Rivi – Sebastian Malloy

Archive by category "Rivi"

A Feral Princess

Close-up of a tarnished doorknob set in a door covered in peeling paint, and bits of rusted metal. It is an old and weathered door.

I am supposed to not know that Rivi, Boone, and Tina are coming to pay us a visit in our house in the woods, and so when I open the front door to them after they knock and the dog barks the arrival of someone at the porch, I make sure that I am wearing my most authentic surprised face. “That’s a bullshit look if I ever saw one,” Rivi says. “Somebody told you we were coming.” “Shut up and hug me,” I say, wrapping her in an embrace. “It’s still bullshit,” she says. “It was Tina, wasn’t it? Boone…

Sugar Kisses

Extreme close-up of stacked cubes of sugar, under low key lighting

My phone rings while I am out across the property, shoveling pathways in the snow through the chicken run. The chickens do not enjoy walking through snow, and will all just stand inside the doorway to their coop for the entire day if they don’t have a trail dug for them to follow. I suppose if my feet were a half an inch thick, I wouldn’t want to be walking through a foot and a half of snow, either. I pull off one of my gloves and take my phone out of my pocket. “Rivi,” I say when I answer…

Old School

Dear Rivi: I have been thinking a lot recently about how much more enjoyable the Internet was back in the old days. I know, I know: hardly an original observation. Still, it’s been very much on my mind. Remember when it took five minutes to download a photo? On dial-up? Remember when there wasn’t any streaming music, let alone streaming video? Remember when the way people communicated was generally all text-based, either in chat rooms or BBSs? I’m telling you, Rivi, we didn’t know how good we had it. So that brings me to where my head is at today.…

Election Night, Anxiety Night

Dear Rivi: And here we are again, teetering on the edge, like we did in 2020, and in 2016, and I’ll tell you something: I am over all of this bullshit. How dare Americans be so shitty. So racist. So fascist. It’s both sickening and disheartening, while at the same time being this really pointed reminder that people have to fight for progress every goddamn time, or risk sliding back into the dark ages. And yes, I know that it’s not all Americans who are shitty, but it’s honestly far too many of them that are, and it turns my…

A Postcard to Rivi

Paranormal Tinglies

The clock on my phone reads 1:40am, and I finally give up on trying to sleep and crawl out of bed. I slip into the walk-in closet and get dressed by the glow from my phone before heading downstairs for coffee and breakfast. My mood can not in the slightest bit be categorized as pleasant. While I wait for the coffee to brew, I notice that I’ve gotten a message from Rivi waiting on my phone, only five minutes old. Why are you awake at this hour? I text her. My phone immediately vibrates in my hand: Rivi is calling.…

No Take Backs

Rivi is crumpling junk mail newspaper fliers into balls and packing them around the drinking glasses in the box on the counter. “I still find it impossible to believe you guys are moving,” she says. “We’ve been talking about it for years,” I tell her. “You should have been listening, obviously.” “I find it more impossible to believe that you aren’t asking me to come with you.” “The only reason I’m not asking is because I know you’re going to come along anyway.” “Obviously,” she says. “It would be rude of me not to.” I am working on my own…

So Irritating

We are hiding in the blanket fort that Rivi has built in her living room, a semi-permanent and elaborate construction, stretching from chair to chair and bookshelf to bookshelf, nestled in the corner near the door to her bedroom. Christmas lights dangle from binder clips at the top of the fort, and a small Bluetooth speaker rests on the top of a tiny table at the back of the area, softly playing a shuffled playlist of Rivi’s favorite songs. The winter chill is thick in the air, and we are bundled in a collection of Rivi’s blankets, staying warm as…

Alain Delon and la Dépression Française

It’s snowing as Rivi and I walk along the path beside the creek. She has been staying with us for a week, and has spent most of the time in the guest room with the door shut. Hibernating, she calls it. Hiding, I tell her. Either way, I’m glad that she’s out today, if not exactly in public, at least out with me. We don’t speak as we walk, and the only sounds are the trickling of the water in the creek as it splashes over the rocks and our shoes on the gravel path. There is a silence that…

Salt Lake Matador

A matador with a red cape facing off against an angry bull

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see that it’s a FaceTime call coming through: Rivi. I swipe to accept it. “Rivi,” I say. “Sebastian.” The image is dark except for a sliver of blue, enough to dimly illuminate the right side of Rivi’s face, and a bit of a wall behind her. “Where are you?” I ask. “Salt Lake,” she says. “Somewhere around there, I guess. Murder motel on the wrong side of the tracks. Actually, all of it’s on the wrong side of the tracks here.” “What are you doing in Salt Lake? And…