Adelaide Literary Magazine No.22, March 2019

A light snow begins to fall. His eyes land on It’s seven-twenty, and he’s still in his period
a passage in the book about the inventor of the of exemption. No one can touch him now. He
revolving door, Theophilus van Kannel. It’s fun- asks the rabbit girl with the blocky eyeglasses if
ny, he hasn’t thought about the man in ages. she would like to have a cup of coffee with
His father mentioned him a few times, but him.
Jackson was never curious enough to learn
about him. In addition to inventing the revolv- The smile slips from her face. No, she says.
ing door, the book informs him, Van Kannel I’m going to sit here in the snow and read. But
also invented a carnival ride at Coney Island you’re welcome to stay and read with me.
called the Witching Waves. The inventor died
alone, without family. Jackson’s mind recalls All right, he says. I will. Would you like to
his lessons at Andover. Theophilus means lover share my bench?
of God. Kännel means gutter.
The rabbit seems like she’ll argue, but in-
A voice interrupts him: How’s the book? stead she comes over to his bench and settles
beside him, twitching her nose in the cold air.
The shop girl is seated at the next bench, in He turns back to his book, and they read to-
a bulky black coat, reading a book of her own. gether. Despite his rejection, he’s proud of
himself for asking her to coffee. Now that he
It’s a good one, he says. knows where he stands with her, it’s pleasant
to sit and read with this girl, in the falling
What is it? flakes, their breath puffing yellow beneath the
sodium lights of Union Square. The gremlin
He shows her the cover, she raises her eye- crouches in the front row of his balcony,
brows. He asks what she’s reading, and she grunting happily.
shows him a paperback Mickey Spillane.
Occasionally she makes a droll comment
Do you read a lot of detective stories? he about one of the park’s visitors. When she does
asks. this, Jackson’s heart swells. He recognizes a
man she comments on, one of the vestry mem-
Almost exclusively. She smiles. Do you read bers from Trinity Church. The man returns his
a lot of books about inventors? gaze, taking in the image of Jackson and this
girl on this park bench.
Maybe, he says.
He arrives home well past ten and finds
She nods somberly. This doesn’t make you Maddie waiting in his bedroom, standing like a
better than me. statue in the center of his rug, her blue eyes
gleaming against the light from the window.
I would never think such a thing, he replies.
She turns back to her book. A moment later, Margie Wainwright saw you at the Strand
she speaks without looking up: I saw you. tonight, she says. You told me you were work-
ing.
Pardon?
He runs his fingers along the spines of his
I saw you take the book. stolen books. Stay out of my room, he says.

His face warms, and he tries to answer her, Jeremy Bragg saw you, too. In Union
but he’s lost. Square, talking with some girl.

Don’t worry, she says. I stole this one. I His shoulders slump. He’s conscious of his
steal all my books. Settling into the bench, she sleeves, how perhaps the tailor has cut them
says, You don’t look like a thief. too short.

I’m only a thief on Wednesdays.

Right. She grins. On Wednesdays.

Whatever you’re doing, stop it now, Mad- the couch in his robe, spread open to reveal his
die says. Word will spread. I’ll spread it myself. pale thighs and shriveled penis. Perched on his
Your reputation, your good name, destroyed, hairless belly, a leather-bound copy of the Rev-
and for what? elations of Divine Love.

In the door, she stops. I want you home at Jackson, she barks. For God’s sake, put
five-thirty, every day. something on. What’s got into you?

He listens to her retreating footsteps, plac- I have something on, he replies.
es the inventor book sideways on top of the
stolen religious texts. Maddie’s gaze roams the room, dancing
across the walls, avoiding the sight of his nudi-
Later, Jackson stands at his window with ty. You know what I mean, she says. You’re
the silk robe hanging open around his shoul- embarrassing yourself.
ders. The Eagle hasn’t bought any more paint-
brushes or canvases, though it appears he’s He lets out a small belch and says, I stole
acquired a revolver. He sits on the edge of his this robe from one of the finer thrift stores in
bed, spinning the chambers of the pistol, lost in the East Village.
thought. At last the Eagle puts the gun away
and crawls beneath the covers of his bed. Go to your room if you’re going to be vul-
gar.
Jackson wakes in the night. Maddie’s shad-
owy outline in his open doorway, watching What’s vulgar about the human form?
him. He turns over and goes back to sleep.
She frowns, staring at the fringe of the rug,
Jackson is home every night at five-thirty, then disappears down the hall. Twenty minutes
as ordered. Sometimes at dinner with Maddie, later, she reappears. Your father’s going to
Exemption Jackson appears for a moment, in hear about this.
some baudy comment or an oblique reference
to The Cloud of Unknowing. At night, in the His penis is erect now, and he’s flung his leg
cathedral of his heart, the gremlin leans out over the top of the sofa. He reads aloud, Then
from the choir loft, itching to leap down into came suddenly to my mind that I should desire
the apse, to saunter among the empty pews. the second wound of our Lord’s gracious gift:
that my body might be fulfilled with mind and
feeling of His blessed Passion. For I would that
His pains were my pains . . .

He’s still reading when he hears the front
door close.

Wednesday, Maddie calls, says her appoint- Thursday morning, Janey is standing at his
ment has been canceled. She’ll be home at six desk.
and expects him to be there. He sees no reason
why he must give up his Exemption Period. At Why are you . . . What are you wearing?
five-thirty, he goes round two extra revolutions It’s a robe. Don’t you like it?
in the revolving door and feels free again. He Yes, I suppose. It’s very nice.
rides the train uptown, smiling all the while.
Later, Janey again: There are some men
When Maddie walks in the door at five here with a large crate.
minutes to six, she finds Jackson luxuriating on

He cinches the robe’s belt and walks out Jackson now resides in a fourth-floor
into the open office. He can feel the eyes of walkup in Alphabet City. The walls are decorat-
Tolliver Revolving Door on him, but he pays ed with his drawings, and his big bloody Christ,
them no mind. Inside his cathedral, the gremlin and he sleeps on a yellow sofa someone had
is swinging from the rafters, chattering like a thrown out. A perfectly good sofa. He spends
chimpanzee. He directs the men to bring the his days reading, drawing, walking the city.
painting into his office. He’s considering applying for a job at the
Strand.
Once again, Janey: Your father is here.
Some mornings he’ll smile for minutes on
Send him in. end, as he sits in Tompkins Square sipping
coffee. He no longer goes to Trinity, though
The old man stands over his desk, snorting. sometimes when he passes Grace Church, at
the dogleg on Broadway just below the Strand,
I’ve just heard from Maddie. What in hell he pops in and prays.
has come over you? What are you wearing?
What is this painting? Grace is always so empty, so silent, so full
of echoes.
Jackson scratches his bare thigh and gives
his father an askance glance. Inside the cathedral of Jackson’s heart, the
gremlin has climbed into the lectern, where he
It’s an image of our savior. chatters his arcane gibberish day and night.

He’s so . . . naked, and bloody. Have you Sometimes, on Wednesday evenings, Jack-
lost your mind? son puts on a gray suit and rides the train up to
his old office tower and stands on the corner,
Yes. watches the people go in and out, observing
their hurried gates, their flapping ties, their
Clean up your act, Jackson, or I’ll have to let frowning faces. These poor souls, so lost in the
you go. world, so unappreciative of that little triangle
of freedom—that space, that belongs only to
Let me go where? them, for that brief moment.

Let you go . . . away.

What if I want to go away?

Then I suppose I can’t stop you.

Good then.

In the divorce settlement, Jackson receives
a tidy sum for the apartment. He brings noth-
ing with him except the stolen books, which fill
a large canvas backpack. Even the monk
bookends stay. As he’s walking out of his bed-
room for the last time, he notices that the Ea-
gle has begun to fill his apartment with
paintings again. He wishes he could tell the
young man how proud he is that he never used
that revolver.

About the Author

Three years ago, Jonathan Baker quit his pub-
lishing job in New York City and returned to his
hometown in West Texas to write full time. He
currently works as a news curator for High
Plains Public Radio, and he hold a master’s
degree in Humanities from the University of
Chicago. His fiction recently appeared in (mac)
ro(mic) and was featured on The Other Stories
podcast.

THE COLLECTION
OF NORA

by Julian Isaiah Holbrook

Mid-afternoon sunlight enters through the As he leans on the kitchen island—blood rag-
cracked curtains unwanted, a spec of light in a ing through Clarence’s body—wrath-filled
dim-lit room that reflects the inner linings of words spit out from his mouth and latch onto
her discombobulated thoughts. Nora feels the his local representative over the phone. Clar-
Colorado Mountains caving in on her. With ence’s words are not enough to convince the
hands smothering her dark, hazelnut eyes, she congressman to repeal the bill that is already in
peaks through the gaps in between her fingers place. As Clarence listens to the lies the con-
as she witnesses the mountains pressing gressman is feeding him, Clarence examines
through the yellow-chipped walls of her room. Nora’s baby pictures that are scattered all
Scattered-brain clothes decorate her room. Fist around the kitchen doors. His father’s voice
-imbedded holes in the wall reflect her heart clouds his thoughts like fog smothering rainy
like a looking at her reflection through chips of days. Man the hell up, boy, he recollects his
broken glass. Closer and closer, with fear father saying to him when Clarence first
resting in the pit of her stomach, she curls her learned how to ride a bike, get the hell up off
body in like a fetus nesting in a mother’s the ground and stop ya cryin’, you hear? Big
womb. boys don’t cry.

“It’s okay,” Oliver whispers, his angelic Clarence wipes the tears off his glistening,
voice warming her emotions. “It’s not real.” dark skin. He is supposed to be the man of the
The spec of sunlight outlines his frame, the house, the protector of his family, the anchor
paleness of his skin blending in with the after- holding the ship steady. Instead, his family be-
noon light. As Nora examines him— his thin comes the anchor, quickly sinking in the still-
lips, the lightness of his buzz-cut brown hair, blue ocean that is him.
and the tint of green encompassing the spec of
hazel in his eyes—she realizes that it is him.
The person that shares the majority of her
childhood memories. The ruler of her heart.

