by Kevin Michaels
Somewhere west of Cherry Hill, where Route 30 merged with the Turnpike, the first rays of sunlight broke through the morning in an explosion of red, yellow, and orange hues that lit up the sky. Porter steered his Harley through the toll booth, feeling the power of the engine between his legs and a comforting familiarity in the vibrations from the road. He opened up the throttle and felt the cold rush of air in his face as he accelerated into the car lanes. He knew Donna would find his note taped to the refrigerator in their Jane Street kitchen and laugh when she got to the part where he wrote that something was broke between them, but he didn’t know how else to say it – beyond the things already spoken, too much remained in silence between them. She never took his clumsy attempts at finding the right words seriously, even when it was all he had left to give. As the white lines and the miles rolled past like the years he had wasted chasing dreams that would never come true, Porter wondered if she would really miss him as much as he hoped.
6S
Kevin Michaels, whose full catalog is here, is a writer and surfer who lives at the Jersey Shore.
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Kevin Michaels. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Kevin Michaels. Sort by date Show all posts
20090928
20080106
Please Read the Letter
by Kevin Michaels
The last thing she said before hanging up was, “Please read the letter.” The sheets of paper were spread out in front of me now, like her body had once laid open for the taking, untouched despite the words written in blue ink on each page. I thought about our talks of a future together - plans that had been made and shared, like the ones that October day when we drove out to New Hope and spent an afternoon wandering throughout dozens of antique shops, the whole time sipping hot chocolate and pretending we could afford to be something more than dreamers and hopeless romantics. There had been a chill in the air that weekend - I had never realized how quickly or unexpectedly it could find its way inside our conversations; feeling again the sting in her words and the bitterness in her voice that still came at me some times at night while I laid awake, staring at the ceiling with her pack of cigarettes unopened on the table by our bed. I thought about the sound of her footsteps in the hall and the smell of her perfume drifting throughout the bedroom every time I opened a closet door, as well as the loneliness I felt every morning when I reached for her. The room stayed empty and dark, and the letter untouched except by a breeze that blew through an open window, scattering the papers to the floor where they stayed for weeks.
6S
Kevin Michaels, author of With Every Word, is everything New Jersey (attitude, edginess, Bruce Springsteen, and Tony Soprano). The author of two upcoming novels ("Bounce" and "Still Black Remains"), he has also written a number of short stories and articles. He lives at the Jersey Shore and refuses to leave.
The last thing she said before hanging up was, “Please read the letter.” The sheets of paper were spread out in front of me now, like her body had once laid open for the taking, untouched despite the words written in blue ink on each page. I thought about our talks of a future together - plans that had been made and shared, like the ones that October day when we drove out to New Hope and spent an afternoon wandering throughout dozens of antique shops, the whole time sipping hot chocolate and pretending we could afford to be something more than dreamers and hopeless romantics. There had been a chill in the air that weekend - I had never realized how quickly or unexpectedly it could find its way inside our conversations; feeling again the sting in her words and the bitterness in her voice that still came at me some times at night while I laid awake, staring at the ceiling with her pack of cigarettes unopened on the table by our bed. I thought about the sound of her footsteps in the hall and the smell of her perfume drifting throughout the bedroom every time I opened a closet door, as well as the loneliness I felt every morning when I reached for her. The room stayed empty and dark, and the letter untouched except by a breeze that blew through an open window, scattering the papers to the floor where they stayed for weeks.
6S
Kevin Michaels, author of With Every Word, is everything New Jersey (attitude, edginess, Bruce Springsteen, and Tony Soprano). The author of two upcoming novels ("Bounce" and "Still Black Remains"), he has also written a number of short stories and articles. He lives at the Jersey Shore and refuses to leave.
