Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 25, June 2019

Revista Literária Adelaide

made her the center of a en on; he had pocket for the ten and in one fluid mo on
made them both the center of the fes ve reached under Elira’s dress and tried to clip
throng. Even the bride and groom linked it to her G-string. Elira retreated crab-like
hands with other dancers, and all formed a and swung at his head.
chained circle revolving around them.
Edmond ducked, and slipped away,
The band took the cue and le it up to backed into the dancing circle, expec ng
the drummer who seemed prepared for the hands of cousins on his back to push
the call to improvisa on. The drummer him to the center. But there was only a
gave Elira enough to go on and Elira gave he y hand on his shoulder, pulling him
it all she had. The giving was less in perfor- backward. “Meet me where we parked,” a
mance than in daring, since in her daring voice shouted and let go.
was where her talent really lay. Hopa! and
hajde! erupted from all direc ons when Edmond stood there, stunned, as the
she shivered her hips, whistling and hoot- circle dissolved around him, morphing into
ing when she shimmered her breasts. The superficial mo on that cared li le if only a
clarinet entered, slowly at first and stacca- moment ago he’d been its focus. Only Elira
to and she responded to it with staccato seemed to care. She touched his elbow and
swings of her pelvis. The clarinet then beck- narrowed her caring eyes at him. It stead-
oned slowly, like the flute of a cobra-charm- ied him.
er, and like a cobra she responded, swaying
this way and that, as if being pulled now “I’ll be right back,” he told her, smiling.
from one arm, now the other. It went on Then he veered around her, following his
like this un l the clarinet picked up the father’s scent that lingered in the air like an
tempo and she with it. She gave her back- ant’s food-scouring trail.
side to Edmond now, her arms straight over
her head, her fingers spread, her hips shiv- He tracked the scent, threaded through
ering at his face. tables and waiters and guests, to the bright
lobby where he was stopped by a mob of
Edmond was past the point of it being giggling boys, giddy at having discovered a
wise to stand up just then. S ll clapping on, girl standing in the dark corner of the dark
his eyes searched for his mother. She could coat closed, just standing there and looking
always cool him down but she no longer down, they said, unblinking. They begged
stood where he’d le her—no longer any- him to take a look there for himself, as if
where at all. As he scanned the hall, he saw his silence implied that he did not believe
his father and Gasper heading out toward them, but his silence only meant he did
the lobby together. He no ced Nina with not care for their stupid games, and wob-
her eyes riveted on him and he caught the bled instead toward the bathrooms. As he
eyes of many more to whom he’d given so entered the men’s, two women emerged
much to talk about tonight. from the door next to it, whispering about
a woman crying so ly in one of the stalls.
The scanning took only a moment, and “We don’t have that old saying for noth-
when he faced Elira again she was bowing ing,” one of the women said to the other.
to a round of cheers. She turned to Ed- “There isn’t a funeral without laughter and
mond and offered her hands to help him no wedding without tears.” Edmond head-
up. Instead of taking them, he fished in his ed to the urinal, the door closing behind

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him. He unzipped his pants and pressed par ng, le them to talking about him, as
his forehead to the cold sea-blue les over he knew they always did.
the silver flusher and closed his eyes. An
ode to drinking and drunkenness began to He weaved, smoking, through the rows
thunder on, pulsa ng muffled and leaden of cars to where he had parked his father’s
through the wall. Mercedes. He found his father leaning
cross-legged onto the trunk, smoking, too,
His forehead s ll felt pressed to the cold and staring blankly at the night. In the dark,
le when he came back out, feeling, too, as his father’s face appeared sallow, weary
if the wall were leaning against him and not and washed out as a mug shot. Despite
he against the wall. There wasn’t a boy in the haggard look, Edmond thought him all-
the lobby now bai ng phantoms in the coat around larger and more imposing in a som-
closet. The music had stopped and he could ber suit and e, than in the white chef’s
smell the well-primed ribs on the trays of robe he was used to seeing him in.
waiters and on the plates of pan ng guests.
He heard swelling laughter and the clamor- “What couldn’t wait un l we got home?”
ing din of voices, harsh against the hushed Edmond asked, although he knew what was
music. Outside the double doors, three or coming. Could see it in his old man’s eyes,
four male cousins hung about smoking and the crumpled contours of his face.
talking. On the first two parking spaces Gas-
per’s Escalade was parked, party balloons “Mar n Tebuna,” his father said. “People
floa ng up its side windows. His tongue are seeing him around, in the Bronx appar-
felt sordid, his stomach churning. If only he ently.” He breathed out the smoke through
could sneak out to the parking lot, see what his nose, in two plums that spiraled before
his father wanted, then go back to Elira and him. “The blood’s s ll outstanding and
leave this place with her forever. maybe he thinks we’ve stopped looking to
collect it.”
Cousins and family friends of the cou-
ple were standing stopped talking and they “To collect it,” Edmond echoed and
widened their circle in invita on to him to shook his head. He caught a glimpse of
join them. Smoke hovered between them. the Ambassador Bridge, the lights of sus-
One of them extended a cigare e. penders forming double M’s against the
September night. Clouds were dri ing over
“Why not?” Edmond said and reached them, although it appeared, in the imme-
for it and brought it expertly to his lips. diate moment of looking up, as if it were
the lights moving rela ve to clouds, not the
“You and Elira.” A goateed cousin smiked. way it was supposed to be.
“Must be nice to be a lawyer, to be needed
by an illegal ass like hers. No wonder you “I know this is difficult for you,” Father
don’t care anymore for clubs.” said. “But Artur bestowed this cross on us
and we must bear it honorably. The debt
“It’s undocumented ass, you insensi ve must be paid in full.”
bum,” another said, shaking his head.
“Very kind of Artur to mix in shit he
They all laughed, all except Edmond. He shouldn’t have.”
puffed on the cigare e and blew out smoke
and touched his forehead in a gesture of “You didn’t choose your brother, Edi, as I
didn’t chose my son. But he was your broth-

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er and he was my son. We’re in the blood been a solemn duty to offer cigare es to
now, and must do what must be done.” the guests, or raki brewed from your own
grape vines. Today, in this new home, the
Edmond looked up, as if for divine help, same habits s ll persisted, s ll felt natural,
to spare him from this archaic bullshit. “Who s ll determined pacts between men, even
told you where Mar n is, anyway? Was it fathers and sons.
Gasper? Was it somebody else here?”
Father snuffed his cigare e on the trunk
“Don’t start with all these ques ons. It of his car and let it drop on the pavement.
doesn’t ma er who told me what. What He straightened, ready to go back. “Come,”
ma er is—” Something made his father’s he said. “And do show some regard for your
stop and glance up toward the building door. mother. Dance with Nina once tonight. One
dance, just to put their minds at ease.”
The look on his face made Edmond turn.
It was Elira. Upon seeing Edmond with his “Let me smoke this shit in peace,” Ed-
father, she whirled back inside. mond said. “Before I have to come in, too.”

“I don’t care who you sleep with,” his His father nodded and headed inside.
father said so ly. “Must you be so brazen Edmond watched him stop to chat a mo-
about it? In front of your mother. In front of ment with the kushri smoking by the door.
Nina. In front of the camera, for everyone He felt red and sick. He longed for a bed,
to see.” needed to pee again, or vomit. He took his
father’s spot, learning on the Focus and
“Okay, okay,” Edmond said, cringing, and wishing he’d taken from his father at least
then: “Guess I’ll need a gun,” he said. two more cigare es. Four would have suf-
ficed to calm him down a bit, maybe let him
The word gun, so deliberate and sudden enjoy the rest of the night. A faint sprinkle
now, stunned his father. The man tried to touched his cheek. He looked up. There
speak and the words misfired. He gulped. were hardly two stars visible, appearing
“You have Artur’s,” he said, his voice so as if they, too, were moving rela ve to the
thin and whi led down to air, like rela ves clouds. In Albania, he remembered, there
sounded on the phone calling from Albania. had been so many more stars and way
“It’s not registered.” brighter, too. It was a wonder to look up at
them. Here there were few and all so very
“It’s not registered. I’m so glad. Wouldn’t dim.
want to go to jail, or anything.”
Whatever the plan was, it wasn’t some-
“Keep your voice down, damn it. You thing that his father could pull off. He was
won’t go to jail, you hear?” certain of that. The mere thought of his fa-
ther scou ng the Bronx, cornering the guy
“I’ll make sure of that,” he said. Even if I and shoo ng, almost made Edmond laugh.
have to shoot myself, he thought. Sure, he might scout the area and corner
the guy, but shoot? No! His father would
“You can’t say that lightly, Edmond, you hesitate too much, allowing the gun to be
understand? You can’t be too careful.” wrestled from his hand and shot in turn.
Then he, Edmond, would have to bury his
His father extended him a cigare e as
a show of offering comfort, or a remnant
of the old gesture of hospitality, so com-
mon in the old days. Back in Albania, it had

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father the way they’d buried Artur—in Al- “Inconsolable, actually. I just came from
bania, in the clan burial lot. This me he there. Even tried to talk to her. Let’s just
would have to go back, too, and go through say, it didn’t go so well.”
all those ghoulish protocols he had wanted
to avoid by refusing to join his family for Ar- He flicked the cigare e into the air and
tur’s second funeral back there. He’d have watched it dip and crash to the ground in a
to face all those bereaved eyes he didn’t burst of ny sparks.
want to face the first me, shake the sorry
hands he didn’t want to shake, and hear the “This must be so hard on her, the last
dreary voices he didn’t want to hear, telling wedding here being your brother’s and all.”
him over and over, “Kjoshi vetë!” May you
live yourselves! Was there a more ghastly “What the hell are you trying to do, Eli-
condolence than that? He didn’t want to be ra, honestly?”
there for all the weeping that Mother and
Nina had done for Artur and would do again “Nothing, Edmontosaurus.” He eyes
for his father. He’d be pegged as gutless widened again. “Just talking, is all.”
wherever he went, bringing shame upon
his family, held responsible for his own fa- “Why don’t you go back inside, Elira,
ther’s death. It would follow him all his life. back to dancing with Gasper?”
He’d marry Nina and father children, but his
house would seldom receive guests again. “I’ve danced enough with Gasper to last
What kind of a life was that? He dragged me a life me.”
on the cigare e then let out the smoke. He
rubbed his face and eyes. When he opened “You certainly could have fooled me.”
his eyes again there was Elira in high heels
tapping calmly up to him. “That’s because you’re easily fooled.
Besides.” She drew closer to him. “Gasper
“Hey, freak show,” she said. “So you le isn’t my amazing lawyer.”
me dancing by myself to chill out here with
all these parked cars. Had no idea cars were She pressed into him and he found
be er company than I. But guess who was himself fleeing the warp and we of fa-
wrong?” milial gloom toward the blithe la-la-land
where she lived. If only he could stay there
“Motor City, a er all, isn’t it?” He’d for a while, like Odysseus in Ogygia, but
sounded sourer than he’d meant to. with no longing for home or for Penelope
to ruin all the fun for him. Could Elira be
Elira’s eyes widened. “Why are you so like Calypso, the nymph madly in love with
bi er, all of a sudden?” him and promising him eternal comfort as
reward for being her lover, leaving every-
“Nothing you should worry about, I thing behind? If Elira was Calypso, then
don’t think.” who was Penelope, and where was home
supposed to be? Edmond had no fucking
“Does it have to do with your mom cry- clue.
ing in the bathroom?”
S ll, he thought it suave to whisper,
He gut went hollow. “I didn’t know she “Let’s go to Ogygia together. What do you
was crying in the bathroom.” say? To Ogygia, just you and me.”

“Sounds roman c,” Elira said. “But where
is Ogy-ga-ga, anyway? In Canada?”

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“Yep.” Edmond laughed. “Just over Am-
bassador Bridge.”
“Win my papers first,” she said. “And we
can go anywhere you want.”
“Oh, I will,” he said. And he pulled her
closer to him.

About the Author:

Julian Darragja was born in Albania and moved to the US with his family when he was
twelve. His fic on has appeared in Barcelona Review, Harpur Palate, Santa Fe Writers Project
Quarterly, and Green Mountains Review, and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

103

BELFAST BLUES

by Edith Tarbescu

Ted told his brother he would fly over for except when he wanted to get drunk. “Puts
the wake. He paid his landlady the next hair on your chest, even if you’re a woman,”
month’s rent on his flat in Queens, New said Ryan, winking at his brother.
York and flew to Dublin. A er ren ng a car,
he drove to Belfast. He reminded himself “I’ve enough hair,” said Ted. “It’s sleep I
that Northern Ireland wasn’t home any- need. But first…” He didn’t have a chance
more. He would return to the States a er to finish. His brother Peter interrupted.
the wake and the funeral. ”Would you like to see them laid out?”

It was nearly dark by the me he arrived “I would,” said Ted, following his brother
at his parents’ house. When he hugged his el- into the living room.
dest brother Peter, he caught a whiff of Guin-
ness. Ted’s brother, Dennis, slapped Ted on “Take as long as you want.” Peter silent-
the back. “You’re looking good, especially for ly crossed the room, closing the door be-
a McCullough.” Ted bent down and kissed his hind him.
sisters-in-law. But only Peter’s wife, Elaine,
kissed him easily on both cheeks. “Good to Ted knelt and crossed himself as he
have you back,” she whispered. looked at the two caskets side by side. The
curtains were closed. Only a li le daylight
He didn’t respond to her comment, but shone through. Both of them at the same
said instead, “Can we open a window? It’s
hot in here.” me. How could that happen? “Truly a
nightmare,” he whispered.
“Is it fresh air you’re needing?” asked
Sally. “You’ll get plenty of it. We’re expec ng He touched his father’s hand. “It’s me,
colder weather.” Dad. Sorry I didn’t come back sooner.” As
he leaned over his mother’s casket he no-
“I bet you’re red,” said Ryan, eighteen
months older than Ted and referred to by ced how waxen her skin looked. But her
their mum as Ted’s Irish twin. “I fixed you hair felt as so as if she were alive. “Mum,”
something for jet-lag,” Ryan added, “ same he whispered, “It’s me, Teddy. I’ve come
as I fix for hangovers.” He laughed as he from America.” He con nued stroking her
poked his brother in the side. Ryan’s wife curls. She was completely gray now, not
Sally served him cheese and biscuits. “That’s dull, but silver. When he was a child, she let
quite a zinger,” said Ted, said, holding up his him brush her long auburn hair. She’d tell
glass. Irish whiskey was never his first choice, him a erward, “You did a fine job brushing
my hair. Come along, help me with my er-
rands, then I’ll be buying you a treat.”

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Ted li ed a strand of hair off her fore- around the room and thanked everybody for
head. “I love you, Mum. Rest in peace.” coming. “So, you’re Teddy,” said a shop-keep-
er. “We’ve heard all about you, only good
Standing between the two caskets, he things, mind you.” The neighborhood butcher
shook his head again in disbelief. His father told Ted, “Your mum missed you, but she was
looked as if he were taking a nap. No, not a proud of you for going to America.” She never
nap, thought Ted. Not in a sa n-lined coffin. told me that, thought Ted, just made me feel
He lingered awhile before taking one last guilty for leaving. “You’ll have the rest of the
look at his parents then began wrestling family,” he had told her. “But you’re my favor-
with a strange thought: he was an orphan, ite,” she whispered.
didn’t ma er that he was thirty-five. He le
the room and closed the door behind him His brothers cha ed up the guests
as if his parents were sleeping and he didn’t during the wake and stayed busy refilling
want to disturb them. empty glasses. The room smelled of Bush-
mill’s Irish Whiskey. Their wives kept the
“Are you okay?” asked Dennis. food coming almost as if on a conveyer
belt. They were so quiet going about their
“No,” said Ted. “I’m exhausted, emo on- business, Ted only realized they were in the
ally and physically.” One by one, his sisters- room when he got a whiff of perfume.
in-law stood and hugged him again. “We’ll
be leaving soon,” said Elaine. “Will you be The days were exhaus ng, especially
needing anything?” since Ted never had a proper night’s rest.
The funeral on the fourth day disturbed him
“No. Thank you, anyway.” even more. As they lowered the bodies into
the ground, he had no hand to reach for.
“If you’re not comfortable sleeping here, Each of his brothers had a wife by his side.
with the bodies, I mean,” said Ryan, Ted stood next to his sister-in-law Elaine and
brother, Peter. Elaine, in the middle holding
“We’ve plenty of room at our house.” Peter’s hand, brushed her shoulder against
Ted, reminding him he wasn’t alone.
Ted smiled at his brother, all the while
remembering their wrestling matches when The morning a er the funeral, the house
they were teenagers. “I appreciate your of- was quiet and the McCullough family gath-
fer, but I’ll be up during the night, I’m sure ered round the dining room table over a pot
and don’t want to wake you with my pacing.” of tea. The atmosphere was so subdued even
the children played quietly, the oldest play-
His brothers gathered the children from ing a board game; the younger ones playing
the second floor and carried the youngest with toy trains or dolls. The whiskey smell
ones down. A er saying goodnight, Ted was gone. The odor of smoke s ll lingered,
walked his family to the front door. He along with the smell of dozens of roses.
wasn’t afraid of ghosts, but he le all the
lights on as he trudged upstairs. He didn’t As Peter rubbed his forehead, Ted no-
unpack, just fell into bed, naked. ced that his eldest brother’s hair was s ll
black, but the sides were showing signs
 of gray. Peter looked across the table and
caught Ted’s eye. “I hate to bring this up
The wake lasted three days with two viewings
a day, a ernoon and evening. Ted circulated

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now, but you’ll be flying back to the States By the me his parents bought the B&B,
and there’s the ma er of the Will.” He Ted’s brothers were all busy with their fam-
pulled a manila envelope out of his brief- ilies so Ted, a librarian at nearby Queens
case and placed it on the table. “You’ll have University, had been enlisted to help scrape
to read it or I can read it to you since I’m the and paint the walls of All Seasons Bed and
Executor.” Breakfast.

