Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 38, July 2020

INDEPENDENT REVISTA
MONTHLY LITERÁRIA
LITERARY INDEPENDENTE
MAGAZINE
MENSAL

ADELAIDE FOUNDERS / FUNDADORES
Stevan V. Nikolic & Adelaide Franco Nikolic
Independent Monthly Literary Magazine
Revista Literária Independente Mensal EDITOR IN CHIEF / EDITOR-CHEFE
Year V, Number 38, July 2020 Stevan V. Nikolic
Ano V, Número 38, Julho 2020
[email protected]
ISBN-13: 978-1-953510-16-7
MANAGING DIRECTOR / DIRECTORA EXECUTIVA
Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent inter- Adelaide Franco Nikolic
national monthly publication, based in New York and
Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide Franco GRAPHIC & WEB DESIGN
Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish quality Adelaide Books LLC, New York
poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork, and photography, as
well as interviews, articles, and book reviews, written in CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS IN THIS ISSUE
English and Portuguese. We seek to publish outstanding
literary fiction, nonfic-tion, and poetry, and to promote Celine Low, B. Craig Grafton,
the writers we publish, helping both new, emerging, and John Richmond, Aaron Sanders,
established authors reach a wider literary audience. Visnja Majewski, Jennifer Brewer,
Fatemeh Jafari, Cearra Hill, James Hanna,
A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação men- Caleb Coomer, Douglas Canter,
sal internacional e independente, localizada em Nova
Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic e Ade- Mariya Khan, Foster Trecost,
laide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objectivo da revista é Christina Holbrook, John Allison,
publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e fotografia de Cheryl Claire Gittens-Jones, John Bonanni,
qualidade assim como entrevistas, artigos e críticas Mike Dillon, Linda Schifino, Geri Gale,
literárias, escritas em inglês e por-tuguês. Pretendemos Anannya Uberoi, Alan Berger, Adam Day,
publicar ficção, não-ficção e poesia excepcionais assim Irene Ana, Dave Clark, Linda Barrett,
como promover os escritores que publicamos, ajudan- Martin Willitts Jr., Alethea Jimison,
do os autores novos e emergentes a atingir uma audiên- Nikita Bhardwaj, John P. Drudge,
cia literária mais vasta.
Merlin Flower, Edith Speers,
(http://adelaidemagazine.org) Richard Grove, Aracelly P. Campo,

Published by: Adelaide Books, New York Idalis Wood
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New York NY, 10001
e-mail: [email protected]
phone: (917) 477 8984
http://adelaidebooks.org

Copyright © 2019 by Adelaide Literary Magazine

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission from the Adelaide Literary Maga-zine
Editor-in-chief, except in the case of brief quo-tations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.

CONTENTS / CONTEÚDOS

FICTION RESOURCE
by John Bonanni 88
ALL THOSE SECRETS WE SHORED UP
by Celine Low 7 JOHN KEATS AND OUR DAYS
OF UNCERTAINTIES
THE POOR WOMAN AND HER DAUGHTERS by Mike Dillon 90
by B. Craig Grafton 9
SKIPPING CHURCH
EMPIRE ACCESS by Linda Schifino 95
(“KISS ME BEFORE YOU GO”)
by John Richmond 13 POETRY

THE STOPPER WINDOWSILL
by Aaron Israel 20 by Geri Gale 101

LIKE DANCING WITH A CIGARETTE LIGHTER CLOCKWORK
by Visnja Majewski 22 by Anannya Uberoi 105

AN UNCOMFORTABLE RIDE BREEZE
by Jennifer Brewer 32 by Alan Berger 109

CAT STORY OVERFLOW
by Fatemeh Jafari 35 by Adam Day 111

FIONA AND SALLY TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT
by Cearra Hill 39 YOU AND OTHER LIES I TELL MYSELF
by Erin Nust 113
AT LEAST I KNOW I’M FREE
by James Hanna 41 WHY
by Dave Clark 115
ICE CREAM FOR SHERENE
by Caleb Coomer 43 ANGEL OF BRIDGEPORT
by Linda Barrett 117
AN URBAN STORY
by Douglas Canter 49 IN THE FLOW OF THE LIGHT
by Martin Willitts Jr. 119
DESI DINNER PARTY
by Mariya Khan 57 SUPERNOVA
by Alethea Jimison 122
THE FIREPLACE
by Foster Trecost 63 DEAR MAMA
by Nikita Bhardwaj 124
THE SERPENT QUEEN
by Christina Holbrook 66 PASSING TIME
by John P. Drudge 127
NONFICTION
SLOW MOTION
A SISTA SURVIVOR’S JOURNEY: by Merlin Flower 128
THRIVING AMIDST THE LIGHT AND CHAOS
by Claire Jones 79 LOVE GAMES
by Edith Speers 130

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I TOOK IT AS A SIGN TO START SINGING
by Richard Grove 133
EARTH
by Aracelly P. Campo 137
DEAR CUSTOMER
by Idalis Wood 139
INTERVIEWS
TINA EGNOSKI
Author of
BURN DOWN THIS WORLD 145
TOM YARBOROUGH
Author of
THE MANY LIES OF ZOEY 149
TOM GLENN
Author of
COMING TO TERMS and SECRETOCRACY 154
TARA LYNN MARTA
Author of
LOOK BACK TO YESTERDAY 160

4

FICTION



ALL THOSE SECRETS

WE SHORED UP

by Celine Low

She was talking about Damien again. Ruth frowned. “You mean when you
checked his phone and found out about his
They were sprawled out by the shore in Tinder affairs?”
bikinis, Tati in her white lace set, Ruth in a
retro polka-dotted blue. Ruth had designed “I broke up with him for that, but after
this new set just for Tati, with a sheer bil- that we were never the same. That was
lowing skirt made of old saris, embroidered when he gave up on his attempt at commit-
in gold like a goddess. Under the steadily ment and started sleeping around for real.
darkening sky they stared out at the round At least before it was only talk. Just dirty talk
ocean, a giant circle around the island. with other women.” She drew her knees to
herself, folded her arms over her knees and
“Y’know one thing I regret?” Tati spoke rested her chin on them. “I can deal with
with a half-smile, leaning back with her talk.”
weight on her arms, legs stretched out in
the shallow washing waves. She wiggled She looked too vulnerable, skinny limbs
her toes absently. “Confronting him that all folded into herself like that. Ruth wanted
morning. Oh my god.” She rolled her eyes to hug her. She shifted in her sand instead
up, head flopping back as she gazed at the and looked away. A dangerous rage was
sky. “If I can undo one thing in my life, it beating its great wings inside her breast,
would be letting him know that I knew.” and she struggled to keep her level. “You
would silently bear with his virtual two-
Tati had called Ruth up a few nights ago, timing. Really.”
sobbing over the line. Ruth could hardly
make out her words through her sobbing, “Yes. I can.” A small, stony, determined
but eventually figured out there had been voice. “It may be hard for you to believe,
another woman’s shoes at Damien’s door- but after all, I’ve already been dealing with
step. Ruth didn’t say much, just listened to it for a long time.”
Tati sob. Then she’d asked Tati out to the
beach. She’d wanted to anyway; she wanted “It wouldn’t have made a difference.”
some good shots of Tati in her new outfit,
and thought Tati could use a distraction. “How do you know?” Tati said reason-
ably. “You don’t know him.” She sighed,

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lying down to lay her head on Ruth’s lap. tears and windswept hair from her face. “If
Ruth watched the droplets roll down her I knew her, I might stand a chance! But all I
chin, her collarbones, the valley between have is a photo on his blog.”
her breasts. Tati’s breasts were small and
brown and perky, unlike Ruth’s. Leaving glis- Tati had shown Ruth the photograph a
tening trails behind them, the droplets of couple days ago, a picture of Damien with
water crept round the circle of her arm till his arm around a woman. Tan, with broad
they hung above the washing waves. There shoulders, well-built and fleshy; sporty-
they paused, quivering. Ruth felt their un- looking, but far from Tati’s slim perfection.
certainty as a tremor in her skin. Tati’s hair They looked happy and drunk, the photo
floated on her thighs, straight fine black badly taken. Damien was grinning, making
strands. a silly face at the camera and holding up
two shot glasses covered the woman’s face.
“I would have changed myself,” Tati said. Ruth remembered the bartender who’d
taken their photo. He was chatty and jolly
“You don’t have to,” Ruth growled. Ruth and after a few drinks so were they. Damien
felt her heart ache. She loathed herself with had wanted a picture. She’d turned her face
a ferocity she couldn’t begin to face. “He’s aside, leaned into Damien so that the shot
not worth it,” she said. Another meaning- glasses shielded her from the camera. Ruth
less cliché. What could she say? Vaguely, as wanted to tell Tati she was sorry, but she
if from a great distance, as though from her couldn’t. She wasn’t sorry. She would do it
body she were strangely detached, Ruth all over again.
sensed frustration building, a sinking hope-
lessness. Like an alien flying overhead she Tenderly, Ruth stroked Tati’s cheek. Her
saw them both, sitting on the sand. She lips were crusted with salt, slightly parted.
didn’t recognise herself. Who was this, this Her breath soft and moist on Ruth’s fingers.
block of cold clay beside this folded-in girl, Ruth wanted to tell her the truth—but not
beautiful Tati with her chin on her knees, so that truth. The truth had only three words.
sweet and sad and vulnerable? She slid her hand down, and as Tati turned
in surprise, she waited, fingers trembling,
“But how then,” cried Tati. “How do I fight her hand like a leaf on Tati’s waist.
if I don’t know my enemy?” She brushed

About the Author

Celine Low is a nomad writer, painter, dancer and secret
bathroom-singer. She holds an MA in English Literature,
and her writing is either published or forthcoming in
the Muddy River Poetry Review, Fifty Word Stories, One
Sentence Poems, BALLOONS Literary Journal, and 9Tales
from Elsewhere, among others.

8

THE POOR
WOMAN AND HER

DAUGHTERS

by B. Craig Grafton

There once was a very poor unmarried was, for she was but fifteen and had been
woman by the name of Leticia who had taken by many men when she got pregnant.
given birth to a second daughter who she
named Celestina. Leticia was not the happy Leticia a farmer’s daughter had run away
soul as her name would imply for she lived from home at that age. Run away from the
a life of continual grinding poverty, sadness, hardscrabble farm life of trying to eke out
and grief there in the slums of Mexico City. a living out of the sandy soil of the not so
The father of Celestina was Raul, a smooth good earth of Mexico She was the oldest of
talking handsome devil of a man with five children so when she left she was not
whom Leticia had lived with for a while. missed that much. In fact her parents were
She thought him a good man, though he kind of glad to see her go for she was one
was a thief, for he had supported her and less mouth to feed. They hoped she might
her first daughter Gertrudis even though have a better life somewhere else. But alas
he was not the father of Gertrudis. But he they were wrong.
stole away once Letiicia’s belly began to
swell with his child. He was not there for For what Leticia had done was just to
the birth of his beautiful heavenly daughter. exchange the rural poverty of scratching
Though later he learned about it a living from the earth for the urban pov-
erty of the dog eat dog world of the big city
Only Gertrudis age ten now and the slums. Alone and without means to support
midwife were there for Leticia when Cleles- herself she took up with different men who
tina was born. Gertrudis was a rather short supported her in exchange for things she
dumpy plain looking almost homely squatty soon learned about. Gertrudis being the
child. Leticia was not sure who her father result of that education. But Leticia was
a quick learner and adapted to her new