She recollects her childhood thoughts in tran- “Why?” he chuckles again to complement
quility, feeling the tips of his fingers caressing the seriousness of his question.
her lower arm as their chests are inches apart.
They exchange memories, each one causing “Because you stuck up for me in a way that
laughter to rush up from the pit of their stom- no one has ever done before. Attending school
achs out and soreness to their ribs. without you was so tough. They would tease
me about my skin and call it dirt. They would
Nora remembers the day when Oliver first run their fingers through my hair and act like
taught her how to ride a skateboard. She was their hands were stuck, but I couldn’t say any-
only nine years old, a three-year age gap sepa- thing. I didn’t know how to. I was so used to
rating the two. After multiple times falling on those white kids taunting me that I convinced
the concrete, Oliver had dared her to go down myself that not a single white person will ever
the Deadly Hollows Hill on Grand Avenue. stick up for me, not even you or your family,
Without any hesitation, Nora flew down the but you proved me wrong. You stuck up for my
hill, the skateboard rapidly shaking as she skin, for my hair, for my family, and I will never
gained speed. A crack in the sidewalk was forget that moment.”
enough to launch her body several feet onto
the concrete, rolling onto the front yard of a “And I will never forget this moment,” he
stranger’s property. Multiple cuts and bruises says, the two exchanging smiles with their
were scattered across her arms. Oliver remem- eyes.
bers racing down to Nora’s unconscious body,
his puberty-stricken cries punctured through Walking through the door, work weighing
the inaudible sounds of their neighborhood. heavy on her eyelids, Nancy is greeted with
Clarence’s spiteful words. She takes her white
Looking back at it now, Oliver admits to work shoes off her aching feet and investigates
Nora the humor in the way she fell; how her the reason for his anger, following the sound of
arms flailed uncontrollably like the wacky in- his rage that leads her to the kitchen.
flatable tube man in car dealerships. Nora’s
guffaw rises when Oliver tells her this, smoth- “Babe, what’s wrong?” He points to the
ering her piercing laugh in the softness of his local news channel playing on the living room
chest. She lifts her head up and stares into his TV. She reads the headline, once, twice, no—
eyes, remembering the times where Oliver three times, still in disbelief: Citizens outraged
shielded her from hate. over local representatives’ vote to repeal the
Affordable Care Act. Her vision grows blurry
“Remember the time when you got in that from the tears collecting on her lower eyelids.
fight with your friends from middle school be- Questions soar through her head, wondering
cause of what they said about me?” Nora asks, what the next steps are for Nora and how they
her soft words acting like whispers. are going to afford the medication since their
healthcare no longer covers people like her.
“Yes,” he starts to chuckle. “I don’t even With worry in her tear-stricken voice, she calls
remember fighting them. One moment I was for Nora as she walks toward Nora’s room.
yelling in Travis’s face and the next thing him Nancy stands in front of her doorway, presses
and the two other boys were on the ground as her left ear against the white, wooden door-
Mr. Gleason escorted me to the principal’s frame, and hears the silent whispers of Nora.
office. Why did you just think of that?” The sound of his name escaping Nora’s mouth
forces her stomach to drop and her knees to
“It’s one of my favorite memories of you.” hit the maroon-colored, cushion carpet. Feeling

the tear trails on her cheek seep into her skin, She sees the dwindling of the sunlight fall on
Nancy wonders why her family is the one who the paleness of Oliver’s skin, the sun hiding
has to deal with the consequences of playing behind the mountains as a trail of purple stains
the game of politics. the sky. As nighttime ascends, his features, that
Nora adores, start to fade away. The darkness
“Nora, let’s go! You’re going to be late for of the room overshadows him, but Nora can
school!” Nancy remembers saying this to Nora still depict the army uniform that Oliver is so
on that dreadful, September day. Little Nora proud to wear. Her fingers travel to the em-
rushed through the hallway to get to the kitch- broidery of his last name stitched onto his Vel-
en. Her pink, Dora-theme backpack swiftly cro badge. With wondering eyes, Nora notices
swayed against her back, grabbing her lunch- the dried-up bloodstain that surrounds his last
box off the kitchen counter before exiting the name. Oliver brings her hand to the bloodstain
house. Nancy questioned what was taking her spot with ease, putting his hand on top of hers.
so long. Nora falls into his eyes with a question that is
unable to dissipate from her thoughts: is this
“Are you ready for your first day of fifth moment only temporary or will they have this
grade?” Nancy asked on their way to the ele- for a lifetime?
mentary school. Fiddling with her doll’s stringy
hair, Nora replied with a passionless response. “You know what I just thought of?” Nora says
to Oliver. A slight chuckle escapes from her
“Yeah.” mouth.

“That’s all I get? C’mon, it is the fifth grade! “What?”
Next year you will be in middle school with the
big leagues. I swear these years just come and “Why neither of us asked to each other out.
go.” I mean we practically dated.”

The memory of seeing him in the school “I don’t know…” Oliver hesitates to respond
parking lot will forever haunt Nancy’s thoughts. to Nora. “I guess I liked the ambiguity of our
As she got back in her car from dropping off friendship.”
Nora and saying her goodbye with a kiss on the
cheek, Nancy noticed a man in all black sitting “What do you mean?”
in his car. He stood still like a statue in a ceme-
tery—dark and mysterious—as the cap of his “You remember when we went to the play-
hat hid the identity of his eyes. For several sec- ground every Friday night, right?” Nora nods
onds, Nancy locked eyes on this suspicious fig- her head with a smirk, questioning where Oli-
ure. She made up excuses for him in her ver is going with this.
thoughts. Maybe he’s waiting for his child to
enter the school safely, she said to herself. “Well, there was one night I specifically
Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I’m overreacting, remember because that was the night I con-
but that sinister smile he gave Nancy told her templated asking you to be my girlfriend,” Oli-
otherwise. Fear fumbled in the pit of her stom- ver confesses.
ach as she rushed in the car and drove away
without hesitation. Ever since that day, Nancy “Really? Why didn’t you?”
has held onto guilt, struggling to detach herself
from the cause of Nora’s situation. “We were snuggling in our favorite part of
the playground and I—I really don’t know how
to describe it, but I felt this immense rush of
joy flowing through me. Something told me

that it was my time to make it official, to claim his mind goes back to his boss showing the
you as mine; but the more I thought about it, security tape of him next to the fire alarm. He
the more I liked what we had. It was like our was only on his phone updating Nancy about
friendship was our language that only we could his clients, but instead of believing him, they
understand. I feel like people want to be in a painted the act of him purposely pulling the
relationship in order to feel safe and secure, fire alarm with the color of his skin. It did not
but for me I always felt safe. I didn’t need a matter that Clarence argued that they could
label to validate that.” not prove that he pulled it, that nowhere on
the footage from the security tape showed him
“I felt the same way,” Nora says to Oliver, committing the act that cost the law firm a big
“but then you left.” chunk of money. Within minutes, Clarence,
with two police officers escorting him out of
“But I am here now.” the building, had left his job with his side of the
story still untold.
“For good?”
Later that night, Clarence sat alone in the
“For good.” kitchen. The silence in the air intensifies his
emotions, leaving room for the memory of his
Wipe those pitiful tears off your face before I father to invade his thoughts. His bundled-up
hit you upside the head, boy, Clarence thinks fists banged on the marble tile of the kitchen
to himself as he hangs up the phone. Hearing island every time he thought about the loose
his father spit out his hateful rhetoric he used cigar hanging from his boss’s lips. He wanted to
to call parenting causes anger to stir up in the slap it right out of his mouth, wanted to let his
pit of Clarence’s stomach. He puts his head in anger get the best of him so that his boss
between the palms of his hands and lets the would be forced to listen to him, but he knew
tears go as they please. Failure and shame con- he could not do that. Clarence did not want to
sume Clarence’s thoughts as he resorts back to validate the image that had already invaded his
his old ways, letting his father’s words enter his boss and his colleagues: the typical image of
mind without any resistance. Clarence travels the angry, black man. In that very moment,
back to his recent disappointment at his law Clarence knew he had to sit down, shut up, and
firm. do what he was told. Even when the police
officers escorted him out to the building, when
The white walls, the L-shaped desk their grip sparked immense pain in Clarence’s
scattered with various documents, and the arms, he knew not to resist— never resist.
lingering aroma of smoke cloud his memory of
the day his boss had to let him go. His boss’s “Dad?” Clarence heard Nora’s voice as she
cigar hung loosely from his mouth, no regards peeked through the corner wall. He wiped his
to the seriousness of their conversation. tears off his face before responding to her.
Throughout his whole employment there, Clar-
ence had felt their eyes stuck on his every “Hey, sweetie. What are you doing up
movement. He was well aware of the target on late?”
his back as the only African American at his job,
but what he was not aware of was how no one “Is everything okay?”
had the decency to acknowledge his mistreat-
ment at the job. “Oh, sweetie. Come here.” With open arms,
Clarence felt the warmness of her body gently
A flurry of emotions rush into Clarence as pressed against his. Lies escaped from his
mouth when Clarence told Nora that every-
thing was fine. But as he embraced Nora in his
firm arms, he felt the lies puncture every inch

of his heart as the tears intertwined with Nor- “No, Auntie Alma. It is me, Nancy. Remem-
a’s coiled, black locks. ber?”

