Short Stories

— Day 3 I can feel something shaking my arm and a presence near my face before I open my eyes. “Time to get up!” Zoe’s standing next to the bed, her eyes big and excited. I look past her at the clock. It’s 5:59. In Colorado it’s 3:59. I’m not even aware of my eyes closing again. “Sun is shining,” she says, pushing harder on my arm. “Yep. I’m getting up.” A faint amount of light is coming in through the drapes. How did she know it was time to wake up? I walk to the bathroom. She tries to follow me into the toilet. “No honey, just Dad,” …

— Day 2 I wake before my alarm. My heart’s racing like I was being chased by a tiger. I don’t bother trying to go back to sleep. I thought I had pulled the window shades closed, but a light emanates through the crack where they meet. I shuffle to the bathroom, take a leak, and turn around to see myself in the mirror. I know I’m not hungover. I know I’m not strung out. But you look like you are. My skin is loose and colorless and there are dark circles under my eyes. “Fuck you!” I scream at the mirror. I swipe my dopp kit from the counter …

— Day 1 I pull into the East terminal of the Denver International Airport and follow the road as it snakes around the parked cars. Driving by, I watch closely for any open spaces in the sea below. The sign leading into the ramp says the parking lot is full, but I don’t have time to back-track to off-site parking. I see an open spot in the far corner and speed up to catch it. I jog towards the terminal, my bag bouncing behind me, and skidding onto its side whenever I run over a rock. By the time I get to the elevators I’m breathing heavily. As it glides …

Walking through the 12th arrondissement, I find the café on the Rue de Charenton. She’s usually late so I settle in. I resist the urge to look at my phone and instead order a coffee in broken French and watch a series of small dogs walk up and pee on the same small tree. “Hey.” I turn in my chair and see beautiful tan skin. I take it all in quickly: long black hair, dark circular eyes, almond shaped mouth, in a small frame.   “I thought you’d be late,” I blurt out. She smiles and pulls out the other chair. “Is that how you remember me?” She has the same …

I walk in, gently sliding the heavy glass door behind me, and sit down at the table. “Oh. Could you open the door?” he asks. I look behind me at the glass walls and door. Everything translucent. I look back at his smiling face. “Sure.” I stand up and slide open the door. “Thank you Stephanie. Well, should we jump in? Great. Here were your quarterly goals.” He pulls up my goals on a large screen television mounted against the only non-glass wall in the room, strategically visible to everyone outside of our glass box. “You did a great job on these two.” He circles Q1 Tax Prep and Saratoga …