“the director of the play” by Julia on her couch

Friday December 7, 2018
10:12pm
5 minutes
Taking Your Child to Work, When Your Job is Making Theatre in The New York Times
Michael Paulson

He looks like Rob Lowe and I want him to choose me. The way a director is supposed to choose a young actress to be his muse. I want him to choose me because he looks like Rob Lowe and his passion for theatre makes me wet just thinking about it. He could be my biggest achievement but even if I could have him I wouldn’t tell anyone. I’d keep him all to myself. And during rehearsal I’d be professional with him but tease Andy in the green room. Heating both stones. As soon as everyone goes home, we’d be going at it in the wings, breathing hot air into each other’s ears and necks. Then he’d take me home and prepare monologues for me to read to him. I’d perform for him in the living room while he sips on bourbon and looks blissfully intoxicated by the rawness of my delivery. The heartbreakingly honest portrayal.
When I wake up he’d already be gone.

“Near Middle: for “Devilish woman,” by Sasha at her desk

Saturday February 17, 2018
12:22
5 minutes
Errata and Addenda
Rachaela Van Borek

She reaches into her pocket and there’s a melting Hershey’s kiss, six fifty in change, a receipt for a mini bottle of vodka, and lip chap that she’s scraped out using her pinkie nail. This is the state of her life. This is what she deserves. This is forty-two. She pulls her hand out. Step back.

She caught his eye in the elevator that first time only because that one asshole who had to stand facing the opposite direction. It’s eight thirty in the morning, dingus. Now is not the time for a social experiment. He’d smiled. He’s gorgeous. She’d blushed. Game over.

She packs her desk up into a banker’s box – lemon hand cream, a framed photo of her nephew, her BOSS mug, the succulent that’s hanging on by a thread. Is that what it’s come to? Step back.

He texts her and says that he’s thinking of her. He’s on a beach in Playa del Carmen. His kids are probably squishing guacamole all over his torso. His wife is probably emerging from the ocean, tan and beautiful.

“Welcome Home Party” by Julia on her couch


Friday December 9, 2016
12:27am
5 minutes
from an e-mail

There was a banner hanging in the front window that looked like his kids had helped make it. I drove by once, forgetting, and saw it. It made me feel sick. I realized why we said we wouldn’t put ourselves in each other’s reality. It was not only dangerous for the one who lives there, but painful for the one who doesn’t. I saw it though, and it sickened me. I couldn’t believe I had played a role in such big deceit of people who missed him so much even though all this time he was sleeping in another woman’s hotel room. And crafting a lie, and withholding the truth. And I helped trick them. I m helped to sneak him away from his family.

“hello, you!” by Julia at her kitchen table


Tuesday, December 15, 2015
10:31pm
5 minutes
Overheard on the bus

That’s what he says to me when I call his cell while he’s at work. He doesn’t want to let anyone know that it’s me. He refuses to use my name. I get it. I don’t want anyone to know either. It’s nice anyway, like he’s happy it’s “me” when he says it like that. Like he’s relieved. He sometimes answers the phone with just a “hello” when he picks it up in the company of others. He leaves quickly enough to go into another room, pretending always that it’s work related or family related, depending who’s nearby. I clear my throat twice, quickly, and that reminds him to adjust his volume. You never know who could be listening for key words or a flirty laugh. I can’t wait to be alone with him and when his volume is lowered I tell him this. He laughs because if he doesn’t he might do something he regrets. I laugh back.
“Were you able to rent the cottage for the weekend? Boys trip?”
“I’m working on it.”
“When will you know? I want to see you…”
“Yup! Let me get back to you, hopefully it all works out, sound good?”
“I miss you..”
“Thanks, I’ll see what I can do.”

“we thought we’d play a little trick” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Wednesday February 25, 2015
9:51pm
5 minutes
Betty and Veronica Double Digest
The Archie Library 215


You played a trick on me – running like there was something chasing. I’m being chased but that’s the funny thing, that’s the strange thing, you’re not chasing, you’re TRICKING. Every time you say, “I’m not”, you mean “I am”. TRICK! Every time you touch my face, gentle like dew, you say, “I’m here”, you mean “I’m gone”. TRICK! And then I do the inevitable thing of looking at your phone BEEPING all the damn time and there are names I don’t know there, so many names, S names and L names and M names and O names and I’m overcome with the TRICK and the TRICK tastes like garbage. I do the inevitable thing of pretending. Now I’m the TRICKSTER! I pretend I didn’t see the S and the L and the M and the O and you pretend you didn’t see them either and we’re both so fucking good at pretending, we’re the TOP TRICKSTERS, we’d get the gold and the silver and the bronze.