Stacy Archives

July 14, 2005

Stacy: In MY World

"I'm telling you, Joe, this overtime is bullshit. I can't take much more of it."

Joe sighed, rubbed his temples, wished he'd retired in '08. Ever since the institution of the hourly wage pay scale he'd had a splitting headache. Every single day the guys came into his office, whining about long hours, low pay, and the mandatory overtime.

He looked wearily across the desk. "Look, Jeter, you can play or not. There’s a dozen guys in the farm system, waiting for their chance."

Derek Jeter, former Yankee all-star, kicked over a trash can and flounced out of the room.

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July 16, 2005

Stacy: Fall

Arms pinwheeling, mouth agape, the wind whistling in her ears. Every night she falls. Every night she wakes in a cold sweat, gasping for breath.

Her therapist says it’s unresolved anxiety. $300 please. At least he doesn’t blame it on her fucking mother.

Her boyfriend says it’s fear of commitment. He wants to get married. She’d rather…not.

So every night she falls, in her dreams. Tumbles down, twisting, petrified.

She wonders what it would be like. To complete the fall. To land. To break.

Would it finally be quiet? Would she finally rest?

“Let’s find out,” she says. And leaps.

(Tam Lin by Pamela Dean)

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July 19, 2005

Stacy: The Past


"Yes, son?"

"Are these crazy people?"

"Yes, son, I'm afraid they are."


"Well, because they drank too much crazy juice one night and thought raiding the fabric and craft section of the local Wal-Mart was a good idea. Little did they know that would lead to more drinking of crazy juice, climbing on top of the local Wendy's, and urinating on a motorcycle cop."

"What's uur-i-na..."

"Nevermind, son. What's important is those guys lived through that experience, learned a little something, and promised Mommy they will never do anything like that again."

"Promised Mo….?”

“Go to sleep, son.”

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July 20, 2005

Stacy: The End

"How dare you judge me," she hissed, her beautiful face streaked with tears. "You don't know what it's like to be lonely. You don't have any goddamned feelings!!"

His shoulders hunched at her words, and he continued to pack the suitcase. A part of him wondered when they quit talking to each other, and just started talking at each other. How had he missed the signs, the little things that would have told him she was bringing other men into their home... Their bed.

He snapped the suitcase shut and brushed past her without a word.

Without a feeling, indeed.

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July 21, 2005

Stacy: Anyone But You

I flip through the CDs, looking for something to fill the quiet. Ahh, Donkey...great band, lounge lizards with a fat horn section.

The music starts and I remember that summer. Nights at dive bars, great music...Donkey, Dash Rip Rock, even Bo Diddly in a show advertised by homemade flyers stuck on power poles. Emotionless, empty nights.

The end was coming, we both knew it. He was increasingly impatient with me, for no reason I could fathom, and I was increasingly uneasy, having no idea what he wanted from me.

I know now he just wanted me to be someone else.

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July 23, 2005

Stacy: Misery, Loss, Secrets

She sobbed uncontrollably, feeling as if her heart was tearing from her body. They lowered the casket into the ground and she tore herself from their grasp, sprawling at the side of the grave, tears falling in time with the drizzling rain.

The minister's voice droned on and on, and she felt hands tugging at her, trying to draw her backwards. She dug her fingers into the mud, watched the casket sink out of view, cursing those who put him there.

She allowed them to stand her up, clean her hands. She nodded at their words, and planned her revenge.

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July 24, 2005

Stacy: Conversation About Nothing


"That's right."

"Isn't that some sort of rope?"


"Yeah, cowboys use it, they lasso their cows with it."

"I think they call them cattle. Cows give milk, generally don't need lassoing."

"Whatever. So it's a rope, right?"

"You're thinking of 'lariat', not 'rialto'. A lariat is a rope, a rialto is a marketplace."

“So we’re going to a marketplace?”

“Yes, why not?”

“No reason, I just thought that we were going to rope cows.”


“Cattle, whatever.”

“So, we’ve flown thousands of miles here to beautiful Venice, Italy, and you thought today we’d go rope cows?”



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July 25, 2005

Stacy: Shopping

"I'm the Holmes ZX4000," she said haughtily. "I'm the single most expensive construct available on the market today. I'm highly intelligent, flexible, and extensible. I am not the everyday sort of construct, and will not do well at menial chores. I am for special occasions, social events, and important dinners.”

She paused for breath and I checked her price tag. Eleven million, eh? And I bet she didn’t even give head.

She started to speak again, then paused, staring at her hands. “Sale?” she whispered, outraged. “I’m ON SALE?!?”

I checked the tag again. 3.2 million, eh? I’ll take two.

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August 4, 2005

Stacy: It's Over

Their battle carried them down to the beach. Another beautiful sunset wasted.

He called her a whore. She called him weak. He spat in her face, she slapped him across his.

Overhead the sea birds turned, catching the evening insects. In the sea, hunters hunted.

He eyed the surf speculatively. She spat out one last insult and he punched her hard in the face. Her nose spurted blood and she slumped, unconscious.

He heaved her limp body far out into the surf, smiled appreciatively at the immediate roil of red water.

Yes, a vacation was what their relationship needed.

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August 5, 2005

Stacy: Encounter

Five times I killed it. Five times it came back.

The old man said I was marked, had been since the first time it saw me. It could find me anywhere using that mark. It could even come back from the dead, drawing on my own strength to cross over. But then maybe "dead" for them wasn't the same as "dead" for us.

The door shuddered as something large slammed repeatedly against it. I hadn’t run far enough, it seemed. This time would be different, though. This time, I’d been doing my homework.

I stepped inside the pentagram and waited.

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