His father’s voice reels him back to this mo- “Oh, Richard! I knew it was you!” Auntie
ment, his congressman justifying his reasoning Alma cried in excitement, her dementia getting
for voting yes to the bill. What a pitiful man I the best of her. Nancy knew that the memory
raised, his father’s distasteful voice slithers of her dissipated in Auntie Alma’s brain. It was
around Clarence’s thoughts. As he listens to like they were strangers walking past each oth-
the man playing the game of politics in his fa- er in the streets of a big city. Even though
vor, he cannot help but to think that maybe he Auntie Alma did not recognize her anymore,
father was right all along. Nancy played along with it. She missed Auntie
Alma’s gorgeous smile that radiated happiness
She presses her left ear with force to hear her into her soul, and she knew the only way to see
baby laugh again. Nancy struggles to remem- her smile again was to play the role of Uncle
ber the last time her daughter laughed. On the Richie in order to have this blissful moment
one hand, she misses that laugh; how the with her.
acoustics of her cackling is enough to wake up
their entire neighborhood. On the other hand, “Yeah, sweet pea. It’s me,” Nancy said,
Nancy knows what this means for Nora. All mimicking his favorite nickname for Auntie
Nancy wants is to shield her from the fantasies Alma.
of life, to protect her from the monsters crawl-
ing in her brain. As she lays her sorrows down “Oh, Richard! I’m so glad you came! Where
in front of Nora’s bedroom door, she cannot have you been?”
help but feel inadequacy radiating in her
bones. It’s all right, child, Nancy hears her voice “Away,” Nancy said as she attempted to
play in her head, Auntie Alma is so proud of swallow down the tears. “But I’m back now.”
you.
“For good?”
The memories the two of them shared
sparks a smile on Nancy’s face, streaks of tears “For good.”
traveling through the crevices of her lips.
Auntie Alma instilled hope into Nancy’s future The whispers of Nora speaking his name
as a kid. Whenever Nancy told her family that again brings Nancy back to reality, and as she
she wanted to be a best-selling poet, laughter listens, Nancy cannot help seeing history re-
erupted on their cigarette-stained breath, de- peat itself.
pleting her hope of making a career out of her
writing. Auntie Alma was the only person who The outline of Oliver’s body slowly recedes
kept hope’s heart beating. I believe in you, ba- back into Nora’s thoughts, sadness rooted in
by. You know that, right? But with memories her eyes. She lays her tears in the comfort of
always come the ones we try to suppress, the her pillows, choking on her sorrows. She had
ones we keep under our tongues. She remem- always relied on Oliver to tell her when her
bers the time she walked in the room of the hallucinations attempted to mask reality, when
hospital to visit Auntie Alma when she was the voices in her head had taken total control
fourteen years old. She cupped her small palms of her thoughts. Ever since she received the
into Alma’s frail hand with ease. news about Oliver, she has been trapped in her
own mind, blinded by the two entities of reality
“Richard? Is that you?” and her hallucinations.

Nora always had her doubts about Oliver

following the pattern of his two older brothers’ pills that she dreaded taking, not even her par-
footsteps in joining the army. She remembers ents. Oliver was the only one that could draw
the day when Oliver told her about his plan, her back to reality.
the July sun seeping into their youthful skin as
they swung on the swings in unison; how his “Look at me,” he would always say to her.
ambitions poked and prodded her pain-stricken “He’s not real, okay?” Now she is left with only
heart like a doctor examining the insides of a the mere image of his existence, fighting a war
patient. She had hopes of him returning home, between reality and the collection of her
snuggling up in the warm embrace of his arms, thoughts.
but the fear that she hung onto transformed
into reality.

Nora forces herself not to bring up the day
of his funeral. She cannot fathom hearing his
mother’s cries replay in her brain, or the
sounds of his two older brothers suffocating
their cries in the palms of their hands. Instead,
she curls into her little bubble, hiding from the
reality of her illness.

The voices in her head guide her to a place About the Author
where they first created a home in her
thoughts. They bring her back to the sounds of J. Isaiah Holbrook identifies as a YA fiction
the gunshots erupting in the school, her fifth- writer. He graduated from Saint Francis Univer-
grade teacher guiding them in one of the cor- sity with a BA in English. He's currently pursu-
ners of the classroom. Nora recalls the sound ing his MFA in fiction at Oregon State Universi-
of his footsteps approaching the classroom, ty. Isaiah has been published in Delta Epsilon
each step more terrifying than the last. Bullets Sigma Journal where he received first place in
surged through the door as the children’s short fiction in their national writing contest.
screams break the silence of the room. His all- His other publications were in Saint Francis
black jacket and his hat shielding his eyes still University's Tapestries.
permeate Nora’s thoughts. She remembers the
blood scattered on the chalkboard, the gun-
man’s suicide leaving a permanent stain on all
the children’s hearts. For Nora, the incident
manifested into her illness, morphing her per-
ception of reality as, at times, unrecognizable.

Ever since that day, Nora’s mind convinced
her of the gunman’s presence in close proximi-
ty to her. She would see him standing several
feet away from her everywhere she went,
doused in the all-black outfit he wore the day
of the shooting. Screams erupted from her
lungs whenever she imagined him. Nobody
could calm her down if she did not take her

HOW NOT TO BE
TWENTY-THREE

by Mitch

The peck on my neighbor’s lips from the morn- victory beers into three shots and a pitcher. I
ing after turns into a full-blown make out ses- am certain they are trying to get me drunk
sion. She heads to work as I crawl back to my enough to dull my inhibitions and take me
bed – away from her stupid cat. When I rea- home with them. Every time they have a little
wake, I aspire to correct my mistake of con- too much and forget what they were doing. I
stantly crawling into her arms out of complete pay my bill and walk into the night.
boredom, but then again, I may just make a
good breakfast. Either way, I win. My ceiling is spinning and my phone lights
up. It’s my neighbor. She’s lonely. What a coin-
It started off with good intentions, much cidence, so am I. I quickly visit her.
like the other two neighbors – I just wanted to
see if I could score. Noble of me, right? If it’s The peck on my neighbor’s lips from the
any consolation, I am quickly realizing the er- morning after turns into a full-blown make out
rors of my ways. The awkwardness is punishing session.
me. I can’t run. I can’t even hide. Thinking to
myself is much harder than before. They aren’t “Have a good day, Joe,” she says, like al-
even worth the inconvenience either. ways.

Getting women thought is a blessing, She heads to work as I crawl back to my
though. At least I can attract something be- bed – away from her stupid cat. When I rea-
cause I sure as hell can’t attract an employer. wake, I aspire to correct my mistake of con-
One of these days I’m sure they’ll return my stantly crawling into her arms out of complete
calls, emails, and texts. Until that inevitable boredom, but then again, I may just make a
moment, I’ll continue to pull myself up by my good breakfast. Either way, I win.
bootstraps and deliver mediocre food. If I’m
lucky I can make enough to have three victory I apply to a few more jobs before leaving
beers (for surviving another day) after my for work. It’s mundane. Every challenge I could
evening shift. possibly achieve, like a perfect delivery rating,
is accomplished. During down time, I read a
My gay neighbors are at the bar. Every time book and think about my victory beers.
there’s an important baseball game airing, they
bother me. Fortunately, they turn my three At the bar again, I watch the last game of a
series when the gay guys walk into the bar.

They’re middle-aged men, don’t they have to I keep it to a peck as I send my neighbor off
go start a family or something? to work.

Once again, they turn my three beers into “Have a good day, Joe,” she says, like al-
the usual. They’re talking to me, but I’m not ways.
listening; however, I’m trying so hard to ignore
them that I can’t fully enjoy the game. They get “Absolutely will,” I respond, like never.
too drunk and I adjourn.
She heads off to work and I make a pot of
Before I get to watch the ceiling spin, my coffee. I enjoy a cup and a bowl of cereal on my
phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s my neighbor. patio. The breeze is just perfect. All my inboxes
She needs a man. I can’t offer that, but I can are empty. I smile
provide the next best thing.
At work, I continue my good will mission. A
The peck on my neighbor’s lips from the small grocery store offers me a position if I
morning after turns into a full-blown make out were to ever get tired of delivering food. I’d
session. make less, but it’s a job offer. I’m absolutely
flattered.
“Have a good day, Joe,” she says, like al-
ways. After work, I go to the gym and lift. A cute
girl grins at me. I wink at her but say nothing
You know, she says that every day, and purposefully. I don’t intend on seeing the end
every time she says that, I have the same day, of this journey by tonight. She’ll be here tomor-
which I wouldn’t say is “good”. It’s unfulfilling. row.
And what perplexes me is I’m doing what eve-
rybody says a twenty-three-year-old should do: I arrive home fatigued and sweaty. My
break hearts, drink copious amounts of alcohol, neighbor texts me. She’s lonely. Well unfortu-
and have fun. What fun am I having? nately, I’m not. I go to bed early.

She heads to work, and I make a pot of I wake up and make a pot of coffee. I enjoy
coffee, refusing to crawl back into bed. I enjoy a cup and a muffin on my patio. The breeze is
a cup and a muffin on my patio. I check my refreshing.
emails, voicemails, and texts for any word from
employers. Nothing. I smile. She heads to work. I wave at her.

I head to work with intentions to change “Have a good day,” I yell.
something. If I’m going to have a good day, I
must change something. So, I make fun in my Unhappily, she forces a wave.
interactions with the people I see on a daily
basis. I appeal more pleasant. Am I faking it? Of I smile. I don’t even check my inbox that
course, I am. However, it’s a change I want to morning.
embrace. Things go well and people respond
happily. Work is great. I still don’t like what I’m do-
ing; nevertheless, I refuse to allow that to ruin
Instead of going to the bar after work, I go my good time. I am making good friends with
to the gym and play volleyball. Do I know how the waitresses and hostesses at various restau-
to play volleyball? Absolutely not. But I have rants.
the most fun I’ve had in months.
I return to the gym after work. I’m lifting a
I come home exhausted and sweaty. I get a little too much weight on military press. The
buzz from my neighbor. I promise to come over guy I helped yesterday, helps me finish my last
later, but first I eat and shower. reception. I smile, and fist bump him. He smiles
back.

“Anytime, brother,” he says.

I grin at the girl who grinned at me yester- Eventually, kingdom comes. I return from
day. She shows an authentic smile today, so I the gym, sore, sweaty, and happy. Somewhere
introduce myself. I don’t make it long because throughout the weeks, I start to visit my neigh-
nobody likes to lose a good pump. But it’s bor less. After I eat and shower, I visit her and
enough to make a good impression. that stupid cat for the last time. I come home a
little deflated but relieved.
I go home fatigued, sweaty, and elated. My
neighbor doesn’t text me. I visit her, regard- A few days later, I’m doing laundry at the
less. But the visit goes differently. I just stop by apartment laundry mat. The gay guys walk in to
for a cup of coffee and briefly talk. I tell her do the same. They mention how they miss me
goodnight and return to my bed. She isn’t hap- at the bar and we should get a couple of drinks
py about this. before it closes.

