This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “i am not alone” Down in the Dirt, v182 (the April 2021 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Excerpts from the Plague Years the Down in the Dirt Jan.-April 2021 issues collection book		get the 420 page Jan.-April 2021 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Regarding Utopia the 2021 poetry, flash fiction, prose, & art collection anthology		get the 396 page poetry, flash fiction, prose, & artwork & photography collection anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Fault Lines

Juli C. Lasselle

Lateral Displacement
    Lori and Jamal stood at the edge. He entwined his fingers in hers—dark and light—and she leaned over the crevice that stretched below them North to South. Even under the pine trees, the day was too hot, dry. The stale icy air that escaped the cleft in the earth gave her goosebumps.
    “When tectonic plates grind together, pressure builds up along these fault lines until it’s so great they break loose. The resulting earthquakes can create a fissure,” Jamal read from a weathered sign.
    “I don’t like it here,” Lori said.
    “Don’t blame me, you wanted to come.”
    “I didn’t know it was like this.”
    Small clods of dirt broke off beneath her feet, the journey of their long fall breaking the otherwise silent morning. Their intertwined fingers were slippery with sweat, on the brink of releasing when Lori took a step forward and her foot slid. She yelped. Jamal pulled her backward and they clung to each other, watching her one pink flip-flop bounce down the sides of the crevice and disappear. Lori’s heart beat faster. She was thrilled by having been so close to danger and escaped with nothing lost but an old shoe.
    “The fuck you do that for?”
    “It was a joke,” Lori lied.
    “It wasn’t funny.”
    Jamal sucked his teeth and shook his head. He passed her test but a crack opened inside her as immediate as the one she stumbled away from with one bare foot.

Crustal Deformation
    With her new flip-flops on and a plastic bag of snack food, Lori loose-hip shuffled back to the car. Her cola Slurpee gave her a headache but the cold trickling down her throat felt good so she didn’t stop drinking it. She leaned against the hood of the car and watched Jamal fill the tank. Her bare thighs burned against the hot metal.
    “Gimme a sip of that,” Jamal said.
    “I asked if you wanted one.”
    She handed him hers even though she didn’t want to share. The other people at the gas station seemed to move in slow motion since the excitement of almost having fallen into the crevice had faded to vulnerability and obligation, as if now she owed Jamal more than she was willing to give. He’d promised her a road trip but she hadn’t anticipated the intimacy of close quarters and extended time together.
    “You get me some Flamin’ Hots?”
    She dug in the bag and handed him a bag of Doritos with lime.
    “I don’t like those.”
    “That’s all they had.”
    “Lemme go look,” he said and kissed her.
    Heat rose like desire from the blacktop. He handed her back her melting Slurpee. She opened the chips bag and ate one, licking the artificial lime flavoring from her fingers. When Lori shaded her eyes to watch him, Jamal had already disappeared into the deep shadow made by the convenience store. Her sunburned arms and shoulders couldn’t take anymore sun so she got into the sealed quiet of the car to wait. It was a relief to be alone where she could rebuild the perimeter around her inner self. It’s not that he was demanding of her—not anymore so than other boyfriends she’d had—it’s that she could feel his need for her was greater than his need for himself. And she knew she could never fill that void.

Shearing
    Lori pulled the blinds of their motel room closed, imposing night on the day. She lay on the polyester floral bedspread and rubbed an ice cube from the plastic motel bucket in the soft hollow between her collarbones, relishing the chill of evaporation. Jamal turned off the shower and climbed onto the King-sized bed next to her, letting the white towel fall from around his slim brown hips. They lay side by side looking up at the popcorn ceiling, their breaths ragged through chapped lips, almost touching but not.
    “Let’s go swimming,” he said.
    “All those kids are in the pool.”
    “Nah, at the lake.”
    The thought of going back into the heat made Lori sleepy. She wished she was home, knowing the 7-hour drive to come was seven hours of landscape tedium and arguing over which radio station to listen to. Voices of television soap opera love from the room next door seeped through the wall, as if Lori and Jamal were having a conversation although neither of them was speaking. She curled onto her side, facing the door, and focused on the split of light between the curtain panels.
    “Come on, this was all for you,” he said.
    He lay his hand on her hip, the insistence of his touch like letting go.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...