said object

When Virgil got into Harvard he expected so much more. It wasn’t the academics, his ivy covered dorm room, the French doors or dusty tomes on the library shelves. These were just as elegant as the brochure had shown. It was the women. He expected them to be shiny, glowing and full of luster like new Christmas toys. Yes, he saw the types in the quad milling about; the blondes, the reds and the chesnuts. Donning Bermuda shorts and glancing about, stretching their perfect necks like proud swans. The long …

Swimming in the deep end we discovered the object. It was hard and cold and had curled its body around itself. Why it chose the water, I wasn’t sure. Was it a creature that could breathe under water? It was hard to say. We carried it out of the water and set it on the concrete patio. It was still for a long time and Auggie touched it with his wet fingers. He said it felt hard and still almost like plastic but now it felt warm. The creature stirred …

The rivers and valleys of the world reside in the silver swirls of the bear. Often when he’s placed on a shelf, I sit and am mesmerized by his heady form. But like others he keeps his back to me and is not trustworthy. But this has its advantages because you always learn more by watching the backs of men. What is hairy is reproachable and stunted. Clean, smooth shaven is a sign of clarity but proves often to be shallow and insipid. Hunched is the most stable and …

They bring the bait, we bring the beer and we’re all happy that sunny afternoon down by the creek until Sal shows up and brings a cloud of hazy doom. We had caught ten fish by then, Meg kept running her lacquered rose nails over their scales and Harold stared at his knees all day. Sal brought a container of vodka and wanted to make martinis but I said martinis don’t gel with fish and grass and a rough and ready afternoons like this. That’s a crock, he exclaimed and …

Bone dry and on the field we watched Bud restless with the club but he never made it. Was the target too far? Was Gil ever going to leave him? That stroke is far too swift, mean really, like Bud himself. He’ll never make it, will always miss the target. We got up before noon to be here but we’re not sure it’s right, have a place to sit and grin and shoot the shit and the sky is gray now, time to go home and drink Martinis and watch …