I spend weeks minorly improving my rou- I smile. “That’s too bad, because I don’t
tine and I feel different. I feel better. I feel miss you at all.”
twenty-three, yet I somehow am not doing the
things most people my age are told to enjoy. They’re flabbergasted and offended. Unfor-
tunately, that’s how it must be for my personal
Things begin to pan out. I have a date with happiness. I walk out of the room and breathe
the cute girl from the gym. Days ago, the guy I in the fresh nightly air, which is much more
spot occasionally offers me a position at his refreshing than a crisp tasting draft with bad
company because he feels I am a good fit. I influences.
accept the position, quit the delivery job, and I
even help the grocery store every now and I’m thankful how to be twenty-three and
again for some extra cash. how not to be twenty-three.

About the Author

Joe Mckenzie (Mitch) is a poet that can be
found on the deck of Mozart's Coffee Roasters
in Austin, Texas, writing impromptu poems for
curious coffee drinkers. In the meantime, he
works two jobs. Before the sun comes up, he is
rolling tacos. Then long after the sun falls, he
tosses pizzas. Somehow, he finds time to write
stories and lift heavy objects at the gym.

MINOR KEYS

by Eric Stevens

How DARE she yell at me like that! That bitch! The large lamps hanging above gave off a
Sophie walked down the sidewalk next to her dull incandescent glow, barely illuminating the
apartment, earbuds placed firmly and playing old pews and dusty lectern that stood apart
nothing. She wore her sunglasses, though it from the baptismal in the very back. Small
was almost dark. They hid the redness and oc- doors next to the baptismal lead off towards
casional tear that escaped the corners of her the two bathrooms. To each side of the lectern
dark brown eyes. Three years… THREE YEARS of stood an organ and a piano, both untouched,
putting up with her drinking, the random guys… and covered in dust. She looked to either side
She glimpsed two men walking towards her, of the auditorium and saw the stained glass
laughing and blocking the sidewalk, clearly not windows, depicting images of Christ preaching
paying attention. Undergrad frat boys. Get the to the masses. She walked to the middle of the
fuck out of the way! She sped up her already room and sat on the edge of one of the pews,
brisk pace as she approached, her long grey letting her large blue bag sit next to her and
skirt fluttering as the autumn air blew in multi- pulling out the laptop that sported stickers of
ple directions. her favorite movies.

“Excuse me,” She muttered as politely as Sophie opened the lid and the image lit up
she could manage, sidestepping the boys who to reveal the word document she had been
glanced at her with surprised looks. editing before the fight happened. One week…
She groaned. Her thesis was scheduled to be
“Damn girl not even watching where she’s defended a week from tonight, and she didn’t
going,” She heard one of them say under his feel prepared. On top of that, she now had to
breath. The benefit of wearing earbuds without deal with a roommate that had just blown up
anything playing was you could occasionally at her for suggesting she talk to a counselor.
hear what others actually thought of you. Sophie perused the document numbly, staring
at the words that stared back but not actually
She rounded the corner of the sidewalk reading.
past the student center and came in view of
the chapel--her favorite place on campus. She Three years. Roommates for three years
wasn’t religious at all, but the small building and she blows up at me like that… Was I really
with the stained glass windows and cute gar- in the wrong here? I was just trying to be a
den gave her a warm feeling, and she took sol- good friend! She felt another tear sting her eye,
ace in the knowledge that it would most likely this one unblocked by the sunglasses that now
be empty. She opened the large oak door and hung from her collar. She sniffled for a second,
peered in. Silence. She smiled, let out a deep then turned her eyes back to her computer.
breath, and walked inside.

No. She’ll calm down. After all, she has Jason After that, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his
now, or Jared, whatever the hell his name is striped shirt and rolled up his sleeves, revealing
this time. Maybe she could just use some alone dark arms spotted with black and silver hairs.
time like me. She scrolled towards the begin- Sophie’s eyes rose slightly. Kind of cute. His
ning, preparing to memorize every word of the right arm looked burned on the outside, as if
large document in preparation for the barrage he had raised it up years ago to shield himself--
of questions she knew would come. I should’ve or someone--from something. He straightened
brought some coffee. I wonder if the Starbucks his back and placed both hands on the piano,
on campus is still open… closed his eyes, and played a single chord. It
was powerful, changing the mood of the empty
Her train of thought was interrupted by the chapel from loneliness to solemnity. The sound
sound of the oak door opening behind her, and rang in Sophie’s ears and she felt a slight shiver
she turned in surprise. A man stepped into start from her neck and make its way down her
view. His face was long and clean shaven. He spine, raising the small hairs on her arms. One
was tall, and several years older, sporting loose word came to her mind to explain the sensa-
fitting jeans and an old leather jacket. Looks tion: Life.
kind of shady, Sophie thought as he walked
inside and closed the door. In his hand he The man stared at the old piano and smiled,
grasped a manila folder, and he made his way whispering something. A moment later, he
across the room. As he walked past Sophie, he began a song. Slow-paced and deliberate, he
glanced at her in surprise, but quickly changed walked a steady beat of notes and chords with
his expression to a warm smile and nodded his left hand while the right played a weighty
towards her without saying a word. melody filled with highs and lows that kept
Sophie’s mind on edge and constantly wonder-
Sophie realized her mouth was open slight- ing what the next note would be. The song
ly and closed it. Jesus Sophie calm down, it’s lasted several minutes before he finished, leav-
just some guy. He’s not too creepy. Maybe he ing a lasting tone in the stale air of the chapel.
likes the silence too. She looked back at her Sophie felt another tear reach her eye, but this
computer, but with her peripheral vision she one wasn’t caused by the fight with her room-
eyed him as he made his way up the steps and mate.
walked towards the piano. He set the folder on
the bench, pulled out an old rag from a pocket He continued to play for over an hour. So-
inside his jacket, and wiped down the keys. phie closed her laptop halfway through the
After he finished, he took off his jacket and performance, realizing she wouldn’t be able to
opened the folder, pulling out several pieces of concentrate on anything. Each of his songs
paper that he placed on the music stand sitting brought different moods and emotions to the
on top of the keys. Sophie continued to stare in chapel and Sophie’s heart, and left her with
wonder, she’d been coming here for almost raised hairs on her arms and a burning sensa-
two years and had never seen anyone else tion behind her ears.
come in--let alone play the piano.
After an hour, he finished playing. The
He wiped off the bench and sat, ancient bright and airy feeling of his last chord made
wood creaking under the unfamiliar weight of the chapel seem more alive than it had been in
someone who hadn’t sat there in years. He years. He stood up, and began putting the
reached out towards the piano, and with his sheets of music into his manila folder.
index finger, pressed the middle C key firmly. A
tone spoke from the instrument, reverberating “Don’t stop,” Sophie heard herself say, and
off the rustic walls and stained glass of the immediately felt deep pangs of red come
chapel, breaking the silence of the room. It creeping up her cheeks. Oh god. Why did I say
sounded foreign and old, but also right. that?! WHY?!

The man looked up and stared at her. His “Do you think it would’ve been better if it was-
lips curved upwards at the corners in a slight n’t so sad?” He asked.
smile. His face looked weary, but his hazel eyes
told a different story. “Well I have to get back “No. It was perfect the way it was. Maybe I
to the house soon to let the dogs out, but I can don’t know what I’m asking.” Sophie became
play one more song if you’d like.” flustered all of a sudden, jamming her laptop
into her bag.
“I--oh uh, I mean if you want to--dogs are
cool!” Dogs are cool? What the hell are you “I guess I’m just a fan of the minor keys.
saying Sophie?! Get ahold of yourself! Sophie Sometimes life sucks and you just wanna yell at
tried grinning but had a sneaking suspicion that the world how much it sucks, you know?” He
it looked more like a grimace. said. “But just because life can suck doesn’t
mean it can’t be beautiful too.” He shook his
The man looked puzzled for a second, and head. “Ah, don’t listen to me, I don’t know
then burst into laughter--full and deep. “You’re what I’m talking about.” He grinned and start-
right, dogs are cool. You seem pretty cool, ed towards the door.
too.” He walked back towards the piano and
sat down. “I wrote this a little while ago. It’s “No, I think you’ve got it all figured out,”
kind of sad, but you’ve heard everything else I Sophie said, smiling. “Will you be coming back
know,” He shrugged. here to play? I come here a lot.”

Sophie shook her head. “I’m sure it’s “Well then of course I will!” Logan ex-
great,” She said, the red leaving her cheeks for claimed, then blushed profusely and turned his
a moment. head. “Uh I mean, yeah. I’ll be here next
week,” He said.
The man sat up straight and began. He was
right, it was sad. The song seemed to darken “Great,” Sophie said, “Write something
the already dim incandescent light, and the happier this time!”
tings of melody coupled with the deep strokes
of the bass chords filled Sophie’s ears with A week passed. Sophie spent most of it
beauty and despair. Anguish filled her heart, with a noticeable glow on her face. Her room-
and she welcomed it. mate broke down when she arrived home from
the chapel--bawling and explaining that the
As he finished playing, she wiped her eyes new guy (It was Jason, Sophie found out) had
with the sleeve of her blouse. “Thank you, that left in quite a spectacular fashion after their
was beautiful. All of it was.” latest fight about what to have for dinner. She
apologised to Sophie, who hugged her and told
The man stood. “Well that’s really kind of her it would be alright. She even claimed she
you to say. What’s your name?” would start looking for a counselor, which
shocked Sophie.
“Sophie,” She replied. “What’s yours?”
Her thesis defense day arrived a week after
“I’m Logan,” He said. “Well Sophie, I was in meeting Logan. The questions were tougher
kind of a bad mood but your compliment just than she expected, but afterwards one of the
made my week. This is my first time here, a professors stopped her on the way out to tell
friend of mine said there was a piano here no her she did a good job. Great, now give me a
one uses. Looks like I’ll owe him a drink.” He good evaluation and I can get a job and start
grinned and reached for his jacket, slipping it paying off these loans, She thought.
on.
Sophie headed to the chapel after her the-
“I have to ask,” Sophie said, “Why write sis defense--making sure to stop by the Star-
something so sad? It’s so pretty I just…” bucks this time for a cappuccino--and opened

