Arthur’s Choice

Last week when I was at the bar for Clay’s going away gathering, a group of us were seated at a table in the back room. Everyone engaged in small talk while sharing appetizers and sipping beers as I sat there silently watching a middle aged man. He was alone in front of the T.V. and seemed to be paying close attention to whichever college basketball game had been playing. Occasionally, he would stand up from his bar stool and start pacing around the room. He was extremely tall, and I thought maybe he used to play basketball when he was younger. I decided to find out. His name was Arthur. After introducing myself, he told me that three of his nephew’s friends were playing for Virginia. He pointed them out and we continued talking. “I feel so sorry for your generation. I really do. You’re all fucked. It’s not fair.” He told me while speaking of politics and the economy. “I know. But hey, even if that weren’t the case, I’m pretty sure there would be something else fucking us instead. There’s always something.” “Which one of these guys is your boyfriend?” Arthur pointed to the table. “None of them. I’m twenty-three and I’m still trying to figure out how to maintain a healthy relationship with myself.” I gulped some beer. “You’ll fall in love someday.” “I fall in love all the time. You asked me if I had a boyfriend.” I said. “Let me tell you something…” He […]

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The Rain

Is it strange that after such a brutal winter, I was more excited to feel the rain today than I was to see the sun yesterday? I suppose I felt the sun a bit too and genuinely appreciated the warmth it finally had to offer, but there is something different about the way rain makes me feel. Maybe it’s because when the rain touches you, if you’re paying proper attention, you can actually see it moving on your skin. And if you take a moment to outstretch your palm and really look, each drop curves differently as it travels across the lines of your hand. You don’t see that with UV rays or even snowflakes. Snowflakes do possess a certain individuality in each of their shapes, I suppose. Not all of them are exactly alike as they fall, but most have a similar sort of geometry. And then when they float onto your nose-or palm, they vanish almost immediately. They all vanish the same way too, turning into vague traces of water-then nothing. The wet spots that snowflakes leave behind cannot be compared to the wetness of rain. Unlike snowflakes, raindrops do not possess any individuality in their shapes as they fall. But when they land, and you stick your palm out and really look, rain travels in unpredictable direction, as it trails across your palm making patterns that cannot be mimicked by drops that came first or the drops that will come after. Rain creates- really begins to CREATE […]

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Sunita

She was a writer too and her purse was made out of Argentinian transportation bus seats. We sat together speaking of being writers while indulging in our last glasses of wine. I was actually drinking beer out of a wine glass, but you get the picture. She told me she was originally from Chicago-then Brooklyn- now she was here in Asheville. Where are you from? New Jersey, I told her. What brings you here? I’m not sure. I woke up at six this morning and just left. You mean to tell me that you were in New Jersey this morning? And you just woke up and decided to come here by yourself? Yes. You’ve been called, she said. We continued to talk and she confessed that she had never met a twenty-three year old like me. I was flattered by this- -I liked her and could tell she was beyond wise. One of those rare intellects that are aware of endless facts and possess countless extraordinary experiences of their own, yet still see you with eyes that listen and expect to discover something new. I learned her name was Sunita, and she was forty-one years old which took me by surprise. She was gorgeous. It’s genetics, she said. We then exchanged phone numbers right there at 1 Page Avenue. While doing so, I noticed as she fumbled through her bus seats looking for her cell phone, she had no ring on her finger. I was tempted to ask about her […]

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Watch Out for Black Ice

“Watch out for black ice.” A stranger just warned me as I exited the bar. Although he meant for it to be a genuine remark, my scattered brain ignored his intentions and got to thinking. “No one can really watch for it. It sneaks up on you, isn’t that why they call it black ice? What a silly thing to say.” I thought as we walked out, grabbing nine lollipops with one hand and waving enthusiastically with the other. It’s funny how one part of your body is capable of dancing accordingly to life’s choreography while the others-the most important parts-sit behind curtains desperately trying to make out the music. Today my Mom (yes Theresa), said to me before I left for work, “Erin you really need to get the car serviced soon…like an oil change.” And she said it with such a concerned voice that I could sense something else was on her mind. I sensed a sadness in her suggestion, and even though I was running later than usual, I stopped to acknowledge her request, because no one as tiny as she is should ever sound that sad. It’s a heart wrenching sound. Also, she is my Mother. “That’s not a problem, I’m off Tuesday….” “Well I was just telling you in case you decided to write me another note and get up then just leave again. I was telling you the car should probably be checked out first.” “It’s funny you say that because the other night […]

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Sex is Better After Yoga

I sat in the corner of the restaurant, finishing our bottle of wine. Wine’s romantic so I’m going to get us some, I thought. I hate fucking wine and this one was too sweet. I’ll tolerate it only on certain occasions. When there’s nothing left to drink, or when I’m drunk enough to mix it with whiskey. The blood of Christ. That too. I sat while we drank, and I licked at my teeth in an attempt to make the sugary stains dissolve. There were a couple of children two tables away and I watched them tell their father to cover his eyes then guess how many fingers they were holding up. He played along and regardless of his guesses, they changed the shape of their small hands while giggling. “No! You’re wrong.” We were talking about yoga and how sex is always better after. “You’ve got to fuck after yoga because everything is open.” “Shhhhhh!” I said after watching the children react. I knew they were listening. You see, I knew these kids before they were old enough to speak. I watched them years ago at the daycare next-door. Before they could walk, I sang to them. And now they were sitting there, lying about how many of their fingers danced in the air, while listening to us converse about yoga fucking. “Stop listening.” I heard their mother say. “I’m trying, but I can’t help it.” said the eldest. We left minutes after, and the children were facing our […]

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