Tag: fiction

You waiting for the bus?

Oh yeah. Where else would I spend my time?

Couzens Hall, 9:00AM, 1/11/2024

procrastination — otherwise known as the human condition — extends to the nature of the weather. leave it to the start of a semester for the heavens to open. salt crystals cling to boots like cooked rice grains. a child scatters frozen nuts in hopes that they will bloom in the spring. she forgets the squirrels are on break, too. some of them will not survive the winter. you tiptoe and your feet crunch into dust, blue snow into black ash.

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No school Monday?

Yeah, they just got off break and now they’re going back on break. Mucho break.

Hibachi-San, 12:00PM, 1/12/2024

the clock is stuck in a traffic jam, inching forward slowly, steadily. it will go forty-five in the fast lane and trap you behind a veil, if you’re not careful. check your rearview and suddenly it disappears. when we are not aware, we become uncomfortable, swollen, like a rat that has eaten insulation. i follow your gaze ahead, to the monotony, the beauty of the crowd. one must live in the moment. to be half of two things is to be whole of none.

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Do you want to go to the Victors parade? The football team will be there!

Will there be candy?

I don’t think so—

Then no.

Ann Arbor Coffee Roasting Company, 3:00PM, 1/13/2024

there are moments where the world rotates one-dimensionally. time and space funnel into a line. the parade swings past, and you are no longer next to me. we are one entity, a collection, a singularity, drawn to the crowd, to the players. any less and i lose you in the crowd and someone catches you as you fall — your eyes lock, a circuit complete, diodes shining. any further and you end up in front of the bus — whether or not it stops in time is trivial. in one dimension, there are no decisions.

luckily, we live in a world with three. left, right, forward. the sun is still out, but bright blue stars sparkle on state street.

I gotta go, I promised the boys I’d hop on Fortnite tonight.

How long does it take you to ride back?

Uh, about ten minutes.

Palmer Commons, 9:00PM, 11/14/2023

the controller is a time machine. i pick it up and adjust the portal, and suddenly i am in the middle of nowhere, or everywhere, or somewhere in between. perhaps i am in a dream. the air vibrates slightly, like above a truck exhaust on a summer day. for a moment, we are ten again. snow day, undercover, bag of chips to the side. no one has suffered loss because of laughter, i think. you laugh as your character defeats mine, just to prove a point.

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Nice hair color, by the way.

Thank you!

I had blue highlights a couple years ago but I could never pull it off like you.

Jack Binion’s, 8:00PM, 12/27/2023

the yard of grass is black and blooming. the owner comes out and sprays a section with pesticide. the leaves turn blue and the ground wilts. for the aesthetic, she says. i nod in understanding. a speck of light, a lotus in the mud. enough to latch on to your consciousness — there are many ways to do so, and many more wrong ways to attempt. blue tendrils curl around my abdomen. they disturb the air with lavender and rose, touching a memory that is badly erased. like the outline of a traced figure, you return. are you smiling or crying? the wrinkles fade to oblivion.

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Everyone but this guy. He’s from Washington.

Loyalties, man.

All I’m saying is if U of T and UMich played, I’d be rooting for UMich.

Yeah, because U of T is ass!

Cardiovascular Center, 7:00PM, 1/8/2024

twenty-six years is a long time. most spiders only live up to one. twenty-six generations ago, the wolverines tasted victory. twenty-six generations ago, humans climbed out of the middle ages and into the renaissance. loyalties were tested back then, too; it seems to be a common pattern of history. can history survive if the people do not make the same mistakes? will it fizzle and fall out of order? things will only have to be taught once. a converging slope, an asymptotical plane of information. in twenty-six generations, only time will tell.

You’re my last customer of the year!

Mobil, 4:00PM, 12/29/2023

as you cross a border you realize how much you left on the other side. pockets of people remind you of the little things in life. she will come to work next week; what has changed? the antique clock in the back room needs to be physically adjusted — it cannot handle the shift of the season. like dividing by zero, the clock face freezes, unwilling to continue, unable to comprehend. the cuckoo sings to itself. when the sun rises, the truckers line up for their coffee, now one year old.

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See, when the restaurant seats two people at a place for four people, during the rush hour, you know they’re going out of business!

California Pizza Kitchen, 1:00PM, 11/24/2023

the cafe shutters its windows and chains the doors. you used to work there, and i used to order the simplest drinks and pretend that they were spectacularly made. now in place of the latte swans lies a stretch of dust, hold the sugar. i like to imagine someone will buy the land and convert it into a forest. one of the workers is allergic to pollen, i remember. stuck in the heart of the city is the best place for her. count the crows on the parkway — they paved paradise, and put up a parking lot…

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Coaches are giving too much info. We just need them to figure it out! Two new plays and a whole new group of defenders come out and get the ball…

Starbucks, 2:00PM, 12/2/2023

just from the phrase, nothing is revealed. the sport remains elusive; the magnitude remains hidden from view. a new year brings a new list of expectations, but what do you do when the expectations exceed reality? i look you in the eye and tell you not to smile, but your eyes betray you. is it the universe hidden behind your iris, or is it glaucoma? as you blink, a third play — a tear.

the tide crashes against the mountain. the wolverine peeks out from beneath the storm. day has its eyes, night has its ears; up above, the howl of a husky splits the sky into two.

Don’t take more than one cookie, there are a lot of kids that are going to come in!

