Confined Prospector by Jared Valdez I urinate on the bumper of our new sixty thousand dollar SUV. I wish I had chosen Alaskan White. Opaque Green was Emily’s favorite color. Charlie preferred the white too. It is better than the cock-sucking dentist across the street. He got the family package and chose Moon Dust Grey. Fucking Dentist. Excuse me, Oral Surgeon. I finish my evacuation and begin re-filling the tank by drinking the rest of my whiskey pint. The lights are off in our house. Charlie must be watching TV. I walk over to the door. I try to avoid stumbling over the garden hose. I fall, the asphalt scraping the flesh from my palms. I find a half smoked cigarette. It is russet and wrinkled from the rain earlier this week. I pull out my Zippo lighter, light the cigarette and fully inhale. It tastes like the smell of decaying humans sulking in an old age home. I stand up and walk to our front door. I open it carefully so I do not wake up Jackie. I walk through our birch door and firmly close it so it doesn’t latch open. Music from Jackie’s room starts playing. The TV turns off. I closed the door too hard. The house is filled with the aroma of pork roast. Charlie cooked tonight. Damn that Dr. Molder and his issues. I am tired of figuring out what is wrong with his patients. Figure it out for yourself. I could have easily made it home for dinner. I should consider presenting his resignation to the board. I walk to the kitchen. I see five of my faces in the reflection of the hanging cast iron pots. I open the fridge. There are no leftovers. I look in the trash. Charlie has thrown them away. I walk up our winding stairwell in the living room. The door to our room is slightly cracked. I can see Charlie. She is fast asleep. I walk into my study room and sit on my white velvet chair. I look in the drawer of my computer desk for my other flask of whiskey. It is not there. I look behind my copy of ‘As I Lay Dying’ on the book shelf. An empty lighter, one hundred dollars and Jackie’s ultrasound photos are there. No more rye. I put the book back. I look behind the bookshelf. I find a dusty box. I pull out the box and open it. Inside is a dusty, polyester, copper-colored tuxedo. I take it out
Santa Fe Literary Review 2014
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