I see you in the mirror reflecting your stance. Arms outstretched like you love me. Which isn’t true — why should we even pretend? It won’t hurt my feelings. Much. You turn your head, not even realizing I am after you. On the way back though you make eye contact with me. The mirror plays [...]
stories for boys
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Monthly Archives December 2008
. . .
In the dream, I’m famous. I’m the one eating Cool-Whip. The one who pretends to be normal and can’t even go to a mall. Not from fear, but from recognition.
It’s my favorite dream and a horrible nightmare.
Why would I even want to go to the mall?
. . .
The buildings surround the beach. I swear if they could build hotels in the water, they would. It makes me nauseous. People everywhere. Cars everywhere. Shit everywhere. For the first time in my life, I feel claustrophobic. High rises. People cramming into rooms with the express purpose of getting drunk and then getting laid.
What the [...]
. . .
Later, Amy wanders into the bedroom, in that house, where I am still sitting, staring at the couple of books on the nightstand.
“Whose room is this? Do you know?”
She stares at me.
Blink.
“Do you know whose books these are?”
“Matt’s,” she says, while trying to glance around the room, absorb it, perhaps him, before she wanders back [...]
. . .
The drink warms in my mouth. The liquid comes off my lips in a strangely fluid motion I think. I expected it to cling to me more. To want to remain a part of me.
It saddens me.
I can’t even hold on to a drink.
. . .
And, sentence, by sentence, she comes crawling out of me.
I am in love with a ghost.
. . .
Once the music starts in earnest, the place fills up fairly quickly. It is surprising to me. This is pretty pure dance music — not Top 40. Instead, it’s four on the floor house. Repetitive and boring perhaps. But more than I’d expected. Almost a shame this only happens once a week instead of every [...]
. . .
A haughty look on her face, her hand on her waist waiting for the beat to return. She’s the only one on the dance floor. She seems to be challenging the DJ. Trying to wish away the breakdown — she has more important things to do. Wave it away with some sort of incantation with [...]
. . .
I shake my head. Do I look as silly as everyone else here? Am I as selfish, as greedy, as stupid? It doesn’t matter. I can’t change. The time for debating semantics is hardly now anyway. The ashes drift, the drinks bubble. And here I am wasting even more time watching kids fuck each other [...]
. . .
The pen is slippery in my hands tonight. It feels like the pen has burst and my hand is covered in ink.