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environment. She soon got odd jobs here she was thinking that perhaps it would be
and there doing this and that, honest work. better if she ended Celestina’s life not hers.
But it never was enough. Eventually she got That she spared her daughter a lifetime of
a job working for a man called El Lagarto continual grief and grinding poverty. That
at his cantina. True to his name the man way Celestina would be in Heaven with God
was a slimy reptile indeed. He ran a seedy and happy for eternity. It would be so easy
rundown hole in the wall cantina named to take an infant’s life she thought. She re-
appropriately enough ‘El Agujero.’ He hired membered back to her life on the farm and
her because he was in need of help. He was the death of the baby animals there. There
an old and crippled man now unable to run her father had kept an old brood sow. The
the cantina by himself any more, age and sow would give birth to a liter of eight to
a knife wound having disabled him. He of- ten piglets on a regular basis to provide
fered Leticia room and board but no wages enough food and money for them to get by
for he knew Leticia was in desperate need until the next liter. She remembered that
of work and a place to stay. So he took ad- old sow would lay herself down so her pig-
vantage of that. Room being a one room lets could suckle and invariably she would
shack outback of the cantina, and board always lie down on one of her piglets that
being beans and tortillas that Leticia would was too slow to get out of the way. The old
fix in the kitchen in the back of the cantina sow ignoring her piglet’s constant squealing
for the cantina’s lowlife clientele. pleas for its life as she squeezed the air out
of it. She could do that too. Just happen to
So she eked out her existence there accidentally roll over in her sleep on Celes-
among these low lifes, these cutthroats, tina squeezing the life out of her. She knew
these criminals of every ilk and kind who the authorities would be notified of course
would on occasion, if they were drunk and that they would deem her an unfit
enough, had some money to spare, and mother for letting this happen. But that was
thought they might get somewhere with fine with her for then they would take Ger-
Leticia, would leave her a tip of a few cen- trudis and place her in an orphanage. There
tavos or more. These tips being just enough she probably wouldn’t get adopted out but
to keep her chained in place, keep her from at least a life in an orphanage would be a
looking for work elsewhere. Leticia knew better life than she could provide. And as
this was no life for her daughters. Knew she to herself she would confess to whatever
had to do something about it so that they crime they wanted for she knew she had to
didn’t end up like her. Already she had seen pay for her sin. Celesina’s life and her life
the lecherous old men eye Gertrudis. Saw would be over but Gertrudis’s wouldn’t.
them lure her daughter to their laps in ex- Yes perhaps this was the answer to her di-
change for candy and sweets. It made no lemma.
difference to these toothless old drooling
fools whether Gertrudis was homely or not But she also remembered back when
for when it came to their perverted deeds her father had too many pups once and she
that is all the saw, perversion. And Leticia helped him bag them up and take them to
knew that in a few years they would be the river with him. She did not know that
doing likewise to Celestina. he was going to throw them off the bridge
into the raging water below and drown
Leticia had thought about suicide many them. She cried the whole way home. No
a time but now with the birth of Celestina

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Revista Literária Adelaide

drowning her daughter would be a bridge to work for her delivery had been a rough
way too far. one indeed. But she feared the worst for
Gertrudis by letting her work there among
But there was still one other way from the low lifes.
her days on the farm that might work
that she remembered. Sometimes a feral Now Raul had heard that Leticia had
cat would steal a baby chick. She remem- given birth and he came to the cantina
bered once when she saw such a cat with a that night. There he saw El Lagarto tending
peeping chick in its mouth. The cat looking bar and Gertrudis running drinks to the ta-
at her with a grin on its face defying her to bles. He looked at El Lagarto and El Lagarto
come and get it. She never did. She knew mouthed to him, “A girl’ and nodded to-
she could not outrun that cat. Perhaps here ward the shack outback.
if she just accidentally happened to leave
Celestina alone somewhere for a little while, Raul ran out to Leticia. “Here is some
well then maybe one of the feral low lifes money,” he said tossing a bag of coins down
of El Agujero would steal her away and sell on her nightstand by her bed as Leticia lay
her to someone who could provide for her. there with her daughter sleeping on her
But then again he might sell her to a pervert chest.
or keep her for himself. No that was not an
option either. Leticia said nothing, not even thank you
for she knew these were ill gotten gains. But
Gertrudis returned now with a plate of she did not tell him that she didn’t want the
beans and some tortillas for her mother. coins nor did she tell him to take them back.

“Here eat,’ she said. “El Lagarto says you “Here let me take our daughter,” said
have to eat something. Keep up your strength.” Raul, taking the child from her. “I will watch
her until Gertrudis gets off work. You get
Leticia took the plate. Perhaps he is not some sleep.”
such a bad fellow after all she thought by
looking out for me this way. Then quickly Leticia closed her eyes but did not go
she recanted that thought from her mind to sleep. She slept with one eye open. She
realizing that he only did this because he saw Raul the thief, the cat burglar, steal
wanted her to come back to work tonight. away with her child that night. He did
leave the coins though. He felt that only
She ate while Gertrudis held Celestina right that she received her fifteen pieces of
smiling, talking to her in baby gibberish silver, her half of what the wealthy Criollo
the whole time. When Leticia was done had paid him. After all, they were partners
eating Gertrudis gave her sister back to her in this matter.
mother, gathered up the dirty dishes, and
announced. “I am going to take your place Leticia went to sleep that night after he
at work tonight Mother so that you can get left for she knew there was nothing she
some rest.” could do about it. Gertrudis did not return
until late the next morning, worse for the
“Thank you. That is so sweet of you dear,” wear. Both her daughters had been stolen
said Leticia knowing she was in no condition from her that night.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

About the Author

B. Craig Grafton is a retired attorney who started writing for something to do in his rusting
years. His most recent stories appeared in Fear of Monkeys and The Zodiac Review.

12

EMPIRE ACCESS

(“KISS ME BEFORE YOU GO”)

by John Richmond

He intended it to be an “in-and-out” sort She had a smile on her face, in all like-
of trip. Take the 4AM-ish Amtrak Empire lihood because she had watched him ap-
Access out of Niagara Falls, get to Penn proach the car with the few other passengers.
Station at about 12:30 PM, exit at 7th Ave-
nue, head east on 32nd to Broadway, make Now, in a flash, the ride that was sup-
a right, and, a couple of doors down, Per- posed to be that simple, suddenly, was not.
fumania was on the right. Once there, buy
four bottles of his favorite cologne- really It’s not like they knew each other, save
cheap- retrace his steps and be ready for for the times that he saw her where she
the 3:40 PM return train. worked, yet, despite the brevity of their
encounters, they both knew that there was
Was it cheaper to make the trip? something there, between them.

Probably not. However- and also- an on-the-job injury
forced her to retire, further relegating any
So, was it worth it? future encounters to simple chance. And,
so, the months, then years passed, and
Well, in his mind, the opportunity to be what might have been, slowly- and silently-
able to return to the Hudson Valley was faded to something that was gone.
definitely worth more than the cost.
Until.
But, there was going to be more- much,
much more. Until now, there seated on the same
train, in the same car, facing in the same
It was nothing he had anticipated or direction, and from what he knew of her-
could ever have even expected. Actually, heading to the same place.
the only thing he expected was a near-to-
empty coach car with his choice of seats by She waved as he smiled back.
the south side windows.
“Wow,” he began once he reached the
That is, until he boarded the car, turned seats, “imagine you being here. Heading to
toward the aisle- and saw her. New York, I would guess?”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“I am,” she replied as her smile grew. “How about you? Going for long?”
“Would you care to join me?” she asked, ges-
turing to the seat across from her. “No, just down and back. Got to pick up a
few things on Broadway, and then I’m out.”
He glanced from her to the seat across
and then set his eyes on the empty seat They fell silent, together- yet in their
next to her. own way- waiting and hoping that the
other would begin what both of them were
“I would,” he answered, “but I’d rather waiting for.
watch the Hudson unfold in front of me in-
stead of watch it pass behind me.” Finally, after wracking her brain for the
smoothest way to begin, she decided on her
Her eyes widened as she glanced to the two favorite topics- food and drink.
empty seat and then back at him.
“It’s too bad,” she began, “that the food
“By all means,” she said and patted the and drink car doesn’t open up until we’re
empty seat. somewhere around Rochester.”

“You sure?” he wondered out loud, al- He looked over at her with a knowing
most facetiously. “I mean, “I wouldn’t want smile, but said nothing.
to crowd you or disturb your privacy.”
She, in turn, sensed it immediately.
“I insist,” she told him, sitting up a little
more straight in her seat. “It’s been waiting “What?” she asked. “What’s behind that
for you.” smile?”

He placed his over the shoulder bag on “Who says we have to wait?” he replied
the seat across from them before slipping and pointed at his bag.
out of the aisle and into the seat next to her.
“You have something?” she asked sitting
“Like you’ve been expecting this?” he up a little more straight and forward in her
asked as he turned slightly to her. seat, “What?”

“I have,” she said with a self-assuredness, “Something,” he told her and then
“from what I know about you, it was bound reached across and pulled the bag onto his
to happen sooner or later, and- now here lap. “I try my best to come prepared.”
we are.”
With that, he unzipped the top and
A smile broke over his face as he looked brought out a ziplocked package of what
at her and said, “Indeed, so here we are.” looked like Genoa salami slices.

He paused for a moment, then asked, “Great!” she exclaimed, excitedly.
“So, going to see your kids?”
“Ah, but wait,” he told her and gave her
“I am,” she answered, “I’m surprised that the salami bag, “there’s more!”
you remembered.”
Well, by now, not only was she out onto
“You told me, last time,” he reminded her. the edge of her seat, she was turned com-
pletely toward him and leaning in.
She looked at him- almost scrutinized
him- but said nothing, nodding her head in “What else?” she asked in an almost
admission. child-like voice.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“Voila!” he whispered out at her as he resign ourselves to co-mingling our bodily
pulled a box of Carr’s sesame crackers out fluids from across and around the mouth of
and proceeded to have it fly around her- the bottle?”
teasing her and her newfound hunger.
She smiled, sat back- straightened up- in
“You’re incredible,” she offered as the her seat and opened the bottle.
box of crackers made a soft landing in her
lap. “I’m all for co-mingling our bodily fluids.
What do you say?” she asked rhetorically,
Then, there was a pause between them removed the cap and took a long drink be-
as their eyes met in a way that they had fore handing the bottle over to him.
never before; looking deep in an explor-
atory way for the apparent connection be- He looked over at her, again, but this
tween them. time in a warmer way than they were about
to feel, and said, “By all means, I concur,” he
“Is there more?” she wondered aloud. said, put his lips on the mouth of the bottle
and drank- at the very moment the train
He nodded at her as he moved his lurched- with a forward thrust- out of the
left hand around in the bag, seemingly station sealing a form of rudimentary inti-
searching for something that was increas- macy between them.
ingly eluding his grasp.
It was almost like kissing, but not quite-
“Come on!” she effused and moved ever not yet.
closer to him in an attempt to see what else
he was going to pull out. As the train progressed east, they, too,
progressed to snack and drink and share
Then, all of a sudden his hand stopped the salient aspects of their lives, from the
moving at the very instant he exclaimed, simple to the complex, from the absurdly
“Ah! Got it!” And, with that announcement, funny to the life-altering tragic, so that by
he pulled out a pint of 100 proof, Southern the time they got halfway between Syra-
Comfort and handed it to her. cuse and Utica the “basics” of “getting to
know each other,” had been achieved.
“Wonderful!” she shouted out, softly,
while patting and squeezing his right After all, it was only the train to Penn
forearm. “You brought a bottle!” Station and not the train to forever- they
did not have forever.
He paused for a moment before ex-
tracting a second bottle and announcing in As it happened, probably the result of
a Rhett Butler sort of accent, “Frankly, my the food, the alcohol, the rocking- back
dear, I brought two.” and forth- of the rail car- and the com-
fort they had discovered in their nearness,
“Excellent!” she commended him. “But that somewhere after Utica- by the time
did you bring glasses or cups?” the train caught up with dawn- they were
asleep, together.
“Glasses? Cups?” he asked and put the
second bottle back into the bag and back No, not that “together.”
on the seat across from them.
Rather, him leaning back in his seat and
“Do we need glasses or cups?” he began her resting her head on his shoulder.
in a professorial way, “Or do we dare to

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

They probably would have slept like that After their coffees were finished- and
all the way to Albany, had it not been for the the train made its way further and further
quick stops at Amsterdam and Schenectady down the east side of the river, the nature
and the influx of new passengers working of their conversations took on topics of a
their way down the aisle. probing and revelatory intensity. Subjects
like happiness, contentment, closeness, at-
He opened his eyes first, she, came traction and need.
awake moments later.
Finally, as the train passed under the
“Getting close?” she asked in a sleepy George Washington Bridge, she turned to
voice, then repositioned herself in her seat. him and asked, “Why don’t you stay over
the weekend?”
He nodded. “To Albany we are, we just
cleared Schenectady.” He turned, slightly, toward her.

