Thursday, March 22, 2012

What happens after

My Grandpa will be turning 90 this year. He lost his wife of 66 years, my dear Grandma, last fall. Grandpa is still in good health; he keeps a nice garden and follows the Sacramento Kings.

The last time he went to the doctor, the doctor told him about one of his patients, who at 92, was widowed and two weeks later married an old childhood sweetheart. They lived together for ten years before he died.

My dad asked Grandpa what he thought of this. Grandpa said he could never see himself with another woman; for him there was only and only ever will be Grandma. She was a wonderful woman. They traveled the world together, raised three kids, seven grandchildren and two great-grandkids. All that is given. But what worries Grandpa is what happens after - in heaven.

"What would I say to her when we meet again?" he asked my dad.

I'm not sure what charms me more - the idea that he expects to see her again, or the the image of the two of them, reunited once more.

Monday, March 19, 2012

one hundred word story #100: Bean counter

It’s a tireless game, all this imagining. You want a universe and so you must invent it. You want a popsicle and so you must make it drip down your chin. You want a man with a Frisbee for a head, so you draw him. Etcetera. Other people--PhDs, MBAs, MDs, JDs, CFOs, UFOs—other people perform real services, create real goods. Other people can weigh what they’ve created in two hands. Other people chat you up at cocktail parties, say, What you do sounds so fun. You smile, but inside you know. Your hands are dirty from counting words.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

one hundred word story #99: Red tide

He takes me to witness the red tide. The beach emits sparks as long as the tunnel waves exploding out of black water. When his feet touch sand, the ground blanches, white jets light up the rich black earth. We sit at the intersection of two glowing tides. The water leaks into the heavens: long, black, fluid, star-like waves extend skyward. I stay here until I, too, am bioluminescent. My freckles become stars, my hair its own Milky Way. He star-gazes my freckles. When I brush my hair, he sees shooting stars. I glow. It’s not forever, but it’s enough.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Flash fun

My piece, "When life gives you lemons," was a finalist in the Sacramento News and Review's Flash Fiction contest, as was "Caving."

Watch out, universe: 100-worders may well storm a city near you someday.

image credit: Sacramento News and Review

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

one hundred word story #98: Collage

Hey buffalo breath. Hopefully I've learned to stop falling in love with extremely beautiful women with brothel talent. Come to think of it, yes I now hate you. You got the clown nose. I was in the Mustang GT500 that passed you doing 144mph. I heard some B/S bout you, hope yr ok. To the girls in the past who led me on: Be real. Ditch the out-of-state vanity plates and the personalized bumper stickers. You looked super cute as a zombie looking for very dirty, dirty graphic designers. Must be from the South. oh well im used to it.

note: this is all found text from online missed connections ads

one hundred story #97: Upside down

She never used to let me hold her. She'd rub against my legs, purring, and when I’d pick her up she’d climb up my shoulders until she was atop my back. I’d walk sideways until she jumped off. Last night we found her on the deck. She smelled terrible. It's strange, holding an animal you know won't be alive long. As the night wore on she deflated in my arms. She preferred the outdoors, but the last night Josh slept here, she curled up alongside him—as if she knew. I turned sideways and when the time came, she jumped.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

one hundred word story #96: Santa Barbara

So we're sitting around eating shish kabobs when Toya announces that the truck on the corner has a bed full of ice. "Dirty snow," she says. Half the house gets on its feet. I am still eating when Allie stuffs a snowball down my shirt. Ten minutes later, there’s a trail of snow prints on the kitchen floor, a miniature snowman (with orange peel arms) outside the front door, and ten wet housemates. Allie and I rendezvous to ambush JC. I launch a snowball into his room. It lands in his underwear drawer. Some things are too perfect to plan.

one hundred word story #95: Letting go

I was skating alone until a boy, seven or eight years old, zoomed across my path. We spun together in a little circle, clutching each other so we wouldn't fall. I grabbed his collar. Every time I tried to let go, he’d fall backward, losing balance. I clung harder. We kept twirling until we’d worn a slow groove in the ice. I let go. He stood there with his jaw ajar, as if about to blow a bubble."Are you all right?" I asked. He nodded and skated away--right into the little plastic shield. I never should have let go.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Miranda July & Mike Mills

Is it surprising that the woman who brought us this

is connected to the man who created this?

Now that's what I call a double feature.