Raisin Brazon
Bio
Stories (19/0)
To Lily and All the Lies I've Told
She stood just under five foot tall. I remember the day that we met her saying, ‘4’11’’ is the cut off for legal dwarfism, and I’m 4’11’’ plus one quarter of an inch.’ She was feisty, but always in a good spirited cheeky way. Lily and my mom became best friends, often joking that lily was my mom's long lost daughter.
By Raisin Brazon2 years ago in Humans
Rose? It's Tom. Can I Sing You a Song?
This night, like many others, Tom had spent lying awake. Around four in the morning he’d finally given up the fight, electing to forget that he was trying to fall asleep and instead pace around to keep warm. He often didn’t have much luck sleeping. No. Not tonight. In fact, this year there has been no luck at all for Tom.
By Raisin Brazon3 years ago in Fiction
The Badlands
It feels like an oven, or a toaster, or some other appliance more creative than either of those. It’s one-hundred degrees, five in the evening, and smoky too. I’m in the Badlands of South Dakota. I didn’t know what to expect before coming here, but decided this afternoon, sweating, that badlands is an accurate way to describe this moonscape. All that is missing now is an orchestra playing a sad song a few hundred feet away. There’s ambiance here, but it’s a gloomy one, or perhaps I’m just gloomy. I’d have been alone here five years ago, but in the last five years the world has aged 5,000, and I’ve aged at least twenty extra.
By Raisin Brazon3 years ago in Humans
The Bum, Roger
School was three miles from Kal’s home. He always woke up at six-thirty when dad would come in, before leaving for work to rip his covers off. If Kal didn’t quickly rise out of bed, then the pillow would be stolen as well. Kal hated mornings and just as soon as Dad left, he’d go right back to bed. Usually he couldn’t fall back asleep, but the mere act of defiance made it worth it. Then, around seven-thirty Kal would eat a bowl of cereal, usually fruit loops, and he’d be off. These winter months were frigid in the mornings, even in California. Today it was well below freezing. Kal put on his winter gloves, the same navy blue ones he’d always wear snowboarding along with a beanie and hoodie. The ride took only fifteen minutes, but that was enough for the cold mornings to turn his cheeks red and make him sweat. The first hour in class was always the worst. His cheeks would be red and he could feel the kids staring at him. At the beginning of this third grade year, Miss McNeil had pulled him aside to ask if he had ridden his bike to school in the rain. The concern was written on her face. Kal lied, the way an embarrassed child does. ‘No, my parents dropped me off with my bike.’ Miss McNeil allowed Kal to save face, but called home that night to inquire. She’d never know, but Kal endured one of his fathers worst yelling bouts that night because of her. After that day Kal began locking his bike at the Walmart opposite his school.
By Raisin Brazon3 years ago in Families
Lost and Found
By this point, I was at the fuck-it stage of an accelerating downward spiral. The product of many sporadic decisions had landed me on the San Juan islands in the up left corner of the USA. I had a girl there. We’d met at a grocery store on the day I had planned on leaving the San Juan Islands. I had asked where the cheese was and somehow that had planted the seed for a year-long romance. By the end of that year I had grown very attached to her everlasting positivity no matter what the situation. Then, as usually happens with me at that point in a love affair, she decided it wasn’t right. And when she’d said that, I decided that it wasn’t fair for me - and I told her so too. ‘You’ll miss me, but believe that I won’t be missing you.’ I’m sure I had said something like that. I usually do. I wonder if the women ever believe it.
By Raisin Brazon3 years ago in Fiction
Dear Andi
He felt the world had gone mad somewhere, somehow. It was hot today, and the horse flies were biting. But, it seemed it was always hot now. And when it wasn’t hot, it was a hurricane, or tornado, or rabid bat migration or unforseen proportions. He had dreamt last night, and he usually didn’t. This was something he would bring up at long expired dinner conversations to a response of, ‘well, you just don’t remember them.’ He’d always casually agree, but suddenly and silently disagree. He never dreamt, he was sure of it. That’s why last night meant so much, because she was there. Andi: five foot three, slender with flamboyant -natural- red hair. She was smiling. It was the honest smile the same way he remembered it. They were on the mountainside that he had taken her camping all those years ago and the sun was setting. The cacti around cast a calm shadow and the breeze blew steady. They hugged.
By Raisin Brazon3 years ago in Confessions
Not Home At Home
There are many lessons I have learned on the road. In Ukraine I paid my first bribe after being thrown in jail for no discernible reason. In Uganda I learned how to ride a motorcycle. In France, I learned French. I fell in love a lot on the road too. I learned how to say goodbye. And I also learned that sometimes it is both easier and better to not bother with goodbyes. The road taught me self-reliance. There was no one to help me change a flat tire in Serbia. I learned to make fast friends. Intense, often painfully brief, friendships bound to end from the beginning because I was always leaving. Over the last five years I have traveled to over forty-five countries. Usually I traveled alone. I’ve grown used to the feeling of being out of place. Of not knowing the local language or customs.
By Raisin Brazon3 years ago in Wander
My Awful(ly) Great Van Build
Before the project even truly began, it seemed to be falling apart. My girlfriend and I awoke at three in the morning that August to hear my mother frantically yelling, ‘Pack what you can, we need to evacuate - NOW.’ One of the many California wildfires of 2020 was threatening our home. In fact, I didn’t know it then, but it was a mere two miles from our house. Dharia, my girlfriend, and I gathered the solar panels, mini fridge, Maxxair roof fan, and tools into the back of the Chevy 3500 cargo van I had bought two weeks earlier. Within five minutes of my mom waking us up, we were on the road. Visibility was down to twenty feet or so because the smoke was so thick. I put on Gimme Shelter by the rolling stones for full effect. With the van still a hollow shell, the song echoed throughout the van. I could see the orange glow in the air in the direction of my house and realized my childhood home would probably not be there in the morning.
By Raisin Brazon3 years ago in Humans
To Andrea
‘There is no clarity like hindsight. And nothing exaggerates hindsight like being in the open water. And I am, right now, on the water for the last time, Andrea. This letter is to you and only to you. This letter is to tell you that in the waning hours of my life, I am thinking of you.
By Raisin Brazon3 years ago in Humans