s w i f t s & s l o w s: a quarterly of crisscrossings
House on the Hill
James White & Kourosh Bahar
←back or next→
Kourosh Bahar, Composition #2, 2018, oil/canvas, 16×20 in.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re wrong. You can be so predictable it makes me crazy . . . or at least hopping mad. Once you’ve made up your mind, you can be so obtuse. I never understood why it had to be that way, but as you’ve noticed, I’ve given up on impossibilities—like fitting all your blurry ideals—those tiny shards of glass—into a grand portrait of our shattered lives. It’s sad. Before this, I would have settled for simply getting along. I never said that but we both know, you knew how I felt. For Pete’s sake, I could have shouted it from the rooftop. It’s incredible . . . Just a few laughs along the way would have made a difference, but I suppose that’s too much to ask.
“You probably don’t remember the last time we walked through the rumble and rough of those forbidden woods we agreed to never mention. It was migratory season and bright colored birds were tooting and tweeting everywhere. The sky was grey and the chilly air was almost as cool as your new leather jacket. On that winding path that hugs the lake before it zigzags up into the hills we embraced then continued on. We turned the bend round all those leafless trees and approached the summit—where you can see the flag waving over the blockhouse. For a brief moment the sun peaked through a crack in the clouds and I could feel it’s warm glow on my cheek . . . That’s when we shared a kiss. It was up there, near those lonely steps embedded in the hill that lead nowhere, I thought we made an agreement. I guess that’s my mistake. It’s funny how things work out . . . but not funny. I’ve heard people say, ‘Diamonds can cut glass but glass can’t cut diamonds.’ I never knew what that meant until a few days ago. I bet you always did. Even if you didn’t, you’d never admit it. You bluff your way out of everything.
“I was thinking about that time I bought a new pair of sneakers—my size—to leave them in the subway for a homeless person . . . or as you’d say, ‘a bum.’ I’ll never forget the face you made when I set the box down on the bench. I suppose that’s the difference between you and me. You see the world as it is, I see it as I’d like it to be. I was thinking about that the other day. What I came up with, what it reminded me most of was kite flying. It’s the same thing—same trouble. At one time everyone likes to fly a kite, but do you remember the time at the beach when I said the conditions were perfect, you flashed the same face you made in the subway.
“When we get into these kinds of discussions I get the same queasy feeling I do when I ride the bus through my old neighborhood. At first everything seems the same but when I look closer, I see how much everything’s changed. That’s the way it is with us.
◊ ◊ ◊
James White is a fiction writer from New York. James has been the recipient of fiction writing awards including The City College of New York’s Short Fiction Award, first prize in Amazon.com’s Short Story Contest as well the Hemingway Short Story Contest. James’s work has appeared in many print and online publications including AM/PM, Huffington Post, Uptown 1 and The West Side Spirit.
Kourosh Bahar is an Iranian-born American artist, based in New York.
©2024 ARTEIDOLIA