Sunday, September 21, 2008

Two flash fiction pieces by Amanda McQuade

Two flash fiction pieces
by Amanda McQuade


He would like to take his time. He would like to tell you how hard it's been getting all the way up here. Arriving in some stranger's van, hoping that smell is only piss; ignoring the lucky rabbits foot hanging from the rearview mirror. Nice rabbits foot, stranger. He says this in a southern-slang. He says it for you, although when he tells you this story later, he'll leave out that detail.

Details: they are his little secrets.

He catalogues them, the details. The time you went to Aspen (like a fruit) and he said he spent the whole weekend just held-up with Grief without you, but really it was him and Jack, and not Grief like he said. That morning you made him "sun-bathe" on your back porch in the tightest underwear known to man; what he didn't share with you was the smile that creaked on his face in the glaring sunlight. Yeah, so what. He liked bathing in the sun, and drinking bottles of booze! He can do those types of things. He's a man. He can be complicated, too.

Like today, on this dreary, sunken-eyed day; going all the way to ass-hat Ohio to see you in the middle of the week. There's never anything to do in the middle of the week, which is partly why he went, and partly not. So angry and elated to see you. And the piss in the air? And the black tooth the stranger shoots with? All pieces of the calendar, baby.


Shopping Trips

-Better not eat that candy.
-Why not? I can eat it if I want.
-Sure, I guess. Go ahead. It's your gut.
-I don't have a gut!
-Yes, you do. You look like a twelve year-old Babe Ruth. The chocolate, not the famous baseball player.
-I think it's pronounced Baby Ruth...
-Either way, you're looking like it, Baby.
-Don't call me that. That isn't nice. You're being a pig.
-I'm a pig?! Shite. What's the world coming to?
-And don't say shite like your european, or trying to spare my feelings; it's a little late for that.
-It's a little late for a lot of things, Baby.
-Whatever. Let's just go inside, okay.
-Sure thing, Baby.
-You're going to give me a complex.
-I think more kids these days need complexes. The world's gone nutso. No one wants to do anything anymore. Everyone's a baby, Baby.
-Oh, shut up! You whine all the time. Just the other day...
-That's different. I'm older then you. It's not whining when your older.
-Whatever. Let's just go inside already.
-Fine. But you remember, I'm not paying for this. You can only spend your money, Baby.
-Yeah, I know. Let's just go!
-Your mother should really be here for this.
-Yeah, well she's not.
-I'm just saying. Don't blame me. I don't know anything about this dress crap.
-Now who's whining...
-Nothing strapless, alright, Baby. I don't want all those boys staring at you. I know how boys are. I'm a guy. I know these things, yes I do.
-Fine. Let's just go, Dad.

Author bio:

Amanda McQuade attended university in Ohio where she studied American Literature. Recently her work has appeared in MO: Writings from the River, Mississippi Crow, and Ruminate. For the moment she and her husband reside in Charlotte, NC.

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