Treehouse

online magazine for short, good writing

Category: Brief Encounters

Brief Encounter: Shake the Pollen Free

by Treehouse Editors

Sophia Hyland-Wolzak

Beatrice’s oldest impulse is the need to be as physically close to Donovan as he’ll allow. They met in their cul-de-sac: he, with his brother’s hand-me-downs, and she, with her brother’s hand-me-downs.

“Want to build a mud float?” Beatrice asked. Donovan looked around and shrugged.

Gathering reeds, twigs, and pinecones, they set up their scaffolding on her front lawn. Her mother chased them off and they fled to the woods. Knees stained, they peeped through the punctures of life between the leaves.

“Your mom’s intense,” Donovan said. Beatrice nodded.

They led each other into dares neither one wanted to be in. As they progressed in life, risks went from kick-pushing the swing to the water tower to toking a joint out the window of his stepdad’s car.

Donovan is sewn into the textiles of Beatrice’s character—a connection more profound than any other relationship she understands to be hers.

However, Beatrice encourages herself to forget him. The plasticine doll of Donovan sits on a small stool next to candle light, in a windowless room, at the very back of her mind.

Years past puberty, minutes before midnight on a Thursday in Autumn, Beatrice and her colleagues roll up their sleeves to soak their fingers in a bucket of fried chicken. Their day felt below sea level and fast food propped them up on a skyscraper for an hour.

A hand rests on her shoulder and Beatrice jerks away. Donovan stands over her with the imposition of his denture-perfect teeth and down jacket.

Her lips and chin are glossy with a vaseline of fryer grease.

They leave to a bar close by. She fantasises about their future, listening intermittently to their conversation. The same tree sap that smoothed them together at the cul-de-sac envelops the two. Beatrice is dewy with nostalgia, pouring herself into the feeling with her beer. She kisses him and he stops.

Both hands on her shoulders, Donovan gently presses Beatrice off of him.

“Huh,” she says.

***

When Beatrice stumbles home and shakes herself free from her clogs, she tucks herself behind her partner and kisses him on his temple.

She separates the oil of the night from this moment and it leaks into the narrow spaces between the files of trivia and family birthdays.

As Beatrice exhales, the toy Donovan takes his final breath and the candle blows out.


Sophia Hyland-Wolzak is an American expat that lives and works in Adelaide, Australia. She is currently a contributing writer and editor for a national caravanning and camping travel magazine, G’DAY Magazine.

Brief Encounter: Conceit of Reincarnation

by Treehouse Editors

A.C. Bohleber

The grasshopper needs a home but

Not an afterlife. It is content

It drowns in the rain, falls under the boot of a man

 

Under the claws of a cat, possum, bird

It becomes dirt.

It did such a good job being a grasshopper

 

Perhaps it will become a worm

Then an atom

Then free.


A.C. Bohleber is a recent college graduate located in Louisville, Kentucky. Originally from the South, she attended the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga where she won the Ken Smith Fiction Award. She now works a day job, so she can spend money on books, travel, and, of course, rent. In the chaos she makes time to write prose and occasionally poetry.

Brief Encounter: Resolution

by Treehouse Editors

Elizabeth Poreba

The trick is
tight focus.

Look down. Stay
granular.

The dropped
stitch, the spot,
the knick, the note,
the knot, the twist—
small things
can be fixed.

When Jesus
at the Jordan
looked up,
all he saw
was heaven
torn apart.

Staying busy
is better.

When wading,
keep your eyes
on the river.


Elizabeth Poreba taught English in New York City high schools for 35 years and now volunteers for environmental groups. Her poems have appeared in Ducts.org, Feminist Studies in Religion, and Commonweal, among others. She has published a chapbook, The Family Calling (Finishing Line Press), and two collections of poems, Vexed and Self Help (Wipf and Stock).

Brief Encounter: Refrigerator Magnets

by a contributor

Donna Vorreyer

All alphabet and apostle,
baby, I believe best.

I bite back, black and blue,
my body a brick. I dance

the dark day different.
Eight elements of geometry

and gender – get it, girl.
High, hot and hungry,

I invite inside a just king:
kiss me, lichen – I mean,

liebschen – your luscious
limbs looking magic.

I miss the mountains,
the music, my name. Napkin,

newspaper next to me at night:
no notebook. Once I raced

the rain. I remember,
I said. I saw, I say. I see

seven summers. I take.
I tell that your truths are

under used. I want what
water will – wind, windows,

and wings. I wish. You yell.
Yes, yesterday. You.


Donna Vorreyer is the author of A House of Many Windows (Sundress Publications, 2013). Her work has appeared in many journals including Rhino, Linebreak, Cider Press Review, Stirring, Sweet, wicked alice, and Weave. Her fifth chapbook, We Build Houses of Our Bodies was released in late 2013 by Dancing Girl Press, and her second poetry collection is forthcoming from Sundress Publications in 2016.

See Donna’s list of “5 Reasons You Should Read Billy Bud, Sailor by Herman Melville” in our ongoing contributors’ series.