No, I’m just putting one in here and saving it for later. Don’t worry, my mom taught me better.

Ypsilanti Freight House, 5:00PM, 11/26/2023

when we are young, morality is measured by the wrath of our mothers. does it ever outgrow us? perhaps it takes the form of an instinct. nature is temporary; nurture is permanent. we go out of our way to change our bodies, yet we falter at the hands of the past. a friendship, a lover, a traumatic event — we used to cry, do you remember? now your tear ducts are swollen shut and your makeup masks the bruise.

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What about this? [holds up a Hot Wheels toy]

This won’t work. We gotta think of something that he won’t put in his mouth.

Kroger, 5:30PM, 12/14/2023

the world is transformed for two months into a tint of red and green. a holiday is meant to be shared, not enforced, yet the wreaths are strung with purpose. ornaments surge forward, cleaving the branches of a leafy sea. my skin pebbles into cold bumps, like paint dried too quickly. red for fury, green for jealousy… compliments or complements? it’s impressive how there is always something worse to say. how deep you can sink a knife depends on the length of the handle and the angle of the words uttered. soft, slanted, backhanded — wait for christmas day and unwrap what you wish for.

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The first time I came here I saw a line outside and I was like “Nope! I’ll come back another day!”

Daiso, 2:00PM, 12/16/2023

how intimate the act of gift giving can be! i am an isocline, a gradient, a slope of feelings. what sits under the tree is a pile of presents, a heap of debts uncollected. happiness cannot be bought, you say, but you swipe your credit card on the gifts anyway. rent your affections by the hour! which is the greater treasure, the present or the company? separate yet intertwined, one must exist in the scope of another. there is no price tag on the pleasure of love: one is measured in dollars, the other in beats per minute.

He’d say something horrendous and then turn and look at me and be like “right?” Um, no??

– Mosher-Jordan Dining Hall, 12/1/2023

humans are strange creatures. with which other species is the support of one is enough to guide the gaze of a hundred? we come up with words and use them to convince others that the words we utter are true. have you ever met a false preacher? don’t let the robe deceive you — as harry frankfurt says, bullshit is not false, but phony. you flop like a fish out of water. are you acting to sell, or are you selling your act?

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We can style people’s hair but we have to have neutral hairstyles ourselves.

Exactly, it doesn’t make sense. The times are changing…

In-N-Out, 1:30PM, 12/12/2023

i meet you outside the gates of the airport. for some reason, i was afraid i wouldn’t recognize you. you’d cut your hair, i noticed. i later learn that this was in a time of crisis. why wasn’t i there to support you? i was scared. your face splits my vision, like a crystal of ice in the sunshine. emeralds glisten. i reach out to grab them — your hands, your gemstones — and they are cold, impossibly so. my fingers burn. you melt away and stain the epoxy, streaks of luggage mixed with strands of your hair.

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Yeah, I’m a senior this year.

How’s that going?

It’s pretty busy… when I’m not at school or working I hang with my friends a lot… my mental health is basically dependent on being able to see my friends, so I’m not home a lot, I know my mom doesn’t like that…

Hong Kong Gifts, 12:00PM, 12/16/2023

a quiet disconnect from reality. i am four again and watching from waist-height as high school students sip and chatter away. time passes through a polaroid: oblique, grainy, heavily accented. i remember sitting at a cafe and watching a young child stare. i was that student once, just once, before i met you. perhaps i stared my way into your life, just as your eyes stared their way into mine. friends, lovers, students, mothers. i am four again, but this time i look away.

I’d be stressed about my grade but it’s too much energy to be stressed so I just accept it.

Union Basement, 1:30PM, 12/8/2023

worry is a tranquilizer. it paralyzes you under your covers, on your phone, in your dreams. it seeps into your bones and dulls your tongue. what’s the point? the two hours are going to pass whether you like it or not. the storm does not wait for you to board up your windows. hunker down and persist, or perish. or maybe you won’t. the hurricane will tickle the roof above your head, a gentle brush with the back of a scarred palm. let this be a warning. you will be ready next time, you think — if there is a next time…

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It was just the two of us and a bunch of books. In the Hatcher basement! I was like “where are we going? Are you going to murder me?”

Mosher-Jordan Dining Hall, 12:00PM, 11/28/2023

what if we were to soak up information like a sponge? the logarithms of knowledge are beyond comprehension. even with all of hatcher tucked away, what else lies beyond? the madness of multiplicity: in seeking understanding in one subject, you invariably uncover another… these are the consequences of grasping at infinities we will never see. an expanding edge of space. the horizon, and nothing beyond. who could live with this? a murder would be the easy way out. history defeats itself.

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I spent a lot of time crying over question 1, so if anything goes wrong… that’s probably where it started.

Panda Express, 1:00PM, 12/8/2023

the symbiotic relationship between the student and the exam should be carefully examined. there is a certain kind of irony in learning everything but the information: the highlighted color (blue), the study location (panera, but only on mondays), the back of your shoe rubbing against a bouncing heel — if anything, is this not a more finely attuned case of studying? perhaps if you committed to watching espn while transcribing notes you would remember the transcriptions and not the fantasy numbers, or the missed flags, or the post-game interviews. yet this fails as well. a strange phenomenon!

if all else fails — in case of emergency — wipe your tears on question 1 and turn to question 2.