The Cops Said, “Step out of the car.”

by Jamie Iredell

We had parked at the Slough, this place that could’ve been prehistoric, for its waters and fogged-in eucalypti, pelicans dive-bombing for sardines, otters smacking up abalone on their little bellies. We seesawed the dock and the waves rocked out below the sky and our descent into the water was so slow that millennia lived by and our shoes wouldn’t even get soaked. They said we couldn’t drive home. Afterwards, Ike felt a joint tucked into a shirt pocket, unfound during the pat-down, and one end of it bound for the Nissan’s cigarette lighter. Beyond the trees the power plant glowed red, and made the fog do the same. I knew in the future—within the hour—I’d drive toward the light, and past it.

---

Jamie Iredell was born on the Central Coast in California, then went to college at the University of Nevada, Reno. He left Reno, after earning his MA in Literature and the Environment, to head east to Atlanta for his PhD in creative writing at Georgia State University. He is the author of When I Moved to Nevada (forthcoming from The Greying Ghost Press). His writing has appeared in many magazines, including The Chattahoochee Review, Zone 3, The Pedestal Magazine, The Literary Review, ISLE, Descant, elimae, and Mud Luscious. He is a founding editor of New South, and is production editor for C&R Press. He has been known to enjoy watching turtles swim in southern creeks.

---

Back to Issue One: Fall 2008