Conrad Ilesia
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Stories (44)
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The Long Argument
Robin woke up to a foggy Thursday morning outside her second story bedroom window, disturbed. She did not know exactly why but she knew she wanted to talk about it. She ran through her list of her friends. Her husband Don had dressed, said goodbye on his way out, leaving her in and out of sleep. An hour passed.
By Conrad Ilesia3 years ago in Fiction
Kinder Than the Lightning
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.” —Bob Dylan I Coming into the place, Toppers, from a light drizzle, I ran my hand through my damp hair, took a seat next to my friend Cecilia and ordered a Hopadillo from Marianne, behind the bar.
By Conrad Ilesia3 years ago in Families
The Curious Incident of the Man Who Had It All
I Sendera, 10:45 a.m. Yesterday. Almost now. I drag myself into the work building, past my oblivious secretary chatting on her cell, the stale coffee and day old taquitos (“Can we throw those out, Sissy?” “Why? Do you hate my kids?”), into my office, stare at my pile of files, contemplate my next move.
By Conrad Ilesia4 years ago in Fiction
How It All Started
My favorite niece tells tall tales, funny, amusing, uplifting lies. She has a way of spinning ordinary events into engaging yarns, finding fascination and humor in the things adults do, as only a fifteen year old could, poking us in the eye, her long black bangs shielding her questioning blue eyes. The only problem is that when she gets to what feels like the middle of the story, she abruptly stops, smiling, assessing our reaction. Occasionally at these gatherings where she's telling four or five quick stories in a row, someone will ask her, well, what happened next, but more often than not, when the last story is over, we will move on to a different topic. Natalie, I whisper to her, every good story has a beginning, middle and an end. Beginning, middle, end, I'll repeat. Typically she will grin, shrug and engage in another on-going conversation. On other occasions, among muffled laughter, she will make an excuse: that WAS the end, Uncle Sam; you don't KNOW how things end, silly; whatever, Uncle Smartie. But one time she turned sullen and said, "Sometimes you can't tell when things end."
By Conrad Ilesia4 years ago in Families
Girl # 3
Friday, June 22, 2018. Caligula. Austin, Texas. The first one approaches from my right, Coors Light on the small table in front of me, leans over and asks if I want company, seeping into my atmosphere, decent rack. Oh, I just walked in. Maybe later. She floats away. Nothing interesting on the stage, just the dimly-lit bump and grind.
By Conrad Ilesia4 years ago in Filthy
Dixieland
The Two-Four consisted of eight acres, two by width, four by depth, just outside the north most suburb on 87. When it was summer at the Two-Four, it was like a Kiss song—hot, hot, hotter than hell; in the winter, it was just hot. Carter had four kids, two girls, grown and off at A & M, and two boys at home. You had to look hard to realize that the boys weren’t his—a product of his second wife’s first marriage, step-kids. Not to Carter. To Carter, they were his boys. End of story. And Cheryl loved him for that; “Cher,” the lovely and talented, as he called her on his radio show every weekday morning during rush hour (such as it was) in Sendera. The day she saw his body, propped up against a tree trunk on the back one acre, as if he were a migrant worker taking a break against the merciless South Texas sun, was, however, not a weekday morning. That day in fact was a Sunday and the boys, Randy and Shooter, were getting ready to go to the Baptist church down the street. On pleasant days, they could probably walk to the church from the back one. Or at least throw a rock at it. But there were no pleasant days in Sendera. Surely not after today. Not after this particular Sunday in August.
By Conrad Ilesia4 years ago in Humans
Postcard From Quarantine
I have been talking to Lenny since I was 14. Technically, she started it, her silent voice at 4 a.m. Sometimes I will ask her for things. She always answers me and sometimes she grants what I ask for. Lately, we have been talking about isolation. She says, “You know, Jesus laid in the tomb, alone, for three days.” But she already knows that I know that. I’m tired of the isolation but she says, “Hang in there; we have a plan.”
By Conrad Ilesia4 years ago in Families