“Wow,” she replied, shaking her head to “Alone or together?”
clear it.
“Together- silly,” she gently admonished
“Were you sleeping, too?” him and then pursed her lips, waiting for an
answer.
“I was,” he said with a smile, looking over
at her. “How would we do that- and where?” he
asked. “I thought you were staying with
“When did we,” she began slowly- almost your daughter- in Brooklyn?”
coyly- then stopped.
There were a few quick nods from her in
“You mean, you mean?” he responded the affirmative.
with equal coyness.
“You remember, don’t you, that I told you
She smiled knowingly. that I have my own room at her place. We
could stay there.”
“Yes.”
She paused for a moment, and he,
“Just after Utica. I guess the bright lights sensing she was not finished, waited.
of dawn knocked us out.”
“It would be fun,” she continued, “we
She smiled a smile of content, then could spend the couple of days- we could
patted the top of his right hand. be close. I would like that.”

“I couldn’t have imagined a better partner.” She paused, again.

He beamed a correspondingly smile and “Would you?”
reciprocated with his left hand on hers.
He shifted in his seat, not because he
“How about we get coffees in Albany?” was uncomfortable, but on the contrary, to
he suggested. lean in a little closer to her.

“That would be nice,” she agreed. “I would like that- I would like that a
lot, but I absolutely have to be back for to-
With that, they both fell silent, each morrow morning. Things are scheduled, I
knowing that what had to be said was said. have to be there.”
Now, all they had to do was wait until the
train started heading down the Hudson to say
what needed to be said with absolute clarity.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

She looked at him, now, not with the dis- “Where?”
appointment of rejection, but with a peace-
fulness of believing he was sincere. “There’s a donut shop, on a side street
off of Brighton, just before the high school,
They both looked out the window and coming from the mall. Let’s say, coffee and
saw they were slowly beginning the final a donut at eleven AM in their dining room?’
approach to Penn Station. The river, the
parklands were giving way to the subterra- “I’ll be there,” she confirmed, then leaned
nean darkness they knew was coming. back in her seat, closed her eyes, while still
holding on to his hand.
He looked over at her, knowing time was
short. “Good,” he said, then, likewise, leaned
back to rest.
Turning in his seat toward her, he began.
The train, now, moved with a determina-
“Look, I think what you’re proposing is a tion about it, almost as if it had been here- in
wonderful idea. I would love nothing more the tunnels- countless times before- which
than to spend a long weekend with you.” it had- rocking back and forth through the
sidewalk-light punctuated darkness, until,
She, now, also turned in her seat, toward finally, it stopped.
him, with anticipatory eyes and smile.
They had arrived.
“So?” she asked hopefully.
The car lights came on, but they sat
“So,” he continued, sensing now that there like the veteran travelers they were
what moments ago was nigh-near lost, had and waited, watching the near-to-insane
been regained. rush to get out of the car and off of the train.

“So,” he refrained, “why don’t we do this. “Let’s just wait until they’re all done and
Why don’t we take a rain check on the long gone,” he advised her, as he sat forward on
weekend- maybe making it even longer- say, the edge of his seat.
Wednesday through Monday, when the fall
comes. It’s a good time of the year in the “By the way,” he began his question,
City.” “what’s your daughter’s name?”

“It is, it is,” she agreed happily. “Anna,” she told him, proudly.

“But, in the meantime,” he went on, “why “Where’s Anna meeting you?”
don’t we spend some time- together- back
at home? How does that sound?” “At the ‘Big Board,’ somewhere around
there.”
She leaned in toward him and took his
hand in her’s. “What do you have in mind?” Finally, the car had cleared and they pro-
she asked. ceeded to stand and move to the aisle.

Now it was his turn to nod. He reached over for his bag, then slung
it over his shoulder before turning to her.
“Well, how about we start, next Thursday?
You busy?” “Your bag?” he asked. “I’ll carry it for you.”

She both shook her head and voiced the She stood up from her seat, smiled, and
negative. then picked up her purse.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“This is all I need.’ “There you go,” he told her once she had
leaned back against a pillar that faced the
He, in turn, was momentarily surprised. concourse and the shops. “From here, you’ll
be able to spot her once she gets here.”
Recognizing this, she added quickly, “I
have everything at Anna’s place. It lets me She nodded, looked away, then quickly
travel light.” looked back at him.

Impressed, he nodded in recognition “I guess this is it,” she finally managed.
and simply said, “Nice.”
He looked at her intently, scrutinizing
They exited the car and made their way what he thought was a soft glint in the
up to the waiting room and ticket counter corner of her eyes.
level, before moving on to the concourse.
“Just until Thursday morning,” he reas-
There, they made a right turn and began sured her.
walking toward the ‘Big Board’ lobby, side
by side. “You promise?” she asked.

She wanting to hold his hand- but she “Cross-my-heart,” he offered in words
did not. and the corresponding gesture with his
right hand across his chest.
He wanting to alternate from hand on
her shoulder, then around her waist- but They, then, free-fell into a prolonged mo-
he did not. ment of awkwardness until she finally broke
the silence.
Was it too soon for that kind of close-
ness? “I suppose you should go, your time is
short.”
No.
He readied himself to leave, shifting his
Was it too soon for that kind of close- weight- slightly- from one side to the other,
ness in public- amongst total strangers? while at the same time transferring his bag
from his right hand to his left, then back,
Again- no. again.

Then what was it? “I suppose,” he said in a resignful tone.
“Okay, so, I’ll see you Thursday?”
It was both of them knowing that a time
for parting would soon be upon them, yet, “You will.”
totally not knowing how to handle it.
“All right, be careful and be safe,” he said
Finally, they reached the corner around in a concluding sort of way, then turned to
which- to the right- would be “The Big leave.
Board.”
It was then, that she called out to him,
They stopped, looked, scrutinized and “Wait!” in an affectionately forceful voice.
surveyed the room, trying to find an empty- “One last thing,” she added.
and as private- a spot as possible.
He turned and walked the few steps
“Over here,” he said, spying a space by back to within inches of her.
one of the pillars, then taking her by the
arm and directing her that way. “Yes?” he asked.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

She pulled herself off of the pillar and
stepped forward to meet him.

“Kiss me before you go,” she said in a soft,
delicate and unmistakable way, just before
they embraced on the edge of the con-
course.

About the Author

John Richmond has “wandered” parts of North America for
a good portion of his life. These “wanderings” have taken
him from a city on the Great Lakes to a small fishing village
(population 200), before heading to Tennessee, Georgia,
North Carolina and then on to a bigger city on the Great
Lakes- Chicago- then, eventually, New York City. Since then,
John Richmond has made his way to a small upstate New
York town and has sequestered himself in his office where
he divides his time between writing and discussing the
state of the world with his coonhound buddy- Roma. Recently, he has appeared in Front
Porch Review, The Oddville Press, Rumble Fish Quarterly, Indian Review (India), Adelaide
Magazine (New York/Lisboa), Pudding Magazine, Birmingham Arts Journal (2), Ygdrasil
(Canada) (2), Oddball Magazine, Lipstick Party Magazine, Hackwriters (U.K.), Quail Bell
Magazine, StepAway Magazine (U.K.), The Potomac (2), Peacock Journal, Embodied Effigies
(2), Streetcake Magazine (U.K.), Former People Journal (2), The Other Story, Nazar-Look
(Romania) (2), Lavender Wolves, Indiana Voice Journal, Fuck Fiction, The Greensilk Journal,
The Corner Club Press, Danse Macabre du Jour, The Tower Journal, Stone Path Review, Meat
for Tea: The Valley Review, Rogue Particles Magazine, From the Depths, Flash Frontier (N. Z.),
riverbabble (2), The Writing Disorder, Lalitamba, Poetic Diversity, Marco Polo Arts Magazine,
ken*again (2), Black & White, SNReview, Voices de Luna, The Round, Syndic Literary Journal,
Slow Trains, Forge Journal, and is forthcoming in Green Silk Journal.

19

THE STOPPER

by Aaron Israel

It was early. Waves were slapping the shore. Rays of light flicker a kaleidoscope of di-
Dawns rays were peeking above the dark amond patterns across the sand, I raise my
waters. A gray sunrise like that would never hand higher still, my protector from the sun.
make the papers. I thought it was beauti- The waves crash against my feet, I am lost
ful. The beachcombers said anything worth to the world.
finding had to be found early. Up until this
point, I could brag about a few large frag- Come back. I could hear the Sirens call
ments of sea-glass in my collection. I was a from within, luring sailors and sea-glass
night owl, so mornings were usually a no- hunters alike to their fate. They called out for
go. I had to join that stupid Finders page. the stopper. Who was I to take what’s right-
The hobby that was supposed to release fully theirs? Would they stop at nothing?
stress now caused it abundantly. Why do I
always do this to myself? Anxiety isn’t real, Warning sirens from near and far grew
right? Decanter stoppers made out of crys- louder and I was snapped back to reality.
tal blazed across the local sea-glass finders Higher than a two-story building, a tidal
webpage. Discoveries like that never hap- wave monstrously building momentum
pened for me. In the scenario where the raced towards me. As it surged closer to
bird gets the worm, everybody forgets the the shoreline a sailboat in its path was de-
worm was up early too. Until a teal speck stroyed. Within seconds it would be every-
twinkled only once just between my toes. where. I took off at full speed for the parking
Most glass was clear, brown, or green. I lot, the stopper bouncing recklessly in my
reached down and started to pull it loose. cargo short’s pocket. I slowed down just
This was no speck. Time slowed down long enough to fully snap the pocket shut. I
as the sand gave way. It felt cool to the would have passed Usain Bolt had he raced
touch. Warm sensations rippled like waves me; each stride ever closer to my parked
through my body. I clutched it in my shaky car. A memory flashed of a frightened boy,
hand. Please be a stopper. Please be a stop- hidden under his desk with a book over his
per. Please be a stopper, Yes! Scavengers head. The constant buzzing of instructions
relished their great finds and still... How between intermittent alarms. That. Same.
could they not? Mine is ten times better! Sound. The car door latched shut just in
My well-worn and creased failures stacked time. I screamed when the colossal wave
away in a corner. It’s in my nature. crashed against my Honda. My scream as
useless as the desk.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

My heart raced. The surge lifted the car pulled me out with the Jaws of Life after
and then flipped it on its side deep into a about a half an hour. I stood with a blanket
muck-sand mix. I could hear debris scratch wrapped around me as the rescue equip-
and dent the metal as water rushed past. I ment pulled the car out of the dune. I
closed my eyes and prayed for safety. The watched it along with the crew from atop
water retreated nearly as quickly as it had the hole. I walked back to the shoreline. The
come. The car is buried in sand, just like sea- water was smooth like glass, seagulls were
glass. Would I be an object on some future in various stages of flight, the horizon fresh
Finders page, a mere item of someone’s ca- with color. I pulled out the stopper and I
sual interest? An ancient artifact. My heart cocked back my arm, but my body froze. I
thumped louder than ever. took a deep breath and let it all sink in. I
lowered my arm and dropped the stopper
The rescue helicopter located a speck in back into my pocket.
the sand; that was how they put it. They

About the Author
Aaron Israel resides in Racine, WI. He enjoys creating art in its
many forms. His family is his inspiration.

