Adelaide Literary Magazine No.29, October 2019

Revista Literária Adelaide

Lisa answered the door in jeans and a She lit them with matches that were le
sheer t-shirt. She looked thinner than usual, on the table and we sat that way for a min-
her collar bone cas ng a shadow over her ute without speaking.
chest. “Chris na!” She said as she hugged
me. “Come in, I’m making tea.” “Luke was wondering if your insurance
check had come in?”
I hadn’t been in her apartment for about
two weeks, not since the funeral. The nor- “It’ll come when it comes.”
mally clu ered unit was now burs ng – the
boxes and stacks of books had swelled in “So how are you doing?” I asked, not re-
all direc ons. The smell of sweat-soaked ally wan ng to ask, but more so not want-
clothes permeated the living room. I fol- ing to keep si ng in silence and watch one
lowed her to the kitchen, which was an another smoke cigare es.
improbable departure from the main room.
Where the boundary of the living room “I’m alright. I keep having these dreams,”
ended, the strewn clothes and ssues on she began as she inhaled and leaned for-
the floor gave way suddenly to a shiny, pris- wards, “that my nails, teeth, hair, or what-
ever, are falling out. My doctor says they
ne led floor. I sat down at the table and are fears of loss dreams.” She placed her
she turned off the stove top. She pulled hand in her mouth and begin bi ng at her
two mugs from the cabinet and poured fingernail.
the water over the teabags, then sat across
from me and s rred her cup as it steeped. “If you keep bi ng your nails, maybe they
will fall off.”
“So, what’s new?” Lisa began. Her el-
bows were sharp on the edge of the table. She smiled and put her hand down. “The
Times might do a piece on Henry.”
“Not much.”
“What kind of piece?” I asked.
“How’s Dahlia?”
“Sort of a bio thing. His life, his work.
“She’s good. She likes her teacher this What it was like for a photojournalist over
year, which is a relief. Luke is working non- there. How the violence carries home with
stop.” you, they said. I haven’t decided but I might
let them write it. Henry loved things like
“How’s business for you?” that. He would have liked the valida on,
I’m sure.”
“Fine. I just redid some housewife’s
home over in Englewood. That was pre y “I think you’re right,” I said.
fun. She had a stupid budget so I went a
li le nuts.” I don’t know what made me think of
it, but I remembered a party the four of
Lisa didn’t seem to hear me well. She us had gone to. Luke was cha ering away
s rred her tea three mes in a clockwise about work with another party guest about
direc on, then three mes in a count- the state of the Congress and some recent
er-clockwise direc on, and back again. She Federal Reserve policy, and Lisa and I were
had many such habits. She pulled two ciga- drinking mar nis away from everyone else.
re es from a pack in her pocket and offered She had been telling me about a trip she
me one. had gone on with Henry: some story about
sneaking through a militarized border be-

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tween two Arab na ons. Henry had come ter – do you remember Peter? He is prob-
in – from where I didn’t know – and inter- ably the only one Henry would’ve trusted
rupted us. He announced the hosts were with them.” Lisa had took on the tone of
in possession of a great, underu lized a great ar st’s wife when she spoke of his
pool in the backyard and we should take a work. “They are going to be released in a
swim. “I don’t think it’s that kind of a par- gloss spread, then the full book released
ty,” I had said, but Henry and Lisa laughed with an ar cle some old colleague of his
and walked together out of the sliding glass is wri ng, explaining the photos in the full
doors. I approached Luke, and asked to bor- context of the situa on. The magazine will
row him for a moment. I whispered in his probably go out a er the summer, and the
ear that I wanted to swim, and he simply book next year some me.”
replied that he didn’t have his suit on him
and that no one was swimming. I le him, “So what is the story?”
predictably annoyed, and went to the back-
yard. I loathed nothing more than ac ng “The narra ve?”
predictably anything. Lisa and Henry had
already pulled off most of their clothes and “Sure. Yes, what are the pictures?” The
were kissing and trying to splash each other. narra ve.
I had told them I had a headache and asked
if they could drive Luke home later on. “The photo narra ve begins with chil-
dren born to widespread devasta on and
At her small formica table, Lisa was just poverty, a lack of clean water, rampant hon-
about finished with her cigare e when she or killings and social resistance to change,
pulled out another, ligh ng it from the last and a resistance to acknowledge how bad
one. “It’s weird being alone here,” she said. things really are. You know, the usual Henry
themes.”
“Well, Henry was always gone a lot, so...”
I thought of Dahlia dreaming of prin-
Her brown eyes sharpened at me. “It’s cesses, and how very glad I was that she
different now.” liked her teacher this term.

“I know, I don’t know why I said that.” I “The narra ve follows the idea of hon-
didn’t want another cigare e, but without or and necessity, and how these children
one I twisted my fingers onto themselves need to balance both. It ends with a refu-
in my lap. gee who saved his brother from falling off
the edge of a mountain – or something – in
A few years before, we had built an a remote area, when they were orphaned
office for Luke on the second floor of our and migra ng to Islamabad for work.”
house. Somehow he s ll insisted on work-
ing at the kitchen table most nights. I imag- “What’s his story?” I asked.
ined what he would do if I just sat down
and lit a cigare e next to him. “Well, his brother had cracked his ankle,
or something like that, so he had to literally
I shi ed and took a sip of my tea. “So, carry him twenty-three miles. And he did,”
when will the photos come out?” I asked. she said with a drama c exhale of smoke,
“and when he got there what do you think
She seemed to hear that. “Well, they are happened?” Lisa pushed her empty tea-
being restored and developed now, by Pe- cup to the side and leaned forwards on her
sharp elbows. She looked red, and a li le

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Revista Literária Adelaide

crazed, and very chic with her cigare e and photos Henry took. She was living in those
ruffled hair. camera images that came home with him.
She was living another life, very far away.
“I don’t know. Someone found him, called Lisa was fragile-looking and severely thin
him a hero, and gave him work and shelter. perhaps, but her eyes were fierce, her face
Did I guess right?” stern. She lit a third cigare e and shut her
eyes. I brought the teapot over from the
She shook her head and smiled. “No. stove top and warmed up her tea. She was
Nothing happened. No one cared. The com- like some animal who knew it was being
munity he walked to wasn’t his community, watched, but who felt no discomfort in the
so he was just an outsider. The village he intrusion.
entered had seen soldiers and volunteers
come and go and come again, and its peo- As I le Lisa’s apartment I remembered
ple didn’t care for anyone outside the com- that night she and Henry went swimming.
munity. When Henry found them they were He was tan and his shoulders were sculpted
near starving, just begging for ra ons from from trekking for miles with all his equip-
a care package truck. The younger one’s an- ment. I had gone home early and go en
kle had never been treated so it had healed mad at Dahlia for not cleaning up her toys.
wrong, and he couldn’t work. Henry even- I put her in her room and went to look for
tually got them to a refugee camp and tried the babysi er. I found her in the backyard.
to set them up as much as he could...but it She was seated on the edge of our coy pond
wasn’t enough, he said.” in the dark of the night, her jeans rolled up
to her knees and her feet dangling in the
A small laugh escaped me. “So the story water. She leaned back on her hands and
is about how it’s so bad and there’s no hap- looked off into the woods that edged our
py ending? Henry was ever the op mist.” yard. An inch of her stomach was bared be-
Lisa cracked the hint of a smile. low her T shirt and cascades of young, thick
light brown hair curled its way down her
“Sort of. The collec on is called ‘Hero back.
Karma.’ “
I’d startled her by the pond and scolded
“What does that mean?” her for Dahlia’s heap of toys, and not only
for disturbing the fish. The girl had tears in
“Hero karma,” she said again. “Ugh, it’s a her eyes, and I’d felt my cheeks flush with
myth – bravery and honor don’t get you the remorse almost immediately. I felt bad and
accolades you think they will. Obviously.”
pped her extra before I’d sent her home.
She sat back in her chair, a widow, and
I didn’t want to stay in her dirty apartment I’d smoked a cigare e on my back porch
but I didn’t want to go home. I couldn’t a er Dahlia had fallen asleep and I’d stared
imagine driving back to the house where into the woods that bordered the yard. The
Luke was almost certainly already asleep, house was silent behind me, but I could
sa sfied that he had successfully organized hear a low hissing in the the thicket of trees.
his set number of client receipts for the day. I sat there a long me, wai ng for a pair of
My daughter would certainly cry and moan glowing eyes to emerge from some shadow,
in the morning if I didn’t help her get her wondering what animal might live in that
hair just right. Lisa was bi ng her nail again, dark curtain that cloaked like a shroud.
and I could see her eyes were seeing the

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About the Author:

Mariel Yovino has had poetry published in The West Trade Review, VerbalArt Journal and
Gyroscope Review. She has poetry and short fic on forthcoming in Loch Raven Review,
Caesura and the Santa Fe Quarterly Review. Mariel pursued a BA in literature at Boston
University and now works as a freelance writer in the Boston area.

102

DAMAGE

by Monica Strina

It’s the day of Uncle Jeff’s funeral. In front ‛You got the skinny hips and clear skin, so
of the church our rela ves move in swarms. no.’
They remind me of the beehive that formed
inside our double-glazed window years ago. The bees surround us and we have to
I’ve seen what bees will do to a different fight our way to the church door through
creature that dares crawl amongst them. perfumed cheek-to-cheek kisses and py-
As I stumble out of the car in my mother’s thon hugs. Red roses spill from the coffin
murderous heels, Nick catches my elbow. like dark blood. The priest keeps praising
Uncle Jeff for being such an exemplary hus-
‛Nice hairdo,’ he says, pulling a lock be- band and father; I refuse to humour Nick’s
hind my ear. ‛Can’t say the same about the a empts to suppress laughter. We stand
make-up, though. You didn’t quite cover the when the priest says stand, kneel when he
a rac ve shiner on your forehead, darling.’ says kneel, sit when he says sit. As we kneel
for the umpteenth me, Nick whispers,
I slap his hand away. ‛Why are you mak- ‛God, this is so much fun, it’s kind of like
ing such an effort to be a prick, darling?’ dancing the Macarena. All together, now!’

‛Oh, I don’t know. Could be because I nev- ‛Sssh,’ I giggle, knowing Mum’s laser eyes
er thought my twin would let herself be used are drawing a red dot on each of our backs.
as a punchbag. Or perhaps, because she for-
got to visit me in ... let’s see ... forever?’ Outside, under a whirl of snowflakes,
we present our condolences to our aunt
‛You know I don’t like that place.’ I and grown-up cousins. Nick hugs them and
waddle towards the church, clutching my delivers great pats on their backs. Mum
(mother’s) handbag and trying not to step pushes me into their arms when she catch-
on my coat. es me trying to hide.

‛Really? I lllove it, you know. Me and Mc- ‛And where’s Tony?’ they ask me, look-
Murphy have tons of fun.’ Nick straightens ing around as though he might be playing
me, so composed he looks like the sugar- peek-a-boo.
paste groom on a wedding cake.
‛Oh, you know, he’s very busy with work;
‛It’s not my fault you’re in there.’ couldn’t make it.’

‛But Gemma, don’t you feel guilty about Years pass before we are back in our
ge ng the healthy genes while your tragic parents’ car. Everyone tries to reverse out
brother got the schizoid ones?’

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

of their parking spaces at once so we block Can’t say everyone looks surprised, though.
up the road. Then the screaming starts, just as we tear
through a side road.
‛Come on then,’ Dad ges culates to-
wards a carful of cousins, ‛come on, you go.’ ‛Now we’re fucked,’ declares Nick, pat-
ng the passenger’s seat. ‛Come on, sista,
Mum’s eyes zero in on me. ‛See, Gemma, I’m no taxi driver.’
why you always come across as rude? It’s
embarrassing. You never even went to see I cross my arms on my chest. Nick zig-
Jeff when he was sick.’ zags the car, throwing me around the back
seat. ‛Don’t be such a s ffo. That’s exactly
‛Yeah, I agree. Especially since poor old what you would have done if you hadn’t
Jeff was so affec onate with you when you lost your balls on your way to adulthood,’
were growing up, Gemma,’ says Nick. he says while he gets us lost.

‛Nick, no,’ I mouth. ‛You had to tell, didn’t you, Nick. Today.’

‛I mean,’ Nick con nues, ‛he kissed, he ‛I med it perfectly, I know. I was so look-
cuddled, he caressed you all over whenever ing forward to this funeral.’
no one was looking—’
I sigh, take off my shoes and scramble
There is a crashing sound as we are onto the passenger’s seat. The world is
thrown forward. Dad turns around, his face whitening outside the car windows, and for
blotchy. ‛Nicholas! Do you realise you’re an instant I feel soothed.
making sick jokes about a deceased man?
Do you always have to—’ ‛You didn’t take your medica on this
morning, did you?’
‛Don’t you dare, you promised, why can’t
you just be—’ Mum screams over him, and I We stop to ask for direc ons when we
know and fear the end to that sentence but see a smartly dressed crowd gathered in
now our rela ves join in, yelling and beep- front of a restaurant surrounded by an
ing, standing outside in the thickening snow, orchard. Nick parks the car and walks out,
poin ng at the car door through which we and as I watch him I feel as proud as I did
have just smashed. Mum steps out to as- back in music class, even a er boys started
sess the damage a er squin ng us down, making fun of him. Despite everything, he
and Dad scrambles a er her, shaking. retains the grace of a poem. He approach-
es two men in tuxedos and says some-
‛Well done,’ I say through the palms of my thing; they laugh. In between snowflakes I
hands, but Nick is no longer si ng beside see him point at the car where I’m si ng
me. He has climbed onto the driver’s seat, and gesture for me to join them. I shake
locked the doors and put the car in reverse. my head. His lips mime the word ‛chicken’.
‛No, no!’ I scream as he hits the car behind Walking towards someone while s ll out
us (more aunts and uncles) then revs the of earshot makes me self-conscious; only
engine. ‛Oh, we are so fucked,’ I whine. when I stumble close enough to talk do I
li my head.
‛Uncle Jeff was a pe-erv!’ Nick screams
out of the car window. There is a collec ve, ‛Gemma, these are Adam and Steve.
loud intake of breath; my father’s expres- Adam is an old school acquaintance, would
sion could have been painted by Munch. you believe it?’

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Would I? Trust my brother to run into a no ce them. Surrounded by pastel colours,
schoolmate who looks like a statue of Apol- bows, white roses and smiles, I can’t help
lo on a day like this. The guy standing be- reliving my own wedding. Mum and Dad
side Adam resembles him but looks more approving of something I’ve done. Tony’s
human; he shakes my hand while Nick con- eyes as I walk towards the altar. His grip on
my wrist later, when we’re alone. A mem-
nues his overexcited spiel. ory of Uncle Jeff’s hairy hands. I know we
should go back, apologise to our parents,
‛They were just telling me that there’s no but I am weary. We’ve both turned off our
point in travelling to town in this weather. mobile phones when Mum’s number (and
We’d be stuck in traffic for hours. So they Tony’s) started appearing and now there
invited us to their sister’s wedding while we are only wedding music and cha er.
wait out the snowstorm. Isn’t that sweet?’
The way the bride looks at the groom
The temperature of my face might melt depresses me. Happy couples make me feel
the snow all around us. ‛Oh, wow, thank even more stupid. She has large hands and
you, but we can’t just–’ feet, and tends to slouch, so that the white
lace she wears seems to belong to some-
‛Sure you can, it’s our parents’ restau- body else; the groom is swea ng through
rant. No problem with adding two guests a his silvery suit, yet beaming. Nick asks me
li le late,’ says Adam (the statue). to go see the orchard with him. Through
the glass door I spot Adam and Steve wait-
‛Come on, I’m starving,’ Nick whispers ing outside.
in my ear as he drags me in. ‛Something
smells nice.’ ‛Oh Nick, please.’

