http://42opus.com/ en-us An online magazine of the literary arts. To him, the problem with a public library was that it had too much sincerity about it. Everything was so nonprofit and earnest. Even the posters showed a pacifist propriety. He felt judged by the public library. http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/42opus/fiction/~3/gMfexRrzagQ/the-paranoid-retired-gentleman Sun, 8 Nov 2009 00:00:01 PST http://42opus.com/v9n3/the-paranoid-retired-gentleman She was sixty-two and widowed. Church people did not recognize her, but people at the animal shelter did. People at the shopping mall did not recognize her, but people at the library did. In this woman's life, there were more books than traffic lights, more cats than cell phones, more vegetables than credit cards. http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/42opus/fiction/~3/zkmDZT85acQ/the-wondrous-quiet-life Thu, 5 Nov 2009 00:00:01 PST http://42opus.com/v9n3/the-wondrous-quiet-life "I've had a shock, George," he said, regarding the other steadily. "I've heard news of my old woman." "Didn't know you 'ad one," said Mr. Wotton calmly. "Wot's she done?" "She left me," said Mr. Davis, solemnly—"she left me thirty-five years ago. I went off to sea one fine morning, and that was the last I ever see of 'er." http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/42opus/fiction/~3/ycsqh-oUkwI/for-better-or-worse Tue, 18 Aug 2009 00:00:01 PDT http://42opus.com/v9n2/for-better-or-worse Lillian calls Roy out of the blue. It had been so long since they'd dated, for him, anyway, that he doesn't recognize the number in his cell phone. But he knows the voice that speaks and is instantly filled with the warm giddiness of promise, the delusional kind in which Lillian has made a terrible mistake and wants him back. He doesn't know if he wants her back, necessarily, but he swings his feet over his bed and pulls on yesterday's socks. "Roy, I know it's been a long time, but I have a favor to ask you," she says, her voice breaking up as Roy walks around the room, looking for a shirt. Favor. Shit. http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/42opus/fiction/~3/ZMlJ5mq5amE/lillian-in-white Thu, 23 Jul 2009 00:00:01 PDT http://42opus.com/v9n2/lillian-in-white Mid-spring and the trees bloom haphazardly—rich, dense, thick—so lush that standing beneath them, we cannot see the sky clanging against the hills. In a blue car, a radio plays; a man's thumb drums a steering wheel; a woman, her legs folded under her in a practiced N, blows her hot breath onto the window, takes her fist and presses the pinky side onto the fog her breath has made. With her index finger, she forms five perfect toes above the fist. A baby's foot—a trick her mother taught her when she was young. She wipes the spot away. http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/42opus/fiction/~3/ZcSZN70G7dc/the-weight-of-things Sat, 11 Jul 2009 00:00:01 PDT http://42opus.com/v9n2/the-weight-of-things The nurse pulls my legs one way and my arms the other, positioning me to her liking. Her face is beautiful, like a magazine cover, and I lie across the cold metal table like a wounded dog, my side pressed flat against the surface. A long-armed x-ray device hangs over my head. She smiles, and I lose myself in her face, imagine myself wandering into Candy Land; I walk over her gumdrop eyes. My wife is beautiful too, but she's not here. When I told her I was going for some tests she said, okay—you're fine. She said nothing about my tendency to over dramatize or my need for attention. She didn't ask why she should care or if womanizing could cause cancer. http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/42opus/fiction/~3/YnAfZy5yqCY/new-lease Tue, 23 Jun 2009 00:00:01 PDT http://42opus.com/v9n2/new-lease