My Cardboard Balcony

Can't really be introspective tonight. Another long, work-filled week. Lots of editing on my novel. Reading to kids. Getting to know teachers. It's been nice. I'll have something more fruitful to say later. Or I'll at least be more creative and thought-provoking in my creative writing. Here's a quotation, at least. Writer's Quotation of the Night: When I state myself, as the representative of the verse, it does not mean me, but a supposed person. - Emily Dickinson Have a great night and great weekend, everyone.

Passenger's Side by Belinda Roddie “Leslie?” “What?” “Are we there yet?” “No, we’re not gonna be there for another half hour.” “Oh…hey, Leslie?” “ What?” “Are we there now?” “Has it been a half hour yet, Lily?” “Sorry…hey, Leslie?” “No, we’re not there yet!” “But I’m so bored!” “Find a way to entertain yourself, then. Listen to music or something.” “Okay. …‘ Since you’ve been gooooone…I can breathe for the first tiiiime…” “Lily!” “What?” “I said listen to music, not sing to it!” “What? You’re such a....I mean…ugh!” “At least I’m not a little brat.” “What?” “Nothing.” “What did you say?” “Nothing! Go back to your Kelly Clarkson or whatever you were listening to.” “Fine. …Dad’s going to be there, right?” “Are you seriously still talking?” “But is he gonna be there?” “Yeah. He’ll be there.” “What about Grandpa?” “Hmmm. I dunno.” “But Grandpa’s so cool! He can’t not be there!” “I didn’t say he wouldn’t be there. I said I di...

Randy flexed the muscles in his arms. Then he flexed the muscles in his legs. Then, with great determination, he flexed every single individual muscle in his neck. I watched from a distance as he stepped over to the stack of dumbbells, sucking on a slurpee and narrowing my eyes. "Well," Anna murmured, "as long as he's not trying to flex the muscles in his a - " I shot her a warning glare. "Don't. Even. Say it."

A Bell A Day Was Left by Belinda Roddie A bell a day was left on my doorstep. Not large old things with wooden handles carved, but little jingle bells like from a sled with horse dragging it down the boulevard, and they rang quite a sweet sound, silver spheres of soft delight. I took them to my room and hung them by red ribbons so my ears would be soothed as I slept through nights of gloom. I didn't know who was sending me these tokens of music. It certainly was not an accident. I even sent seas of letters out asking what was the cause. Then one day, at the door, I saw a bell wrapped in a bow, child's handwriting. How swell!

Stillness stalled me, made me motionless and wary. Crinkled coffee on my collar. Sprinkled dissonance on tabletops. Kept me wondering when I'd hear noise again. He was sitting across from me. Salted caramel caught the corners of his lips. He was very quietly counting ten-dollar bills. I found green within green.

Hick Magnet by Belinda Roddie Sell me a banjo and I'll shoot you a bucktoothed grin over a double-barreled mega-ton trickster stealing shine from my cellar. The beer's getting warm in the sun and my buddies out back are sweating while their hats push up against treetops and they're swinging on swings again.

Whether it was fate or not, I found my love to be under a tent cover while the rain was ripping through San Francisco with wet, steaming claws. A little boy had grabbed a live lobster from a tank and dropped it onto the pavement, watching it wriggle and attempt to get back on its feet as if it planned to escape before the shopkeeper got to it first. I stooped down to grab the crazed crustacean and promptly pushed my forehead into my future lady's chest.