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Thanks,TB and Kristen!
Toggle Commented Jan 30, 2011 on Jealousy at Polite Fictions
Thanks you guys. In life, I like that fuzzy area where virtue trips on itself and becomes something else.
Toggle Commented Jan 29, 2011 on Jealousy at Polite Fictions
When I talk to other people, I say things like "it's such a blessing for the children," and "it's so much better for her to be with family." Which is not completely a lie. The kids know that their great-grandmother sometimes thinks they're her sisters. It doesn't phase them. In fact, they've begun referring to themselves as Charlotte and Penelope. She has no idea who I am and usually thinks I'm the housekeeper. She says things about my housekeeping under her breath when I'm in the room. Ninety year old women have no volume control, so "under her breath" is... Continue reading
Posted Jan 29, 2011 at Polite Fictions
We love Acadia. Did you get popovers?
Toggle Commented Aug 30, 2010 on Greetings from Acadia National Park at TwoBusy
1 reply
On Monday she couldn't look at him. Despite months, possibly years, of being friends, she couldn't look at him. She wasn't convinced that he would brush her off but she also wasn't going to take the chance. In high school there is no room for logic, only decisive first strikes. He'd had knee surgery just before hockey season and although he was still on the team (she still doesn't understand this, years later), he didn't play and preferred to sit in the bleachers with her. Or at least, he sat in the bleachers away from the rest of the team... Continue reading
Posted Aug 26, 2010 at Polite Fictions
Urban coffeehouse basements each have their own smell. In this case it was a combination of roasted coffee beans and mildewed books. She could tell where she was with her eyes closed, which they were. It helped her stay still, closing her eyes. This group was especially asshole-ish about her keeping still. And they got their panties in a knot when she didn't hold a 10 minute pose for the whole 10 minutes, even though they were too cheap for an egg timer and she had to count out the 10 minutes in her head. So she lost count sometimes,... Continue reading
Posted May 18, 2010 at Polite Fictions
I don't remember much about my own experience except that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. Not that you'd want graphic details anyway. I blame the non-remembering on a combination of alcohol and fear. I think I'm not alone in this, this desire to get it out of the way and move on to the real thing. It's such a small thing, standing porter to the door of a new life. It is fleeting and fragile and it does not deserve the hype. Hype and hormones. I almost forgot to blame the hormones. We would not even... Continue reading
Posted Mar 16, 2010 at Polite Fictions
This is what Charlie knew: Slick was set up. The pie - a pie Charlie had made - was bait. Were they trying to be clever, ironic bastards, or did it just turn out that way? They had sent some poor asshole to "mess with The Gingerbread Man." And the Gingerbread Man had stuck a fork in his head. The Gingerbread Man. Yes, they were trying to be clever, ironic bastards. She had heard his code name on the surveillance tapes. She knew he was important. She did not know why. Here's what else Charlie didn't know: Was he named... Continue reading
Posted Dec 2, 2009 at Polite Fictions
When you let the inside of your head go all to shit, the outside follows suit. When you get things right inside your head, the pieces fall into place. Charlie's father had taught her this. She quietly pulled out her old trick, murmuring, "three point one four one five nine." "Ah," said Claudette, "it must be time for pie. I'll make tea." She went for the tape. Charlie's mind settled. Action replaced chaos. "Two six five three five." Irrational. Transcendent. Mathematical. No matter how large the circle, the circumference is known. Even if you can't see the other side. And... Continue reading
Posted Oct 20, 2009 at Polite Fictions