Fall/Winter 2009-10
tom oristaglio
scott summers
cindy childress
tom rechtin
james b. nicola
debra rymer
doug draime
corey mesler
rebecca schumejda
chris crittenden
arlene ang
joey nicoletti
brad johnson
lorie allred
elizabeth kay
alexander russo
nissa lee
kenneth gurney
jessi lee gaylord
keith brighouse
ajay vishwanathan
ethel rohan
william "cully" bryant
julie steiner
Steiner Interview
by Alex Nodopaka
Jennifer VanBuren
Jai Britton
Alex Nodopaka
Patrick Carrington
Mannequin Envy in memory of poet and artist Douglas Gamrath
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Ajay Vishwanathan
In a White Bandana
The snooze on my alarm clock failed, toothpaste tasted insipid, gums bled, every one of my socks was missing its pair, and the milk for my cereal had soured. It had been a wicked morning and I knew by these harbingers how my day would turn out. The clock said six, my appointments were at seven, and the drive would take twenty which meant I was running very late when I heard frantic knocks at my door.
Trick or treat, said a low, dead-pan voice from an old, wrinkled face. His eyes were without eyebrows, accentuated by a white bandana wrapped around his cone-shaped head.
This early?, I thought. I didn’t see any kids around him. Hell, it wasn’t even Halloween. Looking closer, I swore his dirty brown bag throbbed under his arm.
Trick or treat, he said again, same tone, same expression. His left hand reached for his pocket. He pulled out a crumpled handkerchief and coughed into it and, as if it were a signal, a dozen white cats spilled into my yard from the side of the house, purring furiously. Their long tails stood militantly straight.
I nodded and fake-smiled before scampering back into the house.
I brought out a bagful of whatever I could find, candy corn, orange marshmallow pumpkins, lollipops, peanut chews; I even threw in some baby carrots to make it seem heavier. The man waved the bag over the shock of excited felines that pooled neatly in front of him as he stuck his hand in the bag. His face registered no emotion. He pulled out a generous handful of candy that made his white friends leap. Cats don’t have a sweet tooth, do they?, I wondered. He hooked the bag back over his shoulder and walked down my driveway chaperoned by his blanched loyalists.
I sauntered down towards my mailbox and watched him walk to his bike parked down at the end of the curving street. He didn’t knock on any other door. As he climbed onto his saddle, a couple of cats jumped on his shoulder, a few glided over the handle-bars, two settled on the frame tube, and some balanced delicately on the wheel hubs. Just before disappearing around the corner, he turned his head and looked flush in my direction.
Ajay's bio: Two-time Best of the Net anthology nominee Ajay Vishwanathan, published in over forty literary journals, including elimae, DecomP, Toasted Cheese, Orange Room Review, and Centrifugal Eye, lives in a world of words and viruses. He has an obsession for one, shows reverence for another. His world is based in Georgia.
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