"Christmas in Hellville"

Aprilosaurus (a-prill-o-sore-us) n. - a big event in someone's life. Often magical or spiritual in nature, often referring to the astrological premonitions of a horoscope or tarot reading. Etymology: the Madagascar calendar centers on April as a hub of change in the year, despite there being no religious celebration or any holiday of note. When there is a death or birth in the family or a wedding or a coming-of-age, even if it does not occur in April, it is called by others "your Aprilosaurus".

Spider - "End Song"

Abby found herself at a poorly organized flu shot clinic. So poorly, in fact, that people were getting rowdy, there was mutiny in the air. Abby was going to be spending the weekend at her sister's out of town, where her two young nieces would be susceptible to infection, so she needed this today.

But so did a lot of people, apparently. The men in unnecessary suits and women in strange aprons, everyone paused in their day, taken a hurried hour to complete this chore, which suddenly became two hours, and then easily four. The vaccine was new and these clinics were new and everything was temporary but mandatory, these nurses were in over their heads.

Abby was waiting patiently and trying to smile, she put her book away, it was impossible to read in the lineup, instead she watched the news on mute. After the top story of flu vaccinations, a graphic that said "Religious Militia" beside the anchorwoman's head. Fundamentalist christians buying guns in Detroit. From way in the back of the room, near the doors, came a howl. A tall man with a long face in a grey suit came bounding up the line. He was shouting "You need to do it faster! You need more! Faster and more!" and he was shoving the whole way. He casually pushed Abby aside, and she fell over her bag. The nurses froze with their eyes wide, needles in the arms of scared patients. Instead of heading for them like some vaccine-mad Incredible Hulk, Abby imagined him cracking open hypodermic needles and drinking the juice like a sugar cane, he headed for the recovery area. A bunch of regular people, who had time to spare, watching the quieted news of the "Christian Warriors" and eating a cookie or two before going back to their day. In a strange show of what must have been jealousy, the man bellowed at them, the wretched cured, and picked up the pitcher of fruit punch and hurled it against the wall. As the fruit punch splashed all over the recovery area, and dripped down the wall, people started screaming.

Action was taken.

A tan burly man in a short-sleeved dress shirt, with a few nice rings, a big chain with a crucifix, and a perfectly coiffed pompadour complete with gorgeous sideburns, eventually detained the man and quelled his ravings. "It's okay, buddy," he kept saying, softly, "it's okay, my buddy." He held him against the floor with his body weight, his heft a soothing pressure. He looked up from his now silly position, and smiled at the lineup, to indicate that everything was going to be okay. This was Miguel.

Eurythmics - "Love is a Stranger"

Miguel reached for the note and smelled his hand: offal. He slipped the note in his pocket and headed heavy up the stairs. He looked for the kitchen and headed straight for the sink without taking off his shoes. The back door to the fire escape was open, and the sunset was coming in warm and comforting. He turned on the cold water and heard a yelp from the bathroom. He closed his eyes and wrinkled his nose: dummy. It was really the first time outside the grocery store, his work, that they were meeting, and already he was ruining her showers.

He looked around her apartment a little. He felt big in comparison to all her furniture, like he was in a doll house. He liked that very much. On her coffee table were a few books, "History of the Occult" and "Dark Magick" were the titles he saw, and the newspaper strewn on the couch: "Trouble in America". He ran his hand against his hair, caught a whiff of the meat smell which he still had to get rid of, and shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the crumbs near the toaster.

They walked along the sidewalk in the sunset and tried to talk in as many ways as they could about who they were. The way one tries to describe all of one's sides so that a center, a core, can be inferred.

"I'm in graduate studies, advanced humanities, and I've lived here for 4 years, and my parents are hot air baloonists," Abby smiled, her goofy smile, and bunched up her wet hair with her hand, as if she were carefully making sure it would be messy when it dried.

"I come from Colombia, I've been here 2 and a half years, and my parents are farmers," Miguel laughed and threw his head back always when he did. The sky was bluing deeply, the sun was giving way.

"So, is your brother's band any good?" asked Abby, as they leaned and perched on kids play equipment in a park outside the venue. "They're okay," he replied, "yeah, they're good." Miguel produced, from seemingly nowhere, one cigar and one beer. Abby laughed and called it trashy, but they shared both and smiled as the dusk turned on streetlights in anticipation.

Miguel's brother's punk band was called VHS-HIT LIST, and they played a short but tight set, though neither of the two would ever call it "their thing". But in the middle of "Leave Me The Fuck Alone", during the bridge in fact, Miguel leaned down his head, and Abby lifted up her eyes to his and they kissed and he touched the back of her hand. He had forgotten that his hands still smelled from work, he had forgotten many other things at that point.

[Fihavanana is out of print]
[Buy The Way to Bitter Lake]
[Buy Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)]