I think that’s a planet, not a star, he said. I took a picture of it last night.
It’s pretty easy to tell, I said. Stars twinkle. Planets glow.
It’s like you, he said. You definitely glow. You don’t twinkle.
Solar eclipse
July 12, 2010Moon over sun brings transformation. When rock hides fire, other aspects shine and clarify. Eyes widen, breath quickens.
Tell me what you’re thinking, he said.
It’s all very interesting, I replied. I knew the details would come to light when they were ready.
Ten percent wish
July 10, 2010“But what if I only 10 percent wish it would all be different?” I asked. “Can I get back in touch with him then?”
“No,” she said. “You have to wait until it’s zero percent. Otherwise, you’re just going to get hurt again.”
This is the sort of advice I would give others, but it’s the sort of advice I don’t, for a second, want to take.
Traitor
July 8, 2010The cute guy behind the counter had on an A’s hat, and that was all the opening I needed to drop that I was heading to the game.
On my way out later, he told me to have a fun night, and admitted he didn’t know who the opponent was.
“The fucking Yankees,” I said, and he nodded solemnly.
“Yell at Swisher,” he said. “Seriously. Yell at Swisher.”
I vowed to do so. After all, I have been a member of the church of baseball my whole life. I know the dark side when I see it.
Inside out
July 6, 2010She wanted nothing more than to step outside her skin, to slip from herself like a serpent, like a caterpillar. The world inside was so dark, and out there, so light.
Do you feel it? he asked, putting a hand to the center of her chest.
Yes, she said. But I so wish it would stop.
Pinwheel
July 4, 2010There have been thirty-six other Fourths, other summer nights when the sky exploded and I loved the spectacle. But it was the one where we sat on the dock, lakeside, invited inside the crowd control barriers by a friend with access, that I return to every year. It was the one where I leaned back a bit and felt him catch me, and our sun-warmed legs rested against each other’s. Later that night, he kissed me next to my car in the cul-de-sac, and my heart turned into a spinning, fiery pinwheel of light.
Not hungry
July 2, 2010Smoke rose from the building next door, but it wasn’t the kind of smoke that causes panic. She felt solid as the wind shifted and blew it around her, wrapping her in the smell of char and carbon and meat. She felt not for a second hungry—not for the source of the smoke, not for the source of her own internal fire, and not for anything more than what lay before her: a small quantity of light, time in which to absorb it, and the steady sound of her own heart beating.
100 Proof 