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You’re not picking up. Of the dozen simple explanations for your rudeness, I select: you’ve died. That you could be that cruel. One blink later I wonder if you ever lived, whether in fact any of us exist or existed. We’re just so much empty space for so little stuff, like a smell in the wind. Walk into the Astrodome with hot water and a teabag. Yes I’m going somewhere with this. Set the water on a rail, dunk the teabag once, squeeze it dry, and take it when you leave. Later, under that dome, I smell something I can’t place, a tea as weak as the breeze we make walking through a room, but which is all I know of you, but which I say I recognize. Cobwebs of scent. So how do you hurt me so effortlessly? You’re probably shopping or walking the dog or napping with the covers pulled up and the phone off. I’d like to be there. Or do you know it’s me and you’re dodging The Conversation? At the atomic level, we don’t touch, and it’s not skin we feel. The particles aren’t reliably anywhere. The haze at your perimeter repels the haze at mine, and the bending we feel, of our own skins, measures the resistance we face. It’s no surprise we have to slap each other to get a reaction. How much closer do I dare get to the woman I love before you disperse into motes of dust? Already if I look too long, the parts of you I recognize go neutral. An inch too near and we cease to be. I promise if you answer the phone I’ll never question what makes us want to share rooms. Oh there you are. It’s me. Just wanted to hear your voice.
Original Copyright © January 21, 2007
Revised Copyright © January 27, 2026
Video versions of Very Short Novels are coming to your screens (one at a time and slowly). Trade Rumors is the first to be posted to our affiliated Must See Theater channel on YouTube. Life Line has been shot and is in post-production. And Eat the Air is on the schedule next. Check in often.
The Video Version in 299 words
The Print Version in 299 words:
—Dad, are you trying to trade me?
—What would make you say that?
—Mister Moyer said you offered me for his daughter.
—Not just his daughter, son. That was a package deal.
—Why would you want to do that?
—Do you mean why or do you mean why now?
—
—I don’t think you’ll ever be worth more.
—But I’m nothing but potential!
—
—What if I go somewhere else and thrive?
—That’s what I’m hoping.
—Oh, so you’re doing me a favor.
—
—Is it my grades?
—You think I care about your grades?
—I don’t know, but you can’t just trade your family!
—No? Your mother managed it pretty well.
—Is this something I can veto?
—You can beg. You know I like that.
—What if I’m not happy where you send me?
—I didn’t think you were happy here.
—I’m very happy here.
—You don’t act it.
—This is how a happy teenager acts, Dad.
—
—At least let me stay in the same school.
—With those grades?
—
—Anyway relax, there’s not much out there.
—Maybe your standards are too high.
—Why, because I won’t take on someone else’s liability?
—Dad, just admit you don’t like me and let’s move on.
—I couldn’t do that, son.
—You think it’s better not to say it?
—
—This isn’t fair.
—What, fathers and sons? It’s inevitable.
—If that were true, your dad would have traded you.
—Yeah, well. I might have been better off.
—Oh, Dad, is that what this is about?
—
—You think I won’t get enough chances living with you?
—
—Look. Grandpa was an asshole.
—Yeah?
—Yeah.
—Yeah?
—Yeah. You don’t have to be.
—So, what do you think of the Moyer girl?
—She’s cute, but she’ll never tell you the truth.
—Yeah.
—Yeah.
—Play some ball?
—Let’s play some ball.
print version Copyright © July 31, 2009
video version Copyright © September 2025
Very Short Novels 
This is a close relative of a Very Short Novel titled Short for Family from 20 years ago. The revisions…