no one cares. back to work.

1 Dec

“Don’t know how I feel about it yet,” he said as he replaced the spark plugs.

“But you’re excited, right?”

He kept working on the plugs, giving himself time to find a careful answer.

“I just don’t know if I’m ready to be a dad yet.”

Back to the plugs.

I wanted to reassure him that everyone goes through that and she would change his world. But I didn’t know that. Maybe he was onto something.

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US. them.

9 Nov

Grandpa is denying the dynamism of history. He feels his version of the truth (a past full of heavily qualified realities and stunning mirages) is slipping away, and the “others” are creating unnatural, foreign things. Grandpa is deploring them, hiding and running from them. He is afraid because his theories on what was, is, and will be are not selling anymore; they’re not even being considered. He refuses this change, all of it.

the escalator

5 Nov

The surest way to submit yourself to the choking darkness that has no proportion or purpose is by comparing your privilege to that of others. You will always find a better. The surest way to lift yourself from those dark depths is by comparing your pain to that of others. You will always find a heavier cross on a back more bruised than yours, and in that moment, you will also find your blessings.

they feel sorry for you

2 Nov

He shook the ATM as if pleading that it change its mind. He bowed his head, swallowed a sob, and started shuffling over to the store. His coins were noisy. By his fourth step he heard an electronic jarring as the ATM started vomiting cash on the ground, so he fell to his knees to scoop it up. A snickering gust pulled all monies away from him and into the expanding air, and he just stayed there, kneeling in surrender.

witness of a fall

29 Oct

The days blend in, and they wonder which are worth remembering tomorrow. Life seems like an endless and simmering sea. Their muscles have a richer memory than their heart, and so they float.

Then, there’s a torrent and they tumble. Your skin prickles and your vision gets sharp, for Mortality, that which we know but never accept, hugs your shoulder and tells you that someone you love will soon die. That sea was actually the edge of their waterfall.

la viejita

23 Oct

A brash and beautiful woman made the viejita feel like the only person on that train. The viejita grew in front of all of us, like a back porch flower being caressed with care. This woman did this to a stranger, and I ached.

At home I found my wife in her usual spot, limp in front of the television as she hollered, “Dinner’s on the counter.” I stared outside wondering if this was my back porch.

maybe he’s done

12 Oct

Maybe he’s tired: of arguing both sides at once; of everyone else’s frantic expectations and pace. Maybe he’s depressed: with how little his long nights have changed his world; with the blood on his hands–or that he gets a kick from that power. Maybe he’s actually done and like Cincinnatus just wants to go home. He’s only a man in a tough as nails job. But he should’ve let his employer know. Now we are stuck with that or that guy.