varying degrees of light

Best American Short Stories 2009, edited by Alice Sebold and the Norton Anthology of American Lit. (7th Ed. Volumes C, D and E) sit atop my library desk, towering next to the tiny one-use toothbrush that the bookstore is giving out like a more public institution might hand out condoms, except that I can't pump hand lotion into my disposable toothbrush and leave on my roommate's pillow. Well, I suppose I could. Anyway, the books feel like Christmas here. The short stories are not for a class I am taking -- they were under the Fiction Writing course that, though I completed two years ago, I sat in last night to decide on an independent study to round out my graduation requirements.

I've said that we don't know yet that we've been changed (but we can hope) and we don't know yet how we've been changed, but there are indications. I walk around saying asante instead of thank you, my hair is much shorter, my skin is a little more dark and my knees buckled in fatigue by eight last night. Jet lag... having me fall asleep catching up with old friends, greedily staying in while the room goes out bowling and waking at six the next morning, hesitating to play music for the shower for fear of disturbing the roommates. I still laugh, but I don't know the answer to how Kenya went... yet. Instead, I emit a gaggle of gibberish and hesitant indecision. "Uhhhhyyyyeaaahhh.... ummm..." Yep. Like an idiot, with my arms flailing about.