20090120
The Cheerleader
by Kevin Michaels
January 2009 "Six of the Month" Nominee
He sat behind her in Honors English, each day studying everything about her – how she casually flipped the hair from her face with a dip and shake of a shoulder and the way she brushed her fingers gently across her neck before raising a tentative hand with the answer to the teacher’s question. The Boy lived for those moments when she would turn around and talk with him before the bell rang, quietly laughing together while he hung on her smile and the things she said; alone at night he imagined walking home with her, sliding his hand inside hers while sharing something more meaningful, aching to matter to her. He noticed how she changed when school resumed after Thanksgiving; the words between them remained the same but her eyes told a different story – one of betrayal and hurt caused by someone she might have once trusted. Though the marks on her skin faded and the waves of time washed away what had been there, her pain never lightened. The Boy longed to find a quiet moment so he could tell her to be strong – not to waste her life trying to get back what had been taken away, but he could not work up his courage. He never found the words; before The Boy could say he was sorry for what she must have lost, she left school and took the fragments of her innocence somewhere new to start again.
6S
Kevin Michaels, whose full 6S catalog is here, is everything New Jersey (attitude, edginess, Springsteen... but not Bon Jovi). His work can also be found at Word Riot, The Literary Review, Darkest Before the Dawn, Powder Burn Flash, and Dogzplot. He's a writer and surfer who lives at the Jersey Shore.
January 2009 "Six of the Month" Nominee
He sat behind her in Honors English, each day studying everything about her – how she casually flipped the hair from her face with a dip and shake of a shoulder and the way she brushed her fingers gently across her neck before raising a tentative hand with the answer to the teacher’s question. The Boy lived for those moments when she would turn around and talk with him before the bell rang, quietly laughing together while he hung on her smile and the things she said; alone at night he imagined walking home with her, sliding his hand inside hers while sharing something more meaningful, aching to matter to her. He noticed how she changed when school resumed after Thanksgiving; the words between them remained the same but her eyes told a different story – one of betrayal and hurt caused by someone she might have once trusted. Though the marks on her skin faded and the waves of time washed away what had been there, her pain never lightened. The Boy longed to find a quiet moment so he could tell her to be strong – not to waste her life trying to get back what had been taken away, but he could not work up his courage. He never found the words; before The Boy could say he was sorry for what she must have lost, she left school and took the fragments of her innocence somewhere new to start again.
6S
Kevin Michaels, whose full 6S catalog is here, is everything New Jersey (attitude, edginess, Springsteen... but not Bon Jovi). His work can also be found at Word Riot, The Literary Review, Darkest Before the Dawn, Powder Burn Flash, and Dogzplot. He's a writer and surfer who lives at the Jersey Shore.
20080929
The Empty Ride Home
by Kevin Michaels
This one was special; she held a place in your heart none of the others filled – the two of you shared such a unique bond that it hurts now to let her go. You love her the same way you loved them all but there is more to it with her, although every time you told her that, Kylie just laughed and brushed the long strands of hair away from her face with a sweep of her hand, leaving only a knowing smile. It was the same kind of smile she gave other guys vying for her attention and affection; the kind that would bend your heart in ten different directions and leave you searching for words to fill the spaces left behind. All summer you had tried in vain to bridge that distance between you in an attempt to get back the closeness that had disappeared but you already knew Kylie didn’t mind what was there - she was more comfortable with awkward silences than you were. You sit now in the car with the engine idling, looking for the right words but she is oblivious to that longing you have to be significant to her for just a little while longer. She opens the door and turns to give a half-hearted kiss good-bye; it is only when she sees the tear inching down your cheek that Kylie says, “Dad – please,” in such a way that you are both embarrassed and proud, but she is quickly out of the car and off to her dorm room before you can say anything else.
6S
Kevin Michaels, whose full catalog is here, is everything New Jersey (attitude - edginess - Bruce Springsteen - but not Bon Jovi). His work can also be found at Word Riot, The Literary Review, Darkest Before the Dawn, and Dogzplot. He is a writer and a surfer who lives at the Jersey Shore.
This one was special; she held a place in your heart none of the others filled – the two of you shared such a unique bond that it hurts now to let her go. You love her the same way you loved them all but there is more to it with her, although every time you told her that, Kylie just laughed and brushed the long strands of hair away from her face with a sweep of her hand, leaving only a knowing smile. It was the same kind of smile she gave other guys vying for her attention and affection; the kind that would bend your heart in ten different directions and leave you searching for words to fill the spaces left behind. All summer you had tried in vain to bridge that distance between you in an attempt to get back the closeness that had disappeared but you already knew Kylie didn’t mind what was there - she was more comfortable with awkward silences than you were. You sit now in the car with the engine idling, looking for the right words but she is oblivious to that longing you have to be significant to her for just a little while longer. She opens the door and turns to give a half-hearted kiss good-bye; it is only when she sees the tear inching down your cheek that Kylie says, “Dad – please,” in such a way that you are both embarrassed and proud, but she is quickly out of the car and off to her dorm room before you can say anything else.