the large oak door expectantly. It was empty. Sophie lifted her face out of her palms and
Well, it’s only 6. Maybe he’s letting the dogs turned around to see Logan staring down at
out? Or at work? Does he work…? Realizing she her, a concerned look in his face. “Is everything
knew next to nothing about her piano man, she alright? I just walked in and saw you crying. Is
went to her normal pew and sat down, sipping there anything I can do?”
her foamy cappuccino as Jesus preached to-
wards her from the stained glass window. She Sophie was stunned, and she tried to gath-
pulled out her phone and browsed her favorite er herself immediately. “Oh! I-uhm, no I’m ok,
sites, checking the time every five minutes and it was just a long day is all!” She smiled through
growing more and more uncomfortable. After the tears. “I had to defend my thesis and just--
hearing the wondrous tunes from last time, the other stuff… I’m sorry,” She turned away.
silence seemed boring.
“Hey don’t apologise, bad days happen to
At 6:45, the door opened, and a smile leapt all of us. Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Logan
onto Sophie’s face as she wheeled around in walked towards the bathroom, dropping his
anticipation. It wasn’t Logan, but a man wear- manila folder on top of the lectern before dis-
ing a blue uniform and hat, sporting small appearing from sight and returning a moment
hedge clippers on his belt and a watering can in later with a handful of tissues and a plastic cup
hand. The gardener. with water. “Good thing about these old-timey
places is the bathrooms are always nice,” He
She felt an unexplainable rage fill her body said. He handed Sophie the tissues and water
as the gardener nodded towards her and and she grasped them, embarrassed.
moved swiftly towards the back of the chapel,
watering the large plants that sat on either side “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to see that,
of the bathroom doors. He left shortly after honestly,” She said while she dabbed her eyes
without a word. Did I do something wrong? and sipped the cool water.
Maybe he thought I was weird? Is he just busy?
Will I never see him again? Am I crazy? She “Like I said, don’t apologise,” Logan replied.
crossed her legs and sipped her cappuccino, “Also just FYI: I’m pretty sure that’s holy wa-
vigorously tapping her finger against the screen ter.”
of her phone.
Sophie snorted with laughter and Logan
At 8:00, she bowed her head. He’s not com- smiled. “That’s more like it,” He said. “Sorry I’m
ing. I’ll never see him again. She looked at her so late. I was, ah,” He started to blush. “Well I
phone one more time and saw a new email: A was putting the finishing touches on this new
notification from the university. Her thesis piece. I wanted to make sure… You liked it.”
evaluation was complete. She felt her heart
sink, and she placed her head in her palms. I Sophie grinned. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”
know I failed it. Those questions were ridiculous
and I looked like a total fool. I failed it. I’ll have Logan stood and went to the piano. “I call
to try again, and that’s more loans. I already this one, ‘Dogs are Cool.’” Sophie put a hand to
can’t pay these… I don’t have a job yet. And her forehead and shook it. Logan laughed.
he’s not coming. She started crying openly. Her “Kidding, just kidding. I did take your advice
eyes turned red and she took deep breaths as though,” He unbuttoned his cuffs once more
the tears streamed down her cheeks. She kept and rolled up his sleeves. Once again, Sophie’s
her face in her palms. What am I going to do? eyes rose. “I wrote a happy song.”
How am I going to tell my family? Why didn’t
he come? I was an… She felt a hand grasp her “Not a fan of the minor keys today?” So-
shoulder lightly. phie asked.

Logan cocked his head. “Why would I be?
I’m here. With you.”

About the Author

Eric Stevens is a fiction writer from Alabama.
He is a freelance writer and enjoys writing
short fiction as a hobby. He currently lives near
Orlando, Florida, where he is working on a new
novella. To read more of his work, visit
ericstevens.journoportfolio.com.

ANCHORS AWEIGH

by Alan Berger

We told and tell people we met in Church. When I went to pet “The pretty doggie”. He
lunged for my throat faster than Trump reach-
At St. Patrick’s Cathedral yet. es for Viagra.

That would be a falsehood, but she liked saying She pulled him back just in time to save my life.
it. She called herself “A romantic embellisher”. I felt immediately she had plenty of practice.

We met within sighting distance of St. Pat’s on She said something in German to “The pretty
5th Ave while she was walking her big dog and doggie”. And I became Snow-White again as
her little boy. “Rutger”, “The pretty doggie”, licked my hand
like it was a lollipop.
It was a massive German Shepard and I love
German Shepherds’ and this was the kind you One thing led to another as they do sometimes
see old guys with the look of money in their when you back into something that has a lot in
eighties and nineties walking around Man- common with the expression, “Nothing is more
hattan so nobody would dare fuck with them. undeniable than an idea whose time has
come”.
We gave each other a look that said it was al-
right to turn the look into sound. She had been divorced about the same I was
and of course, true to all divorce stories, her ex
“Can I pet the pretty doggie”? I requested. was a real prick who doesn’t even visit his kid.

“Go right ahead”, she said back. The four of us started a real good thing and
since I never had kids, hers became mine. I got
I thought I caught the dog laughing, but I have “Rutger” thrown in too.
a giant imagination and reasoned it was be-
cause animals love me so much. I told her at the beginning that I didn’t have a
lot of money and she said she had enough for
One of my ex-wives said whenever I got near the four of us. “Just don’t cheat or beat me”,
animals it reminded her of Snow-White walking she negotiated and said that would be fine and
in the woods and the creatures of the forest on and on we went.
threw her a love parade.
I moved in with them after the end of my wait
She said a lot of things but that’s neither here and see six- month period and of course kept
or not there anymore. my job as a non-profit writer-Uber driver.

I came home one night, and she was crying He said that he left flowers in his car to give to
along with the other two and all I could think of his past love and would be right back to get the
was a breast cancer diagnosis. But what they kid.
were crying about was far worse. We never saw or heard from him again.

It seems she got a call from her ex-husband There are many ways to skin a cat and, once in
who demanded 10,000 dollars or he would a while, one of them works.
take the kid away and she believed him big
time.

Her check book was by her side with a check
for ten thousand dollars and no change already
made out to the, “Prick from Hell”, as she re-
minded me of her affection toward her son’s
father.

I told her that if she paid him, it would only be
the beginning of “The gravy train”, that would
never run out of steam.

She agreed but said it would be worth it.

Then I agreed but added that there might be
another way to go down this crooked and
winding road.

Her ex-husband was supposed to come over
the next afternoon and pick up check number
one.

I told her that would be fine. I’ll be here.

When the “Prick” showed up right on time she
smiled and let him in, then, I introduced myself
to him and we shook hands.

We all heard the toilet flush and the kid comes
out in a sailor suite and hat that I had bought
for him.

He was carrying a little play like suitcase and
blowing his nose liked I coached him.

I told dad that we didn’t have any money be-
cause I gambled mine and hers away and what
was left over I bought drugs with and by the
way, here is a list of the medications the little
tyke is going to need for the rest of his life and
that I hoped he had good medical insurance.

TAKE IT EASY

by Beth Mader

Lanie tore her apron off and threw it in the The Rocky Mountains were now just a dark
backseat of her rusty Volvo. She smelled like silhouette against the dim lights of Layton,
coffee and pancakes, just enough to make her Utah. Lanie hated driving in the dark, especially
nauseous. in the winter. She could never tell between the
tar and black ice. Small snow flurries bounced
The sun was barely setting between the off her windshield and danced dangerously in
Rocky Mountains, and she longed to disappear her headlights.
along with it. It was winter, but the sun had
stolen a chance to give the world a little hope. Lanie made her way onto the highway
She looked straight at the blinding light, mes- when she saw something standing in the road.
merized by its sheer perfection; it was so in- Her hand automatically turned down the radio
viting and warm, like a long lost friend she’d for comfort. She slowed the car down hoping it
forgotten. Lanie knew better though. She didn’t would move, but the dark figure remained
have any friends: she couldn’t. Her Volvo was- planted.
n’t even truly hers.
It was a woman, a hitchhiker. She was
She climbed into the faded driver’s seat, dressed in jeans, hiking boots, and a dark, flan-
leaving the door open despite the wintery bite. nel shirt. Lanie pulled the car over, shining the
After making sure no one was around, she headlights directly upon her. The woman ap-
peered into the rearview mirror. She could see proached the car and tapped on the window.
a pair of dark blue eyes staring back at her, but Lanie’s hands froze on the steering wheel.
she wondered if they were really hers any-
more. Lanie pulled her shirt down and The woman had long brown hair matted
glimpsed at her collarbone, wincing at the down from the cold wind. She wore a knit cap
blackening bruise. Another started to show that rested right above her thick eyebrows and
beneath her ear, the one she made sure to tired eyes. Those tired eyes looked desperate,
hide beneath her hair throughout her shift. something Lanie knew all too well. She looked
This wasn’t the first time, and she was past the younger than her, maybe twenty-four at the
point of knowing it wouldn’t be the last. most. Her heart reached out, and she rolled
down the window. The car’s warmth immedi-
Lanie pulled out of the café’s parking lot, ately fled into the open air.
biting back tears. She hated herself for letting
him hurt her in the way he did. She turned on The woman didn’t say a word for quite a
the radio to turn off the worry. while. Lanie didn’t know what to say either.

“You headed to Salt Lake City?” the woman ble. She stretched her arms and glanced in the
asked loudly, hinting a southern accent. backseat at her apron. “Coming or going?”

Lanie didn’t want this woman in her car, The car started to slow down as Lanie let
but she didn’t want her to freeze either. Her off the gas slightly. She didn’t need to speed.
main worry was getting home not a minute She was already late.
late. She felt the sting of her bruise.
The woman looked over at Lanie’s face that
She nodded. was illuminated by the dash lights, making her
look extremely pale. She slowed down even
The woman opened the door and rolled up more. The flurries against the windshield put
the window. She smelled like warm tea and her into a trance, one she didn’t want to es-
leather. She carried a large duffle bag that she cape.
shoved between her feet, and then she quickly
crossed her arms and leaned against the win- There was silence. Lanie glanced at her curi-
dowpane. ously, feeling self-conscious. She could feel the
woman’s eyes on her, making her instinctively
Lanie remained silent, waiting for the tousle the hair around her neck.
stranger to speak first. There was something
foreign and curious about the woman, some- The woman sat straight up in her seat, turn-
thing that made her worry less about time. ing her whole body to face her.

