raymond carver

Some people think kids are stupid, but I always thought they caught on pretty quick. My old man told me that if you stare at a burning candle for long enough, you can see your future. I knew he was screwing around with me, but I played along. He liked it. So I did too.

She knew she had crossed a line. But she would never allow herself to be apologetic or feel embarrassed. I kept working on my crossword puzzle. “You can be right or you can be happy.” She took a smug drag off her cigarette. For once, I was both. But I kept my mouth shut.

“We don’t get too many folks in here between meals,” she sighed as she poured another free refill into that bottom-heavy mug. She had long stopped asking me how I took it. “We’re always between meals,” I said, but she didn’t hear me or didn’t think much of it. Or me.

A guy like that, a guy who keeps reminding you of his nickname, saying “Please, call me Chip,” should not be underestimated. A man like that is capable of some dark stuff.

Janice sat there telling a group of people a story that happened to me, as if it happened to her. I didn’t correct her. I sat there and marveled at how important small generosities are.

Peeking through the curtains, I saw that little girl in her scouting uniform going down the street selling cookies. She got to my door and knocked for what felt like an goddamn hour. Hiding, curled up in a ball on the floor, I waited for her to give up, like so many before.

He leaned in and told her stories about working at the mattress store, like they were a secret. She nodded and smiled in way that made me unsure if she understood that he was hitting on her by talking about beds. At least I think he was hitting on her. Hard to tell sometimes.

Can you? I can. Then why don’t you? Because I’m afraid you’ll hate it. Or think I’m not worth it. Or that I don’t understand. Or that it is isn’t real. More than anything, I need you to know it’s real.

To know someone’s full potential, and to believe in someone more than they believe in themself. That’s the real tragedy. No one said a thing.

“She’s a natural beauty,” her father whispered, leaning in to me as his daughter clomped down the makeshift catwalk. He was beaming, proud as a new parent showing off a newborn. He couldn’t see what the rest of were painfully aware of.

When the gal asked “mild, medium or hot?” I stared back for far too long, unsure how to reply. “I’m just trying to get through this night without hurting anyone. Myself included.”

At some point I stopped caring if people took what I meant as a compliment as an insult. And I started to become amused when people took what I meant as an insult as a compliment.

I feel a million little songs of guilt when I look back at some people and remember how much more I liked them before I got to know them.

There’s no middle ground with some people. And as much as I’d like to commit fully, I look around and wonder if this is the beginning of a big mistake.

Halfway through each cocktail, she reintroduced herself to me and again explained she was heartbroken. I hate to admit I was distracted, so I never was quite sure if it was her dad or a dog who had passed.

I haven’t seen a paperboy in so long. I can’t tell if people don’t read newspapers anymore. Or maybe they all just grew up and they’re all papermen.

She went on for quite some time, listing all the different animals that mate for life. She was trying to make some point about human relationships, but she got lost along the way.

I sneezed and looked around, hoping someone would say “God Bless.” I wondered if the people nearby didn’t hear it or if no one cared.

I still wonder after having to learn so many things the hard way, is there really an easy way?

I've never been one to leave cute love notes. I'm so sure they'll be used against me at some point in a future argument.