6S
Kevin Michaels, whose full catalog is here, is everything New Jersey (attitude - edginess - Bruce Springsteen - but not Bon Jovi). His work can also be found at Word Riot, The Literary Review, Darkest Before the Dawn, and Dogzplot. He is a writer and a surfer who lives at the Jersey Shore.
20080801
Six Sixes by Kevin Michaels
an Online Magazine from Six Sentences
Kevin Michaels gives us Six from the Street. To view the magazine, just click the “Open Publication” tab above. You’ll be taken inside, where you can turn the pages by clicking the arrows to the left and right. To view a “full screen” version, once inside, just click the diagonal arrows above the document (located to the left of the little envelope). Enjoy!
6S
Six Sentences are all you need. (Unless you need more. Or less.)
Kevin Michaels gives us Six from the Street. To view the magazine, just click the “Open Publication” tab above. You’ll be taken inside, where you can turn the pages by clicking the arrows to the left and right. To view a “full screen” version, once inside, just click the diagonal arrows above the document (located to the left of the little envelope). Enjoy!
6S
Six Sentences are all you need. (Unless you need more. Or less.)
20071112
The Edge of Night
by Kevin Michaels
The night wrapped its arms around us as we drove west, taking the highway past Medford towards Philly. The kids were asleep in the backseat and we were both counting the mile markers, staring out the windows with quiet eyes. I listened to the drone of the Chevy's engine and tried to figure out if the rumbling I heard was thunder in the distance, or something else I'd have to deal with when we got home. Playing with the knob on the radio she found a song we both remembered on the classic rock station; the lyrics came back easily but I kept them to myself - content to listen to her mangle the words as she tried singing along in a soft, broken voice. I thought about how we had danced to the song one time, slowly and carefully across the kitchen floor after the kids had gone to bed, but that was before we started measuring the blood we'd drawn from each other and comparing the scars that had been created. Now all I could do was hold on to the memory of how much I had once loved her as the night fell apart around me.
6S
Kevin Michaels is everything New Jersey (attitude, edginess, Bruce Springsteen, and Tony Soprano). The author of two upcoming novels ("Bounce" and "Still Black Remains"), he has also written a number of short stories and articles. He lives at the Jersey Shore and refuses to leave.
The night wrapped its arms around us as we drove west, taking the highway past Medford towards Philly. The kids were asleep in the backseat and we were both counting the mile markers, staring out the windows with quiet eyes. I listened to the drone of the Chevy's engine and tried to figure out if the rumbling I heard was thunder in the distance, or something else I'd have to deal with when we got home. Playing with the knob on the radio she found a song we both remembered on the classic rock station; the lyrics came back easily but I kept them to myself - content to listen to her mangle the words as she tried singing along in a soft, broken voice. I thought about how we had danced to the song one time, slowly and carefully across the kitchen floor after the kids had gone to bed, but that was before we started measuring the blood we'd drawn from each other and comparing the scars that had been created. Now all I could do was hold on to the memory of how much I had once loved her as the night fell apart around me.
6S
Kevin Michaels is everything New Jersey (attitude, edginess, Bruce Springsteen, and Tony Soprano). The author of two upcoming novels ("Bounce" and "Still Black Remains"), he has also written a number of short stories and articles. He lives at the Jersey Shore and refuses to leave.
