My Cardboard Balcony

A Police Car Tailed Me by Belinda Roddie A police car tailed me, but even then did not flash its lights or let sirens wail, so I continued driving. Only when it followed me to my house did I pale and fear the absolute worst. The cop pulled his lanky frame from his seat, walked to me, and tapped on my front window while I mulled over what to say to evade a free ride to jail. I asked, "Officer, did I speed? Did I run a stop sign? Were my lights not on? I swear my phone battery died an hour ago. It's been one of those nights." The cop said, "Ma'am, you have done nothing wrong. Your radio just played an awesome song."

My grandfather had told me, long ago, that if I dug a hole right in the middle of town square, I'd unearth the secret suburban treasure. Of course, I figured he was just being kind of a jerk and trying to trick me, so I was very much surprised when I saw my girlfriend, hands stained with dirt and cheeks reddened with exertion, came charging into my apartment with a wooden chest. "He was right!" she panted. "The old bastard was right! I found the treasure!"

No Show by Belinda Roddie Absent from class again, the drizzle of questions falling awkwardly against the desk with broken erasers stacked in a puzzling monolith of detail. The teacher had said she'd be healing quickly from the accident, but it's very hard to take a step forward when the foot needed to take said step with was nearly crushed between the pedal and the caved-in steering column. And the hospital bed is warmer than a textbook, and the food is still better than the gruel served to Oliver Twist in the cafeteria, and somehow, the sterile lighting is more comforting than the glow of the nineties' projector casting intimidating print on the walls. Absent from class again, with the car shrapnel scars still exposed on her skin, and maybe she won't come back.

What have I just witnessed? A naked old man bleeding from both of his thighs, screaming for the goddess Demeter. A woman on a white horse, swinging a scepter against the side of a bull's head, cracking the skull just beneath its majestic horn. Across the grass, there is a sticky residue, which smells faintly, and sweetly, of honey. I think I won't go into my father's mushrooms after this.

Especially Frank by Belinda Roddie Don't tell anyone that I'll be leaving by nine. Especially Frank. He's an awful old miser. Don't find Frank. Don't let him say goodbye. He's not worth my balls, and he should know the reason why.

The patient, allegedly, was truly a hapless case, lying on her back with her eyes darting back and forth from one ceiling light to the other. The doctors simply didn't know what to make of her or her progress, until her grandmother sauntered in. "Where's my little girl?" she demanded, and the medics showed her the bed. She sat down in the chair provided and pulled a somewhat wilted rose from her jacket. "Here," she said. "For my flower."

Bland Expectations by Belinda Roddie My father wanted me to be a doctor, just like his father, who secretly wished he could be an astronaut, just like his brother, who had a hankering to try out the culinary arts, just like his cousin, who while stirring sauce dreamed of stirring up the hearts of dames as a jazz singer instead, just like his mother, who had married a man but had fallen in love with a woman, just like her best friend, who heavily considered becoming a nun, just like her teacher, who prayed to God for a boat to sail in, just like her father, who got up every morning, sucked in the sea spray through one nostril, and thought, "You know, maybe I ought to have been a doctor."