“You’re going to be surprised,” said A er weekdays at the library and
Ryan. “Oh,” yes,” said Dennis. “Very sur- weekends fixing up the B&B, Ted was con-
prised.” Ted looked around the room. As vinced he needed a vaca on—in America.
they all watched him, he realized that he A visi ng professor of English Literature,
was the only single one in his large Catho- with whom he had become acquainted at
lic family, s ll their “Teddy.” Between Ted’s Queens University, invited him to stay with
three siblings and their wives, there were him and his wife in Queens, New York. How
eight children, ranging in age from s ll-on- appropriate, thought Teddy.
the-nipple to eight years. He had to remind
them that he started calling himself Ted af- A er his two week holiday, he called
ter his move to New York. his parents to say he wasn’t coming back.
His mum sounded distraught, but finally
“Yes soor, you’re going to be surprised,” wished him well. “And when will you be vis-
said Dennis, affec ng a County Cork accent. i ng us?” she asked.

“How’s New York?” asked Peter. “Met a “Soon,” Ted said, but he didn’t keep that
nice lady to marry? We haven’t had a baby promise. A er telling his mum the news,
in the family for six months.” He set his cup Ted sent an e-mail to his boss. “I’ve secured
of tea on the table and winked at his young- a job managing a book store in New York.
est brother. I’ll not be returning to Belfast. Sorry to
give you such short no ce.” He signed the
Ted smiled and pretended to accept the e-mail, “Ted.” He wasn’t going to be Teddy
teasing. His life in New York was so differ- anymore or “Teddy Boy,” which is what his
ent from theirs in South Belfast—occupied mum called him a er a few pints of Guin-
as they were with family, church and work. ness. When he was a lad and accompanied
Ted thought of his father who had worked her to the greengrocer’s and the fishmon-
at a dis llery, up North in Antrim County, ger’s, he pretended he was an only child.
and his mother, saving bits of bread. A er But that fantasy faded when his three older
his father re red, his parents took their brothers arrived home from school every
life savings and—to Ted’s surprise—bought a ernoon.
a Bed and Breakfast. That was his mum’s
idea. She was the more enterprising of The book store Ted managed was in
the two. The B&B, where the family had Greenwich Village. He secured a flat near
gathered for the wake, was on fashionable his colleague, David McGonigle, in Elm-
Lisburn Road. It was filled with bou ques, hurst. A er trading Queens University for
pubs, and purveyors of beauty, even leg Queens, New York, he wanted to meet a
waxing salons—not exactly a necessity in a lady. He didn’t care what religion she was,
cool, rainy climate, thought Ted, but a plea- preferred she not be religious at all. He was
sure for private viewings. s ll a believer, but he had grown red of the

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rituals and dogma of the Catholic Church, shorter than Ted, and he was over 6 feet
not to men on the recent scandals. two inches. He was big-boned and broad
shouldered. Ginny was as thin as a birch
The first thing he did a er se ling into his tree. When he was falling asleep at night.
one-bedroom flat was buy a computer. He he o en thought about her body, so like a
didn’t ship the one from Belfast, didn’t have ballerina. No ts, but a beau ful arse. Most
his books shipped, either. Too expensive. of all, he loved thinking about their Sunday
morning ritual: showers in her flat and him
His flat was in a building next to a pub. rubbing her back with lavender soap.
It soon became a favorite for dinner. There
was even Cel c music for entertainment ev- She loved showing him different parts of
ery Thursday night. He couldn’t get used to New York, said the only grass she needed
calling them bars. A er ge ng se led, he was in Central Park. She had grown up in the
spent me at his computer looking at the city. Her full name was Virginia Anne, but he
Personals. But he never met anybody spe- loved calling her “Gin.” He hated hearing
cial. He met Ginny on a blind date set up by American men call women “Babe” which he
a new author-friend from the book store. heard on the telly or at the movies.
He had been da ng Ginny for six months
when he received the call from his brother A er a while, she began expressing an
Peter saying there had been an accident. A interest in visi ng Ireland —with him as her
fire. All Seasons Bed & Breakfast escaped guide, of course. “I love to travel,” she told
with minor damage, but their parents died him. Her only trait that bothered him was she
in their sleep. Smoke inhala on. was reserved. When he told her one night,
“I’m happy we met,” she just smiled and nod-
“Ironic,” said Peter. “An old ba ery in the ded. She was part Sco sh and part Swedish.
fire alarm needed replacing. Can you imag- Maybe that was the reason, he thought.
ine?” Ted listened to the details of the fire
and realized he had to leave for Ireland.. “Teddy, are you s ll with us, or are you or-
“I’ll book a flight for the funeral.” he said, bi ng the moon?” Ryan asked, as he passed
numbly. his brother a plate of biscuits.

“And the wake?” asked Peter. “They’ll “Sorry,” said, Ted. “I can’t seem to shake
be laid out together. You’ll be here for that, the jet lag.”
won’t you?”
The ringing of the land-line gave him a jolt
“That’s a problem,” he answered. “Don’t and he thought it might be Ginny. Can’t be,
know if I take that much me off from work.” he realized, she doesn’t have the number. He
went back to thinking about her, how much
“They were your mum and dad. Tell your he enjoyed reading to her: Yeats, Joyce, Beck-
bloody boss it was your parents who died.” e . She loved Irish literature and loved imi-
His brother ended the call. Ted immediately ta ng what she called an “Oirish” accent.
rang his brother up. “Of course I’ll be there
for the wake.” I’ve a bloody headache, thought Ted,
from the lingering smell of smoke in the
Ted had a date with Ginny that week- B&B. The odor of cooked sausages didn’t
end. An English teacher at a private school help either. He also felt groggy, unable to
in Manha an, they shared a love of books, concentrate. Each night since he’d been
music and theatre. She was four inches

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back, he had fallen into bed dead red. And ones were unfamiliar. A red haired boy in
in the morning, he thought about Ginny. blue trousers and white shirt rushed over
A er his second sleep-over at her flat, he to Ted. “Who are you?” he demanded. “
ruffled her hair in bed the next morning
and recited two lines from a Yeats poem: “I’m your uncle Teddy.”
“Love you for yourself alone. And not your
yellow hair.” She nestled into his chest and “You can’t be my uncle.”
they made love again.
“But I am. Ask your dad.” Ted looked at
“You’re quiet,” said Elaine. “Would you his brother. Dennis nodded.
like to go upstairs and lie down?”
“I don’t think you’re my real uncle,” said
“No, I’ll just sit here a while,” said Ted, Dennis Junior.
“and listen to the banter.” He was enjoy-
ing the rare quiet when a line of fire trucks Ryan laughed and told the boy. “He’s
drove past with sirens blaring. your real uncle. He was in America for a few
years and he’s back now.”
“We’ll be in the si ng-room if you care
to join us,” said Peter. Ted was nursing his But not for good, thought Ted. Just a vis-
third cup of tea while the women con n- it, mind you.
ued se ng out pla ers of home-made
scones and jam. Were there more guests ”Come, children,” said Ryan. “Let’s go
coming? He never knew that his parents upstairs and I’ll read you a story.” Ryan start-
had so many friends. ed up the steps to the bedrooms. The chil-
dren followed, like ducklings. Ted thought
 of making quacking sounds. That amused
him and he smiled for the first me since
The family was in the si ng-room when Pe- arriving in Belfast.
ter handed Ted an envelope. “It’s Dad’s Last
Will and Testament. It’s me,” he added. When it was quiet again, Elaine turned
to him and asked, “So, tell us, what are your
“Oh, Teddy, wait ll you see what they plans?”
le you,” said Ryan.
Ted put his cup of tea on the saucer. “I’m
He was s ll adjus ng to his parents’ going to drive the bloody rental car back to
deaths but asked jokingly, “Did they leave Dublin on Monday then I’ll fly Aer Lingus
me a million pounds so I can buy a castle?” back to Kennedy Airport unless we run out
“Almost as good,” said Peter’s wife, Elaine. of gas and land in the Atlan c Ocean. In
She was Ted’s favorite sister-in-law. “By the that case, I’ll swim to America and my lady.”
way, you need a haircut,” she added, star-
ing at him. “Do they wear their hair so long The rest of his family leaned forward. “A
in New York?” lady?” Dennis repeated. “When’s the date?
We hope you’ll get married here in Belfast.”
“We do.” Before long, the si ng-room
was filled with Ted’s nieces and nephews. “Of course, he’ll get married here,” said
“We’re hungry,” they announced. Ted rec- Sally.
ognized the older children but the younger
“And start making babies,” added Peter.

Teddy surveyed his family as if they were
a bunch of vultures.

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“What’s her name?” asked Elaine. gain was due to lack of exercise, unless you
called making babies a vigorous sport.
“Virginia,” said Ted.
His sister-in-law Elaine was s ll young
“You have photos of her?” Peter asked. looking with auburn hair and muscular legs.
But the others were beginning to look mid-
“Not with me.” He thought of Ginny, ly- dle-aged. Ted wasn’t as rich as his brothers
ing naked in bed and her blonde pubic hair. but he had something more valuable. He
He had that photo on his Smartphone so was an American, with a green card, and his
had to be careful not to leave his mobile own flat. He had a job he liked. And he was
lying around. saving towards his own book shop one day.

“Does she want lots of children?” asked Peter pulled his chair closer to the table
Dennis. and faced Ted. “As awful as we feel about
Mum and Dad’s death, I have to ask you to
“The answer’s no,” said Ted. “She doesn’t read the Will.”
want lots of children.” And thank God, he
thought. Of course, they hadn’t progressed “You read it aloud,” said Ted. “I’ve a
that far. Marriage and babies were not part headache from the smoke I’ve been breath-
of their conversa ons. As far as Ted knew, ing day and night.”
she loved her job and probably wouldn’t
want to get on the “mommy track,” as they Peter put on a pair of reading glasses,
called it in America. The term reminded cleared his throat and began:, I, Peter Mc-
him of an escalator with a sign reading, “No Cullough, Senior, being of sound mind and
Exit.” body, leave my three sons, Peter, Dennis
and Ryan ten-thousand pounds each. And
“Told you, I’ve s ll got jet-lag and even to my youngest son, Teddy, I leave...”
before I could recover, I had to stand
around shaking hands with a bloody bunch Peter tapped his chest and had to stop
of strangers.” reading. His wife passed him a glass of wa-
ter. “I can take over the reading for you,”
“They weren’t strangers to us,” said Pe- said Dennis.
ter. “Mum and Dad had a lot of friends. But
you wouldn’t have met them.” “I’m okay,” said Peter, finishing the wa-
ter. He coughed loudly then picked up the
Sure, make me feel guilty, thought Ted. Will again.. “I’ll start where I le off: To
“I knew quite a few,” he said at last. my youngest son, Teddy, I leave... “ He had
another coughing fit before saying for the
Ted felt as if he was seeing his fami- third me, I leave to my son Teddy...
ly for the first me and couldn’t help no-
“Get on with it,” said Ted. “Stop fuckin’
cing how his eldest brother had gone to with me.”
seed. Peter had a pot-belly. Hs body, like
his face, lost all its angles. What happened Peter laughed. “Watch your language.
to the rugby player? His brother traded in You’re in Ireland now.” He took a deep breath.
the sport of playing rugby for a job selling ‘I leave my son Teddy All Seasons Bed and
cars. Sure, he owned the shop—sold Jag- Breakfast.”
uars to rich people, in villages like Hillsbor-
ough, but was he happy? Peter didn’t drink Teddy’s mouth fell open. “Stop making
much, an occasional Guinness. The weight jokes.”

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“He’s not joking,” said Elaine, placing a Elaine tsk-tsked before facing Ted again.
hand on Ted’s forearm. “You’ve go en overly drama c. Was it the
move to America that changed you?”
There was more pouring of tea while Pe-
ter con nued reading. “I want All Seasons “Jaysus,” said Ted, running his fingers
Inn to be my legacy. And I want Teddy to through his hair. “Do you realize I le my be-
run it. God bless you, Teddy. God bless All longings in New York and I le my lady there,
Seasons Bed and Breakfast.” too. I have a round-trip cket back to New
York. What is Dad doing? Controlling my life
Ted covered his eyes with his large from the other side like I’m a feckin’ puppet?”
hands.
His brothers pretended to be taken
“What’s the ma er, love?” Elaine asked. aback by his language. “You have go en
“Aren’t you happy? We kept it as a surprise. drama c, haven’t you?” asked Dennis.
We thought you’d be thrilled.”
“I’d be da to move back here.”
“I’m not thrilled. I’m going to sell the
B&B. Dad probably wrote that Will before Elaine rubbed Ted’s forearm again. “We
I moved to America. Things have changed.” know you’ve had a shock. But Belfast will
always be home to you.”
“Sell it?” They sounded like a Greek cho-
rus. “You can’t do that. Dad wanted you to Will it?” thought Ted. How can you speak
have it. A er you le for America, he told for me?
us he hadn’t been much of a dad to you.
You were the youngest.” And probably a Dennis stood up, picked an apple from
mistake, thought Ted. Peter con nued in a a bowl at the end of the table and rubbed
gravelly voice. “Dad was an old man by the it on his sleeve. “What if your lady decides
against you? What will you do then? It’s a
me you were born.” Dennis leaned for- lonely life being a bachelor.”
ward. “He’s making it up to you. Can’t you
see that?” “You won’t be lonely here—not with
family all around,” added Peter.
Ted looked at the faces at the table. They
all looked pale in their black suits or black You can bet on that, thought Ted. Not
dresses. As he con nued looking around, with all the nieces and nephews and more
he no ced that the roses and white calla on the way. But he let them con nue. He
lilies were also drooping, reflec ng the way was curious to hear what other ways they
he felt. The smell of smoke had also go en had of teasing out his guilt. “I want all of
worse. He wanted to open a window, but you to stop pressuring me!” said Ted. “It’s
it was too cold. Just then, it started raining my decision.”
and large drops pelted the windows.
“You were impulsive moving to New
Elaine leaned forward in her chair. “I York,” said Peter. “Now, you need to mull
know how you must feel, Teddy, but your things over.”
dad worked all his life so he’d leave some-
thing behind.” I need me alone, thought Ted. That’s
what I need.
“You’re bloody right,” said Ted. “Dad
was like God in our family, so I guess that “Look,” said Elaine, “if it’s your lady you’re
makes me the chosen son.” worrying about, I’m sure you’ll meet a nice

