Happy Hour

I waded through the throng of yuppies gathering for their evening cocktails at Sophie's, already irritated.  How was I ever going to find a seat at the bar?   Louise knew I hated meeting her here after I’d finished playing receptionist for the day, but somehow I wound up in this yuppie hell at least two days a week.  Eight more weeks and I’ll be back in Madison, I reassured myself.  Then this crap summer would be just another memory.

As usual Sophie’s reeked of cigarette smoke and expensive perfume.  The visuals weren’t much better: in December the management stuck a massive white Christmas tree decorated with ceramic doves in the corner, while the rest of the year it housed travelling art collections arranged in bizarre patterns across the wall.  The weirdness of the art only added to the suffocating “happy hour” atmosphere.   Happiness could not have seemed further away, as office workers flocked to meet their upper-level management soul mates and usually ended up sad drunks instead.   I qualified for neither of these groups, yet here I was.  Again.

Nothing

I remember how something could
break every word you spoke,
make you sound like you were
choking.

I would watch your face as it
disappeared
at least one million miles into
the stratosphere,
your voice drifting alongside
like a bullet that has no mark.
Shot stray into a crowded night.

And the light halted against your back,
as you danced that frantic ballet 
suspended midair
because the floor bottomed out years
before.

Now as I float alone
I remember how I
used to ride in the car,
thrust my head out of
the window.
Because it was spring.
Because it felt good.

Aftermath

All of the followers had gone, sucked into the girl’s funnel cloud and carried off to god knew where.  What remained lay on the ground, broken.  The restaurant would not be serving again.

I was wondering where Marietta had gone when a dishevelled figure with a lopsided purple hairdo and an old face limped over to me.  We stood and looked at each other for a while, before she said, “You think you’ve won.  But the spell is broken for you, too.”

“I know,” I answered.  “But at least I can live with myself.”

“We’ll see about that,” the witch replied.  She then disappeared, rather against her will, I thought, into a cloud of foul-smelling smoke.

Lost

You cannot keep what you did not

know you would forever 

have to hide.

Forgiveness comes cheaply outside.

In here I stand alone in a

million miles of prairie grass.

The storm is rolling in and I

am bankrupt once again.

Ghosts

When I opened the cage and released the girl, she howled past me, a cyclone powered by atomic pain.  I crouched against the wall and covered my ears but I could still hear her screams, the terrified shouts of those in the lost restaurant, as she raged deadly witness against them.

Wishing

I will find you even 

though I know

On this dream the 

night has declared

war.

Unspoken

It was cold even though the rain had ended and the sun now peeked out from behind the clouds.  In Wisconsin the coldest days were always the sunniest.

His father came up from behind him.  “Farmer’s Almanac says it’s going to be a wet winter," he remarked.

Jonah nodded, lost in an abstraction.  “It's nice, isn't it?" his father said, gesturing toward the headstone.

"Yeah.  It turned out well."

"Used them for your grandparents--they did a good job then, too.  Very reliable." 

The two men stood silently for a moment, considering the engraving job.  Jonah was about to comment on the etched flower in the corner when his father told him, "I'm moving to Florida."

Jonah looked over at him.  “You are?  When?”

“Tomorrow.  No point in staying here.  The realtor says I’ll make a mint on the house, and I have a condo down there.  Bought it with your mother right before she got sick.”  His father cleared his throat.  “Be nice if you could visit.  The condo has a guestroom.  You’re welcome to use it.”

“Thanks.”

His father nodded.  “Okay, then.  Tell Jackie I said goodbye.”

“You’re not going to tell him yourself?”

“He’s busy tonight.  Something about a poker game, and I didn’t get a chance to tell him before that.  The movers are coming Saturday.  You mind checking in, to make sure they’re doing things right?”

“…Okay.”

“Maybe you can come in April.  April’s real nice there—not too humid.  We could go to Disneyworld, or Universal Studios.  Always wanted to take you boys there when you were young, but...”  His father cleared his throat again.  “Okay, then.  Talk to you soon.” 

“Talk to you soon,” Jonah echoed.  He watched his father shuffle off to the parking lot before he returned his attention to the headstone.  Beloved mother and wife, it read.  Strange how something so true could sound so meaningless at the same time.