A Thousand or Less took the month of March off while Lit Camp opened up our new Page Street co-working space for writers in San Francisco. But now we’re happy to be back with these two microfiction pieces from Sean Ennis. Dare we call them bittersweet? Would that really be asking for trouble? Be sure to click on the audio above to hear these awesome pieces read by the author.
LEARN FOR HER
Let me think about this. If Grace hates Valentine’s Day does that mean I should ignore it or make it extra special? Bear in mind, she’s not the type of woman you can just give Hamilton tickets to. I had a mint for lunch and am not thinking straight, but I'm holding onto the air in my mouth for a kiss. This is no exception. I drive to the Dollar General, then turn around and go back to work. Not the Family Dollar–the other one. The algorithm is recommending I listen to an album of the noise icebergs make. It is not, like, surprisingly musical. O Grace! My love for you has turned glacial, formerly more like lava. The clerk had been taking away the boxes of chocolate already and exchanging them for shamrocks. I was too late. How about I learn for her, learn to iron? How about I file our taxes? My students think they are clever because they believe the holiday to be a gimmick to sell cards. Some are virgins–it comes full circle. A day to celebrate Grace and love? I can click on a gift, for sure, and be sensitive to her habits.
CLOSING THE BOARD
I won’t bore you with the details of our Ouija session. The spinning chair, the apparent date of my death, the terrible screeching from Gabe. Gabe is fine. He’s laughing now. Grace is at Colleen’s, drinking wine and complaining about work at their private picnic table. When she texts me, I’ll go pick her up. All is quiet now. The light in the bathroom dims halfway through my adventures in there, but the bulb is old. The scuttling on the ceiling must be mice. I do not, on the small scale, come from a history of violence. I don’t pick fights, right? Gabe is back in his room. Like others have said, I’d give my life to spare his. But he’s getting older now and can heft some of the family burden too. Back when he was born, I held him, then mixed a drink. I have forgotten to close the ouija board. I’ll do that now.
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