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Friday the 50th – Postcard Story

P. is almost 60 years old (but looks 74 in good light), an early retired analyst and a wannabe hipster. It doesn’t suit him, I’ve told him as much, but he just scowls and keeps waxing his surfboard.   This morning, little flakes of white wax float to my balcony––I’m in a good mood, so I pretend it’s snowing. I think I’ve got cholera, I say, to start something. No one gets cholera, not here, he says in his old man voice. I think he forgot to put...

white daisy

Thursday the 49th

We hadn’t talked for days. I don’t remember why; why you threw down the book you were reading, why I walked out. But the flowers I bought at Mr. Higgins corner store, I still see them plain as smog over the city. Daisies. White ones. The black center dark as midnight.   I stood outside our door, nervous as I was for our first date. I knocked even though I had a key. You were wearing the clogs you always wore. The clip-clop getting closer as my...

old black and white tv

Making things up and why I do it

As a writer, you’d think I’d have a lot to say. That so many months wouldn’t have gone by between newsletters.   I do have plenty to say, but all of it is made up. I find real life stuff hard to write about or even boring––at least when it comes to my own life. Of course, other people’s stories I find ridiculously interesting, especially when they are told over a coffee, wine or beside a firepit.   But recently, as I sat in the lobby waiting for my...

life guard tower 25

Wednesday the 48th

What you selling? Asked the young man, or maybe he was old, who could tell under the sweat baked dirt. Every morning for three weeks he asked the same thing when I opened up the lifeguard tower.   He slept under my feet, in the shade. Nobody cared but the cops. They made him move every once in a while. They’d nudge him out of the shadows, his bags hanging from a long pole he balanced across his shoulders––two of them dangling from either end. He’d shuffle...

Tuesday the 47th

It’s not just about having cases of water or tins of beans; it’s a mindset, a mindset that could save your bacon, said the man who could have been a preacher in a previous life. The blue vein in his temple pulsed as he talked, I couldn’t look away from it, as if it was its own kind of beast.   You tapped me on my shoulder, knocking me out of my thoughts of blue-blooded vampires. Want one, you asked, hovering your plate of doughnut holes over...

delicatessen

Monday the 46th

They’re closing Cheese n Stuff, for good or maybe for renos, I’m not sure which. Remember when dad took us here for our first sub sandwich? We both got a club. Growing up I think you tried every number on the menu, but me, I stuck to that #9, Club Deluxe.   There’s a girl who works behind the counter, she started almost a year ago after you left for boot camp. Her name is Delilah. I kid you not. I couldn’t help but think I was...

Sunday the 45th

You didn’t know––I rented a space down on Van Buren Street––a place you’d never go. It wasn’t planned, not until we moved in together and you threw out my antlers. It wasn’t the look you were going for, you said. I let you have the win and moved them to my warehouse. I put them in the window like it was a personalized calling card. I was the guy with the green window and the bones.   I built a dark room in the back. Started using the equipment...

Ferris Wheel

Saturday the 44th

This is where we said we’d meet, by the Ferris wheel in my dreams, like it was a real place and not on the edge of all the worlds. You were anyone, faceless and holding white flowers in one hand and pink cotton candy in the other. They’re for you, you said without any lips. I laughed at the craziness of it.   I looked up to the yellow and red cars on the wheel, circling the planet that was us and wondered if gravity would really...

red door to anywhere

Friday the 43rd

We argued that day, looking for the safe house. There’s no one to ask for directions, I said. It’s not a guy thing. You clicked your teeth, the way I hate, the way you do when you want to piss me off. But the pencil drawn map said 434 Amity Rd. I held it in front of your face, made you look until you believed me.   We didn’t dare circle the block again. Not with the Seekers out there looking for anyone still human. You took...

apartment building

Thursday the 42nd

You did everything in squares. Four was your magic number, the one that calmed you, the one you divided everything by. It took your mother and I a few years to figure this out, how you slept better in the refrigerator box you made into a fort, and how fifty-six cheerios in your bowl went down without a tantrum.   We weren’t as smart as you, not by a long shot, but you helped us along. You made us better. And when we took that last trip...