Final Installment of The Beard on NameCalling

NameCalling has published Part 3 of a story I wrote called, The Beard.

A little blurb about NameCalling:

NameCalling.Org is a creative non-fiction online journal. Read tales of humor, tragedy and everything in between as authors explore name calling-for better or for worse. Check out the archives or search for your your name. Stories are posted every week. You’ll enjoy them all!

Best,
Corisa Moreno
Editor

Though my little story is not (exactly, as far as we know) CNF, Corisa was gracious enough to publish it.

Enjoy, please leave comments, please.

The Beard, Part 1
The Beard, Part 2
The Beard, Part 3

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

My Brightest Diamond: Inside A Boy

Vessel Log: 2009 03 16

: [dis]tance. The pill-bug stops still, waits for me to (1) not notice or (2) go away. [dis]interest. Arrows of sleep, the mincing effect of internet 3 minute video. [dis]realization, [dis]personalization. But out of kitchen rubble comes a ray of light. Cruise through the music of 2009; Kristin Hersh: “Gin”, Kylie Minogue: Boombox, M. Ward, Maria Taylor: “Time Lapse Lifeline”, Neko Case: Middle Cyclone. [d]is comfort. Thaw makes for sluggish, muddy behavior. [dis]turbia. Spider/Kumo rounds the elbow of a water pipe. “Christ! You’re a leaper!” as it jumps to the pale yellow shower-room wall. [dis]play. Stand back and observe; repress the urge to soak it in water and let drown in the soapy water below.

Vessel Log: 2009 03 12

: Y. graduation day. The hallway by the gymnasium hung with felt sakura, the back wall a sweep of paper flowers, side walls a collage of geese, messages, and taped petals. One by one, as one, san-nen-sei walk up to the podium on the stage, balanced with a bouquet of flowers and two flags. The flowers are gorgeous, like they’re exploding, imploding, shattered atoms. K.-sensei, in traditional garb, fights back tears as she calls her class up from their seats for the last time. I nearly choked up myself. Outside the school, a hallways created by students, they cheer and clap for san-nen-sei as they pass through, handing out gifts. Pictures taken in the halls, out among the slush and mud. But the sun feels charming, the wind refreshing. T.-sensei drives me home in her car and I take my lunch indoors before a 2 hour nap. Japanese class tonight.

Vessel Log: 2009 03 11

: Y. graduation rehearsal day. They’re three hundred voices singing in four-part chorus. “This music. We play it during American weddings.” Marches, bows, acceptances, speeches, ups, downs, start again, perfect unison. “You should wear a costume,” K.-sensei said. “Like Superman.” “I’ll bring my Batman suit and fly into the ceremony.” Festival meeting in a board room lined with photographs of a lake gazebo. A., E. and I walk to Mos Burger. They give us yellow cards to grow our own peppermint. Dishes have colonized my kitchen. My night a string of Top Chef.

Vessel Log: 2009 03 10

: take that step back. Rehearsal for the graduating S. san-nen-sei; their suited dark uniforms. “I want to go to Hollywood.” There’s a brimful of snow looming in the north. Ride my bike to the grocery store. A feast of salmon, potatoes and a salad. Fell asleep. M. Ward, Maria Taylor to usher out the final hours. I still avoid folding my laundry.