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Showing posts from May, 2017

4 cars

It means little to me, for whom cars are just a means of getting from place to place. Still I remember from time to time, and think of it, even, for a while. My first car. 

It was a ‘65 Mustang. All original and “honey gold”, which was a sort of sparkly greenish-gold color I have never understood. Already it was old when I got it – twenty-five years old, if subtraction hasn’t failed me – and when brand new, had been my mother’s first car. Then, when it was somewhat less new, it became my aunt’s first car and later on, my cousin’s first.
The Mustang didn’t have a/c, which was just as well, really, because this meant I’d leave the windows down and could hear each time I hit a bump and sent a hubcap rolling down the road next to me.
I swear I never lost a hubcap the whole time I drove that car.


There came a time, last week I believe it was, unless it was some other time, when my mask slipped away. Or, if it should so happen that I was not wearing a mask at all, then I guess it must be that I was transformed.  
And for that moment – no more than two minutes – the meek and mild me who reveals no emotion was gone.  
I saw it in their eyes.
They could not recognize me.
My heat curled outward through fingertips. I saw hairy tendrils shoot out across the desk and surround them. I roared.
I can only imagine how, in that moment, I appeared to them. Snarling. My familiar face dripping away like wax. The tendrils from my fingers thickening into reticulated tentacles which covered the walls and the ceiling until the whole room seethed in a kind of awful peristalsis.
My words, when they came, had nothing to do with the matter at hand, which was something about a client file gone missing. I forget. O sure, maybe they sounded like client file words coming from my mouth to the others, but to …

Any second now

I am telling you – for there is no harm now in my telling, surely – I acquired the Snap from the man called T who used to run a junk cart down by the old family law building. I say “acquired” here when what I mean is “purchased.” The cart is gone now, and T with it, it seems.
I had heard things, as one does, and one day I said to him, “I’d like to buy a piece of time, please.”
T said, “You want to buy a timepiece?” He reached for the wristwatches.
I said, “No. A piece of time. A Snap, please.”
The apparatus for the Snap itself was an awful thing, like a guitar pedal, an alarm clock, and the bones of an umbrella, all connected by a series of tubes. It came without instructions.
I could only afford five seconds.


They came down underground and they found me.
I was sitting in the dark yet they found me.
When they found me, alone underground, they said, “Come on out into the light, Harry. It is your birthday next week and we have to feed you.”
My father came. And my mother. And my brother. And my grandmother, too. I asked them how old I was to be and they answered. At first, I believed them to be hallucinations or jinn or projected daimons, but when we’d climbed out into the light from beneath the Harris County Law Library, they retained their solidity and coherence and were not at all like tenuous things.
And now you know what my family looks like and where I work and what I look like.
I swear I am not lecturing to them in the pictures. I just use my hands a lot to talk.