by Kent Kosack
Zuidema
When I was a kid, David Zuidema would pump our septic tank. Each lawn in our neighborhood had a container full of sewage buried in it. He told my mother to get my sisters to stop taking such long showers. Said they were making him rich. But they never stopped. Teenage girls have needs that younger brothers and the septic tank man can’t fathom. I took normal-length showers. I liked to stand under the red heat bulb recessed into the ceiling. It felt like a second sun up there. Maybe that’s how God feels to His faithful. I don’t know. I’m not religious. But it’s cold where I’m standing now, and I want to believe in something.
Quantum Leap
My sister is visiting for Thanksgiving. My girlfriend C. is drunk but managing. I put in the Quantum Leap DVD I borrowed from the library. Sam leaps through time, righting historical wrongs. My sister and I watched it as kids. The house has all the right smells. Turkey. Stuffing. Various casseroles. C. is drunker. Rambling and scattered. She thinks she’s charming. My sister eyes C., me, asking a question too complicated to answer. We watch one episode, another. We think about leaping through time. Think about fixing our lives. We’re on the edge of our seats. A crashing sound from the kitchen. C. swears. Fumbles with something. We miss the parade. The dog show. The football games. Miss all that might have been. I put in the next DVD.
Kent Kosack is a writer with work forthcoming in Subtle Body Press, the Heavy Feather Review, Magazine1, L’Esprit Literary Review, and 3:AM Magazine. You can find some of his essays, reviews, and short fiction at kentkosack.net