She held it all like an artichoke, both her hands wrapped around it loosely enough to protect her skin but tightly enough not to let it go. There was something delicious in there, if only she could determine the best way to peel back the leaves, uncover the heart at the center.
Tumbledown
July 30, 2009At one moment, I was progressing forward, and the next, tumbling toward the ground, clutching my phone to my chest, letting my knee and right hand take the brunt of the impact. I rolled, but I suspect it was all that much more graceful in my mind.
A block later, I ducked in a doorway out of the fog and wind. I did not have that far to go, but my body, already stiff from impact and cold, made it all seem so much further.
Left to memory
July 28, 2009It was not the usual way nights went in this town. It was so much more glittery, slippery as a fish, sparkling like a spray of water in sunlight.
He spun her beside a fountain, and her heel caught between the cobblestones. She laughed the whole time, laughing, laughing, like it was the funniest moment of her whole life.
The only regret he had was leaving his camera at home. He feared by morning he would have already forgotten how happy she was in those moments. He wished he could have captured her smile, kept it always.
This is what you learn
July 26, 2009“Why did they give us upside down shot glasses?” I asked.
“That means your next drink is on them, or someone else at the bar,” said Dottie. “That’s how they show you that’s coming.”
“I have never seen that before,” I said.
“If you spend enough time in bars, this is what you learn,” said Dottie.
Direction sense
July 22, 2009None of the usual measures worked, that time, when seeking direction. The map, smeared. The compass, spinning perpetually.
There was a right way to go, a way forward over undisturbed ground, but the rocks in the way obscured a view of that right path and, no matter what, she didn’t want to retrace steps already taken.
She circled, circled, pondering the lack of clear routes. Night was falling, and remaining out in the open was no longer an option.
Signs of impending disaster
July 20, 2009Thin cracks appeared on the underside of the casserole dish, spidered from the center out toward the edge, as if the roasting of vegetables had finally become a bit too much. I flipped the dish over, ran a finger across the inside, checking for structural weaknesses I had not anticipated. It seemed to early to discard the pan, even with signs of impending disaster. I decided to hold onto it, decided to see just how long it would serve me.
Too cold, too long
July 16, 2009They had spent years in the cold together, ice surrounding them for miles, the length of day-night-day exaggerated by the planet’s tilt.
Once, her fingers nearly froze when she removed a glove to adjust an instrument. Once, he nearly slipped into a crevasse.
It was no wonder, finally, when they huddled together, door battened against the howling Arctic wind. They had been far too cold for far too long.
100 Proof 