21

LIKE DANCING WITH A
CIGARETTE LIGHTER

by Visnja Majewski

Gold Coast, Australia, 1995 That’s just what you have in your bank ac-
count from your part–time job.
It’s Friday! You fumble with the notes and
coins in your weekly pay packet; you want School ends next week. Your hands
the latest fashion magazine from Milan. tremble as you call to make an appointment
In the summer heat, the fierce–looking for mid-January.
newsagent narrows his eyes again at your
grey catholic boy’s school shirt with its but- Mum and Dad are still at work.
toned-up collar. You tell him they’re for your
mother, but as always, he rolls his eyes. In their bedroom, you slip off your school
uniform. The vintage lime, chiffon evening
Beaming, you zip home on your racing gown catches the afternoon sunlight in your
bike. The heavy magazine slaps your back parents’ wardrobe mirror like silk drapes on
in your schoolbag, urging you on. Snaking a stage. The cut accentuates your waist and
down footpaths and gliding down drive- slimness. You think your sandy coloured
ways you weave through the closely hair would look great platinum blonde.
clipped suburb like a bicycle ballerina.
Towering high–rise apartment buildings *
sprout like concrete talons between neat
weatherboard houses on flat grassy blocks. Finding your mum alone in her bedroom
They plaster the sandy beach opposite one afternoon, you tell her about the op-
with long slim shadows. Stowing your bike eration you’ve booked. She turns to you,
by the back fence of a white weatherboard alarm in her almond eyes and sobs on your
house you pull the local paper from the shoulder.
mailbox, and flick it onto the kitchen table
inside. Wiping her tears with her fingertips, she
says, ‘My beautiful boy, I know for long time.’
An ad on the back page tells you a
plastic surgery has opened in Beach Road. *
Your mouth drops open. They want $6000.
On a cool, black night with a smooth, salty
sea breeze, you find your dad sitting alone

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Revista Literária Adelaide

before dinner. Beneath the single lightbulb, your lips. But there it stays. Stuck like you.
he’s a hulking shadow at the kitchen table. You can’t trust anyone enough to share
anything about yourself. And it’s been like
‘Dad, I’ve got something to tell you,’ you this for as long as you can remember.
say, sitting down across from him.
Take Dave for instance. Here he is now,
Your mum turns away and stirs the meat- with a stained blue t–shirt over his dirty
balls until you think they’ll turn to dust. blue jeans. You pull beers together on a
Thursday night. He’s telling you all about his
‘Mmm?’ he asks. Dozing, his head is al- wife Shelley and their three boys. And the
most on his chest. frankfurts on Tuesday night. And the sound
of the splat where they hit the wall. How
‘I’ve booked an—’ You stop. His eyes Shelley laughed so hard she sprayed Coke
meet yours. ‘—Operation. I want to look through her nose on his shirt. He laughs and
like a woman.’ points to the marks.

He catches his head before it hits the So that’s what being comfortable in your
table. own skin looks like. What must it be like to
be Dave? Proud to wear a shirt stained with
And the next thing you know, he’s coke from your wife’s nose?
standing and pushing the table away, grab-
bing your collar with one hand and trying to As always, the night seems longer after
punch you with the other. midnight. The short–skirted biscuit–baked
girls with their frosty curls teeter as the
‘Why you do this to me and your mother!’ hours grind on. They try and catch your eye.
he says into your face like a blowtorch. But you look away.

Your mum says, ‘Stop Robert, stop, you’ll It’s 2am when your alarm beeps. Raising
kill him!’ a hand, you catch Dave’s eye, untie your
apron and hook it up out back. You tear off
When she covers his eyes with her hands, your heels; your sneakers are soft and cool
you slip from his grasp and run into the on your sore feet. As usual, the younger
night, trip in the gutter and cut your cheek. girls titter when they see you in the change
You catch a bus to a friend’s house and don’t room.
come back.
The air is dark and pure after the beer–
* soaked club. Running into the night, you
hail the first cab. Young male tourists leer
At school end, you stand alone waving your and circle you, shouting for your phone
friends off on buses that turn right onto the number. You smile and punch a random
Pacific Highway headed to Sydney or Mel- number into the phones they push into
bourne. They’re chasing careers in fashion your hand.
design. Tall and slim with long blonde hair,
you think you belong on the Coast. You’re Tonight, a guy in a suit gets to the first cab.
just not sure why. You’re stranded and exposed beneath the
fluorescent lights. A swarm of young people
Surfers Paradise, Australia 2000 cross the road from the beach towards you,
in time to the beat of the pedestrian button.
As you serve punters at The Clock Hotel,
the story of that distant night is often on

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

The odour of their sweat is mixed with ex- In the soft light of the single flickering
pensive cologne, smoke and beer. Crossing flame, you tremble and wonder if they’ll
the highway, you long to be part of such a like you.
large group of friends.
An arm encircles your waist. They turn
‘Nice tits,’ one of them hisses into your you this way and that. A finger slides down
ear as you cross in the opposite direction. your Adam’s apple. Their silent smiles turn
You almost walk into the light post. into animated chatter.

Then they’re gone. Alone again with the ‘Welcome!’
pure scent of the ocean and the heaving,
cracking surf coming at you through the ‘Why, you’re beautiful.’
night sky like an outdoor cinema. You could
stand here for hours, waiting for the future ‘How have we never met you before?’
to unfold. When the ocean breeze embraces
you, you cross your arms to keep warm. You melt like wax beneath their warmth
and the light of the single flame.
A bouncing light catches your eye at the
furthest end of the beach. Shadows are And for the first time, your story rushes
dancing around a cigarette lighter, like it’s out of you like a freight train. They scramble
New Years. Leaving the harsh fluorescent to hop on board as you take them on a ride
lights of the street, you cross the highway back to the first day you dived into your
towards them, staying hidden in the sand mother’s wardrobe.
dunes. There are women in wetsuits and
men in board shorts, and men in suits and *
women in long dresses. And then you’re
not sure. It’s like they’ve swapped clothes. After sitting on the sand and sharing stories
The tall person is wearing a long dress, but until almost dawn, Wayne invites you back
when they turn—their smile is framed by a to his place for a drink. Still in his red silk
big bushy beard. gown, his full, bushy beard is curving into a
smile as he hands you a glass of white wine.
Your heart is jumping. His high–rise penthouse at the top of the
thirty–six floor building commands 360–
You tiptoe closer. Ten or more people are degree views of Surfers Paradise Beach.
standing inside a ring of backpacks, hand-
bags and briefcases. ‘Very pleased to know you, Tina,’ he says.

Someone turns on some music. As they ‘I’m so glad I’ve met all of you,’ you say,
dance, they turn and notice you. peering at him from behind your curtain of
blonde hair.
‘Hey!’ someone says.
‘We’re a mixed bag. Some of us run hotels
Looking behind you, you find no one and restaurants. Me and some others are
there. As you inch closer, their eyes narrow artists, photographers and writers. And what
and they tighten their circle. You emerge about you? You must be a model?’ he asks.
from the shadows. Someone holds the
lighter in front of your face. You stare back at him.

‘Aaaah,’ they sigh together. ‘I’m surprised. I think you’ve got what it
takes.’ He runs his index finger down the
scar on your cheek.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

He jumps up and grabs a stack of fashion glamorous lifestyle post by post across the
magazines from the timber sideboard. His oceans.
mop of brown hair bounces as he flicks
through the pages,. ‘These are mine…and Your movies take them on an adventure
these…and these,’ he says as he points. on the dazzling Gold Coast, all through your
iPhone. Browsing, shopping and modelling
In his black and white photographs, the clothes, you film as you go. Later, your busi-
women are long, languid and liquid with ness partner, Isla dubs an audio track. She
endless limbs and faces like china dolls. explains the cut of the cloth, the texture of
Their mouths are dark and their hair cas- the hardware and where to find your most
cades like silk ribbons down their backs. gorgeous pieces.

Wayne says he’s a fashion photographer Influencers speculate how you make
and stylist. And he’s going to make you a your money. Your bank account takes an
star. awful beating these days. $24K a month
from several make–up brands; $65K per
When you arrive in New York a few month from a handful of designer brands.
months later, you write to your mum and Women all over the world are making your
tell her you’re safe. You ask her not to tell fortune.
your dad where you are.
But no one told you about the longing. It
* hangs over you like a black cloud even after
all these years.
Surfers Paradise, 2018
You miss your family.
Your key fob slides easily across the scanner,
releasing your front door with a loud click. Sometimes they visit you in your dreams.
Pushing it open with the full weight of your You push and kick them away, pull them
body, the soft closing mechanism ushers close, beg for forgiveness, shout at them
you into a comforting, cinema–like stillness. to leave you alone. You tell them to stop
The dark heaving ocean greets you through talking about you behind your back, stalk
the sliding doors of your apartment. them in the supermarket, aching for a
smile, a touch or something. It’s a haunt-
You’ve come a long way, you think, ingthere’s no other word for it.
as you pass the framed black and white
posters of you in Paris, Milan and New York. Standing on the balcony in the dark,
But something just keeps pulling me back you look down at the white weatherboard
to the Coast. houses. You see yourself again as a teenager,
gliding down the footpaths on your racer
The pings from your laptop start at bike.
around midnight. Your video blog is making
waves around the globe. Your followers The Room Service menu catches your
are just waking up in London. The stats eye. The organic vegetarian dishes are
on last night’s YouTube movie show more double the price of ordinary vegetables. You
than 44,000 views and 2,000 shares. Tall look back down at the houses. Everything at
and blonde, you make movies about your the Clock Hotel is organic as well; brought in
life on the Gold Coast. Thousands of fol- from Byron Bay or Mount Tambourine.
lowers inhale and ingest the details of your
Maybe, just maybe, you think.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

* ‘Is this–a for real? If there’s a camera
around I’m gonna be really pissed,’ he says
The little white weatherboard house is easy shaking a finger up at the sky.
to see with your binoculars from the Kurra-
wa Beach headland. It’s only a short Uber ‘I’ll send you the paperwork today. Show
ride down Old Burleigh Road from your your lawyer. You’re going to be rich.’
apartment in Surfers Paradise.
He sits down heavily on the step. Drop-
There he is. Right on time. A small, ping the phone by his side, he sobs into his
balding man in a green Bonds t–shirt, khaki hands.
King Gee shorts and sparkling white thongs.
It’s 7am and he’s watering his tomatoes. *

He doesn’t use pesticides. Something The grocer was as good as his word. He sent
about the salt air seems to keep the bugs the signed contract back within a couple of
away. Well he’s about to hit the big time. days. You booked a van and gave them the
addresses of all the best organic restau-
You dial his shop number. rants and cafes on the coast. You’re deliver-
ing them faster than any other grower can.
‘Hello,’ says the grocer. He’s diverted the
shop number to his home line. Today is the best part yet. You set up the
transfer on your phone.
‘Hi. You don’t know me, but I know you.
You grow organic fruit and vegetables.’ Pay

‘Yep, that’s a–right,’ he sings in his deep $10,000 to
Italian voice.
R Saltimbanco
‘And you sell them in your fruit shop.’
012–355 7896 98765.
‘You know lots–a things about me,’ he
says swivelling his head to scan the sky. Tap.

‘I also know you’re the only one on the The deed is done. You can already see
Coast that grows organic fruit and veg. The this transaction rippling across the world.
restaurants have to truck it in from the hin- Tonight, he’ll Skype his family and tell them
terland.’ he’s going to send all his nieces and nephews
to University in Rome, as well as cover his
‘No, really? Only one?’ he says, shaking sister’s mortgage. They’ll tell their friends
his head. and family about the rich Australian uncle.

‘Yep. I want to make you a deal. I’ll take *
it all off you every month. I’ll give you $10K
a month.’ Every couple of weeks, you still stop by
for a drink with your old mate Dave at the
Leaning in closer, you hold your knees Clock Hotel.
tight. This is the moment you’ve been
waiting for. He takes the phone away from ‘Don’t say much, do you?’ says the new
his ear and hangs his head. He wipes his guy, swivelling his nose ring towards you.
eyes with the back of his hand. You blink A green snake tattoo climbs the side of his
away your tears. neck looking for his ear.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Shaking your head, you smile and swivel The phone rings, returning you to the
away from him on your stool, as you usu- sanitised cubicle the cleaning lady scrubs
ally do. But this time when you turn back, twice a week. Wrapping your seared body
he’s standing over you. His breath is on your in two plush towels, you pad a path of wet
neck. The bar is hitting midnight capaci- footprints to the kitchen.
tystanding room only. Everyone is talking
louder and faster. You take a step to his left. ‘Tina, it’s Dave. Are you alright?’ he says.
Then to his right. He blocks you both times.
Twisting around you search for Dave. He’s ‘Yep,’ you reply.
chatting with a pretty brunette.
‘The guy was a total bastard. I told the
‘Why won’t you talk to me?’ he hisses. boss and he’s gone. Just wanted to let you
know if you want to come back.’
You recoil when his cigarette breath and
the stink of his unwashed hair hits your nos- ‘I was hoping to catch up with you,’ you
trils. say, looking at your hands.

‘Oh! I get it. You’re too good for the likes ‘I know. I’m sorry. Call me if you need
of me.’ anything,’ he says.

