“You mentioned you were a magician,” said the defendant, who was representing himself.
“No, musician,” said the potential juror. “If I was a magician, I’d disappear right now.”
“Can you take me with you?” asked the judge.
It’s not as good as SCUBA
October 26, 2009“Snorkeling,” he said.
“Snorkeling?” she said.
“Come on,” he said. “You still have to hold your fucking breath.”
Rabbit
October 18, 2009It was the rabbit that troubled the whole situation. It refused to move, staring at her from its heaving body. Its heart beat so thoroughly its fur rippled.
She would have left then, carrying her slower-beating heart with her, but the rabbit was in her path of egress, and she didn’t want to scare it more than she already had.
It was a long night, quiet as paws. She settled in with her anxiety. She wished the rabbit had been a dog instead.
When everything changed
October 16, 2009On the road, she clung to routine. A glass of wine before bed, two pillows next to her to make the king mattress seem less spacious, an egg white omelette from room service. But then they started sending her to smaller towns, and in Poughkeepsie, she had three glasses of Chardonnay at the Applebees next to the Hampton Inn on a Tuesday night, which led to a sweaty romp with some guy staying at the Microtel, and then to the McDonald’s drive-through the next morning. Everything had changed, so, somewhere on I-87, she tipped her Blackberry out the window.
Sweeter
October 14, 2009She smiles at the camera and looks sweeter than I ever was, happier than I would have been in that tiny house with a garden on that Iowa street. Once, I wanted that so badly I clung to you no matter how you despised my body, no matter how often I begged you, silently, to love me even a little bit.
Now, I look at your jowlier face, her hand curled up against your jacket, and can’t imagine that life I craved.
Now, I dance with abandon. I risk, love, then release. It is so much sweeter here.
Departure
October 12, 2009I will eat something at the airport, I decide. It is early, but I have been awake for hours, my body acting as if I am about to board a plane for the first time ever, rather than the first time this month. Still, I have spent the time in unplanned ways, and as the world around me has come to life, I have not left enough time to eat. My suitcase zips shut with a gasp. I roll it to the hallway, lock the door, slip away before the neighbors even know I’m gone.
Ripples
October 10, 2009I would not want me as my patient. I fight illness until it pushes down on me like a giant hand, holding me under the water. I thrash my legs and arms, trying to regain my rightful control. I have been known to give in, but only in a grudging, grumbling way. I have faith that I will slip free on the other side, but it’s faith as thin as a cough, and as rasped. When pressed, I will always choose ripples over stillness.
100 Proof 