by Robert Scotellaro
My uncle Joe spent time in a submarine under the polar icecaps, knew the value of vistas. Would, in the middle of a conversation sometimes get up and stick his head out the window. Told me once when I was a kid how, years after his wife passed, that this world was tricky, that people were, and how you needed to be on your toes like a ballerina. How Charlie Chaplin entered a Charlie Chaplin lookalike contest and came in third: “Imagine that!” Said how a house can be a vise if you’re not careful; there were framed photos of my aunt everywhere: the two of them young. He asked me to try imagining what it would be like living like a canned sardine under the ice, then got up and stuck his head out the window and looked up at a plane passing, pulling his eyes across the sky.
Robert Scotellaro is the author of eight books of flash and microfiction. He is the co-editor of New Micro: Exceptionally Short Fiction (W.W. Norton). Visit him at Robertscotellaro.com.