20080428
Through the Heart Slowly
by Kevin Michaels
Margaret parks in front of the house on Philadelphia Avenue, turns off the Toyota’s engine, and feels that old familiar pain as she remembers the boy who had lived there years earlier. Even now she can recall so much about their time together in vivid detail – hours spent talking about the strength of their love and the way the boy could make her tremble just by rubbing his fingers in gentle patterns above her knee while telling her how much he loved her. But there was that cold winter’s night with their breath hanging in the air, like the words between them, when she misread her heart and through the tears said it was over. They had parked in that same spot on the street in his dirty white Mustang and she told him that she needed something more than he could ever give her; something she still hasn’t found with the man she married. It has been years since the boy moved north, and although she reads his words from time to time in books and magazines, they don’t fill the emptiness left inside or the longing that consumes each day. She is desperate for that kind of loving touch to make her feel alive just once more – alone in her car no one can hear the sobs caught in her throat or see the tears inching down her cheek as she wrestles with a loneliness only she knows.
6S
Kevin Michaels, whose full catalog is here, is the author of two upcoming novels (BOUNCE and STILL BLACK REMAINS). He lives, breathes, and writes at the Jersey Shore.
Margaret parks in front of the house on Philadelphia Avenue, turns off the Toyota’s engine, and feels that old familiar pain as she remembers the boy who had lived there years earlier. Even now she can recall so much about their time together in vivid detail – hours spent talking about the strength of their love and the way the boy could make her tremble just by rubbing his fingers in gentle patterns above her knee while telling her how much he loved her. But there was that cold winter’s night with their breath hanging in the air, like the words between them, when she misread her heart and through the tears said it was over. They had parked in that same spot on the street in his dirty white Mustang and she told him that she needed something more than he could ever give her; something she still hasn’t found with the man she married. It has been years since the boy moved north, and although she reads his words from time to time in books and magazines, they don’t fill the emptiness left inside or the longing that consumes each day. She is desperate for that kind of loving touch to make her feel alive just once more – alone in her car no one can hear the sobs caught in her throat or see the tears inching down her cheek as she wrestles with a loneliness only she knows.
6S
Kevin Michaels, whose full catalog is here, is the author of two upcoming novels (BOUNCE and STILL BLACK REMAINS). He lives, breathes, and writes at the Jersey Shore.
20090220
Things We Lost on Tuesday
Six Sixes by Kevin Michaels
Kevin Michaels revisits a dark day in American history. To view the magazine, just click the “Open Publication” tab above. You’ll be taken inside, where you can turn the pages by clicking the arrows to the left and right. To view a “full screen” version, once inside, just click the diagonal arrows above the document (located to the left of the little envelope).
6S
Six Sentences invites your comments and memories.
Kevin Michaels revisits a dark day in American history. To view the magazine, just click the “Open Publication” tab above. You’ll be taken inside, where you can turn the pages by clicking the arrows to the left and right. To view a “full screen” version, once inside, just click the diagonal arrows above the document (located to the left of the little envelope).
6S
Six Sentences invites your comments and memories.
20080131
Broke Down Cowboy
by Kevin Michaels
He pulls the Ford pickup to a slow stop near the row of pine trees along the edge of the blueberry fields, and after cutting the engine takes the bottle of Jack Daniels and his father’s old straight edge from beneath the seat. Once, back when life was spread out in front of him with hope and potential, he had brought the blonde from Cape May up here one quiet summer evening. They made love in the cool waters of the lake then lay naked in the dirt field, picking blueberries from their skin while staring up at a moonlit night and trading dreams. It was under those same stars that he proposed to her but she said no; soon after that he lost her to a future that didn’t include him, and time and distance hadn’t made that hurt disappear all these years later. Funny, he thinks now; he spent a lifetime searching every face he met for that same kind of promise but none had ever given him what he wanted – the emptiness he found instead was something that had never been filled. He takes a deep pull from the bottle, holds that thought longer than he should, then runs a finger along the edge of the blade before pressing it against his wrist.
6S
Kevin Michaels, author of Please Read the Letter, is a lifelong resident of New Jersey and lives at the Jersey Shore (where there are very few cowboys).
He pulls the Ford pickup to a slow stop near the row of pine trees along the edge of the blueberry fields, and after cutting the engine takes the bottle of Jack Daniels and his father’s old straight edge from beneath the seat. Once, back when life was spread out in front of him with hope and potential, he had brought the blonde from Cape May up here one quiet summer evening. They made love in the cool waters of the lake then lay naked in the dirt field, picking blueberries from their skin while staring up at a moonlit night and trading dreams. It was under those same stars that he proposed to her but she said no; soon after that he lost her to a future that didn’t include him, and time and distance hadn’t made that hurt disappear all these years later. Funny, he thinks now; he spent a lifetime searching every face he met for that same kind of promise but none had ever given him what he wanted – the emptiness he found instead was something that had never been filled. He takes a deep pull from the bottle, holds that thought longer than he should, then runs a finger along the edge of the blade before pressing it against his wrist.