‛Give me the car keys, you crazy bastard.’ ‛Give me your rings for a sec.’
I kick his ankle as hard as I can without be-
ing seen, then try to get to his pocket but ‛Do you think I’m an idiot?’
he slaps my hand.
‛Sure I do, since you insist on wearing
‛Gemma dear, you should know that such monstrosi es. Hooray for Tony and his
I’m very sensi ve to my condi on being impeccable taste. By the way, did he also
defined in such crass words. And by the give you that ghastly watch?’
way, you could have worn something more
cheerful. You look like you’re going to a fu- I look at it. God, how haven’t I no ced
neral.’ that it looks like the watch on the wrist of a
corpse on CSI? ‛The company gave it to me.
At least we get a free meal. The waiters Ten years working for them.’
hurry over and add two covers. I watch my
brother chat with each one of the eight ‛If that hasn’t inspired you to commit
people who sit at our table, help the old suicide, I don’t know what will.’ Linking
lady beside him crack open lobster shells, my arm he drags me out. I stop to steady
organise a toast for the newlyweds, sing myself on the heels and, at the sight of the
Bon Jovi’s ‛Living on a Prayer’ in perfect garden, don’t breathe for a li le too long.
pitch when the Karaoke starts, dance with
a li le girl stood on his feet. I see the way ‘Stunning, isn’t it?’ asks Steve as my eyes
people look at Nick, men wishing they were fill with the silvering branches and the slow
him, women (and some men) that he would dance of a million snowflakes.

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‘The roads will be impassable,’ I say. and a lot of books lined up on shelves. My
fingers ngle with the desire to touch them.
‘Where else would you want to be?’ He In a bathroom that smells like rose soap
smiles with a side of his mouth. Nick asks bars, Steve sits me on a low cabinet and
Adam to give him a tour of the garden and covers my bruise in lo on with his finger-
they disappear.
ps. I close my eyes and imagine his large
Steve and I se le on a stone bench. It hand can absorb the harm – not just the
feels like si ng on a gravestone. Out here, pooled purple blood but also the pain of
the music is muffled, and nothing moves the blow, the fear, the disappointment in
but the snow. I like the way the cold air myself. He leaves me si ng there and re-
numbs my feet so I can no longer feel pain. appears a few minutes later with a jumper,
There is a small shaving wound on Steve’s tracksuit bo oms, socks and runners.
neck at which he keeps picking with his
long fingers. ‘The clothes are mine, sorry about the
size. The shoes are my mum’s – they might
‘I’m not into dresses. Or heels. These ar- fit. Don’t worry, she has stopped using
en’t even mine. We were going to a funeral,’ them.’ He comes back in when I’m finished
I say. and rolls up sleeves and cuffs. The black
bundle of dress and ghts inside the bin re-
Steve looks at me. Really looks. ‘I hope ceives only a glance. I catch my image in the
this is a bit more lively. And your husband mirror and grimace.
didn’t come with you?’
‘Cut my hair.’
I feel the heat despite the snow, in my
collarbone, and n ng my neck red, and ‘What? No, no way.’ He li s his hands,
under my eyes, and in the roots of my hair. palms towards me. ‘I cut one of my sister’s
‘Why don’t you take a be er look?’ I slap Barbies’ hair when I was seven. She tried to
my hand on the seat and li myself towards stab me with the scissors. It couldn’t have
him, pulling my fringe back. ‘No, I didn’t been a very good job.’
fall. I didn’t slam a door in my face by mis-
take. Yes, it was a punch, so what? Come on, ‘Steve. This is my mother’s haircut. I’m
tell me I should leave him. That I should be thirty-five.’
brave. That I’m not the only one it happened
to. That I have my whole life in front of me!’ In the living room, Steve surveys my
new hair as he carries two mugs of hot
Steve catches my fingers and moves chocolate towards me. He lts his head and
them gently away from my bruise. ‘My smiles his corner-lip smile.
mum’s got some arnica lo on upstairs.’ He
keeps my hand as he walks me to a side Si ng on the carpet, I take a sip. ‘Mh.
door and up two flights of stairs. ‘I’m back You make a mean hot chocolate.’
living with my parents for a while. Since the
divorce.’ ‘Too rich, according to my ex.’

I s ffen, take my hand back. Upstairs, ‘She’s obviously a bitch. Good riddance,’
the carpet is long-haired; I leave heels and I say, and his own laughter seems to sur-
coat at the door and am led through a living prise him. ‘You two have kids?’
room with a central, stone-built fireplace,
‘Nope. I suppose it’s be er that way,’ he
answers.

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I talk without looking at him, trying to I push the palm of my hand against the
fla en the mug between my hands. ‘I’m card un l I feel as though the numbers are
pregnant.’ I can no longer hear him breathe. embedded in my flesh. Nick is silent and
‘We thought we couldn’t. For years. And his fingers are burrowing into the driving
now it’s happened. Now.’ I look up at him. wheel. His expression is the same as when
He is making fists. we were children hiding in a tent in our
bedroom, reading White Fang with a flash-
‘Does he know?’ he asks through ght light, and Mum said God saw us when we
lips. were bad, and Nick heard the voices com-
ing. When he stops at a guesthouse and
A key turns in the lock; Adam and Nick lies on the bed in his suit and stares at the
spill into the room. They don’t look as dy ceiling, I lay on the bed beside him in my
as they did when they walked into the gar- borrowed clothes and stare at the ceiling.
den. Theirs is a shameless beauty.
‘There are monsters in the plaster,’ he
‘You look like a plucked chick,’ says Nick. says, poin ng. What enchan ng hands; our
‘Big, big improvement.’ But his voice is dif- music teacher said he could have become a
ferent, lower. pianist. ‘There, and there.’

Steve looks guilty. Adam’s laugh only ‘I know. But I can’t see them. Not on the
touches his mouth; the rest of his face is ceiling.’
marble-s ll.
Nick looks at me, then reaches for my
‘It’s stopped snowing,’ says Nick, and a le hand. He slides the wedding and en-
couple of minutes later we are stepping gagement bands off my ring finger and
into the car, and Adam is not in sight. Steve hurls them at the ceiling. They roll out of
looks like something le out in the snow. sight.
Only when I look up at him does he come
closer. He leans across me and a aches my ‘I think I hit one of them.’
seatbelt.
‘Fuck, Nick. He’ll kill me.’
‘You know how to get back here? Gemma!’
‘Fuck Tony. You’re not a vic m, Gemma.
I frown. He asks Nick to wait and runs At twelve, maybe, but not now. Take some
into the restaurant, then reappears. His fucking responsibility. He will kill. Both of
breath se les on my skin as he hands me a you.’
business card. The details of the restaurant
are on it, as well as a photograph of the ‘Both? How do you know?’
façade and the orchard; a phone number
is scribbled – etched – on the other side. He looks at me, at my stomach under
His eyes touch my bruise, my stomach. Last, Steve’s jumper. ‘We’re twins, remember?
they se le onto my face. Besides, you’ve started to look like you
might actually want to live.’
‘Do not lose it,’ he says.
I thread my fingers through his and kiss
Nick drives. The orchard falls behind but the back of his hand. ‘Adam?’ I ask.
stays inside my head the way beau ful, im-
possible dreams do. In my pocket, or Ste- ‘Confused.’
ve’s pocket rather as these are his trousers,
‘Oh.’

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

‘We’re not what our folks were expect- to steal my lunch. Your first literary prize
ing, are we, Gemma?’ when you bought us ice creams and hula
hoops. How to read music and what each
‘Nope, Nick. Not even close.’ key on a piano means. Everything. My im-
age of mental health is a blank sheet, and
He sha ers into tears. I wrap myself it terrifies me.’
around him, his protec on from the mon-
sters gawking from the ceiling, from the I watch a monarch bu erfly land on
voices. He jerks his head as they scream Nick’s hair and become part of the sculp-
obsceni es, dirtying the avenues of his ture. ‘I have no idea what mental health
beau ful brain. His sobs hit my shoulder looks like, Nick.’
like the recoil of a rifle. I know how tonight
will be; I am familiar with the varie es of ‘Maybe it looks like Mum,’ he says.
my brother’s madness. The walls will taste
his forehead and blood, the floor his tears. ‘Christ.’

Over breakfast Nick cranks up his swol- We sneak into the Museum of Modern
len eyelids and says, ‘Let’s run away.’ Art to use the toilet and figure we might as
well take a tour, so we walk amongst peo-
We plonk our mobile phones into the ple who wear clothes they were not wear-
toilet tank. We see a pug outside the guest- ing yesterday and the day before that. I lt
house and give it a new collar – my watch my head to show that I am studying the art-
suits its bristly hair. Wearing the same work, making an effort to understand and
clothes a er our showers feels seedy. We appreciate it. Now and then I say ‘Mmh’
buy only toothbrushes, toothpaste and and nod.
knickers, food and water, petrol. The pass-
ing of weeks, months, is measured by my Nick stops in front of an enormous
girth. Lying on a field of daisies a er the pain ng. On the canvas are strokes of vi-
snow has melted, we let pollen ckle our olent colour twice the length of our bod-
noses; hear the music of rebirth issue from ies. He narrows his eyes, catches his chin
the damp earth. with his thumb, index and middle fingers,
hunches his shoulders and gives the paint-
‘Are there monsters in the clouds, Nick?’ ing ten minutes of undivided a en on. A
white-bearded man with the air of a univer-
‘No. Gemma ...’ sity professor no ces my brother’s devo on
to modern art and nods his approval. The
‘Yes?’ staff member who sits in a corner surveil-
ling the room looks impressed. My twin has
‘Want to know what scared me the most always been be er than I at blending in. Or
in there?’ else, he really understands what this means,
which makes things even worse for me.
‘You’ll tell me anyway.’
Then Nick’s shoulders start shaking.
His breathing quickens. With his eyes From his throat come strangled sounds.
closed, he is a sculpture of Anguish. ‘I He turns towards me with tears dangling
thought that, if the medica on succeeded from his eyelashes. ‘Seriously!’ he hiccups.
in killing my madness, it would also take ‘A one-year old could do a be er job. All
away everything else. The books we read
as kids and that grass slope we used to roll
down. That day you hit the boy who tried

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these people go “Oooh” and “Wooow” and what he is rather than what you are sup-
learn invented meanings off books so they posed to tell the neighbours.
can look good. Why doesn’t anyone admit
that they’re worthless wiggles? This dude We are found some me a er my cards
couldn’t even draw!’ He is laughing with a have run out, si ng somewhere along the
hand on his belly, doubled over, holding on coast, our hair and the lining of our nos-
to the wall beside the canvas for support. trils encrusted with salt. Our mother al-
He is laughing with his eyes closed and ways said the sea was too dangerous and
tears of pure mirth. we never lost our fear. Neither of us knows
how to swim, but seawater heals your cuts,
Every room where we stop along our we have discovered, and corrodes chains.
way to nowhere turns into our childhood We have made plans to learn how to float
bedroom at night. We read from the same inside it, alone together again, in silence.
book, with a flashlight, wai ng for Mum’s
voice to scare us out of the pages. Work When we see them coming we hold
schedules and medica on mes start dis- onto each other. Nick’s hand reaches for
solving as we keep s ll and take me to my pocket and pushes something into my
breathe. Walls crumble without a sound. hand. I feel the so ened corners of a card
And some mes, while we watch the sun and my skin remembers the number on it,
set, Nick’s fingers glide on the invisible keys the same way it remembers punches.
of a grand piano.
‛But you and I … we are the only ones
‛We’ll live away from everyone and ev- who understand,’ I say.
erything. We will play music and write po-
ems and read all night. We’ll never sleep.’ ‛You could let him try. And, Gemma,
promise me something. Start wri ng again.’
When my runners start falling apart, I re- My twin’s running steps are a fast dance,
member who they belonged to, and whose and as he enters the water there is no more
legs once inhabited these trousers. Who fear nestled between his shoulders. I can-
wore on his skin this jumper that is li ing not follow, yet the sea has come to me. It
like a tent above my belly. The only bruis- is trickling out of my womb, down my legs,
es I wear now are on the inside. In his suit, clear, clean, alive. It is me and I wait, with
Nick is a fallen movie star: now he looks like my fingers curled, for the next wave.

About the Author:

Monica Strina was born and raised in Sardinia, Italy, but moved to Dublin as a student and
decided to stay. She has published stories in literary magazines such as An Sionnach, The
Ogham Stone, Silver Apples, The Bunbury and TQR Stories. In 2010, her short story ‘The
Fisherman’ was awarded the Lonely Voice award by The Irish Writers Centre. Monica is
working at a collec on of stories and a novel.

109

WOLF BENEATH

THE WAVES

by Sandra Gould Ford

The brick-red Jeep Wrangler cruised beside “Tonight’s the main course, baby.”
the icy river, kicking up great sprays of snow.
The driver, Peyton Granville, said, “Guess “Oooh.” Tanae flu ered her eyelashes.
we missed the salt trucks.” Peyton was tall, “Can’t wait.”
coyote brown, with a boxer’s build, narrow
hips and rich baritone. The Jeep followed the Matara River, its
ice tracked by the passage of barges and riv-
Tanae Foxxe studied the Tarry S ll Alps, er boats. When they approached the steel
due south, straight ahead. Their shaggy town Xanthor Furnace, heavier clouds dark-
peaks shoved through the silvered clouds ened the dregs-of-winter sky. Tanae tast-
covering their world. The caramel crème, ed bile. At Laurusburg, when they turned
full-figure model wore feathered false eye- west, her throat ghtened. She struggled
lashes, silver eye shadow and cardinal lip- to swallow. When Selene Basin, largest lake
s ck. She yawned, squeezed Peyton’s thigh in the region, glimmered tarnished and dull
and sighed, “Last night was spec-tac-u-lar.” beside the mountains, her heart galloped.
Hoarse, she said, “Seeing the lake in winter
He grinned. “I liked that li le bit of pink is different.”
and gold gi wrap you wore. Hope you
brought more.” Peyton asked, “Are you all right?”

Tanae considered the thigh-hugger, lace- “I don’t know.” Tanae rubbed the goose
top stockings, the powder-blue peek-a-boo bumps rising under her fur jacket.
bra and matching thong in her weekender.
Coy, she said, “Could be.” He frowned and said, “Maybe we should
have stayed at the spa another night or
“I like how you think, baby girl.” gone skiing.”

“And you’re okay, even though you had a Tanae massaged her throat and rasped,
weak pick-up line.” “I can’t explain why, but coming back to the
old resort felt necessary, like something
“But I’m sexy. And I’m talented.” I’ve put off for too long.”

She eyed him sideways. “So, last night
was my appe zer?”