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woman here in Belfast. There’s s ll Queens had been laid out in black, too. His world
University,” she added. “I’m sure they’ll was black now, all color drained out.
take you back in case the B&B doesn’t make
enough money.” “When were you planning to leave?”
asked Peter.
“What do you say, Teddy?” asked Den-
nis. “Call your lady, ask her to collect your “I have a cket scheduled for Monday. I
belongings and ship them here. Ask her leave from Dublin.”
if she’d like to come, too. Tell her there’s
room at the inn.” He laughed and his bel- A er the children came running down-
ly shook beneath his gray and white rugby stairs, the solemn mood of the wake and
shirt do ed with crumbs. funeral were gone. “Can we have ice cream
now, please? cried Ryan, Junior. Before his
“Be realis c,” said Ted. “Do you think mother answered, the others joined in,
she’s going to give up a cushy job to cook “We want ice cream.” Another Greek cho-
bacon and eggs every morning?” rus, thought Ted. One on either side and
me stuck in a vise.
“If she loved you, she would,” said Peter.
Ted grimaced. He didn’t know if she loved “You promised,” they said. “You said af-
him, and he didn’t want to be pushing her. ter the funeral,” said Ted’s nephew Bobby.
It had been too soon to talk about living to-
gether, much less moving to Belfast now. “Yes, we promised,” said Sally. All of his
brothers’ wives looked alike in their black
Sally, who had been quiet during most dresses. Ginny was different. She was long,
of the conversa on leaned forward. “You lean and blonde. But what if his brother
could hire help,” He looked at the bloody was right? What if he ended up alone in
lot of them, nodding like a bunch of crows New York without any family?
perched on a wire. Or ravens—black ravens
repea ng the same refrain: Nevermore. Elaine and Sally helped the children on
Never to walk down the streets of New with their jumpers while the men poured
York, collect Ginny a er work, go for a stroll Guinness Ale into tall glasses. “We’re go-
in Central Park or for an early dinner at ing for ice cream. We’ll be back soon,” said
their favorite Thai restaurant. Elaine as she headed toward the door. Sally
and the children followed behind.
Ted stood up and walked to the window.
“This wasn’t what I was expec ng, you Ted’s brother Peter suggested they
know.” move to the kitchen to fix snacks. “Want to
join us?” asked Dennis.
“We know that,” said Dennis. “And as far
as cooking and cleaning is concerned, Sal- “No thanks, “I’d rather be alone,” said
ly’s right. You could hire somebody.” Ted. “I’m not feeling well. It’s my stomach.
I’ve s ll not digested the news.”
The B&B doesn’t make enough money,
thought Ted.. He knew that from phone “You know where we’ll be if you’re
calls with his dad. He walked back to the wan ng anything,” said Peter. Ted got up
table, chose a biscuit and paced back and and walked to the window again. I won’t let
forth, trying not to think about how his par- them make me feel trapped, he thought, as
ents died in this house. His Mum and Dad he watched his sisters-in-law lead the chil-
dren along the driveway. Elaine turned and
waved to him. The others did, too.

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He took a deep breath as he stood near “I’m not happy with the news either, Dad.”
the window. Lisburn Road was bustling with Ted told him. “But I’ve always loved books.
shoppers going in and out of bou ques, Collec ng rare books was always my second
restaurants, pubs. As he leaned against the love. I’ll be a dealer of an que books.” That
window frame, he realized it needed scrap- dream died, too, for lack of money. Running
ing and pain ng. And the shrubbery out the B&B could resurrect that idea. He would
front needed replacing; it had been torn up change the sign: All Seasons Bed & Breakfast
by the fire trucks. He’d also replace the lace and An quarian Books.
curtains with blinds. He might even buy
shu ers and paint them white. He looked around. There was enough
room enough to house a collec on of first
What was he thinking? He was selling edi ons by Joyce, Becket, Shaw, Oscar Wil-
this place. With the proceeds of All Seasons de, Yeats, Virginia Woolf, too. Why not a
B&B, he would rent a nice flat in Manha an, Brit? This is Northern Ireland.
maybe close to his job in Greenwich Village.
He nearly laughed out loud at the idea. He He could give it a year. If it didn’t work
wouldn’t end up making that much money. out, he’d sell the B&B and fly back to Amer-
ica. But it would be nearly impossible to
He suddenly remembered when he was maintain a rela onship flanked by New York
in hospital. His dad told him, “I’m proud of and Belfast. A er checking his mobile, he
you for bea ng the bloody Brits. You’re going decided to ring Ginny up. When she didn’t
to be the greatest rugby player in the history answer, he whispered, “Come on, come on,
of Northern Ireland.” A er the doctor told pick up.” It finally went to voice mail and he
Ted he would never be able to play again, his said, “Call me.” Then, he con nued looking
dad sat beside Ted’s hospital bed sobbing. out of the window un l it got dark.

About the Author:

Edith Tarbescu is the author of four books for young people, published by Houghton Mifflin,
Barefoot Books (of the U.S. and the U.K.), and Scholas c (2) as well as a produced playwright.
Her latest play, “Suffer Queen,” was performed twice in New York. She studied playwri ng at the
Yale School of Drama. She’s also had personal essays published in The Har ord Courant, News-
day, The Chris an Science Monitor, The New York Times, etc. She recently completed a mystery

tled “ONE WILL: THREE WIVES” and is working on a memoir tled “BEYOND BROOKLYN.”

112

SOMEBODY’S

COMING TO TOWN

by Michael Walker

I was hired for Christmas help by a retail all my tenure. It was always “the holidays”
store in Columbus, Ohio, and let go (uncer- or “seasonal” in their PC vernacular. Ac-
emoniously) a er Christmas was over. I am tually it was pre y incredible, the lengths
actually a musician (guitarist/vocalist/song- that store went to not to offend anyone at
writer) and have been struggling, I mean all in their pursuit of fourth-quarter prof-
really struggling, to make money doing that its. It went waaay beyond not u ering the
for close to eleven years. No one in Colum- dirty word “Christmas.” They had these
bus, Ohio really wants to hear my original giant cardboard cut-outs of Santa Claus
material, so the gigs are pre y infrequent. I that went up in the store the day a er Hal-
guess if I were willing to put together a band loween. The problem was, the store did
or something, play The Beatles or 80s cov- not want any minori es to think that they
ers at wedding recep ons, I might have a lit- were racist and bought into the tradi onal
tle more luck. I pride myself though on not view of St. Nick as an old white dude. That
being “a human juke box” as I like to call it. would have been horrible. So every one of
those cut-outs had been designed so that
But since the bills always always always the face of the jolly old elf was obscured
have to be paid somehow, I float from dead in some way. It was hilarious. In one of the
end job to dead end job. At the age of thir- cut-outs, Santa was in his sled, driving his
ty-seven it’s a li le bit ring now. Wish I team of reindeer. But the velocity wind
could find something along the lines of a had blown his white beard back in his face,
career. But I really have no other skills but making it a hirsute mask. Certainly a driv-
music. Thankfully I have no other mouths ing hazard there. In another cut-out, you
to feed but my own. could see Claus’s corpulent body. But his
head looked like it was being sucked up
Finding a retail gig before Christmas is into some mini black hole or something.
usually a pre y safe bet. So that was where Good ole Santa (certainly not white) on
I went in the fall of 2014. his way to deliver toys to all the children in
the far-away Dinglydoo Galaxy. Every me I
Of course, the management there nev- worked a shi in that place, I would look up
er once said the dirty word “Christmas” in

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in silent wonder at those lame decora ons, trying, unsuccessfully, to open. “Anything
and just shake my head. wrong with E-17?” (That was the aisle that
Don was nonchalantly passing over, in
My hours in the store were 11 pm un l search of greener pastures.)
7:30 in the morning—an overnight stock-
ing job. I had never worked graveyard be- “Huh?” he said, glaring at me.
fore, so for the first two weeks or so I was
literally a zombie. Shambling through that He knew exactly what I was talking
big dark place, trying my best to stay the about, of course.
fuck awake while opening cartons of light-
bulbs and roll-on deodorants. Cramming “I said is there anything wrong with E-17?
things into already overstocked shelves or You passed right by it and went to E-16.”
hanging them on metal peg hooks. It was
tedious within the first hour. And some of “Thought someone was in that aisle,” he
the people who worked that shi had been mu ered, glaring at me just a bit harder.
there for years.
But he did backtrack and start working
There were these two young guys I E-17.
worked with. They had also been hired for
“seasonal” help. They were both hardcore I thought that would be the end of it. I
Muslims—belonged to the same church or went back to my task, slashing at my un-
sect. One guy was named Don, or some- wieldy box of mirrors, slashing at cardboard
thing. He was about twenty-five or so, flaps with what seemed to be the dullest
with a big bushy black beard that he was box cu er in the en re world.
always stroking and pulling at. There al-
ways seemed to be something wrong with Suddenly, I was aware that someone
his le leg: some break or wound that re- was in the aisle, standing close to me. I
fused to heal properly. About two or three looked up from my fu le task. It was Don,
of course. His brown eyes on full glare, may-
mes a week he would show up for his shi be just a shade away from going supernova.
with a cloth brace wrapped around it, and His usually pale face was flushed.
he would hobble from aisle to aisle as if he
were the Frankenstein monster newly re- “Can I talk to you for a second?” he said,
vived. The rest of the week he seemed per- sounding as if he were going to start crying.
fectly fine. I wondered, idly, if the weather
or the barometric pressure set it off. He was “What’s up?” I asked, feigning igno-
also (the whole week long) terribly lazy. I rance. Certainly he was pissed that I had
would o en look up from my work just in called him out on his lazy work habits.

me to see him skip an aisle that he had “Are you a team lead?” he asked, strok-
deemed too taxing for his meagre shelfing ing his black beard furiously.
abili es.
“Uh no…I’m not,” I said, staring at him.
One me, when I was in a perfectly shit- It was amusing really. He looked like he was
ty mood, I called him on this habit. going to have a stroke.

“Hey, Don,” I said, looking up from an “Are you…are you in training to BE a
oblong box of closet-sized mirrors I was team lead?” he blurted out.

“Nope,” I said. “Just a member of the
overnight team. Same as you.”

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“Well then…YOU DON’T TELL ME HOW propriate his a re was. Actually, I was not
TO DO MY JOB!” he said, spi ng on me. surprised. His religion. His right.
“I come in here. I do what I am told to do.
DON’T. TELL. ME. WHAT. TO. DO.” Diversity…

And with that, he le the aisle. Before I Santa Claus was never a white man, you
could rebut. Truth be told, I didn’t really care know…
to. It was not worth the hassle. We both got
paid the same s nking wage. No advantage We were allowed, while we worked,
in me calling him out on his lazy habits. Or to listen to music—on our phones or MP3
poin ng them out to management. players. One of the ny perks of the job.
Most of the crew listened to their tunes
(Besides skipping aisles he did not fan- discretely, through earbuds. Well, one ear-
cy, he would o en disappear for ten, fif- bud at least. Management had decreed it a
teen minutes—presumably on a restroom safety hazard for employees to groove with
break. So o en, he had to have had some both headphones jammed in. What if an as-
kind of bladder or kidney problem…) teroid were to collide with earth while we
were unpacking toothbrushes? How would
He le my aisle. we ever be aware?

And wandered over to E-16! Malick eschewed discrete en rely. He
moved from aisle to aisle, in his medie-
I opened my mouth to say something, val costume, blas ng out music through
and then thought be er of it. some kind of gray boom box that he car-
ried around in one of the store’s shopping
No…No…No… carts. Did I say music? It wasn’t that actu-
ally. It was always this male voice, chant-
Above me, above the mirrors I was s ll ing in plain ve Arabic. Chan ng what I as-
fu lely struggling with, was one of those sumed were parts of the Koran. It would
damn Santa cut-outs. Claus, his furred blend, unsuccessfully, with whatever I
arms wrapped around a high-rise stack of happened to be listening to at the me on
ornately-wrapped Christmas presents. Or my phone: Jimi Hendrix, New Order, Lana
HOLIDAY presents. The stack so high that Del Rey. Some baroque countermelody.
the boxes fortuitously obscured his face… Ghosts from some primi ve, purer empire
that could not be blo ed out or denied, no
Merry…Merry… ma er how loud I made the volume on my
cell. A few mes I thought about asking him
The other Muslim guy who worked in if he could turn the recita on down a bit.
the store was named Malick, or something. Or be er yet, buy his own set of Skullcandy
He was a handsome light-skinned black headphones. But I never did.
guy, about the same age as Don, maybe a
few years older. He always came to work Some mes, other mes, I had this
dressed in tradi onal Islamic garb. Like he strong desire to ask him what the voice on
had just come from a mosque in Kabul or that boom box was saying. What sacred
something. A full-length djellaba, fez, felt mysteries were being sung/revealed here
slippers. And he would unload trucks and at 3:00 AM, right in the middle of a nar-
stock shelves dressed like that. I was sur- row, dirty aisle overstuffed with terrycloth
prised that management never said any-
thing at all to him about how work inap-

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towels? I too had been looking for such a Might as well have been shou ng out
revela on all my adult life. Some meaning “Shazam!”
beyond what seemed to be the refrain of
an old Godfather’s song: Birth/School/ I gave it all up a er a short me. Le the
Work/Death The sacred Western paradigm: Buddha on a shelf in my li le living room.
Work + Consume= Happiness. Was there To smile stupidly and gather dust.
really anything else? I was beginning to be-
lieve it wasn’t so. For a brief period, I had Could Malick enlighten me? Did the
been enamored with Nicheren Buddhism. voice on his seemingly never-ending re-
Buddhism, alone, out of all the religions I cording have the message I was seeking?
had read about, because enlightenment
came solely from self-awareness. Not some I never did ask him.
Damascus-like encounter with some proba-
bly mythical unseen deity. I had a li le stat- They did not pay me to find out such
ue I had purchased of the Buddha, si ng things.
medita vely in a micro-sand garden. And
two rocks at his feet. One stamped with the They paid me to unpack smoke detec-
word: PASSION. The other stamped with tors…
the word: SERENITY. For a few brief months,
at the start of the year, I had tried meditat- About twice a week I would stumble
ing in front of that statue for about a half off of the sales floor, more than ready to
an hour every day, chan ng the words: clock out, to find Don and Malick in the
“Nam-myho- renge-kyo” as fast as I could. bright service corridor that connected
I wasn’t even sure what those words meant the sales floor to the team lockers and
any more. I had learned them a long me execu ve offices. They would be kneel-
ago from a fellow guitarist who prac ced ing on a square of ornate, indigo-colored
Buddhism with the same ardor I reserved carpet, their faces pressed hard against
for wri ng new songs. the thread, their elbows ju ng out, their
bodies tense. Doing their morning prayers,
“Nam-myho-renge-kyo…Nam-yho- apparently. The rug (hopefully) facing east
renge-Kyo…Nam-myho-renge-kyo…” toward the Ka’ba. Every me I opened the
double doors to discover them there, my
I would stare down at that fat, smiling lit- heart would jolt in my chest. As if I had
tle Buddha as I chanted, at those two rocks, just come across my mother and father
hoping that the act of chan ng might bring fucking or something. Such an incongru-
those two desirable nouns down from the ous scene. Two guys prostrate in a dirty
clouds and in to my fran c soul. Some mes li le service tunnel. Fervently chan ng
when I chanted I would feel as if something and debasing themselves, as if they were
WAS taking place. That some low-level en- in an immaculate mosque, while around
ergy, like the buzz I got from drinking sever- them busy retail drones psyched them-
al Monsters say, was breathing through my selves up to sell a holiday that’s only rit-
body. But that was rare. Mostly I just felt ual, anymore, seemed to be the very act
like a fool, si ng on my carpet lotus-style, of selling. It went beyond incongruous. It
my palms fused together. Saying words that was almost…obscene. I would never say
I no longer knew the meaning of. anything when I saw them there. Con-
duc ng their dawn prayers. But the image
would stay in my head. Even as I was walk-