6S
Kevin Michaels, author of Please Read the Letter, is a lifelong resident of New Jersey and lives at the Jersey Shore (where there are very few cowboys).
20210420
Main Street
by Kevin Michaels
You know when you see the flashing blue lights in your rearview mirror that you’re not being pulled over because of a busted tail light or carelessly doing fifty in a thirty-five mile an hour school zone; your crime is being a Black man behind the wheel of a car. It happens often enough that it’s become routine, so you ease your Lexus to the shoulder, turn off the ignition, and get out your license while putting your hands on the dashboard where nobody can misunderstand your intentions. Two uniforms approach, one on each side of the car, and it’s not surprising that their guns are drawn – they’ve determined that you look like somebody who stole the car or robbed a convenience store or mugged an elderly lady; being Black makes you a suspect in every crime in your neighborhood, even when you don’t match any descriptions. They tell you to keep your hands where they can see them so you unbuckle your seat belt and lean forward, giving a detailed play by play of every move you make because this is what it’s come to when you fit their profile of somebody who must be guilty of something. Your license falls between the seats and you reach for it, telling them what you’re doing, but later the cop on the passenger side will tell the jury that he pulled the trigger eight times because it looked like you were grabbing a weapon and the other cop will agree. You won’t live to see how it ends and nothing will change, except that your two year old son will grow up never knowing his father.
6S
Kevin Michaels's novels include STILL BLACK REMAINS and LOST EXIT, as well as a number of books in the Fight Card Books Series. He is a writer and literacy advocate whose stories have turned up throughout the literary scene, including a few that got nominated for Pushcart Prize awards and a few others on Six Sentences. He is everything New Jersey – attitude, edginess, and Bruce Springsteen songs (and sometimes even Bon Jovi).
You know when you see the flashing blue lights in your rearview mirror that you’re not being pulled over because of a busted tail light or carelessly doing fifty in a thirty-five mile an hour school zone; your crime is being a Black man behind the wheel of a car. It happens often enough that it’s become routine, so you ease your Lexus to the shoulder, turn off the ignition, and get out your license while putting your hands on the dashboard where nobody can misunderstand your intentions. Two uniforms approach, one on each side of the car, and it’s not surprising that their guns are drawn – they’ve determined that you look like somebody who stole the car or robbed a convenience store or mugged an elderly lady; being Black makes you a suspect in every crime in your neighborhood, even when you don’t match any descriptions. They tell you to keep your hands where they can see them so you unbuckle your seat belt and lean forward, giving a detailed play by play of every move you make because this is what it’s come to when you fit their profile of somebody who must be guilty of something. Your license falls between the seats and you reach for it, telling them what you’re doing, but later the cop on the passenger side will tell the jury that he pulled the trigger eight times because it looked like you were grabbing a weapon and the other cop will agree. You won’t live to see how it ends and nothing will change, except that your two year old son will grow up never knowing his father.
6S
Kevin Michaels's novels include STILL BLACK REMAINS and LOST EXIT, as well as a number of books in the Fight Card Books Series. He is a writer and literacy advocate whose stories have turned up throughout the literary scene, including a few that got nominated for Pushcart Prize awards and a few others on Six Sentences. He is everything New Jersey – attitude, edginess, and Bruce Springsteen songs (and sometimes even Bon Jovi).
