C4 antho - Chamber Four
C4 antho - Chamber Four C4 antho - Chamber Four
~152~ The Chamber Four Fiction Anthology and shaved, making sure to get the bristles under my bottom lip that I always miss. While I was at it, I cleaned my ears. By the time we’d finally crossed the lawn to the exhibition, Nolan’s symphony was in its fourth movement: loud, percussive and quick, like a sadistic march. Nolan sat at a table with the score spread out before him, gesturing as he explained to Mrs. Morrison from two streets over how he selected the prime series and what the variations meant. He was blond and tall, like the rest of his family, and spoke clearly without condescension. I pretended to browse through the article about Schoenberg he’d written for context and watched Lyndon walk immediately to Maddy, who smiled and straightened the front of his rain jacket as she put one of the pale, creamy candies she’d made into his hand. He thanked her and turned to look for Dr. Olufsen’s table, his favorite because of all the hinges and gears that spun and clicked, and Dr. Olufsen’s willingness to let anyone turn the crank, or press the button, to put it all in motion. I stopped to flirt with the oldest daughter, Ingrid, home from college this weekend just for the Exhibition, despite a fractured tibia that kept her from performing the dance she’d choreographed. She showed me pictures of last semester’s recital and tried to explain how her piece was different. I found Lyndon again by the side of the house where Dr. Olufsen’s machines were spinning, accomplishing their simple, worthless tasks, part of a crowd gathered for the demonstration. Everyone laughed as Lyndon pushed a big red button over and over again, which somehow caused a small aluminum basin to fill with water until it tipped and the water turned the wire gear. Dr. Olufsen explained what was happening for everyone, but I couldn’t follow. In the end it just made a quarter spin on its side for as long as the button was pressed. The crowd applauded, and Dr. Olufsen thanked my son, called him “our little guest of honor,” and shook his hand.
Nothings ~153~ Lyndon had a little league game at noon, so after 30 minutes at the Exhibition we had to go. Maddy and Ingrid both hugged him. Maddy insisted we take more candy, and said to let her know if we wanted a batch all to ourselves. While Lyndon changed into his uniform I walked from the kitchen to the garage, where the storage boxes I’d bought two weeks ago for Rosanna’s clothes were still leaning against the water-heater; bicycles, a ladder, and a few rakes lined one wall, boxes of Christmas decorations another, resting on top of cans half-full of paint that hadn’t been touched for five years. I thought I might drop Lyndon at his game and come back to spend the next hour or two taking everything from the living room, kitchen, bathrooms, both of the bedrooms, and dragging it all out here to the garage, so that I could then look at it all and be proud, and show Lyndon, when he came home, exactly what we had. And if it was nothing, we’d be happy to have nothing, and be nothings, the little holes in the road your tires roll right over without a sound.
- Page 101 and 102: Peacocks ~101~ I had little sympath
- Page 103 and 104: Peacocks ~103~ in my discussion of
- Page 105 and 106: Peacocks ~105~ no matter what she s
- Page 107 and 108: Peacocks ~107~ “Is it really poss
- Page 109 and 110: Peacocks ~109~ rent circumstances,
- Page 111 and 112: Peacocks ~111~ “Let’s move this
- Page 113 and 114: Peacocks ~113~ not-knowing would ne
- Page 115 and 116: The Naturalists _____________ by B.
- Page 117 and 118: The Naturalists ~117~ sights were n
- Page 119 and 120: The Naturalists ~119~ With each pie
- Page 121 and 122: The Naturalists ~121~ “Aww, come
- Page 123 and 124: The Naturalists ~123~ Nature’s Bo
- Page 125 and 126: The Naturalists ~125~ cranny. And I
- Page 127 and 128: The Naturalists ~127~ “Pardon?”
