lucky and luck

We are tired of the debate about print versus online publishing. I will not pose the question. All i will say is I have mostly avoided print because I like when people read my stories. And this one was in a beautiful journal. I'm very happy to have my work there. It's one of my favorite stories. It would be nice if a few more people read it. So, here it is, if you feel like it.

I Am Very Lucky
The Los Angeles Review
Volume 9, Spring 2011

I bought the dress at Thrift City. Cream satin with lace overlay. Floor-length, empire waist. Subdued. I would wear my hair up. I must have known; I swear I didn’t.

It had long sleeves, of course. When I was in the hospital, they stopped by. They acted like the doors were not locked after they were let in and out. That I was not muffled and dark with tears. They told me of the engagement. Isn’t that wonderful news? they asked. Yes. It is wonderful news, I said. My face felt wet. It was wonderful news.

They looked out the windows and saw the ocean I saw every day. They told me how pretty it was. How lucky I was to be there. They said how nice it was for me to have a view of the beach.

The nurse came and they left me with my books and sweater. I heard my mother ask my father, do you know how to get to that restaurant Barb told us about? I knew the one. It was near the hospital. It had a Michelin star.

They picked me up a week and a half later. They took me to my apartment, where I could not see the ocean. They said isn’t it good to be home? They said how nice it would be for me to sleep in my own bed. Yes, it’s good to be home, I said. When they left, I locked the door from the inside.

Three months later, my brother got married. She has my name. She is very nice. Isn’t she nice? they asked, when I met her. Yes, I said, she is very nice.

When I arrived at the wedding, my mother said doesn’t she look beautiful? I thought she meant me. I saw her and she looked beautiful in her white dress, with bared arms and shoulders. I took off my coat and asked my mother where to put it. She did not tell me.

My brother’s bride started toward me with a bride’s smile. She looked at my dress. She would tell me I looked beautiful. She went to my brother and said that I had to leave. He turned to my father, who walked me toward the door. My mother handed him my purse and coat and walked back toward the rest of the wedding party. I heard my name, but it wasn’t mine.

Outside, my father opened the small white clutch with pink seed pearls and found my keys. He put me in my car. He said you’re very tired, aren’t you? You need to go home and take a rest. I said yes, I feel very tired. He said go home and get some rest. He said we will stop by tomorrow. We’ll go to the beach. Won’t that be nice? I said yes, that will be nice. I haven’t seen the beach in a long time.


(That's it. Told you it was short.)

I've been told that hearing it read gives a different sense of the story, maybe a different meaning. I did this reading before it was accepted and published. There were a few minor changes, but it's pretty much the same. You don't have to watch it if you don't want. Of course. Like I have to tell you. Thanks for reading my story and maybe watching the reading.

(Non sequitur warning.)

I think someone's mad at me. I'm disappointed in someone. I haven't been around people that much lately. Mostly I like people. Two in particular. One I've known a few years. I feel very lucky for that. The other is a new friend. I feel lucky for that, too. They are both quite remarkable and make me connected to the world when I forget. They live in other places, but they can still do that. And I thank them for being awesome like that. They know who they are.