You Want More
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Go to the back row—or at least where you think the back row might’ve been. Forget about the snack bar/projection booth. Weave through high weeds to the back row and think about how the windows fogged up. Think about how you never, through all of the pre-planning, imagined what difficulties a steering wheel might offer, or how the seats might nearly concuss both of you after pulling the levers, or how you tried to maneuver into the backseat as if you’d had experience as a rock climber and high hurdler. Think about the difficulties both of you encountered, brought about by a triple row of brassiere metal eye hooks there on your first real date, or at least the first date remembered. Think about the bad acting, the car chase, the unreal setting, the chainsaw, the shark, the blob, the giant insect, the monster, the seemingly normal neighbor with the unruly, untoward, and despicable urges. Think about tires on gravel and how you hoped the driver continued on, that it wasn’t anybody you knew, that it wasn’t your parents.
Were there swing sets down by the screen, where children played before the movie? Did you think to yourself, Those poor idiot parents, bringing their children to a place like this on a Saturday night? Was there some kind of Coming Attractions? Did you say to the person next to you, “I got your ‘coming attractions,’” and think it was the wittiest thing ever said?
Stand on that spot.
Stand where you think your Opal, Datsun, Ford, Chevy, Buick, Toyota, MG Midget, or parents’ Lincoln or Cadillac might’ve stood. Look at the compromised screen. Go ahead and say, “Fuckin’ A—how did I make it this far?” Say, “Jesus Christ, all that bad living. All those close calls. What could’ve been? What could’ve been? What could’ve been?”
Then there’s the mother or father standing there, thirty minutes after curfew, and the story you have memorized. You have twenty lies, all of which you’ll recycle for the rest of your life, though you didn’t know it then, in the driveway, looking at your hand on the gear shift, thinking about putting it in reverse.
NOTES
“Outlaw Head and Tail,” “Caulk,” and “I Could’ve Told You If You Hadn’t Asked,” from These People Are Us by George Singleton © 2001 by George Singleton. Reprinted by Permission of River City Publishing. All Rights Reserved.
“Show and Tell,” “This Itches, Y’all,” “When Children Count,” “The Half-Mammals of Dixie,” “Richard Petty Accepts National Book Award,” and “How to Collect Fishing Lures” from The Half-Mammals of Dixie by George Singleton © 2002 by George Singleton. Reprinted by Permission of Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill. All Rights Reserved.
“Embarrassment,” “Unemployment,” and “Even Curs Hate Fruitcake,” from Why Dogs Chase Cars by George Singleton © 2004 by George Singleton. Reprinted by Permission of Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill. All Rights Reserved.
“The Novels of Raymond Carver,” “John Cheever, Rest in Peace,” “Lickers,” and “The Opposite of Zero” from Drowning in Gruel by George Singleton. Copyright ©2006 by George Singleton. Used by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. All rights reserved.
“Perfect Attendance,” “How Are We Going to Lose This One?” and “A Man With My Number,” from Stray Decorum by George Singleton © 2012 by George Singleton. Reprinted by Permission of Dzanc Books. All Rights Reserved.
“Which Rocks We Choose,” “Traditional Development,” and “Columbarium” from Between Wrecks by George Singleton © 2014 by George Singleton. Reprinted by Permission of Dzanc Books. All Rights Reserved.
“Fresh Meat on Wheels” and “What Could’ve Been?” from Calloustown by George Singleton © 2015 by George Singleton. Reprinted by Permission of Dzanc Books. All Rights Reserved.
“Staff Picks,” “Hex Keys,” “Four-Way Stop,” and “Probate” from Staff Picks by George Singleton © 2019 by George Singleton. Reprinted by Permission of LSU Press. All Rights Reserved.
“Director’s Cut” appeared in the Atlantic Monthly “Summer Fiction” issue, 2005, by George Singleton © 2005 by George Singleton. Reprinted by Permission of the Atlantic Monthly. All Rights Reserved.
The Author is grateful to the following journals, magazines, and anthologies where these stories first appeared: the Atlantic Monthly, Playboy, Harper’s, One Story, Georgia Review, Book, Southern Review, Kenyon Review, Agni, Cincinnati Review, Carolina Quarterly, New Delta Review, Oxford American, Appalachian Heritage, The Raleigh News and Observer, Shenandoah, Ninth Letter, A Dixie Christmas, New Stories from the South—the Year’s Best—(1994, 1999, 2002, 2006, 2007, 2010), The Pushcart Prize XL: Best of the Small Presses.
Everyone I acknowledged in the previous books. So there. I want to thank great writer Mr. Tommy Franklin, and these fine, smart, talented, patient humans at Hub City Press: Meg Reid, Kate McMullen, and Betsy Teter.
NATIONAL BOOK AWARD WINNER Charles Frazier generously supports publication of a series of Hub City Press books through the Cold Mountain Fund at the Community Foundation of Western North Carolina. Beginning in 2019, the Cold Mountain Series spotlights works of fiction by new and extraordinary writers from the American South.
The Prettiest Star•Carter Sickels
Watershed•Mark Barr
The Magnetic Girl•Jessica Handler
HUB CITY PRESS is the leading independent publisher of Southern literature. Focused on finding and spotlighting new and extraordinary voices from the American South, the press has published over eighty high-caliber literary works. Hub City is interested in books with a strong sense of place and is committed to introducing a diverse roster of lesser-heard voices. We are funded by the National Endowment for the Arts, Amazon Literary Partnership, the South Carolina Arts Commission and hundreds of donors across the Carolinas.
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