“We don’t have to talk,” she said bluntly. Lanie continued staring at the road, still lost
in the trance. She felt like the woman was look-
Lanie was taken aback. There was silence ing through her, seeing everything she had
between them again for a couple of minutes. meant to hide. She made a second attempt to
make sure her hair was still covering her secret,
She thought about what could go wrong. ultimately revealing everything.
She thought it was sad that the only thing she
worried about was getting home late and ex- The woman reached for her hair, brushing
plaining to him why. It made her angry with it away from her face. Lanie swatted her hand,
him, with herself. but she brushed her hair back again, this time
slowly.
The woman shifted her feet, her boots
scraping against each other. “Never been to No one needed to know about her life; no
Salt Lake.” The car sped down the highway, one needed to give her pity. She pushed her
getting faster with every minute. foot down on the accelerator. Nothing hap-
pened. There was a loud rev, and the car sud-
The woman fiddled with her hat, pulling it denly lost power. She groaned, scrambling to
up her forehead. “I’m sure it’s nothing special.” read the gauges. She veered over to the side of
She laughed and looked over at Lanie. “I’m the highway, crossing the rumble strip. The car
sure you got no reason to say otherwise.” slowed down until it stopped. The lights went
out. It became dark.
Lanie thought about the café, the snow,
and how the time was still slipping away from The woman relaxed in her seat once again.
her. The frost on the windshield started to “Henley.”
grow thicker and the wipers skidded against
the icy crust. She gripped the steering wheel Lanie sighed, resting her head on the steer-
until her knuckles turned white. She was late, ing wheel. She shrugged her shoulders, feeling
and now she had nothing interesting to say a tremendous weight resting on top of them.
about herself or where she was from.

The woman seemed to be getting comforta-

The woman started digging through the bag Maybe Henley was right.
between her feet. “The Eagles?” She put the car in drive and slowly eased

Lanie listened to her ramble as she contin- onto the road. The wind seemed to howl just a
ued to rummage. “My momma loved Don Hen- little less.
ley. Wouldn’t ever stop playing his damn songs.
Course I loved him for her.” She stopped mov- Henley smiled and curled back under her
ing the bag and paused. “I was her little Hen- blanket. “I’m always leavin.’”
ley. And now, well, that’s who I am.”
Lanie drove on, eventually coming up on
She thought about her Dad and how much the frost of flickering lights, and slowly passing
she missed long truck rides, singing along with them into an unknown darkness. The two sat in
the radio. Those memories were miles behind a calm silence, and Lanie not once looked at
her now. the clock.

Henley pulled out a blanket and covered About the Author
herself, settling into her seat. “You going to call
him?” Beth Mader holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Eng-
lish from Schreiner University and is currently a
Lanie thought about it. He wouldn’t be hap- writer and editor at a publishing company in
py, and he sure wouldn’t come help her either. the Texas Hill Country.
She shook her head no. She wanted to curl into
a ball.

Henley suddenly reached over and grabbed
her wrist. “You like this feeling?”

She tried pulling away, but her grip grew
firmer.

The air was tense. She let go a whimper.
Henley finally released and shook her head.

Lanie’s anger was at its peak. She bashed
the dash with her palm and exhaled heavily.
She punched it again and again, trying to feel
some kind of pain. She wanted to feel like her
old self, the person who never thought about
time. She started to sob.

Henley reached over and jerked the rear-
view mirror upon Lanie’s face. She gripped it
tightly, forcing her to look at herself. Lanie
stared blankly, ashamed. She whispered in her
ear, “Leave.”

Lanie wiped her eyes and paused. She real-
ized she knew nothing about leaving.

Suddenly, the car started. The gauges start-
ed to glow, and a soft hum of the radio
smoothed over the dense air between them.

STRIPPED

by Caleb Eriksson

Her fingers curled around the base of a wine played to Sarah like a scratchy record, like
glass like voracious talons. She was in a transi- some music she knew from the past. There’d
tion, a metaphorical train stop. Smashed pic- been a time she would’ve let her lithely legs
ture frames and empty wine bottles littered the shimmer from below a low cut silk dress to lure
floor. Strewn work scrubs and cushion feathers the eyes of drunken men. She would’ve been
buried the couches, all showcasing a chaotic the last on the dance floor and the first
complexion. But with another sip of wine, she greeting the sunrise with a jog. However lately,
was flourishing toward peace. her Saturday nights had been reserved for
stripping.
It had been three weeks since Adam had
moved out and two weeks since Sarah’s phone The books all described stripping differently.
had rang with anyone but Thai delivery. Sarah Some made it sound fun, exotic like a strip in a
had learnt friends were a commodity, some- nightclub- that below it all you would discover
thing to trade in and out like bonds. After she a new sexy skin radiating through the aban-
and Adam had split, the stocks were good, she doned one. Some made it sound medicinal, like
had offers to go out, dinners to catch-up, a vitamin shake that would restore the balance
shoulders to cry on. But now the market had of ‘you’. Either way it called for discarding any
crashed. ornaments, candles, photos or clothing that
were tainted by memories of past relation-
Pushing the sheer-curtains aside, she balanced ships.
her mulberry stained glass on the summit of a
pile of self-help books she’d taken to reading At first there’d some resistance by Sarah and
after work the past few weeks. All of them, the four years of Adam-crested items pleading
Sarah scoffed, were by the Dr.Who-knows and for a pardon. Steamy tears as she watched
the Dalai Lama of the week. photos of their smiles burn into crisp piles of
ash. A hot stone of coal seared her throat as
Out the window, night was emerging from its she’d stabbed teddies until they bled their
crouching place. The sky was rimmed red. white stuffing.
Streetlights flickered on. A din of people
emerging for dinners, clubs, pubs. Their loud But tonight, Sarah felt brazen, even as her
chatting, slurred shouts, screeching squeals hands wobbled pouring her fifth glass of wine.

She laid out the last item she had to strip her- The next morning a knock, as if against her
self of. brain, roused her from sleep. She raked her
fingers down her face, trying to scrub some of
Her fingertips traced the cool touch of the the hungover grit away.
leather, flattening out any bumps. She posed
the fluorescent pink motorbike suit, spread the “One minute,” Sarah huffed, slipping into a pair
arms out like an entrance she must exit. Sarah of tights.
steadied her hands, her phone clicked and she
collapsed backwards staring at it on the screen. Another knock. Sarah flung open the door and
This suit is what the books would call a ‘clump’, stopped in the glue of shock. It was a mirror, a
a TNT of memories waiting for Sarah’s match to joke, an illusion. A girl stood at the door, Sa-
ignite. rah’s doppelganger.

The fifth glass of alcohol stung the back of her “Hi, sorry to wake you, but it is past ten, is the
throat, her eyes watered and she allowed her- suit still available?” The stranger’s slightest
self a moment of indulgent reminiscing. movement jangled a chain of bracelets around
her wrists.
She clung, like a koala, against the warmth of
Adam’s back. His motorbike intrepidly zipping Sarah stood in bewilderment. Silent.
along the curves and cliffs of the Spineridge
Mountains. The golden sun flashed bursts “Hello?” The woman verbally prodded.
above them. Her cheeks were tickled by stray
hairs. The tessellation of Paperbarks’ shadows “Ah, um, yes it is come in.”
dancing a hypnotic show above them. The
world rushed by, when she closed her eyes on
the bike, during their kiss; she floated.

She spiked herself upright, rubbing the grainy The woman smelt of a tangerine perfume and
stupor from her eyes. Opening up Gumtree, her heels tapped haughtily against the small
and Facebook Sales, the poisonous reverie apartment’s floorboards. With a crinkled nose
trickled from her veins. She uploaded the pho- she surveyed her surroundings. Sarah flushed
to of the shining suit and posted- For Sale: Mo- with embarrassment, suddenly aware of her
torbike suit, pre-loved condition, twenty dollars apartment, disappeared to fetch the gaudy
O.N.O. suit.

Confident her inbox would be bombarded by The woman held the suit up to her, measuring
responses and the suit sold by tomorrow, she it with her eyes, while Sarah stood back and
turned off her phone. Sarah took a final swig studied her. They were very much the same:
from the bottle of the remaining wine, toppled eye colour, hair colour, tall, athletic, but as
into bed and spent the night being haunted by Sarah searched deeper there were distinct
domineering mountains and the hellish cackle differences. The woman’s face was softer, skin
of motorbikes. dewier, eyes kinder, and her bones less rigid.
The woman was dressed more feminine, in

mascara, lipstick, and a flowery, summer
smock.

“This will be perfect, still twenty?” The woman
opened her purse before she could answer.

“Yes.” Sarah stammered, her eyes detaching
from the visual autopsy.

The woman gleamed a smile of white and van-
ished out the door, the pink suit slung over her
arm like an evening coat.

The door click closed, the tapping of the wom-
an’s heels quietened. Sarah’s head throbbed as
she observed her now completely stripped
apartment. She therapeutically inhaled and
exhaled, feeling lighter for a moment. When
outside, the cackle of a familiar motorbike en-
gine shredded the serenity.

About the Author

Caleb Eriksson is a reader, writer and soon-to-
be-librarian. He has had several poems and
short stories printed and aspires to have novels
published. Caleb enjoys the works of Australian
authors, especially Candice Fox and Markus
Zusak. He currently resides on the tropical east
coast of Australia with his beautiful, newlywed
wife.