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“And this return couldn’t wait un l sum- “I don’t know.” Tanae raised her palms,
mer, when everything’s open?” then massaged her arms. “I feel as though
there’s something here I need to see or find.”
Tanae shrugged. Her eyes stung, as
though burned by smoke. She said, “I need “This me of year, with people scarce, you
to see the place in the … in …” might find it.” Peyton paid the check. “The
sky’s clearing. Do you want to walk a bit?”
“Are you trying to say, ‘In the winter?”
Peyton shrugged. “Don’t ma er, baby girl. “Not right now.”
If it’s what you want, your wish is my com-
mand.” “Clear some of that Beach Baby and Sun-
shine Special. You should have eaten more,
When they reached the inn where he’d Tanae.”
reserved a room, Peyton checked the car
clock. “Just in me for dinner.” Tanae huffed. She planted her elbows
on the table and her chin on her palms.
Ashe devoured sirloin and Brazilian lob- She blinked but could not erase pictures of
ster, Tanae downed a “Beach Baby,” a ba- slate swells humping toward shore, thrash-
nana liqueur, blackberry brandy and dark ing and spewing foam. When graphite eyes
rum concoc on. She followed with “A Sun- peered up from the depths, fierce and fe-
shine Special” a blend of Bacardi, triple sec, ral, Tanae wrapped her arms around her-
Galliano and orange juice. self ght and shrank from the sing-song,
He does not howl when he prowls. Her gut
Peyton studied the Sunshine. “You usu- twisted.
ally have Pinot Noir with fish, and just one.”
No ng her salad and peppered tuna, he Peyton asked, “What’s wrong?”
asked, “Do you want that wrapped for lat-
er?” Tanae steadied herself and rasped,
“Nothing.”
Tanae huddled over her drink and shook
her head, no. “Is your liquid dinner ge ng to you?”

“I thought you said that you had good “I don’t know. Let’s find our room.”
mes here.”
***
“I said my family brought me here when
I was a kid.” The next morning, Tanae woke alone.
Curled at the bed’s edge, she s ll wore her
“I can see why. There’s an abandoned slacks and sweater. Shrouded in lake air
amusement park and boardwalk further and wave thrum, Tanae jumped when a
on. The beaches are nice in warm weather. key turned the door’s lock. Peyton entered
Why did your people stop coming?” wearing jogging clothes. When he opened
the drapes, a wan light filled the room. He
“We were guests of the man who owned asked, “Are you feeling be er?”
the place.” Tanae hugged herself and bit
her lip. “Daddy said he moved.” “I’m sorry about last night, Peyton. We
had all these plans.”
“So, why are we here for our Valen ne
getaway? What’s this got to do with sum- “You act like we never had sex before.
mer vaca ons?” I brung out my masterpiece, and you

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spooked like you was watching that Ana- “Five minutes.”Peyton held up four big
conda movie. What’s going on?” fingers and thumb.

“You know I like being with you. I wanted As Tanae searched for life in the ice
last night to be, to …” Tanae choked. cream and pizza parlors, the souvenir and
beach gear shops, she kept eying the distant
“It’s almost me to check out and move building’s blackened bones.With each step,
on, baby girl. Do you want to shower first?” her heartbeat quickened. She trembled.

When they reached the Jeep, mists Peyton said, “It’s all closed.”
thickened the lake’s chill air. In the car,
Tanae wanted to warm her hands with the Tanae nodded and edged toward the yel-
heat gushing from the vents but held her low tape printed: Cau on. Cau on. Cau on.
body ght. As they tracked through the Beyond, “Casino” was chiseled above the dead
snow along Selene Basin’s southern shore, building’s cadaverous entrance. Tanae mas-
she stared from the iced-over beach to the saged her throat. She recalled how lights once
bleak, thrashing water. She thought, I used gli ered and hundreds of voices hummed
to like how sunlight sparkled on the waves inside the ringing, clanging, jangling building
and imagining where boats went when with a Dixieland band. She said, “When we
they crossed the horizon. I hoped I would came here, it was a … a big …a big …”
like it here again. Maybe the problem is the
cold. The winter. Why did I come here now? “A casino. I see that. Looks like a prison
She said, “I don’t know what’s going on.” now.”

“Are you sure you want to go back to that “A penny arcade,” Tanae blurted.
place where your family stayed? There’s
word it’s being redeveloped. Might not be Peyton planted big fists on his hips. “I
nothing le from your me. Maybe I ought guess all that ironwork must have been
to take you home.” filled with glass. Anyways, I don’t want
nothing to do with it.”
Tanae forced the words, “Keep going.”
Tanae studied the intricate la cework.
A mile further, white-washed wooden Some s ll held a few grayed panes. “It was
shops lined a boardwalk. Two hundred yards like an atrium. It was …” She recalled how
west, blackened beams emerged from the the glow through the roof dimmed the
mists, a skeletal, burned-out grid against the moon and stars.
grim sky. Tanae whispered, “Please stop.”
“Like a, a-tree-what?”
Peyton said, “Back a ways, I saw a sign
about great seafood. I’m looking for some “A glass building, like where flowers …”
king crab and fried clams.”
Peyton studied her, then said, “Where
“Maybe that’s the place.” flowers grow. Yeah, I can see that.”

Peyton followed her gaze. “Whatever’s “It was magical at night. Everything to-
down there looks closed.” gether was, it was …” Tanae stared at the
bleak building, then at the hissing waves.
“We could check. Please.” A er a breath,
Tanae said, “This is where we came in … “Why do you do that?”
where we …”
“Do what?”

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“Cut off your sentences. How come you “The sand won’t shi .” Peyton eyed the
can’t finish saying what you start?” bulldozers and forkli s. “If they’re not sink-
ing, we won’t. Come on.”
Paws thumped behind them, fast and
closing. Tanae gasped, whirled and faced a Tanae studied the gap between the
black Labrador retriever. fence and the roiling waves. They a acked
the shore as though hurled by a monstrous
“Here, boy!” A woman in parka and leg- wolf rising from the deep. Through the
gings called, “He won’t hurt you. He’s friendly.” spume, the hoar beast slid along her wall.
It smelled of stale liquor, smoke and a er
As the dog galumphed closer, Tanae shave. It covered her mouth and growled,
squealed and backed away. Peyton squeezed “Hush, girl. Don’t make a sound.” His flint-
her hand while commanding, “Hey! Dog! gray eyes glinted. He touched and rubbed
You heard your lady. Get back up there!” and probed as relentlessly as the waves
seething across the beach. Her ma ress
The Lab skidded, lted his head and sagged. The springs groaned.
studied them, alert and curious. When the
woman whistled, the dog woofed at Peyton, He said, “I seen how you look at me, lit-
wagged its tail and bounded back across tle lady. I’m here ‘cause you want this.” He
the sand. massaged Tanae’s belly. “And you don’t
want folks knowing what you been dream-
“What’s going on here?” Peyton stood ing of and what you been wan ng me to
with shoulders square, in at-ease stance. do. If you tell anyone, you’ll be in big trou-
ble. Your mommy and daddy will be hurt.”
Tanae raised her collar, thinking, What He licked her eyelids. He slipped his hand
if that dog had been gray, like shadows. between her thighs, crooning, “That makes
Thank goodness its eyes weren’t like coal you feel good, don’t it?”
smoke.
Tanae shoved at him, whimpering, “No,
Peyton squinted at her, then at the Uncle Jack. Please.”
building. “The closer we get to the place,
the spookier you get. Where’s the ghost?” Far away, beyond the waves and clouds
and sky, Tanae heard, “Who is Uncle Jack?”
Tanae looked north where the looming
lake merged with sky, then at the dead Startled, Tanae blinked up at Peyton who
building. Shadows shi ed inside. She held her wrists. She shook free and ran. At
backed a step, then more. the Jeep, Tanae stared east, away from the
casino. When Peyton reached her, they
“Come on.” Peyton circled the yellow stood silent except for Tanae’s sniffling. A er
tape. “Let’s see what’s in there.” a while, Peyton asked, “How old were you?”

“It’s blocked.” Tanae pointed at the “Dan- “Three, maybe four.”
ger” and “No Trespassing” signs hung on a
chain-link fence. He said, “Some mes, at the barber shop,
those talk shows come on, the kind that get
“Work crews aren’t out in this weather. into people’s problems. You can learn a lot in
Besides, it’s the weekend. Let’s get past this the two hours it can take for a chair to free up.”
fence while the water’s low.”
Tanae nodded.
“But it might not be safe.”Fine rain
weighted the mists. Tanae braced herself to
keep from running.

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He con nued, “They say that if a kid’s mes down here, never came back and act-
young, some mes, they forget … un l ed like nothing happened.”
there’s a trigger.”
“Thinking back, I realize there was always
Tanae covered her eyes as though to some hush or pause when those summer
block the man who bought her the red tri- trips were men oned.”
cycle and the pink, sa n pajamas embroi-
dered with Teddy bears and who winked at “Why did you come back now, in the win-
her when he laughed. Uncle Jack. ter?”

Peyton opened her door and drove a Tanae revisited the sunny pink room
while before saying, “It wasn’t your fault, Uncle Jack invaded. “Maybe because … be-
no ma er what that man told you. They say cause …”
that, too on those talk shows.”
Peyton said, “Finish it.”
“That’s easy to say.”
She gulped air and said, “Maybe I came
“Where is this Uncle Jack?” When I find back now because the weekend felt so
him, he won’t be touching nothing, never.” good and safe with you. Maybe I needed
things gray and cold and empty. Maybe the
Tanae sobbed great, air-gulping wails summer crowds, the color and heat would
un l Peyton parked and held her. have been too much.”

When she could speak, through the “See. You’re ge ng be er. Maybe all this
huge hiccoughs, Tanae said, “When he le is curing your aposiopesis.”
me, I heard him and Daddy in the hall. Later,
there was that fire at the casino, and Uncle “My what?”
Jack was gone.”
“Ah-poh-see-oph-sis. I think that’s how
“No sign of him since? Not hide nor hair?” they say it. Means breaking off sentences
before they’re done. Amazing what you
“No.” learn at the barber shop.”

“Sounds like your daddy saved me some “All right Word Wizard, now what?”
trouble.”
Peyton braked at a diner with steamy
“I never realized.I never put it together windows and the sign, “Best Seafood This
un l now.” Side of Heaven.” He said, “Of course, and
as you well know, words aren’t the only
“And now you know:You got men willing area where I’m masterful. But, for the me
to do extreme right by you, baby girl.” being, we can start with some crab cakes,
French fries, lobster and—if they’re really
“Thank you.”Tears gli ered in her natural the best place this side of heaven – excel-
lashes. The feathery ones were in her case. lent collard greens. Are you ready?”

As Peyton steered back onto the lonely Tanae squeezed Peyton’s hand. “I’m sor-
road, he asked, “So, the man was your un- ry I ruined our weekend.”
cle? By blood or marriage?”
Peyton shook his head. “Naw, baby girl.
“No. He was Daddy’s army buddy.” We just got started.”

“And, in all this me, nobody never said
anything? Folks talked about the good

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About the Author:
Sandra Gould Ford is an author, educator and former steelworker who presents arts
experiences to encourage, refresh, enrich crea ve thinking and inspire. She belongs to
the Author’s Guild and Science Fic on Writers of America. Sandra established a wri ng
program at a mega-jail and published an interna onal literary journal. Website: h p://www.
SandraGouldFord.com.

115

THE SPECTRUM OF

GREATNESS

by Jared Alexander

Introduc on John Preston was a re red NFL field goal
kicker with silvery hair, blue eyes, and stur-
The South Side Bandits were a Chica- dy legs. His seven-season NFL career ended
go-based youth organiza on football team. a er the blood clots in his kicking leg affect-
John O’Reilly, a re red blue-collar worker ed his power and accuracy. He became a P.E.
with balding hair and green eyes, coached teacher at the local junior high. He taught
the team, yet the athletes had no success useful kicking and pun ng techniques to
under his coaching. Paul Longlegs, the Bandits’ kicker and the
sole Na ve American on the team.
Eventually, Coach O’Reilly lost his coach-
ing job. A social worker named Allison Coach Ward helped David Washington
Ward replaced him. She was a former quar- who has Asperger’s Syndrome improve
terback for a women’s professional football his football skills. Washington was an Af-
team in Chicago with blonde hair, piercing rican-American with an Afro, sturdy frame,
blue eyes, and an athle c physique. Her fa- powerful legs, black hair, and eyes. David
ther was a former college football coach in lived with his mother, who did her best to
Wisconsin before inspiring his daughter to raise her only child by herself. The players’
become a social worker. minds overflowed with op mism at the op-
portunity to be taught by an NFL veteran.
Chapter 1: The Coaches They studied to improve their game. The
en re team struggled with a need for de-
“You guys ready to play football?” The termina on and control. That was because
new coach asked as she sat in their group. of experiences related to poverty and lack
“Where’s Coach O’Reilly?” one of the Bandit of adequate role models.
players responded to the new coach. Every-
body had the same ques on even though Chapter 2: The Comeback Begins
they were not good at asking it. “I’ll be
coaching you from now on. A great friend “If we need to win, we need the deter-
of my father will help me,” Miss Ward said mina on to play football the proper way,”
to the en re team.

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said Coach Ward to her new team. “You’ve exercise,” said Coach Ward about Torres’
reached the bo om. Now this team moves overall health.
up,” added John Preston about the Bandits’
lack of success. A free safety named Roberto Sanchez
wanted to make intercep ons without get-
Washington collaborated with Coach
Ward and Preston to enhance his direc on ng penalized. Sanchez is Hispanic with a
in life and eclipse his disability. The coaches tall build, dark hair, and deep brown eyes.
helped Washington learn the correct way He was the quickest player on the Bandit’s
to develop into a running back. Washington defensive roster.
prac ced different catching and carrying
drills to improve his game. Every defensive player wanted Coach
Ward to improve their defensive tech-
“I need to develop into a be er quar- niques. She agreed to teach the full team
terback,” said Michael Banner. He was the on how to become as dangerous as possi-
tallest player on the roster with a powerful ble and taught them coping skills as well.
but inefficient arm. Michael Banner was Coach Ward gave every player a different
African-American with an Afro, brown eyes, football book to read before prac ce the
and a muscular build perfect for quarter- following week. Those books helped devel-
backs. op their game on the field.

“We demand our quarterback to throw “Make sure everybody reviews those
to any of our eligible receivers. Our run- books!” said Coach Ward while the players
ning backs need to keep possession of the went home. Most Bandit players lived in
football without dropping it. Pay a en on the projects on Chicago’s South Side while
to the football when thrown to you. Catch fewer than ten players lived in separate
and run the football toward the goal line for houses and apartments.
a touchdown. We’re a working, well-lubri-
cated team,” said Coach Ward. Michael Banner studied his quarterback
techniques and throwing a football into
“This team requires an offensive line that an old re in an empty schoolyard. The
follows blocking assignments. This team Chicago Police spo ed him trespassing on
scores more points if the offensive line fol- school property. He ended up throwing
lows assignments,” said Coach Ward. “De- the football to his best friend, Will Hughes,
fense is important. Keep opponents from who became the Bandits’ primary wide re-
scoring points in every game,” declared As- ceiver a er that mee ng. Hughes was Af-
sistant Coach Preston. His father used to be rican-American, with deep brown eyes, a
a defensive end during a six-year career in dark-colored buzz cut, and a lean frame.
the NFL. The Bandits’ defensive squad was
undisciplined. They gave up more than for- Washington developed into a be er
ty points every game. runner because of his P.E. teacher’s foot-
ball drills. The full team accepted Washing-
“I want to be a more effec ve defensive ton as their running back, and every Bandit
player,” said Jose Torres, the star ng defen- player improved their techniques. Coach
sive tackle, who had a medium skin tone, Ward and Assistant Coach Preston watched
brown hair, brown eyes, and an above-av- different football DVDs, old VCR tapes from
erage frame. “You need the proper diet and earlier games and studied coaching foot-
ball to enhance their coaching techniques.

