After we switch reflections to see what that’s like, you leave the bathroom. I follow you into the kitchen where you fix us a snack. I guess you’re hungry and assume we’ll switch back later in the afternoon. We don’t. But that’s fine. I’m not particularly attached to my reflection and having yours instead is a refreshing change.
She can only be referring to one thing, and that sends jealousy coursing through me, pushing out all other feelings, displacing every thought unrelated to the power. But the hegemony of envy affords me one piece of consolation: better one of us with the power than both without it, which is the way it’s been for years.
I head to the desk in the guest bedroom and pick up the envelope that contains my passport and the latest account statement—the documents I’ll need to access my emotional trust fund. It matures tomorrow, and I can’t wait to finally have the rest as my parents still call it—the half of their love, affection, pride, etc. they withheld, certain that emotional abundance would spoil me, resulting in overconfidence and entitlement.
Issue 2 of Black Dandy has my story “When To Use What Has Been Saved,” which looks at the utility of extra time in childhood and adulthood.
A kerfuffle over the color of peppermint launches a frenemy dynamic of trivia hegemony in “Hearing the Siren Song,” which is now on The Flexible Persona website.
We sometimes suspend judgment and disbelief, but when jealousy and ambition are suspended from the ceiling, what’s going on there?
My story “Overhead” is in the latest issue of Panoply.