Seen Reading (6 page)

The single mattress gives in the middle. He picks at a loose button through the fitted sheet and stares at the foot of the bed where his overnight bag sits unpacked. His grandmother's shelves are stacked with travel books, birding guides, poetry, and an old copy of
The Little Prince,
which she'll read to him before bed, as she does every time he comes to visit.

The bedroom window is open a crack. There are no shadows against the drapes but he can hear the branches moving in the breeze, footsteps in the leaves — quiet. Every time he comes to visit.

His heart in his chest, then his throat, now his ears. He remembers Grandma's instructions and readies himself. Tonight, when his eyes shut, the figure will appear silent by his side. But he'll be a big boy and tell that lady she's not welcome in this house anymore. Only when he comes to visit.

READER

Caucasian male, late 20s, with short black hair, wearing black jeans, white dress shirt, and grey tweed coat, collar up.

Through Black Spruce

Joseph Boyden

(Penguin Canada, 2009)

p 295

When she was ten years old, she sat cross-legged with her best friend inside the midday glow of a blue pup tent and convinced her to play a game, moving the first consonant of a name to its end and tacking on an ‘ay' to encode a list of all the girls they'd let kiss them on the mouths, if they had to.

READER

Caucasian female, mid-20s, with long brown hair tucked into knitted cap.

The City of Words

Alberto Manguel

(House of Anansi Press, 2007)

p 126

They've been dating for over a year now, on and off, mostly off, especially if you count the six weeks she travelled abroad, which he does, and they agreed they shouldn't be exclusive not knowing if, or when, they'd take the next step, the next step itself unclear, and even more so because he did stay exclusive, while she didn't, which isn't really even the reason he started to let himself think about this again, it's his writing, and her backyard, which is large and tree-covered and has that little shed that she once suggested way-back-when he could turn into a studio, if they took the next step, but she was at a reading with her friends, and the beer was free, and he didn't know her well enough yet to know if he should believe her, or if he even wanted to look far enough into a future in which he didn't have another girlfriend, or was the guy who didn't fool around in those six weeks, just the guy who wonders what kind of guy he is that he will miss that shed more than her now that he's finally decided.

READER

Caucasian male, late 20s, with long dark hair, wearing plain white
t
-shirt, brown cargo shorts, and black pool sandals.

Micro Fiction: An Anthology of Really Short Stories

Edited by Jerome Stern

(Norton, 1996)

about halfway in

Four years old, she sat on the edge of the freshly paved tarmac of the townhouse complex in which she lived, on the East Side of town, transferring her lunch, stalks of unwashed rhubarb, back and forth between two large stainless steel bowls, one containing water, the other filled with white sugar, while her brother burned ants through a magnifying glass with a quiet contemplation she'd only seen on their mother's face when cutting coupons.

READER

Caucasian female, late 20s, with long blond hair, wearing brown hooded sweater, grey scarf, and black jeans.

The Time Machine

H.G. Wells

(Phoenix Pick, 2008)

p 97

His mother's poodle is named after Esther, his great aunt who left the monastery in her 50s to study reproductive medicine.

READER

Caucasian male, mid-30s, with short black hair and stubble, wearing black jeans, black turtleneck, and grey pinstriped suit jacket.

The Origin of Species

Nino Ricci

(Doubleday, 2008)

p 1

His uncle's belongings sit unclaimed in his father's basement: books, mostly, curling in the humidity, a suitcase, its satin pouch stuffed with loose papers, the typewriter it used to contain ribbonless and far away, sitting on the floor of a rusty Buick parked outside a Husky Truck Stop.

READER

South Asian male, late 30s, with curly, shoulder-length black hair, wearing grey dress jacket, black dress shirt, faded jeans, and black leather shoes.

The Book of Secrets

M.G. Vassanji

(McClelland & Stewart, 1994)

p 137

The minister was the first redhead the boy had ever seen naked, his body hair glowing in the morning sun, shocking the lake's surface, afloat beside the boy's mother, the first woman he'd ever seen naked and swimming with their minister.

READER

Caucasian male, early 50s, with long face, wavy, grey hair parted down the middle, “I Am Salman Rushdie” button pinned on North Face jacket, wearing red jeans and white sneakers.

The God Delusion

Richard Dawkins

(Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2008)

p 150

The longest she'd ever spent in a car was at the drive-in watching a triple creature feature with her immobilized father who waited out a pinched nerve, a watery monster sliding across the screen, while a one-hundred-and-twenty-pound buck sat on ice under the tarp of their hitched trailer.

READER

Caucasian male, late 20s, very tall, wearing blue knit cap, light blue hoodie, and green jacket with red-and-white cross-stitching on the arms.

Into the Wild

Jon Krakauer

(Anchor, 1997)

p 174

She looks forward to the morning commute. She'll ride the subway to the end of the line and take two buses to the warehouse where she'll take her place on the line next to Deb, a lifer married to Brad who's always on the road, and Marlene, a late 40s pre-op transsexual who keeps her hair in a net because it gets frizzy in the humidity.

The snack boxes make their way toward them, the first row already complete: gum, lozenges, and mints. She readies her stock and fans them into place in the second and third row: a pack each of Peek Freans, Lemon Crisp, Digestives, Arrowroot, Fruit Creme, Nice, Shortcake, and two packs each of Dad's Oatmeal and Oreo cookies.

She notices one of the Dad's cookies has a tear in the wrapper. Once the boxes have moved down the line, she rips the package open, popping a cookie in her mouth whole. She wonders if she and Marlene could be friends, if Marlene wants friends. Cheeks full, she doesn't swallow, and waits for Marlene to stop fussing with her net and look her way so she can test the waters by opening wide.

