R.D. Pires's Blog, page 2

The Quiet Things Stay Hidden

Concrete pillars block my view of the sun; sentry towers where a pair of patrolling guards look down on my vehicle suspiciously. They’ve seen me come and go four times a week for the past three years without giving me the benefit of the doubt. I suppose that’s what’s going to save us in the end. Lax security would ease my apprehension, but preventing weakened defenses is more important than my weak constitution.

I can’t tell if we make eye contact due to their dark lenses, but I nod as if we...

Chicken Olympics

Summer? Kinda boring sometimes. Friends? Total flakes, but that’s alright. I do it too. 

Waking up at four in the afternoon? Priceless. Pure. Bliss. 

I roll onto my side, opening my eyes and gazing out across my room. Sunlight is streaming through the blinds. I guess Mrs. Welder was wrong when she said I was “incapable of adapting to changes.” I’ve rebelled against my diurnal instincts and managed to sleep soundly through broad daylight. How’s that for evolving? 

But I may as well get up now....

Annie Going Home

The sun has vanished behind the horizon of skyscrapers by the time I hit the city limits. One minute I’m in the orange glow of dusk, long shadows and hazy light, and the next I’m plunged into darkness. Colors mute. I switch on the headlights, which fan out across the dusty dunes on either side of the road.

Sweet Annie by ZBB comes on my mixed CD and I raise the volume. I like to pretend their playing for me, like the titular name is intentionally mine. Zac’s voice fills each of the seats in m...

Memoir of Right-Fielder

Right field.

I know what I’m talking about. My dad has this green pickup truck that we keep in the back yard unless we need to use it. I think we’re the only ones in the entire family who have a truck because relatives are always calling asking him to move stuff for them. Of course, because I’m the only son still around, I get lassoed into helping out. We’ve had to take things to the dump loads of times. Mattresses and old mirrors, things like that. I’ve seen how smelly and disgusting the pla...

The Moon, the Little Black Cloud, and She

The music in my mind crescendos; Beethoven’s Mondscheinsonate. My back arches, opening my chest skyward until my spine creaks in protest. I may have thought my contortion would appear grotesque, but I had seen another male dancer perform the movement earlier in the week and I knew what sort of austere beauty the lines of the body evoked with this posture. I hold it until the crescendo dies and exit the movement through a roll.

Midway to the floor, I notice the shadows trickling.

The raked sea...

The Button-Maker

I can’t feel the wind.

I can see it breaking the surface of the water below. I can see it moving the branches on trees that cling to the hillsides. I can see it terrorizing the hair of the woman who’s snatching her towels off the railing of her balcony. But I can’t feel it.

I hear it. When the trees shake, their leaves rattle. The powerlines bounce up and down making the wooden poles creak. Howls fill my ears each time a strong gust kicks up, knocking the collar of my coat askew.

But I can’t...