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They made more trick plays possible with A touchdown pass from Banner to
their quarterback, Michael Banner. Ward Hughes and the successful extra point
and Preston talked about playing their first made the score Bandits 7, Warriors 0. “Our
opponent, the West Side Warriors. Bandits will execute the Warriors!” said
Paul Longlegs, the Na ve American kicker.
The Warriors and the Bandits were both A defensive ba le for both sides finished
inexperienced teams with similar coaching the first quarter with neither team ge ng
and playing styles. Coach Ward reminded beyond midfield.
everybody to play their posi ons as de-
scribed in the playbook. Let’s start the first The second quarter started with an in-
game of the South Side Bandits’ comeback tercep on by Ahmad Hassan, the primary
campaign. cornerback for the Bandits. Banner’s sec-
ond touchdown pass to Hughes happened
Chapter 3: The First Game two plays later. Jose Torres sacked the War-
rior quarterback to open the next Bandit
The Bandits-Warriors game started with a defensive stand. One of the Bandit line-
long Warrior kickoff return to Albert Morris. backers tackled the Warriors fullback be-
Like the Bandits, the Warriors players were fore Roberto Sanchez deflected a Warrior
minori es from impoverished environ- pass to end the Bandit defensive stand.
ments. Andy Russell, the Warriors’ quarter-
back, was one of the few white players on A good punt return by Randy Crawford,
the team. the Bandits’ return specialist followed.
Crawford was African-American with a slim
Russell is a white player with spiky frame, dark dreadlocks, dark-colored eyes,
blond hair, blue eyes, average height, and a and average stature. He was the smartest
powerful physique rushed for two yards to player on the team, a prodigy at his school,
start the Warrior offensive drive. The Ban- and from an affluent family. Crawford’s
dits’ defensive end Quen n Parks tackled punt return ended up in field goal range for
Russell hard. While ge ng up, Russell said Paul Longlegs.
to Parks, “You won’t catch me next me.”
Michael Banner threw an incomplete
The next two plays resulted in two in- pass to Gordon Young. A successful field
complete passes for the Warriors, and a goal by Longlegs ended the Bandits offen-
Warrior punt ended their offensive stand. sive drive. The hal ime score was Bandits
Coach Ward grew enthusias c about the 17, Warriors 6 a er a pair of Warrior field
Bandits’ defensive performance. The first goals.
play of the drive started on the Bandits’ 15-
yard line. Ward and Preston’s hal ime pep talk
cheered the Bandits players. There was
Two rushes totaling six yards by Wash- room for improvement on defense to pre-
ington started the Bandits’ offensive series, vent the Warriors from scoring more points.
and that drive ended with a dropped pass The en re team shouted, “Go, Bandits, Go!”
by Gordon Young, the Bandits’ number one before they came back onto the field. The
Bandits scored three more touchdowns in
ght end. The Bandits punted the ball fi y the second half. The final score Bandits 38,
yards. The Warriors fumbled while return- Warriors 13 on the Bandits’ home turf.
ing the punt, which the Bandits recovered.

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“Thirty-eight points in one game is great. The Norsemen started the game with
This team scored thirty-eight points last two runs equaling three yards, and an in-
season!” said Coach Ward a er the game. complete pass preceded a Norsemen punt.
Coach Ward talked to Michael Banner’s Michael Banner ran for two quarterback
parents about their son’s performance at scrambles before the Bandits received a
quarterback. She was preparing for the ten-yard holding penalty. Banner threw a
Bandits’ next opponent in the North Side deep pass that resulted in an intercep on
Norsemen. that resulted in a pick-six to give the Norse-
men the quick lead.
The Norsemen were a tough bunch of
kids winning championships every year. The The intercep on gave Coach Ward con-
Norsemen squad came from wealthier back- cern about Banner’s throwing mechanics.
grounds. Most of the team was white with a The Bandits’ offense struggled against the
few African-American and Asian players. dominant Norsemen defense. A Norsemen
touchdown occurred before hal ime. The
Their coach was Dirk Olson, who had score at hal ime was Norsemen 14, Ban-
grayish blonde hair with a buzz-cut, gray- dits 0. Ward and Preston talked about the
ish blue eyes, average height, and stocky team’s performance during the first half.
build. Both Mr. Olson and Preston played in “I agree,” Coach Ward replied to Preston.
the NFL before they became coaches. Mr. “We must give Washington confidence,”
Olson played as a tough-as-nails defensive said Preston as the second half started.
tackle for seven seasons. A helmet-to-hel-
met concussion forced him to re re from A sixteen-yard rush by David Washing-
football. ton started the Bandit offense in the sec-
ond half. A touchdown pass from Banner
Chapter 4: The Second Game to Hughes made the score Norsemen 14,
Bandits 7. The Bandits intercepted the ball
One week later, the team was ready for the from Paul Johnson, the Norsemen’s quar-
North Side Norsemen. William Smith, an terback, and scored quickly tying the ball
inner-city football coach, gave the team a game. Halfway through the third quarter,
pep talk. Coach Smith led his team to four Jose Torres forced a fumble, resul ng in the
state football championships and created Bandits retaking the lead.
ten NFL stars. The speech was about Coach
Smith’s high school football team’s strug- Roberto Sanchez recovered the fumble
gles and turnaround. Both Coach Smith’s for the touchdown. When the fourth quar-
high school team and the Bandits experi- ter started, the score was 21-14 Bandits.
enced the same struggles before turning it Paul Johnson threw a touchdown pass to
around. Henry Bruce, the Norsemen’s go-to wide
receiver. The Bandits received two pass in-
Finally, the Bandits rushed onto the field terference penal es in a row, allowing the
to face the Norsemen. A North Side crowd Norsemen to score quickly.
shouted a war chant intended to weaken
the Bandits. The group made David Wash- The score was 21-21 before Paul Longlegs
ington nervous. Coach Ward calmed Wash- kicked a game-winning forty-five-yard field
ington with a pep talk a er someone called goal to give the Bandits a three-point victo-
Washington a “reject” and “moron.” ry. The final score was Bandits 24 Norsemen

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21. “The good news is that we defeated a Chapter 6: The Final Game
hard team. The bad news is Michael Banner of the Regular Season
needs improvement throwing the football.
He should throw to one of the available re- The final regular-season game opened with
ceivers,” said Coach Ward a er the game. the Bandits stopping Albert Morris’ kick re-
turn. A hard hit by Roberto Sanchez ended
Chapter 5: The Next Few Games that kick return and injured Albert Morris.
Andy Russell threw for two first downs to
The Bandits won games against the Loop Zachary Foster, the Warriors’ running back.
Loopers, the Waukegan Lakers, the Joliet Foster rushed the rest of the distance for
Jesters, and the Aurora Stars. The Bandits the Warrior touchdown.
lost another ght game against the North
Side Norsemen at home. A rematch with Randy Crawford for the Bandits ran for
the Warriors ended the regular season be- a fi y-five-yard kick return. A quick Michael
fore two Bandits players quit the team for Banner touchdown pass to Will Hughes fol-
family and personal reasons. lowed to e the score up at seven apiece.
“Old guy is now the kicker. He’s no Longlegs,
Longlegs le the team for undeter- not that it’s a great loss!” said one of the
mined family reasons. That meant Preston Warrior players. The Warriors’ next offen-
was the kicker for the rest of the season. sive drive resulted in two short runs by Fos-
Preston can s ll kick the football well for ter. Quen n Parks deflected an Andy Russell
his age. “Longlegs made every field goal pass before the Warriors punted the ball.
he ever a empted this season. That talent
flushed down the drain!” replied Coach Michael Banner completed two con-
Ward to Preston. secu ve passes to David Washington to-
taling twenty-six yards. An eight-yard rush
Preston volunteered to be the Bandits’ by Washington followed. Desmond Young,
kicker because of a rule saying that coaches the fullback, ran for seven yards on two
could play for their team in the late season carries and a ten-yard recep on before the
or risk giving up games. The full squad al- Warriors commi ed a roughing the pass-
lowed Preston to be their kicker despite his er penalty that pushed the Bandits closer
age and ability to kick. Preston did kicking to the end zone. The next play produced
exercises and a empted field goals. That a touchdown run by Michael Banner in a
made him ready for the rest of the season. quarterback scramble. Banner got excited.
The score a er the first quarter was Bandits
“Strike the Warriors. Play for the cham- 14, Warriors 7.
pionship!” said Coach Ward to her players.
Every player shouted, “Go, Bandits, Go!” The next two Warrior offensive drives
before the game. That game took place on resulted in Bandit intercep ons that trans-
the Warriors’ home field. The Bandits won lated to a John Preston field goal and a Will
the rematch against the Warriors. A three- Hughes touchdown recep on. A defensive
way e on top of the league standings pre- ba le between both teams took place the
ceded the regular season finale. The Ban- rest of the second quarter. The hal ime
dits, Warriors, and the Norsemen each had score was Bandits 24, Warriors 7.
six wins and one loss before the last game
of the regular season. “We’re two-quarters away from going to
the championship game! We’re up by sev-

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enteen points to show it!” said Coach Ward the first part of the fourth quarter. “That’s
during hal ime. The second half started pathe c. Men will always coach football,
with Washington losing a fumble, and the not women,” Quinn said. Quinn’s remarks
Warriors recovered that fumble. made Ward boil with rage. She remained
calm as she thought of ways to help defeat
Andy Russell threw a quick touchdown the Warriors.
strike to Albert Morris. The Bandits s ll led
24-14 before David Washington lost pos- A decent kick return by Crawford started
session of the football for the second me. the next Bandit offensive drive pu ng the
That Warrior offensive drive led to a War- team closer to the game-winning touch-
rior field goal with three minutes le in the down. David Washington rushed for three
third quarter. The Bandits s ll led 24-17 af- yards before a Warrior defensive end pulled
ter that field goal. on his jersey. That resulted in a minor back
injury for Washington.
“We’re coming back to whip your asses!”
declared Andy Russell to Coach Ward. “No, Banner completed a touchdown pass to
you won’t. This team will play in the cham- Hughes from twenty yards away. The next
pionship game,” replied Coach Ward back two plays were short runs by Desmond
to Russell. “We’ll see about that,” said Rus- Young, who was Washington’s replacement.
sell. Another John Preston field goal made Michael Banner tried to throw the football
the score 27-17 Bandits at the end of the to Young. One of the Warrior players made
third quarter. a helmet-to-helmet sack of Banner.

“Your team is one-quarter away from “Is it football or a back-alley brawl?” re-
losing this game,” said Coach Ward to Alan plied Quinn to Tommy Sands, a member
Quinn, the Warriors’ coach. Quinn used to of the Warriors defensive line. “I tried to
be an outstanding college football coach stop him,” said Sands. “I’ll show you how
at Illinois Chris an University. His erra c to play!” said Quinn. Quinn kicked Sands in
behavior ended his coaching career. Quinn the shin before the referees ejected Quinn
worked as a manager at a spor ng goods from the game. Michael Banner ended up
store on Chicago’s West Side. He had sil- with a concussion a er the helmet-to-hel-
ver hair, blue eyes, average stature, a stout met hit.
physique, and a temper that rivaled Bob
Knight. “This team will beat your sorry ass- The Bandits were five yards away from
es,” replied Quinn back to Coach Ward. the winning touchdown a er the War-
rior penalty. They took a me-out a er
A successful Warrior onside kick recov- two short gains by Desmond Young be-
ery followed that touchdown. The Warriors fore Coach Ward threw the game-winning
made it to the end zone on their next two touchdown pass to Will Hughes. A minimal
offensive drives. A successful two-point con- Warrior kick return ended the game. The fi-
version came a er the second touchdown nal score was Bandits 33, Warriors 31.
a er the first two-point conversion a empt
failed. That made the score 31-27 Warriors “We’re going to the championship game,”
halfway through the fourth quarter. said Coach Ward to her players. “David
Washington and Michael Banner won’t be
Coach Quinn became enthusias c a er playing in the championship game. That
the two touchdowns his team scored in means I will be your quarterback for this

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

crucial game,” said Coach Ward. The en- A young woman with an angelic voice sing-
re team was excited about ge ng to see ing a rendi on of “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
The crowd cheered for that singer, who sang
Coach Ward play. at a nearby church every Sunday. The Norse-
men won the coin toss, and they preferred to
The news came out that Washington’s kick the football off to the Bandits.
injury was not as severe as the team ex-
pected. That made Washington eligible “All right, we’re four quarters away from
to play for the championship game. The becoming champions. We will beat the
Bandits would play the Norsemen for the Norsemen to a pulp!” said Coach Ward to
third me that season—this me for higher the whole team. An injured Michael Ban-
stakes. ner a ended the game to support his team.
“GO BANDITS!” said the en re team.
Chapter 7: The Championship Game
The Norsemen kicked the football off to
The night before the championship game, Randy Crawford who had a kickoff return for
Coach Ward and Assistant Coach Preston thirty-five yards. He almost lost the football
treated the team to pizza. Dirk Olson’s during that return. He recovered it with his
team showed up unannounced. “What do quick moves and perfect vision. “Let’s get a
we have here? A bunch of incompetent touchdown on our first drive!” said Coach
cheaters who will lose the championship Ward to her offense. A touchdown pass
game tomorrow,” said Olson. from Coach Ward to Gordon Young ended
that Bandit offensive drive.
“We’re not cheaters. I’m the ideal coach
to win the championship,” replied Coach John Preston kicked the football out-
Ward. “I’m a be er kicker than your team of-bounds. That gave the Norsemen good
has,” replied Preston to Olson. “Our kick- field posi on at the Bandit forty-yard line.
er’s not scrawny. He’s as dependable as “Oh, Ward is be er than I thought she’d
your old senile feet!” Olson shouted back. be!” said Paul Johnson. The Bandits sacked
“I’m the quarterback for the future cham- Johnson twice during the Norsemen’s first
pions. I have the jersey to prove it!” said offensive drive. An incomplete pass intend-
Ward to Olson. ed for Henry Bruce followed those Bandit
sacks. The Norsemen punt came out-of-
The next day, Coach Ward showed up bounds at the fi een-yard line. The Bandits
wearing her old uniform. “I wore number were eighty-five yards away from taking a
twelve for a reason. It’s the number the 14-0 lead.
great quarterbacks have worn,” said Coach
Ward to her players. It’s been a dozen years Two rushes totaling nine yards by Da-
since the Bandits had a winning season. vid Washington started the next Bandit
offensive drive. A holding penalty forced
“I used to be a kicker in the NFL. A blood the offense ten yards back a er that sec-
clot ended my career. I thought of coming ond rush. Coach Ward threw the football to
back to the NFL a er that blood clot healed. Gordon Young on third and 11 before the
My legs weren’t as good for kicking,” said Norsemen commi ed a 15-yard pass inter-
Assistant Coach Preston. “Let’s win that ference penalty. Eventually, this led to the
championship!” said Coach Ward. The Ban- Bandit’s second touchdown of the quarter.
dits ran out onto Soldier Field.

