My Cardboard Balcony

It's almost Christmas. It's almost Christmas. It's almost Christmas. IT'S ALMOST FRIGGIN' CHRISTMAS. FORGET INTROSPECTION. I'M BEING FESTIVE.

"Caramel Kisses" is an unfinished novel I began to write back in 2009 and stopped working on in 2010. The two main characters - Adriana Maguire Reynard and Emma Burking - would ultimately be revised for my later completed novella, "The Liffey Is Half-Asleep," in 2011. Several elements of "Liffey" can be found in their original forms in "Caramel Kisses," such as the characters' names, the haiku scene, and Adriana's penchant for writing.  Because of its influence on my later writing, I figured that this story, though incomplete, was worth sharing. Caramel Kisses: Chapter Five by Belinda Roddie One night we decided to get Indian food. We drove up to Novato, that strange little suburb. Oh, how I had missed thee. The night before it had been take-home Chinese and we had eaten it in my cramped living room because I had been at your condo the week before, and while we were downing chow mein and Mongolian beef, we thought that maybe we coul...

If I were a car, I'd break down right in the middle of a wasteland, and I'd breathe oily fumes so strong that the nearest town could smell the toxins and feel it churning up the acids in their stomach. I'd have an owner who'd curse and scream and kick my tires a few times with a heavy leather boot, then throw a reception-less phone at the hills while scraping her pockets for a spare cigarette.

A Bronzed Peppermint Bowl by Belinda Roddie "A bronzed peppermint bowl," my grandma said when I asked what my Christmas gift was for, and I loved it. I never put any other candy besides peppermint in the beautiful vessel. My sister thought it was silly, but after our grandma died, the bowl became more sentimental than ever before. When I got older, and my daughter had children, they would come to visit me and hear my stories. Each time they sat down in the living room, I offered them a peppermint from the bowl. They always thanked me for the little treat, which, with the mem'ry of Grandma, was sweet.

"I'm a celebrity here? Why am I a celebrity here?" "They heard all about what you did to that one bitchy customer," Harriet replied with a smile, undoing the fraying knot that held her apron against the curved part of his back. "You know, the one who always cut in line and claimed the manager was an ugly dyke? She hasn't been back since. You're a hero now." "Huh." I pursed my lips. "Does that mean I get a hero's discount now every time I want a bowl of noodles?"

Putting Out A Fire by Belinda Roddie During a particularly bad argument with my brother, my drunken father thought it'd be a good idea to douse my receding hairline with very, very sticky liqueur. The booze lingered so harshly, and the aroma hovered so aggressively, that I nearly choked on my own vomit while hobbling to the bathroom to wash my head. He never apologized for it. Most fathers don't like apologizing. And my brother never took back the awful barbs he buried in my spine, the reason I felt the skin in my neck tighten into spirals and my tongue spin out of control like a flailing thread from a spool. Brothers like to bronze the pain for safekeeping. Somehow, I hope he realizes there's no value in hating my inner tattoo.

The conversation had been completely derailed by the appearance of Shawn's very intoxicated cousin, who barreled into the kitchen at a very odd speed, considering she was moving on her knees and not on her feet. Perhaps she was trying to be a dwarf from the Hobbit movie, I thought, only to have my theory confirmed when she pulled herself into a chair, her tankard splashing ale on the floor. "I come to claim my stolen gold!" she roared, burping loudly.