Fecund

These days are fertile, full of possibility, ripe with hope. You can pick your fruit, or you can sit in the shade and watch others. Either way is a choice, but only one decision will work for me. So I ask you, what kind of life do you want to lead?

You don't have to know the right path, but you have to be moving in the right direction.

Borborygmus

April covered her ears with her hands and huddled in the corner of the bathroom. Her mother sat across from her against the tub, cradling her baby brother at her chest. The whole world rumbled around them, soap dispensers and toothbrushes falling to the floor. But they made no sound, no clatter against the tile, because the borborygmus of the Earth was too loud.

Doyen

When you get old, they have to make sure you work. They poke you and prod you and start you and stop you. They forget respect, because they see rust. They expect you to understand and trust, but they do not return the favor. They consider your slowness weak rather than thoughtful. When you hesitate they believe you are confused rather than considering.

Is it any wonder you hate getting older? The gray hairs, the wrinkles, the aches and pain, those are nothing in comparison to the rest. The problem doesn't lie in age, but in youth.

Telegenic

I don't like whispers. They are rude. They are disrespectful. They are exclusionary. And I am always excluded.

***

It's a lie. When they say it's not easy being beautiful, it's a big fat lie. Being naturally beautiful, like I am, is actually very easy. Anything you put on looks great. You never need makeup. You don't have to blowdry your hair. Sometimes you don't even have to wash it.

Natural beauty is convenient.

And it gets you places. It got me on television. That's what's not easy. TV.

***

I am a star. A little one, but still bigger than them. That's why they talk about me. That's why they whisper.

I don't like whispers.

Shofar

Tradition. He found himself trapped once again by tradition. First as a boy, forced inside to study the Book while his friends played touch football at the park. Then in college, standing to one side at parties, if he went at all, an observer not a participant. Now, in love, but unable to fulfill it, the object of his affection not allowed, not accepted.

When would it stop? Where would he draw the line?

Ad hominem

You are ad intellect; I am ad hominem. Brains, they can take you pretty far. But my honest belief? Passion is stronger. Love is the ultimate force, the guiding light, the only right. You may find another path to the same place, but I will never walk alone or afraid.

Cursory

He remembered that street in Barcelona -- or was it Paris? -- with the promenade and the cafés. The smell of fresh bread, the heat of the sun. That girl with the tall sunflower still on its stalk, and the way no one gave him more than a cursory glance.

He'd felt at ease there, and not just because he was on vacation. There had been a stronger sense of home there than anywhere this side of the Atlantic. Could he have been born in the wrong place, separate from his soul? Because he'd finally found it, there, in Barcelona.

Or was it Paris?

Resile

Amy winced as she rose from the bed. Every muscle in her back and legs seemed to scream in pain, but she resisted the urge to lie down again. She refused to admit defeat, even such a small one.

After a brutally quick and cold shower, Amy pulled on her leotard and tights and grabbed some nonfat yogurt from the fridge.

"Day two," her roommate stated grimly.

Amy nodded.

"I hear it's worse than the first."

Amy tried to laugh.

Ballet was tough, there was no doubt. But it was her dream. She'd given up almost everything to get here, and she wasn't going back. Not after a day, not ever.

Hortative

She wondered why he didn't listen anymore. She spoke just as clearly as ever, just as sincerely. She still looked him in the eye. She even paused at the appropriate moments, giving him time to respond. He remained silent.

My advice to her was, Don't push it. Things aren't the same anymore. And until you learn what they are now, you should probably let up. You'll only make it worse for the both of you.

Whilom

Beautiful. Cool. Talented. Articulate. Tomboyish. Genius. Strong. Funny. Tall. Fabulous. Stylish. Impressive. Formidable. Grey-eyed. Strong-willed. Strong-jawed. Sexy. Desired.

Maybe I was once. In a former life.

Fidelity

It would have been easier if she'd lied. He tells himself "honesty is the best policy" and "what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger," but honestly he felt like he was dying.

At night when they lay down in bed together, he no longer reached for her, no longer held her in one arm or pulled her close. Because every time their skins touched, an image of some other man's hand gripping her, igniting her, flashed through his mind. He stopped looking at her, because whenever their eyes met, he thought of some other man's face, some other man's body, reflecting in her pupils. And he barely spoke to her, because when he did, he couldn't listen to her words. All he heard was her soft, deep voice moaning some other man's name.

Recrudescence

Every couple of weeks, I think it's okay again. The scars fade, the warning signs don't show, and the mirror smiles back.

Then out of nowhere it returns, marring me, mocking me. Ruining my mood. My life.

Will I ever escape? Will I ever get to be myself? Sometimes it seems like I won't know 'til it's too late.

Ennead

We were missing three. A dozen of us got out, but only nine of us found each other after. We were missing three.

I couldn't let it go. Family, friends, love. The only things we ever had to keep us going in that place. I couldn't let them take that from me, fracture it.

So I'm looking. And I won't stop. Not until we're all back together. All twelve. Family.

Bonhomie

She closes her eyes and smiles at the song. "What are we waiting for?" She thinks about the good news she heard that morning, about the seasons changing, about growing up, and she realizes she isn't waiting at all. Life isn't waiting.

Every day isn't this easy happy feeling. But every now and then is enough. Enough to keep moving. Enough not to wait.