20080511
Grace
by Kevin Michaels
The sand felt warm, the way it usually was on Saturday afternoons in Seaside Heights; face down on the beach under a hot July sun that burned my back and shoulders while Jenny was getting cheese fries and Cokes from the boardwalk concession stand. Later we would jump the waves, venturing farther from shore until the life guards motioned us back, their shrill whistles straining above the roar of the surf and the cacophony of voices that filled the air - ready to save us if we needed help. As the waves rolled into our bodies she would squeeze her arms around my neck and try to drag me under but I could always kicked free, riding the wave to the beach and tumbling out of the water with my stomach red, raw, and bleeding from the shells and pebbles that tore my skin and filled the waistband of my trunks; the water would surge forward over the chairs and towels of people too close to the tide line, sending them in a frantic scramble towards drier ground before pulling back with the empty cans, baggies filled with left-over snacks, and cheap plastic toys that had been left behind. Later Jenny would shiver as she held me close on the blanket, towels wrapped around our shoulders, her lips cold, salty, and wet as they pressed against mine, and the warmth we shared would spread throughout my body and stay with me on the drive home. I could feel that warm sand under my face as I opened my eyes in an unfamiliar expanse of desert, just north of Tikrit - a world away from New Jersey and the cool waves of the ocean; the ground was wet with the blood that poured from the gaping hole in my stomach and the mangled pieces of flesh and bone that had once been my legs. I heard the voices of the soldiers around me, the fear and panic in their screams as they tried to help, and felt the searing wave of heat and pain that swept over me - I closed my eyes and wanted only to be home again.
6S
Kevin Michaels, whose full catalog is here, is the author of two upcoming novels (BOUNCE and STILL BLACK REMAINS). He lives, breathes, and writes at the Jersey Shore.
The sand felt warm, the way it usually was on Saturday afternoons in Seaside Heights; face down on the beach under a hot July sun that burned my back and shoulders while Jenny was getting cheese fries and Cokes from the boardwalk concession stand. Later we would jump the waves, venturing farther from shore until the life guards motioned us back, their shrill whistles straining above the roar of the surf and the cacophony of voices that filled the air - ready to save us if we needed help. As the waves rolled into our bodies she would squeeze her arms around my neck and try to drag me under but I could always kicked free, riding the wave to the beach and tumbling out of the water with my stomach red, raw, and bleeding from the shells and pebbles that tore my skin and filled the waistband of my trunks; the water would surge forward over the chairs and towels of people too close to the tide line, sending them in a frantic scramble towards drier ground before pulling back with the empty cans, baggies filled with left-over snacks, and cheap plastic toys that had been left behind. Later Jenny would shiver as she held me close on the blanket, towels wrapped around our shoulders, her lips cold, salty, and wet as they pressed against mine, and the warmth we shared would spread throughout my body and stay with me on the drive home. I could feel that warm sand under my face as I opened my eyes in an unfamiliar expanse of desert, just north of Tikrit - a world away from New Jersey and the cool waves of the ocean; the ground was wet with the blood that poured from the gaping hole in my stomach and the mangled pieces of flesh and bone that had once been my legs. I heard the voices of the soldiers around me, the fear and panic in their screams as they tried to help, and felt the searing wave of heat and pain that swept over me - I closed my eyes and wanted only to be home again.
6S
Kevin Michaels, whose full catalog is here, is the author of two upcoming novels (BOUNCE and STILL BLACK REMAINS). He lives, breathes, and writes at the Jersey Shore.
20080209
In the Moment
by Kevin Michaels
It hasn’t always been this way but you can’t remember a time in the past few years when there wasn’t some sort of tension between you, so when he tells the waitress he’s only having coffee you know in that moment that whatever time you have together tonight will be too short. Once he made the commitment to meet, it was a race against the clock – in his mind he has already determined how much time he’ll devote to you; with no crisis looming your allocation of minutes will be brief. Long enough for a cup of coffee, some stories about nothing too important, and vague promises about getting together again, followed by quick good-byes. There are so many things you want to tell him, like how the best times in your life were the days when you walked through the front door, dead tired from a two hour commute out of Penn Station and a job you hated and he and his sisters would scream “Daddy!” at the sound of the key in the front door. How they would race down the hallway and leap into your arms before you could even drop your briefcase on the floor, and how that little boy made you feel special with his own display of love and affection every time he saw you. But that little boy is left only in memories you draw on now to fill the void in your heart where you both used to dance and play together; replaced by a stranger, and a distance you can’t cross.
6S
Kevin Michaels is the author of Broke Down Cowboy. He lives at the Jersey Shore where he is waiting anxiously for winter to end because summers are still to die for (even if you're not a teenager and years past cruising the streets in muscle cars).
