Today the fourth episode of my ongoing series was published at Corporeal Clamor. I think of it as “Trumpian Gothic,” a love story for these strange times. I’ve woven classical music throughout, and Beethoven’s “Pathétique” is one of my favorites. I’ve included a recording of myself playing the Pathétique about halfway through the chapter, or you can watch the warm-up on Facebook.

Thanks for reading – I’ve been so appreciative of your enthusiasm for this series.

“To play a wrong note is insignificant; to play without passion is inexcusable.”
― Ludwig van Beethoven

We watch. The dog cocks a scraggy yellow ear behind him, listening for the door. Waiting, probably, for Tala to return. So we have this in common.

I kneel so slowly it’s hardly movement, but the dog drops his head and backs toward the front door, eyes locked on mine. Is it anger or fear? I don’t know dogs, and seeing as Tala has left him in my care, she doesn’t know me. I hold out my hand and his nostrils flare. He cranes his thick neck a few inches forward toward my fingers –

A muffled ring:

my body understands the sound before meaning registers, a hot surge through my arms. I shriek and the dog darts behind the couch. On the second ring, I turn and tear past piled papers and boxes and plates and books, pull the keyring from the side table drawer. On the third ring, I scramble with the tiny key, fiddle with the padlock on the door to the hidden cupboard beneath the stairs. The padlock pops, on the fourth ring, I throw open the door, duck and crawl, and as the fifth and final ring begins, I reach for the old yellow phone –

“Hello?”

Read S1E4 “Pathétique” here.

Publications

S1:E3 “Moonlight,” Corporeal Clamor

S1:E2 “The Introvert’s Guide to Impeachment,” Corporeal Clamor

S1: E1 “Lock Her Up, Corporeal Clamor

These Days, Corporeal Clamor.

You are the Rest of Us, Corporeal Clamor.

Over Everything, Corporeal Clamor.

Test Tank, Corporeal Clamor.

You say, write something hopeful, Corporeal Clamor.

Make a Little Birdhouse in Your Soul, Corporeal Clamor.

You Can Do Anything, Corporeal Clamor.

The Right to Bare Arms, ENTROPY Magazine.

Still Gonna Do (#ShePersisted), The Manifest-Station.

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I see now that it was a mistake. I saw it the moment she stepped through, that I was somehow both over and underprepared, and badly. Tala’s off duty look was unchanged from her service call uniform. Jeans, boots, vest, a blue and grey checked flannel, hair a dark halo around her shoulders. I chose a maroon skort for the occasion, thinking it would be ironic, but as she stood in the doorway, the corduroy chafed at my thighs. When I moved to take her vest, she shrugged it off and hung it on the coat rack herself.

Tala was the kind of girl I used to follow around at school, silently willing her to let me carry anything, literally anything, like a backup stick of gum – the girl who gave a half smile like she knew I was there but didn’t actually mind, nor would she strike up a conversation.

“Hey,” she said. She put her hands in her pockets, and grinned, and I saw that I had been staring.

“Please,” I mumbled, and gestured behind me. “Sit anywhere.”

She paused long enough for me to see what she saw, that the coffee table was a tiny island of sanity in this house, and the fact that I hadn’t been able to see that clearly for myself was only the beginning of what I missed. The books stacked high along the edges of the living room wall, the unopened mail, the layer of dust – these were all things that might have passed as eccentric, and that was fine, but the wine and candles seemed ridiculous, no, presumptuous, which was just –

“How’s the piano?” She stood at the piano, one hand on the lid, peering up at the gash in the ceiling. “Seems like you dodged a bullet.”

I flinched. “It’s fine.” Crossed my arms, fixed my eyes on the wall.

Read the third episode of my fiction series at Corporeal Clamor here.

Publications

S1:E2 “The Introvert’s Guide to Impeachment,” Corporeal Clamor

S1: E1 “Lock Her Up, Corporeal Clamor

These Days, Corporeal Clamor.

You are the Rest of Us, Corporeal Clamor.

Over Everything, Corporeal Clamor.

Test Tank, Corporeal Clamor.

You say, write something hopeful, Corporeal Clamor.

Make a Little Birdhouse in Your Soul, Corporeal Clamor.

You Can Do Anything, Corporeal Clamor.

The Right to Bare Arms, ENTROPY Magazine.

Still Gonna Do (#ShePersisted), The Manifest-Station.

Postage

Subscribe