Creamy Bullets Read Online Free PDF

the woman. We go inside and I feed money into the money order machine. $189.75. My son is helping himself at the Slurpee machine.
    The woman comes into the store, walking with heavy steps. Her face looks haggard and she is wearing cheap-looking rings on her hands. Her face is much older than her body. I see her buy something in a box but I can’t tell what it is. Cat food or cereal maybe.
    When my son and I leave the store, I see the woman sitting in her truck. She’s looking around nervously. We get in the car and my son holds the Slurpee to his head. I have to go back into the store to borrow a pen for my money order. I write out the info on my money order as the clerk watches me. When I go back outside, I see the woman yelling something and hitting her steering wheel. Her sounds though, are trapped inside the truck with her.
– DINNER –
    At home, I get ready to make dinner. I turn on the oven and spread frozen French fries onto a cooking sheet. When I open the oven door, I notice the smell of throw up. I wonder if someone threw up in the oven. I imagine what it would be like to throw up in the oven.
    The air outside is cooling down as the sun lowers. It’s still too hot though.
    I spread the French fries so they’re not touching, like the instructions say. I open the door to the oven. It makes a loud creaking noise. I throw up in the oven.

Not a Mermaid
    I t was some lake up in Washington. Some boat just big enough for the both of us. Some green water smell. Some time apart from your family. I put your hand in that private spot and you responded by doing the same with my hand. The water underneath us rocked just slightly, so we didn’t have to move our bodies to enjoy the contact. Your mother and father were inside a cabin somewhere, preparing lunch. They would never know that we did such things in the boat. Look, you said, and pointed to a huge fish swimming underneath us, just discernible enough for us to see. It looked blue and silver and strong.
    It looks like a shark, you said.
    It’s not a shark, I replied. But still I was scared just because of the thing’s size.
    Do you think it’s a piranha?
    Don’t be silly.
    It’s something big.
    We watched it move below us, gleaming in the sun and coming more into focus as we watched.
    When we arrived back at the cabin there was something unsettled between us. We sat on the couch but didn’t hold hands. You had that far away look, as if you were still thinking about the fish. I hope we don’t have fish for dinner, you said.
    In our sleeping bags later, you insisted on sleeping with your head pointing away from the water. I wanted to sleep the other way so I could look at the stars through the unzipped sky flap of our tent. Go ahead, you said. Tell me what you see.
    I scanned the stars for shapes. Look, I said, there’s a bunch over here shaped like a Christmas tree.
    You’re just saying that, you mumbled.
    That night I had the dream about the fish. He came out of the water and walked up to the tent. In this dream, I watched his shadow walking with a limp and I wanted to scream. When he leaned down to talk to me he said, Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not a mermaid.
    He held out a part of his body that looked almost like a hand. That’s when I felt that wetness, not in real life of course, but in dream life. I shook his “hand” and we talked for what felt to be a long time. He said he knew what I was doing in the boat and I better watch it. When he saw the sun starting to emerge he said he had to leave. He tried to embrace me and I felt some other kind of wetness from him as we touched. Maybe tears.
    Did I do something wrong, you said as I woke up. You were out of your sleeping bag and pressing against mine, your arm across my chest. You were crying. You always cried in the morning for some reason.
    You look so mad, you said.
    What do you mean, I asked.
    Your forehead is all scrunched up, like you’re troubled. She rubbed her palm on my brow as if to