The Custard Cow
You’ve seen them by the roadside, swishing flies while munching in slow motion: so much mass for so few twitches, yet so satisfied, you simply have to poke them. Nothing else could lump like that, so fatly dignified. Let’s stop a second — right there, by the fence, And try to make it snuffle. If we tied its tail to something? Or, if we convinced a bee — you know, the angry cartoon bee — to sting that bovine bottom?… No, of course I wouldn’t want to hurt one seriously, but just to stir it up a bit before it sags to earth again, the custard cow? Sorry....
Read MoreOne Blink for Yes
Two thousand, six hundred and forty-eight days. That’s how long I’ve been here, lambskin under my ass, tubes in my trachea and stomach. Numb everywhere except part of my face. The only things I move are my eyes. I must have the most muscular eyes on earth. The door to my room opens onto one end of the nurses’ station. I live in Canwell House, a division of Truman General that spans several city blocks. Canwell is a nursing home for hopeless cases, of which I, Charlie Jack, am one. Nurse Rosa Matuda walks in, checks my stomach tube, then hooks in my...
Read MoreElizabeth
I don’t really know why it took me so long to look into it. I suppose that it has a lot to do with not wanting to know — not wanting to know what happened, not wanting to know how it happened, and not wanting to know just how much Elizabeth had become a part of me. Curiosity kills cats, after all. And it can do the same to us; I know from experience. I stood outside the Beachwood Bay Public Library for almost five minutes, the dry fingers of both my hands pressing awkwardly into a flimsy Styrofoam cup. The decaf coffee grew colder by the second, probably...
Read MoreMy Best Friend Forever
I stared out the window and watched the freshly-manured field pass by. Erica sat next to me, sleeping, her head on my shoulder, her mouth open. I caressed her arm and thought back to what Mrs. English, our history teacher, had said on the first day of school. She asked us where we wanted to be in five years. If she’d asked me when I was twelve, I wouldn’t have said, “On a bus, with my best friend, running away to New Mexico.” My life changed when, on a Monday, two weeks after the junior prom, Erica came to school with her auburn hair cut shorter than mine and dyed white. Instead of...
Read MoreIn Spring’s Bed
Spring’s fingers traced the dark welts on my chest, which Winter had left only days before. Winter had been bitter that year, but then again she’s always like that. She never changes. Even when she’s warm, you can feel her clawing into you, getting under your skin. Her nails are sharp, and they don’t tickle the way Summer’s do. If you let her, Winter will eat your heart, taking it apart with her long nails and devouring it in little bits. That year I feared it was more than even Spring could fix. As I lay under her, watching her put the needle in her pretty little mouth, her smile...
Read MoreA Chagall Figure in the Night
“There you are,” my mother greeted me. “I was beginning to think you’re not coming.” “The bus connections were terrible, but I called the hospital. They won’t get to you until late afternoon.” My mother had fallen and broken her hip yesterday. “I still don’t know how it happened. Lillian came in with fresh linens and I started to get up from the armchair. My legs folded under and then, I was in pain, on the floor.” “Did your head spin? Did you feel lightheaded?” “No, I felt...
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