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The Bandits defense limited the Norse- back. The Bandits led 21-16 a er the Norse-
men offense during the next two Norse- men touchdown. “Our lead is slipping away.
men offensive stands. Coach Ward threw We need a good offense, or we’re toast,”
another touchdown to Will Hughes made said Coach Ward a er the Norsemen score.
the score Bandits 21, Norsemen 0 at the
beginning of the second quarter. Coach Ward completed both of her
passes to Washington and Young to start
An unexpected interrup on happened the Bandits’ next offensive drive. Wash-
three minutes into the second quarter ington and Desmond Young both ran hard-
before a crazed Norsemen fan ran out to- fought gains. Desmond Young scored a
wards the field yelling nonsense about the touchdown to end the drive before Coach
Bandits chea ng. That crazed fan took the Ward scrambled for the successful two-
football from John Preston’s kicking tee point conversion. That made the score Ban-
and threw the football to one of the Norse- dits 29, Norsemen 16 with two minutes le
men players before security escorted the in the game. “I’m impressed as the quar-
fan away from the field. terback, aren’t I?” Coach Ward grinned to
Preston. “Yes, yes, you are a good quarter-
Paul Johnson threw a touchdown pass back, Coach Ward,” said Preston.
to Henry Bruce before a failed two-point
conversion a empt. The score remained The Norsemen were down to their last
21-6 for the Bandits over the Norsemen at chance to clinch the championship. Paul
hal ime. “This team is one half away from Johnson completed perfect passes to Hen-
a championship. Keep playing smart foot- ry Bruce and Russ Wilford. The Norsemen
ball from here on out! This team can do it!” made a successful trick play with a reverse
said Coach Ward to her players in the locker pass going to Henry Bruce. Bruce then
room. Dirk Olson was carrying on with his threw the football to Paul Johnson for a
players about the Norsemen performance much-needed touchdown for the Norse-
in the first half. Both teams entered the men. The score was Bandits 29, Norsemen
field right a er it rained. 23 a er the successful extra-point with for-
ty seconds le in the game.
A series of short pass comple ons start-
ed the second half for the Norsemen. The The Bandits punted the football a er
Bandits defensive stand stopped the Norse- three short gains by Washington before the
men at midfield. A successful Norsemen Bandits punted the ball. A minimal Norse-
field goal was the only score the rest of the men punt return happened before Paul John-
third quarter. The score at the end of the son threw one last despera on pass before
third quarter was Bandits 21, Norsemen 9. Roberto Sanchez sacked him. That gave the
Bandits a 29-23 victory over the Norsemen.
“We’ve held the Norsemen to a field goal
in the third quarter. They have me to de- The Bandits had finally won the champi-
feat us! Keep running with the football as onship a er years of embarrassment. “We
much as possible. Keep that football even have become the champions. I always be-
if it’s raining outside,” said Coach Ward to lieved you could be champions a er end-
her offense. less embarrassment,” said Coach Ward.
Ward and Preston hoisted the champion-
The Bandits gave up a huge touchdown ship trophy for the local media.
run by Russ Wilford, the Norsemen running

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Allison Ward became the first female
head coach in NCAA college football histo-
ry. She brought John Preston to become her
special teams’ coach at the college level.
Through it all, Coach Ward stayed connect-
ed with her former players, who all grad-
uated from high school. Every player she
coached during that comeback season did
well in college. David Washington became
the first college and pro football player on
the Au sm spectrum. The Bandits savored
their comeback success for years to come.

About the Author:

Jared Alexander is an aspiring author with Au sm living
in Shenandoah, Iowa. I previously published, “The
Nature Poem,” for the High School Writer newspaper
when I was a senior at South Page High School in
College Springs, Iowa during the 2000-2001 school
year.

124

COMPANION

by Mark Hurtubise

In a small round city park, Timothy, an al- Timothy became an accountant then a
most uncondi onally-loved young boy, fre- bee-keeper because he was never alone
quently played alone under 16 oak trees with so many numbers. Now he shuffles
sharing the perimeter with eight wooden daily across voiceless solitude to a window
picnic tables. Unlike imagina ons around with sheer curtains. There, he counts chil-
him, he fas diously carved his ini als into dren across the street playing in a small
all the tables. Across the street, on the round city park. In late fall a ernoons, he
west side of the park, was a tall gray build- calculates with his watch and logs into a
ing. Timothy liked to prac ce coun ng. He ledger how long it takes for the building’s
added up 77 windows checker-boarding shadow to slowly walk east across the park
the building’s east side. Periodically, his into his former house on the other side of
random glances no ced silhoue es behind the park. His curiosity complete because of
the windows’ sheer curtains. In late fall Coun ng’s companionship.
a ernoons, the structure’s shadow slowly
walked east across the park into his house
on the other side of the park.

About the Author:

Mark Hurtubise. During the 1970s, numerous works
were accepted for publica on. Then family, teaching,
two college presidencies and for 12 years president
of an Inland Northwest community founda on.
Recapturing the euphoria from the authors he read
decades ago, he is a emp ng to compose again. His
wri ngs the past two years have appeared in Apricity
Magazine (Texas), Adelaide Literary Magazine (New
York), Bones Journal (Denmark), Modern Haiku
(Rhode Island), Ink In Thirds (Alabama), Atlas Poe ca
(Maryland), Frogpond Journal (New York), Stanford
Social Innova on Review and Alliance (London).

125

LUCAS PARRA

by Jose Recio

It’s the year 2010, and Lucas Parra can’t wait corner. He takes a shower and changes into
to be there! He’s returning to his old town fresh clothes, and around noon, he steps
in Spain, where he was born and raised. His out of the hotel.
parents immigrated to America when he
was a teen and se led in California. He strolls along a broad avenue lined
with office and apartment buildings, with
On the train, a er landing in Madrid, Lu- li le gardens along the side. The sound of
cas occupies a window seat and takes in the bells coming from an old church squeezed
early morning view. It’s the end of summer, between two apartment buildings calls his
and the plains appear bere of crops. Now a en on. As he looks up to the turret, it
and then, a flock of birds crosses the sky, begins to pour, and a raindrop splashes on
and a lonely village shows in the distance. his eye. Lucas wears a brown leather jack-
When the train enters the sta on of Lucas’ et and shoes but carries no umbrella; he
des na on, he gets off and takes a taxi to hurries down the street. He wishes Patricia
the hotel he has booked. walked by his side, but she is gone forever,
and he must carry on the plans they had
“Welcome, Mr. Parra,” a young male re- made before she died. They had agreed to
cep onist greets him—his name carved on move to Spain. ‘It’ll be great,’ she had said.
the tag pinned to his lapel: Armando. His
stylish haircut, up-curved mustache, and In his haste, his feet slide on the slippery
gold bu ons of his jacket match the hotel’s pavement, and he’s propelled forward un-
atmosphere, a two-story building with a
touch of Italian taste. l he crashes into a young man in a yellow
poncho who sweeps pools of water with a
“Thank you.” wicker broom.

A porter leads him to his room. He un- “Hey, Old Man, watch your step!” the
packs and hangs his clothes in the closet. A sweeper voices. “At your age, a fall means
blue turtleneck sweater brings the mem- a broken hip. I’ve seen it happen when it
ory of Patricia, his wife, also an immigrant rains.”
from Spain. They had met a er they grad-
uated from college. She died of cancer, six “Sorry!” Lucas slows down.
months ago, and he misses her terribly.
Lucas gets the last pair of socks out of his Old man. The phrase touches a sore
suitcase and pushes the luggage rack into a point. When Lucas announced his decision
to re re, the director of the corpora on of
nursing homes, where he worked for de-

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cades, used the same phrase: ‘You’ve con- He turns back to the conversa on. “Why
tributed to the excellence of this ins tu on, do you ask?”
Lucas. Now that you’re an old man, you
might consider moving here,’ he had said. “The way you talk.”
‘Thank you,’ Lucas replied. For the me be-
ing, though, I have other plans.’ “I have lived abroad for a long me.”

Rushing in the rain, Lucas feels op mis- “I guessed so,” his neighbor says and
c. He can’t hide the crow’s feet around his takes a bite of his sandwich.
eyes and his gray hair, but he feels healthy,
and his mind works fine. His vision is not “What do you mean?”
great anymore, but the crashing into the
sweeper was an accident. Why bring up “That you’re a returnee.”
this crap about his being an old man? As
he walks down the street, he lts his head Lucas remains silent.
to avoid the raindrops that wet and fog his
glasses. Soaked from head to toe, he reach- “They all come back,” the man says.
es the Central Plaza when the clock from “Some of them hope to do great things
the City Hall strikes twelve. Coincidently, here. It’s funny. I’m looking for work myself.
the rain stops, sunlight break through the That’s why I got this paper. Not many jobs
clouds. Lucas finds himself in an urban available around here.”
space, surrounded by offices, bou ques,
and restaurants. He navigates his way to The waiter brings the order, and Lucas
one of the terraces and occupies a table waits un l he´s gone before he talks again.
next to a young man—a plate with a sand-
wich and a cup of coffee lay on his table, “Tough!” he then says.
and he reads a newspaper, which he moves
aside to glance at the newly arrived. “Very! Let me introduced myself. I’m
Marco, an unemployed business adminis-
“I did not expect rain,” Lucas says. With trator.”
his finger ps, he brushes his wet hair.
“Lucas Parra, a re red accountant.”
“It’s been cloudy all morning,” the man
says. “Well, Old Man, welcome back.” Marco
picks up his paper.
Lucas shakes raindrops off the lapels of
his jacket. “You are right.” “Thank you.”

“You aren’t from here, are you?” The Lucas eats his sandwich, sips coffee,
man folds his newspaper and leaves it on and watches the ac vity on the plaza. He
the table. imagines Patricia and him strolling around
and ge ng acquainted with local people.
“Why do you—” A er a while, he feels sleepy, and guesses
it might be due to jet lag. He calls for the
The waiter approaches Lucas. “What waiter, pays the bill, smiles to Marco, and
would you like to have?” leaves straight to his hotel to rest.

“A ham sandwich, black coffee, and a The next day, and for the next couple
glass of water, please,” Lucas says. of weeks, Lucas journeys through town on
foot. He goes from one office to another to
formalize his status in Spain. At some point
during his journey, he comes across a city
park in which he used to play as a child.

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Sadly, it’s missing the enchantment it once ing to see a flat he thinks will comply with
had, for he no ces fewer birds in the trees Lucas requirements.
and ducks on the pond, and more people
around. From this park, he and his pals The flat forms part of a three-story build-
used to walk along the edges of farmland ing, located in a quiet area, and it has two
to the river. Lucas feels nostalgic and de- bedrooms, two baths, and a dining and liv-
cides to stroll down there. ing area with French windows facing a park.

Three youngsters are fishing. Fish-catch- “In p-top condi on,” the realtor empha-
ing nets, bamboo rods, and fishing kits lay sizes.
on the ground. Lucas observes them. He
wishes he were a grandfather, but his only “Beau ful,” Lucas stands in front of the
son Oscar and his wife Sue are childless. French window and looks out. “What are
They moved to Hong Kong soon a er they the leasing terms?”
married. Lucas saw them last at Patricia’s
funeral. Sue didn’t look healthy. They strug- “Before signing the contract, the corpo-
gle to make ends meet, but they have never ra on that owns the building expects the
accepted help. Lucas walks to the edge of future tenant to provide a deposit.”
the water.
“A deposit?” Lucas scratches his head
“Hey! Boys, any luck?” and turns to face his interlocutor.

“We just got here,” says one of the boys. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Parra, but that’s
the requirement, along with paying the
“What do you use as bait?” realtor’s fee, the community fees, a two
months lease, and—”
A second boy turns to him. “We use ar -
ficial lure-flies, of course.” “Really? I have never heard of such a
string of obliga ons.”
“I see. When I was your age, my friends
and I used to dig right at the riverbank to “The building is a historical landmark.”
find the worms.”
Lucas swallows and turns to look out
“We live in a different world now, Old the window again. He becomes more inter-
Man,” the third boy, taller and stronger ested in a willow tree he sees in the park
than the other two, shouts. than the flat. He looks for a pond nearby;
willow trees love water.
Lucas stands s ll. Does this boy think I
am less of a person because I am a senior? “Something less preten ous,” he says,
He moves away. A real estate agent expects s ll looking out.
him at his downtown office in an hour. Pa-
tricia had planned to lease a flat un l they “I should have advised you—”
sold their house. A warm autumn sun
spreads throughout the countryside, and “It is not your fault,” Lucas interrupts,
he hates taking a bus or taxi; he walks. turning to face the realtor. “I am a widower.
I am trying to follow my late wife’s wishes.
The realtor, a tall man in his for es, wear- She never said we ought to live in a historic
ing a gray jacket and blue e and speaking building,” he adds with a smile.
with an Argen nean accent, suggests walk-
“I certainly can show you other proper-
es, Mr. Parra, but, may I say, you being a
respectable old man, I would suggest—”

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“A nursing home!” Lucas heads towards “Your background in accoun ng fits our
the door. expecta ons,” Mr. Miranda says. “However,
this posi on requires extensive traveling
“A living community for seniors, sir.” both na onal and interna onal.”

“I will think about it. Thanks for showing Lucas reacts like a puppy does to his
me this apartment anyway. Now I must go.” master’s command. “I have no problem
with traveling.”
Outside, a late a ernoon sun lends a
purple hue to the streets; from afar, dense “It’s the level of resilience needed that
clouds approach the city. Lucas heads to- worries me,” Mr. Miranda says.
ward his hotel. He wishes he were se led
in town. He has placed a call to a company Lucas glances at the family pictures
that is looking for a part- me financial advi- spread on the desk, shi ing from one to an-
sor. When he arrives at the hotel, Armando other, trying to disguise his disappointment.
hands him a piece of paper with a message. “The level of resilience?”
Lucas reads Mr. Miranda would like to see
you at 11:00, and he guesses it’s about the “Please, don’t get me wrong, Mr. Parra.
job. He eats dinner at the hotel restaurant Age in itself is not, of course, a factor—”
and then goes up to his room.
“What is it, then?” Lucas li s his chin and
The next morning Lucas goes to meet Mr. stares at his interviewer quizzically.
Miranda—the address is half a mile away
from the hotel. It smells of rain. On this oc- “It’s the reality that ma ers.”
casion, though, Lucas carries an umbrella.
When he arrives, he sees a three-story his- Dejected, Lucas leans back on his chair.
toric building. Another landmark! He rings Mr. Miranda has hurt his pride like his for-
the bell. A female secretary in a dark blue mer employer, the street sweeper, Marco,
skirt and jacket opens the door. the boys at the river, and the realtor did. He
feels as if he is going to explode. Sudden-
“Please, Mr. Parra, come on in. Mr. Mi- ly, he pounds on the desk, knocking over
randa will receive you shortly.” some of the framed pictures.

“Thank you.” “I get it!” he says. I mean, reality,” he
adds.
In the antechamber, Lucas deposits his
umbrella in the stand by the door and takes Mr. Miranda raises his eyes. “Well,” he
a seat. He grabs an issue of Forbes maga- says, “I’ll let you know the outcome of this
zine from a coffee-table and leafs through, interview as soon as possible.”
but a er a few pages, the secretary comes
back. “Mr. Miranda will see you now,” she They shake hands again. Lucas feels
says and escorts him to the office. Lucas strangely at ease. Mr. Miranda phones his
had expected a luxurious se ng. The place, secretary to let her know that Mr. Parra is
while spacious and well lit, looks humbly leaving. Lucas walks out of the main office
furnished, however. A er shaking hands, and goes to pick up his umbrella. He sees a
Mr. Miranda sits at his desk and gestures young man si ng on the chair he had oc-
Lucas to sit across from him. Fi een min- cupied before.
utes into the interview, Lucas has spelled
out his creden als. “Marco?” he calls.

