woodpieces

EIGHT PIECES OF BURNABLE WOOD
A Short Story By Vito Capobianco

Last night has left me feeling exhausted. Just plain worn. Sitting above it (my home town) on this hill, I can still see it now. Reflected from my minds image, memory, onto the scenery below and then relayed through the air and into the night sky. The memory exists in a bubble just above the horizon, connected to its point of origin by a cone. Then it goes straight down into the blurry distant neon light of the EZ-Mart.

I�m not too far away, I can make out the rows of houses and stores and gas stations and such, easily enough. But even this almost insignificant amount of distance helps. Lets you back up and adjust it all into focus. Helps you understand that sometimes things don�t work out. And she's pissed off now but when I show up at her apartment with a dozen roses and a mandolin it�ll be all right. But first I'll spend the next month or so drunk and regretting what happened. But in the end it'll work out. At least that�s what every movie, sitcom/television program and harlequin romance novel has led me to believe-"Fucking damn!" Sitting on this hill I�m screaming, believing that time has stopped everywhere else so I can come up here and think. But when I begin my slow descent into reality it�ll start to settle, a feeling of lost time and opportunity. A loathing for the moment I�m in and extend that into a month or a lifetime. I guess it all depends on these next few days and if Freddy Prince Jr. is right and true love exists and she'll take me back, but first I have to figure out what I did. Why she was acting the way she was. It was just the other night. I was walking up the street to the EZ-mart.

(I look back into the memory bubble and watch the frozen image of me thaw and continue on its predestined path to the EZ-Mart.)

-I need something. I think I might be thirsty, or hungry. I�ll find out, I guess, when I get there. It�s just one of those absent feelings. The need to consume, anything, just anything. Cigarettes, coffee, chocolate chips just anything.

The air is chilled and biting into my cheeks and ears. I got on this dulled blue hoody and worn leather jacket as well as a pair of long johns under a pair of fairly new jeans. But the cold is still vicious. The contrast of lighting, as I near the EZ-Mart, puts me off a bit. The soft darkening blue of almost night skies and sickly yellow of the fluorescent tubes, when it meets it forms a ghastly pale green on the pavement.

I walk past packaged firewood, covered in a light snow. It�s ridiculous. Eight pieces burnable wood for like ten bucks. Fucking scam. All because people don�t wanna ruin the fucking quaint atmosphere the trees in their yard give off.

I trade off the monotonous drone of Ellen street traffic (all though not so busy as Main, it still has its rushes) for the unending buzz of fluorescent lights and drink/deli-meat coolers. I look up at the cashier, while still moving through the entrance. Male, not interested, 30-something, loser, no distinct features or color or mannerisms. Your average third generation import model, boring and shitty. Just so happens to be 80% of this countries population.

I move towards the magazines. Noting that, according to the World Wide Squealer, the recently cloned Adolph Hitler has dropped his studies in the University of Cambridge and has taken up �new secret terrorist plots with Sadam Hussein and Osama Bin Laden�. President Bush says, and the World Wide Squealer quotes: �And we will crush this new threat with unwavering justice and grind them up for our children to spread on their cakes!� �The president then ended his speech with a quick chopping gesture resulting in his arm being held stiff in the air.� Well, I guess it�s good to stay on top of the news.

I move on and pick up some magazine with a lot of skin on the cover. Looking over the isles I spot this really hot girl. She�s in the dairy section, where the yellow lighting makes milk look rotten. She�s short, five foot something. Short dark hair, with that new razor cut style that�s all sexy and shit. Purpley-red lipstick and tight hemp necklace says �sexual yet homegrown bashful�. Combined with hip black coat tells me she thinks herself pretty cynical. But it�s like that with the college youths. It just fits the whole persona of being a stuck up fucking college snot. Self proclaimed disillusioned cynics. The phony generation. Soooooo disenchanted! With their shattered dreams of hope passed over. Fucking bullshit. I�ve never met happier people. Contented in the knowledge that what they�re doing is what they should be and that everyone is just so fucking happy for them.