He thrusts his hand under your t–shirt. There’s a pause. And then nothing. Just
For a split–second you consider screaming that emptiness, gnawing at you again.
but realise no one will hear you. A bottle
of Absolut vodka winks at you, reflecting *
a shard of light from the fridge. You swipe
the bottle into the glass cabinets. The shat- That night, the nightmare that chases you
tering glass turns everyone’s heads. He most often returns. It’s your mother’s fu-
glares at you and brings a fist to your face. neral. You stand at the edge of her grave
The veins in his neck bulge and twist purple clad in black from head to toe, right next
as he brings his nose to yours. Dave comes to your father. But he doesn’t know it’s you.
running and shouting down behind the bar. The handfuls of pink rose petals you release
into the grave are soft like kisses. They float
Then, like a ghoul he’s is gone. down and come to rest on her coffin. The
faint tap as they land is one of the saddest
Running out of the hotel, you stand dou- sounds you’ve ever heard. Never to feel her
bled–over on the pavement, gulping down cheek on yours again.
the cool night sky.
*
*
The following morning, the eastern sun’s
In your apartment, you flick the shower spotlight discovers you in bed, and urges
mixer onto HOT and jump in still wearing you out with a brilliant incandescence that
your clothes. Tearing them off under the lights up your 16–foot ceilings. You reluc-
water, you dump them at your feet in the tantly pull on a silk robe and draw open the
double–sized frameless shower. When the towering sliding door to your terrace. A dis-
water reaches scalding, you allow the on- sonance of gulls, ocean waves and human
slaught to disintegrate you and that guy’s voices rise up to greet you. Twelve floors
touch. below, the local fisherman conducts a group
of frolicking seagulls with morsels of bread.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

The pings start the moment you turn on ‘Hi, it’s me again,’ you say to the mum-
your espresso machine. It’s Friday night in bled hello.
New York and your fans are looking for inspi-
ration for the weekend. Then the burring of ‘Hi—yes! I have more fruit and vegeta-
a Skype call animates your laptop. It’s your bles for you—lettuce, cu–ies, tomatoes,
business partner, Isla, who lives in Berlin. figs, dates. I been keeping the bugs away,’
he shouts.
‘Hello, sweetie! Have you seen the stats
from The Coast campaign?’ she squeals, ‘Great to hear it. I’ve just made this month’s
holding her iPhone up to her laptop screen. payment. I’ll book the van for Monday.’

The royal blue trench coat you modelled ‘Thank you,’ you hear his voice waver.
this week reclines across your dining room
chair. Isla’s screen shows the views have hit ‘Pleasure,’ you reply and quickly hang up.
100,000. OMG! Your agent said if you hit
more than 50,000 views, you’d get $125K *
each.
You’re tied up in white cloth, in a quiet,
You flick screens to your online banking dark room. This dream pins you down on
page. The money is there. hot still nights. When your ocean sentinels
depart and the Pacific is as still as glass, the
‘We’re rich, we’re rich, we’re fil–thy memories roll in. You twist and turn, trying
rich!!’ she screams, jumping up and down to tear off the bandages. Perspiration is
on her sofa. pricking every inch of your skin. The cloth
is damp now, cooling you dangerously. You
‘When did this happen?’ can’t get free. You pant and squirm in fath-
oms of darkness punctuated only by the
‘Last night,’ says Isla. beeps of medical computers.

‘I know what I’m doing with my share,’ ‘You loser!’ shouts the voice. ‘You’ll never
you say. make anything of yourself!’

‘Yeah! Jump on a plane outa there! That You sit up. It’s just a dream.
coast is not for you my friend.’
You’ve got to get out of this apartment.
‘I’ve got some stuff to sort out…’ you say.
Her words setting off a dull throbbing in *
your head.
Saltimbanco’s fruit shop is just a short walk
‘Don’t mind me then if I celebrate in away, down at the corner shops. In the
Vegas!!! I’ll see if anyone else is free,’ she bright, steamy morning you put on your
says falling backwards onto her sofa. darkest Chanel sunglasses, a wide–brimmed
straw hat and an aqua sarong.
‘Tell them I’m sorry.’ You stare at your re-
flection in the blank screen. His Gala apples are large, luscious and
precisely turned out on the wooden display
You fill your demitasse cup and roll the cabinet. There he is. He seems shorter and
expresso across your tongue. May as well older than you remember.
keep going, since I’ve got this far, you think.
You take a seat on the chewing gum
You make this month’s transfer to the dotted wooden bench in front of his shop.
grocer and pick up the phone.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Beneath your enormous hat, you pretend rank outside is empty. Tap for an Uber. Here
to scan your copy of Madison. Peering over comes one. A dodgy looking Falcon.
your sunglasses, you spy his new sneakers
and a Gold watch. Every detail of the scene The faded blue sedan screeches to a stop
is intoxicating, like an old foreign movie. in front of you. Ducking your head into the
From the rolled up Italian newspaper open door, you’re glad to escape to safety.
pushed to one side of the cash register, to The man with the nose ring peers over the
the transistor radio in the leatherette case. front seat at you.
And you pray for a happy ending.
‘I’ve got you now,’ he says locking all the
‘Good–a morning!’ he sings out, tipping doors and stepping on the accelerator.
his chin to you.
For a split second you think this isn’t hap-
You smile. Bummer. Time to go. pening. As the car hurtles away, you suck
up the air while digging your nails into the
The endings always choke you up. seat in front of you. A voice in your head is
screaming, You’ve got to get out of here. His
Slinging your bag over your shoulder, repugnant skin seems to pickle in the heat
you put your magazine under your arm and of the airless car. The odour invades your
clip clop down to the newsagency in your nostrils, ears and eyes. In the confines of the
wedges. The latest Marie Claire from New vinyl–seated speeding car, every name and
York has arrived. A piece of glossy perfec- slur you’ve heard, every slap, push, kick and
tion in your hands. Meghan Markle is gor- shove burns through your veins. You reach
geous on the cover. You head toward the into the front and grab him by the throat,
payment counter. There’s a familiar scent of pinning him against the steering wheel.
unwashed hair, cigarette smoke and a snake
tattoo…My god, it’s him. ‘Stop this car right now and let me out,’
you growl in baritone.
‘You,’ he growls, blocking your way.
Your eyes lock with his in the rear vi-
You stop in your tracks, dropping your sion mirror. His mouth drops open and he
bag and magazine. releases the wheel. The car swerves and
spins 360 degrees in the two–way road,
‘I lost my job because of you,’ he says. streaming pine trees, a park bench, council
garbage bins, a telephone booth and a red
You try to escape in the other direction, post box through the windows. The sedan
but he grabs your arm. careers back down the street, towards the
shops. It narrowly misses a black Benz and
The Indian man behind the counter calls then stops across both lanes.
out, ‘Hey, I’m calling the police!’
Damn, he got you to speak.
He reaches for his phone and starts dial-
ling. The man runs out of the shop. The sweat is broiling on his brow.

‘Lady, what’s going on? You alright?’ he ‘You’re a bloke!’ he says, curling his top
asks, rounding his counter to stand in front lip.
of you.
With your other hand, you take a photo
‘I...I…’ you stammer. of him.

You’re gathering up your things and run-
ning out of the store to hail a cab. But the

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

‘Now open the doors!’ From your spot on the headland, you
line up your binoculars.
He’s stunned and doesn’t move. You
slam his head into the steering wheel and What’s that sign? You re–focus the
reach across the seat to unlock the doors. lenses.

Grabbing your handbag and straw hat Shit. It says ‘For Sale’. He’s selling his
you scramble out of the car and run to the house!
kerb. Saltimbanco is standing on the path
behind you. You dial his number.

‘Lady, I saw everything! You want me to ‘Hello,’ he says.
call police?’ he asks, his eyes round.
Through the binoculars, you can see he’s
Slapping your sunglasses and hat on, sitting cross–legged on his balcony, reading
you shake your head. He turns his face up the paper. Hospital issue glasses perch on
to yours. Tears sting your eyes. You want to his nose. But his collared shirt is new.
speak, but the words don’t come. The fear
wells up again in your chest like a trapped pi- ‘This is your friendly neighbourhood fruit
geon. Willing yourself to stay just one more and veg buyer,’ you reply.
second. You wrestle the urge. To wait one
more minute to see if anything will change. ‘Yeah, how are you? Not heard from you
His wrinkles…there are so many of them! in a while. Fruit and veg is growing good.’
He reaches out to touch your arm, but this
is too much. It’s like an electric current, ‘Have you got something you want to tell
turning higher and higher, urging you to run, me?’ you ask.
run, get away, get away, the voice shouts
at you in your head. But things could be ‘What you mean? Ohyou seen my sign.’
different this time, you scream back. Some-
thing inside you disagrees. It says, stay safe. A pause. Then he sighs.

You turn and hurry down the street and ‘I wanna go back to home. I got no one
look back briefly as you turn the corner. Sal- here,’ he says lowering his voice.
timbanco and the Indian newsagent are sur-
rounding the Uber driver. The sound of their The words sting.
raised voices and the slamming car doors
echo down the street as a police car pulls up. ‘How much do you want to make you
You run back to your apartment and collapse stay?’
on the floor behind your heavy front door.
‘Who the hell is this?’ he asks, leaping
* out of his chair and peering up at the sky.
‘You blackmail me? What I done wrong? Tell
The espresso steam is dancing in the morn- me!’
ing sunshine on your marble kitchen count-
er. It’s been ten months now since your first You can’t think of what else to say. He’s
payment into Saltimbanco’s bank account. going to leave.
That’s $100K in his bank account. Wonder
what he’s doing with the cash now. ‘It’s me, Dad. Thomas.’

A silence. An intake of breath.

‘Why you—! Did you know your mother
pass away?’ he shouts.

‘Yes, Dad. I was at her funeral.’

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Revista Literária Adelaide

He’s still as stone. He sits down and cra- ‘It’s hard since your mum died.’ You press
dles his forehead in his right hand and rests the phone against your ear. You can barely
his elbow on his knee. hear him. ‘I been on my own for years. I
think of you all the time,’ he says and pauses.
Don’t rush in, you tell yourself. ‘I know now I was wrong. I shouldn’t have hit
you.’
‘Was that you in the Uber?’ he asks.
A sob and a honk as he blows his nose
‘Yes.’ with his handkerchief.

‘It was you who gave me all this money?’ ‘Thanks Dad,’ you say, tears choking your
he says, narrowing his eyes into the sun, throat. ‘And Dad—’ you say.
sweat glistening on his top lip.
‘Yes, Thomas?’
‘Yes.’ You stop breathing.
‘My name is Tina,’ you say, gripping the
He puts the phone down on the table, phone with your clammy hand.
coughs and wipes his eyes. He stares at
the long fronds of his 50–foot palm trees, There’s a pause and he pinches his
keeping time with the pounding breakers mouth with his hands.
beyond the sand dunes.
‘Yes—’ he says, looking up into the sky.
He clears his throat. ‘—Tina, I need help with the next shipment.
I getting old. Can you come Thursday?’
‘I looked for you for months. I never stay
angry! I saw your friend at the shops. He ‘Sure,’ you say.
said you move to Melbourne—’
‘And, Tina, don’t worry for money. I doing
‘No, I didn’t—’ OK.’

‘—you and your mum was always too Hanging up the phone you shake with
nervous…’ sobs, finally expelling the terror of that dis-
tant night—the meatballs, the punch, the
You sit down heavily on the timber fall in the gutter and the cut on your cheek.
bench behind you. Your heart is hammering. You slump on the timber bench and hold
your head in your hands.
‘—but Dad—I’ve done well. I’ve got a
good job.’ There’s one last memory…those other
painful words: ‘You shamed to be my son?
His pause is excruciating. You’re a heart- You don’t want to help the family?’ he had
beat away from slamming the phone down. shouted.

‘Good, Thomas,’ he mumbles, wiping his That night, you didn’t know the answer
eyes. to his question. But now you do.

There’s something more in the gaps be-
tween his sighs.

31

AN UNCOMFORTABLE
RIDE

by Jennifer Brewer

The cool air blasted into the Town and Coun- burrito filled my mind, I smirked. I shut the
try minivan. It was a couple years old now, door before she could change her mind.
but I loved my purchase. It fit my family of
five, had all the fancy stuff, and made me a “You got the upgrade. It’s an XL, the six-
few extra bucks when a customer needed a seater. You now have all that space to your-
larger Uber. Most of my customers enjoyed self,” I said. 
what I offered in comfort and space. I sel-
dom had complaints. Except for tonight.  “I should have never listened to Candy.
She’s always been a little low class,” she said
“Look, lady, I don’t know what to tell you. to herself with a hair flip.
You ordered the Uber. I was available… I am
what you get,” I said. “Music?”