Knee-jerk

He knew she would go. All he had to do was ask. All he ever did was ask. It had become habit, just like her answering yes.

Perennial

He lost her at the music festival. Of course, that's where he'd found her too, so his friends tried to tell him it wasn't such a great loss. But what did they know? They hadn't felt it.

She had long hair, the color of a dirty beach, but in a good way. He'd touched it, imagining wiggling his toes in the Galveston sand, and that's when she noticed him. But she didn't get mad. She just laughed and said, "Dinah."

They spent the rest of the day together, trekking from band to band, crowd to crowd. She shared her funnel cake. He bought them hot dogs, then got mustard on her skirt and didn't tell her.

They made out next to an older couple who cheered and a group of middle school girls who alternately snickered and stared with jealousy. She put her hand in the small of his back and pulled him closer. He'd never experienced that before. He was always the one who wanted more.

It was almost dark when she said she needed to go to the bathroom. "Too many beers," she said with a weak laugh. She smiled politely and slipped away.

He stood by a tree and waited for her to come back. He was riding on Cloud Nine. She was perfect.

An hour later, she hadn't returned. He didn't want to leave the tree, but surely the line couldn't have been that long...

His friends laughed when they found him in front of the girls' restroom, peering anxiously every time someone came out. They called him a fool. "It was just a fling, man." "Don't you know you're not supposed to get attached?" "Obviously she did!" Ha ha ha.

But they didn't understand. Dinah was perfect. And he was going to find her.

Chimera

"An imaginary monster made up of incongruous parts."

Emmy had the feeling that these words meant something very different to her than to anyone else.

He had pretty dark eyes and soft warm skin. His breath stank, and his teeth made her think of a wild dog. She usually liked deep voices, but the words he spoke were foul, threatening, evil. He tasted like salt and blood.

Imaginary? Not quite. She would never forget that night in the park, no matter how hard she tried. But sometimes she could convince herself it was only a bad dream.

Decry

The time for crying and decrying was over.

When she made up her mind to do something, it would be done. He'd never known anyone like that -- other than himself, perhaps. True, she had her own methods, her own timetable, her own style, and all were very different from his own, but hey, what was the use in splitting hairs? He could trust her, he realized that now. In the end, that was what mattered most.

Untoward

This has been untoward -- moving in the wrong directions -- but I have been making excuses. Now I will devote all that wasted energy to the real problem, and I will find solutions. We are not lost, and we will not be, because now I am paying attention.

Annus mirabilis

She called it her favorite time of year. The birds flew in low overhead, headed south for the winter. She used to sit out in the McMahon cornfield and watch them go by, occasionally with her sketchpad or a camera on hand. I don't know what she did with all those drawings and photos, but I never saw them around.

When she left, I looked for them. I searched her room, her whole house, with her parents' permission, of course. They thought I was trying to figure out where she'd gone. I was just trying to keep a part of her with me.

Newspeak

They call it truth, but in those convoluted tongues I don't know how it could be. The songs of triumph die on our lips because we no longer know how to breathe. There's a restless tiger prowling the street corners, waiting for something to kill. Silently he stalks the liars, but he hasn't received his orders yet, hasn't gotten permission.

Exacerbate

Her eyes were open too wide, full of shock and pain. She shuffled along the brick wall, gripping her arm, trying to ignore the warm, thick flow of blood. She didn't know how much farther she had to go, but she knew that every step, every second was making it worse.

Parietal

It was a new world. Less boundaries, more fun. Overflowing cups, dirty laundry, no alarm clocks. Isn't that the way life's supposed to be?

But there's a reality lurking somewhere in that closeted mess. Growing up isn't as easy as 1-2-3. You can't pass off passing out, and you shouldn't pass up on these chances. These opportunities to make yourself, and break yourself, and maybe even change yourself a little. That's what life really is.

Feign

She turns her head, yawns. She exhales loudly as if to ensure that he will hear. And he does. And he knows. He knows what she is doing, that she is trying to make him notice. Notice the absence. She pretends she does not really care.

But she does, and they both are aware. The way her eyes gleam even as they avoid looking. It is undeniable.

How long will she wait before she confesses?
How long will he give her before he can't forgive?

Circumspect

You are circumspect. You are my better mind. You temper me, even when you raise my temper. I am not lost without you, but when we're together I can move faster and more assuredly. I am the eyes and you are the hands. We enable one another.

Can you believe that? Do you? Will you?

Ersatz

Shrinking is not the answer. Sometimes I forget that, when I am looking a certain way. Sometimes the light plays tricks with my eyes, makes me see spots. I can't stand spots. So I want to go away. I want to become less, because I think it will make me more. But that, of course, makes no sense.

Instead I will be full and proud, and I will not stare into the vapid nothingness around me. I will not be tricked into loving a different version of myself, especially one that does not exist.

Riparian

The house sat low on the riverbank, as if for years it had been trying to sneak up on the rushing waters but as of yet had found its chance. Brick red paint peeled off from every board, and the white trim had faded like an old woman's handkerchief. Still, Samantha thought it had retained a bit of its original charm, part of the quaint magic that had enchanted her as a child. And now, thirty years later, it finally belonged to her in deed and title, though it always had been hers in spirit.