“Yes, and you’re—”

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“Lucas Parra.” “You mean you get in and out your roles
like some tourists hop on and off a bus?”
“Sure. How are you?”
“Well, I never thought of it that way, but,
“I feel strangely at ease! Listen, Marco. yes, pre y much so.”
Coincidently, we have applied for the same
job. I don’t think I’ll get it, but if you do, Lucas smiles and walks away. When he
please call me (Lucas tells him the name of gets to his room, he holds the paper with
his hotel), and we’ll celebrate together.” the message in between the lips while he
fishes for the keycard in his pockets and
“Will do.” then opens the door. Inside, he walks to the
window and looking out he reflects on his
Outside, it’s raining. Lucas walks under experiences of the last few weeks. For Mr.
his umbrella to the hotel. He reflects on the Miranda, age dictates the level of endur-
many changes he has witnessed in his life: ance a person can display at work; for Mar-
the vinyl records replaced by the CDs, the co, the chances of finding employment; for
typewriter by the PC. . . Seamlessly, we go the realtor, the se ng where one should
from one to another reality. Distractedly, live, for—a jet crossing the sky, leaving a
he comes across the street-sweeper he had trail of white smoke, cuts short his musings.
encountered before, wearing a yellow pon- He grabs the piece of paper held between
cho and sweeping the pools of water away his lips and reads the message: I got the
from the sidewalk. job. We’ll be celebra ng at the Grand Ho-
tel lounge, downtown, this evening a er six.
“Hey! Old Man,” the sweeper shouts. Please join. Marco.
“Good to see you again. I see you’ve learned
how to protect yourself from the heavy At 6:15 pm Lucas steps into the Grand
rain.” Hotel lounge and spots Marco in the bar,
standing at the counter and surrounded by
“That is the reality, Young Man,” Lucas half-a-dozen friends—all men. He makes
replies and keeps on walking. his way to Marco, past dark Italian-leather
couches placed on a red carpet, and joins
When he arrives at the hotel, Armando the group.
greets him.
“This is my friend Lucas, the re red ac-
“Hello, Mr. Parra. You’ve got another countant,” Marco says, introducing him to
message.” With a smile, he tears the top the others.
page from a hotel notebook and passes it
to him. Lucas likes that Marco refers to him as
my friend. He smiles widely. Someone hands
Lucas grabs the piece of paper and holds him a glass of Bourbon-on-the-rocks, and he
it between two fingers. He takes a look at raises his glass towards Marco, gesturing a
the young man with his curved mustache toast. “Ah!” he exclaims a er taking a sip.
and his uniform with gold bu ons like a Marco keeps ordering drinks and appe zers
character from past mes. for all, and they chat about jobs and wom-
en—small talk. Lucas smiles and listens.
“I wonder, Armando,” he says. “A er you
get off work, do you find it hard to shi to “I’m also an accountant,” someone whis-
your other daily reali es?” pers in his ear. “Ruben’s the name.”

“It isn’t. I switch really fast.”

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Lucas turns to make eye contact: a short, Lucas feels at ease. “I wanted to thank
slim man in his mid-for es, with sallow skin. you—”
“You are the first colleague I have met in this
country,” he says. Ruben smiles, and Lucas “Oh! No need. It’s been a pleasure. If we
opens up to befriend all of these men. can help in any way. A er all, I know you’ve
just landed in this country—”
A er the party, Lucas returns to his ho-
tel, feeling a li le psy and very elated. He “Yes, a li le over a month ago.”
enters his room and switches on all the
lights. He paces the floor as if looking for Lucas reposi ons the pillows behind his
something he is missing. It’s ten o’clock. back and leans on them.
Should he go to sleep? Take a shower?
Watch a movie? Have another drink? He “Do you live alone?”
throws a look at the mini-bar. No! He sits
on the edge of the bed and gets a couple Lucas crosses his feet together. “My
of business cards out of the breast pocket wife died six months ago.” He senses how
of his shirt, reaches for the phone and dials lonely he feels.
the number printed on one of them.
“If I may ask, why are you here?”
“Hello?”
Lucas perceives no reproach, and he
The voice sounds strange, disengaged. succinctly tells Ruben his story.

“Marco?” “That’s amazing. What’s your next step?”

“Yes.” “I don’t know. I’m staying in a hotel. I
would like—”
“It’s Lucas—”
“I see. Well, I work for a private firm that
“Sorry, I’ve got company.” owns a residen al living complex for se-
niors. Perhaps you—”
“Oh! I just wanted to thank you again—”
“Interes ng, a real estate agent advised
“You’re welcome.” that I should take a look at that type of
dwellings.”
The conversa on ends. Oh, well! He wish-
es he could share the welcoming experience “Listen, I’ll talk to the administrator, a
he has had at Marco’s party with Patricia. He woman. Everybody knows her by her first
goes back to pacing the room un l, fa gued, name, Maria. She’ll give you a call, and you
he begins to undress. In his pajamas, he sits can check it out. What do you say?”
up on the bed. Before going to sleep, he di-
als the number on the other card. “It would be great.”

“Hello?” “We’ll talk again. Good night.”

Lucas recognizes this voice. “Good night, Ruben, and thank you.”

“Hello, Ruben, it’s Lucas. Hope I’m not ***
intruding. I know it’s late and—”
Lucas receives Maria’s call, and although a
“Don’t worry, Lucas, my wife and I go to bit skep cal, he sets off to visit the senior
bed late. What’s up?” living complex on an excep onally bright
autumn morning. When he arrives, he no-

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ces the wrought-iron gate that leads to the “Would you like to see the available
interior courtyard is ajar and decides to go units?” Maria asks.
in and take a peek. A rounded water foun-
tain in the center of the yard with a stat- “Yes, please.”
ue of The Fallen Angel in the middle and a
choir of water-jets around it cap vates him. “I suppose Ruben has men oned to you
Sparrows bathe in the fountain and then that I am a widower—”
extend their wings in the sun. Landscaped
plots of different sizes and shapes, care- “He has. I’m sorry about your wife, Mr.
fully cared for, spread throughout the en- Parra. Ruben also said you are a returnee?”

re yard. He imagines roses, pansies, and Lucas draws a brief smile. “Yes, I am an
camellias coloring the li le gardens in the old man returning to my old country.”
spring.
He feels relaxed. Maria is accommodat-
“Sir, can I help you?” a male voice asks. ing, and the office aesthe cs pleasing. A
vase with white lilies sits on her desk, a tea
Lucas turns to him. He is a gardener. set on the coffee table, and landscape pic-
tures hang on the walls.
“I have an appointment with the admin-
istrator.” “Someone from my office will give you a
tour before our real estate agent shows you
“It’s this way, sir.” The gardener leads him. the available units. I hope you like our facili-
ty.” She gets up, goes to her desk, and makes
At the administra on office, Lucas a phone call; then, she comes back to Lucas.
meets Maria: short-cut, black-amber hair, “Arrangements made. Please, don’t hesitate
black eyes, and shiny teeth matching her to ask any ques on, any me,” she says.
white dress. He hadn’t an cipated her be-
ing a lady of color and such a pleasant ap- “Thank you.”
pearance, a young-looking senior.
A woman from PR guides Lucas through
“Please sit down,” she says and points to several ac vity areas of the building and
a pair of armchairs set around a coffee ta- gives him a brief explana on regarding
ble, in the middle of the room. their features and use un l the loudspeaker
calls his name. They return to the adminis-
“A beau ful fountain,” he says and points tra on office where he meets the real es-
to the courtyard. “I can imagine how color- tate agent, a young, red-haired man with
ful the flowers might be in the spring.” freckles who introduces himself as Angel.

“They have a lovely fragrance, too. But “Angel as in The Fallen Angel?” Lucas
please, allow me to inform you briefly tries to be funny.
about our facility.”
The real agent, a so -spoken and friend-
The property, rectangular in shape, cov- ly man, smiles. He shows three furnished
ers one acre of real estate, with three blocks apartments to Lucas, each one equipped
of buildings, each harboring ten living units, for comfort. Lucas likes what he sees, and
facing the central yard on one side and the back in the administrator’s office, he signs
street on the other, and a white, solid wall, a one-year lease. When he leaves the com-
with the wrought-iron gate, providing the plex in the a ernoon, he strolls through the
forth side of the rectangle. streets, enjoying the city’s atmosphere, un-

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l he feels hungry. He stops for dinner at a “She’ll be available in ten minutes,” she
restaurant serving local food, and later, he says.
walks to his hotel.
“Thank you.”
Lying on his bed, Lucas wishes he could
communicate with Patricia. In his imagina- Lucas sits and waits un l the recep on-
ist says the administrator is ready to see
on, he evokes her voice. him. In the office, Maria invites him to take
a seat. Lucas tries to describe his needs but
“It’s so wonderful to hear your voice, Pa- hesitates.
tricia,” he speaks aloud. “I miss you so much.”
“Perhaps you might make a list?” she
I hope you’re well. says and passes a pad of paper to him.

“Yes, I am.” Lucas makes a list.

How is Oscar? “I’ve got a sugges on,” Maria says. “Some
residents would be happy to help you.”
“He is well, but his wife con nues having
flare-ups of her illness.” A week later, he finds himself si ng
on the couch in the living room of his new
They are going to need your help. home, sipping coffee and looking out the
glass door to the courtyard. In the fountain,
“I’ll be ready. Listen, Patricia, I have lots the water jets shoot up and fall synchro-
of things to share with you—” nously. He feels lucky.

Lucas stops talking; he’s weeping. He re- ***
alizes the fu lity of his endeavor: Patricia is
gone, and he is alone facing life. He takes Approaching winter, Lucas goes on enjoying
his glasses off and goes to sleep. his ou ngs in town. He delights in hearing
the crunch of fresh snow under the soles
Lucas wakes up in the morning feeling of his shoes and seeing the bell towers cov-
pressure as if he ought to dispatch some ered with a white cape. But in December,
urgent ma er. The move! That’s what he though, he feels lonely. He calls Maria.
tried to tell Patricia last night. He takes a
shower, gets dressed, and goes to the se- “Hello?”
nior living complex. When he arrives, he
sees that the gate to the yard is again un- Lucas remains silent.
latched. He pushes it open and enters.
“This is Lucas,” he finally says.
“Sir—?” somebody calls. The garden-
er stands a few yards away, watering the “Is there a problem?”
plants. “Do you need any help?”
“No. I don’t know how to put it. I wish I
“You showed me the way to the adminis- knew more people around here?”
tra on. Remember?”
“Throw a party!”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Excuse me?”
“Thank you, though.”
Maria explains that a team of volun-
Inside the building, Lucas stops at the teers from the complex love to organize
recep on office and asks to see Maria. The welcome par es for new tenants. Lucas
recep onist dials the extension number. mood brightens.

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A couple of days later, Maria guides Lu- that he has chosen the right community. To-
cas around a recrea onal room, making day, though, in the mailbox there is only one
their way around the tables and chairs set le er. It’s from Oscar. Lucas takes it, steps in-
for the occasion, and introduces him to side, and puts it on the kitchen table while he
other residents in the complex. He worries pours some coffee for himself. Then, he sits
he won’t remember everybody’s name and and stares at the envelope like a greyhound
strives to retain some details from the new at a s ll rabbit. He takes a sip of coffee, then
faces he encounters. A er he has met a few grabs the le er opener and tears the enve-
people, he asks Maria whether she minds if lope open. A er the second sentence, he
they sit down for a while. They occupy a ta- stops reading: Sue has died. Suddenly, buzz
ble on which they find some appe zers and upsets his ears. His hands are shaking, but
wine. They serve themselves some slices he manages to keep on reading. Sue died in
of cold meat and a glass of rosé, and they the hospital a er she had a severe flare-up of
chat. Lucas learns that Maria divorced ten a blood illness. Oscar writes of his profound
years ago and has no children. From Lucas, sense of loss. He feels isolated in Hong-Kong
Maria hears about Patricia and Oscar and (Sue’s family lives in Beijing) and longs to re-
Sue. He, Lucas, can’t understand why they turn to California. He pleads with his father
remain aloof. While they chat, they also to also return home; he needs him. Lucas
glance around, and Lucas spots Ruben and finishes reading the le er and tosses it onto
his wife Iris, si ng at a table. Lucas excuses the table like a heavy piece of lead. The buzz-
himself and goes to greet them. A minute ing in his ears gets louder, and he can’t think
later, he is back with his friends. They all en- straight. He gets up, grabs his coat from the
gage in conversa on. Iris tells him that she closet, and goes out.
volunteers as an events coordinator at the
complex. She needs someone to help with On the streets, he roams through the
the accoun ng of fundraisers and expenses. city park of his childhood, the river, and the
Would Lucas be interested? Other people Central Plaza. There, he enters the terrace
stop at their table and join the conversa- of the restaurant where he had met Mar-
co on his first day in town. But Marco has
on. Lucas enjoys his me thoroughly. a job, so he walks away and returns home.
He takes his coat and shoes off and lies on
When the party ends, Lucas feels grat- the bed looking at the ceiling, thinking of
ified. Slowly, he walks to his apartment Patricia un l he falls asleep.
through the courtyard and briefly stops
near the fountain to let the breeze refresh In the morning, Lucas wakes up feeling
him. It’s me to go home. at ease. He is convinced Patricia spoke to
him during his sleep. He gets dressed and
*** goes to the administra on office.

Following the open-house party, Lucas re- “Maria, I must return to California.”
ceives phone calls and thank you cards. Ma-
ria invites him to a Christmas Party at her Taken aback, the administrator stares at
home, and Iris encourages him to volunteer him.
his exper se as an accountant to help with
the se ng of forthcoming events. These “Is that so?” she asks.
demonstra ons of affec on are reassuring
They are standing in the middle of the
office, facing each other. Maria invites Lu-
cas to sit down. He declines.

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“Sue, Oscar’s wife, died,” he says. My son case the reality in your life pushes you to
is going back to California. He needs me. I come back?”
promised Patricia I would be ready for him
if he called for help.” Lucas reflects on Maria’s advice.

““I’m sorry.” A pause follows. “To break “I might,” he says. “Circumstances mark
the lease contract is going to take some an individual’s des ny, like the wind guides
the weather vane.”
me, though,” Maria adds.
Maria nods. She moves closer to him,
“I know the process.” and they hug each other in an emo onal
goodbye.
“Perhaps you ought to leave some mon-
ey in the bank to pay the monthly fee in

About the Author:

Jose L Recio was born and raised in Spain. He studied medicine in Spain and later le for
California on an Interna onal Fellowship. He and his wife currently live in Los Angeles. While
in prac ce, he published several papers in specialized journals. Over the last few years,
interest in crea ve wri ng keeps him busy. Having grown to become bicultural, he writes
both in Spanish and English, and some mes he translates his texts.

135

FROM THERE TO HERE

by Donald Zagardo

This short story was inspired by a New York Times op-ed piece, wri en by Nichola Kristof
en tled When War Comes Home. It was first published on November 9, 2012. It describes
a tragic event involving Staff Sgt. Dwight L. Smith Jr., a decorated combat veteran and the
65-year-old Marsha Lee.

