How I'll Meet My Wife

by Kea Wilson

I don't think a roofie will quite do it. I need to slip you one of those Alice in Wonderland pills, cage you against the bar in my closed fist. I'll whisper to you on the taxi ride home, carry you across the threshold like it's our goddamned wedding night, slipped into my shirt pocket like a love letter. In the morning, you won't be ashamed or call the cops. You'll remember your body in the throat of a linen flower, my heartbeat like the inside of a sonic boom. You couldn't help but love me then.


Kea Wilson is a kinda-writer who keeps a blog of tiny fictions here (and she'd adore you forever for checking it out). She is from Cleveland, OH (and also Interlochen, MI, but Annapolis, MD right now and Santa Fe and Barcelona before).