A WALK BY THE RIVER

by Josh Greenfield

There are chemically induced medical condi- say I was moving into an “episode,” a psychotic
tions that require more than a good sponsor episode. Strange things had been happening,
and strict attention to The Steps, many in fact. with increasing intensity, for a few days, as I
There is an entire pharmacological industry fell more and more “into character,” as I began
that treats mental illness and it is improving all to believe I was actually a character I had
the time. There is a lot of money in it. The written about and portrayed in a stand-up act.
over whelming majority of these illnesses do Gradually, I went from writing about this
not require hospitalization. The patient con- shmuck, to believing I was him.
sults with a psychiatrist, goes up to the phar-
macy counter, fills his or her prescription and He, and by that I mean P.W., is a harmless
takes it home and takes it, with some misgiv- guy. He’s a comic figure really, bashful around
ings at first, no doubt. Still that’s how it works. women, unable to hold a job for more than a
It is only on the rare occasion that those medi- few weeks because of his intense shyness. In
cations must be given inside a hospital, a psy- my writing, P.W. is prone to say wise and inter-
chiatric hospital, not to sound melodramatic or esting things, but no one takes him too serious-
anything. That has happened to me on two ly. I had even played him on the stage of ama-
occasions. The first time it was actually be- teur nights at a comedy clubs. There he fit
cause I screwed up taking the medications on right in. This is the character I thought I had
the outside. That was the story of a neurotic become. All my writing had autobiographical
misbehaving during his psychiatrist’s vacation. roots so P.W. was in some ways an exaggerat-
The second hospitalization is the one I want to ed form of myself, but I still was taking on a
address, a stay in the Westchester Psychiatric different persona. Along the way I came to
Hospital, which had everything to do with the believe in other things that were far removed
psychotic. It was there that for the first time I from reality. I looked out at the red light on
was put on Zyprexa, the latest generation of top of a large building visible from my bedroom
anti-psychotic medication. I’d like to say there window and endowed it with supernatural
was a lot of Love as well. Maybe there was a meaning. I began seeing the everyday occur-
little of each. rences of daily life in terms of the grand issues
of Good and Evil. The talk radio hosts on the
For some days, I had been gradually de- local sports radio station were somehow allied
scending into madness. There’s an outdated with Good. Go figure that one. I began clean-
term, “madness,” sounds positively Nineteenth ing my apartment in the middle of the night,
Century. These days everything has a precise making repeated visits to the garbage chute in
clinical description. I think the doctors would the hall.

I’d been battling severe obsessive- From there I headed straight downhill to-
compulsive disorder for a good twenty years. I ward the Hudson River, one of the landmarks
just had never had a psychotic episode before. of the community. It seems I had a destination
I didn’t even have anything in the bathroom in mind. I walked down the pot holed scared
cabinet that could have helped. These changes pavement of 254th street on a weekday after-
don’t take place instantaneously. During the noon. There was no one else about. At the
early stages, certainly, there is ample oppor- foot of the hill was the Riverdale Train Station,
tunity to note them, to discover a new dimen- one stop on the Metro North railway headed
sion growing inside from your healthy self, and up toward Poughkeepsie. I walked up the
to take appropriate remedial steps. On this stairs to the overpass that passed above the
occasion, I lacked that perspective. train tracks, still with just one shoe on. On the
far side was terrain with which I was intimately
On that August day in 2002, I walked out of familiar. From the southbound platform, I
my apartment building and along the sidewalk jumped down to the dirt borderline of the river
of the thoroughfare that runs out front with itself. Thick undergrowth grew by the rocks
only one shoe on, the other being dragged by that abutted the water. I made my way south
its laces. I was thirsty. I now know that dehy- through an opening in the weeds and onto
dration makes the psychosis worse. I did not what passed for a beach in the northwest
know this at the time either. I made my way Bronx. Then I did something I have never been
along Warren Avenue past the adjoining set of fully able to explain. I slipped out of my
six story brick buildings in the summer heat. I clothes and into the water. I fully submerged
passed the bus stop where people were myself. Dr. Rubin with his encyclopedic
waiting for the bus, people who may have knowledge of the many religious traditions
known me on better days. I made the choice called it a rite of baptism.
to veer to the right into the tree lined residen-
tial area of one family homes, but the trees The water may have temporarily cooled
provided little relief. I was going under. me, but it did little to improve my state of
mind. I put my clothes back on, this time lacing
Having arrived at the gate of the Rolling both sneakers and began to make my way
Hills Botanical gardens, I acted in a manner north along the water’s edge. I paused to sit
that may have been consistent with the charac- on one of the rocks with water of the Hudson
ter of P.W. but was in no way something Josh sloshing around below my feet. To my right
Greenfield would have done, not even on a hot was a flock of geese. But on that August after-
summer’s afternoon. I rang the buzzer by the noon they assumed an aura of mythic propor-
side delivery entrance and asked for a glass of tions to me, like messengers from some avian
water. You laugh? I hope so. Otherwise the land, far away or far above. Lodged in the
rest of this is going to sound pretty strange. I rocks, but within arm’s reach, was a small plas-
don’t know exactly how this went over in the tic bottle, half filled with river water. This too I
administrative offices. I suspect it may have assumed had been left for me by a divine pow-
been the first-time alarm bells were sounded. er, and I drank it to assuage my thirst. I was a
But consistent with the service oriented nature hot day.
of the non-profit institution the, director ar-
rived at the gate a water bottle in her hand. I continued along the eastern bank of the
She saw a man, around forty, in a loose fitting Hudson River. On the opposite shore were the
white t-shirt with a washed out print on the Palisades cliffs, geologically significant rock
front wearing only one sneaker. His jeans were formations running vertically from the line of
worn through in the right knee. His hair was green trees above to the water below. They
copious and un-brushed. We did not converse. appeared remote through the haze and humid-
ity. I approached the next outpost on the Met-

ro North rail line, the Ludlow station. Here The policemen walked affably by my side. I
again, I did something to draw attention to was moving in the direction they wanted, to-
myself as a man have a breakdown, a psychotic ward the Riverdale Station and the help that
episode, a descent into madness, call it what awaited. We arrived at a patch of shade beside
you will. Under the overhang of the otherwise a particularly large bush. Here I was inclined to
deserted southbound station I saw a metallic stop. The policemen did not immediately force
pipe protruding from the side wall. Beneath the matter.
the pipe on the right-hand side was a metal
chain. I pulled on the chain and water came “What’s your name?” One of the men
running out of the pipe. This was just what I asked.
needed, cold water that had not been contami-
nated by the many impurities of the Hudson “P.W.” I answered without reservation.
River and the remains of someone’s three-
week old Gatorade. I lay down on the ground, “I’m J.T.” the woman, a young svelte Afri-
pulled the chain and let the cool water run can American answered.
over my face and head.
“I’m A.J.” The man who had asked the origi-
As I lay there on my back I became aware nal question answered as well.
that a man was observing me from the over
pass. He looked down on me through the plate “I’m G.S.” The third police man completed
glass and moved on. I wasn’t interested in tak- the introductions.
ing a train. Instead I began to walk south back
along the train tracks to the Riverdale Station. Remembering these events all these years
It was then I first noticed the three police men later, still brings a tear to my eye. Do they
who were to set the future course of events in teach that in police officer school, or were
motion. They were walking quietly towards these guys just really good?
me, two men and a woman. I approached
them as well. The fact remained that they had business to
attend to. They had an ambulance waiting.
Their greeting was friendly, “How are you
doing?” one of the police men asked. “Why don’t we head up to the station?”
The first policeman asked respectfully.
I was aware that things had taken a serious
turn. The “men in blue” were on the scene. I I wasn’t inclined to move. I was appreci-
did not answer the policeman’s greeting, but ating the shade, and I told him so.
kept walking along the dirt that divided the
southbound track from an abandoned track no “Better move out of this hot sun.” The sec-
longer in use. The three policemen fell in line ond man said.
and began walking beside me.
I still wasn’t moving.
At this point P.W. did exactly what P.W.
was inclined to do. Without directly acknowl- “Bet we could find something to drink.” The
edging the presence of the officers he, that woman said.
would be me, began proclaiming his creden-
tials to the hillside at healthy decibel levels. Still no go. With a stubbornness completely
out of character to Josh Greenfield, P.W. had
“Stanley Greenfield, my father, Harvard become a problem. He had resolved not to
Business School, Class of 1949….Phillips Ando- cooperate. The police officers, kind as they
ver Academy, Class of 1980… Cornell University had proven themselves, understood that action
Class of 1984” had to be taken. Much as Josh Greenfield
might shudder at the thought, these two
strong police man picked P.W. up and carried
him the remaining distance to the Riverdale
Station, up the stairs, across the overpass and

into the ambulance waiting on the other side. unfit for human consumption. I threw up the
P.W. did not fight. He did not resist. He simply whole lot.
remained limp.
Then it was back onto the dolly where I was
I say I believed I was this character. That is to remain until I could be transported to some
not completely true. There was some part of more permanent facility. Unfortunately, I am
my consciousness that was still Josh, and that compelled to report that during my brief stay
part knew what was going on, and frankly, was in the emergency room I again did not cooper-
terrified. The ambulance attendant, some kind ate. Maybe it was because I had yet to receive
of E.M.T., treated me kindly as well, and with any Zyprexa, I really don’t know, but I did not
him, I was more cooperative. I lay down in the do exactly what they wanted. The burly male
back of the vehicle and let him secure me. attendant wanted me to lie down. I wouldn’t, I
That was the last I saw of the policemen. They refused. I felt I was compelled to play some
had done a first-rate job. Things had gotten a part, a part I knew was not in my own self-
little stressful when I wouldn’t go along with interest. He pushed me down. It wasn’t that
them, but on balance I couldn’t have asked for big a deal I guess, but at the time, on top of
a better rescue team. I had been in deep trou- everything else, it was quite upsetting.
ble and the three policemen had taken the first
step toward setting things right. If love is I have no recollection whatsoever of speak-
“wanting to make another person happy,” as ing with the doctors at this psychiatric way
Dr. Rubin has proposed, then these three po- station. They must, however, have learned the
lice officers performed a loving act that day. names of my parents or other family members,
possibly with the help of the policemen and my
I rode in the back of the ambulance with digressions while walking by the river, because
the attendant by my side, and no siren blaring. from there on out, things were taken out of my
Together we made the short trip to the psychi- hands. Arrangements were made. I was pro-
atric emergency room of the Allen Pavilion of vided for. On this occasion, everything, I be-
the Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. The Allen lieve, was done right. The psychiatric emer-
Pavilion is a kind of annex that serves the far gency system worked. That August afternoon, I
northern regions of Manhattan. The ambulance was in no condition to take care of myself, or
pulled up to the unloading area, and I was fend for myself, or really do much of anything
wheeled inside. for myself. I needed help, and I got it.

