FLASH
At twenty, the world is yours because you’re beautiful. But never acknowledge your beauty, or it makes you a bitch.
When Laika the space dog comes back, bulleted to earth in a tiny white escape pod that dissolves upon opening, nobody can believe it.
I’m dancing with my best friend’s husband, under the influence of his jaws and thighs.
I reached for my invoice, which Dr. George, holding it between thumb and forefinger as if it were a soiled diaper, dropped into my hand.
You’re joking, I say, interrupting the steady bumping of the doctor’s bushy white mustache.
Another image rises to us both: A man hunched before a TV, watching historical documentaries, correcting incorrect facts. Rasputin was not a priest, damn it.
The weeks go like this: accepting, horny, hopeful, sad. I’m four different people trying to establish one perspective on a major life event – on the creation of life itself.
On the first day of our new life together, my husband realized that I was not interested in theoretical debate. He said it was okay by him and went out to get some pancake mix.
A man with a fistful of showbags said, “That cow sounds like a person trying to sound like a cow.”
Kate Winslet always reminded me of my mom. Maybe that’s why, even to this day, I get defensive of Rose from Titanic when people call her stupid or shallow…
He used to hold my hand on Commonwealth. I wonder sometimes if he ever still thinks about my mouth.
At the end of the meeting, the villagers agreed to contribute shillings and pounds to sponsor Elochi to a university in America.