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Flash Memoir

January 26, 2013


The new semester starts on Monday and I’ve been musing today about what to bring to this space that corresponds with my curriculum. I’m taking 16 credit hours, because I am insane, and my classes focus predominately on writing both fiction and non-fiction. So I think I’ll try to post a few Flash Memoir pieces each week to keep things tuned up, as it were, and collect these little snippets of memory.

In addition, I’m thinking about a photo series called Santa Fe Geometry, because I live and work in a town with fascinating geometry both naturally and architecturally. So there’s that. Plus, I know I’m terribly remiss in following up with pieces like this, and others in the same vein. So, there’s also that.

In the meantime, a Flash Memoir for a beautifully rainy Saturday.


She caught up with me at the end of my street after school.

Told me to put down my books and fight.

Fight? I didn’t know what that meant or what I was supposed to do. Should I brace myself like a boxer? Lift my fists and say “go on, take your best shot,” like I’d seen in the movies? Or do girls grab each other’s hair? Kick? Scratch? Slap?

These confusions flowed through me slowly, like a record on slow rotation, and I gripped my books. My knuckles turned white. The hard corner of my binder dug into my chest.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t lift my fists, grab her hair or aim for her shins with the toe of my shoe. All I could do was stare, at a spot just below her eyes, and watch her mouth twist again around that word.


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