My head doesn’t hurt so much anymore, Some VA doctor told me the other day that
not like it did back in Iraq or where the hell it never did happened., but it happened.
we were. Maybe I’m ge ng be er, yeah What the f…?
maybe, yeah.
So, the old lady stepped off the damned
It was very late at night, nearly dawn, curb. I sped up to hit her and laughed when
I think. She was standing in the middle of my bumper broke her legs. Her stupid li le
the damned road with her silly li le white dog ran away. The old lady was laying in the
dog. “Is that you Dwight Jr.?” I heard some- middle of the road screaming. I picked her
one shout, but from where, I don’t know. up, took her in my arms like she was a kid,
“Dwight, that you?” The voice was familiar, put her in the backseat of my Hummer. Told
but I can’t tell ya where from. Some mes I her that I’m driving her to a hospital. I did
forget where the hell I am altogether, Dela- this so she wouldn’t fight much and maybe
ware, Iraq or Afghanistan. she’d shut up. I was looking for someplace
to dump her. Someplace quiet, remote
My wife Jasmine le for a few weeks where no one would no ce her, maybe a
a er I threatened to kill her. She said that graveyard.
I smelled like gunpowder. I don’t remem-
ber what happened. When she returned She was wearing a clean, quilted white
two weeks later, all was forgiven. Things jacket, loose jeans and a pink wool cap. I
were good at home for the first me in a was calm most of the me, then who
while. S ll in uniform, a purple heart on my knows? I tore off her jacket then her jeans.
shirt-pocket and two more stripes, things She was pale and so . She was s ll scream-
are good. Some mes all I can think about ing, so I stuffed the wool hat into her mouth.
are the people I’ve killed and raped in Iraq It worked pre y good.
and Afghanistan. It was so easy there and
then. I could kill someone, go to sleep, A couple of years ago, in Iraq we took
wake up and forget that it ever happened. a woman. She was young and pre y and

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there were three of us. Two held her down then. We’d find a secluded family, rape the
and the other screwed her good. We took women, then kill the whole family one by
turns. I remember it well, but the VA doctor one. We did this in Afghanistan many, many
told me that it never happened. But I re-
member it, how it felt, and looked. We fin- mes, but the VA doctors say it never hap-
ished-up, then I slit her throat. Blood was pened. How can that be? We’d leave them
everywhere. We put her in a hole with gar- all by the side of the road. An en re family
bage and animal carcasses. Nobody came of dead Afghans lined-up in a row.
looking for her. Nobody cared. That really
happened. I used a camp shovel to bash in the old
lady’s head a er all the fun, then le her
The old lady was s ll figh ng. This got naked-body leaning on a gravestone. Then
me excited, so I ripped off her silly white I forgot about her for a while and went
pan es and old lady bra then raped her hard home to my wife. My head was clear and
on the graveyard gravel path, just outside I felt good, but I know what went down.
my Hummer. The early morning was cold Yeah, it was bad.
and Christmas lights were s ll on. It was a
beau ful me of day, but I was drenched in And I’m just wai ng for some VA doc-
sweat. She was bright pink from the cold. tor to tell me that the damned thing never
happened.
We were finished. She was wildly flail-
ing, throwing mud at me. The wool hat was In December of 2015 Dwight L. Smith en-
working as a gag. She was nearly silent, but tered a plea of guilty but mentally ill for the
Jesus, what a mess – all that mud. December 2011 rape and murder of Mar-
sha Lee of Wilmington Delaware. He was
We would go on raping and murder mis- found guilty of both crimes. In April 2016
sions in Afghanistan all the me. There is he was sentenced to two life terms, without
something addic ve about rape and death, possibility of parole, to be served in a psy-
the kind of freedom you don’t find any oth- chiatric facility and prison.
er way. We patrolled in groups of six back

About the Author:

Donald Zagardo is a former Professor of Modern
History at St. John’ University. He has a life-long
passion for literature of all kinds. In the past few
years he has directed his wri ng efforts toward short
stories – searching for unusual topics. He is presently
assembling a collec on of his own work. Donald lives
and writes in New York City and enjoys interna onal
travel, foreign languages and photography.

137

OTHERNESS

by Isabel Armiento

Unpacking and ques oning the ethics of it easier on the subject when her difference
passing versus publicizing As a science-fic- is evident and she can be defined by and ac-
commodated for it – or is it easier when it
on fana c, I am fascinated by the way ap- can be hidden?
pearance can be so instantly othering.
Nella Larsen’s book Passing is an in-
The “other” is o en synonymous with tricate portrait of this phenomenon. Two
the “grotesque” – a body that somewhat young black women pose against a ‘20s Har-
resembles our familiar schemas, yet trans- lem landscape, weaving arguments for and
forms them; a body that is a hypertrophy against white passing – if hiding one’s race
of natural growth, li ered with excess and is within reach, allowing the passer to enjoy
abundance; a body that can either repulse white privilege, should she take advantage of
or a ract, but either way disturbs and per- this? Is “passing” for white more or less ethi-
verts our sense of ra onal order. Darko Suvin cal than publicizing one’s racial “otherness”?
argues that the point of sci-fi is “cogni ve es- Spike Lee’s film BlackKklansan unpacks this
trangement” – that the aesthe c and imag- dilemma further as a black man uses a white
ina ve frameworks germane to the genre body to further his cause against the KKK –
exist to reveal authen c human experience a premise complicated by the Jewishness of
through the defamiliarizing lens of the care- this par cular white body, imbuing the body
fully-constructed alien. with a similarly marginalized iden ty yet the
ability to “pass” and adopt the conven ons
It is easy to spot difference or “other- of white privilege.
ness” when it manifests itself physically in
an alien – the grotesquerie of spilling tenta- Similarly, there are ethics around sexual-
cles and burbling warts is an easy indica on ity and gender. Iden fying as queer is a ca-
that aside from its inevitable anthropomor- pacious concept, and the scope of what this
phisms, this creature will shi our paradigms means is nebulous and expansive; queer-
of understanding. A predator’s vices can be ness can be visible or invisible, and much
read upon its body, as can a prey’s traumas: of this is to do with the individual’s choices
large, glistening teeth, or a vulnerable ni- around gender and sexual performa vity. Is
ness. There are nuanced ethics around this it a LGBTQ teacher’s duty to come out and
reifica on of one’s “otherness”, though; it is present as queer to her students? Should
more or less comfortable for one’s “other- she literally embody queer visibility to en-
ness” – whether it be a difference, vice, or courage the youth she teaches? Should this
trauma – to be visible and public, à la the be a ques on of representa onal poli cs,
physical otherness of sci-fi construc ons? Is

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or should it be a personal decision, and are ity of fatness, and yet both may be tumultu-
there really any ethics involved in reifying ous and even trauma c to navigate. Should
one’s “otherness”? While a gay individual disordered ea ng be reified then, through
may enjoy straight privilege, however, a trans self-iden fica on? Admissions to binge-eat-
individual may or may not have the luxury of ing, self-starva on, and purging behaviour
passing as cis. Does the gay individual then could be aliena ng and uncomfortable – and
“owe” it to trans folk to reify her otherness? yet there is an complicated ethics around
Even for a cis individual gender is complex, hiding one’s iden ty, and a latent, messy
as womanhood and all its traumas manifest breed of empowerment to vocalizing the un-
physically through a woman’s body, and of- spoken facets of iden ty.
ten demand a certain performance of gender.
Kate Zambreno’s Green Girl constructs a por- A woman with a marked stu er may be dis-
trait of a girl naviga ng the struggles of living couraged from public speaking even though
as a woman: “We live in fear of puncturing she has something vibrant and valuable to
the moment, of forge ng our lines,” she says, say; another woman with marked social anx-
revealing womanhood to be a role that one iety may be forced to pubic speak because her
must constantly and exhaus vely perform. anxiety is invisible. When iden es lurk be-
neath the surface, invisible and unspoken, the
Mona Awad’s 13 Ways of Looking at a opportunity for “passing” opens up, offering
Fat Girl explicates the nuances of skinny room to pass as someone without this unspo-
privilege, and the complicated rela onship ken iden ty. Skin is useful this way – some-
between size and self-iden fica on. Fatness mes it can hide iden ty beneath the surface,
is something worn on the body in a way that pushing it deep inside to skulk with the ssue
skinniness is not; someone suffering from and muscle, both part of and separate from
anorexia may not wear her trauma on her the physical body. And yet skin itself has co-
body as readily as someone with a binge-eat- lour, and with that colour, meaning – remind-
ing disorder. In Ozeki’s My Year of Meats, ing its wearer of the implica ons of passing in
one character throws up her dinner every all its myriad forms, as well as the possibility
night, starving her body into infer lity. Both of allowing all the bits of iden ty hidden un-
her physical and mental health are toppling derneath to leak out. Imagine: allowing iden-
around her, yet her body shows no no ce- ty to paint and scar the skin, plan ng the
able trauma – save a weight loss, which is seeds for scales and fur, warts and claws – all
more o en praised than cri cized. The invisi- the trappings of body who wears her other-
bility of the “otherness” of disordered ea ng ness publically, like something chosen by rath-
is so starkly contrasted by the potent visibil- er than thrust upon her; sci-fi style.

About the Author:

Isabel studies English at the University of Toronto, where
she is Editor-in-Chief of a campus newspaper and ac vely
involved in several other campus publica ons. Her
work has been published or is pending publica on in
Submi able, The Mighty Line, Adroit Journal, An thesis
Journal, and elsewhere, and she was a winner of the
Hart House Literary Compe on for prose fic on. She is
a reader for Orca Literary Journal.

139

SWALLOWING

by Rachel Cavell

Exactly one week a er I almost died from and the year’s recipient of the Bard Fic on
choking on a piece of steak, my daughter Prize. The reading had, in fact, been some
sent me a link to a dress she wanted to kind of rumina on on the perils of ea ng.
buy for her law school summer internship. As I recall it now, the protagonist believes
“Lovely, but does it work for court?” I ven- his girlfriend may have just eaten some kind
tured, deeply fla ered that she wanted my of obscure poisonous fruit during a hike in
opinion at all, but aware that it might be an undisclosed exo c loca on down a per-
outworn at a moment’s no ce. It was then ilous, inac ve volcano. We are provided the
that I allowed myself a moment of cos- nascent symptoms of this mortal reac on,
mic fla ery: “I am meant to s ll be here,” symptoms both horrifying and inexplicably
I mused. My son, coming up the weekend amusing; this no doubt, due to the macabre
a er I was released from the hospital, star- skilfulness of the author’s wri ng and to the
tled when I so casually asked him if he had reader’s growing suspicion that the an ci-
ever go en a bagel stuck in his chest a er pated gruesome death of the girlfriend (her
swallowing it. “No,” he stated flatly. And symptoms uncannily coming to mirror the
later, while walking to Sunflower Health Google descrip on he has quickly under-
Foods to pick up something for dinner, he taken while she showered) is one that he
joked: “Mom, do you think you’ve been secretly desires. And since the symptoms
a choke hazard your whole life? Are your seem to afflict only her and not him – we
bites just too big?” What I might have said are told by him that they both ate the of-
is that a plate of food is like an invita on to fending fruit – we begin to wonder whether
disappointment – a riddle my philosopher we are not being spun into the web of a the
father might have asked me when I was a protagonist’s ghoulish fantasy or worse – as
child– “What vanishes the more you love we are le clinging to the precipice of the
it?” Answer: “Your dinner.” impossible cliff that we have become un-
wi ng witnesses, accomplices perhaps, to
It happened two weeks ago on a Monday an event that he had more than just a li le
night in mid-February. I had taken my hus- agency in bringing about –.
band’s place at an event hosted by the au-
gust President of Bard College. We had gath- As his story ends amidst the possibili-
ered at his house late, having walked across es of this excrucia ng death to come or
campus in the February snow a er a reading not, the assembled guests at President Bot-
by Greg Jackson, a talented young author stein’s comfortable home had ample me

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in which to chew over the delicious possi- and hear it grow quiet and a large man that
bili es. It was this that my table-mates and I know comes forward and reaches around
I were exploring when we were served din- from behind me with a jolt, as I realize to
ner. “I love ea ng late because I’m so hun- my growing horror that I am s ll unable to
gry”, remarked my beau ful French friend breathe and that there is something deeply
to my le . “I hate ea ng late because I’m pre-ordained about this experience. There
so hungry”, American-me thought to my- is me, in the living room and past the foyer
self as I looked at the steak when it arrived where I have spent many holiday and fac-
as a dis nct thought formed in my head, ulty par es drinking white wine, now lying
like a cartoon bubble: It is very rare and it on a rug, Oriental surely, and aware that I
is very round. Inexplicably, I felt ill at ease must resemble a sea mammal washed up
upon seeing it, so delicious and so danger- on the shore and pining for oxygen. There is
ous (what invites you and rejects you at the me hearing President Botstein call for “911”
same me?...) But this wasn’t the first thing and someone else with a pained comment
on my mind. What I was really thinking was “what is taking them so long.” There is me
that the room was very loud and that my in a state of absolute mor fica on, in all
lovely friend to my right (also French, as luck its ungainliness, clumsiness, gaucheness
would have it), was saying something ar c- and inelegance, feeling sad for my husband
ulate and perspicacious about this short sto- who was probably walking the dog on our
ry – about all fic on perhaps? And that as I block unaware that his life was skidding
stared down at the steak and looked at its out of control just down the road. There
symmetrical dullness I wondered whether I is me feeling sorry for my kids, my daugh-
had anything to say that would be as clev- ter so happily engaged in her first year of
er as my dinner companion’s. And I know law school and my son, just embarking on
I thought: “I can’t possibly muster up any- his professional life, and me thinking “who
thing intelligible at this late hour, amidst the needs this?” This grief? This ge ng over it?
clinking of silverware and glasses, and the This stopping of normal life? This moving
on in spite of? This figuring out the details
me being so late, and its being a cold Feb- of a life stopped in mid-sentence? And as
ruary night and I’ll be driving home alone I lie on the floor struggling for breath and
down Route 9 and snow will get in my boots also gazing down on myself with curiosity
on the way to the car.” The next five minutes at this grounded adolescent-sized dolphin
unfolded like a series of images through a on the dry shore of Leon Botstein’s living
kaleidoscope, all of which feel s ll dis nctly room, the medics storm in with a “who
clear and completely unreal. knows this woman” and a flurry of move-
ment that heaves me into the ambulance
There is me, ge ng up from the table to the local hospital’s emergency room
with my purse over my shoulder and head- where I had before only ever taken children
ing to the bathroom and realizing that I am at risk of having injured non-essen al body
unable to breathe. There is me leaving the parts – elbows, knees, thumbs and toes.
table and feeling ominously that I am un-
able to breathe when a friend at a corner Somewhere along this drive, hearing
table asks me if I need help and without my the siren blaring over-head and looking at
responding yells out: “Does anyone here the young medic beside me, I realize that
know the Heimlich?” There is me feeling there is now a cool rush of oxygen forcing
horrified and mor fied as I leave the room