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ing out of the store. Even as I was walk- jetsam of a holiday the store tried their
ing home. And it would irritate me. Why best to not ever actually men on. Two
was it allowed? Wasn’t the store strictly a trucks crammed to the top with the trap-
place of business? Would the execu ves pings of that holiday. Snow Globes…fake
turn a blind eye if I were to bring in my lit- Sco sh pines…Lifesaver’s Storybooks…Star
tle sand garden Buddha, plop him down in Wars’ ornaments…Elves on a Shelf. Even,
the middle of the service tunnel, and start yes, an arsenal of the dreaded Claus, his
raining down “Nam-myho-renge-kyo” on smiling WHITE face stamped on a million
his stone head? Or would they tell me, in different li le/large icons. It had taken us
no uncertain terms, to stow it in a locker over two hours to empty those trucks, and
and get the FUCK back to work? (Proba- by the end my arms were red and numb,
bly the la er.) What gave Don and Malick and there were dark floaters dancing lazily
the right, the luxury, to jam up that tunnel across my field of vision.
with their morning observances? Was the
store ge ng some kind of tax benefit for And s ll we had to put that shit on shelves.
allowing it?
Before the store opened at 8:00…
But then there was a small splinter in my
soul that actually admired Don and Malick. A “Shit! Fuck!” I yelled once again, mak-
small splinter that envied their fervor, their ing sure everyone in the store heard me. “I
unwavering belief in the goodness of Allah hate this god damn job!”
or whatever. I wanted that bedrock belief in
something grander than myself, or the use- I looked up from the broken candlehold-
less toys that happened to be clu ering my er. Malick was across the aisle from me,
hanging curtain rods one a er the other on
ny apartment. A belief not moved by other a peg hook. As usual, he was dressed to the
people’s ridicule or hatred. I wanted it more nines in his religious garb: an immaculate
than I allowed myself to admit. white djebella that reached down to his
ankles, its hems decorated with elaborate
And I would walk home in the freezing gold brocade. He was wearing a gray knit
cold, the image of Don and Malick bowing skullcap on his head and gray felt slippers.
in tandem on that square of carpet burned He paused and stared at me. A flash of dis-
into the hard drive of my brain. approval seemed to cross his clean brown
face, as the Koran sang on and on in his
One day, about three weeks before nearby shopping cart.
“That Holiday”, I dropped and broke an or-
nate candleholder in the Housewares sec- Above him, one of the store’s Santas
dangled on a wire. Claus holding a long long
on of the store. There were glass shards scroll of paper in his mi ens—apparently
literally everywhere, li le splinters of am- the list of all those who had been naughty
ber and gold. or nice throughout the year. Of course, he
had this scroll (fortuitously) up in front of
“Fuck!” I yelled out loud, for the ben- his face. So his offensive visage was once
efit of my fellow team members. I was al- again blocked.
ready in an extremely horrible mood. At
the start of the shi , we had had to unload “Malick…Watch your feet here…Lots of
two semi-trailers in Receiving: two trucks glass…” I mu ered, yanking an earbud from
stuffed to the top with all the flotsam and

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my own ear (I had been trying, unsuccessful- the store, and Women’s Clothing at the
ly, to listen to the Beatles “Magical Mystery other end. A ragged trail of scarlet blobs
Tour” over the strains of Koran) and stomp- peppered the ceramic les, stretching from
ing out of my aisle to find a broom and dust- where Malick had been working and off to-
pan to clean up all the fucking mess. ward the clothing sec on.

I le my aisle and went back to Receiv- Fuck…Shit…
ing, where they kept all the cleaning sup-
plies in a small cage-like room. I grabbed a Obviously Malick had not heeded my
wooden broom and a dust pan, mu ering warning. Stepped on a piece of glass.
curses and gibberish under my breath as I
did so, half-tempted to just chuck it, go find And cut the fuck out of his foot…
a team lead, execu ve, someone with keys
who could just let me out of the building… I stood there and looked at that trail of
blood, as the Koran con nued to wail from
And just QUIT… Malick’s gray boom box. He had probably
hobbled back to Receiving, where there
That would be so sweet… was a first-aid kit, to try and disinfect it,
bandage it up. I wondered if I should go
A true “holiday” miracle… back there. See if he was all right. A er all,
I had been the guy who had dropped the
Oh wait. There truly are no miracles… damn candleholder in the first place.

So I walked back to the Housewares I didn’t do that, though. I just went back
sec on, armed with the broom and dust- and swept up the li le shards of candle-
pan. The Koran of Malick echoed through holder, as Malick’s boom box con nued
the store, everywhere, like some ghost of a to boom the incomprehensible east at my
ghost. Ineffectual and sad amongst the pil- dumb ears. It took me a very long me.
lars of Almighty Capitalism. There seemed to be glass everywhere. And
there seemed to be blood everywhere, as
When I got back to my aisle, Malick was well.
nowhere to be seen. His boom box was s ll
there in a shopping cart, wedged ght in Fi een minutes passed. Twenty minutes
the plas c child seat. Where the hell was passed. And s ll Malick did not return. His
he? Had he taken a page from his friend shopping cart just sat there across the aisle
Don’s book? A fi een-minute restroom from me.
siesta? Probably not. Malick was a good
worker. That could be said for him. Even if it A er I cleaned up the mess, I just re-
looked like he had me travelled from the turned to my own aisle and started un-
14th fucking century. packing boxes again. More candleholders.
Candles in a variety of scents and colors.
It was then that I no ced a gray slipper, Bags of brightly-colored potpourri. Jars of
overturned, propped up against one wheel decora ve pebbles and glass beads. No one
of Malick’s shopping cart. The heel of it was else came into the Housewares sec on as I
stained brown… worked. I felt very much like the last man on
earth as I slashed open boxes, to the strains
Fuck… of the never-ending Koran. Like everyone
else in the world had been raptured up or
I looked down the main aisle: connect-
ing Housewares to Market at one end of

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something. Sucked up into that black hole something that went beyond his corpu-
where the Dinglydoo children lived. And it lence and his dirty uniform shirt. What
was just me. Me and the vague ghosts of was it? I wasn’t sure. He looked at me with
O oman glory. piggy li le brown eyes, eyes that never
seemed to blink, as if he knew me in mate-
And Santa Claus… ly or something. As if we shared some dirty
li le secret.
Two hours later, I clocked out. I half-ex-
pected, as I entered the service tunnel, to And this was the first me I had ever
see Malick and Don crouching there, by the talked to him…
double fire-exit doors, groveling through
their early-morning prayers. I made to go. I really really wanted to
clock out and go home.
But no…
“So…you work with those ragheads,
A dayside team lead, whose name I did dontcha?” he blurted out, before I could
not know, was in there si ng on a brown break from the tractor beam of his disturb-
metal bench. Flicking an index finger ing gaze.
against the screen of an iPhone. Every me
he flicked, he would nod and beam a be- “What?” I said. I knew immediately that
mused smile. he was referring to Don and Malick. Rag-
heads? Had he actually used the word ra-
“How was it?” he said, staring at me as I gheads?
entered the service tunnel.
“Umm…not sure what you mean,” I re-
He was enormously fat. He looked like plied. Every atom in my body wanted des-
a gigan c baby really, si ng there on that perately to move away from this guy and
bench, flicking flicking, flicking, with one get to the me clock.
pudgy index finger. His red shirt (part of the
standard store uniform) was really dirty. It “You know. Those two Muslim dudes,”
looked as if he had just spent two hours he said. Before I could say anything else,
working underneath a car or something, he elaborated. “They are usually in here,
wearing that shirt. prayin’ and shit. Bowin’ down to Moham-
med or whatever…Shit makes me sick.
“Ok,” I said, tenta vely. This was the first They shouldn’t be allowed to do that…”
me in almost three months that we had He flicked his finger against his phone for
spoken, even though I saw him almost ev- emphasis. “You know, I had a fuckin’ buddy
ery morning. He was, apparently, in charge that served in the Marines. Went to Iraq.
of the Signing crew—the department re- He lost a god damn leg figh ng those tow-
sponsible for decora ng the store. PC San- elheads.”
ta? He had put up a bunch of them, whisk-
ing around the store in a motorized crane I didn’t know what to say. What weak
vehicle they called the Wave. defense could I mount against this guy’s
vehement racism? Could I blithely blurt out
“That’s good,” he purred, flicking his finger something like “Their religion…Their right…
once again against the screen of his phone. DIVERSITY!” I did not think it right that they
were allowed to pray here in his tunnel ei-
“Yeah,” I said. There was something ther. It seemed like more of an assault than
about this guy that deeply disturbed me—

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a prac ce, really. This was a box retail store be, literally, fi een to twenty wooden pal-
a er all. Not a fucking mosque. Why could lets of merchandise—a claustrophobic
they not keep their religion private? Why amount of Made-In China sparkling plas-
did I have to see it in ac on, every single
day? I did not go around chan ng “Nam- c JUNK. Cardboard Arc c hills of JUNK
myho-renge-kyo” at the top of my lungs, as cheer that needed to be stocked as quickly
I crammed boxes of mac and cheese on to as possible. (Because heaven forbid some
shelves. housewife in Grandview could not find an
Angry Birds Pez dispenser for use as a fu-
But “Ragheads?” “Towelheads?” As far ture stocking stuffer.) Usually, the strategy
as I knew, Don and Malick were both Amer- was for the overnight team to descend on
icans. Both born and raised here. They just these pallets at the end of the shi . Get the
happened to be Muslim. That was all. stuff out right before the store opened. So
there would be fi een, some mes twenty
An image came to my mind of Malick’s people back there, running around, try-
gray felt slipper, overturned, its heel stained ing hard not to collide with each other, as
dark brown… they ripped open box a er box a er stupid
box…
“True they can’t even handle Christ-
mas shit?” the team lead added, as I stood Under the watchful beards of Santa Claus.
there, numb, delibera ng these ques ons.
Don and Malick never had to deal with
Yes. It was true. They could not handle it. EVER. It was, of course, against their fun-
Christmas “shit.” It was against their reli- damental Islamic beliefs to sully their hands
gion. All of those things that spewed out by touching snow globes or Elves on a Shelf.
of the numberless trailers we had to deal When it came me for our crew to tackle
with during the “holidays.” Snow globes; the seasonal madness, they would casually
fake Sco sh pines; Lifesavers Story Books; saunter off toward the front of the store.
Star Wars ornaments; Elves on a Shelf. Even Where they would casually spend the rest
(yes) an arsenal of the dreaded Claus. They of their shi , stocking vitamins and tam-
were forbidden by their religion to touch pons le over from yesterday’s push.
that junk. AS if it were radioac ve or some-
thing. I would always say the same thing too,
as Don and Malick made their escape. To
“Yes,” I said, simply. I was really red. I whoever was in earshot.
just wanted to go home. Beat off maybe,
then go to sleep. Not think about this shit “What the FUCK?” I would grumble,
any more. slashing open a box of silver garland. (Or
whatever.) “Weren’t those two hired for
“That’s fucked up,” the guy said, shaking SEASONAL help. And isn’t the season
his head. “Dontcha think that’s fucked up?” Christmas? Well why aren’t they back here
helping us with this then?”
I did. I did think it was fucked up. Ev-
ery morning, close to the end of my shi , And whoever was in earshot would usu-
I would have to go and deal with insane ally nod or shrug their shoulders. Not much
amounts of the Christmas shit. “Holiday” else. Just get back to doing what the store
shit. Whatever. At the rear of the store, in paid them to do.
a sec on they called Seasonal, there would

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It pissed me off. frost, and everything around me—trees,
street signs, houses even-seemed sharp
“Yeah. It pisses me off,” I said to the and bri le. All the way home I tried to take
team lead. “They were hires for seasonal my mind off how cold it was, how ring
help. And the last me I checked, the sea- and fucked up the shi I had just worked
son we are in is called ‘Christmas.’” had been, by doing my li le Buddhist chant
over and over. My magic talisman.
“Damn straight,” the guy said, flicking
his finger hard against his phone for em- “Nam-myho-renge-kyo … Nam-myho-
phasis. “Store shoulda’ never ever hired renge-kyo … Nam-myho-renge-kyo …” I
those fuckers. Who knows…?” he added, said out loud, sending out great plumes of
lowering his voice almost to a whisper. steam as I walked and chanted. Walked and
“They could be terrorists. Think about it…” chanted like some fool, the cold bi ng into
my ears and fingers.
What? Sent to destroy the American re-
tail system by refusing to handle Elves on a “Nam-myho-renge-kyo … Nam-myho-
Shelf? That seemed highly unlikely. renge-kyo… Nam-myho-renge-kyo

Once again, the image came to my mind Shazam…Shazam…SHAZAM!
of Malick’s gray slipper, stained with blood,
overturned in the Housewares sec on. In my mind’s eye I could see that li le
Part of me was like: “I hope he is OK.” And trail of blood leading back to Receiving,
then another part of me was like: “Serves through the gauntlet of Christmas…er hol-
you right for wearing felt slippers to your iday…er 4TH QUARTER bounty. And above
overnight stocking job.” As far as I knew he it, another Santa cut-out. The one of San-
had not returned for the slipper or his Ko- ta being sucked up (possibly forever) into
ran boom box. I had meant to ask my team some kind of strange black hole.
lead, this young guy named John, what had
happened to him. But John sent me from When I got home, the first thing that
Housewares to get a head start on the greeted my eyes was my li le statue of the
Christmas stuff, and I was so overwhelmed Buddha, squa ng in his micro-sand gar-
by the crap back there that it slipped my den, smiling the smile of TRUE ENLIGHTEN-
mind. MENT.

“I doubt that they are terrorists,” I said. I ignored it in favor of a few Rolling Rock
And before the team lead could say any- beers I knew were s ll untapped in my re-
thing else, I simply walked off toward the frigerator.

me clock. The next day, when I walked off the
sales floor, Don and Malick were kneeling
It was really cold that morning walking in the service tunnel, doing their morning
home from work. (I don’t drive, and I re- prayers. I no ced, with a start, that instead
fuse to take the city bus. It’s mostly worth- of his usual pair of gray slippers, Malick was
less and overpriced.) The temperature was wearing a pair of neon-green Nike running
probably hovering a few degrees above shoes, as he prostrated his body on that lit-
zero. The streets were stained with white tle square of carpet.

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About the Author:

Michael Walker is a writer living in Columbus, Ohio. He is the author of two published nov-
els: 7-22, a YA fantasy novel, and The Vampire Henry, a “literary” horror novel. He has seen
his fic on and poetry published in many magazines, including Fic on Southeast and PIF.

122

HAWAII IN A BOX

by Beth Weaver

JACKIE YANKED OPEN THE PERKY PINK BEACH of bri le grass crowned with the old oak.
CHAIR and plopped down. It popped open And populated with cows. Cows??
several notches, pitching her backwards. Her
head hit the metal bar and she found her- At least three had materialized from
self staring through a fan of palme o leaves the grass and gawked at them. The clank
into the scorching blue haze. “You okay?” of their bells was drowned out by gusts of
Sam’s eyes grew round with concern. He was wind.
standing on a low, twis ng branch of a live
oak overlooking the river. His baggy swim Jackie had been looking forward to get-
trunks slung under his lump of belly were ng to know Dave, her lab partner, whom
the odd color of Bayer aspirin for children, she thought would be her date. The turn
and his brand-new Sketchers were spla ered of events was a cruel reminder of how ev-
with muck. Not that he minded. In fact, the eryone was le ng her down. She brushed
away tears before Sam—whom Dev had
ny island in the midst of the sprawling wet- grabbed when Dave turned down Cindy’s
lands excited his child-like curiosity. offer—saw how upset she was. If he were
any more polite, she would drown him.Sam
“Fine.” picked a bu ercup and shyly offered it to a
spo ed cow. “Hey, girl,” he said nervously
“You sure?” as she sniffed his hand.

She untangled herself from the ridic- “Look Jackie! She likes it! She ckles! —
ulous chair and jerked it into the si ng her tongue! —so rough! Come see! It might
posi on. Then, lowering herself back into cheer you up.” His eyes—as slate blue as a
it, she sprayed herself with suntan lo on. newborn’s—sparkled.
Li ed her face toward the sun. She tried
to block Cindy’s face from her mind—that Jackie glanced at the host of black flies
look of betrayal in that split second their hovering at the underside of the cow’s tail.
eyes met before Dev had slipped the boat “Look at all the flies!”
into reverse while Jackie and Sam stood
knee-deep in tea-colored water, holding “She doesn’t mind.”
picnic supplies. They’d le their cellphones
on the boat. Not realizing. “What are cows doing here?” “This isn’t
a real island. It’s a knoll.”
The tropical island—the li le bit of par-
adise Dev had boasted about—was a bump “A knoll?”“A li le hill rising above pas-
tureland.”“Pastureland?”

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“The river overflowed because of the He saw the trail of exhaust le by a plane,
rain. That’s why it’s so wide. The cows are a line of chalk drawn on the sky’s giant draw-
probably stranded here since this knoll’s ing board. “Did you know there’s no place in
the highest point.” the en re con nental U.S. where you can
go for more than a minute without seeing a
“Great. Same as us. There’s nothing here. sign of civiliza on? Not even Death Valley?
Not even a toilet.” She wished Dave would That you’re never completely disconnected
materialize out of thin air like the cows did. from the rest of the world?”

