101 Words

The Brubaker Spectacular trundled down Main Street, festooned with ribbons and fur, exploding confetti at every corner.

The children trailed after the wagons, quivering in epileptic fits of joy. The Brubaker Spectacular had arrived.

Elephants trumpeted at the sky. Acrobats danced from the rooftops. Giants wrestled lions, while swinging from trapezes suspended over fiery pits.

The Brubaker Spectacular promised two weeks of bewitching sensation, exceeding even the most remarkable dreams of splendor.

Shops closed their doors. The school master tossed aside his exams. Reverends and ministers preemptively forgave a fortnight worth of transgressions.

Nobody ever said no to the Brubaker Spectacular.

Shoulda known that boy’d never let her go. Not like I never seen them bottomless pit types before. Her daddy’s the same damn way, all ca’mon baby and gimmegimme. What’d the fool ever give me, besides her and some maxed-out credit cards? Tried putting her off them kinda boys, but I reckon it’s true the apple don’t fall far from the tree. Be different if the boy’d serenade her or something, if he ain’t just stand there. Tried telling the sheriff how a restraining order’s just a piece of paper. Ain’t gonna do much good once the boy’s tired’ a standing.

Beams of light break through the blinds, dancing across my face, beckoning me to awake. It’s a Sunday in June, but I don’t go to church anymore so there’s no need for me to get up this early. I am afraid to even get out of bed, knowing if my dog hears the slightest step, he won’t stop whining until I come downstairs. Is it wrong to leave him alone so I can sleep a little while longer, though I know he’s bored? Guilt pushes me down the stairs, only to find his puddle of urine. I should have slept longer.

“If you give me a dollar,” he says, “I’ll give you a kiss.”

His laughter rings true — the echo of an honest joke, sincere and triumphant. His smile casts a shadow on my heart. I laugh and smile back, desperate for nonchalance, hiding behind freeze-dried joy. We are caught in a momentary silence.

She strides in, dyed hair hanging limp around her face, sharp raccoon eyes glaring, jeans too tight for her too skinny body, thin cherry lips pressed into a coy, calculated smile. She draws him away, leaving me with my icy confessions.

I have a dollar in my pocket.

There’s always more than you think there will be. It floods out with such gusto, as if it has been waiting for this day to be free. Perhaps it is happy to be away from going through the same veins and arteries every day that it simply savors this chance to see the world. This cement floor isn’t much, but I imagine it’s a nice change of pace. I would get up and try to find some help, but I don’t think I can make it there. I wonder if anybody else knows I’m here. I suppose it doesn’t matter much.

He jumped from the bed where his boss’s wife lay giggling. Their lunchtime tryst had lasted longer than expected, and he was late for another meeting where that same boss would certainly note his absence. His clothes were scattered from bedroom to front door, where she had ordered him to strip an hour before. He found and managed to put on his briefs, pants, shirt, tie, jacket, socks, and left shoe – but the right shoe had vanished. They searched until a growl from the kitchen led them to discover $100 worth of Italian leather half eaten beneath her dog’s big paws.

Black as night and cold as daylight after an acid trip. This is what it felt like walking down the street after a hard night drinking. I was thinking about my cubicle, post-it-notes, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and my broken stapler – when it hit me. A car, not a life changing epiphany or sudden moment of lucid awareness that my life meant nothing. No, the opportunity to kill myself once I realized that, was suddenly taken from me when a car hit me in the dead of night. Now I can’t even lift a knife to slit my throat.