It hasn’t always been this way but you can’t remember a time in the past few years when there wasn’t some sort of tension between you, so when he tells the waitress he’s only having coffee you know in that moment that whatever time you have together tonight will be too short. Once he made the commitment to meet, it was a race against the clock – in his mind he has already determined how much time he’ll devote to you; with no crisis looming your allocation of minutes will be brief. Long enough for a cup of coffee, some stories about nothing too important, and vague promises about getting together again, followed by quick good-byes. There are so many things you want to tell him, like how the best times in your life were the days when you walked through the front door, dead tired from a two hour commute out of Penn Station and a job you hated and he and his sisters would scream “Daddy!” at the sound of the key in the front door. How they would race down the hallway and leap into your arms before you could even drop your briefcase on the floor, and how that little boy made you feel special with his own display of love and affection every time he saw you. But that little boy is left only in memories you draw on now to fill the void in your heart where you both used to dance and play together; replaced by a stranger, and a distance you can’t cross.
6S
Kevin Michaels is the author of Broke Down Cowboy. He lives at the Jersey Shore where he is waiting anxiously for winter to end because summers are still to die for (even if you're not a teenager and years past cruising the streets in muscle cars).
20080327
Things Unspoken
by Kevin Michaels
There’s something about the way he touches me every time that makes my heart skip a beat and pushes the air from my throat. I shiver under his hot breath while he whispers softly and pulls himself closer, letting his fingers glide along the curves of my skin. Later he will say what he thinks makes the hurt disappear and tell me again how everything will be all right if I give him not only my body but my trust as well. But when he’s done nothing that is said really matters that much. No matter how hard he tries explaining it in simple terms he thinks I can understand, I know that words don’t have the power to make you feel better – actions and intent cause pain and nothing changes that or takes away what is left. I think about his words sometimes at night once he’s left my room, and wonder what he says to my mother when he slips back in their bed after leaving mine.
6S
Kevin Michaels, whose full catalog is here, is the author of two upcoming novels (BOUNCE and STILL BLACK REMAINS). He's everything New Jersey - attitude, edginess - and has some scars that can't be covered by tattoos.
There’s something about the way he touches me every time that makes my heart skip a beat and pushes the air from my throat. I shiver under his hot breath while he whispers softly and pulls himself closer, letting his fingers glide along the curves of my skin. Later he will say what he thinks makes the hurt disappear and tell me again how everything will be all right if I give him not only my body but my trust as well. But when he’s done nothing that is said really matters that much. No matter how hard he tries explaining it in simple terms he thinks I can understand, I know that words don’t have the power to make you feel better – actions and intent cause pain and nothing changes that or takes away what is left. I think about his words sometimes at night once he’s left my room, and wonder what he says to my mother when he slips back in their bed after leaving mine.
6S
Kevin Michaels, whose full catalog is here, is the author of two upcoming novels (BOUNCE and STILL BLACK REMAINS). He's everything New Jersey - attitude, edginess - and has some scars that can't be covered by tattoos.
20210323
I Hung My Head
by Kevin Michaels
I hung my head the day my eighth grade math teacher told me I wouldn’t amount to anything, and not long after that I dropped out of school because nobody was going to miss a kid like me who wasn’t good at math or anything else they tried to teach. I hung my head a couple of years later when one of the corner boys in my gang pressed that .22 into my hands and told me to take it into the liquor store, point it at the old Italian behind the counter, and make him empty the register. I hung my head when the gun went off – I never meant to squeeze the trigger but it happened, and all I could do was grab a handful of twenties from the drawer and get out of there while the guy bled to death on the linoleum. I hung my head when the cops brought me in for questioning; the detectives were better at math than I was, and when they put two and two together they came up with me. I hung my head when the jury came back with a guilty verdict after less than an hour; I heard my Mama sobbing three rows behind me but I couldn’t look at her, so I kept my head down and let the judge’s words pour over me in waves, cutting and slicing me like the broken shells you step on when you walk the beach. And I hung my head when I realized my teacher had been right – I was just another kid who didn’t amount to anything or mean nothing to nobody.
