Archive for the ‘Authors’ Category
Love Lost
Friday, September 25th, 2009
Jake had been here before. He had held Susan’s hand just like this, right here. More than deja vu–certainty. They crossed the marble floor to examine the cherubim statue, each foot falling in the anticipated place. He knew what Susan was going to say.
“I think we should see other people.”
Wait. That wasn’t right.
He turned to look at her, but she was gone.
Jake had been here before. He and Susan had shared margaritas on this roof deck before. He was talking about minimalism, about what shit it was, and then he realized–they weren’t seeing each other any more. But she was holding his hand…
A man was looking at them. Jake couldn’t make out his face. Shadowed. He walked up to them, took Susan’s hand.
“I think you should see other people,” he said.
Jake had been here before. But Susan had been right there, right next to him, suggesting a gondola ride. Her absence was palpable, as if a bubble had just popped.
He pressed a hand to his temples. A migraine was building. He looked up and, there, looking at him: a man–face shadowed. He was unfamiliar here but Jake recognized him. He pushed into the crowds but the man was gone.
Jake stood in his apartment. Here, familiarity made sense. Except there had been photos of Susan, hadn’t there? He went to her closet. Her clothes were gone. In the kitchen half the fridge was empty. Half its contents erased.
A sound from the living room. He got there in time to see a man’s familiar figure slipping out of the door. He is not quick enough in his pursuit.
Jake stood in a shopping mall. He did not recognize this place. Why would he be in a shopping mall? Why would he have roses in his hand? He had no memory of buying them.
The migraine was intense now, rising like a tidal wave. Blackness rising behind his eyes.
Jake came round on the psi-surgeon’s couch. There was a sharp pain behind his brows.
“The headache should fade in ten minutes or so,” the surgeon said, removing steel apparatus. “It’s perfectly normal.” He sat back from Jake, out of the light, his face lost in shadow.
And despite the pain, Jake smiled. A success. Susan, the relationship, everything, it was already fading. Already it was just a dream.
Take it on the Lime
Thursday, September 24th, 2009
I had yet to sell our giant fruit anywhere. Of course the distributors were all in bed with Big Agra or frightened by anti-GM loons. In desperation, I’d taken this road trip. I’d naively expected a warmer reception from these prosaic midwesterners. The old man shook his head, scowling. He took his hand from the pocket of his frayed and patched overalls to point a thick finger at my sample stock.
“It ain’t natural,” he said, “for fruit t’be that big. No telling what kinda poison GM bugs are runnin’ around inside ’em. Besides, how could I USE a lime that big?” I didn’t try to argue.
Kumquats the size of grapefruit, limes the size of melons, etc., and tasty as could be. But I couldn’t sell them. I took myself back to the truck. I was about out of options. Prolonging this road trip seemed pointless, but I headed east towards North Snyder. The type face on the map suggested no great population center, but since selling my fruit was like trying to sell gold-plated dog poop, what did it matter?
To keep my mind off my troubles I watched for old stone fence posts, my truck trailing a plume of dust like an activist’s middle finger. After about 30 minutes I emerged from a small stream valley. About to shift gears, I noticed a party in full swing in front of a large farmhouse up ahead on the right. ZZ Top’s “Cheap sunglasses” was being covered reasonably well by a live band, and as I drew closer I could see plenty of beverages being put to good use. What did I have to lose? I swung sharp right and pulled into the driveway. A heavyset man with a huge mustache and white cowboy hat strolled over to the truck, holding a bottle of Corona.
“You lost, stranger?” There must have been close to a hundred people partying in his front yard. A couple of cows watched from the other side of the fence.
“No sir,” I said “I don’t think I am.” I nodded at his beer. “Could you use some limes? Free samples.” By this time, a small weatherbeaten woman had joined us, smiling broadly.
“What’s up, Al?” she asked. The farmer looked at me, then at my truckload of melon-sized limes. He nodded.
“Seems this nice young man thought our get-together was potluck.”
This low-tech viral marketing might work yet even more if they use a digital marketing agency to get more success, I thought, muscling a lime out of the truck. It was party time.
The end