Short Short Stories

After work, the three of us stood around in the office while the sun went down, talking about politics, past jobs, and sickness. C noted that there were many more sick teachers and administrators this year. They're dropping like flies, he said. It's the long summer, he said, bacteria needs cold damp weather. But the cold brings other problems.

A kid died after playing in the leaves when when I was superintendent, D said. He was the son of one of our principals. They were out playing in the leaves and the next day he was in the hospital. They didn't know what it was for days. They even brought down the CDC from Atlanta. It turned out that it was some rare genetic trait that both he and his brother had inherited. They both died. It was so tragic. It destroyed their marriage and drove them both crazy. It was so tragic.

In five minutes, D told a story that claimed four lives. It's so easy to sum up days and years and lifetimes. Given a few minutes and enough creativity, we could probably cover just about everything in the time it takes to microwave dinner.

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I'm fascinated by the way people tell stories. IB once said she saw this come up again and again in my writing, that I zone in on anecdotes. It's how we get by and through life, breaking the slow march of days and years into manageable, meaningful things. But, whenever you stop to think about it, write it down, stories somehow seem to callous and almost Kafkaesque. Pick up Etgar Keret or Alex Epstein sometime. Short short stories are spooky.

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In other news, my good friend Colleen Morrissey's story, "Good Faith," was just published in The Cincinnati Review. Check it out.

Talk

One of my coworkers told me the other day, "Sam, you're very good at nonverbal communication." This is very important to her since she is a former teacher. Once she told me about one of the most important lessons she learned in Teach for America: The Look. It's the expression you give to the class when you want them to shut up and pay attention.

A few weeks ago, IB told me, "I never really realized how quiet you were. And you give this look, like you're looking at some sort of inferior human being. Like whoever you're looking at should be ashamed of themselves."


I have put this expression to good use. One of my former coworkers at the bookstore found my Silent Look incredibly disconcerting. Since it's impossible to argue with him, it was a great pleasure to reduce him to sputtering inconsistencies and obscenities with a cool, ten-second stare.

Anyway, Merry Christmas.

Scared Shitless

This isn't a real post, but I've been breaking promises.

Have you ever had one of those experiences where you worked very hard for something and by some miracle you actually got it and instead of feeling exuberant you just sat there thinking, "Well, shit.... I hadn't planned on that happening."  Well, that's how I feel right now.

A few days ago I was offered a grant writing job with the St. Bernard Project in New Orleans, a nonprofit rebuilds and renovates houses for people affected by Katrina who do not have the money to help themselves.  I accepted the job and have not stopped running since.  Probably, I won't be out of panic mode until this time next year.

I want to live in New Orleans and do good work.  Above all, I want to have an adventure and do something that scares me.  The trouble with the last item is actually getting your wish.

In a week and a half I will be in New Orleans.  Today I got housing squared away.  This week has been a blur of planning, taking leaps of faith, and trying desperately not to forget anything.  I'm sad that I'll be missing two weddings and won't be able to visit a friend from Germany.  Most of all, I'm very sad I'll have to leave my love, A.

But, then, what's the point of going through life comfortable?  One just arrives at death asleep.

A week and a half from now I'll be in one of the oldest cities in North America.  One of the meccas of music and performing arts.  A reputable hedonist capital.  And I'll be there doing what I do best: writing.  I'll be persuading people to help support people who have had a much harder, scarier time than me.  I'm going to leave my home to convince others that we all want and deserve to go home.  Doesn't sound like a bad way to spend a year.