No More Quiet Rooms

January 22, 2025January 21, 2025 trentmcmahonLeave a comment

I am naked in front of a mirror, examining myself again. Mid-20s, average build, ungainly to someone in the spotlight but perfectly acceptable for a chef; mine is a body worn by the average everywhere. A softness to the edges, flat yet firm ass. That’s my body, a space I scrutinize way too often, a bad habit I would love to break.

There is classical music playing from the portable speaker on the dresser. I can taste the heartbeat of the timpani and swell of the violins on my spine. I towel off, my inspection complete, and begin to choose clothes for the party. Before a decision is made, Parker makes his entrance, carrying a sack with new hand towels from the store. He follows me as I dip into the walk-in closet, but I pivot at the last second and turn to the dresser instead, throwing on a pair of underwear before considering the outfit further. By the time I’ve thrown on the tightest pants I own, the blackest shirt, and a windbreaker, Parker is already off showering, getting ready for his own evening, apart.

Planting Season

March 23, 2024 trentmcmahonLeave a comment

Seed

I would spend hours out among the collection of Arkansas pines that hugged the eastern edge of the property, breathing in their ethereal presence that seemed imbued with a bygone, forbidden magic. Instead of unloading the semi, assembling the dining table and chairs, doing anything to further the idea that you and I were now permanent, stationary creatures trying out that thing called domesticity, out there among the pines I remained, trying to decipher the undiscovered language hidden in the bark patterns, hoping to find the answers, a reason for our new life in the heart of the heart of the country. And though the house would eventually open itself to us, I would—selfishly, I realize now, no matter how much you told me otherwise—pass the time out there while you searched for temp gigs to tide us over until the farm was up and running, contemplating the chaos of the passing weeks, ignoring those to come.

Becoming Them

October 1, 2018October 2, 2018 trentmcmahon2 Comments

New Skin

There were a great many things that triggered Tamal throughout the apartment that had once been theirs and was now just his. The dishes in the sink, unfinished bars of soap, the blender that had been left behind in the cupboard where small appliances were sent to die, the collection of condoms that had fallen between the bedpost and the wall. The list went on and on in his head, ad nauseam.

Tamal was a prisoner bound by the belongings his ex had left behind, and instead of clearing them out, throwing open the windows, trying a new scent of candle, disinfecting everything with a bleach bath to remove the residual stains of memory, he let the dishes collect, the soap harden, the blender dust over. There were so many triggers that he could no longer discern the world of triggers from the world of normal. It all spun around and around in his mind, covering everything in blight.

Each day, he allowed himself only one chance to escape the apartment for a few hours. Even prisoners were allowed their daily walks in the yard. He would leave the apartment behind and walk a few blocks to the park, sit at one the benches, and watch people pass by, the air buzzing with the sound of children playing at the equipment in desperate need of replacement.

Levent (Part Two)

July 23, 2018 trentmcmahonLeave a comment

The Keys

His boss had scrubbed away most of his assignments when he returned to work the following week, but Charlie was glad to be back to it, in the way that his mind became occupied by the letters and words and sentences of his editing. It was enough to sustain his appetite, but not enough to overwhelm it, like pasta salad in July to his post-funeral palate. There came a preternatural effortlessness to his editing now that he had one less reason to go home; it was like his brain was ready to welcome any tool necessary to forget. He excelled through his first two assignments, inquired his boss for additional work, until he was the most productive in the office, bar none.

But the workday could only last so long, and their home was just that — theirs. There was no separating where Levent’s belongings began and Charlie’s ended. And it didn’t help there were so many things to begin with. Their friends knew them as the packrats of the group, each inherently unable to let go of the bric-a-brac that accumulated seemingly overnight, the kind of people you would ask if you wanted to spend a day trying to make pasta, because, and it was almost a guarantee, Levent and Charlie would have a once-used pasta maker lying around somewhere.

Levent (Part One)

July 22, 2018July 23, 2018 trentmcmahonLeave a comment

The Funeral

A month after the funeral, Charlie was still confronted by ghosts of his boyfriend each morning. These confrontations started small — harmless, sugarcoated memories — like when he would notice one of Levent’s thick, dark hairs on the brush and think, “Oh, that’s right, he’s…” But then the day would wear Charlie away to almost nothing, down to memories that would pulsate through his mind while he stood motionless in the various spots of their home they had never inhabited together, tucked away behind the stove he had shoved away from the wall, or beyond the closed door of the hallway linen closet, trying to eradicate every wiry, steelwool hair from the carpeted floor. Then, in those dark, forgotten places, the rest of the thought would materialize. “Oh, that’s right. He’s dead. Levent is dead and you will never see him again.”

First Night at Somerset Apartments

March 14, 2017December 2, 2022 trentmcmahonLeave a comment

Bird on a Wire

TW: prostitution, sex involving a minor

As the door clicks shut, I am spitting the chewed remains of a stick of gum from my mouth onto the grass, an attempt to purge all my emotions in the mangled wad. There is a body still breathing heavily behind the door, in the dense and stagnant air of the apartment. The body still damp with sweat—I can see it, feel it, even now, as I walk to my car.

I counted the numbers on the doors all the way to forty while savoring the taste of fresh peppermint gum. This was all too new. Breathe. A line of four dark windows stood between apartment forty and forty-four. As I walked past two of the black windows, I heard the door click open ahead of me, as if whoever was there was waiting, watching through the thin curtains. The screen bobbled for a moment, indecisive. I walked past, acted casual. It opened wider and I reached for the knob. A dark hand pulled the storm door open and I stepped over the threshold like it was supposed to happen naturally.