“Be remarkable” by Julia on the 511 south


Saturday September 8, 2012
8:55pm
5 minutes
Branksome Hall bus stop ad

My father, before he left us, said that the life he gave us was shit and he couldn’t live with himself for that.
My brother and I were young but we weren’t stupid. He was leaving because he was a selfish prick and didn’t want to try to fix all the broken promises and mend the sleepless nights he inspired so well.
My mother had long gone before him but at least she stayed in the house with us. Her mind was mush; cat food at best. She sat in front of the TV every night, just inches away from it with a hat on made out of tin foil because “the reception was just better that way”. We know now that she wasn’t always a fucking lunatic. She experimented with a lot of acid for a lot of years, and when I say experimented, I mean she tried to see if her heart would stop for a minute longer this time than the last and if someone cared enough to call 911 before she found out.
I don’t begrudge her anything.
She didn’t even know she was pregnant with my older sister, Liz, who’s also long gone, until it was too late to do anything to reverse it.

“Be remarkable” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Saturday September 8, 2012
12:27
5 minutes
Branksome Hall busstop ad

She started making a quilt for her daughter when she was a speck of aquamarine paint on a red sky
She sewed each sweaty night
Sipping lemonade
She’d reach in and grab ice cubes from the glass and rub them
Behind her ears
Over her collarbones
Across her upper-lip
The quilt grew with her belly
Telling the story of her ancestors
Crossing the fields
Hiding in basements and pharmacies
Singing to the full moon
When her eyes got tired she closed them
Sometimes she fell asleep
Her man would wake her
Kissing her fingertips still holding a needle and thread
“Come to bed now, my sweet”
And she went
And she dreamt of remarkable everyday occurrences
The things that delighted her
Perfectly fluffy strawberry pancakes
Last night’s dishes done when she got to the kitchen in the morning
The first time her daughter kicked
She was sewing a silver shooting star

“held hot for a period of time” by Sasha at Main Street Station


Friday September 7, 2012
4:02pm
5 minutes
Vegetarian Cookbook

When I make the bed in the morning I make sure that each corner of sheet is tucked under the mattress. Tight. Clean lines. The linens get washed on Wednesday. Lights get washed on Thursday. Darks get washed on Friday. That’s just the way that it is.

This morning, though… this morning I overslept and couldn’t tuck the corners. I called Tuck to see if he was going to be home but he didn’t answer. I got to the doctor’s office and not only was my heart racing but I realized it was Friday and I wouldn’t be able to do the darks. I called Betty to see if she wouldn’t mind… Betty and Rich are in Fort Lauderdale until April.

After my appointment at the bank I decided to try falafel. I see these little shops all over selling falafel and I was ravenous so… Standing in line behind a punk-type and his girlfriend I smelled something more delicious than bread pudding. The aromas coming out of all those little tubs of things – sauces and spreads and vegetables and… I wasn’t even sure how to take it! I felt giddy. I ate my falafel on the bench near a laundromat where all these women with more kids than I could count were doing their washing. I wouldn’t even know how to work those coin machines.