La loi

(La traduction de l'histoire "The Law")

Après plusieurs années de pression de lobbyistes frustrés sexuellement, on rendit enfin illégal que deux amoureux soient éloignés. Ça allait, bien sûr, si l'un d'eux allait chez le dépanneur ou dans le quartier seul. Sinon, cela n'aurait pas été très pratique. Après un délai convenable, ils pouvaient même retourner à leurs boulots respectifs. Mais une fin de semaine hors de la ville éxigeait un affidavit signé par l'autre conjoint, et une plus longue période de temps seul était simplement interdite. La principale cause de malheur dans le pays avait été ainsi supprimée.

Bien sûr, il y avait des problèmes avec la loi. Qu'est-ce qu'on pourrait faire avec des couples qui avaient des carrières prometteuses dans différentes régions du pays? Et combien de personnes resteraient dans les forces armées, si seulement les célibataires eussent le droit de s'y engager? Il y avait aussi plus d'instances plus de cas qu'on aurait pensé de personnes qui en aimaient plus qu'une autre.

Le plus grand problème, cependant, était aussi le plus simple. Quand on leur demandait d'interpreter la loi, les plus hauts tribunaux du pays ne pouvaient pas décider quoi faire quand une personne était amoureuse, et l'autre personne n'en était pas.

The Weird Girl and the Superheroes

Jocelyn was studying in the floor’s common room when the weird girl, whose name she could never remember, came in. The girl didn’t usually spend much time in the common areas; she was always out until odd hours and would return still wearing a white lab coat.

No one on the floor liked her. Some of them would make fun of her behind her back; Jocelyn’s roommate Rose was particularly cruel. Jocelyn didn’t take part in it but didn’t discourage it, either. When she and the weird girl ran into each other in the bathroom or on the stairs Jocelyn would smile politely, which she always feared the other girl would misinterpret as genuine friendliness.

“What’s up,” said Jocelyn flatly.

“Not much.” The weird girl sat on the couch across from Jocelyn. “What’cha working on?”

“Physics.”

The weird girl nodded. “How’s that going?”

“Okay,” Jocelyn said, “but I study better when I’m alone.” She hated to be rude, but this girl was not getting the hint.

“Well, I won’t bother you,” the weird girl said, “but I wanted to let you know about a club I’m starting.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “For superheroes.”

Beauty Tips

Everyone was stupid, so stupid. Tessica just wanted to go home and get online again. It was ostensibly an English class, but the teacher would always go on lengthy tangents or referee irrelevant debates instead of actually teaching. Right now, the question was whether women wore make-up for the benefit of men or for their own happiness. How had they gotten onto this subject from Catcher in the Rye?

Tessica tapped two bitten-down nails against her desk. She wished people would stop raising their stupid hands. What made them think their opinions were so important? Maybe they thought talking as much as possible would get them a better mark. She looked at the faces around her. No, some of them seemed to actually care.

Talking wouldn’t change anything. They could talk until their useless mouths fell off and their heads exploded into oblivion. Everything would just be the same as it had been yesterday, and the day before that. These blithering morons were a waste of oxygen, and forcing Tessica to sit in a classroom with them was cruel and unusual punishment.

When the bell finally rang, Tessica immediately heaved her short, heavy-set frame out of her seat. As usual, she was the first person to reach the door. She left without speaking to or even looking at anyone. They didn’t matter; plebeians, all of them. She wasn’t even out the door before she started checking her e-mail on her smartphone. There were three angry comments from the message board she frequented; the incoherent fury made her smile. She would reply to them once she was home.

Imprudence

The kitchen wasn’t visible from the side door of the house, but Prudence knew that her daughter was there as soon as she came in. She didn’t want to see Sonya, but she needed to pass through the kitchen to get to the rest of the house.

“You’re here,” Sonya said when she saw her. She was sitting at the table, arms crossed. “You’ve got some nerve, coming here now.”

Prudence didn’t know how to respond. “Where’s your father? I need to talk to him.”

“I don’t think he wants to talk to you,” Sonya said. Her mother’s shoulders drooped, and Sonya seemed to take pity on her. “But he’s not here, anyway.”

Prudence nodded. She started up the stairs, each step an effort. She hadn’t eaten since the story hit the news a few hours ago, and she was feeling weak. Her knees felt like they would give out any second. She needed to eat something, but not with Sonya in the kitchen, sitting there, judging her. She was feeling a bit queasy, though, anyway.

It wasn’t a surprise that Truman would have gone out. He would have found a quiet place to have a beer or ten, a bar where they showed sports, or at least not the news. The poor man. He knew, of course, how long it had been since the two of them had been intimate - but he couldn’t have expected this.

the gender groove

he's a manly man
collared shirt and tie
keeping it cool
pbr in hand
working the crowd
before his number

excusing himself,
he escapes to the
ladies' room, puts on
glitter and lashes
crimson flame lipstick
strawberry blonde wig
padded bra over
her white undershirt
tiny black dress, and
five inch stilettos

then she gets onstage
to lip-synch to the
song that saved her life
she's been practicing
the moves for weeks
in her room, and now
she can feel the cheers
through her whole body

after, she goes home
unhooks and unwraps
her binder, untapes
the soft packer from
her inner thigh
takes off the make-up
boxers on, tits out
she falls into bed
smiling

rules of the road

without looking both ways,
i start to cross the street.
a car turning right doesn’t stop;
i leap back, scared,
as my mother grabs my arm
and the driver leans on the horn.
“i had the right of way,”
i exclaim, indignant.

my mother is unimpressed by my knowledge
of the rules of the road,
maybe because she taught them to me.
“it’s like my mother always said,” she says,
“you can be right - ”
“or you can be dead right,” i finish.
she’s fond of her mother’s pithy sayings;
there are a hundred more that i could recite.
“but i was actually right,” i say,
smiling because I know she’s actually right,
as usual.