But she�s really cute, shapely cheek bones accented by the razor cut hair. She has a kind certain warmness about her figure. Christ, she looks almost familiar. Skinny, but no boy-figure, hips and tits that tighten up the loins. And I swear to god I recognize her. She moves to the drinks and chips section after selecting some milk. She sees me looking and smiles after a long glance. She looks back down at the food and now I look down too. Don�t wanna come off as a freak while I try and figure out where I know her from. School�.no. I didn�t meet her there. I haven�t known her that long. Then it clicks, as simple as a child�s toy after the first time you make the connections. It�s Carla, my ex-girlfriend. I look back stunned that I had not remembered sooner. She�s paying for her things. Receives the change and groceries then heads for the door.

I step out from behind the magazine rack. �Hey!� She stops, startled.

�Hi.� She seems hesitant. But that�s on account of how we broke up.

I�m determined to patch things up. I mean, I still care about her.

�How ya been?� I give her my best smile.

��Good, I guess.� She takes a half step back. Jeez she�s really pissed off at me.

�Alright look, I�m sorry.� I drop the smile and look bummed.

�Don�t worry about it.� She says quickly, seemingly relieved. Good sign, but then she starts to leave so I grab her real quick.

�Look! Can we just go somewhere and get some coffee? I really need to explain myself�

She�s confused, �What? Who are you?� She looks to the clerk but he doesn�t return the glance.

�It�s me Ryan! Ryan Sterling!? We met at Jen�s party in Selkrik, about three years ago.�

She pulls away, kind of scared. �I don�t know any Ryans or Jens. So fuck off!� Her face red; she pushes out the door.

I look at the cashier and he makes like he�s not watching. But I know he�s been tuned into this little melodrama.

�Nosey prick.� I step out after her. But she�s walking pretty fast so I run up and stop her.

�What the fuck do you want!?� Her pleading voice is shrill and almost yelling.

She always did have a flair for the dramatics. �Carla, calm the fuck down. It�s me Ryan. We used to go together. For like two weeks we dated! I bought you that little kitten Professor Meowington. And you thought he was �just the cutest� and then we had sex for the first time-�

�I don�t know who you are!� She starts running so I grab her by the waist.

�Look lets just ta-�

She screams for help, the sound cuts through me. I smother her mouth with my arm and pull her to the side of the EZ-Mart. So no one can see. I just got to explain this to her but she keeps thrashing. I pull us both to the ground in a pile of snow. She�s crying   the tears of the defeated.

�Carla. Jesus! It�s me Ryan!� She try�s screaming. �Remember. Our third week together your father died and I didn�t come to the funeral. But it wasn�t my fault I missed the bus and you wouldn�t return my calls. And a week later you and your mom moved. Look I�m sorry.� She stops crying. �That�s all I wanted to say. I�m sorry and I wanna try again. Okay?� I peel my snot covered hand away from her face.

�Please l-l-let me go.� She has crying hiccups. �I don�t- don�t know w-w-who you are. Please my names Lorraine. And-and I�ve li-lived her all my life.�

�What? Why are you doing this to me?� She�s fucking nuts.� Look you have a mole on your left breast. Right! Right!?� I loosen my grip so I can open her shirt and she bolts. I scramble up, scrapping my hand on the brick wall of EZ-Mart. I call after her.

�Carla. I love you. I�ve always loved you.� So desperate. I have to tell her, but it�s too late. She doesn�t care. I don�t know. I just don�t understand it. Why she couldn�t be straight with me. Fuck. I really love her. I gotta do something to get her back, but I just feel so terrible. I have to go somewhere to figure this out.

My trek to the hill goes quickly. As I�m thinking of all the moments we shared together. Her soft feminine skin, so warm and gentle. Her scoffing laugh. Her sexual fluid movements in and out of bed. The depth, our intense yet short period together, at which it settled in me, leaves a big space to be filled. It leaves chills that go deeper than superficial wind cold.-

On top of the hill I look down on the plastic model appearance of this town. Now devoid of human warmth. There is no sense of community, only cold dark suspicion in every face.

But I gotta let it go. You gotta let things go or you get obsessed. And all too often obsession turns to disappointment which leads to anger. And ultimately anger becomes violence. At least that�s what my therapist would tell you. But that guy's a fuck up anyways. He�d say something ridiculous like I never even met the girl before. That I just made all that stuff up in my head. That I should be taking those stupid, fucking pills he gives me. Fuck that.

                                                                         The End.

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