Brief Encounter: Refrigerator Magnets

by Treehouse Editors

 CALL | FOR | SUBMISSIONS | SEND | US | YOUR | BEST | REFRIGERATOR | INSPIRED | POETRY | FICTION | NON-FICTION | GENRE-BENDER | <400 words | .doc file | deadline AUGUST 1 | treehouse[dot]editors[at]gmail[dot]com

45 | 50 | 2000 | 2001 | 2002 | & | ? | a | | a | about | above | airplane
all | alphabet | am | and | and | and | animal |apostle| answer | anyone | 
anything | amphibian | adamant | are | are | asparagus | astronomy | at
aunt | autumn | baby | bad | ball | ballerina | balloon | barn | base 
basket | bathroom | because | begin | believe | best | big | bike | bird
birthday | bite | bite | black | blue | body | book | bored | born | 
bottom | box | box | boy | breakfast | bring | bricks | Bronx |
brother | brown | beam | bug | but | butterfly | by | candy | can’t
car | castle | cat | cat | chair | child | chocolate | close | cloud | 
Dad | dance | dark | day | day | did | different | dinner | dream | do 
do | does | dog | don’t | door | down | draw | disappear | dug | dull | 
ear | easy | eat | ed | eight | elements | elephant | er | exercise | ed
fall | family | far | fast | fat | favorite | favorite | fed | feet | for
fight | fish | flow | five | flower | fly | fly | for | four | France| 
friend | from | full | funny | gentle | geometry | gown | gender |grant|go
get | girl | give | glow | good | graffiti | gasp | greed | green | 
her | here | hid | hide | high | him | hit | hold | home | homework | hot 
hug | hungry | I | I | I | invite | if | imagine | important | in | ing 
ing | inside | is | is | Japan | jump | junior  | just| kind | king | kiss
lichen | laugh | leave | luscious | light | like | like | little | listen
live | limb | look | looking | loud | love | lunch | ly | astronaut | mad
magic | man | many | me | midnight | miss | Mom | monkey | monkey |
monster | more | morning | mountain | moss | mud | music | my | name | 
napkin | near | nest | never | New York | newspaper | next | next | night 
nine | no | noon | nose | not | notebook | of | once | once | one | one | 
or | or | over | over | paint | peace | peanut butter | photograph | pink 
pumpkin | purple | queen | Queens | quiet | race | rain | raft | ran | 
read | real | remember | ride | ring | room round | round | rude | s | s | 
solid | said | sail | saw | say | school | see | seven | share | she |safe
spring | square | start | stop | storm | story | strawberry | swaying | 
summer | swim | take | teacher | telephone | television | tell | that |
that | their | them | there | think | three | tiger | time | to | to | 
told | too | tool | top | town | truth | tree | TV | US | utter | under | 
used | vacation | very | video | want | warm | was | what | withdraw|water
whatever | when | where | who | why | whisper | white | wild | will | will 
wind | window | wing | winter | wish | with | with | woman | won’t | world 
you | yell | yellow | yes | yesterday | you | you | young | your | zebra

Up North

by a contributor

a brief encounter by Richard N. Bentley

He’d come to Northern Michigan, and the lake gulls were shrieking at him. He’d been on vacation only two days, but he sat around the cabin, springing up now and then to go to the window and back. It was too chilly to go out onto the beach. The sky looked like rumpled tinfoil and the wind was strong and cold. Lake Superior came rolling up to the beach with thundering splashes.

He would go to the door, then return and slump by the fire. I also heard him last night, walking around upstairs in the night, mumbling swear words in the darkness.

This morning he fidgeted around the cabin for an hour, not eating anything.

“Demon,” he said. “No, that’s not it.”

Lucy, my sister, had wrapped a blanket around herself. She shivered and looked out the window. “Demeanor,” our father said. He laughed quickly and without humor. “No, that’s not the word.”

“Don’t worry about it, Dad,” I said. “The word isn’t important.”

Lucy said, “Dad, I can tell you the word.”

“No, no,” our father said. He held up his hand. “I’ve almost got it.”

“Demeanor,” he said. He shook his head.

We first noticed it last year when we drove up here. We stopped at a gas station. He put his wallet on the roof of the car while he filled the tank. Later, he said, “It was the credit card.” The words on the gas pump flustered him—remove card rapidly.

We drove off with the wallet still on the roof and didn’t discover the loss until we arrived here three hours later.

“Debilitate,” he says. “Dyslexia.”

“Dad, cut it out,” Lucy says, “you’re making us crazy.”

“Crazy,” he says.

The waves sweep along the shore.

“Dementia!” he says suddenly. “That’s it! Dementia. That’s the word the doctor used. Comes just before Alzheimer’s. Remember? Do you remember?”

“Dad,” I say, “don’t worry. The doctor said it could be a long way off. It doesn’t happen right away.”

“A long way off,” he says.

Our father straightens himself before the window, watching the waves.

He says, “Please keep helping me to remember. Help me to keep remembering, the word.”

Brief Encounter: Lost Things

by Treehouse Editors

Supposedly the average person spends at least 16 minutes a day looking for lost items. This could end up being almost a year of your lifetime looking for all those mismatched socks, keys, phones, debit cards, or glasses (good luck with that one). What were you looking for in that year?

As always, Brief Encounters should be no longer than 400 words. BE’s should be labeled as such in a Word .doc to distinguish from general submissions. Feel free to send more than one. Deadline is October 10th.