Writing Samples

Failed Marriage

He glanced at her from the other side of the sofa. A cheesy movie played on the TV, illuminating the room. The tension had risen to the point that neither wanted to get too close. The middle seat cushion was an ocean, and at this moment they had begun to suspect the other was a shark.

"So, do you think they will make it long-term?" He gestured to the TV. The couple on screen reminded him of their younger selves. A divorcee and an eligible bachelor, star-crossed lovers destined for a happily ever after. Or, he thought to himself, destined for a shipwreck where the captain got distracted by a lighthouse and realized the sea was not where he wanted to spend the rest of his life. She turned her head slowly, finally meeting his eyes.

"No, I think they'll burn out a few years after the movie ends." She hoped the guilt wasn't visible on her face. She knew she shouldn't have done it. Not the cheating, her regret there was minimal. But she shouldn't have married him, her third husband. She wanted someone younger, someone, who would be the breadwinner. She lived her life for the chance to look good and relax at home, and these young men provided her with that chance. They all wanted the same thing. They wanted someone to bring home for the holidays, to take some family photos for their Facebook profile, and to look good in society. She provided that for them, and in exchange for the social boost they got, she got her lavish life as a homemaker. Like the previous two times though, she got bored. Bored of the business agreement her marriage was, bored of the cheesy family pictures. So she found a new guy and slept with him while her husband was at that mundane office job earning money so she could stay home.

The couple on the sixty-inch flatscreen was having a montage of sex scenes, inevitably leading up to an easily resolvable miscommunication shortly after, that would drag the direct-to-streaming movie out another forty-five minutes for a great feature-length film. He watched the montage, noting how those raunchy poses were a little impossible, how shower sex is harder than it looks, and how he had never really looked at his wife as lovingly as the B list movie star looked at his acting companion. He wished he was at that point in the movie in his real life, where a miscommunication that would ruin everything would come up and he could easily break off his marriage without anyone judging him. He didn't want to hurt her, she was so dependent on him. He had no problem with her not working, but it meant leaving her would be harder. He wasn’t trying to ruin her life and leave her with nothing. But while she was home every day he had been spending lunch breaks with his mistress, slipping in an hour late in the evenings. Little increments of time that she didn't notice when he got a chance to see the woman he had slowly fallen in love with. A smile stumbled onto his face, thinking of the other woman. He scratched his nose hoping his wife hadn't noticed the expression. Unfortunately, she had. And it made her panic, was he thinking of her like that? She realized she had been staring and turned her eyes back to the television.

"If you don't think they'll last, what do you think will happen to them?" He wanted to crack, he wanted to tell her right then that they weren't going to last either.

"I think after a while the two of them will realize that it was fun for a time, but they're meant for other people." She silently willed him to understand what she meant, that she could just break it off then and there. It was at that moment they caught each other's gaze, eyes meeting as the movie couple had an unnecessary, plot-driving fight. "I need to tell you something." They said it in unison, a cheesy scene straight from fiction.

"I don't love you anymore. I want to divorce." She flinched as the words left her lips, she braced herself for the look of heartbreak to cross his face. She had done this before, but she always hated this part despite the familiarity. But as the words registered in his head, he skipped past the devastation of realizing she didn't want him anymore. This was the best moment of his life, the chance he needed. "I don't love you either!" He was nearly vibrating from the emotions. The tension had broken rapidly with that declaration. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to sound so excited. It's just that I've been hiding something and I didn't know how to tell you." Her jaw had dropped, she did not anticipate this working out for her so easily. Could her one true love really not love her either? They stared into each other's eyes, soaking in the emotions and passion of the moment. He reached out to take her hand, moving closer to her. The ocean was much smaller now, as the two cruise ships veered toward each other. She smiled, stroking his arm gently. As they stared at each other, they spoke. Their voices pierced through the sound of the TV couple having makeup sex in the background, "I'm cheating on you."

Black Hole Noise

the first time

you hear it

it takes you

by surprise

you close your eyes

clicking play

listen to this,

straining your ears

for voices of angels

lamentations of the dead

sound-waves ram your eardrums

you rummage through

the depths of your mind

your hands scrape

too far

leaving welts

on your heart

the echo reverberates

in your skull

you’re desperate to identify it

there it is!

it sounds like your redneck neighbors

have thrown a house party

a few properties over

and someone just dumped a keg

of miller lite

on the giant-ass speaker

they bought at bass pro shops

this is it.

years of work

research

dedication

and effort

the sounds of a black hole.

The One Room House

On the outside

red shingled walls,

and a moss covered roof.

Small,

quaint,

fairytale land.

An actor’s paradise.

Ancient rhododendrons

brush the slope of the gable.

Smooth stone steps

worn down by years of running feet.

The screen door’s metal latch

flicked open over and over

by tiny fingers.

Inside,

one exposed bulb

illuminates wood paneled walls.

The bed donning a floral quilt

sits center stage.

There, a lonely stool in the corner.

Windows are flung open

with youthful dramatic flare,

dim curtains trailing.

The scenes change every day,

Home to children’s make-believe games.

Pretend orphans,

princesses,

bandits.

The one room house.

Katmai National Park - Fat Bear Week

It is silly to think

that the government

shutting down,

will stop the bears

from getting fat.

Vinegar

For the longest time, I hated the smell of vinegar. This was a particularly unique trauma response. When I was a child, we got in a small car accident. We were driving through rural West Virginia up to Maryland. It was the middle of the night and my Mamaw had just taken the wheel, so my mom could sleep next to my uncle in the back of our 2004 Chevy Suburban. I was cozy sitting in my booster seat, a Winnie-The-Pooh blanket draped over me. Ten minutes after leaving the gas station, my Mamaw drove our Suburban into a large deer. It wasn’t really her fault, but we still laugh now that the previous ten hours of driving had gone fine, but the second she took over, disaster occurred. Little did my young self know, but my disaster was not the car crash- it was the aftermath of the crash. The car wasn’t drivable, it would take forever for a tow truck to get to us. And there were so many of us crammed into the car that a standard taxi couldn’t hold all of us. We waited for hours on the side of the road for rural West Virginia’s finest public transportation to reach us.

We got two taxis who would transport everyone to the nearest town and drop us off at the McDonald’s, the town’s nicest breakfast establishment. I remember the taxi driver being a weird guy, but this makes sense given it was a taxi driver in rural West Virginia at roughly 3 in the morning. I rested my head on the tax’s soft seat backs, dozing off briefly. We reached our destination and the sun came up as I ate a McDonald’s breakfast sandwich. To our delight, my mom found a rental car that would hold seven people at the rental car lot next door. The rest of the trip became a blur, so similar to all my other summers in Maryland with my cousins.

When we came home though, I noticed my head itched. Apparently, I had picked up head lice from the West Virginia taxi cab. Of course it spread around the house, but no one else had it as bad as I did. This is because I was so short my head touched the back of the seat in the taxi where I had slept unaware of my new guests. Meanwhile everyone else was either small enough to be in a huge car seat that acted as a safety area, or grown enough that their heads cleared the danger zone. It took weeks to get rid of the lice, eventually my Mamaw threatened to shave all my hair off. I cried and protested this, pleading my case effectively. Unfortunately for me, the alternative to cutting my hair was having my hair washed with vinegar three times a day. I would sit in the bathtub, head down, while a warm cup of vinegar was poured on me. The smell was horrible, and sometimes it would drip down my temple into my mouth. It took years before I would eat coleslaw again.