There was nothing romantic about body sweat coating skin like a fresh layer of rain, hair sticking to skin like a dirty mop trailing filth along the linoleum, and thighs chafing despite three layers of deodorant in globs like clay between them.
But Ally was a goddess that summer.
Continue reading “Hooks (Short Story)”
This story was written in response to homophobic comments made by a certain writer. The story features characters with names featured in the famous work by said writer, but the characters are unrelated (unless you’d like to headcanon them that way, in which case, my control dies here). Enjoy.
He’d always had one of those smiles—so bright it was as if he’d kidnapped the sun. Carla used to joke that it was all those tic tacs, tiny cut outs of a burning star that fed his ever-present joy. I just nodded along because the year was 1969, and boys like me, boys who liked other boys, were just as new as those sun-bright breath mints Johnny seemed to live off of.
That didn’t stop me from getting close, attempting to bask in just enough heat so as not to get burned. I lent Johnny my books because he loved to read and my notebook because he was too busy reading to take notes. I walked home from school with him, our sneakers scuffing up gravel and our backpacks thumping our shoulder blades in a syncopated rhythm. He’d whistle and I’d hum along, our heartbeats the metronome to keep the tempo consistent.
And then his mother would be waiting at the door, a sharp glint in her eye like a violent meteor with its course set to tear a hole between us. She always kept her hair tidily in a bun, her lipstick soft and pink, the color women were supposed to wear to please their husbands, boys like Johnny who would never like boys like me.
Continue reading “Kidnap the Sun (A Short Story)”
I was twelve when I first met Eli, his denim-clad legs draped over his new porch steps as his parents fought over where to put the garden gnomes. His mother had her hair woven into her signature braid, the forceful blonde whip striking the air as she wrestled the ceramic, pug-faced monster away from her husband. Eli’s hazel eyes were focused down the street in his signature stare, cutting through sunlight and air to see something no one else could see.
I used the full force of my tween body weight to drag Wags out of our suburban home. The aging lab dug his paws into the ground, struggling to drag us away from the dangerous newcomers across the street.
Eli’s head jerked toward us. He blinked a few times to bat out the July sun, but when his eyes settled on me, he maneuvered his wrist into a small wave. Just for kicks, I waved back.
Continue reading ““The House Across The Street” A Short Story”