READER

Caucasian female, late 30s, with short, spiky blond hair, wearing baggy jeans, brown sneakers, and grey hoodie under secondhand orange, blue, and yellow ski vest.

We Need to Talk About Kevin

Lionel Shriver

(Harper Perennial, 2006)

p 56

When her son was young, he was a collector of curious objects. While her daughter combed the beach for long, slender cone shells and heart-shaped rocks, he was drawn to the oddities of imperfect fruit and vegetables — samples of which he kept in foul-smelling plastic bins she discovered during her weekly vacuum — skinned tennis balls, and placemats from the local Chinese restaurant signed and dated by the wait staff.

One morning, she began to wonder if he'd moved on to yet another hobby when she came across a dragonfly that had died on their back deck. A small wooden cross had been erected beside its body. Before she could remove it, her son pushed past her, his Polaroid camera poised. He took the picture, pulling the tab and counting down. “I love the light of early dawn,” he said, kicking the dragonfly between the wooden slats.

READER

Caucasian female, early 60s, with short blond hair, wearing glasses, tan coat, white collared shirt, and pale green silk scarf.

The Sweet Edge

Alison Pick

(Raincoast Books, 2005)

p 153

They walk together down the beach. She could be as young as ten, he thinks, certainly no older than thirteen, which would be a six-year age difference. He flattens his part and tells her about life on a boat. The other vacationers flap the sand out of their blankets, heading up for dinner. He asks if she's in a hurry. Does she have to be somewhere?

He can't look away from her sea-green eyes, her sun-kissed nose, last week's burn beginning to flake from her chest. He's disturbed to think she might remind him a little of his baby sister.

He flattens his part again and grabs her hand, turning it palm up. Pressing a point on her wrist, he tells her that he's heard that if he keeps pressing she'll go limp in just thirty seconds. She freezes, holding his gaze. Her knees start to buckle at the twenty-second mark. He's not even doing anything, he thinks. But as the girl crumples to the sand, he drops her arm and pushes his hands into his pockets, looking to see if they've been spotted. It's just a mind trick, he says to himself. He's done nothing wrong.

READER

Caucasian female, early 20s, with short brown hair and hoop earrings, wearing long, dark overcoat and green scarf, book bag slung over shoulder.

The Bell Jar

Sylvia Plath

(Faber and Faber, 1966)

p 127

Her job was to wait below while he climbed the
tv
antenna tower. Terry cloth shorts bunched between her chubby legs, she kept a lookout for adults, siblings, the school principal who lived next door, anyone with sense enough to call his parents. He would be quick. By his rules of the game, only once up and down constituted a closed case. Then they could retreat to the basement, where they would lie on the couch, “getting the girl” his reward for another mystery solved.

READER

Caucasian male, mid-30s, with full beard, wearing black dress pants, blue dress shirt, with sleeves rolled to elbows, and scuffed leather shoes.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay

Michael Chabon

(Picador, 2001)

p 72

Mother: Look at your cousin Tess over at the crab dip. Girl looks like she could cry.

Son: Gran choked on a strawberry seed, you know. She's still in the washroom.

Mother: How does someone choke on a strawberry seed?

Son: Exactly. Don't eat strawberries.

Mother: Oh God, look. Tess is going for more dip.

Son: She needs to master the dip. I hear it's one of the steps.

Mother: No, I think you have to call someone and tell them you love them.

Son: Anyone?

Mother: I really don't understand how Gran can choke on something the size of a seed.

Son: She likes the attention.

Mother: Why is your father standing over by the hedges?

Son: Why is your husband standing over by the hedges?

Mother: Is he smoking? How old is that girl he's with? Is that your second cousin?

Son: Jocelyn? Janice? It's “J” something. She's really grown up. You should go get your husband.

Mother: You should go get your father. People will talk.

READER

Caucasian female, mid-50s, with blond bob, wearing purple overcoat with poppy, carrying nylon thatched bag bearing a crest of an old leather golf bag.

The Outstretched Shadow:

The Obsidian Trilogy, Book One

Mercedes Lackey and James Mallory

(Tor Books, 2004)

p 76

In the church basement, the three young teens took a break from their puppet rehearsal, one song away from calling it a night. Despite the lingering smell of adhesive, one puppet's moustache had fallen off, and another's hair, brown yarn, required a touch-up.

While the troupe's leader went up to the chapel for glue, the teens' minds turned to games, the basement equipped with a basketball court and hockey nets. They rummaged through storage and found gear: gym mats, hockey sticks, hard orange balls.

As he was retreating to the closet in search of a Nerf football, she pulled the pastor's son close. She wasn't very popular. Her hair was short and greasy. She wore purple velvet knickers, a starched white blouse with frilly collar, and oversized leggings bunched at the ankles. However, the tetracycline had done wonders to her skin, and she'd always had pretty eyes. He, meanwhile, was a grade younger. The mole on his neck thumped as she leaned against him. His hair was parted firmly down the middle, cut to the rim of the smallest serving bowl reserved for pudding and his monthly trim. He wore black corduroys and a white baseball
t
with burgundy sleeves. His skin was dotted with whiteheads and his eyes were set just a little too far apart.

She put her hand on his crotch and told him to open his mouth so she could kiss him. He obliged, forgetting to breathe, his head spinning when the group's leader started the music for their next number.

Rise and shine and give God the glory, glory.

READER

Asian female, late 20s, black hair twisted into ponytail, wearing grey overcoat and high-heeled suede boots, her bookmark a worn postcard of Jupiter.

Walk in the Light & Twenty-Three Tales

Leo Tolstoy

(Orbis Books, 2003)

p 235