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My battery went dead and my father had to come to the mall parking lot to give me a jump. My daily comings and goings were charted in the kitchen, reviewed when I got back in the evening.
The parking lot was dark. Some of my co-workers stood outside under the street lamp, smoking. Bugs were flying in from everywhere to swarm in the light. He wanted my Sacred Heart tee so he could show off the muscles he was sculpting for me.
I wore his faded Ninja Turtles tee, had it stuffed into my jeans. Washed a thousand times, so smooth against my skin. I drove home with him in his old green Mercedes. Sometimes he let me drive this car. The front seat was a bench and Sherman scooted next to me, his hand restless on my leg. We caught every red light. I smelled like cigarette smoke and sex with a busy top layer of peppermint Tic Tac. Half a box in my mouth.
Bugs out of nowhere dove into the windshield. I knew what to do make him forget my screw-ups. I simply placed him right there in the palm of my hand. The Grapevine. The guys I liked used just a few words to explain what they meant, left the rest mysterious, but my father answered anything I asked like he had one chance left on earth. He leaned forward, squinting through the streaks, and asked me to be another set of eyes and help get us home safely.
I heard a giggle in the background and he said it was his sister, but I knew. My mother was quiet and excused herself during dessert to go upstairs to watch TV. My father looked sad, dumped, and I pushed the rest of my lemon pie at him. We sat on the piano bench. I followed the notes and turned the page when he nodded. You are commenting using your WordPress.
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Notify me of new comments via email. Notify me of new posts via email. Basic HTML is allowed. Your email address will not be published. Subscribe to this comment feed via RSS. Following the Notes pia z. Share this: Twitter Facebook. Like this: Like Loading Categories: Fiction. Jason A says:. April 23, at pm. Leave a Reply Cancel reply Enter your comment here Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Email required Address never made public.
Pia Z. Ehrhardt
My battery went dead and my father had to come to the mall parking lot to give me a jump. My daily comings and goings were charted in the kitchen, reviewed when I got back in the evening. The parking lot was dark. Some of my co-workers stood outside under the street lamp, smoking.
Story Symbolism: Following the Notes
Ehrhardt excavates sexual infidelities and unraveling marriages. In Ms. And for the most part she delivers, offering surprising takes on the universal subject. And there are things that must be done. Last week she instructed us to donate her retirement savings. As is true with many of her stories, Ms. Do as you will.
Following the Notes
Her writing has trained my ear and made me crave work that bubbles beneath the surface. I like the crumminess of Channel 10 because after you watch it, real life seems prettier, like running with leg weights and then taking them off. You think you could jump an eight-foot wall. I love this book, and I love this author.