Passage-1
220 Words
Passage
by Carrie Vaccaro Nelkin
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THE PARK HAS BEEN VERY active this week with the pop pop pop of handguns, usually in the distance, the reports snapping into the night air. It’s been a long time since I’ve flinched. The sounds have become linked to home, like the smell of coffee or the peculiar hiss of the baseboard heaters every morning in winter.
My dog Arlen used to stare in the direction of the shots. Arlen’s a mutt, a short-hair terrier something-or-other with a black coat, grey muzzle, and stand-up ears that flop at the tips. I got him three years ago, after Jenny left. He usually doesn’t react to the shots anymore, but when they erupt this evening just outside the apartment—six, seven, eight in quick succession—his legs lock, and he pitches several short barks before backing up and scrambling behind the sofa. Another volley outside, not the flare of far-away target practice but a rending of air into havoc.
Arlen reappears, weaving around my legs. I trip over him and slam the side of my head on the large ceramic planter by the nearest window just as a bullet cracks through the glass. A starburst opens behind my eyes, but it’s only when I hear Eric screaming “Richie!” that I think I’ve been hit.
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- Writer
