marriage and death; death and marriage

flash non-fiction, weddings and funerals, thank you barry spacks

May, 2004.

This Ship Will Never Sail (published in literary journal Spectrum, '05 ed.)

Marriage? They must be joking. My parents at the dining room table are drinking white wine and expecting impossible things from me, like dates and relationships and -- marriage? And I cannot help but have this thought of Jacob Theil on a Friday in eighth grade after he missed my cheek and kissed my jaw and making eye contact for the first time since we started holding hands on Monday. "You're hot, Susie, but you're just too depressing to be with." And I let go of his sweaty hand then, or maybe I squeezed it harder, I honestly can't remember. So I down my glass of Chardonnay, pour another, and wonder if or when some proverbial wind will fill my proverbial sails, but either way, I think it's safe to say that I'd find rocky shore faster than you can say -- marriage?


In memorium

Sean asked me if I had ever seen a dead body, and I hadn't. Freeways, he said, are great places to see dead bodies. His eyes narrowed for the description of the man's first half lodged in the windshield, the other on the ground making Red Asphalt, like the short movie we watched in driving school the next year. He said it was fascinating. And I wonder if he would have liked to see his own dead self lying on damp pavement on that Thursday night: the memories of cold flesh stuck in glass seeping out cracks in his skull and mixing with blood, drying fast and hot and matting his hair. I wonder if he did see his mouth open up a few minutes after his heart stopped pumping, gaping darkly like something he'd seen before.