Waving Not Drowning

He unloaded in her lap. Dumped his secret life all over her. She no longer has the option of ignorance. Ignorance is power. Ignorance allows her to maintain their friendship as is:  uncomplicated, purely platonic. With his hidden self unmasked, she knows too much. It's burdensome. Unfair. She didn't ask for this. It was a cup of coffee, a catch up with a married friend and colleague. Safe. He is committed to someone else. Ring on finger, vows unbroken, kids in strollers, blah, blah, blah. Holden was not going to hit on her. Ever. It had never even crossed her mind. No matter how drunk they got or how heated the conversation. She kept it above board and he followed suit. Hooray for the adult opposite sex friendship. The bomb drops. A series of them. A drone airstrike, completely unforeseen, annihilating the entirety of their experience together. Words transform the air between them. The sky darkens, the barometer rises. Trish is dizzy. Nauseated and off balance, a gravity drop a...

On a hot, humid, late spring evening close to sundown, the moon hangs heavy in the east three quarters full surrounded by a shadowy fog, filtered in the slowly darkening indigo sky. A bell sounds, ching~ching. A cyclist rolls by while three adults surround a mid size sedan, doors ajar, one packing a sleeping toddler into the backseat as the trio plays out a languid, elaborate goodbye after an enjoyable evening of barbeque and home made beer. Ivan's latest obsession is local IPA's. The small converted basement in the war era bungalow has become a makeshift brewery, hoppy and yeasty, overflowing with bottles and funnels, numerous batches of experimental blends and a graveyard of guitars in various states of function. Ivan's not much of a drinker. He considers himself more of a chemist, a creative scientist in the world of brewmastery. From 9 to 5 Monday through Friday Ivan works the service desk in a local chain retailer of musical instruments. He repairs guitars and other st...

How can someone be that ignorant? Beth is beside herself, shaking with fury, literally biting her tongue until she begins to taste that metallic sting of blood in the back of her throat. Thinking about things while standing in the checkout line, replaying the last three days over and over in her head, waiting to buy three new tea towels to replace the ones now burnt to a crisp along with a new mop head and three bottles of Lysol. This makes Beth shake and hum out loud, much to the disturbance of the woman ahead of her in line who shoulder checks with a look of curious irritation. Beth is wracking her brain- had Karen always been this filthy? When she stayed with her last year in Tahoe, Beth learned that Karen's idea of cleanliness was not on par with hers but then Karen flushed the toilet and took showers.  At least Beth thought so at the time. Karen's visit has turned Beth's apartment in a toxic waste zone. Twice Beth has had to clean her own toilet of crap sprayed all ove...

Jennifer lies. She lies like a rug, like a third grade student with stained purple fingers and blue tinged teeth who claims she did not eat that blueberry pie. That deep dish, warm from the oven, baked fresh for Mother's bridge night pie. Yet Jennifer's not in the third grade. She is a grown woman, married to a grown man, mother to an eight year old son, minder of one dog, three fish and a hamster. She is high functioning, relatively happy, decidedly well off and in above average health. Her hobbies include yoga and pilates, the occasional spin class, a monthly book club and improv comedy on Tuesday evenings with 11 other women. She has a BA, a Master's Degree and could have been a lawyer but she chooses to stay at home with her son instead. And she lies. As well as being an upper middle class overly educated mother, wife and social butterfly, Jennifer has a secret. She hides this from everyone. Her family, her friends. It gives her an air of mystery, untouchable-ness. She ...