My Cardboard Balcony

Goodbye, Hollywood by Belinda Roddie Let's finish counting coins beneath the broken bulbs of our antique chandelier, comment on the fact that we are no richer than our poorest ancestors, and toss the copper into wishing wells before our boots hit the pavement, hard, as we run away from the gold tipped horizon.

I wear my badge on the right side of my chest, so when they come after me with blades and bullets, they don't get to my heart. See, two months ago, I almost quit the force. Too many bad apples in my unit. Hurting people, killing people. Wearing the uniform felt like wearing the pelt of a monster. It felt so cumbersome, too alien. Too hostile. I can't leave my city unprotected. I'm there for the people. Fuck the chief and the department. If I'm going to wear my badge, I'm going to wear it when I march with the citizens.

Date Night by Belinda Roddie We are the oddest couple sitting in the taquería, and that says a lot. After all, the old hombre with the copper snake is nestled in the corner, feeding the scaly thing crumbs of beef from his disintegrating taco. I look down at my plate of chorizo, then at my hands. They're the color, and probably the texture, of burned leather. She doesn't seem to mind, though, quietly sipping her mojito. Her red curls fall in wet lumps across her forehead, her shriveled knees twitching against her wheelchair. She smiles at me, to let me know that she's doing okay. Tomorrow, we travel south, to see my family. Mi padre doesn't take kindly to our marriage. He says we are being tested by God, and we must rise to the challenge. Usually, when he gets going, I nod and hide my raised middle finger behind my can of mango soda. We are odd, yes, in this part of town. We are color in a city hall pamphlet of grays and blacks and whites. W...

Did you think my actions were deliberate? Did you think if I could take it all back, I wouldn't? The baseball bat that the bully wielded is red with blood now. His blood. I only wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to feel physically what I felt emotionally. I was fractured on the inside, like a split bone or fragmented glass. I thought striking the bastard would fix me. It didn't.

My Brother's Keeper by Belinda Roddie There's a puddle of chocolate where my brother dropped his ice cream after  he tripped over his own shoelaces. It wasn't his fault - he's big and heavy and a bit clumsy, and it didn't help that the neighborhood bully, twice his age, pushed him toward the pavement. I saw the guy do it, with my own eyes. He ran off cackling down the street, while my brother sniffled and swiped at his eyes and nose so I couldn't see them get wet. He knows I'll get angry and vengeful if he cries. But it's already too late. I'm seeing double in my rage. The melted dairy confection leaves  the soles of my old sneakers sticky, and I track the bastard who attacked my brother down  to the closest public bathroom, where  the n-word is sprayed on every corner of the eroded tile walls. Like some kind of broken anthem for some form of societal oppression. I don't know. The jerk's...

My sister found an old tandem bicycle in the shed that sat about five yards down from the cabin, and she practically fell in love with it. But we couldn't ride it. The gears were almost frozen solid with rust, the seat eaten by moths and spiders and God knows what else. The rubber on the handlebars had eroded over the years. Our mother said that Grandpa had used to ride it with Grandma. Come to think of it, I could almost smell my grandfather's cheap cologne on the old bike.

"It's true that I have certain beliefs," murmured Father Harris, "that might conflict with your lifestyle." "And there it is again," I scoffed. "Lifestyle. Like I'm going around saying, 'Have you tried being gay? I tried it for three weeks, and look how clean my skin is! It's better than kale!' This isn't a fucking dietary routine or new approach to dental care, Father...this is my actual life. Not life style. Life ."