Julie Spinner, my new fare.  “As if.”

“I thought a deluxe was, like, an upgrade,” I shrugged. Annoyance scrunched up
said Julie. “I should have never listened to her perfect, wrinkle-free face. Shadows
Candy. She’s always been a little low class.” filled the cracks, the distortion complete. I
imagined I discovered her genuine face. I
I shook my head in disbelief. The braid wondered at the ugliness in beauty. It ap-
from my long crimson hair whipped against peared, like candy on Halloween, to belong
the headrest. The back of my throat to the rude, hateful, and ungrateful. I, by
spasmed as sweet mango mixed with an no means, viewed myself as homely, but I
overpowering bouquet of geranium filled did not belong on any magazine cover or
the minivan. I coughed and released air into billboard. Julie looked like she had walked
my lungs once again.  off one. 

A sparkling black high heel shoe entered Thankful this wouldn’t be a long ride,
the van, followed by a mile of tanned leg. It one rich neighborhood to another five miles
met a silky red slit just below her hip. She up the road, I set off toward her destina-
had chosen the seat my four-year-old sits tion. The full light of the moon lit up the sky.
in. Spilled milk, Cheerios, and last week’s Each home I passed appeared cut from the

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Revista Literária Adelaide

same mold, right down to placement of the “Maybe, it was a blur.”
bushes around the yards. A Conoco lit up a
four-way stop. “I should go check on him, make sure it
wasn’t just the rock.” My breath calmed.
The click, click, click of the left turn signal
broke the silence as I turned to cross the “Well, he doesn’t look like he’s hurt. Can
intersection. you just take me to my destination?” she
said. “Then come back.”
“Watch out,” Julie said.
Eyebrows lifted. I couldn’t believe it. “Of
I heard a Thud. The van bounced. course that’s what you want to do. I thought,
for just a moment, there might be some hu-
Tires squealed. Our bodies knocked into manity in you, but–”
the back of our seats and slumped forward
as we slid to a stop. Time froze. I waited, “Wait, what do you mean? I’m human. I
struggling for breath, for the inevitable care. I… I’m just late and he didn’t look like
crunch, thankful it never came. The inter- we hurt him.”
section remained clear. My breath shook as
I put the van in drive and pulled into the I turned, legs tight, poised to run, and
Conoco.  froze. “He’s gone,” I said. I shivered and the
hair on my body stood to attention.
“What in the actual hell was that?” I said. 
“So, can we go then? I’m sorry for the—”
“I—I’m sorry. There was a man in the
road. We got close. I thought we hit him.” “Forget it,” I said. “I’ll just get you were
you need to go.”
I watched in the mirror; her hands shook
as she tried to explain. The chocolate and Silence permeated the van once again.
caramel highlighted hair, no longer pinned Over it, I turned my favorite Pandora station
up, fell over her face. Eyes wide, she stared on low. Adele’s sultry voice filled the van.
at me. Julie shrugged in the back. Lights flew past
as I neared her destination. I pulled up to a
“I didn’t see anyone,” I said. My body large black gate.
trembled. “But I will go check.”
“The code is 57311,” Julie said.
“Okay,” she said. “I—that’s good. I mean,
great. Yes. Thank you.” The box beeped and then buzzed before
the gate squealed open. Once through the
I stepped out. A cool breeze danced with gate a horseshoe driveway awaited me. I
the curls around my face. Two cars waited pulled in behind a limousine. I now under-
for the green light. A rock sat in the middle stood her frustration with getting me as a
of the road. Beyond, a lone man limped driver. It would embarrass me too. I pushed
on the sidewalk as he pushed a cart. His the automatic side door button. It slid open
clothes, ragged and splotched with black for Julie’s exit. She got out without a word,
patches, floated over a withered body. He flipped her hair over her shoulder, lifted
may have been the guy.  her head, and walked toward the house. I
couldn’t blame her. 
“There’s a homeless man walking up the
road, and a rock in the road,” I said. “That’s “Glad that’s over,” I said.
it. Do you think it could be him?”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine
Done for the night, I rolled the windows
down and pulled out of the big horseshoe
driveway. Lilac with a hint of grass wafted
through the van as the cool night air blew
over me. I pointed the van toward home.
The image of the man with a limp haunted
my brain.

About the Author
Jennifer Brewer is a student at Full Sail University earning
a BFA in Creative Writing. She has a short story, “Into the
Dark”, published through the online literary blog, Ariel
Chart in 2018 and has self-published it on Amazon in 2019.
When she is not studying or writing, she is homeschooling
her children, playing Final Fantasy XXIV, or spending time
with family and friends. She can be found on Twitter:
@JennJBrewer or follow her on her website:
https://jenniferbrewer78.wixsite.com/mysite.

34

CAT STORY

by Fatemeh Jafari

“Be quiet! Now it’s the cat’s turn to ask us involuntarily. I sat behind my desk where I
questions!” could keep the distance it desired.

“The cat had not come of its own free When it licked its ink-stained nail, its light
will, so it couldn’t be blamed now; it had brown tongue turned navy blue. Cats are
been grabbed by neck to be made unable truly clean. It slowly rubbed its paw on its
to scratch. round head. A copper ring had been pierced
to the poor animal’s left ear tip. When its
Then it was thrown into a bag so that it paw caught the ring, it tried to take it off
couldn’t see anywhere and wouldn’t learn absent-mindedly, but the ring was too
the way back to the village. When it was let small to come off that easily. It eventually
out of the bag, and got caught in a bunch of stopped playing with itself. First it glanced
knickknack in a house, its little self was con- at the door, and then stretched out as it dug
sumed with rage. At first it had scratched the its paws into my hapless leather couch. It
ceramic floors of the house, but they were sat straight and stiff on two legs and gazed
so firmly and immovably clinging to the into my eyes. Just like the rest of them. I
ground and earth. It had squeezed through wonder whether I feel like this because I am
the half-open window to reach outside the a man, but if a dog had done such a thing to
house on the rooftop. Of course, it had no my couch, and even urinated on it as well, I
idea it was on the rooftop. Later when it told wouldn’t have been so exasperated.
me about it, I could guess it from the flow of
air blowing and surrounding it everywhere. As much as they insist so much on being
“I would simply draw my legs underneath my smart, dogs always have a stupid look hard-
belly and keep yawning and inhaling the air. ened on their face. This gives them a par-
Then I would hide my head in my arms and ticular simplicity. Just like those stupid and
nod off,” it would have said if it had not had simple TV characters that you would, instead
to do something so urgent. “Weren’t you of getting angry with, fall in love with head
scared in that open area?!” I told it. A meow over heels. To the contrary, cats, whether
came, and as it turned the tip of its ears in male or female, put on so many acts that
every direction, it held out one of its nails, they would go on your nerves even if they
plunged it into ink, and struggled to write have big arms and whiskers so long to cover
something on paper: “Where”. I was going a meter outside their faces like this cat’s.
to pull out the piece of paper from it when
it raised its head and hissed. I retreated It’s the immense amount of pride and
demure manner that has even had pharaohs

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

kneel before them. Poor pharaohs were un- paw into the silver surface, but the roof coat-
able to abandon these noble creatures even ings are too solid to give way to any earth
in their tombs. From their hairless races to underneath. Worse, there is no earth found
their favorite types, they are all cut from the beneath the roof coating even for a handful.
same cloth. Now imagine a cat as proud as
the Himalayas grabbed by neck and thrown Its stomachache pressures it so much.
into a bag. When it opens its eyes, it finds Jumping from one silver sea to another, from
a ridiculous ring pierced into an ear and a one balcony to another, it finally notices a
bell ready to be tied around its neck like a few vases. They looked like the sunflowers
goat’s. Although they gave that up when in their village. They nod from their distance
the cat scratched them up and took good meaning “Come here.” It runs till it reaches
care of them. Worse, they abandoned it in their foot where its sense of smell comes
a spaciously large house like that where it to the rescue. There is no scent or smell
could not find even a handful of earth. They coming from the flowers. Nonetheless, it
had not even thought of its need to answer takes a risk, for nature had called and com-
the call of nature in the most natural way manded it to do something for its urgent
possible. No wonder it all came to attor- need. It digs at the foot of the sunflowers to
neys and laws. Even a thug or a murderer make a little hole to poop. Instead of earth,
would get his toilet to pee or poop in his a handful of things like threads wrap around
most natural way, let alone an innocent cat its nails. Double trouble. It appraises the
as bully-like as this one. It is of course inno- sunflowers top to bottom. They did not
cent. When it looked into my eyes, it was even look like a dry stick with colored heads,
impossible for me to move my eyes away. because even a dry stick could have a partic-
These cats really mesmerize you. You would ular smell. It did not even stink. No smell. It
feel like there is a mastermind or a great bites at them and scratches their unnatural
thinker hiding behind that shaggy head. It brown stems. It leaves no scratches what-
looks like someone who is going to save soever. It did not ask me anything about
the universe. Whenever I see one of them, them, just like the other things. Nor did I
so quiet unlike dogs, I see hailstones of tell it they were artificial. I thought the truth
questions raining on my head through their would be too painful for him to hear. Maybe
eyes. Maybe it is the insufficiency I feel be- it knew it, too. Unlike dogs, cats are very
fore them that makes me exasperated, not patient. Poor thing said it itself, “When they
those little holes they make on my couch put me in a bag, they promised to take me
with their little paws. After it had stared at somewhere better.” To it, somewhere better
me to the fullest, deeply crashing me with meant a more natural place. It is now going
its evil and reproachful look at least to have through something most of us humans
taken a short revenge on my kind, once experience as well. Imagine being buried
again it plunged its sharp nail into ink. under 7 meters of earth instead of a bag,
and when we opened our eyes, we would
I fancied telling it that I myself would write find instead of the paradise or hell, which
its complaint, which is only one question, but we expect to be more natural and real than
I was afraid. I was truly horrified that it would this world, a handful of artificial stuff. How
not be contend with just a hiss this time. It would we feel? One goes out of his or her
had every right. When it reaches the rooftop, way to reach things more real than what
it finds a silver sea in front of it. It pushes its surrounds him or her.

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I was looking at its round and cute head. In this court, which is about to explode
Let’s face it. They are really cute. They could by the pressure of the present crowd, I
be shrewish like women, yet they are damn wonder why all these out-of-the-socket
charming. At times they even reach childish eyes only look forward to seeing my cli-
innocence. Children give one a hard time ent’s writing. My client has posed only one
with all their mischief, yet when they are question to you, dear judge, the jury, and
drawing a picture, particularly of their daddy all these out-of-the-socket eyes.” I raise the
who would look more like a scarecrow in a piece of paper and show it to those present.
farm, with hands and legs sticking out like “Your eyes are out of their sockets for this!”
dry sticks. Even these dry sticks as hands looking daggers at the judge and the jury, I
would meet their own sticks/hands in the continue, “You too?! Yes! That’s the truth.
picture. While the giant shadow of their fa- It’s the cat’s handwriting: Where do I an-
ther falls on the piece of drawing, but they swer the call of nature?” There are Oh and
are deeply drowned in themselves – this part Ah’s coming from every corner of the court.
is very beautiful – drowned in themselves I sigh deeply. I can never sigh enough.
that is drowned in their relationship with
daddy. This drawing cries, “Daddy, I give you I yell at the judge, who has been staring
a pretty hard time all day, but I love you!” at the piece of paper, “Do you understand
my client’s question, or better to say my
Such a beautiful message coats one’s question?! Where do I answer the call of
heart like a thin silk and makes one forget nature?!” The piece of paper is shaking in
all the torment. That maybe the reason why the air. The judge pulls himself together. He
these creatures have penetrated our lives to pulls his head back and retorts with a sneer,
this extent and replaced the kids we don’t “For you! Out of the courtroom, on the left,
have, or even sleep next to us instead of a down the first corridor, you can answer
wife or husband. And now a question. Now the call of nature in the men’s room.” The
that we are so much in need of cats, why room explodes with laughter of the crowd. I
have we not provided a handful of earth gnash my teeth and the piece of paper gets
for them to answer the call of nature in the crumpled in my fist. The judge pounds his
most natural way possible?! We are selfishly hammer hard on the desk a few times in-
turning everything into artificial stuff every attentively. “Due to a lack of necessary evi-
day. We could at least leave a tiny little dence presented here, the case is dismissed.
piece of nature for the creatures so lovingly End of the session.” Everyone gets up. I can
touching our souls. They have not forgotten still hear them giggling and tittering. I knew
their nature. Thanks to a lack of reasoning, from the very beginning this would end like
they do not learn a thing from us. Even if this. “Necessary evidence” was never there
they do, the moment their next generation to begin with.
begins, it all begins all over again.
I sit behind one of the desks until the
My client has refrained from coming courtroom is empty. A little boy pulls at
to this court on its own will, and is now my coat’s sleeve in a stealthy way. I am still
grazing in a faraway village in an unknown furious. I don’t notice him at first. Then he
place where no one has the energy to go to, pulls harder. He says something in a very
while there is still a ridiculous ring pierced low voice. I have to lean closer to his mouth
into its ear. and almost stick my ear to it to be able to

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Adelaide Literary Magazine
comprehend what he is saying. “Did your
client finally answer the call of nature?!” I
nod. Then my head remains down on my
hands. He is still holding tight to my sleeve.
“How?! In the most natural way possible?!”
He asks. I raise my head and look at him like
my client. The child is frightened and let go
of my sleeve. As I straighten up my collar, I
get up and walk towards the exit. I shout in
response to his question, “In the most un-
natural way possible!”

