7 or 8 Things I Know About You
Her
Sister’s Demons
While clearing out her sister’s apartment,
she will find an old motor oil box stuffed with demons. Paper craft demons,
plush demons, demon figurines tucked away in wrapping paper, sketches and
paintings of demons, a bottle of hot sauce called “Demon Semen” and several
smashed penny souvenirs with demon etchings from when she passed through Hell,
Michigan. She use to wear her “I went to Hell and all I got was a lousy t-shirt”
shirt to sleep.
The
Kitten
A bump in the driveway that isn’t
normally there. She doesn’t notice until she backs completely over it. The vet fixes
it up, in a manner of speaking. Dr. Satan, her new name, is missing a front paw
and an eye. It hides under the bed, refuses to eat, dies 7 days later from its
injuries. She tears the thorns off all the roses to mark the grave. This
becomes a yearly ritual.
Old
Orchard
The road to the hospital was lined
by three-story, suburban trees, yellow and red in October, a tunnel of apple
leaves. Old Orchard erupted in a scarlet hue every sunset, like driving through
a womb.
First
Blamed
She broke the porcelain
jack-o-lantern on Halloween. Her mom came home and found a shard of the stem in
the hand of the baby sister. The next day they tried super gluing it back
together, but it wasn’t strong enough. Some shards were left behind
in the storage closet between the daughters’ bedrooms.
7:21pm
The light from the half open
window catches the dust particles. Overhear her blowing at them, trying to
clear the air.
Eulogy
“I talked to her photographs for
a while. Not ones she was in, the ones she took when she was traveling.”
Fantasy
One of two: To arrive at a party
at a moment in between songs, a moment of silence for her entrance. She doesn’t
want everyone to notice her, just one person to make eye contact and
appreciate the moment.
Three of three: To see a
wildfire, not a brushfire; an inferno, untamable.
Flare
Up
The day after her sister leaves a
house off of Old Orchard explodes. The trees catch fire. Leaves run off the branches
like lava, flames scurry across the street. Embers, like bats out of hell,
flick into the smoked sunset. She’s stuck on the road between two large
branches when the emergency response vehicles arrive. Three firefighters come
running to the car, but only one goes to the door. She kills the engine, her
music stops, the woman asks her if she’s stuck. “I don’t think so” she repeats
a few times before getting out of the car and off the road.
