Bluemont

A tall woman with sleight shoulders stooping over her thickening middle grips the railing of a faded red sundeck.  Her face flaps open and shut, a screen door squeaking in the late summer wind—she is speaking to someone below.  My window is closed against the lingering weight of the evening air and I cannot hear what she says.

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Posted by Gregory Taylor

I want to tell you a story

There was a dog, once, whose master was sick beyond the skill of any doctor. When the dog heard that there was a magical fruit that could cure his master, he left immediately in search of that fruit. Ever
just out of reach, the fruit drew him to search higher and lower, farther and wider across the land, beyond mountains and oceans until at last he found what he was looking for. The fruit hung lonely at the edge of the world, guarded by the world-spirit in the form of an old man seated in front of the gnarled, ancient tree. The world-spirit asked why he had come, and laughed kindly when the faithful dog revealed his mission.
"I'm afraid that will be quite impossible, for you have already died, and can no longer return to your master's side."
The dog had indeed died, many years into his journey, but such was his entire devotion to the quest that his spirit had not noticed when his body fell behind.

I always hated that story.

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Posted by Gregory Taylor

Rie

When he invited me up to his place I expected an inconvenience or two before I'd get to sleep. But the street gets cold around midnight and hey, he might not have syphilis. Turns out Mr. Projects liked to play rough.
The room still smelled of sulfur smoke when the landlord walked in. Avoiding my eyes, he glanced around, said "He's paid up through the end of the month but it'll be two-fifty after that and I ain't cleaning up for you."
And that was how I moved back to the city.

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Posted by Gregory Taylor

Lavender and Rose

"Does this smell OK to you?"
God. This was second only to Hey, watch this! for sentences likely to send someone in her family to the hospital. Mati was pleased that Rose only wanted an opinion on her cologne.
"I'm sure he'll eat it up, if he can stop looking at that gorgeous dress!"
Despite her name, Rose was wearing lavender, in a new dress that flattered her perfectly and in a slightly expensive designer perfume. A young doctor named Shane would be here in 5 minutes: the all-important third date.
Knowing Rose's tendencies, Mati had immediately taken to Shane when he drove up in something with more than two wheels. She then spent the last three weeks carefully balancing talking him up (so Rose wouldn't let him get away) and talking him down (so Rose wouldn't psych herself out): the usual job of the roommate.
Arm resting against the window frame, Mati watched the pair walk to Shane's car. A thin drift of lavender slowly found her nose as she returned to her book and the still-warm embrace of the couch.

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Posted by Gregory Taylor

Have You Ever Been in Love?

"Son, have you ever been in love?"

The old man next to me at the bar had a careworn yet gentle face. He looked like someone who might have seen much hardship but had let it pass over him like waves over a sandy shore. Only his eyes bore witness that time had done anything more than glance carelessly in his direction.

I looked straight into those eyes full of history and quickly looked away.

"Have you ever been in love?" he repeated.

"I once thought I was."

His eyes expected me to continue.

"But now I know I was wrong."

I tried to return to my drink but those eyes followed me and wouldn't let me off so easily.

So I let my mind run back to that summer when I thought love had found me.

* * *

"I didn't have half a clue back then. The first time someone made my heart lose its tempo I thought I'd found it." My mind came back to the bar and I realized I’d been gushing for at least a quarter of an hour. I laughed at myself and at my past naïveté.

"It was all so overwhelming back then. But it won't happen again. The next time will be the last time, because now I know what I'm looking for." My thumb ran over the fold of my badge. "You can't last long at my job without being able to find what you're looking for." I turned back to my companion, half-raising my glass in a toast to love and the past, but there was no one there.

I had to smile. The man was gone and had left me to pay for his drink. I didn't much mind.

Posted by Gregory Taylor

Brandon's Phone

The woman in a dress like a warm cafe latte was wholly immune to the ravages of rain and mud, or so Brandon thought. From time to time, as she glanced up from her book – probably Dostoevsky or something else suited to her cool sophistication – he caught a glimpse of dark brown eyes beneath a cascade of curls. Perhaps it was wishful thinking or Brandon's wayward life spent in classical studies, but she looked divinely Hellenic: a venerable statue dressed in youth and flesh and blood. Brandon was a timid man, uncomfortable with open staring, so his glances were few and furtive: the bounce of her hair as she shook back a stray curl, the delicate pressure of a ruby fingernail against her cheek, the half-smile as she caught him looking in her direction. The red tincture over Brandon's face belied his best efforts to conceal how that alluring dazzle of teeth had stopped his heart. He stumbled to his feet, grabbed for his belongings and bundled out the door. Had he been in my position he would have seen Elena's eyes follow him down the sidewalk and felt her sigh of regret from across the store. As I made my own way out of the store I handed her a phone – left behind in Brandon's precipitous exit.

"Take it. He'll be calling."

Posted by Gregory Taylor

Grey

Good evening, Senator, the woman in grey had said. She smiled past my protestations that she must be mistaken and kept walking a smooth, even walk down the lamp-lit street. Her hand rested lightly on the arm of her tuxedoed companion, and he did not seem to notice our exchange. In the twenty years since that night, I never saw her outside of my mind's recollections.

This evening she surprised me in the receiving line at the party to celebrate my election. I would have sworn that neither she nor her dress bore any sign of time's passage. At her request I excused myself from the festivities and we left the building to walk beneath the mewling stars. I said nothing throughout our time, as the one question I wanted to ask was the one question I was sure she wouldn't answer. She broke our silence only once, and this to say to a young man in the street, "Good evening, Senator."

Posted by Gregory Taylor