Camouflage

Her room looked as if Kitty had merely stepped out for a moment, as opposed to forever.  The sweater she’d been knitting sat in a basket next to the couch; some of her drawings were scattered on the table; and a book she’d been reading laid face down on the couch cushion. 

The King lowered himself down onto the bed.  He glanced at the book—a translation of the Interior’s history—before he turned his attention to the drawings.  Although quite impressed by her skill, Philippe realized with some sadness that Kitty drew what she saw, not what she felt.  Even the few drawings of himself that he found told him nothing.  He would never know the secrets of her well-fortified heart.

A Child's Dream

            “Oh, no,” Meg said, surprised at her own vehemence, “you’ve made a mistake.  Andy and I just know each other from when we were kids—that’s it.  I don’t mean anything to him.”

            “Then why," Alturis patiently returned, "does he stand on the corner, gazing at your house for hours at a time?”

            Megan frowned.  She had never noticed that.

            Smiling, Alturis took another bite of Meg’s pound cake.  “He’s a strange man,” Alturis said.  “From what I understand he has dozens of girlfriends in Chicago, and yet he can’t bring himself to ask you out for dinner.  I wonder why?”

            “Maybe because I’m just his friend and you’ve misunderstood this whole thing entirely?”

            “Or maybe because you are the only one who’s ever meant something to him.”

            “That’s just wonderful,” Megan retorted, suddenly no longer afraid.  Why be afraid?  He was going to kill her anyway.  “You should get your own talk show—since you seem to have people all figured out, that is.  Too bad you’re a raving lunatic.  Maybe you can do a podcast from the federal penitentiary?”

             Alturis smiled as he took a bite of cake.  But the smile never reached his eyes.  

Left behind

Diary entry, November 21, 1983

Today I threw up and was sick.  Mom and Steve fought again.  Mom and Steve are both slamming around.  I hate it when they fight.

Lost

Now our half-truths ship out

under cover of a cloud-filled sky

the sun you once spoke of

never any friend of mine

                                

can you feel it rain

can you?          

Digging out

Debbie had liked to grocery shop.  She said it relaxed her.  Why this was Jonah could never figure out; he would have preferred to speed race through the grocery store.  But there he would be, idling next to the cart, as Debbie read a label on a product he knew she would never buy.  “And how many hours have I spent in Best Buy?” Debbie would pointedly ask him, but he thought this wasn’t a fair comparison.  At least at Best Buy Debbie could walk through the DVD section, scouring it for the classic musicals she loved.  At the grocery store there was nothing for Jonah to do, other than watch Deb read labels for products she would never buy.

After he lost Debbie he did not particularly want to go to the grocery store again.  That only worked for a couple of weeks, though, so he went on Thursday night, when he saw that T.V. was just reruns anyway.  The grocery store was fairly deserted: that meant he could just speed his way right through it, how he’d always wanted.

Except that he didn’t.  In the cereal section he stopped to read the label on Frosted Mini Wheats, just because he was curious.  And in the frozen aisle he spent a long time marveling at the wide selection of frozen entrees out there for people like him—people who didn’t have anyone to go home to.

Ghosts

I hold onto the clothesline as the

wind shrieks through the backyard

oh how I loved you

more than the tides could ever

love the moon

but now silence mocks the faithful

as I ripple with the green grass

go blind from the apathetic sun

The Sore Thumb

Diary entry, 1994

A psychic told me once I was from another planet.  Perhaps she was right after all.  I feel strange enough.