“Sure there is.” Sam shyly nodded at the “This is Death Valley as far as I’m con-
river. cerned. They pulled a fast one.” She slapped
at another mosquito. “Where the hell is the
“And I suppose if we get hungry, you’ll Off!?”
remind me about the cows—milk, cheese,
plenty of meat.”He smiled. “I did bring my She dumped the contents of the bag on
scout knife. It has sixteen func ons.” her towel—soggy from the marshy grass—
and was relieved.to find it among the bags
“Wow.” of chips, candy, paper plates and plas c
forks—the random, but comfor ng signs of
“I might even be able to build us a house civiliza on.
with this tree—it’s sturdy wood. You don’t
find many oaks in a cow field.” “Yeah, Dev’s a sly one. But I suspected it
when they watched us trudge ashore and
“I’m glad you think this is a game.” She didn’t get out, didn’t you?”
slapped at a mosquito. Watched the blood
well up. Oh hell! Had she le the Off! on the “No!”—spraying herself—”Cindy tells me
boat? She ransacked the supplies, cursing. stuff. Or, used to.” She waved away the cloud
He stared into the vast sweep of sky and of bug spray that closed in on her like fog.
water. “I like being away from everything.”
“Dev... umm... told me you knew.”“That
“Even your phone? So we can’t even get they were going to dump us here?”
help?” She gave a nervous glance at the
water—not a soul in sight. “Not necessarily here”—giving her a
sheepish grin— “but somewhere.”“Are
“Yeah, actually.” He began to climb the you serious?”“He said—”“You knew? And
sprawling branches.Jackie winced at his you didn’t tell me? Or bother to keep your
body—pudgy as a manatee’s. Sweat glued phone??”
his T-shirt to his skin, with li le moles show-
ing through like chocolate chips. The sharp staccato of her voice sent a
flock of white ibis roos ng in a soapberry
“You can see the way the river mean- bush to rise—squawking—into the sky.
ders from up here,” he called down.
“He pulled me aside and said he wanted
“Can you see any boats? Houses? People?” to be alone with Cindy for a while and that
you were cool about it.”
“Nope.”
“Are you kidding? Cindy’s parents don’t
“Jesus God!” want her alone with him. Especially in the
middle of nowhere. That’s why this was
“It’s beau ful out here. And I’m sure supposed to be a group ou ng.”
they’ll be back before long.”

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“Sorry.” The ps of his ears flamed. “I mes had she told them she’d wished they’d
wasn’t going to bother you, anyway.”“Both- never been born?
er me?” “He said you were going to be my...
umm... date.” “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

“You?” She cringed at the baby fat swad- “Do you know how weird it is to have so
dling his chin, at the wisps of copper hair many?” Do you know how weird you and
struggling to grow on his sideburns. She’d al- your mother are?
ways resented him for being a Mama’s boy,
especially lately as she watched him du ful- Jackie cursed her bad luck. She couldn’t
ly walk a brood of yapping poodles with his believe Dev had pulled Sam—literally off
mother every evening like clockwork. the street—when Dave had declined.

Jackie wasn’t sure who was more ridic- Why had Dave declined?
ulous—the mother who got tangled in the
leashes of the neuro c dogs, or Sam, who du- It made no sense a er he’d switched
seats to be her lab partner, then latched on
fully picked up the droppings like Hershey’s to her every word. “Yes! Exactly! I like how
kisses. They looked comically alike in their you word that...”
bouncy Sketchers, with wiry hair sprou ng
from their heads like coils of copper wire. Had he found out about the party?

“That’s not why I came.” Her mind raced back to the day they’d
dissected the frog. The uproar when they’d
She stretched her thin co on shirt— slit open its belly and discovered the bright
that suddenly seemed impossibly small— yellow flowerlike petals inside.
over her bikini bo oms. “No?”
“This one was pregnant,” their teacher
“I wanted to... get away.” “From what? had announced. “These petals are embryos.”
Your damn poodles?”
Dave’s hand had shook as he’d cut away
“All the leashes holding me down.” the petals as everybody crowded around,
whispering. A erwards, he transferred out
“How many do you all have now?”“- of the class. He’d told her there’d been a
Fourteen.”“Only fourteen?” “One’s expect- conflict, but was the real conflict her? She
ing. Mom’s kni ng a puppy sweater.” wondered if someone had hinted that she
was just like the pregnant frog.
“Oh. How. Cute!”“She thinks so.” He swat-
ted a mosquito.“Why so damn many?”He She’d go en so stoned at that party she
shrugged. “Mom got a pair a er Dad died. hadn’t remember anything a erwards, ex-
She missed him. But the odd thing is that cept for the surprising soreness and the
she didn’t have them, you know, fixed.” His ooze of wetness that had soaked her pan es
whole face flamed. when she’d woken up the next morning. Had
someone told Dave she’d go en pregnant?
Jackie blinked. Was he really reac ng to
the word, fixed? What a lamb! “You’ll end Who???
up with thirty more before you know it.”
She hadn’t told anyone. And nothing
“Yeah, probably.” had shown up on social media.

“And she won’t be one bit happier.” Jack- What then, did he—or anyone else—
ie thought of her own mother. How many know?

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She’d chalked up that night to a single That had been two months ago, long
indiscre on and promised herself not to enough for Time to Turn its Wheels. S ll,
smoke so much dope the next me. She also she couldn’t shake the look Dave had given
thanked God she took the pill—to clear her her a er he’d cut away those gaudy petals,
skin! But a er a prolonged stomach virus as if he were cu ng her poisonous pres-
had sent her scrambling to the toilet day af- ence out of his life.
ter day and two scanty periods, it began to
dawn on her that her surprising weight gain “Jackie?”Sam loomed over her.
and the tenderness in her breasts had some-
thing to do with her puking up all those pills. She bolted up. Did he see a pubic hair
When she drew up the nerve to take the peeking from her bikini bo oms?“Mind if I
pregnancy test, she stared for the longest borrow the Off!”She blinked at his swollen
skin. Tossed it to him. “Don’t use it up.”
me at the two li le lines on the ny strip.
A feeble squirt came out. “It’s empty.”
Two li le lines that began to waver as
tears of shock streamed down her face. “Sorry.”

She took another test and Viola! Two “I’ll get some ice.” He opened the cooler.
li le lines!
She watched the ice thaw as it touched
As it dawned on her that it was too late the angry bites, sending trickles of pink-
to take the morning a er pill and that she stained water down his legs. “You really got
had no clue who the father was, she decid- chewed up.”
ed to erase the en re episode from her life.
He nodded. “Do you want something in
She found a willing doctor and knew ex- here while I’ve got it open? There’s fried
actly where her mother hid cash so there chicken, potato salad, hummus, a whole six-
wouldn’t be a trace—in the pocket of her pack of Hawaii in a Box, which I brought—”
father’s funereal suit he’d le behind to
let her mother know the many ways she’d “Hawaii in a what?”
killed him, and where her mother now hid
her booze money, to symbolically let him “Box. Pineapple Jell-O.”
know he’d killed her, too. The whole ordeal
had been five hours long—four hours and “Why do you call it Hawaii in a Box?”
fi y-eight minutes padding the two minutes
of the snaky tube. The hissing sound was “My mom calls it that, from her favor-
so faint it was as if someone were ea ng ite commercial when she was a kid. The
orange slices next to her, tearing the flesh announcer said the mere taste of it would
from the rind with their teeth. It was hard to transport you to Hawaii. She’d never trav-
imagine a sound so so , so sibilant, meant eled anywhere and it made her imagine be-
the difference between life and death. ing in Hawaii.”

She’d gone on a crisp school day and “Oh please.”
dragged herself home just a er school let
out, smoked two joints under the bath- “Well, she loves it. Has been pu ng it in
room vent to ease her cramps, and crawled my lunch forever. I used to throw it away,
into bed, feigning sickness. along with the bologna sandwiches that
stuck to the roof of my mouth. Un l I found
Sheila, who trades me her Italian subs—”

Jackie burst into laughter.

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“What?” Jackie’s head swam. How fucking dare he!

“She doesn’t!” “You could talk to me, you know.”
His voice so ened. “I know you’ve been
“Doesn’t what?” through a lot. Your dad’s car is never there.
Your Mom seems a bit... off. And there’s the
“Pack your lunch. You’re fucking how old?” pot seeping through—

His eyes narrowed. “You mean the incense?”

Jackie’s mother had never packed her “No. I mean the pot.”
lunch. There was rarely even enough food
in the fridge these days—mostly Styrofoam “Who are you, the police now? And you
containers with weird le overs. And when want to talk to me? Well, guess what? Ev-
her mother forgot to order online, she’d eryone smokes it. Except you. Damn! I could
send Jackie’s brother to 7-11 to lug stuff really use some now to make you disappear.
back on his bike. Cartons of milk didn’t al- You have no right to insult me or my parents!”
ways make it home, landing instead like wa-
ter bombs on the side of the road. “They’re not insults, because it’s not
your fault who your parents are. They’re
“Sheila’s parents own a restaurant and observa ons.”
give her le over subs which makes her
fat—or so she says. So, while she’s trans- “Well, keep your fucking observa ons
por ng herself to Hawaii with pineapple to yourself! And your fucking hands!” she
Jell-O, I’m wandering Italian villages with added when he took a step toward her.
goat cheese-tomatoes-onions-aceto bal- “Oh, My God! Dev didn’t set this up by him-
samico-olives-and-peppers. Anyway, it’s self. You were in on it, too. Why else would
s ll cold, if you want some.” he have included you?

“No amount of sugar or happy colors “That’s why you’re here without your
you dump on boiled bones will ever fool phone—to have your way with me! To get
me into thinking this shithole we’re strand- some experience, because who would want
ed on is Hawaii!” to touch you? No-fucking-body!”

“Boiled bones?” She stormed away, running over the
bri le grass to the other side of the knoll
“Don’t you know what gela n is made and secluding herself in the cavernous
out of? Hawaii in a Box, my ass!” space under an uprooted tree—as far away
from the en re world as she could get. She
Sam sucked in his breath. “You didn’t was pounding the ground in a rage when
used to act like this.” something sharp stung her ankle. She saw a
s r in the tangle of plants, but the light was
“Like you know me?” too dim to tell what it was.

“It’s not like I don’t no ce things.” At first, she disregarded the s ng as yet
another insect bite. But the pain soon came
“What’s that supposed to mean?” in sharp, undula ng waves, and when she
examined her ankle she saw twin puncture
“That you used to be a nice girl.” marks. A water moccasin? Her face turned
pale. Water moccasins weren’t like the
He saw the drop of her jaw. “Hey, I didn’t
mean it like that. But... well... there’s that,
too.”

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harmless racers that whipped underfoot. Pain shot through her. “You said it wouldn’t
Water moccasins were poisonous. Water hurt!”
moccasins could kill you.
“Shh!” His eyes bored into hers like whirl-
She snatched a potato vine and ed it ing metallic blades. “Please don’t hurt me!”
ghtly around her ankle. But her ankle
began to swell and turn the color of egg- As the serpent’s fangs tore into her, she
plant. Oh God! She needed to get the poi- tried to free herself, but the steely hands
son out—before it spread. She ins nc vely held her fast. And then it came to her:
reached for her phone. she was s ll at the party—she’d never le
it! She’d been pulled into a pit of vipers—
Damn! writhing bodies, rapier fangs, and cold rep-

As she began to panic, she thought of lian eyes, shrouded in smoke.
Sam’s scout knife.
She’d ins nc vely reached for her
“Sam!” She struggled to her feet and phone, then realized she was naked.
began hopping across the sharp blades of
grass as the pain radiated through her body. “There now, it’s not so bad, now is it?” a
She needed to sit down, to stay absolutely disembodied voice asked, his breath a bliz-
s ll. Otherwise— zard of ice. He stabbed her again.

“SAMMMMMM!” She sat down on “STOP!”
the bri le grass. “I’VE BEEN BITTEN! B Y A
SNAKE—A MOCASSIN!” And again. And again.

When the cows mooed in response, she “STOPPIT!”
sobbed: “I’M SORRY! PLEASE HELP ME!”
A maniacal laugh rang out, triggering an
Nothing. avalanche of ice to roll upon her, pummel-
ing her with its cold weight.
“Cindy!” she screamed at the sky. “Why
did you do this to me—leave me here to When Jackie opened her eyes, slate blue
die?” I thought you were my best friend! eyes slowly came into focus. They were no
longer whirling blades, but clear and placid.
The poison stole like ice water through And the voice that spoke was warm against
her veins. Objects came in and out of focus. her cheek. She realized Sam was bending
over her, his right cheek bruised, and his
Sounds grew distorted. And then—as if T-shirt smeared with blood.
through a fog—there he was.
“Well, hello. Lost you for a while. But I
“Please help me. I’m... sorry... really sor- think I got it out—most of it, anyway.”
ry...”
She realized he was talking about the
“If you hold s ll you’ll hardly feel it.” poison. “You sucked it out?”

She nodded like a bobble-head doll— “Yeah.”
faint with relief.
She stared at him—dazed, grateful,
Yet, all of a sudden, he was holding her scared—and then turned and vomited on the
down with steely hands. When had he got- grass.
ten so strong? A flash of metal leapt toward
her—a serpent’s fangs. “Have some water.” She felt something
cold and tried to wrap her lips around the

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smooth mouth of the bo le. Liquid drib- “Nope. They could be stranded, too. Or
bled out. wai ng out the storms. Lots of bolts while
you were out.”
“Here.” He cupped his hand under her
chin. “But they have phones!”

“I can do it.” “Then, don’t worry. I’m sure help is on
the way.”
“No”—laughing gently— “you can’t.”
A whooping crane swooped past, its
He guided the bo le to her mouth un- wings cu ng through the s ll, dark air.
l she was able to grasp it and take a long “Maybe nobody can find us. There are hun-
sip. The water steadied her and she realized dreds of knolls like ours. But surely your
she was back under the live oak, with the mother will be persistent—knowing her.”
cows quietly chomping on grass.
“She’s out of town, with her sister. Ever
“How’d you find me?” since my uncle died she hasn’t been the
same. She let me stay home to look a er
“On this island? Took me about ten sec- the dogs, Maybe she hasn’t checked in. Or
onds. It was a moccasin, all right. But the she thinks I’m avoiding her texts.”
swelling’s gone down. A bit.”
“Well, your dogs must be starving by
She stared at her ankle—swollen to the now and yapping their heads off.”
size of a small balloon. “Oh God!”
“True. Maybe that’ll get someone’s at-
“Nothing like it was a few hours ago.” ten on.”

“A few hours ago? I’ve been out that long?” “Not my mother’s. She has no idea I’m
here, either. But, unlike yours, she doesn’t
“Yeah. You should be fine, but you have give a damn.”
to keep s ll. Just in case.”
“I’m sure she does.”
“In case?”
“Says the guy who said she was a li le off.”
“I didn’t get every drop.”
“Sorry.”
His words unse led her. She wasn’t out
of the woods yet. “She really doesn’t.” She realized it was
easier to talk as the sun’s watchful eye
He dipped the end of a towel in the ice melted into the water. “You’d never know
water at the bo om of the cooler, wrung she was the same mom from when I was
it out, and handed it to her. “This might small. A brand-new party dress. Smiling,
help.”The coolness soothed her hot skin. laughing... cuddling us.”
“Thanks for helping me. Especially a er...
well, a er the way I acted.” She bit down hard on her lip, imprin ng
her lower lip with her uneven, unbraced
“No big deal.” teeth. She’d only gone to the den st once
when she’d bi en too hard on a jawbreak-
“I hate who I am.” She blinked back er. He hadn’t been able to save her tooth
tears as she stared into the horizon, at the and there was a gap in her lower le jaw, a
oak leaves turning to dark lace against the place where she o en placed the p of her
feeble rays of the sinking sun. “It’ll be dark
soon. And s ll no sign of them?”

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tongue. “Now, it’s like she’s been stuck in She shook her head.
the wash cycle for too long. All the real col-
or and substance bleached right out of her. “You shouldn’t keep something like that
Replaced by ar ficial dyes, ar ficial people. a secret.”
I don’t even know her anymore.”
“I tried to put it out of my mind. Pretend
She stared up as more cranes whooshed it didn’t happen. But I couldn’t. Because—
into an oblivion of gray. “It’ll be dark soon. Because—I got pregnant.”
They’ll be more snakes.”
“What?”
“Most of them are harmless. I mean,
look at all these cows roaming around.” She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to
look at him. It was the first me she’d said
She tried to calm herself. “I did climb un- it out loud.
der an overturned tree root, trying to get
away from you. Maybe I asked for it.” “You’re... having a baby?”

