Vignettes By Robert Vaughan

Stubborn

Tina is ready to follow us anywhere. I try to tell her it’s a boy’s thing. Doesn’t matter. I tell her Tina, girls don’t climb trees. Don’t play with trucks. Don’t kiss other girls. She’s stubborn. Mom says Tina marches to the beat of a different drum. I’m like, only if that drummer is a majorette.

Corn Maze

I got lost in a corn maze this morning. I know you’re not supposed to panic, but this happened in Soho. I met a lot of other people in there. Many of them were in the arts. One girl told me she’d been in there since Labor Day. I think she said that out of shame. She was wearing white shoes.

Distance

You went but left your voice. It was everywhere at first. Then time does its sad business. Though it hurts less when I forget you, still I am reluctant. Like a parent coming upon a lost child’s toy; it’s hopeless to keep, a heartbreak to discard. One wants to honor love. To forget is callous, to remember destructive. Love should never be unwelcome. But it’s like a haunting, isn’t it? The beloved one returns, and you are afraid.

© 2011 Robert Vaughan, first appeared at Fictionaut.

Robert Vaughan’s plays have been produced in N.Y.C., L.A., S.F., and Milwaukee where he resides. He leads two writing roundtables for Redbird- Redoak Studio. His prose and poetry is published in over 125 literary journals such as Elimae, BlazeVOX, and A-Minor. He is a fiction editor at JMWW magazine, and Thunderclap! Press. Also hosts Flash Fiction Fridays for WUWM’s Lake Effect. His blog: http://rgv7735.wordpress.com

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