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Now available for preorder:
The San Francisco Panorama.
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- - - - These are the dreams Isabella has: I am an astronaut rifling into space, blazing past stars, and sleeking through the orifices of hulking galactic rocks. My hair, golden and curly, extends out the back of my space helmet. I arrive on an alien planet that has never been visited by human beings. The alien creatures see me standing atop their green-clayed planet surface and begin snarling, exposing their razor sharp, purple-shaded teeth. This frightens me until I realize snarling and exposing purple-shaded teeth is what they do when they have miraculous thoughts. A young alien father, frozen in this terrifying position, is certain that he is watching the arrival of a deity; that I am a goddess with golden, flowing locks come to dispose of the Goldenbrees, evil mole creatures living on the underside of the planet. I continue to walk across the alien soil, deep into the alien crowd. They part as I approach, making room for me to pass. I grace their planet. - - - - I am a reptile with smooth scales and sharp bones living in the aquarium of a kindergarten class. I flick my tongue to taste the flavor of the air, and press my slick belly against the soil. I awake each day inside a plastic aquarium filled with the foods I like, and fresh cool water ready to drip from out of a hefty plastic bottle. The faces of children press against the glass, stare at me wide-eyed, and adore. Sometimes, a brave one picks me up and strokes my back, or rubs under the fleshy part of my neck. I am brilliant when they hold me. I feel important, beyond my lizard self. - - - - I own a coffee house, decorated with thick-cushioned lounge chairs, where groggy customers walk in to get a cup of cheer, and walk out bright-eyed and grateful for the day. I wear a gorgeous, apricot-colored apron, and the regulars call me Isa, leaving thick folds of dollar bills for tips. I wipe the muffin crumbs from the countertop with a wet, hot towel. The customers tell me the incidental details of their lives, ask questions, and beg for my opinions about what choices they should make. They think I am good because I am kind to them, and patient while they are talking. When they feel no one else in their lives is really listening to them, I listen.
OTHER McSWEENEY'S STORIES:
Note to My Mother-in-Law Outlining Protocol for Babysitting My Son for the First Time By Frank Tempone An Open Letter of Apology to the Country of Iceland By Alan Haley Basta Cosi, Part Five By Michelle Orange Basta Cosi, Part Four By Michelle Orange Translated Chatter, City Café, Kandahar, March 14, 2003 By Zev Borow |
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