“Nobody asks to be bi en by a water “Did I say I was having a baby? No! I’m
moccasin.” not having a baby!” her voice spiked.

“I know, but s ll—” The cows mooed—a discontent choir
of jurors. She blinked at their eyes, startled
“Nobody asks to be bi en by a water by how large and luminous they were. She
moccasin,” he repeated. threw a s ck at them. “Scram!”

She glanced at the knot under his eye— As they lumbered away, mooing in pro-
swollen and bleeding. “So, what happened test, a lump rose in her throat. “The baby’s
to you?” gone now, just like the snake poison. Most
of it, anyway. Maybe there’s a drop le —
“Your foot. The one that can s ll kick.” just enough to kill me for what I’ve done!”

“I’m really sorry. I thought you were...” The sobs came out in a watershed. She
She tried to squeeze out that night. cried for her lost innocence, for her abort-
ed child, for her bad choices, for her ro en
“One of the guys who raped you?” luck at having parents, who in their own
ways, had abandoned her.
His eyes held hers so unwaveringly that
it was no use denying it. “How... did you In the end, she cried simply because it
know?” felt good to let her own poison out. A er
the tears finally subsided, she realized she
“The way you kicked, like a wild, crazed was wiping her hot face with a cool towel
thing. And calling me a fucking bastard.” that magically appeared.

She glanced at the knot again—seeming to She turned to Sam who had remained
grow before her eyes. Or was that the dark- beside her—as s ll as a snake! Unease
ness overtaking them? She burst into tears. swept through her—she’d stripped her
mind naked before him as easily as she’d
“Hey, it’s gonna be okay.” He leaned over stripped her clothes before all those guys.
and awkwardly touched her hair. Stroked it. Had she no shame?

“No.” She yanked away. “It’ll never be “Please don’t tell!” she begged. “Nobody
okay.” will understand. Especially your mother.”

“Have you told anyone?”

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Her voice dropped to a chilling calm. “She’ll Jackie stared at a piece of grass, mo led
despise me—even more than all the pro-life with yellow spots, the end point frayed.
protesters outside the clinic, flaun ng their How could she have been so stupid as to
blood-red signs! Murderer! Murderer! And spill her guts to him! The one in a million kid
then, word will get out...” who happened to be a “living” abor on?!

“I’ve never met her.” “Some mes, I wonder why she did it.
Threw me away.”
“You’ve got to promise—”
She watched with trepida on as he
“I’ve never met her.” picked up a s ck and snapped it in half, a
hard line forming along his jaw. He no lon-
“Never met who?” ger seemed young; rather, an assailant con-
jured up by the gods of Doom. Sent to Earth
“My mother.” to give her Hell.

“What are you talking about?” “It’s not something I can ever ask my
mom, who clings to me like Saran Wrap.”
“We all have secrets. That’s mine. That He scratched his forehead. “She’s never for-
my real mother isn’t Marian Stevens like ev- given my dad for telling me the truth, right
eryone thinks.” before he died. And I don’t know of a single
other person I can ask. That’s the real hell
“Of course she is!” of carrying a secret, that it’s a heavy box
you feel trapped in.
His eyes held fast to hers as he shook his
head. “But I’d like to think that maybe the
same thing happened to my real mom as
“You have the same hair and everything.” what happened to you. That she was a kid
herself and just got scared.”
“Pure coincidence.”
Jackie looked straight into his clear blue
“No way.” eyes that were neither innocent nor cold—
as the enormity of his words washed over
He tore out a handful of grass and ab- her like a long, cool drink.
sently shredded it. “My real mother le me
in a dumpster behind Denny’s just hours af- For a long me, they sat side by side, swat-
ter I was born. My adop ve parents were ng mosquitoes, quiet with their thoughts.
coming out of the restaurant when they As darkness crept over the knoll, chasing
heard my cries.” away the last dregs of the sunlight, the voic-
es of the cicadas rose up in a cacophonous
She grew s ll as his words pressed down mob. Jackie spied the dim outline of a racer
upon her—heavy as the steely hands of her weaving through the sawgrass like well-oiled
nightmare. thread, and was brought back to the present.
She tried to shu er her fears as darkness
“It’s weird thinking about it some mes— overtook them. Then, God Only Knew what
wondering what might have happened if sort of creatures would slither about.
nobody had heard me—how I could’ve died
among the old fish bones. Or, if someone Sam must’ve no ced the snake, too.
else had come along, what family I’d be with “Want some Hawaii in a Box? I saved some.”
now. And what different kind of person I
might be. Not that it’s all bad where I ended
up. Even if I am the bu of every joke. Espe-
cially”—his eyes seared hers— “with girls.”

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“Oh, why not?” She took a bite. Tried not “I read stuff. That’s how high we are right
to detect traces of boiled bones as the con- now, on this dot of an island. All because of
gealed mass slid down her throat. She took underwater volcanoes that spewed liquid
another bite and realized she was starving. rock from the bowels of the earth thou-
sands of years ago. That took a lot of ener-
“Hey, what do you know? I think I see gy. A lot of energy.”
Honolulu over there?” Sam pointed toward
the inky water. She bit down on something squishy. A
ny piece of real pineapple?
She raised an eyebrow.
“Then you add another 12,000 or so
“Did you know that Honolulu is the larg- feet to the mountainous ones and you’ve
est city in the world?” got some gigan c mountains. Like that one.
Sheer ascending rock.”
“Largest?”
She realized she was squin ng to see
“Geographically. Its ny islands stretch through the inky darkness when he turned
for 1,500 miles. I don’t even know the name to her. Flicked away a mosquito on her shoul-
of this obscure one we’re vaca oning on.” der, so engorged with blood it was too fat to
fly. “Did you know that the happiest people
“Nice joke.” are those who have a mountain view?”

“I love the way the mountains here jut “I’ll bet you read that somewhere, too.”
up out of the water, don’t you? Hawaiian
islands are some of the tallest in the world.” “Nope. I’m living it.” He smiled.

“Are they?” She widened her eyes to try to see through
the darkness closing in. Nothing.
“Yeah, when you consider even the flat-
test islands are really mountaintops rising She took another bite. There were pine-
up from the ocean floor nearly 18,000 feet apple chunks in it. Real ones. She held them
below.” between her teeth, squeezing out the sweet
juice.
“How do you know that?”

About the Author:

Beth Weaver has one published YA novel (Rooster), hold a PhD
in English, and teach Literature and Humani es in Orlando.

132

FLING MAN

by Louis Gallo

Back in town, recently divorced, old friends weed. I trudge up the stairs, open the door
sca ered, I’m longing for feminine affec- and the place is dim and spooky looking. No
typists, nobody... so why is the door open?
on as I take to the streets and head in I hear a noise in the stock room, a cubby
the direc on of Jambalaya headquarters hole at the street end of one massive room
in this abandoned warehouse on low- with wooden floor boards and ancient brick
er Decatur, third floor, up three flights of walls. The office is nothing if not venerable
wretchedly steep stairs. It’s a seedy, shady and charming in a kind of Pompeiian way.
patch of Decatur near Esplanade where
the Quarter abruptly ends with the old U.S. “Hello, somebody there?” calls a female
Mint on Esplanade. There’s a rough gay voice from the stock room. And then she
bar with bears in chains and leather spill- appears across the room holding a box of
ing out onto the sidewalk, motorcycles and manila envelopes. I can make her out only
fights breaking out all the me. A bunch dimly but as she sashays my way I note
of junk and used furniture stores, some the camera slung around her neck, a Pen-
head shops operate by mind-blown freaks. tax K1000, the voluminous curly hair, the
Panhandlers prowl the area and shriveled short shorts, the cupid lips, the easy glide
bums sprawl in doorways and some mes forward.
right on the sidewalk, spread-eagled and
deflated. Once someone ahead of me on “Hi,” she gushes, now closer to me, “I’m
the banquet pulled out a pistol and shot June. And you are?”
in my direc on; I dropped to the ground;
he wasn’t aiming at me but someone be- What ho, I wonder. Seek and ye shall
hind me. The vic m dashed off screaming. find—but then just as o en seek and find
I don’t know whether he was hit or not. nothing. Immediate a rac on is one of
Then I fled too, ducking between parked God’s great gi s. And some mes all you
cars as more shots rang out. need to do is turn the corner.

It’s a er hours, just about dusk, maybe “I’m Marcus Cecci,” I say. “Call me Cecci,
only the typist will be there if anyone at all. I everybody does. I just got back into town
want to drop off this note to the editor Phil- and I write for Jambalaya. Who are you? I
lipe about an idea I have for a future issue of haven’t seen you around?”
Jambalaya. The note could have waited un-
Ah, the magical moment when male
l tomorrow but I am restless, out of sorts, meets female and both succumb, when
horny, sad and also craving some mellow the hormones sizzle, when nothing else

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ma ers. She flows to me liquidly like In- go, daddy-o.” The sweat of her palm turns
grid to Bogey in that Casablanca bar, one me on.
of the most luscious scenes in movies.
Speaking of movies, what I’m a er is the And thus I meet June, the first woman
high theater of “Elvira Madigan,” Sixten a er my divorce aside from a few extra-
and Elvira ea ng blueberries with fresh marital flings a er Rosa and I no longer
cream in the forest as the troops come felt any urge to grope for each other-June,
looking for Sixten, who has deserted to be ever cheerful, happy, mercurial, intense
with Elvira, that great Mozart piano con- and eager with no hang-ups, no weirdness
certo (0r was it a sonata?)resona ng in (well, plenty of weirdness but not the dis-
the atmosphere. figuring kind), no demands. She reminds
me of a twen es flapper, thin yet curvy,
“I’m the staff photographer,” June the art deco stance, the look of insolence,
laughs. “Well, my boyfriend is but I do some but there is no insolence to June, no pissed
of the work for him. He’s teaching me. He’s off I-hate-men bi erness. She loves men
over in the Ninth Ward photographing the and is liberated enough to act upon it, to
admit it.
Chicken Man who bites their heads off.”
Didn’t she men on a “boyfriend”?
I am of course ever cau ous. This girl
looks young, maybe too young. We’re in the Abbey, another dark spot,
a bar across Decatur the Jambalaya office
“Uh, how old are you?” I need to ask be- on Decatur. A smoothly lacquered booth, I
cause she could be either fi een or twen- on the wall side, she moving her chair from
ty-five. You can never tell with young wom- in front of me to the side, and right away,
en. And some mes they lie. the hand upon my thigh. She lights up a Sa-
lem, flick its ashes into a glass ashtray. She’s
“Does it ma er?” she laughs. Does she looking directly into my eyes and I into hers.
always laugh? “I’m old enough.” She plops I take her free hand and kiss it.
the box of envelopes on a desk and takes
my hand to shake vigorously. “Don’t worry, The Abbey is a narrow place, the bar
they won’t send you to jail over me.” itself on one side then a skinny aisle then
about ten booths each equipped with a
I s ll suspect she might be lying but she Tiffany-like chandelier that hangs from a
is definitely old enough even if not. twenty foot embossed metal ceiling. Sud-
denly, POOF, a so explosion and our twen-
“What are you doing here, Cecci? ” She ty-wa light bulb dies. An omen? It’s now
has moved very close to me. darker than ever and the shadows make
June’s face more mythic, archetypal, more
“Just dropping off a note to Philippe.” dreamlike. Time for the mar nis. Soon we
are both rather lit and thus more willing to
“I love Philippe, isn’t he a great guy?” disclose.

Ok, the darkness surrounds us, June “Now really,” I ask once we’re se led,
seems to shine, so what the hell— “Hey, “how old are you. You’re beau ful but you
wanna get a drink somewhere?” know....”

She latches to the crook of my arm, rubs
herself against my flesh, a maneuver no
man can resist. She smiles sweetly—“Let’s

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“You worry too much, Cecci. Suppose I I’m a er long term, high passionate ro-
said I was twelve. Would that change the, mance, Poe’s love that is more than love—
er, boner I suspect you’re spor ng at this though who can pass up a serendipitous
very moment? How about thirty? Is that fling? I have no idea what June is all about
way too old for you? Put your mind at so I must get a li le more drunk soon, loos-
ease—I make twenty-two tomorrow. To- en up, pry congenially. Believe it or not, I
morrow is my birthday. And what about am not, never have been nor ever will be
you? How old are you? About a hundred? an alcoholic. One drink and I’m on my way,
Worry makes you old.” especially with vodka. Gin mar nis are an
abomina on. I don’t like the taste of alco-
Ah, she’s got my number. Twenty-two. hol. I drink merely for the buzz, and I don’t
Where did it go? To June, that’s where. I do usually drink much to avoid fuzzy, groggy,
feel old now but not old enough to escort painful hangovers. Same with weed. Just
her home to her parents’ house, for as it enough to unbolt the old character armor
turns out she lives half the me with this a bit.
boyfriend and half the me at home. She
has obviously packed in more experience Usually. I’m not saying I don’t indulge go
and worldly wisdom than I will ever have if I whole hog every now and then, more of-
do make it to one hundred. My age doesn’t ten than I’d like, but I know the price will
bother her but I make no haste no reveal it. be steep. I am always aware of what lines
I’m s ll old school about such issues. June never to cross and feel lousy when I cross
is NOW, immediate, contemporary, spon- them.
taneous. She will do what she damn well
pleases and that’s that. “So... the boyfriend.”

“So who’s the boyfriend. And if he really is “My sister—”
a boyfriend, why are you with me right now?”
“No, boyfriend.”
She veers off the subject. “You should
meet my sister. You’d want to fuck her.” “Jeeze, Cecci. What are you, some
throwback to the era of high school proms,
Uh, what? It’s not o en I’m at a loss for corsages, class rings? You wouldn’t be here
words, but well... how do you respond to if you cared much about him. But don’t
such a declara on? I leap for the bar and worry—he’s a good guy, a supreme pho-
order two more vodka mar nis. The ma- tographer, about your age maybe, and I
tronly bar tender frowns at me and shakes call him ‘boyfriend’ because we hang out
her head as if to say I’m robbing the cradle. a lot together and, yeah, I know you want
Her face is eroded with judgmental solem- to know, we screw. He’s bi-sexual. That in-
nity. No doubt she would trade places with terest you? We don’t keep each other in
June in a heartbeat—not because of me chains, no strings... it’s an open rela on-
but because June has youth, joie de vivre, ship. God, I hate that word. Rela onship.”
happiness, freedom. Hell, I’d trade places
with June if I could. “I hate it too. Sounds sociological.”

Is she into some taboo, incestuous kink? “So what about you? Surely you’re not
Is she offering her sister to me? The ramifi- without sin.”
ca ons swirl in my mind.
Disclosure me. “I’m recently divorced
a er about five years. I don’t know many

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people in the city these days though I was “Asshole?”
born and raised here. Mostly everybody I
knew moved away or got married with kids “Possibly, we shall see. Let’s go.”
or... who knows what happened to them?
There is this sarcas c edge to everything
You are the very first woman in this June says which I like and don’t like.
town that I’ve met and liked. I teach at the
She’s an impetuous puzzle, another
Lakefront campus. I write for the paper mystery, one genera on (well, not quite—
and do interviews and I’m star ng a literary ten years does not a genera on make) af-
magazine—” ter mine and already gender poli cs have
mutated, for the be er I’d say. No more
June smirks, takes my hand, rotates my awkward, uncertain approaches to wom-
thumb. Why rotate? “I know who you are,” en—they now seek you out with open arms
she says. “I read the paper too. I know peo- and make the first moves. Is this good or
ple who know you, like Philippe and your bad? A Zoroastrian dilemma or great good
old friend Jim Hazel. I’ve sort of had my eye fortune?
on you without having my eye on you.
I study June’s face and upper body—the
I liked those book reviews you wrote. rest covered by a crumpled sheet—as she
And I like your eyes.” sleeps naked a er what I must character-
ize as epic sexual shenanigans. She looks
“Yeah, twenty bucks a shot for the re- so peaceful, sa ated, at one with herself
views. I’m rising in the food chain. Jim, now and the world. I am never sa ated, never
he’s the one with the money. Lawyer, natch.” peaceful and certainly never at one with
the world. The world and I are at odds, a
She now clutches my hand ghtly in her double exposure I somehow got flung into.
warm fingers. “I would say, your place or I guess this is what the philosophers call
mine, but you probably don’t want to woo aliena on.
me at my parents’ house. Besides, my fa-
ther is dying of brain cancer and it’s not a Not that I much mind—it’s the given,
pre y sight.” what Henry James called the donne, my
deck of cards. I slide out of bed, move to
“Sister?” the upholstered arm chair and stare at June
as my mind dri s back to the fecund, soy-
“She’s in Baton Rouge for a few days, bean weary Midwest and Anastasia, my
but don’t worry. You’ll like her.” fellow grad student, she brilliant of mind,
purity of soul and perfec on of flesh. The
“I don’t get it, why... forget it. My place, difference between June and Anastasia...
how about now? It’s about six blocks to- apples and oranges or something funda-
ward Rampart.” mentally and cosmically divergent: baryons
and leptons? June, photon; Anastasia, pro-
“Let’s go, daddy-o. Can I call you ‘honey’?” ton. June is a free spirit, an Ariel, an urban
sprite; Anastasia was an anguished young
“No.” woman, a Verdi aria, a living tragedy who
strove to remain cheerful and light-hearted
“Sweet pea?” despite the load fate had thrust upon her

“No.”