About the Author
Fatemeh Jafari - artist’s statement: I am a creative text writer and novelist. I wrote an
interesting short story about cats and I would like to publish it on World Cat Day. My first
book is a science fiction novel called “MC Two” for teens that was Published in 2014. My
second book is a romantic and psychological novel called “Forbidden SMS” (This book is not
allowed to be published in Iran, but it is the first novel written in the world with this new
form. It is registered in the Art Registration Organization with this number 1482-97 in Iran). I
am an environmental activist and interested in writing stories about it.

38

FIONA AND SALLY

by Cearra Hill

Fiona and Sally used to be close friends, Sally laughed out a bitter and resentful
the closest friends at Swallow High, every- laugh. “No duh,” she remarked.
one loved to be around them. They were
always the life of the party and lit up any “What do you think we should do?”
room they walked into. However, one day, Fiona sighed, ignoring the harsh tone of her
the two stopped talking to each other and former friend.
stopped going to the movies, shopping,
and pranking together. “I think you should just leave me alone
and we get out of here on our own. Sound
People had to start keeping them apart, fair? Good,” Sally replied, venom in her voice.
keeping them away from each other to keep
a fight or argument from breaking out. Ev- “What did I do that pissed you off so
eryone was starting to get tired of it. much?” Fiona finally asked.

One night the two of them were out “You know what you did. And I cannot
sneaking around the school, setting up believe you actually did that, ten years of
some pranks for the teacher, when they friendship, down the drain,” Sally replied in
ended up in an empty classroom, the same a sneer.
one, to be exact. Both had heard a sound
and ran into the closest room. The two saw “If I knew what I did, I wouldn’t be asking,
each other, having chosen the same room, and would be just as rude and snarky as you
but neither said a word. have been,” Fiona replied, clearly confused,
but starting to get a bit upset and angry.
The custodian was going around and
locking classroom doors, of rooms he had “You know what you did. You just want
already cleaned, at the time, and locked the me to think that you don’t, so I look like the
two of them inside the classroom. When bad guy here,” Sally said, crossing her arms.
Fiona and Sally heard the door lock they
both ran to the door, trying to unlock it. The “If you want to hate me, fine, but at least
custodian had left that specific hallway. The give me a reason for this hatred. We have
two sank to the floor, still not having said a been friends for ten years, I don’t even
single word to each other. know what changed or why it changed,”
Fiona replied.
“Well, this sucks,” Fiona muttered to her-
self. “Don’t start yelling at me for something
you did wrong,” Sally said, getting to her
feet.

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Fiona followed and got to her feet as “You know what you did. Stop denying it,”
well, she had never liked it when people Sally retorted. She was getting upset that
were towering over her. Fiona was still trying this stupid game.

“You still don’t like people towering over Fiona fumed and punched her former
you, huh?” Sally asked Fiona. friend in the stomach, knocking the wind
out of Sally. Fiona let Sally recover since
“No, I do not. And you know why I don’t,” Fiona still actually wanted to be friends,
Fiona replied, a cold look in her eye. She was even if she was the one that started the
fed up with having this argument and not fight.
knowing what it was about, “If you are going
to hate me for no reason, at least let me give Sally ran at Fiona and tackled her into
you one,” she said, then she walked over to the whiteboard behind her, “You shouldn’t
Sally and backhanded her across the face. have slept with Evan,” Sally said through
gritted teeth, as Fiona hit the whiteboard.
Sally’s head jerked to the side violently
at the force of the backhand. She shot Fiona Fiona’s head hit the metal tray that
a murderous look, “You are going to regret holds the markers, causing her to fall to the
that,” she said, launching herself at her former ground. The metal piece broke and a shard
friend. Sally tackled Fiona to the ground, all of it embedded itself in Fiona’s skull.
of her anger finally coming to head.
Blood pooled around Fiona’s head at a
Fiona punched her off and quickly got rapid rate, the metallic smell of blood filled
up. “At least you have a legit reason to hate the air. Sally looking at her in horror and
me now, I don’t even know the reason you guilt. “I never slept with anyone, Sally; how-
have in your head,” she said, putting her ever, I forgive you,” Fiona rasped out, then
hands up to be prepared. all sounds from Fiona stopped.

About the Author

Cearra Hill is a college student at Full Sail University, where
she is part of their Bachelor’s in Creative Writing program.
There she studies how to use today’s technology, how to
properly write a conversation in a story, and so much more
to come. Cearra has graduated high school in 2019, with
a 3.42 GPA. Cearra is also a black belt in TaeKwonDo, and
plans to study more. When she isn’t writing or reading,
she is either drawing, painting, or playing her guitar. She
loves spending time with her six other siblings and her
several dogs and looks forward to what her future has in
store for her.

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AT LEAST I KNOW
I’M FREE

by James Hanna

In the first week of Trump’s presidency, “You betcha,” Sammy would answer. “Al-
something unusual happened in Putnam- ways happy to take requests.” But after
ville, Indiana. Sammy Spigot, a garrulous DJ hanging up on his caller, he would revert to
on the local radio station, started playing his patented spiel. “Folks, this is Slammin’
only one song. The song was the Lee Green- Sammy on WBW-AM, and I’m bringin’ you a
wood classic, “I’m Proud to be an American,” knee-slappin’ song to help you get through
and every day that week, Sammy played the day.” And Lee Greenwood would again
nothing else. He continued to announce croon his trademark ballad while Sammy
the bake sales and high school basketball sang along.
scores, but he did not show the slightest in-
clination to expand his song selections. And Eventually, the song had the impact of
each time he played the song, he gave it a Chinese water torture, and residents of
lively plug: “Hi there, folks. Slammin’ Sam- Putnam County whispered among them-
my here. I’m bringing you a number from selves. “Is he crazy?” some of them mut-
the eighties that will get you marchin’ in tered. “Every day, that same damn song.
step.” On top of that, he would sing along— Lee Greenwood’s a top-notch singer, but
his rich baritone voice a fine complement to there’s such a thing as too much fun.” “Shut
Lee Greenwood’s gravelly tenor. yer pie-hole,” others would whisper. “How
can you say something like that? If Sammy
Most of the folks in Putnamville already is crazy, so is Trump. He uses that song at
liked the song, so this constant repetition all of his rallies and nobody complains.” A
did not seem necessary. In fact, after Sammy few of Trump’s supporters, incensed by the
broadcasted the song for the two hundred controversy, expressed their indignation by
and fiftieth time, people began calling him singing along with Sammy.
at the radio station to express some irrita-
tion. “Now don’t get me wrong,” a caller But less forgiving citizens continued to
might say, “Lee Greenwood’s a mighty fine phone the station, and one of then urged
singer. But how about a little Emmylou Sammy to expand his playlist if he hoped to
Harris or maybe some Conway Twitty.” keep his job. Sammy responded by playing

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

John Conlee’s “Rose Colored Glasses,” but improbable claim. There could be little
he cut it off after several bars to make a doubt that these cretins intended to rape
special announcement. “This is Slammin’ everybody in town.
Sammy Spigot at WBW-AM, and I’m bringin’
you a golden oldie that’ll have you tappin’ Soon troops from the town militia
your toes.” And again Sammy added his showed up at the radio station. They wore
baritone to Lee Greenwood’s raspy voice, military surplus fatigues, they had rifles and
and again the airwaves shook with this im- anti-tank weapons, and those with baritone
promptu duet. voices were singing in tune with Sammy.
The local church choir also appeared and
When an op-ed popped up in the local stood beside the militia, and the choir sang
newspaper, suggesting that Sammy be fired, along in two-part harmony.
several letters to the editor accused the au-
thor of censorship. If you shut down free The citizens and the agitators faced each
speech, one letter declared, the pedophiles other on opposite sides of the street. It was
will take over. We’ll be forced to listen to Sex a tribute to the singers, their mesmerizing
Pistol music and other lowlife songs. The voices, that the shooting did not start until
author of the op-ed wrote back and said they had sung the song twenty times. And
that Sammy belonged in a nuthouse—that after the ruckus was over and the wounded
his robotic raving did not amount anything and dead were removed, Sammy an-
resembling free speech. This statement nounced that tomorrow he would be taking
was so un-American that a counter-protest a holiday.
arose. Throughout the county, People wore
caps that said Let’s not silence Sammy. Slammin’ Sammy did not return to
WBW-AM—he decided to live in Paris. It
At the end of the week, Sammy was still was rumored that he spent all his time in
on the air, playing only that Lee Greenwood the Louvre serenading the Venus de Milo.
number. And armed rabble-rousers arrived The DJ who replaced him was named Boppin’
in town and picketed the radio station. They Brian Stinger, and he continued Sammy’s
were dressed in black like Johnny Cash, but tradition of only playing one song. “We
their taunts were tone-deaf and hoarse, have a hit from the sixties,” Boppin’ Brian
and their eyes were as cold as mackerels continually announced. “It’s the mellow
and terrible to behold. We are better than voice of Bob Dylan singing ‘Knocking on
lemmings their placards declared—a most Heaven’s Door.’”

About the Author

James Hanna is a retired probation officer and a former
fiction editor. His stories have been published in over
thirty journals including Sixfold, Crack the Spine, and The
Literary Review. James’ books, three of which have won
awards, are available on Amazon.

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ICE CREAM FOR
SHERENE

by Caleb Coomer

Sherene stood on the roof of South Central She woke up in a hospital bed and it
Bank, where she worked for several years, seemed the afterlife had escaped her.
and thought of her tombstone, envisioning
the gray colored “Sherene Turrington”. She “Ms. Turrington, I am sorry to tell you,
hated her name and wondered if her grave you’re fired,” a man with a gun on his hip
marker would be flat or a robust marble told her.
slab. Her wondering mind brought her to
the roof, and it kept her sitting on the loose Just coming to, Sherene noticed the gun
gravel for several hours contemplating the before the man carrying it, but in a few sec-
fall to her death. onds she realized the man was a cop.

