BooksMissing Shingles
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Missing Shingles
A shuttle ride home on an ordinary Saturday. Then a driveway at noon, a second passenger who will not look up from her phone, and a town full of missing shingles that never asks the right questions.
- Chapters
- 9
- Words
- 16,711
Contents
Chapters
01BalloonsI lasted eleven minutes in the waiting room. Balloons were taped to the chair backs with masking tape that had already given up at the corners. Matching shirts. A boy kicking latex until it bobbed and then kicking it again because nobody stopped him. His father never looked up fr
02Not Too FarI sat with him until the shaking became something I could spend. The van was still in my driveway, logo facing the street like an advertisement for a crime. Noon light. Open sky. A neighbor’s mower chewing the same strip of grass it chewed every Saturday. If anyone looked they wo
03No One's ScreamingThe garage kept its secret the way this town keeps everything, by not looking. I sat on an overturned bucket for one last minute before I committed to the lot, Luis behind the van and the bleach still punching the air. My hands were clean. My shirt was clean. The Saturday outside
04Food Court DoorsShe came out of the food court like the sun had been waiting for her. Short brown hair. White shirt. Phone never away. Mid height, the kind of person you would lose in a crowd and then find again by the tilt of her head. She did not look for danger. She looked for a logo. I poppe
05Under the SillI will not stay in that room with you. The hours are not entertainment. They are a door I already shut. After, I showered until the pipes knocked. Hot water, then hotter, then a temperature that made thinking smaller. I watched the water run and told myself it was only water. The
06Same Old, Same OldJames was already standing when I sat down, which is how James occupies air. Fourteen years in the same job. Kids. A comb he joked about before anyone else could. He held his coffee like a microphone. The office smelled like carpet glue and somebody’s oranges. Phones rang in a pa
07HardwareThe hardware store was a cathedral of things that could become a plan. I went after work with a list I had not written down, which is how you pretend you are improvising. The automatic doors breathed me in. Cold air. Aisle markers. A man in an orange vest asking if I needed help 
08Measure TwiceThe park did not give me what I came for. I drove with the trunk humming and a cigarette burning too fast. Locked gate. Hole in the fence. Dirt that remembered other mistakes. I parked where the trees made a wall and the road above was a rumor of headlights. I sat with the engine
09KhakiI left the new knife in the car. Cash folded small in the front pocket, a rectangle that could be explained as lunch. Trunk lined again, vinyl that still smelled like the store and like the last failure I had tried to wipe off with paper towels. Turtleneck itching at the throat.