“Darling?”

“No.”

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shoulders. The wreckage of my marriage to with Anastasia I knew, however ephemer-
Rosa was a ma er of course, a rite of pas- ally, Elvira Madigan, though no Sixten I. Ah,
sage, two people whose union had fizzled what might have been! Is lust recollected
in natural a ri on. retroac vely greater than immediate on-
the-spot arousal and consumma on?
Anastasia’s husband, whom she loved,
had been reduced to paraplegia a er suf- So naturally I wrote a poem about An-
fering some horrific industrial accident. I astasia:
suppose my ques on to her on the ma er
was unkind. ANASTASIA

“Does this mean he can’t...,” I trailed off. I assume I’m finally ge ng some-
where here at massive Midwest U where
She shook her head sadly as single tear I’m grinding toward a grad degree and
fell from one of her eyes and slid down her teaching comp which no one can really
cheek. I hugged her hard and kissed her teach anyway or learn – either you’ve got
lips, salty from that tear. it or you don’t – and I’m taking this use-
less class in Victorian Lit where right be-
So I allow myself to dri into a cloud of side me up front sits Anastasia, doing the
nostalgia, back to one of the last mes An- same thing I’m doing, trying to get some-
astasia and I consoled each other over our where, and she is freaking gorgeous in an
marital woes, back to one of the hidden old-fashioned Debbie Reynolds way, mod-
spots where we secretly consorted—the est, reserved, shy, sweet, all those ancient
misty, dark, aroma c, chlorophyll-pungent virtues, and s ll the pre est girl in the en-
greenhouse of vast Midwestern U. One of
the countless greenhouses at any rate, al- re Midwest (that I’ve seen anyway) but I
ways at night when we were supposed to spot the wedding ring right off and that’s
be researching and working on our disserta- a bummer but I’ve learned in my meager
twenty-four years that everyone is hun-
ons in our communal offices of the English gry, all the me, everyone craves, every-
Department. We met every second night, in one breaks the rules because rules disfig-
empty classrooms of the Liberal Arts Build- ure the spirit, so of course I flirt with her,
ing, in my or her car parked on camouflaged and I do all the talking in class (so much
wilderness roads, in, as I’ve said, the green- so that the lisping, rotund professor takes
house or one of the greenhouses upon so me aside one day and in effect tells me to
ma resses of straw, under remote bridges, shut up) and as we’re walking back to our
in secluded park like areas of the campus, cubicles she says she’s impressed with my
we met wherever no one would discover mind, imagine a beau ful woman telling
us and where we could indulge our passion you that, it’s double-edged, I’d prefer body,
without detec on or consequence. We but mind’s ok though I have never thought
did indeed love each other, a love perhaps much of mine because I can’t come close
doomed precisely because it had no future, to grasping math of any kind and that’s
a love defined and exalted by brevity, un- where the real geniuses tread, I even had
sullied because so illicitly impure. Anasta- to memorize the text book in calculus at
sia would never leave her afflicted husband Tulane to pass the course... well, she is the
and at that point I doubted whether I could
ever find the courage to leave Rosa. But

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one with mind, I swear, and that makes it ing me most is that Anastasia is so decent,
all the be er, and I some mes think I must ethical, moral, god-fearing, good, reliable,
be afflicted with that Stendhal syndrome: punctual, faithful, etc., a succulent, sexy
beauty inducing tremors, full body sweats, Be y Crocker, none of which tallies with
ver go, panic... because I feel them all what we do in the greenhouse or the back
when I see her, and we’re reading in class seats of cars or those empty classrooms...
Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came and and I wonder too about the paralyzed
it stuns me as well, the emaciated horse, husband, what a lousy fucking break (lit-
the absurd journey, Childe too ng his pal- erally), and if Einstein asks right now “Is
try horn when he finally reaches the squat the universe friendly?” I’ll kick him in his
dark tower, the desola on, the horror and e=mc2 ass, friendly? to deprive a young
fu lity, and the professor tells us it’s an man of his splendid hormonal woman for
affirma ve piece of work and I shudder a despoiler like me? and oh yeah that lispy
at his ignorance, but that’s all beside the professor starts to call on me in class be-
point because all the while I’m dreaming of cause no one wants to discuss Childe Ro-
Anastasia without clothes and we go out land and I refuse to say another word, and
for coffee a lot at the student union and no one says another word, and the class
she tells me the sad story of her marriage dies and he doesn’t get tenure and winds
to a guy who five years before was injured up selling insurance... and in the end when
in a trucking accident that paralyzed him I’m about to move back to the Deep South
from the waist down and when I ask if that and Anastasia and I must part, it’s not
means what I think it means she starts to so smooth and she too decides never to
cry and nods and I see that this poor wom- speak another word to me, and I don’t get
en is dreadfully unhappy and wonder how it, nobody’s talking to anybody, it’s silent
she can always pull off the cheerful rou ne as outer space... and before that she once
which she does immaculately because with asked me why I didn’t call her Ana which
me I can’t hide it, it erodes my face and is what everybody calls me, and I say that
spirit, it consumes me and there’s no way I will never call you Ana, only Anastasia,
to disguise it and I see no reason to... so because you’re the lost Romanov, the em-
of course we start mee ng at night some- pire, the Faberge eggs, the heir – and just
pray another Lenin doesn’t come along
mes in dark empty classrooms on the or something worse than Lenin. But then,
third floor of Arts & Sciences, some mes that’s already happened.
in my car on the edge of lonely mud roads
and some mes in the university’s green- I must wonder as I sit here watching
house at night when no one is around, its June and remembering Anastasia—June
glass walls awash with condensa on, the now, Anastasia then—if love is myriad and
sleepy plants effusing chlorophyll, and be- monogamy fraudulent (Bertrand Russell
lieve me she is into it and always intense said it’s unnatural) or whether I am mere-
and I’m confused because there must be ly another shallow Don Juanish playboy, a
some immorality going on here and I won- fickle rake, a slut. Not that I love June yet,
der who’s the guil er, so I just assume me and given her flighty disposi on, seems un-
since I’m always guilty, which doesn’t ever likely I ever will, but I like her well enough
stop me because I can’t resist, I have no and we click and she has soothed me and
self-control, I’m low, man, low... confus- she too likes me well enough and for the

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moment we’re together. Throughout his- thing. I rarely know what me it is. I hope
tory Alpha males who have garnered enor- you’re not one of those anal-reten ves.”
mous power and wealth establish harems.
Is this the reality or the dream? Can we all, “I’m hungry.”
women included, love not merely mul ple
partners (today ins tu onalized as serial “Me too. Let’s walk over to the Hum-
monogamy) but love those partners with mingbird Grill and get some scrambled
equal devo on and passion simultaneous- eggs and grits and toast and bacon. Hmm,
ly? Simultaneity is the key term here, obvi- we need fuel.”
ously. Is it possible?
And that’s what we do. On the way, arm
“Cecci?” in arm, the word “hummingbird” repeats
itself in my mind. June, the perfect hum-
I must have dozed off. From some chtho- mingbird!
nian depth I register a chime, a feathery
“June,” I ask, “is past lust recollected ret-
“Cecci,” an echo or tender ricochet. roac vely superior to immediate consum-
ma on in the present?”
“Cecci? Daddy-o? Are you alive?”
“What?”
I’m down deep so my eyelids feel pon-
derous, anvil-like, as I struggle to open “Can we have mul ple lovers at the
them. The room comes into focus blurrily, same me and love them all equally?”
June a sort of smudge, waking reality less
substan al than the noble realm of oblivi- She punches my upper arm. “Of course
on. I’m rubbing my eyes, rota ng my head, we can. What, you love me now? Be afraid.
yawning... I tend to disappear from me to me.”

“Ok?” asks June. “You look kind of “Did I say I love you?”
murky,” “I’m all right,” I say, “I went under
for a while, I guess. Didn’t feel it coming “No, but you do, don’t you. And I love
on. I was looking at you, delicious you and you too.”
then, well, nothing.”
“Sure, I love you. Why not? Why the hell
She laughs. “So that’s the effect I have not? Or are we confusing love and lust?”
on you? I put you to sleep?” She cups her
breasts and thrusts forward. “Come on, you “What?”
like, don’t you?”
“Have you ever known the despair that
I stand and stretch and flop over onto does not know it’s despair?”
the bed atop her. “I loooove! Yum. You are
something else, June the photographer. “What?”
That was great. It exhausted me. So what’s
on the agenda? What me is it?” “I’ve got an upcoming interview with
William S. Burroughs. Wanna do the pho-
She’s purrs and ckles her fingers across tos?”
my chest. “It must be morning. See that
light outside the window? Sunday or some- She stops short, spins me around and
plasters a wet, monstrous kiss upon my
lips. “I would love to. I’ve read everything
by him.”

“I haven’t.”

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The Hummingbird Grill is a New Orleans “Cecci, stop. You worry too much. If we
fixture, a hole in the wall that caters to all— catch something, we catch something.
the uptown elite out slumming, ar sts and
every unsavory species of humanity on the Nobody gets out alive. That ques on
streets, an eclec c clientele some of whom about retroac ve lust... what does that
pass out at the counter from over-dosing, mean?”
despera on, disease, drunken stupors.
It’s cheap, the food is greasy and probably The waitress shoves two greasy plas c
contaminated but people stand in line to menus toward us and asks wearily,
get in. Just a counter, the always smoky grill
and stove, something always frying, three “What’ll it be? Coffee?”
short-order cooks—one of the cooks who
reminds me of Eliot’s young man carbun- June does the talking. “Yes and scram-
cular wears a black pirate patch over an bled eggs and grits and bacon and toast.
eye, has four fingers missing on his right
hand—, a harried waitress, the smells, the Two plates, one for him, one for me.”
never empty barstools. We lean against the
wall for a while un l two adjacent stools The waitress is defeated by default—the
empty. hours, the lowly job, the riff raff, the ass-
holes, the slummers. One front tooth miss-
There’s a mangy guy with leaves and ing, a bruised eye, gauze wrapped around
twigs in his hair slurping cup a er cup of her wrist, leaking a bit, I note. TShe hobbles
coffee with his I guess skeletal girlfriend, away, snatching the menu sheets out of our
also mangy, wearing rimless glasses. She’s hands.
talking to herself non-stop, a serious doper
no doubt. Suddenly the guy reaches over “She’ll probably poison our coffee, June.
and slaps her. Never offend such people. They live for re-
venge.”
“Shut up,” he growls. “I’m drinking coffee
here.” June looks at me and rapidly blinks her
eyes, shakes her head. “Ever get red of be-
“Fuck you, Freddie,” she grunts and ing you? All that angst and paranois. I’m go-
slaps him, harder. “Hit me again and I put a ing to teach you how to live for the moment
knife in your kidney.” and never fret over anything. And right now
I’m not even hungry anymore.
Freddie storms out of the place and she
follows in a rage. “You motherfucker, come Let’s get out of here. Your place or mine?”
back here. Nobody walks out on Marie Das-
tugue. Where you going? I’m gonna kill you!” So we’re back at my apartment repeat-
ing what transpired here a few hours ago.
Thus June and I glide onto their s ll warm
stools. I’m s ll hungry.

“Think we’ll catch something? I mean, But when I awaken a er a profound, lus-
they looked filthy and contagious.” cious snooze, she’s gone.

She’s gone. The note reads Call Me. I
feel a sudden, tempestuous urge to howl
and weep—though that’s too easy.

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About the Author:

Louis Gallo’s work has appeared or will shortly appear in Wide Awake in the Pelican State
(LSU anthology), Southern Literary Review, Fic on Fix, Glimmer Train, Hollins Cri c,, Ra le,
Southern Quarterly, Litro, New Orleans Review, Xavier Review, Adelaide Literary Magazine,
Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Missouri Review, Berkeley Fic on Review, Mississippi Review, Tex-
as Review, Bal more Review, Pennsylvania Literary Journal, The Ledge, storySouth, Houston
Literary Review, Tampa Review, Raving Dove, The Journal (Ohio), Greensboro Review,and
many others. Chapbooks include The Truth Changes, The Abomina on of Fascina on, Status
Updates and The Ten Most Important Ques ons. He is the founding editor of the now de-
funct journals, The Barataria Review and Books: A New Orleans Review. He was awarded an
NEA fellowship for fic on. He teaches at Radford University in Radford, Virginia.

141

FAMILIAR STRANGERS

by Adina Sara

The phone rings, the clock blares 5:00 am, half-female—in me-lapse efficiency to-
I jolt awake; this is it! My son’s fran c voice ward a common goal.
confirms what I already know. We’re on our
way to the hospital…her contrac ons are We even look alike, or at least we did
fi een minutes apart. back then. We were very young when we
met, that’s the line we always used to ex-
Slam goes the phone and as if on cue, plain everything away, and its true enough.
the light in the room begins to change. The Barely out of high school, it was our sum-
first tenta ve wisps of dawn filter through mer tans that first a racted us to each oth-
the spaces between the curtains and the er. Pretending to study Chaucer and the
floor. I can make out the chair now against Protestant Reforma on, right there in the
the window, the candles on the dresser, ob- undergraduate library, we li ed our T-shirts,
jects coming into view one streak of light at barely exposing our beach-bronzed midriffs.
a me. The big day is coming. The big day is His was a shade or two darker than mine, so
here. The day I will become a grandmother. I conceded our first contest. Frat par es fol-
lowed, weekend beer fests and shy explora-
Within minutes my son’s father calls. For
the first me since our marriage fell to pieces ons of body parts. We held mirrors up to
decades ago, we are again in perfect harmo- each other and liked what we saw.
ny. Arrangements for this very moment were
discussed and agreed upon some weeks ago, And then came sex—inevitable, irrevers-
plane ckets purchased with open-ended ible, unleashed and impossible to control.
dates. I’ll be over in about forty-five minutes, Who would have you now? whispered the
he confirms, as we double-check the me voices of my dead grandmothers and be-
on our respec ve clocks, check, check, plane sides, we had already adopted a stray dog
leaves Oakland at 7:45 am, should arrive in L. who slept across our feet at night. Our fate
A. at 9:00 am, a er car rental, drive to hos- was all but sealed.
pital, we’ll be there by 10:30. Check, check.
My wedding dress was simple and knee-
You’d think we’d been doing this all length (my mother said I wasn’t old enough
along, such a couple of pros we are at get- for floor length and she was right). I looked
downright silly in lace. I looked like a child
ng through the day-to-day par culars. trying on a big girl’s dress, it was hard to
There was a me we had it all. Yet now, balance in two-inch heels, and the gauzy
as good as strangers for close to three de- underskirt itched my thighs. The hairdress-
cades, we can s ll arrange, agree, move to- er’s a empt to make me look like a bride
gether like one well-oiled body—half-male, resulted in hundreds of straight pins twist-

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ing my thick black hair into a lavish bird’s So the big day has arrived: we are about
nest of fashion that pulled at my eyebrows to become grandparents. All the tears and
and stretched my neck. I felt wildly out of venom are flushed away (and almost for-
place in my own skin but wasn’t that how go en) as we drive together to the airport
brides were supposed to feel? on a misty February morning. He opens
the door for me, I adjust my seatbelt, we
I s ll remember his stare into the cam- chat about becoming grandparents, about
era as the photographer snapped our wed- mee ng the first child of our first child. We
ding picture. There were thin traces of fear will surely hug each other and cry familiar
in his eyes. He looked too young to mar- tears, taking turns passing our new gen-
ry. He looked too young to shave. He was era on back and forth and back again, in
twenty-one and I was twenty and there was ecsta c pride. When conversa on ebbs we
love, yes, a sweet, innocent, playful kind fall into a comfortable silence, all threads
of love, and a vague kind of familiarity, as between us severed save this one.
though we looked like the person we were
supposed to marry. The airplane ride is uneven ul. Belts
buckled, we sit side by side and anyone look-
Unlike my soon-to-be-husband, our ing at us would see an old married couple
wedding photos revealed a young woman taking some kind of rou ne trip. He orders
with a glint of cockiness in her eyes. Flicking a Pepsi and I am jolted back in me, recog-
a stray piece of hair that had fallen loose nizing his favorite drink. He asks me if I want
from its knot, I was alive with an cipated spicy tomato, my standard airplane fare. Is it
freedom. Any change from the home of my possible the divorce hasn’t happened? You
parents was bound to be an improvement. remembered, I think, feeling that thin line of
familiarity tugging at the s ll-tender place
So young, so dumb we were, and yet where he had ripped himself away from me.
those first ten years were perfect. We
waltzed through them, from apartment to We sail through the Avis line. He had
rented house to manageable mortgage. We made all the arrangements, and I wait on
skipped along, tra la la, interpre ng the easy the side, keeping watch over the luggage,
flow of years as proof that this was going just like always. Feeling almost smug in our
to be the rest of our lives. Two perfect sons familiar ease, we arrive at the hospital just
were conceived effortlessly, two perfectly in me to hear that our daughter-in-law is
planned years apart. One of the boys looked at eight cen meters. Our son races out of
just like him and the other one looked like the labor room, breathless with the news,
me. We lived in a cute li le house with dark it won’t be much longer now, Mom, Dad he
brown trim. The house was small but the cries out, falling into our arms, you’re here
view was grand whenever we bothered to he cries. We’re here, we say, as though we
no ce. have been there all along.

