I'm sitting in the laundromat, watching strangers' clothes spin around in the dryer--what better time to feed my nano addiction?
“Radio”
B moves to LA on Monday. She’s packed her cassettes, her vinyl. Now I have more time for D and her cherry red iPod.
“Cookies”
Grandma left, died. Her kitchen’s filled with cookie jars, collected. I take Garfield in a chef’s hat—her favorite and only I know. Money’s inside.
“13, Remembered”
Braces at 13, lipstick and cleavage at 20. Donald loves her. Brad and Grant love her too. She remembers Larry Botts, seventh grade, and cries.
“Last”
Matt’s in Iraq, second tour. Gray under-eyes, she joins the PTA, wishes it met more often. His last letter’s torn and smells like peppermint.
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1 comment:
The last nano fiction is the most poignant of this bunch, and seems to pack the greatest volume of emotion and story the most effectively into such a brief space. Creating the breadth of a character who serves as more than a foil in such a short space of words is difficult, but there is an undeniably acute sense of personality and identification with the (presumably) female protagonist in this one. I really like it! The first one is catchy, it seems, fittingly, almost like a pop tune or a refrain, while containing more depth than it appears at first glance.
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