Ives never gives that watch to Robert. Within a couple of hours, Ives will be standing on a sidewalk in front of a church, staring down at the pavement, into the shocked expression of his murdered son. Ives' life is on a collision course with tragedy. A sledgehammer of change.
This past month, I have been amazed how quickly the trajectory of life can veer in an unexpected direction. I thought this summer was going to be calm, easy. I would have time to write, read, clean out my attic. Yet, in the space of a few weeks, my summer has been completely transformed. I now am putting myself in debt for another five years to put a new roof on my house. I don't even know what's wrong with my car, and I still have a huge hole in my kitchen ceiling.
I know you're all probably tired of hearing about these subjects. Sorry. These are things I fall asleep and wake up thinking about. I'm actually thinking that I need to get another part-time job or sell some organs to raise a few extra dollars. All this worry is exhausting.
I finished writing my nature essay a couple of days ago. Put it in an envelope and mailed it yesterday to the contest. It's over and done. And the best I can say about the essay is that it's done. It's not great. In fact, I considered not submitting it at all. I've just been so preoccupied this past month that I didn't devote as much energy to my writing. The result was an essay that's alright. Not great. Certainly not worth $250.
It feels like I'm very scattered. My life is in fragments at the moment. I haven't been able to concentrate. Perhaps, after I find out what's wrong with my car and the roofers are stripping my house of shingles, I'll be able to carve out a little peace of mind. Not right now, though.
Once upon a time, a juggler named Freego lived in a small village on the shores of a beautiful lake. Freego was the worst juggler that had ever lived. He could only juggle one ball at a time because he lacked concentration. He would stand in the village square and throw his ball in the air over and over. Nobody stopped to watch Freego's act.
One day, Freego decided he needed to learn how to juggle two balls. All day and all night, he practiced at home. He threw balls, caught balls, dropped balls. After many months, Freego thought it was time to unveil his new, improved juggling act.
He went to the village square and called out, "Watch the Great Freego defy the laws of gravity!"
A crowd gathered as Freego took his balls out of his pocket. He took a deep breath and tossed his balls in the air. One ball flew into the face of the village baker. The other ball fell into the village well.
The crowd slowly dispersed, and Freego went home, humiliated.
Moral of the story: don't play with your balls in public.
And Saint Marty lived happily ever after.
Self Portrait, Downtown
by: Michael Mlekoday
We left because we were lost and broken.
The sun rode us like donkeys. Our hooves
turned colors in the dust. Shush, you said,
every time I dropped a mirror and it broke
into song. It's the only way I could see
myself in fragments, which I think is how
the earliest surgeons studied before cutting.
Where were we going? Maybe the woods,
maybe Detroit. There's a way in which
the thick skin of air in the woods hangs
like sweat in the inner city. I've mistaken
drops of air conditioner exhaust for rain
while leaning against apartment brick,
watching a fistfight bloom in mid-July,
the highway humming in the distance
like the time you kicked a hive and smiled.
I lied. We didn't really leave, and broken
is just another way of saying we left shards
and splinters of ourselves everywhere,
like kids trying to leave a trail back home.
We're still here, right here, and here,
this debris makes the street glitter like a river.
 |
| Nope. Not me. |
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