- Page 129 and 130: The Naturalists ~129~ She turned to
- Page 131 and 132: The Naturalists ~131~ As dusk appro
- Page 133 and 134: The Affliction ___________ by C. Da
- Page 135 and 136: The Affliction ~135~ the Los Angele
- Page 137 and 138: The Affliction ~137~ overwhelming n
- Page 139 and 140: The Affliction ~139~ They began to
- Page 141 and 142: The Affliction ~141~ would get back
- Page 143 and 144: Bad Cheetah ___________ by Andy Hen
- Page 145 and 146: Bad Cheetah ~145~ to invite us alon
- Page 147 and 148: Bad Cheetah ~147~ summoning a man a
- Page 149 and 150: Bad Cheetah ~149~ suddenly for a cu
- Page 151: Nothings ___________ by Aaron Block
- Page 155 and 156: Dragon ~155~ Dawnell stands agape,
- Page 157 and 158: Dragon ~157~ “Not this time, budd
- Page 159 and 160: Dragon ~159~ pitched askew by prair
- Page 161 and 162: Dragon ~161~ traffic light and idle
- Page 163 and 164: Dragon ~163~ “It’s Spanish,”
- Page 165 and 166: Dragon ~165~ second one on his nose
- Page 167 and 168: Dragon ~167~ higher across the widt
- Page 169 and 170: Dragon ~169~ oneers left the cities
- Page 171 and 172: Dragon ~171~ starling lands in the
- Page 173 and 174: On Castles ~173~ century. I went to
- Page 175 and 176: On Castles ~175~ medical profession
- Page 177 and 178: On Castles ~177~ “No, I’m conce
- Page 179 and 180: On Castles ~179~ People would vote
- Page 181 and 182: On Castles ~181~ “I’m going to
- Page 183 and 184: On Castles ~183~ enjoy, being that
- Page 185 and 186: On Castles ~185~ surrounded by the
- Page 187 and 188: On Castles ~187~ laugh inadvertentl
- Page 189 and 190: On Castles ~189~ need to stop insti
- Page 191 and 192: Black Night Ranch _______________ b
- Page 193 and 194: Black Night Ranch ~193~ James Carl
- Page 195 and 196: Black Night Ranch ~195~ meant James
- Page 197 and 198: Black Night Ranch ~197~ “I didn
- Page 199 and 200: Black Night Ranch ~199~ “I think
- Page 201 and 202: Black Night Ranch ~201~ “I can re
~152~ The <strong>Chamber</strong> <strong>Four</strong> Fiction Anthology<br />
and shaved, making sure to get the bristles under my bottom<br />
lip that I always miss. While I was at it, I cleaned my ears.<br />
By the time we’d finally crossed the lawn to the exhibition,<br />
Nolan’s symphony was in its fourth movement: loud,<br />
percussive and quick, like a sadistic march. Nolan sat at a<br />
table with the score spread out before him, gesturing as he<br />
explained to Mrs. Morrison from two streets over how he selected<br />
the prime series and what the variations meant. He<br />
was blond and tall, like the rest of his family, and spoke<br />
clearly without condescension. I pretended to browse<br />
through the article about Schoenberg he’d written for context<br />
and watched Lyndon walk immediately to Maddy, who<br />
smiled and straightened the front of his rain jacket as she put<br />
one of the pale, creamy candies she’d made into his hand. He<br />
thanked her and turned to look for Dr. Olufsen’s table, his favorite<br />
because of all the hinges and gears that spun and<br />
clicked, and Dr. Olufsen’s willingness to let anyone turn the<br />
crank, or press the button, to put it all in motion.<br />
I stopped to flirt with the oldest daughter, Ingrid, home<br />
from college this weekend just for the Exhibition, despite a<br />
fractured tibia that kept her from performing the dance she’d<br />
choreographed. She showed me pictures of last semester’s<br />
recital and tried to explain how her piece was different.<br />
I found Lyndon again by the side of the house where Dr.<br />
Olufsen’s machines were spinning, accomplishing their simple,<br />
worthless tasks, part of a crowd gathered for the demonstration.<br />
Everyone laughed as Lyndon pushed a big red button<br />
over and over again, which somehow caused a small aluminum<br />
basin to fill with water until it tipped and the water<br />
turned the wire gear. Dr. Olufsen explained what was happening<br />
for everyone, but I couldn’t follow. In the end it just made<br />
a quarter spin on its side for as long as the button was pressed.<br />
The crowd applauded, and Dr. Olufsen thanked my son, called<br />
him “our little guest of honor,” and shook his hand.
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