The rain predictions she read yesterday “No bed side manner, I’m surprised,” she
were countered by the warm sun ripping said with a sneer.
through the few slight clouds. The gray
blue overcast caused a precursor to a smile, ”And who the fuck are you?” she con-
a slight crinkle at the corner of her mouth, tinued. “You can’t fire me,”
but not quite a smirk and far from a full
smile. Sherene walked backwards to the “I didn’t fire you ma’am, your boss Mr.
edge of the brick building and fell back. Kilpur fired you, he called the hospital a
little while ago and I figured I would tell
The afterlife lacked the beauty she ex- you since I need to talk to you about the
pected. The walls were white, and she had charges—”
envisioned stone walls shoved miles deep
into the earth. She anticipated her afterlife “My boss called to fire me? Did he ask
to be in the bottom of an ancient well with how I was?”
just a small dot of light visible from the cold
mud. The walls of her well wore soft mold “Of course, the doctor told Mr. Kilpur you
of fantastic colors, the darkest greens and were in good condition, and you will recover
browns so dark they edged toward black.  just fine with a little rest. I am here to—”

“At which stage of the conversation did
he ask about me? Did he call and ask first
thing or did he fire me and then ask?”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Ma’am, I don’t know if he asked first, but “Did my boss fire me before asking how I
we have to—” was?” Sherene said before the nurse or the
officer had a chance to speak.
“Nurse!”
The officer and the nurse looked at Mike
“Let me ma’am, please!” the officer said with fraught anticipation and a look of
raising his hands to Sherene and motioning ‘don’t fuck this up’.
them as to calm an errant pony nearing the
edge of a cliff. Out of his pockets Mike revealed a sea
green colored sticky note and read from
The officer hustled into the hallway, and it. “He said to tell Sherene Turrington she is
returned with a young man with noticeable fired and not to come back, her things will
ears. Not large ears or small ears, but cav- be dropped off at the hospital.”
ernous ears with deep ridges.
The stuffy room filled with more heavy
“Remember the call for Ms. Turrington?” air and the three men awaited Sherene’s
The officer asked the nurse. scorn.

“Yeah, yeah,” the nurse said, “Fired her “That’s it?”
over the phone, that’s messed up.”
Sherene thought about the last conver-
The officer noticed the nurse holding sation she had with her boss. The nurse’s
back a snicker. ears continued to dip and rise.

“This is Ms. Turrington and we are cu- “For that call, yeah,” Mike said.
rious if—”
“He called back?”
“Did he fire me first? Before he asked
about me? About my health?” “Well, his assistant did and said they all
wish you a quick recovery,” Mike from the
“Uh, I didn’t take the call ma’am and front desk said with a smile.
I’m—”
“I knew that fucker always hated me, five
“Who took the call?” fucking months I worked there,” Sherene
said staring forward at the damning white
“Mike at the front desk,” said the nurse. walls, her tone drenched in vitriol. The
white repelled her backwards into the
“Mike at the front desk!” Sherene said white bed with the white sheets and into
into the hallway assuming the front desk the white wall behind her. Absorption into
was within ear shot. the muddy well sounded so cozy to her, she
sighed with desire.
“Ma’am its okay, I’ll get Mike just rest your
head, you had a big fall and sustained some “Thank you gentlemen, please let me
substantial, but recoverable head damage. talk with Ms. Turrington now,” the officer
You just need to take it easy.” insisted of Mike and the nurse.

The officer already left to get Mike by the “Ma’am the family is pressing charges for
end of the nurse’s warning and came back the damage caused to their child, and Bob’s
with Mike in tow. Sherene appreciated the Magic Party World is pursuing charges for
Officer’s timeliness. the damages to their equipment caused by

“Hey, what’s up?” Mike asked.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

your fall,” the officer said. His eyes imper- “You have my card ma’am, we will call
fect, wide set, but soft. He spoke with sure- you, get a lawyer and get well.”
ness, but his voice was easy, and without
judgment, Sherene took notice. The officer left the room. Flashes of
rotten flesh meshed into the sinking wet
“I didn’t fucking fall, I jumped and what mud of the old well cascaded her vision
are you talking about? Who is Bob? What turning the egg shell white walls into a cozy
child? Why the fuck am I here?” she said home.
with disappointment. She expected to be in
the soft mud. Sherene’s phone rang, her mother. She
spent several seconds considering how she
“I doubt it helps, but your boss, Mr. Kilpur, fell several stories onto a bounce house
is the one who called the ambulance as I and broke a kid’s leg without damaging her
understand it,” the officer said. phone and then answered the call.

Sherene stared at the white wall in si- “Hello”
lence.
“Sherene, how are you? They say you
“Ma’am, we need you to come to the sta- hurt a kid, Sherene.”
tion and,”
Sherene’s mother sprinkled their conver-
“What does that mean? The station? Is sations with excessive “Sherene”s. Sherene
there an address?” considered if her disdain for her name
originated from her mother’s overuse. She
“Here is my card Ms. Turrington, I recom- held no serious negative feelings about her
mend a lawyer if you don’t have one.” mother, but hearing her name with such
consistency soured her palate to her name
“I had one, but he died in a plane crash, and the “ene” sound in particular.
had nice hair too. Shame to lose that hair.”
“I didn’t try to hurt the kid mom, I was
“Ma’am, you broke several bones in a trying to hurt myself, not the kid”
child’s legs today and—” the officer in-
formed her. “Why d’you do that Sherene? We have
Pilates tomorrow Sherene and your aunt
“Find a lawyer, I get it,” she said. She did is making linguine Saturday, your favorite
something wrong, she wasn’t in the muddy Sherene.”
hole, and she hurt a child, but she was un-
sure which mistake disgusted her more. Sherene’s mother spoke well above the
appropriate volume for this conversation
“As for Bob Steeler,” the officer said “of or any conversation not happening during
Bob’s Magic Party World, you caused an es- a concert or in a night club. She has no
timated $10,000 in damage when you de- memory of her mom speaking at a normal
stroyed his bouncy house.” volume and her Midwestern accent ampli-
fied the sting in the “ene” portion of the
“Fucking family day, damn it, I forgot to “Sherene”, it stabbed her inner ear. Sherene
help with the set up. That’s why that prick considered the deep ears of Mike from the
fired me,” Sherene said. She was sure family front desk and how the severe pitch of her
day was scheduled for after her death. Mr. mother’s voice would register in his bot-
Kilpur would have fired her posthumously she tomless ears, assuming Mike had superior
thought, or at least he would have liked to.

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hearing to those with a less intricate inner “I had to turn around, Ms. Turrington,” he
ear design. said.

“I’m about to leave, I’ll come to you, and “I feel too fucking good to talk to you,”
I need a lawyer.” Sherene informed him while she swam in
the numbness of whatever pain killers they
“Sherene, my goodness, we will get some had her on. She didn’t even need the hy-
ice cream, Sherene. Do you want ice cream?” drocodone in her purse.

“Bye mom, I’ll see you later.” “Ma’am, Mrs. Linda Charles and Mrs.
Kelly Charles will press charges. They both
Sherene, Sherene, Sherene. sustained injuries in the incident.”

Sherene flew far and fell fast. “Jesus, they should sue Honda not me,
and it wasn’t an incident, I jumped in front
Now a little boy is in a cast. of the car,” she said. “Are you the only cop
on duty today?”
Sherene got up and left the hospital.
“The women in the car you ran in front
Sherene walked outside and into the of were the parents of the boy you fell onto,
busy street. so you will be facing a slew of charges from
the Charles family.”
*
“A slew? Oh, my,” Sherene said.
The EMTs had the shortest commute of
their relative careers. They pulled out of Sherene felt again that universal forces
the hospital parking lot and to the street brought her to this absurd room and its
running next to the hospital. The two EMTs pale walls. Sherene noticed the officer
eyed a woman on the ground. glance down at his feet. The officer paused
for several moments and Sherene started
“Female, unconscious, breathing, severe to slip back into her fantasies of decay and
head trauma, and two likely fractured legs,” simplicity. Desire for simple truths took her
one EMT said to the ER doctors as they rolled inward and her created scenarios simplified
Sherene along the white linoleum floors. her reality. She has fixated on the well long
enough she doesn’t remember the origin of
“Two middle-aged women, both with the self-designed imaginarium, she is accus-
neck and back damage, whiplash, and two tomed to the mossy stone walls and dreams
kids, but they seem all right,” another EMT of finding them on the other side of life. The
informed a doctor. officer’s nervous state prevented Sherene
from slipping off, she anticipated more bad
Both women were livid and had already news.
called their lawyers.
“Would you like some ice cream? Your
Sherene visualized a green waterfall mom wanted me to ask,” he said as took
of floating bricks with fish trapped in the Sherene’s phone out of his pocket to show
jagged cement holes flapping their tails. She her.
felt great.
“I gave up ice cream, new diet.”
“Hello again Ms. Turrington,” the officer
said standing in the doorway.

“You are back, I thought we had a meeting
at the station,” she said.

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“Well, it’s a special occasion, two ER *
visits in one day. The hospital has decent
ice cream. What kind do you like?” Sherene woke up, not in the damp well, in a
hospital bed, but a different bed, or at least
Sherene noted the Officer’s genial atti- a different room. Perhaps the afterlife is a
tude and genuine concern, but didn’t have fucking hospital. Her mom sat on a chair
the patience for it. The well awaited her. in the corner of the small room with light
blue walls. She wondered if the walls had
“I’m fine,” Sherene said, staring at the always been this shade of blue, barely blue,
white walls and then lowering her eyes to like white with a flutter of sky blue as if the
look at the white blanket covering her feet. painter dropped an infinitesimal bead of
“Thank you.” blue paint into a five gallon bucket of white.

“Well next time you jump off a building, “Mom, you made it,” Sherene said with
or run in front of a car maybe you will little enthusiasm, but more excitement than
consider breaking your diet. I think you’ve she intended. She didn’t want to give her
earned it.” mother too much hope. Sure her body was
alive, but nothing changed, the well’s pull
Sherene continued to stare at her feet remained. Her head felt better, but exhaus-
with the stone well images returning and tion had its hold. A successful overdose in
the absolute desire to eliminate all the a hospital is tricky. She didn’t have time to
white in the room. A bubbling of black decide how it felt to be alive, but her moth-
vomit right now would be ideal. Her mother er’s presence softened her wish to sink into
always took her for ice cream when she was the dark mud.
younger, she liked all the flavors then and
wished they let her mix all of them into one “Sherene, I’m here, Sherene.”
giant waffle cone.
“Thanks mom.”
“I’ll be in contact ma’am,” the officer con-
tinued. “Make sure you get a lawyer,” he re- “Sherene, I was thinking we can do Pilates
minded her. “It may not be cheap, but you and linguine tomorrow and we can still do
will save money in the long run considering, linguine Saturday too. Your aunt said she
well, considering everything. And get well.” will make linguine tomorrow and Saturday,
Sherene. Isn’t that great, Sherene? Once with
“Well is just what I need.” mussels and once with Shrimp. You can never
decide so your aunt will make both, Sherene,”
The officer lingered, “For your mom, her mother said with a look of anxiety.
she’s worried.”
“Sherene, please tell me what’s going on,
He continued to linger until Sherene re- why did you stop eating ice cream?” her
sponded, “I know.” mother asked. “It makes you feel better. I
told the nice officer to get you ice cream,
The officer left and Sherene pulled the and he said you refused. Do you want to get
bottle of hydrocodone from her purse. She ice cream when we leave, Sherene?”
swallowed every pill left in the bottle in
search of the soft cold well. She imagined “The cop is here?”
the mud and it turned to chocolate ice cream,
and she turned away from this thought with “He’s outside in the hallway. I was run-
tears in her eyes. The tears never fell. ning to your room and he asked if I was your

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

mom and told me you didn’t want any ice proud of her for every stupid thing she did
cream, Sherene.” even if her mother still congratulated her
for graduating High School as if it happened
“I got sick of the flavor.” hours ago instead of twelve years past. Her
mother saw a contributing person. She
“Which flavor, Sherene?” wished she saw herself how her mother
saw her. She wished she saw anyone the
“All of them mom, every flavor. I gave it way her mother saw her. No job, no actual
up years ago. We went all the fucking time. relationship, no children, no house, shitty
It didn’t stop anything. I’m in this bed for car, and zero percent success on three at-
the third time today and I will be here again tempts in one day. Awful percentage. She
and ice cream doesn’t do a damn thing. And thought her determination to sink into that
I’m thirty years old mom, I don’t need ice damn pit was an admirable trait. Chocolate
cream. I don’t need anything.” ice cream popped into her head again at the
thought of the cold mud. The old stone well
“But you used to love getting ice cream can wait, she thought.
with me, Sherene.”
“I’ll get ice cream with you mom.”
Sherene looked at her mother and
thought about what she saw when she Her mother smiled.
looked at her only daughter. She believed
her mother when she told her she was

About the Author

Caleb, a Navy veteran, works as an analyst in Washington,
D.C. His passions apart from reading and writing fiction
include film, basketball, bourbon, and traveling with his wife
Melody. Born in Louisville, KY, Caleb lives in Silver Spring,
MD with his wife, and their two dogs Lenny and Shawna.

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