Sunday, June 22, 2008

Story: Untitled

This is the beginning to a story that is untitled as of now. I haven't really written a short story since high school, and those were usually only about a page or so. I think I have problems writing long things. I think that's why I am a poet. Sort of. I will make this longer. It is based off of a real event in my life. Names have been changed. I have added and subtracted details.

What is there to recall, other than the fact that recollection is weak, tainted, with the very memory that was created and stored in the first place.

I am feeling Funny. Strange.

Darkness rolled down the sky, gravity much too barren for even the moon, the sun, all the other celestial beings.

What were we talking about? Something, something, oh yeah.

The car window leaked and the fumes of Michigan kept me interested and awake. No, I was interested before, when Brandon was talking. I know life hasn’t been easy for him. But, I have been told by many people, several times, that it isn’t Supposed To Be Easy. I have not yet been clued into what it is Supposed To Be. The dashboard lights are stronger. Sixty-five miles per hour of silence.

After talking, the silence seems a lot heavier. This is why they call silence heavy. I can feel more of my body as I sit here breathing. I can feel Brandon’s body too. I can feel my body and his body wanting to be one body. This is not a sexual thought, I don’t think. But, I think, due to the silence, I want to hold his hand. Due to the fact that we both said something that nothing could be said after. I want to be able to say, “You are here.” Like the sign welcoming you to a new state, I could be Brandon’s sign to welcome him to wherever it is we are right now.

I don’t even look over. The road spins by as we travel from Ypsilanti back to Kalamazoo. Spring time. It seems like every road trip story should involve springtime, and the trip should be no longer than one hundred and two miles. I guess that means On the Road would not have been written. Possibility. Springtime is always associated with possibility, and change. I gave Brandon a map to New York, and at the beginning of the summer he ended up moving south. I moved to Brooklyn. I felt irritable several times today. Half of the time I am unsure of the cause of my emotional state.


ryan manning said...

the next night we ate whale

Zachary German said...

you need to blog more