Mia’s First Steps

Come to Papa, Mia! You’re such a smart girl, such a smart girl! Papa loves you, Mia! Come to him!

And, as she approached, Ricco grew less okay with it all. She was thirteen months yesterday, and closer to death than before. As was Ricco. And Maria. And he had no answer to that. He had no way of slowing this single moment, captured behind a lens and imprinted onto photopaper.

There was time, and this was time.

Mia grin grew unsure. Ricco adjusted his expression and encouraged her. Into outstretched arms, she stumbled the last few steps.

Ricco decided against holding those last few steps against her, and welcomed her into a spinning embrace.

Enhanced by Zemanta
Advertisements

NaBloPoMo, Day 15: Sealess

She was a map with no ocean, and I was at sea.

Maryellen Johnson wore her skirt too high for Mrs. Johnson’s liking, but Mrs. Johnson was just jealous of her legs. Every woman was. Smooth as they were tanned, and she was outside working on the farm more than her father’s workers were.

She had style. She was fit. She was gorgeous. And she broke my heart before she even knew it was hers.

I walked past her one day, watching her hips swing back and forth. Call me an ogler — I can’t deny it. She never noticed the trail of wagging tongues behind her, which was fine with us because she would probably sock us all right then and there. I ran straight into Mrs. Johnson, who was turning out of her fifth period English class.

Papers and bifocals flew, and I heard some popping sound.

“Mom,” Maryellen said, running back this way. I had hit the floor hard, and I deserved at least a glimpse of her for my troubles.

Yet she was chiefly concerned about her mom. Man. What a sweet girl. She would look good wrapped in my arms.

Enhanced by Zemanta

NaBloPoMo, Day 14: Bitter

Flashing Red Light

Dear God, the red sirens blaring and flashing. Am I dead?

REPORT OF TRAFFIC ACCIDENT
OCCURRING IN CALIFORNIA
READ IMPORTANT INFORMATION ON BACK

Wait…what? Where am I…what am I looking at?

AS APPROPRIATE, PLEASE TYPE OR PRINT IN BOXES# OF VEHICLES: 1
DATE OF ACCIDENT: 01/14/14
ACCIDENT LOCATION – CITY/COUNTY: LOS BUITRES,  SAN BERNARDINO COUNTY
ON PRIVATE PROPERTY: NO

i dont think im dead. i certainly dont feel dead or feel anything at all. what did i do last night…

Marietta and I walked in together, split up, and met back up at the back of the party. I leaned against the bookcase, my exhalation stirring dust bunnies on a well-thumbed copy of “Paradise Lost.” Milton was blind, and recited the whole tale to his daughters. What a shitty waste of time for those girls. Marietta leaned like I did, and rested her head on the pinewood. She didn’t break eye contact. Smiled.

TIME OF ACCIDENT: 4:26 AM
[ ] MOVING [ ] STOPPED [X] PARKED [ ] PEDESTRIAN [ ] BICYCLIST [ ] OTHER
DRIVING FOR EMPLOYER: NO

Greg’s pad was lame, so I pulled Marietta out to the patio. Lining the planters on the far sides, solar lamps limped from one side to the next, and couples like us made out all over the place. I pulled on her hand, and brought her ear to my lips.

“I wanna get out of here.”

she wanted to too.

We walked back to the car, and she handed me her cup. She said she hadn’t drank any, and I took a big swill. Tasted like the bottom of a coffee cup. Took about all the man in me to swallow, and I tossed the cup to the asphalt before unlocking the Cavalier. Driver’s side.

We rolled out, and I threw the brakes down hard.

what? what was it.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Marietta said, looking at me with a smear of eyeliner down her cheek, “I’m lucky I have a left eye!”

She bitched, but whatever. My head was killing me at this point, and I felt dizzy. The road kept slipping out from under me.

“You’re so weird, you know,” she said, “and you’re driving like that little shot caught you already.”

“I fe funne,” I said.

I don’t remember her looking at me after that. I don’t remember. I don’t remember. And I can’t remember, or remember why I can’t remember.

DRIVER’S NAME (FIRST, MIDDLE, LAST): EVAN LAURENCE COVINGTON

oh dear god. the flashing lights.

Okay, I remember hitting the highway. There were shrieking sounds around me, and I was feeling shitty. Not shitface, beyond that. That cup.

the cup
THE CUP

I dodged some demon and lost control.

We rolled three times into the ditch, and came to a full stop upside-down.

NAME AND ADDRESS OF INDIVIDUAL INJURED OR DECEASED: EVAN LAURENCE COVINGTON
NAME AND ADDRESS OF INDIVIDUAL INJURED OR DECEASED: MARIETTA CORNELIA GIACOMO

deceased deceased.

Enhanced by Zemanta

NaBloPoMo, Day 13: Touch

Rhythm, a sequence in time repeated, featured ...

Rhythm, a sequence in time repeated, featured in dance: an early moving picture demonstrates the waltz. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Shall we dance?”

She speaks so coyly, as if she knows I’m putty in her hands.

She guides me to the center of the dance floor, amid a fluid mosaic of teens swaying with the rhythm. We’re just two people. But this feels so special, so unique.

“I…don’t dance much.”

“Neither do I.”

Tell her she’s pretty.

“You’re…the most beautiful girl in the room.”

She smiles.

Did I say too much?

Too little?

Too fast?

Enough?

We kiss, and sway the rhythm with the rest of the dance floor. The song plays on.

Kiss
Suddenly alive
Happiness arrive
Hunger like a storm
How do I begin

A room within a room
A door behind a door
Touch, where do you lead?

Enhanced by Zemanta