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I’m still searching for us, for our core. We are three that are one that will always be linked: Ron, Rex and me. Rex is home this week for saying to a junior, “Only fags wrestle,” and then dismantling the stunned guy after practice. Rex is large and surly, and so the kid’s family is suing. Ron is writing new songs and trying out the lyrics on his Taylor guitar. When I press my ear to the wall that separates our rooms, the words from the other side lift and break apart and the cadence catches me off guard so that I have to put a hand over my mouth in order to hide my sobbing. I keep the lights off in my room, let the lava lamp run while watching the glowing worms reshape and seek new identities. I was the first one of us out of the womb but I am third. I am both the fag and the girlfriend in a song. I am someone’s choke hold and a broken guitar string making the wrong music. After tonight, I’ll be the first one gone from this world and I’ll leave it up to them to decide whether that makes them twins then. |
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Triplets by Len Kuntz
Filed under Len Kuntz
This is an amazing story, Len. I always marvel at how your use of metaphors stay poetic, but never seem to cross to melodramatic and how your endings are unexpected, but don’t become cheats, tricks, or conceits. I think that’s what we call skill.
A most interesting, sublime story. Unexpected turns and twists of language and intention, and I felt so sad reading the ending. Really wonderful little piece with huge stuff going on.
Oh Len, I think this is one of my favorites of yours. It has just the right amount of information, character revelation and drama, and the ending, while a surprise, has been so carefully planned that it isn’t. Yes, skill.
one of your best. ever. and i always love your work. this makes my heart ache for the third, and ache with envy i didn’t write this myself. brilliant. peace…
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thanks so much, everyone. i really appreciate your reading and remarking.