Posts Tagged ‘six sentences’

Six

May 26, 2009

ThumbnailImage

I decided to go ahead and buy a copy of 6S, Volume 2. It’s a hardcopy version of select six sentences stories, which I’ve been avoiding buying because, quite frankly, I thought it would be cheesy. And yet, when it came in the mail in its blue glossy cover and uncracked spine, I shivered a little to think that I am actually published in a collection of work. Along with an intro by Neil LaBute and a special six by Rick Moody, two of my sixes made it in, The Diner and Love (both reformatted below). One inspired by G, the other by S. It makes me want to buy two more copies and send them off to my old lovers with a little inscription, “See, you inspired me after all.” But really, who cares? I wrote an entire story about S and got it published locally just so that he’d see it and he never even went out and got a copy (they’re free). Whatever. 

And yet, they’re both bound together in this one book- the two men that is, symbolically linked forever. Almost as if I can now say, I am closing the book on those chapters of my life. 

Ok, there’s cheesiness for you.

The Diner

Carmela tasted the red on her lips. When she was nervous or excited she’d bite down, puncturing the skin and cause bleeding. She remembered hearing that the Egyptians used their own blood as make-up to lure potential lovers. But, when he entered the diner where she stood taking orders at the counter, holding a hand that was not hers, she wiped at her wounded lips, took their order, and skirted through the double doors to the kitchen. “It’ll be alright, darling,” George said to her from behind the line, “we’ll spit in their soup.” And as Carmela readied the bowls, she wondered how many drops of love would pass unnoticed into the Fasolada. 

 

Love

We always do it missionary; you above me, staring down. Me, buried in the tattoos on your right arm. Buried between the pin-up and the Devil with a cigarette, the eight ball at my nose, the dice at my eyes. Silently, you ask me to tuck away my need for something deeper and save it for another time. Yet somewhere in between the vulgar emptiness and tired release, you always say, “I love you.” As if you knew that seeing God were not enough.

Sawtelle Meadows

November 29, 2008

 

She died on Tuesday. They buried her that Friday, lying on her side, sprinkled with dandelions, chicory and sundrops, just as she had asked. It was only a week before, she said, “Mommy, when I am in my coffin, I want it to be like when I slept that one summer in the grass, out by Sawtelle Meadows, near Henry’s Lake.” The flowers were so fragrant and the mountain watched in the distance, still and high like God.  Her tiny titanium lungs rattled with every  exhale and seemed to crush under the weight of her inhale. “Shhh,” her mother said, stroking her delicate child’s hand, “you have a long way to go before you sleep with the flowers.”

 

 

Boulder to Nederland

October 16, 2008

I remember us driving through the mountains up from Bolder to Nederland. The fog laying thick on us like a heavy blanket as we swooshed slowly up narrow, curvy roads. It was Spring and wet and cold and Ray La Montagne’s Empty played over and over again. We pulled over on the switchbacks to click pictures of the cliffs and canyons, and to make love like twentysomethings, imprinting the dashboard on our backs. I told you, we will never, never, never, never, ever, ever end. Way before the last goodbye and the day you gave me back all those pictures. 

* This was submitted to six sentences.

Update:

Nicely done, Tracy.  Love it.  “Boulder to Nederland” will mark your debut on Tuesday the 25th.Welcome to 6S!

Best,
Robert McEvily
Editor, 6S