September 28, 2006

In her eyes, he envisioned cobble-stone streets, provincial shops, adobe homes that are white as a wedding, pristine and treasured like a perfect diamond. In her eyes, he imagined olive groves, gnarly branches that aged with character, a solid blue sky laughing a few light-footed clouds. He smelled on her the scent of the sea, fishy palms and perspiration, the glorious smell of bread baking that tantalized the nostrils at dawn. She held that for him: a fantasy of a forgotten time in an isolated place, unspoiled by strangers.

She was Greek – a strong heritage that has endured for centuries. Greek like the great philosophers and myth dwellers.

Here in New York City, they are displaced from their histories. He – a second-generation Turkish immigrant – met her one day when they studied chemistry together at NYU, where they shared beakers and curious touching under the lab table. The encounter was innocent enough that spring semester. From that grey winter, spring ushered in green and blue. She smiled: “Amir, should we study for next week’s midterm?” She spoke in a non-chalant manner. He noticed that her black curly hair smelled like orchids; it had brushed across his face as she loaded her books. She let the question linger without looking up. He knew she was trying to hide her own blushing. He very, very gently replied, “Yes.”

September 13, 2006

Prompt: “The Pictures Lie”

The cool strokes of light-imbued color revealed on the canvas a song of white cotton dresses embroidered with flowers, piles of soft curls whimsical and playful as the clouds. The women were dancing! – goodnatured folk of the countryside. They were pristine, innocent – bringing life to the once-quiet palette.

Julia, her uncombed hair tied hurriedly in a pony tail, weighed down by broad shoulders and stout fingers, gazed at the painting for more than just a few moments. Outside the museum – far away – she heard an ensemble of car horns and pedestrian babble. She caught herself breathing, straddling the line between fantasy and reality.

The picture made her sad. She lives in a loud, congested city while those young women lived free from automobiles, traffic lights and smog. They knew the dances of their ancestors. Julia had never even met her grandparents. Frankly, she hasn’t one clue where they are buried or the names of their parents. Indeed, her parents had left Utah at a young age. In that way, Julia realized, history was lost.

September 6, 2006

Prompt: “A Serenade” 

Margaret was shriveled up in her bed, her feet tucked beneath her knees. Her palms latched onto her elbows, face splotchy and wet. The world seemed to collapse her like a neutron star on the brink of gutting itself into a black hole. Darkness saturated each ounce of light when she closed her eyes. She felt the undeniable pull of emotional cannibalism. She allowed herself to ruminate on what she would do now that her four-year relationship was in tatters, her pink slip was not decorating her closet, and lung cancer had abruptly flared in her mother. Had only she chastized that woman more about her chewing habit. Had only she had read more Dr. Gray self-help books. Had only she had left ten minutes earlier to arrive at work on time at the downtown lobbying office for the 8am shift. Had only… Life contemplation only seemed to emphasize what was missing, noticing the spaces instead of physical substance. Life contemplation always fixated on the dark matter, the unkept promises, the unfinished to-do lists.

Margaret recites her list of weaknesses. Wouldn’t the time she spent watching General Hospital be better suited for rigorous reading or self enrichment? She ruminates on her unclipped toenails, which Danny always complained scratched him at night. Perhaps that is why he left.

Margaret was sobbing at her persistent social flakiness, when a sound slowly shuffled through the windows. As the volume grew – her tears evaporated. The sound was familiar, repetitive, and innocent. She smiled in spite of herself. A serenade, yes, but not just any serenade.

It was the ice cream truck song, carrying a promise of indulgence and memories of simpler times.