6S
Kevin Michaels's novels include STILL BLACK REMAINS and LOST EXIT, as well as a number of books in the Fight Card Books Series. He first published in Six Sentences almost 15 years ago and since then his stories have turned up all over the literary scene, including a few that got nominated for Pushcart Prize awards. He is everything New Jersey – attitude, edginess, and Bruce Springsteen songs.
I hung my head the day my eighth grade math teacher told me I wouldn’t amount to anything, and not long after that I dropped out of school because nobody was going to miss a kid like me who wasn’t good at math or anything else they tried to teach. I hung my head a couple of years later when one of the corner boys in my gang pressed that .22 into my hands and told me to take it into the liquor store, point it at the old Italian behind the counter, and make him empty the register. I hung my head when the gun went off – I never meant to squeeze the trigger but it happened, and all I could do was grab a handful of twenties from the drawer and get out of there while the guy bled to death on the linoleum. I hung my head when the cops brought me in for questioning; the detectives were better at math than I was, and when they put two and two together they came up with me. I hung my head when the jury came back with a guilty verdict after less than an hour; I heard my Mama sobbing three rows behind me but I couldn’t look at her, so I kept my head down and let the judge’s words pour over me in waves, cutting and slicing me like the broken shells you step on when you walk the beach. And I hung my head when I realized my teacher had been right – I was just another kid who didn’t amount to anything or mean nothing to nobody.
6S
Kevin Michaels's novels include STILL BLACK REMAINS and LOST EXIT, as well as a number of books in the Fight Card Books Series. He first published in Six Sentences almost 15 years ago and since then his stories have turned up all over the literary scene, including a few that got nominated for Pushcart Prize awards. He is everything New Jersey – attitude, edginess, and Bruce Springsteen songs.
20071202
With Every Word
by Kevin Michaels
The bedroom was still as our conversation dissolved into a heavy silence broken only by the ticking of the clock on her night table and the occasional sob that hadn’t yet been swallowed in her pillow. I stubbed out my cigarette and leaned forward in the chair, watching her expression and wishing I could be there in ways I didn’t fully understand any more. I knew she was lonely for words I couldn’t find in myself; little white lies that might ease the pain, but there hadn’t been honesty between us in years and I was done bending the truth. I could have told her again that everything would be all right, but neither one of us believed the words, so I just stared at the clock through the quiet of the night and watched the minutes fall away like hours. When she finally closed her eyes one last time I wiped off my tears with the back of my hand, took the keys from the glass bowl by the door, and drove away in the big block Buick that had been parked in her garage. I wanted to believe that she hadn’t suffered but that was another lie; you want to believe anything that makes you feel better about your mom dying, even when it isn’t true.
6S
Kevin Michaels, author of The Edge of Night, is everything New Jersey (attitude, edginess, Bruce Springsteen, and Tony Soprano). The author of two upcoming novels ("Bounce" and "Still Black Remains"), he has also written a number of short stories and articles. He lives at the Jersey Shore and refuses to leave.
The bedroom was still as our conversation dissolved into a heavy silence broken only by the ticking of the clock on her night table and the occasional sob that hadn’t yet been swallowed in her pillow. I stubbed out my cigarette and leaned forward in the chair, watching her expression and wishing I could be there in ways I didn’t fully understand any more. I knew she was lonely for words I couldn’t find in myself; little white lies that might ease the pain, but there hadn’t been honesty between us in years and I was done bending the truth. I could have told her again that everything would be all right, but neither one of us believed the words, so I just stared at the clock through the quiet of the night and watched the minutes fall away like hours. When she finally closed her eyes one last time I wiped off my tears with the back of my hand, took the keys from the glass bowl by the door, and drove away in the big block Buick that had been parked in her garage. I wanted to believe that she hadn’t suffered but that was another lie; you want to believe anything that makes you feel better about your mom dying, even when it isn’t true.
6S
Kevin Michaels, author of The Edge of Night, is everything New Jersey (attitude, edginess, Bruce Springsteen, and Tony Soprano). The author of two upcoming novels ("Bounce" and "Still Black Remains"), he has also written a number of short stories and articles. He lives at the Jersey Shore and refuses to leave.
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