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A bubble of anger rises. Pops.
Deep breath. “You did, didn’t you?”
He drops his gaze to the still-dead fire.
Just a little. Maintenance, you know.
A narrow column of bubbles lifts.
Pop-pop. “No. I really don’t know.”
I’m down to a taste a couple times
a day. Keeps my head on straight.
A thick stream of bubbles. Pop. Pop.
Pop-pop. “Fine. Then I want to try it.”
His head shakes so hard, it must
rattle his brain. Don’t want you to.
The bubbles become a low fizz.
It makes my eyes sting. “Why not?”
His eyes float up. He is crying
too. Because I love you too much.
Hunter
COUNTDOWN TO CHRISTMAS
Less than two days to go.
Rick Denio being a brick
back in his native Texas,
I’m pulling a double air
shift.
Morning drive wrapped
up, midday well underway,
I am pouring a hefty shot
of vanilla International Delight
into
a strong cup of coffee
when the studio phone
