with an egg.
He was a creature of small, twinkly lights, and the drinks served beneath them. His skin always looked just slightly tan, but that’s because he made sure to keep to dim rooms. No one was ever sure why they went on so many dates. It was obvious to everyone around them they would never get along.
The definition of far
April 2, 2011They drove past dark water, her hand on the window crank as if it might save her from disaster.
Are you getting enough air? he asked.
She nodded, though a bead of sweat had just trickled down the back of her neck.
Is it far now? she asked. It felt like they had been on the road for days.
Depends on how you define far, he said, and he gunned the engine just a little, propelling them forward into the lighted space just ahead of the grill. I say we’ll get there when we get there.
Suspension of consciousness
March 22, 2011Somewhere high above, she comforted herself to sleep, bid her eyes to close before she crossed a line into wakefulness again. It had been a bumpy ride across the country, the airplane rattling like an old house in a storm, and so the aisles had remained clear, passengers and flight attendants alike strapped to their seats as if they would blow away if not tied down. She knew better than to try to stay vigilant. Only a suspension of consciousness would help her feel safe as she hurtled across the sky.
Expatriate
March 18, 2011I love this city’s smell, the low-slung skyline that, in fog, could almost be Paris, the earnest agitation of people for whom ordinary days involve world leaders, or, at least, their staff. But that figure waving across the street could be someone I know, or just the spectre of then—I have become the outsider here, unsure of my footing.
When are you coming back? my friends ask.
I’m not, I reply.
I was born within this city’s borders, but learned to be an expatriate early. I can return home for a visit, but am not home at all.
100 Proof 