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The Sunday List of Dreams

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The Sunday List of Dreams

Chapter One

1. Stop being afraid.

Connie Nixon’s house starts talking to her at 9:51 p.m. on a Wednesday.

She has just finished pawing through her heart and examining the long lines of desire that parade through her body like an endless roll of string and tangle in a knot inside her chest. Her left hand is holding the knot, loosened briefly by means of the pen in her right hand that has translated her dreams into the list. The 48th list. Connie Franklin Nixon’s list of dreams.

Connie’s list-making tonight has been assisted by one and then two glasses of red wine–a really nice dry cabernet from Australia–and she is trying to decide if she should have another glass. This would push her way over the halfway mark, as far as her usual alcohol consumption goes, and into a semi-critical “what the hell” state that she associates with the early stages of drunken folly, Saturday nights on her sister’s back porch and the good old days, which did not last long enough.

Three seconds of hesitation is enough and Connie Nixon rolls over, lets the pages of her list fold against each other, drops the pen, grabs the gorgeous dark red bottle off her book-laden nightstand and pours the wine into the rounded, clear glass so close to the top that she has to lean over and sip it before she can actually pick up the glass.

That exact moment is when she hears the house speaking.

“What?” she whispers out loud. As if she is answering the walls that seem to be speaking. “What did you say?”

She pauses. Her top lip is swimming in wine and her bottom lip has wedged itself against the smooth glass, her breath in a holding pattern. Six years alone in this house have left her on more-than-intimate terms with every squeak, roof sway, late-night foundation settling creak, gutter birds, falling limbs, and an assortment of other sounds that are as familiar to Connie as a rushing waterfall might be to someone on an enchanted vacation. Even before those six years, when the girls were still romping through the house, climbing in through unlocked windows after curfew and sliding their tricycles, bicycles, cars and motorcycles into the garage door from dawn to dusk, there was a rhythm to the sounds, a symphony of life, a ballet of movement that signaled a house settling in around its family, the arms of the walls wrapping them close and keeping the rain and snow off the beds and dressers and the kitchen table.

The sound Connie hears now, however, is a distant voice, a faint indistinguishable rumble that tangos itself into a kind of hum. It is highlighted by a hint of music, as if someone has left a radio playing at the far edge of the basement. It echoes and sways as if it is about to snuff itself out and, when Connie pauses, unmoving, not frightened but a bit confused about its origin, the sound does not change or grow or stop or turn into something else. “Maybe,” she speculates. ”Maybe the list has started to speak.”

Connie drinks half the glass in one gulp and swings her legs off the edge of the bed. Accustomed to sleeping in whatever she happens to be wearing at the moment she falls into bed, Connie makes certain that if she has to avert disaster she can do so with at least partial dignity. When she looks down, she sees that she has on an old navy-colored t-shirt

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Title of ebook: The Sunday List of Dreams
ISBN: 9780553903430
Publisher: Bantam Books
Internet download file size: 282 kb
Pages: 352
Released online for download: 01-23-2007
Author of eBook: Radish, Kris

The Sunday List of Dreams

Chapter One

1. Stop being afraid.

Connie Nixon’s house starts talking to her at 9:51 p.m. on a Wednesday.

She has just finished pawing through her heart and examining the long lines of desire that parade through her body like an endless roll of string and tangle in a knot inside her chest. Her left hand is holding the knot, loosened briefly by means of the pen in her right hand that has translated her dreams into the list. The 48th list. Connie Franklin Nixon’s list of dreams.

Connie’s list-making tonight has been assisted by one and then two glasses of red wine–a really nice dry cabernet from Australia–and she is trying to decide if she should have another glass. This would push her way over the halfway mark, as far as her usual alcohol consumption goes, and into a semi-critical “what the hell̶ ... read full excerpt from The Sunday List of Dreams ebook


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