She should have known, when he fell in love with her belly before he fell in love with her, that it was never going to work. How could he love what she most hated? And yet, she let him sway her, sway her, sway her, no matter how incompatible they became.
Four seasons
October 30, 2008Leaves caught under the wheels of my suitcase, a chilly wind blew down this western version of Broadway, and darkness descended so quickly in the evenings it was a daily surprise.
Even California, it seems, has four seasons.
Too much
October 22, 2008With a slight shudder, she pushed away from the table, unable to stomach another bite of the meal. It had been so delicious, so decadent at first. She could hardly hold back after the first bite. But as her fork dug in slower and slower, she came to see the meal for what it was: too rich, too fatty, too generous, too much.
In poor taste
October 20, 2008One can only perceive things: the tone in the voicemail, the abruptness of the text message, the “sweetie” in the email. Certainly, none of it was meant the way it sounded, or so she wanted to think, because she liked to see the good in people. But it all tasted bad when she chewed on it, like bread that has gone moldy at its core.
Crazy amidst all those white walls
October 18, 2008Down in front, a man in skinny jeans slugged wine straight from a bottle. A three-legged dog snapped at the air. The bands played, lights fading, then returning, tricolored shadows staining the wall. I want, I want, I want, I thought, as I watched the guitar-player sing. It was too early to go home—the show was not over. It was too late for a school night. It was crazy amidst all those white walls.
Writer
October 16, 2008“Uh oh,” he said. “You’re a writer?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I lied. “I’m not going to write about you.”
Sweet potatoes
October 14, 2008After the sweet potatoes finished roasting, she lifted them from the baking stone, and served them at a dinner that would have been utterly silent had she not put on some music before they sat down. He cleared the table without a word when they were finished, then went in the living room to watch TV.
She lifted the baking stone from where she’d set it on the stove and carried it to the sink. It bore the outlines where the sweet potatoes had roasted, their shapes like caramelized ghosts.
100 Proof 