Henry asks her to drive his car, but she is already too high. They go through the clover field and out of town. Henry said, “You’re never thankful when it’s July, you know.” The short, dying breath pumped through Henry’s chest chasing its own lull. She had asked about his lovers and friends. He still kept their good times in frames throughout the house. Here in a hot tub, golden beach, here in hot embrace. They’re all, just a few, dead now. [Read more...]

Inside, a fluorescent light flickers and he thinks about the eulogy he had written for their father. Jason remembers that it had made Julia cry, made his mother cry, even made himself cry. But he had felt bad about it at the time: he thought of it as just words, empty thoughts, only there to bring out tears. He hardly remembers what he felt that day, but it wasn’t grief. [Read more...]

I guess the first lie was to myself. I never said it out loud. I’d just seethe and watch his new girlfriend dance. She’s always looking at people with this pout when she twists her body into S shapes while we’re listening to Danny’s old vinyls. I look at the floor, wondering if he could see how stupid she looked, but he doesn’t seem to notice, even when she flips the record over, flicking ciggy ash all over the place. I can’t figure out the expression on her face when she does this. Whether she’s dumb or just doesn’t care. [Read more...]

In this one, you are holding an axe over David’s head. He is sitting below you on the cabin steps, raising a glass of clear brownish liquid to the camera, a big smile on his scarred mouth. You are wearing a brown felt man’s hat and your waist-length hair falls across the side of your face and mostly obscures your bare breasts. You want him to be your lover for more than just that one night. [Read more...]