Clips: Memoir

Bruce bought me a cheap wedding ring at Walmart even though he was married. I let him do it, even though Walmart is The Evil Empire.

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Once when stuck on a boat with someone I didn't like as much as I thought I would, we passed time answering offbeat questions. "If you had to lose a limb, which one would you let go of first?" I'm right-handed so of course I said "Left arm." 

 

I met a guy at a party, born without any arms at all, who left his shoes at the door and used his feet for everything. After he put a fork between his toes and ate from the table I became inured, though he got my attention again when he lit up a cigarette. Now I hear he's dying from lung cancer. Nailed, one way or the other.

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On the ant hill, the drudgery of hauling dirt upon dirt, the battles, the torn antennae, the marching, marching, the long sigh from heavy hauling, blind to being blind, not one idle leg among thousands. In the end everything kicked over by something unthinkable, survivors building yet another hill.

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Short stories. If you relish one, you can't rush into the next, so the whole evening is ruined because you've planned to read yourself into another reality. Gradually, though, like coming down from any high, you begin to feel the hunger, open the book and start another story. Because otherwise there's only life.

(For far more eloquence, Claire Bateman's "A Few Things to Know About Reading.")

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