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Jan 25, 2017 18:24
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Driverless 785 words. “Aright,” Naomi said, buckling her seat bealt firmly and watching to see if he was taking note that she had. “We’re in a graveyard. Tell me why.” “So I can practice and not be worried about killing somebody. Since they’re all dead already,” what’s-her-name, Briana, responded. Naomi idly fantasized about shoving her out of the car and driving off into the sunset. “Close. We’re here to minimize the odds of you running into someone or something. People come here all the time, cars and pedestrians both, and you should always be watching for them. Deer too. You’re behind the wheel of a one and a half ton box of metal that can accelerate to 60 miles an hour in seven seconds. There’s never a time when you should be zoning out or not watching.” “Isn’t this like, a Toyota Camry?” God, she could hear the eye-roll in that sentence. “That’s all true, though.” Naomi sighed. “Okay, take us away. I want you to drive down this ring road and go around the entire cemetery first, then I’ll give you some turns.” The lesson was uneventful, the kid got dropped off back at instruction, and she sat for a minute by herself just staring in front of her. She tried to think but just kept hearing a faint whine in her head, getting louder and softer as she paid attention to it. The headrest to her right all of a sudden became the embodiment of everything she hated and she punched it with righteous fury. All that gained her was some bruised knuckles. Next lesson. Pull up in front of agency, walk in, pick up client, escort them to car. “When will I get license?” Julia asked, her voice heavy with cabbage and winter gloom. Which was interesting, Naomi thought, as it was 85 degrees outside. Some people just had that effect. “Well it’s hard to say Julia, it’s your second lesson,” the rote response rolling off her tongue. Older students always viewed knowing how to drive as an inconvenience and blamed her for not signing off on their forms and immediately sending them to the DMV. “We want you to pass the test the first time so we need you to have everything down cold.” “I could take test,” Julia insisted, spinning the wheel and heading straight for a weeping angel. Naomi slammed on her brakes but wondered if she was even doing the thing a favor. It might want to die. “Well you could take it but I don’t think you’re ready to pass it yet. We’ve got some work to do.” “I could take test!” Julia said. “I know all signs.” “Well you do,” Naomi said. (She didn’t.) “Yet you haven’t nailed down which pedal is the brake and which is the acceleration.” She regretted that the second it came out of her mouth. Julia’s face shrivelled inwards and she just knew there was a complaint coming. She’d get written up for ‘creating an atmosphere unconducive to learning” and wouldn’t get fired, because god knows no one wanted this job, but she probably wouldn’t be getting a raise. Finish lesson, jamming on passenger side brakes the entire way. Return client and car. Head to bar conveniently located two blocks from bus stop on way home. Stare at wall and pound back first shot and beer. Order second beer and sip on it while the buzz hits. The bartenders didn’t talk much here, which was another point in its favor. The fog took a bit to break but when it did she found herself staring at the nightly news. Nothing big. Couple shootings, protests. Weather. She felt it all rushing past her and tried to grab one to care about as it went by, wound up getting emotionally invested in the dedication of a new bike lane for a troublesome couple of seconds. Three beers in and she’d crossed over from foggy to empty which she felt was a moderate improvement. She tipped the bartender and left. Early evening in a quiet neighborhood and she soaked up as much of the quiet as she could. Couldn’t even stand to look at the door to her apartment and impulsively walked on, wound up heading about fifteen blocks north before she came to her senses and turned around. Turned her key in the lock, went inside. Him sitting on the couch and staring at the ceiling. They had a brief moment of quiet which was almost nice. Then he gestured to the chair across from him and croaked “Let’s talk,” and she could see how the rest of the night would unfold to a t. But she still walked inside, sat down, and started to talk.
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Jan 30, 2017 02:27
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I vow to do significantly better next time.
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Jan 31, 2017 16:48
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Feb 1, 2017 00:00
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When is this due again?
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Feb 2, 2017 17:58
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Death and the dog 345 words Welcome to the free vet clinic. I’m the person who will be putting your dog down. Oh I’m sorry, you don’t think it’s that serious? You want a second opinion? Here’s a second opinion, you shouldn’t have been allowed to get a dog. Shut up and let me tell you how you got here. Your dog is an Australian Shepard, which means you went to a puppy mill and picked out the one with the bluest eyes. You didn’t do any research or preparation whatsoever because it’s a dog right? How hard can it be. You wanted a fluffy bundle of love that would stare at you with those eyes and wiggle around with its cute little fur pattern and be your best friend only when you wanted to pay attention to it and not a second longer. You wrote off the first time it destroyed the house while you were away at work because it’s a puppy, but by the fifteenth time you started to get annoyed. You put it in a crate without properly training or acclimating it so it got stressed and started getting sick, and now here you are, having managed to pay about 1500 dollars to buy her but somehow unable to afford spaying or vaccinations. You’re here because you never thought about a goddamn thing past your own happiness and now you’re trying to make yourself feel better by dropping it off at the free clinic. You tell yourself you’re coming back for it but after day two of a house where nothing’s destroyed you’ll say that she’s probably better off with us, and we’ll find a loving home for her. You won’t think about how hard it is to adopt out a dog with a sickness that people know destroys homes. You’ll move on, and she’ll be dead, and the only reason she’s dead is because you loving killed her. Go home, sink into your couch, and turn on your TV. If you need to pet something get a stuffed animal. I hope I don't see you again. For the next dog's sake.
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Feb 6, 2017 05:03
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Feb 7, 2017 17:43
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Interrupted 397 words Gavin was riding down Milwaukee, legs pumping as he dodged cars, long packaged tube slung over his back and tightened down, covered head to toe against the wind and not even feeling the cold. One block away from the architect’s office with the plans when a wide gap in his memory opened, grabbed him from the street and spat him into his bed covered head-to-toe with blood. Which was a small blessing at least, to come to himself in his own bed. Only he couldn’t quite find himself. He was here but he wasn’t present. He got up and went searching through the apartment for a beer. He was at the hospital and not entirely clear on how he got there. There had been some people flashing lights in his eyes, some questions he was having difficulty with. He was given a few pills and hooked into an IV, everything seeming like it was happening only with great effort. Things were different. He was different. Walking down the street was tricky because he couldn’t quite tell what he was going towards and what was coming towards him. Every time he nailed something down the rest of the world started turning around it. He had to look at things a couple times, dry heave as the motion sickness took him, then resume his careful steps until he need to fix his course again. Everything coming at him like an endless game of Frogger and the controls were all hosed up. It was hard talking to people because by the time he’d focused on a phrase enough to understand it five more had already happened. Better, he felt, to just let most of it wash over him and stick to nodding or smiling or looking vaguely concerned. Those were what got him through most conversations. The first time he touched a bike he was shocked at how normal it felt. Surely it shouldn’t feel normal, he thought. Surely lightning should flash through his mind and he should regain some kind of feeling of normalcy, of being part of the world around him. Instead he was just...holding on to a bike. He walks into the architect’s office with the tube. The receptionist smiles politely and emptily. “Who’s the package for?” “This is for me,” Gavin says, and leaves it lying on the ground as he turns and walks away.
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