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 I'm a published emmerging writer and I've enjoyed very recent success in all Oklahoma literary functions. Currently I am writing for NONzine (www.nonzine.com) a local publication distributed throughout the state. I've also sold a poem to www.glassfiremagazine.com.
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MY ACCOMPLISHMENTS:
- Speaker at Momentum, a growing Oklahoma annual arts show.
- Staff writer for NONzine (www.nonzine.com) since May of this year. I contribute everything from CD reviews and poetry to political commentary and general interest pieces.
- Glassfiremagazine has recently purchased my first professionally sold poem and it will be published in the upcoming Autumn issue.
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MY NEWS:
I'm approaching life in a wealthy christian town with a positive attitude, but being a young liberal writer, conventional work is hard to come by. Playing the servant role is demeaning, but here there are only two choices. Go to college and be poor, or work for minimum wage with a smile until you die.
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MY RESIDENCE INFO:
City: Edmond
State/Country: Oklahoma
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BOOKS PUBLISHED:
The rain drops cling to everything. At least from the inside of a vehicle it looks that way. The windows become sprinkled with little headaches, and then the windshield wipers, first swiping the water away and coming back with an unforgiving squeal. On the highway the droplets run in lines down the entire length of the car before flying off onto the vehicles behind. Despite the weather, Abram motions for me to hold the wheel while he lights a cigarette. He cracks the window just enough to fit a finger through and takes back control of the wheel.
"We're all very happy for you, back home." Abram looks over at the last part, his eyebrows set into a worried but happy expression.
"Thank you. Did you tell dad?"
"No," Abram says immediately, "He'll find out."
The car lurks over to the far left lane, pushing 80 next to a water colored concrete palisade. Abram smokes quickly, his lower half jittering above the pedals. Suddenly the concrete barrier disappears and the mile markers begin flashing sequentially in it's place. Abram resets the mileage counter after the second florescent flash.
"What's that for?" I ask, wondering at the same time if the position of my legs looks childish.
"I'm going to count the miles to Bastille."
"How much further is it do you think?"
"Not much longer."
Abram's feet shift several times. His eyes take on that worried look again, a little more watery than before. I watch his line of sight dart from the mileage to the road and back again. I watch his hair whip in the wind from the window that's still cracked. I watch Abram flick his cigarette away and put both hands to the wheel with a new found focus.
What happens next takes only a few seconds. Abram rolls his window all the way down and taps his fingers on the wheel in a horrible anxiety. A moment later my brother pulls a red bar from somewhere under his seat, positions it over the steering wheel and extends it until the contraption clicks stiffly into place. Abram is halfway out the window when I realize what it is.
My brother sits with only his legs inside the car, the world rushing through the rest of him. He peeks down to look at the dashboard again and pulls himself onto his feet. I try to shout his name, but the wind won't let me and by that time he had already jumped. The car begins to slide patiently toward the right and I jump into the drivers seat. I shake the wheel and try to turn it some way but it only gives a fraction of a degree in both directions. I pound the wheel. I kick the brakes but nothing happens. I'm not thinking about death yet because in moments like these people still believe they can be saved.
The car goes over another empty traffic lane and I scramble through the seats, the glove compartment, the dashboard. There's nothing here. No last minute companion to pull me from the car by a helicopter rope; No high speed jump from car to car. There's no coincidence to secure my faith now. As the car veers over to the last lane, my last chance, I buckle myself in behind the wheel. I pull on the club one last time and feel myself go blank. I feel substance receding from my eyes back into the brain that spawned it. The car vibrates from the brail bumps made to wake up sleepy truckers. The wheels flutter from grass and dirt. The vibrations turn to rumbling and the heavy rumbling turns into silence. Before rest I taste gravel on my teeth.
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