My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie The pixie snorted a line of pink sugar and then leaned over to me, eyes pointing in different directions, and slurred, "So let's make a deal." "I'm listening." He watched me stir my mystical cocktail with a glass wand. Something that couldn't cast spells, but just what I needed to mix the booze together thoroughly. Chiddy was his name: Grantil Chiddy. "That's good stuff, by the way," he said, rubbing his left nostril feverishly. He chafed his own skin so hard that glitter scattered on the card table. "Where did you get it?" "Old friends. So what's the deal?" Chiddy coughed, inhaled, sniffled, and exhaled. "I'm talking six hundred gold cred here, buddy. Two hundred less than my original offer. Money's tight, Maxi. I can't go any lower than that." "You know my standards." "This is good shit I'm talking about here," he insisted. ...

I wanted get as close to the equator as possible. I wanted to straddle that invisible line with a glass of something strong in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and let the warm breeze wash over me and cleanse me of my sins. I wanted to stay there forever, believing that I had somehow maintained some sort of equilibrium in my life by standing on the alleged equilibrium of the planet. I never got close.

Well, I did it. I made it. My very first week of officially student teaching has been completed. It was not a walk in the park, nor was it overly challenging. After all, it's only the beginning of the semester. But I know it will get crazier from here. Classes restart at Sonoma State in two weeks, which means that my workload will increase like crazy. I have units to plan (one I hope will be quite fun, as it's focused on science fiction), homework to assign, and students to convince of my ability to teach. I have also observed two advanced placement courses and let me tell you, it's amazing what these young teenagers can do and say. As a teacher, I am beginning to realize just how limited I am in the scope of things I can provide and teach the students, as well as the amount of time I can do it in. For example, one of my culminating projects for a unit that I drew up for one of my classes is a play or movie script. I would love to take a whole semester working on drama ...

Sheesh, Get It Right! by Belinda Roddie No, not sweet tooth, suite tooth. I like pricey hotels.

The burn of the medicine through her esophagus felt a teeny bit like she was being stabbed in the back - of course, she didn't exactly know what the feeling of being stabbed in the back was specifically like, for she had never endured traumatic injuries or blood loss, and she certainly didn't play with knives. Still, as she bent over in her gray steel chair and hyperventilated, she could equate such lancing pain to such an assault, as the doctor patted her shoulder and cooed as if to an overly sensitive infant.

I Ate An Apricot by Belinda Roddie I ate an apricot and fell asleep on the couch in the living room, and she found me snoring and drooling. She said, "Keep at it, and you'll be your own symphony and serenade the neighborhood." I laughed in my drowsy stupor and let her pull me off the sofa as if from a raft against the shore. She served me something cold to drink and something hot to eat. I shared another apricot with her, the sweet flavor giving me energy when paired with wine from the refrigerator. Heat radiated off her face, and I knew she had planned out this little rendezvous.

I remembered the smell of incense from my days as a good Catholic girl. The altar server would saunter down the aisle, a limp in his step, and swing the burning bowl about on its chain. My mom would complain, sometimes loudly, about the odor, though not in a verbal way; she would wrinkle her nose and cough just so the priest could give her a look, and she would smile sweetly as if she had done nothing to perturb the Mass at all.