All Aboard The Train Of Thoughts (411 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 2 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by satchel (View user info) at 2004-09-19 20:52:53 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
"Take the train then, why don't you?"
Emma, in the kitchen sawing at a tomato with a blunt knife, sounds irritated. Small quick hands turn the fruit over and again,
sharp point thrusting through the skin, dull blade tearing the flesh into quarters. Gruesome. But then, Emma always
approaches cooking with the enthusiasm of a vegan for the slaughter of lambs. Maybe she is just angry at the salad. I leave
the question hanging and watch while another tomato and a cucumber are massacred on the bright yellow counter.
"Well? Small hands tear into the head of lettuce."
"Well what?"
Emma turns, chin on shoulder, holding a lettuce leaf under the running tap. Hands shoved into my jeans and leaning on a
barstool, I let my eyes flick from the baby-fine hair to the ratty moccasins. Three years, and Emma is thinner, her hair shorter,
but the full lips twist in the same wry expression. Her eyes are hard.
_________________________________________
This first summer, the air has weight. The difference between skin and air in the front bedroom fades into faint pulses in the
fingertips: this skin, that hair, mouth, belly and thigh. Outside the open window, a cloud of insects cruise lazily around the
streetlight, too stunned by the humidity to engage in their usual mad revelry. Emma's spine under my palms feels slick and
feverish, her head uncomfortably heavy where it lies on my shoulder.
"So when are you going in?" Speaking is an effort.
"Tuesdays and Thursdays." Emma's breath against my neck.
"Where?" Stupid question.
"Princess Margaret. It's closest."
More questions pile into my mouth, jam behind my teeth the way passengers crowd a rush-hour subway car - all stupid, all
maneuvering for the exit, and none of them likely to have the answer I want to hear. Teeth clenched against the press of
needing to know, my hands go on with their automatic stroking. Moths thud against the screen.
"What are you thinking?"
Paralysis. Scald of fear under the breastbone. One hand reaches for Emma's hair, spiked with sweat, and the other pulls her
closer despite the oppressive heat. I hold Emma tightly until the fear crests and the tide of questions recede.
"Anything you need, you know ...", the only safe thing I can think to say, and it's too much and too little.
"Yeah, I know."
_________________________________________
UNFINSIHED - apologies to my opponent, who is sure to have written scads of terrific stuff.
I anticipated having more free time for this contest.
User Reviews
Submitted by drfeggphd (user info) at 2005-02-09 22:53:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
More questions pile into my mouth, jam behind my teeth the way passengers crowd a rush-hour subway car - all stupid, all maneuvering for the exit, and none of them likely to have the answer I want to hear.
i saw a review from the um ratings complaining about this. *maybe* inappropriate for um, but i actually thought it was fine.
i like the style of writing in this piece. i hope you can find the time to finish this one, or try something else.
Submitted by youarsoghey (user info) at 2005-01-16 12:24:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
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