Somewhere within that first kiss, she tasted it: the memory of a cigarette smoked hours earlier. Though she tried to explain away her desire, she knew her weaknesses: Peaty scotch, a red wine flavored by wildfires the year the grapes were harvested, char-grilled meat. Her favorites always involved the taste of fire, and that was why, when given the opportunity, she went back to him for more.
Turn the page
June 12, 2010The phone was holding her book open when it rang. She was reading an 18th century British novel, the kind he refused to read, so it seemed odd to see his name pop up on the Caller ID. She sat there, watching his name, not sure whether or not to answer. It had been so long since they’d last spoken. It had been so long since he’d turned that page.
Salt, seaweed, carnival
June 10, 2010The breeze shifted, and the world smelled of salt and seaweed and carnival. In the sunlight, they passed a handful of sand back and forth. Small grains slipped between their fingers.
“I never knew it could be like this,” she said, and he could not find the words to piece together the sheer thrill of a bathing suit strap, her palm against his, the sea green of her eyes when she smiled.
Purple sky
June 8, 2010“That oil’s going to fuck up the world,” said the woman on the Heinold’s patio. “It already made the sky purple.” She shook her head. “I’m going to do a shot.”
“The problem,” said her friend, “is that nobody knows about it.”
“Everyone knows about it,” the woman said. “Who on your Facebook doesn’t know about the oil spill?”
Mystery/clouds
June 6, 2010He became an unsolvable riddle, a math problem missing one key variable. I puzzled over each small action as clues to the obscured whole, but circled back to the inevitable conclusion: There is mystery that creates romance, and then there is mystery that clouds it. Some conundrums are, simply, irresolvable.
“He disrespected your intelligence when he lied to you,” said one friend. “That’s all the answer you need.”
Sazerac
June 4, 2010Heavy-mooded, he was as stompy and slow as a New Orleans funeral march.
Sazerac? she asked, because she didn’t know any other solution to the problem.
He nodded, and she muddled an extra sugar cube in with the rye, hoping to impart a little extra sweetness.
At speed
June 2, 2010That evening, she performed her routine at normal speed, though no one would have begrudged her anything slower.
It had only been six days since she last saw him wave to her. That moment was just after he backed the car out of the driveway. She had just packed him a lunch: a turkey sandwich, an apple, some Oreos.
It had only been six days since he emailed from work to say he would not be coming home again. Life moves so quickly, he said in the message. Thank you for everything, and goodbye.
100 Proof 