Why can’t this be enough? I think as my right thumb hovers over my iPhone’s screen as if there’s a hidden well inside it that can fill up whatever part of me is still unsatisfied. I’m on a boat with four of my closest friends, sailing past the Santa Monica Pier on a sunny Saturday morning. …
Fat kids make easy targets, and, at 10 years old, I was a bus-sized bullseye. Imagine the porkbellied two-year-old stuffing his face with deep fried chicken wings backstage at Maury’s Morbid Babies show. Now picture him eight years later, roaming the blacktop in grey sweats like a baby elephant with a butt cut.
The one block left before our turn stretches out before me like a pirate’s plank, and the more I try to convince myself that everything’s okay, the more I feel like I’m going to be fed to the fishes. The food coma has overtaken my girlfriend at this point and she sits in the passenger seat with her eyes closed. I contemplate turning into our complex, but the possibility of us being murdered is too much to bear. As long as we’re in the car, we’re safe.
I glance inside the restaurant. Everyone looks so warm. Couples smile between bites of pasta and sips of wine. I envy how easy dating used to be. Before I had to research every restaurant I took a girl to. Before I had to scrutinize the staff about each of the ingredients they used in making their “signature sauce”. Before I had to escape to the bathroom just as our meal arrived to inject insulin. Before every meal was a dance with death.
I'm 32 years old and have spent all but six months of those being monolingual. And there is zero reason I should have. Unlike some unfortunate people who were never exposed to another language, I've had a multitude of opportunities to learn... When my fifth grade teacher went on maternity leave for half of the …
There’s a buzz about the packed theater in New York’s Union Square. It feels like an event with a capital E and it’s filling up quick. An elderly couple searches for a pair of empty seats. Only singles left. A curly-headed woman scoots down to make room. It’s a friendly crowd. I tuck my backpack …
There’s a point in every dream where you should realize you’re sleeping. It’s the moment when verisimilitude transforms into full blown fantasy. When everything in your brain should be screaming, “THIS CAN’T BE FUCKING REAL!” It’s when you figure out the hole you’ve fallen into is never ending, or the wolf chasing you stands upright …
If you missed Part 1, read it here. ♦♦♦ If you’re gonna leave, then go, Don’t need you standing at my door, 'Cause I can’t keep pretending, I don’t love you any more. -Kenny Taylor When her face appeared on the screen he felt his heart constrict, packed tight into a snowball. He couldn’t remember …
Whiskey River take my mind, Don’t let her mem’ry torture me. Whiskey River don’t run dry, You’re all I’ve got, take care of me. -Willie Nelson Kenny put up his guitar and sat down in his chair. Contemplated the hunk of metal in front of him - chips and wires and plugs, an LED screen …
Stories by Jared Naylor 