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its way into my nose and mouth and a clear- secret invalid? A basket-case in disguise?
ness of breath that I had forgo en could The walking wounded? “What daily event
be, is mostly, so effortless. It was then that reveals to the world the fraud you always
I coughed up the obstruc on and with an suspected you were?” “Your dinner.”
equanimity that I never knew would pro-
ceed these words, said to myself “So, I’m A er three days of si ng in my freez-
going to live a er all.” ing hospital room (I became fast friends
with one of the lab techs when I joked to
It turned out that it was not quite as her that I felt like an iceberg le uce in cold
easy as that, as I spent the next three days storage), being bored to a level of existen-
in the hospital (2.5 of them in the i.c.u.)
where I was pumped full of an bio cs and al propor ons, and wondering whether I
steroids; where my heart, lungs and blood had terminally wounded myself and would
were con nually monitored; where a doc- never go home, I was pronounced healthy
tor I had never met before would occasion- by a doctor and two nurses so lovely they
ally walk in and pronounce that I had “al- might have flown in from chirping on the
most died,” like it was something I should shoulders of Snow White, and my husband
somehow be grateful to him for; and where and I were sent home into the early Thurs-
a succession of nurses and techs comment- day evening darkness of late a February in
ed on how “healthy” I was “for my age,” Dutchess County.
while clearly old enough for the x-ray tech
to smirk to himself when he asked no one Over the course of my short me at the
in par cular if I was s ll ovula ng. And then hospital, I clung to a need to make sense of
there was the hospital’s speech therapist, this event so en rely random, to hear the
whose approval I needed before I was al- tune within the hum of the vibra on. I re-
lowed to eat again at all. She came in, all flected that of the reasons I went to Leon
shiny brown haired and well-groomed, and Botstein’s house for dinner that night, one
asked me if I had any ques ons in general was to have a brief moment with him (and I
about ea ng or chewing. I didn’t. She then did) before dinner began, when I asked him
insisted that I chew on a graham cracker if my father’s archives might find their place
and that she watch me while I chew and at Bard; I reflected that ten years ago my
swallow. This all felt, in no par cular order, father had once headed to this very Presi-
extremely significant, extremely irrelevant, dent’s house during the course of which he
and extremely funny. But as I suppressed slipped on some wet October leaves and
a giggle while she watched me chew I also broke his hip, an injury which ushered in a
felt suddenly self-conscious, aware of a fact long (unrelated) hal ng illness and decline
I have thought of before but never dwelled from which he never recovered; I reflected
on – that swallowing is one of those func- that the last medical test I ended up having
that Thursday night in the hospital, the one
ons that is automa c as long as you don’t just a er which I was pronounced healthy
think about it; and I had a momentary pan- and sent home, is the very one that my fa-
ic that I would be unable to ever swallow ther writes about having at the very begin-
solid food again and that maybe I harbored ning of the last book he wrote, his memoir;
a secret, a latent defect that was only now and it was this memoir that he had just com-
being found out. Who hasn’t felt like they pleted that October night ten years ago that
might at any moment be discovered as a he drove with my step-mother to Leon Bot-

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stein’s house. Add here that a beloved cous- one whose sensa ons flooded my body for
in who has never once called me happened the first me. And I also knew that it wasn’t
to leave a voice message on our home the bite, or the choking, or the steak, or any-
phone the very week I was in the hospital thing as much as it was knowing all I knew all
about a book she was helping to coordinate and that knowing it all I had acted anyway,
on our great-grandparents from Atlanta; and and that I was now headed someplace for
that her mother, the wife of my father’s first the first me, towards an experience just be-
cousin, is the only person I have ever known yond that split second between tas ng and
personally who died many years ago chok- swallowing, where glu ony and silence used
ing while ea ng alone. As I write this, my to exist peacefully together.
eyes glance down to a journal entry I scrib-
bled on January 8, 2019, my first entry of The a ernoon before the night I was
the new year. It said this: “I was thinking this discharged from the hospital, I was handed
morning that I have o en rushed through a brown paper bag from one of the nurs-
things – reading, wri ng, ea ng – and that es, enclosing stuff I had come in with, she
I would do well to slow down, par cularly told me. I was confused at first, because
wri ng and ea ng. Weird yoking of things I my husband had I thought carefully taken
realize…” is what I wrote. home all my belongings that first night, so
he must have missed this. I opened the
Of all the images and memories that bag and laughed as I unraveled a long lacy
might have stayed with me during the weeks thread of what had been a lace brassier, my
a er, there is one that I have replayed over nicest one surely, and one I had decided
and again in my head, its memory becoming to wear to boost my confidence the night
more, not less, dis nct with me. When the I ventured out alone to the reading and to
steak was placed in front of me that night, I the dinner a erwards at Leon Botstein’s
cut a bite that I knew at the me was too big. house, remembering a comment from my
I knew it was too big and I was aware both mother so long ago that while others won’t
that taking the bite might taste good and know what you’re wearing underneath,
that it would also be so large that it would you will. Somewhere amidst the chaos of
quite literally quiet any impulse on my part that evening, in the emergency room, the
to say something silly, half-baked, or unso- ambulance perhaps, on a stretcher or in
phis cated. And as I chewed this bite too big the bed, a medic or a nurse, I won’t know
I also knew this: I knew that I should spit it who and remember none of this, must have
out into my napkin, and that by spi ng it out taken the me to find a pair of scissors and
that way I would remind myself of my grand- cut it off me, figuring the seconds saved by
mother, my father’s mother, who so o en this act might be the seconds that made
did that with chicken when I visited her as a some cri cal difference. This colorful rem-
child, and how it had always slightly disgust- nant now swirled in unbroken loops like the
ed me, and I knew that by not spi ng it out peel of a blood orange as I removed it from
I had quite literally I put myself in a posi on the brown paper bag and thought about
where I both shut myself up and fed myself all the li le acts it takes to make a life me,
at the same me; and as I tried, and failed, and what in the end is worth bringing back
to swallow this bite I got up from the dining home, or hanging on to.
room table with the sinking feeling that this
now, this choking, was a feeling that was new, Rachel Cavell

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

About the Author:

Rachel Cavell is a Faculty Associate with the Bard College Ins tute for Thinking and Wri ng.
She also teaches a course in Essay and Revision in the Bard College undergraduate program,
and she teaches with the Bard College Prison Ini a ve program. Rachel is also a prac cing
a orney, represen ng children in neglect and custody cases in the Family Courts in Ulster
County, New York. This is her second contribu on to Adelaide.

144

IN THE DAYS WHEN
THE SKY WAS COBALT

by Deborah Paes De Barros

The giant earthmovers—the backhoe and Later, when I think about it, color is what
the bulldozer and other machines I couldn’t I’ll recall. I had the big 64-count box of cray-
iden fy—had been gone for three days. ons and I knew how to match the shades:
There was a gaping hole in the backyard the vibrant skin of the oranges that hung
now. Yesterday it had rained and the mud on the tree, the shiny green of their leaves,
smelled of rot and fungus. the dark of the broken earth, and the deep
cerulean blue of the California sky. There
Inside the house there was yelling, then were other kinds of blue in the Crayola box
the crash of something heavy falling. I too—the smoggy blue of summer days, as
heard a small cry from my mother followed well as azure blue, aero blue, beryl , bleu de
by the howls of the baby. S ll nibbling on France, cornflower and, of course, cobalt.
my toast I moved off the back step and
wandered further out into what had been I was six or seven that day, so young that
the backyard. I s ll wore those li le rompers—sun suits
they called them then, li le flowered or
I haven’t slept really for the last few plaid one-piece garments that gathered at
months. I mean, maybe I have. But all the waist and ed at the shoulders.
I remember is looking at the pulsa ng
blue of the digital clock, marking off the Our backyard before had been pre y
minutes and hours. If I hear a sound or much like our neighbors, a lawn, a rusted
airplane cu ng through the black I think swing set and an orange tree. It wasn’t
that finally this is it. I picture the ny tended like the other yards—my father
light blinking on the missile from North only made a half-hearted a empt to cut
Korea, I wait for a sound so big I can’t the grass once or twice a month and in the
imagine it, the shaking of the earth, the Southern California sun the grass and the
green flash and then, nothing. weeds grew with abandon.

My husband sleeps beside me. He tells My mother didn’t garden or plant flow-
me to stop watching the late night news. ers or weed. She’d made it clear that she
As if I could. I imagine my long hair as hadn’t come all the way from the south-
flame. ern coast of Brazil to squat in the dirt like a

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

peasant. She didn’t cook much either, not vious that the Salton Sea was an economy
like the other mothers. Prac cally every- vaca on.
thing she made involved Bisquick or Jell-O,
or involved some other kind of instant food. I knew those trucks had to cost a lot of
money and if my father was spending it, we
My mother was from the coastal city had to need whatever it was that they were
of Santos, where she grew up two blocks building. We would have to hide under the
from the sea in a town so steeped in in- dirt when the Russians came to bomb us,
digenous magic that every New Year’s the and when the mushroom cloud that I’d
women would dress in white and at mid- seen on T.V. blossomed high over Los An-
night throw flowers into the sea. My father geles thirty miles away. We’d have to fight
worked in aerospace. In the evenings when for this space, my father told me, when all
he came home, even in the summer when the other not so forward-looking people at-
the late a ernoon heat blazed through the tacked and tried to seize our sanctuary. My
large and un-insulated glass windows and father had a shotgun for this purpose.
hours of light remained, he preferred to be
indoors, nursing the mar nis he had taught I started then to scan the sky, to watch
me to make. When he was home on the for signs, to wait for the rockets.
weekends he worked on the car.
On that third day a er the excava on
S ll, we were not yet that different. Or my mother le .
at least not in ways that I had learned how
to calibrate. Perhaps she had planned it already. She
told us her father had died and that she
A great yellow machine scooped the or- was needed. She handed me the baby.
ange tree out from its roots and flung it on
to the ground where it was quickly covered The living room was piled high with cans
with dirt. My mother cried when she realized of food that would eventually be stashed
it was lost. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she in the shelter. Each can was marked with a
asked. “I would have dug it out.” This seemed mysterious code that would tell us in what
unlikely to me but I didn’t say anything. order to consume the food. My father had
been a radio operator during the war and
I didn’t understand money but I knew my he had developed this code on the nights
father didn’t like to spend it. We couldn’t when he had insomnia. The piles of nned
have a pool, for instance, like our neighbor food had taken over the room, hiding the
Bud, because of the cost. “Do you need it?’ dilapidated couch. I didn’t mind exactly. I
he used to ask me when I wanted to buy liked looking at those large cans of peaches
anything. “Need it. Not want it.” And for in sweet syrup and thought of ea ng them
our vaca ons we went to a vast lake called underground when everyone up above us
the Salton Sea where the military had once was gone. There were board games too,
prac ced, and where the sand wasn’t real- Ba leship and Chinese Checkers, as my fa-
ly sand but ny dead petrified animals. The ther had read that it was important to keep
salty blue gleamed in the hot 104’ desert everyone occupied for the six to eighteen
sun, and I’d run into the water. But when I’d months we’d be confined.
emerged my legs were cut into bloody lace
from the omnipresent barnacles. It was ob- But my mother didn’t seem impressed
with my father’s system. She moved a can

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of Dinty Moore beef stew with some dis- long to Rockwell and the Navy,” my father
dain before stepping out the front door, said, naming his own company’s rival firm.
clutching her passport and her cket from He worked for General Dynamics, which
Varig, the royal Brazilian airline. pleased me because they had built the
pretend submarines at Disneyland. Beau-
I wanted to tell her that I was certain
my father would have the bomb shelter fin- ful mermaids sat next to them combing
ished before her return and I thought if I their lovely hair that was never snarled or
kept talking she might change her mind and frizzy. It was a good life being a mermaid.
stay. “He’ll clean up the mess really soon,” I Not that my father had anything to do with
said. I tried to look helpful. “And then we mermaids. He worked in a giant gray build-
can all go down there and prac ce.” ing closer to home on a project named Min-
ute Man, building small missiles that could
My mother looked at me. I’ve been told be fired from a man’s shoulder like a rifle.
I resemble my father in his youth. “I stay up Whenever the company got a new contract
here,” she said. all of the employees stood up and cheered.

My father did not rise from the kitchen ta- My father parked the car.
ble where he was studying plans for fall-out
shelters. “Don’t come back,” he said. “Stay He handed me my school pad. “Here.
with the dark people and the li le brown Take notes.” He dictated something about
monkeys. Stay in your father’s mud hut.” the ra o of the thickness of the walls to the
tensile strength of concrete and I did my
She walked out the door. best to keep up with his numbers and to
write neatly.
I could see a taxi wai ng outside on the
street. A er a while he turned the car around
and we drove east again, but not home.
I wanted to follow her. I started toward Instead we pulled into the parking lot at
the door myself, s ll carrying my baby brother. the county fair grounds, although the fair
was not currently in opera on. But two of
“No.” My father got up, locked the door, the buildings were in use, and in fact there
and then sat down and resumed studying seemed to be some sort of small fair going
his plans. “Go and get ready,” he said. on. I was hopeful. Perhaps there would be
co on candy and rides.
“Ready for what?”
“Let me see what you wrote.” My father
A babysi er came a few minutes later. reached for the pad. The next things hap-
She was someone I’d never seen, someone pened very fast. He threw the pad down on
sent by an agency my father said. She had to the floor of the car. His hand moved to-
a strange smell. ward me and I flinched and turned away so
that his flat palm caught me sideways and
My father and I drove west toward the under the chin. I felt my teeth slam togeth-
beach ci es of Hun ngton Beach and Costa er and something sharp on the inside of
Mesa. In the spinach and strawberry fields my cheek. When I put the back of my own
near the ocean the earth undulated in huge hand over my mouth he came away wet
bunkers. Some of the earth swells were with saliva and a li le thread of blood.
shelters my father explained. The others
held bombs, explosives, things that would
be needed in the war. “These right here be-

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“You expect anyone to read this?” He goods were the way to go. Armed with can
picked up the pad and crumpled the page. openers we would eat our ra ons cold. In
“Don’t you learn to write at school? Or don’t the mean me he would watch the dates
you pay a en on?” on the cans and recycle them as necessary.
He’d also figured out that we wouldn’t need
I looked out the side window. all those calories that the woman said the
au gra n potatoes would supply. A er all,
“Answer me.” we wouldn’t be moving around much. My
father looked over at me. “It wouldn’t hurt
I watched a family walk across the park- you to lose a few pounds anyway,” he said.
ing lot. ”At least.” The next booth was handing out

“I said answer me.” His face got red when ny chocolate bars but my father steered
he yelled. me past. “It’s not god damned Halloween.”

“Seven,” I mumbled. The second building held the model
shelters. Some of them were like plush
He looked at me. “Jesus.” He handed trailers, only made to go underground, with
me a Kleenex. “Wipe your face. And don’t li le kitchens that were so technologically
blubber.” He looked at me again. “jesus. crisp and clean that they put our own kitch-
Fix your hair or something.” He so ened en at home to shame. I liked these models,
then. “You’re OK, Baby. Just try a li le. It with their television sets, futuris c plas c
won’t kill you to make an effort.” He took dishware, and built-in bunk beds. A wom-
another ssue and wiped my face himself. an dressed in a uniform like a stewardess
He touched my cheek for a second with his let me play in one. There was a miniature
finger. “Don’t be like her.” metal sink and mess kits, each with its own
mug and bowl. This par cular kitchen even
I knew who he meant. “Let’s get out of had a ruffled curtain hanging over a fake
the car,” he said. window, forever opened on a scene of a
duck on a pond in the country.
“How will you live a er the bomb?” a
banner strung over the door queried. And a These places were so dy and fresh that
man handing out business cards asked each you could feel that nothing bad could ever
of us as we walked inside “Are you ready?” happen to you in them.
There were booths handing out free sam-
ples of foods that could sustain us a er The room was pre y small of course,
the apocalypse—a drink that was similar only slightly larger than my bedroom. I won-
to Tang and a potato dish that we ate out dered where we’d sleep but then another
of Dixie cups that the woman in the booth a endant dressed in a skirt and sweater
called “a gra n” but tasted like somewhat showed me how the table in the corner
dry and vaguely metallic mashed potatoes. li ed out to allow the cushions to form a
I liked the food though, although not as double bed. “I’m the mommy,” she told me,
much as co on candy. The food came in and pa ed her blonde curls. I thought may-
packets and demanded only the addi on of be we could put my brother in a basket in
hot water before becoming magically turn- the corner. There was a li le curtained area
ing into dinner entrees. over on one side that I thought might be
my room but the woman whispered to me
My father was less interested in the food.
He’d already worked things out. Canned

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