About the Author:

Adina Sara’s previously published work includes two non-fic on essay collec ons, 100
Words Per Minute: Tales From Behind Law Office Doors, and The Imperfect Garden, and a
novel, Blind Shady Bend. Her essays have appeared in Glassworks magazine and Birdland
Journal. Learn more at www.adinasara.com.

143

BREASTFEEDING

BLUES

by Joanna Kadish

I sat with my best friend Terry, each of us s ll going through, and I wanted to offer my
holding our newly minted babies. Terry’s sympathy, but I didn’t know what to say. I
baby, Casey, was born breach, as was mine. scoured my brain for comfor ng words.
But I didn’t feel any ill effects. Terry spoke
of lingering pain from a cesarean her doc- My daughter, Sarah, only a month old,
tor performed against her wishes. technically s ll a newborn, slept peace-
fully in my arms. Everything would have
“Too many cesareans are performed been perfect, except my belly looked like
because doctors are afraid of being sued,” a balloon with all the air punched out of
Terry said. “It’s really go en ugly.” it and ungainly. It was disheartening, but
I knew my shape would improve. I had a
She men oned a report in The Lancet Oc- child out of it, a beau ful child with the
tober 2018 issue that says the rate of cesar- most angelic face framed by the sweetest
ean sec ons has tripled globally since 1990. cloud of so brown hair. My labor wasn’t
In some hospitals, more than 70 percent of painful, probably should have been. My
births occur by C-sec on, pu ng moms and baby’s head started grinding into my spine,
babies at risk. Women who do not need a and I chickened out, asking for an epidural,
caesarean sec on and their infants can be which they readily gave me. My husband
harmed or die from the procedure. guided my breathing and alerted me when
the electronic fetal monitor told me when
We were si ng in her living room in to push.
San Francisco’s elite Pacific Heights district
near Lafaye e Park in a Victorian-inspired But the narco c turned me into a floppy
home she inherited from her grandfather. noodle, and the nurses complained I wasn’t
It embodied everything beau ful about the pushing hard enough. They physically used
forty-niners and the gold rush era. Terry’s their hands to push on my stomach simu-
grandfather made money selling prospec- la ng the ac on of my own muscles. I was
tors tools of the trade. ashamed of my sorry performance. As far
as being a woman des ned to suffer though
I felt guilty; I couldn’t iden fy with what the birthing process, I was a fraud. At least
Terry had gone through and what she was

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in the eyes of my mother who said it was deep inside me—I could feel my contract-
the des ny for women to suffer. ing uterus radia ng to all parts of my body,
a feeling that went beyond a mere lover’s
I wanted to go back in me and re-expe- caress. I recalled telling my husband a few
rience the birth of my baby, feeling robbed days ago that I didn’t need him anymore,
of the rawness of birthing process. Given now that I had Sarah. He adopted his sad
the choice again, I would have refused nar- face.
co cs like Terry did. I planned to do it with-
out drugs the next me. Listening to my li le one suckling with
her strong, toothless li le mouth, her li le
She was the brave one. I had never nose snuffling, and watching her hungry lit-
known her to do drugs that she didn’t ab- tle face lapse into sa ated, orgasmic animal
solutely have to take. Terry had rheuma- bliss, the evolu onary imprint of a prime-
toid arthri s and taking cor costeroids to val, sensual pleasure that dates back to the
reduce the inflamma on: A double-edged
sword that can lead to osteoporosis, car- me of the first mammals, ny sloth-like
diovascular disease, and weight gain. She creatures, filled me with the most intense
already experienced weight gain, and start- emo on.
ed taking another drug to suppress the im-
mune system response, but then she had “Would Sarah suckle another mother’s
to deal with an increased risk of infec on. breast?” Terry asked out of the blue, or so
it seemed to me.
“I don’t know if I can keep my job,” she
said. “I may have to go into research. But I “I know my child,” I told her. “She won’t
love my pa ents, I can’t conceive of doing want your breast. Not even her father,
anything else.” whom she has known from the minute she
was born, has been able to get her to accept
Terry’s husband, a freelance photogra- my milk through a plas c nipple. Nor has
pher, was gone on a business trip, so it was he been able to convince her to lie against
just us girls on the couch, breast feeding him in the nursing posi on. He rocks her to
our babies, and talking. sleep every night with her back to him, nev-
er facing him. She won’t allow it.”
Sarah began fussing. The proximity of
my heavy milk-filled breasts drove her cra- “Yeah, but he doesn’t have a breast full
zy, and like a sex addict strolling through a of milk.” Terry’s baby was s ll sleeping in
high school gymnasium, she reached for her arms. Her baby was calm, even stoic,
them, her expression greedy. At her cry I never fussing, even for her mother’s breast;
could feel the pad inserts in my nursing bra Casey waited for her mother to offer it. “In
ge ng wet. I sensed what a cow must feel previous centuries, women used wet nurs-
when it’s constantly milked, the physical es. Maybe your child will come to me.”
demands; always on call. I took off my bra
and brought my dripping nipple to her fran- “She’s no pushover.”

cally groping mouth, her hands moving “Come on.” Terry the scien st looked
like windmills through the air. She pulled excited, her muscles tensing. “I’ve always
at my nipple with her lips, ac ng the over- wanted to see for myself. If a baby’s hungry
sexed lover before se ling down to suckle. enough, can she be persuaded? Please lets’
The vibra ons from her suckling thrilled try with your baby…as an experiment?”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

I told Terry that she had no chance. Sar- most babies with this disease, she gained
ah was implacable about her feeding; she weight and looked strong despite losing
physically had to be affixed to me all the at least half of what she took in. The doc-
tors said she would grow out of it. I didn’t
me, refusing all plas c subs tutes, pre- mind turning into a food factory, always a
ferring instead to suckle on me nearly non- superabundance flowing, I never lacked for
stop. I could not leave the room without milk, perhaps because I never said enough
her strapped to me. I o en fell asleep feed- is enough, or let’s not overdo it.
ing her. Many nights I’d wake up in the mid-
dle of the night to discover her s ll suckling I ate as much as I wanted and s ll the
an empty breast, and I’d switch her to the weight fell off me. The forty pounds I had
other breast, by that me filled to burs ng, gained at the all-you-can-eat buffets during
and likely what woke me. This is not some- pregnancy vanished in a trice.
thing doctors recommend. The literature
cau ons the risks of the mother turning on “All babies are connected to their moth-
her baby and crushing her. I didn’t worry ers by the pheromones released in the
about this, even when I was asleep I felt her womb,” Terry said. “But your baby and mine
presence. I knew ins nctually to stay up- are bound more closely to us than that.
right against the pillow and not turn over. I They recognize us by pheromones secreted
took her everywhere. This baby was singu- by the apocrine and sebaceous glands in our
larly driven, content only when a ached to nipples and underarms. Babies who don’t
me like a li le amoeba. Whenever the urge breas eed don’t have this connec on.”
struck, I fed her. It didn’t where. I threw a
blanket over me if we were in public. I nev- “My mother never breas ed me,” I said.
er saw anyone look at me in askance, or say
anything nega ve about it. It seemed to “My mother didn’t either.” Terry gen-
me that most people never no ced her un- tly jiggled her daughter, whose eyes were
dercover, suckling away, as oblivious to the swi ly closing. “Doctors back then thought
blanket as most onlookers. formula was be er, and then the research
showed the superiority of breastmilk, and
Casey lay quietly on her mother’s lap, physicians had to do an about-face. Breast
her eyes at half mast, her head nodding, milk is be er in all ways: it offers more pro-
seemingly nonplused by all the ac vity tec on against illness, and the protein and
around her. iron levels are beau fully calibrated.”

A er burping Sarah, she vomited most of “My mother breas ed her last three,”
it on the towels I had posi oned around me I said, “but they didn’t appear to be any
beforehand. I promptly fed her round two un- more connected to her than the rest of us.”

l she was sa ated. Usually it took a few feed- “That must have been weird for our
ings before she could keep anything down. mothers to have all that milk in their breasts
begging to come out and not le ng their
Terry exclaimed over my daughter’s babies at it.”
vomi ng, saying she had never seen a baby
projec le vomit like that. I pointed to the “My dad read the contents of the formu-
bath towels I used to catch the spills, from la she was feeding my brothers at the me,
experience I knew how far away to place the it was soy-based, and he asked a research
towels, never more than a few yards. Unlike doctor, a friend of the family, about it. Doc

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Halpern advised my dad that soy might not “Water’s fine.”
be so good. He had been researching this for
decades, and said that the use of non-fer- “I’ll be right back,” I said and went to the
mented soy has been linked to diges ve kitchen, found two glasses in the cupboard
distress, immune system breakdown, thy- and filled them with water from the fridge.
roid dysfunc on, cogni ve decline, repro-
duc ve disorders, cancer, and heart dis- “My dad was the same way, as you
ease. My mom heard from her doctor to know,” I said, coming back and pu ng a
stay away from cow’s milk, because there’s glass of water on the coffee table in reach-
not enough iron and too much calcium and ing distance.
casein, which makes it even harder to ab-
sorb the nonheme iron. On unaltered cow’s “He was the worst,” Terry said. “He nev-
milk, a baby pees nonstop to get rid of the er went for checkups.”
excess protein and minerals, and suffers de-
hydra on. So she switched to a hydrolyzed Terry used to work for my father sum-
formula with very li le cow’s milk protein mers while she was in medical school.
in it. And that worked okay, but it wasn’t That’s how we met. I was in sophomore
be er than human milk. And what did it year of high school, and found Terry’s ad-
do to her body to have all that unused milk vice invaluable; she helped me navigate
si ng in her breasts? Could that be what the treacherous shoals of teenage ado-
caused her breast cancer?” lescence, and encouraged me to speak up
more and take calculated risks. She was the
“Studies have shown a higher risk for one who alerted me that my father worked
cancer in mothers who don’t breas eed,” too hard and didn’t exercise enough, and
Terry said, rocking her child, who looked suggested he walk more. I asked him to
fast asleep. take walks with me but he said he had no

“Crazy, huh? And she never went for me, in this fatalis c manner he adopted
mammograms, not un l it was already too when speaking of his health, and that when
late; the cancer had spread to her lungs.” he could catch a minute he’d do it. I didn’t
want to fight him on it, but that response,
“Doctors and nurses are negligent about and others, like the me he said it was “too
their own health. Caregivers o en forget late” for him, worried me. Terry said she’d
we can get sick, too.” work on him too. But neither of us could
turn him around to our way of thinking.
“How long will your hubby be gone?” We knew if he had gone for checkups, they
might have zapped the cancer before it
“Back next Friday. I’m coun ng the days.” spread and he’d be alive today. Terry was
a s ckler about checkups, and developing
“I’m thirsty,” I said. “You don’t mind if habits like ge ng enough rest and ea ng
I get something for us to drink, water or healthy.
tea?” I stood up and put my sleeping daugh-
ter into her Moby wrap, a so sturdy fabric Talking like this with Terry felt cathar c
wrap that secured her ghtly. “What would on one hand, and depressing on the oth-
you like?” I kept her strapped on me, know- er. It was truly one of the saddest things,
ing the minute I stepped out of the room knowing that if my father had been more
she would sense it and cry. vigilant about his own health, he’d s ll be
around. My mother might have been per-

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suaded as well, if he set the example. Then sphincter in the throat, or if there could be
they would have met my child, my broth- a link between the two diseases. My moth-
ers’ children, and my sister’s daughter. They er and father never talked about health
would have gloried in their grandchildren. when I was a child, and yet they were both
medical professionals, so go figure. The re-
My father waited un l he lost weight search I’ve done on my own comes up with
and experienced the telltale extreme fa- dead ends. Doctors I consulted assured me
that in Sarah’s sphincter would mature,
gue red flag to run tests. Then he moved probably in her first year, and she would be
slowly, saying he had to think about it first. fine. But a sliver of doubt remained.
He and my mother weren’t ge ng along,
they disagreed about everything, and it But Terry kept pressing me to allow her
wore them both out, for us it wasn’t so bad, to try suckling my Sarah, her eyes glowing
at least we could escape. As things stood, with the purity of her inten on. I wavered.
none of us could stand to be in the same If I didn’t know her be er, I would say she
room with both of them in it. Whatever the exuded vitality and health. The cor coste-
ini al disagreement was lost on everyone, roids did a good job of suppressing inflam-
years later, she couldn’t stand to see him ma on. Denying her wish made me feel
happy and would say some cu ng thing heartless, like someone who takes candy
to bring us all down. She won the fight, if from the dying. I felt my shame like a cold
you can call it a win. He felt a sense of mal- wind blowing through the room, making
aise about everything, including his life. By my skin shiver.
the me he started treatment, his cancer
had already spread below his esophagus. Looking at the pleading expression on
He told me once cancer hits the stomach, Terry’s face, I disregarded my innate horror
there isn’t much that can be done, the can- of having anyone else’s nipple in my daugh-
cer cells replicate too quickly. His cancer ter’s mouth and agreed reluctantly. “The
likely evolved from the laryngopharyngeal minute she starts crying, hand her back,” I
reflux disease he suffered from, a known said. “I don’t want you pressing her to you
precursor, but in those days there was no if she struggles.”
treatment, much less a cure.
Terry put Casey down in her bassinet.
My father was 75 when he died. Not Casey didn’t s r.
young, but it’s conceivable that he might
have lasted longer if he had not delayed Terry sat down again. “Okay,” she said,
treatment. My mother died shortly there- reaching her arms out and flicking her fin-
a er. With him gone, she fell apart. gers impa ently.

Thinking about his laryngopharyngeal Terry’s daughter Casey suckled every
reflux disease led me to worry about my few hours, no more. I told Terry she was
daughter’s immature sphincter causing her lucky to have such an easy child, but I was
to projec le vomit. Medical research shows not being sincere. I knew that my daughter
why it occurs in babies, but not what causes was more interes ng.
the sphincter to stop performing in adults.
The disease in adults is not fully under- Sarah started wailing when she was
stood. I didn’t know if I or any of my broth- put up to Terry’s breast and flung her arms
ers or sister had suffered from an immature about, her hands balled up into fists. As Sar-

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