Recent writing

Getting down to San Jose is a bitch. Of course, you leave after 5, after Adam gets off of work, after you’ve picked up Baz at preschool, after everything that comes before you in this world. By the time you get on the road, everyone and their brother is heading south and you’re screwed, simply screwed.

 

“It doesn’t start until 7.” Adam downshifts, then gives up and goes into first gear. You’re headed nowhere fast and your heart is starting to pulse hard. Never mind the fact that you always freak before readings, play the what-if game. You could fall, could burp in the middle, could fuck up in one of many myriad ways. Most of all you could have an audience that just hates you or worse, doesn’t get your work. When that happens you feel that your stomach is a pit unearthed in the soil, never-ending. Not that you’re dramatic in describing it at all.

 

You fiddle with the radio. It’s Super Hits of the Seventies right now, something you recognize as a band called Bread.

 

Life can be short or long

Love can be right or wrong

And if I chose the one I’d like to help me through

I’d like to make it with you

 

“Jesus,” Adam says, and flips the channel.

 

“Thanks for asking me if I wanted to listen to it.”

 

“I know you did. You loved it when you were seven. That officially means it sucks.”

 

Asshole. But he’s right. You have legendarily bad taste in music, juvenile and crass all at the same time. Or, in the case of this tune, just ridiculous.

 

Your phone tingles in your lap. I’m here, Mac writes. Where are you?

 

“Who’s that?”

 

“Mac.”

 

“Oh yeah.” Adam furrows his brow, stares at the road ahead. “Him.”