Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Second Hand Reminiscence

The song “Ein Li Eretz Acheret” comes on the radio, and it reminds you of her, and on the movie screen of your mind, you see her sitting alone on the corner of her mother’s bed, listening, like you are, to Gali Atari, and moved, like you are, because it reminds her of her childhood in Israel.

Fade to flashback she’s lanky and nine, sun tanned, pigtailed, sandaled and shorted, and her brother, Tzion, is there; carelessly they’re devouring enormous yellow and red summer peaches that drip down their chins and stain their shirts. Though you're not there, she looks at you and smiles a drippy smile, the peach’s stone apparent beneath her cheek.

As the song ends, she’s there once again, sitting at the foot of her mother’s bed: neck bent, head down, face obscured by that mess of curls, waiting for something to begin.

Thursday, August 07, 2008


Let’s just say, the bus you’re on goes boom, and you survive, not only survive, but you’re totally fine, like, not a scratch on you… now, let’s just say, all around you, everyone is dead, there’s no way they’re still breathing, and let’s just say, you’re walking through the corpses, and instead of blood and guts all over the place, there’s half a woman lying by your feet, and hanging out of her torso, where her guts should be, there’s a bunch of CDs and a Walkman, and there, to your left, is the chest of some kid popped open like a pan of jiffypop, and where his heart and lungs should be, there are two slightly deflated soccer balls, and a Sony PSP, and over by what used to be the front of the bus, you see what used to be the driver, and he’s got a book sticking out of his chest… so you pick up the book and open it, and amidst all the sirens, and the smoke, and flashing lights, you sit down on the street and you read, and it says “Let’s just say, the bus you’re driving goes boom…"

Wednesday, August 06, 2008


When Fidget was in kindergarten, his teacher gave him his nickname because he couldn’t sit still.  He kicked his feet through naptime, drummed his fingers through story time, and, rather than coloring in his coloring book like all the other children, he’d play rockets and missles with his crayons. 

When Fidget was 22, he won a trip to London by being the millionth customer to walk into a supermarket, and when he visitted Sotheby’s, unable contain his fidgetting, he accidentally bought Queen Anne’s sleigh bed for 93,000 dollars at an auction.

When Fidget went to a benefit dance for Hadassah, he met his future wife, Na’ama, who thought he was funny because, even though he was sitting on his own, he seemed to be enjoying himself, dancing in his seat; when she introduced herself to him, she told him how impressed she was that even though he was there without a date, he seemed to know how to have a good time by himself, not like all the guys who just stood around, lined up against the wall trying to look cool. 

Every night in bed, Na’ama would think that Fidget wanted to make love, because he would shake his leg against her; she interpretted it as him reminding her of his presence, and not wanting him to feel rejected, she’d start to stroke his thigh.  Six months after they were married in Cyprus, their daughter, Miri was born.

When the terrorists broke into their house, they hid in the attic; While the terrorists went room to room, shooting their guns, throwing handgrenades, Na’ama held her hand over their daughter’s mouth, and Fidget sat crosslegged, holding them both tightly, but his left foot was free to fidget.