So there I was in the receiving area of the I was loaded in the back of another ambu-
psychiatric emergency room of the Allen Pavil- lance, and taken to my more permanent ac-
ion of the Columbian Presbyterian Hospital. commodations in the bucolic surroundings of
One of the first things I did was step into the Westchester County. There are reasons they
small bathroom and throw up. I didn’t think locate these kinds of places in the countryside,
this one through at the time, but in hindsight I amidst the trees and the grass. When, years
can see that it was my body rejecting the un- later, things got rough again, I tried to replicate
conventional means of hydration I had em- the experience on my own by spending time in
ployed while walking beside the river. I had the Rolling Hills Gardens, not outside the gate,
had the bizarre idea that the small plastic and in Pine Plains, a green and quiet town in
bottles lodged among the rocks had been the Hudson Valley. Granted some hospitals are
placed there by some divine power for my ben- right in the heart of Manhattan, so I suppose it
efit. Actually, they had been sitting there for isn’t always possible, but on balance, I believe
days, if not weeks, and were filled with river it is preferable. There is something about being
water, and rain water, and the remains of in nature that is good for the mind. It has heal-
someone else’s beverage and were entirely ing qualities. I have a distinct recollection of

lying in the back of the ambulance as the vehi- along with orange juice and milk and plastic
cle drove up the long drive way that led up to bowls and cups for consuming them. There
the hospital, and looking out the rear window were bathrooms, but here the details remain
at the trees passing over head. vague. Personally, I was still in another time
and place. Call it the Twilight Zone if you like. I
I suppose I should try and say something never watched the show all that many times,
about my state of mind during all this, this be- but it might come close.
ing a first-person account, but that is not easily
accomplished. Rubin, my doctor at the time, I do have a specific recollection of the cen-
asked me to write him a long hand account of tral meeting room, where at periodic intervals,
what I was experiencing from the hospital, he once a day, or once every few days, all the pa-
may even have it filed away somewhere, who tients on the floor would gather to be inter-
knows. From my current perspective those viewed by one of the senior doctors, each in
thoughts are not easily recreated. Nor would I turn. This doctor was a woman, and she was
want to, to be honest. The whole thing was so good. In a few sentences, she would speak
dark and twisted and distorted. I still believed I with each of us to determine how we were
was someone I was not. I believed I was this doing, and at the end of the session she would
character, this P.W. By this point I was no long- decide what our medication levels were to be.
er uncooperative. I was doing what I was told I think she did a great job. They had me on
and going with the program. To be honest, I twenty milligrams of Zyprexa, which is an ex-
had absolutely no idea what was going on. I tremely high dose, and day by day, it did its
was very mixed up. thing. It brought me back to this planet. It
returned a sense of reality, of what was really
They gave me my own room, and started going on in this world, around me. I took the
me on the Zyprexa. My doctor had been in- medicine. I did everything I was asked to do. I
formed as to my whereabouts, as had my par- would like to say, at this point that my behav-
ents and my sister and brother-in-law. My doc- ior throughout my stay at the Westchester
tor knew, like the last time around, that these Psychiatric Hospital, unlike my behavior during
things happen. He put in a lot of extra hours the heart of the crisis, was exemplary, just as
on the phone speaking with my family, and cooperative and courteous as could be. I got
with me in the hospital, to make sure things along fine with the doctors and the other pa-
proceeded as they should, but this whole thing tients and did everything as it should be done.
didn’t throw him.
The front door was locked. I never went
The Westchester Psychiatric Hospital was and tried it myself, but I’m quite certain it was
entirely situated on one floor. It was not well and I remained aware of this fact. There was a
light, at least that is the way I remember it. I loss of freedom here. Clearly, there were suffi-
had my own room, small and rectangular with cient reasons for this. Some of the other pa-
white walls. At one end of the room opposite tients might have wanted to walk out, I don’t
the door was a large window that looked out know. Speaking for myself, I had no desire to
on something green. There was a single bed confront the system in any way, but others
along one wall and a large closet. There was might not have been so stable. I’m sure the
also a dresser where I had the vague idea it precaution had to be taken. I was constrained
would be necessary to hide my writing from and despite the outdoor exercise and the amia-
the authorities who would search the room. In ble nurses, that was ever present. Beyond that
retrospect, I do not believe any such searches there isn’t a whole lot I can say. I suppose it is
took place. All the necessary functions of daily a built in human defense mechanism that we
life were provided for. I remember that break- are endowed with the ability to put these ex-
fast cereal was provided at a central table periences behind us. On a day to day basis I

think about that time not at all. A city bus I About the Author
take regularly drives directly in front of the
Allen Pavilion and the thought sometimes Josh Greenfield is a graduate of both Phillips
crosses my mind, Andover Academy and Cornell University's Col-
lege of Arts and Sciences. He holds two mas-
“I’d rather be out here than in there” ter’s degrees from the City University of New
York, one in History and one in English Litera-
That’s all it amounts to. ture. He also completed the better part of a
doctorate in English at Fordham University. He
is the author of two books, The Obsessive
Chronicles: a novel and Homeward Bound: a
novella of idle speculation, both published by
Lulu. His work has been featured in The Cor-
nell Daily Sun, The Riverdale Press, Appalachia,
and Word Catalyst Magazine.

www.JoshGreenfield.net

DISAPPEARED SOUNDS

by J.C. Sullivan

One night the week before last Jane Parker feel the soft sting of the ocean breeze on her
clearly heard the sound of an eight track tape sunburned arms. After some consideration she
clicking from one track to the next. She had convinced herself – or almost convinced herself
not heard that click, that quick, metallic click of -- it must have been the air conditioner she’d
an eight track, in more than four decades. The heard.
sound had disappeared from her life.
Jane had a busy day scheduled, four clos-
She left her bed to look out the window. At ings. She’d been a real estate lawyer 30-plus
4:15 in the morning Shadowridge Drive was as years and handled more than 10,000 closings
deserted as she would have predicted. She had for the buying or selling of houses around At-
no clue where the sound could possibly have lanta. She was very popular with her clients,
come from. considered especially skilled at relaxing first
time home buyers.
It was Jane’s roommate in college who
owned an eight track tape player, Halloween When she pulled into the parking lot of the
orange and with a single working speaker. law firm on Marietta Parkway Jane saw, as she
Once a month Jane and Becky pooled money did most mornings, the firm’s paralegal smok-
from their part time jobs and bought a used ing by the back door. Annabelle was 21 and
tape at the Rutgers bookstore. They lit cinna- lived with her boyfriend, whose job was scrub-
mon-scented candles around their dorm room, bing viruses from computer hard drives. He
split a bottle of Blue Nun wine and listened to had explained a couple times to Jane how the
the new tape. They shared a love of John Len- process worked. To be polite she had nodded
non, dead all these years now. Becky was dead along as if she understood.
as well, of breast cancer the year before last.
“Morning, Annabelle,” Jane said, as she did
Jane never did get back to sleep and she all the other mornings. Annabelle nodded and
never did figure out the source of the eight took another puff.
track sound. Around six she jumped in the
shower. Jane hurried past, switching her tan leather
tote to her left hand while reaching for the
While showering Jane could have sworn she doorknob with her right. This, too, was a well-
heard the excited ching! chingg! Chinggg! nois- rehearsed part of their daily routine.
es of a pinball machine racking up points. The
clamor reminded her of family vacations at the This day, however, Jane stopped and asked
Jersey shore growing up. She could just about a question she had not even considered before
speaking the words. The question and the

memory had come to her at the same moment: a conference call with the title company. We’ll
“Annabelle, how would you describe the sound have you out of here in two hours or so.”
of a cigarette butt hitting the water in a toilet?”
Jane slid a completed HUD-1 across the
Annabelle stopped mid-inhale, a puzzled table to the couple and started explaining the
look creasing her face. Jane assumed there was lines of information on the form. “Okay,” she
some puzzlement on her own face, the sound began, “you’re financing through FHA. Here’s
had returned to her so unexpectedly. what that means … Here is the contract sales
price. You’re getting a good deal on your
“Uh-what?” house,” she said, as she did to every one of her
clients. “… Now here are the taxes you’ll pay. I
“You know, Annabelle, the sound a ciga- wish I could say you won’t have to pay taxes,
rette butt makes when it’s flicked into the toi- but you’d know I was lying, wouldn’t you?” It
let. There’s a hissing sound when the lit ciga- was a joke she slipped into every closing and
rette hits the water.” the de Leons smiled dutifully.

“Uh, Jane, I don’t smoke in the office, you Jane had handled so many closings through
know that. I never have.” She went on, defen- the years she could do so with only half her
sively, “I don’t put cigarettes in the toilet. I attention. The rest of her mind hurried back to
don’t know anyone who ever has. I wouldn’t the question she’d blurted out to Annabelle.
know-“
It was Jane’s Uncle Charlie who had flicked
“It was kind of a pffftttt sound.” his Marlboros into the toilet. He lived two
towns up the Garden State Parkway from
“I wouldn’t know.” Jane’s family. She loved visiting him. Her uncle
and aunt never had children and spoiled Jane
“There was a nice finality to it; pffftttt.” wonderfully. Uncle Charlie had lost half his arm
to a German machine gun on Omaha Beach. He
Annabelle took another drag and dropped never complained and he never gave up smok-
the hardly-smoked cigarette onto the gravel. ing. Watching him light a match with only one
She crushed the butt with the toe of a leopard hand was a marvel. He could send smoke rings
skin pump. across a room.

“I wouldn’t know,” Annabelle said again, The Germans and the cigarettes could not
still clearly puzzled. She added, “The buyers are kill him. Her uncle was still alive in a nursing
here. They showed up an hour early for their home. Jane tried to visit once a year. Her uncle
closing.” smiled when he saw her as he always did, but
she could tell the Alzheimer’s had stolen his
From her closing file Jane knew that Luci- memories of her. Jane often wondered if that
ana and Augusto de Leon were first time home meant she no longer existed for him.
buyers. She didn’t need to check the file for
that information; a glance in the conference The next closing, at eleven, was part of a
room would have told her. The de Leons sat contentious divorce. She looked around the
silent and rigid, sipping Styrofoam cups of conference room, crowded with lawyers from
coffee. Three or four empty cups surrounded both sides, yellow legal pads at the ready, and
them on the conference room table. Jane the divorcing parties glaring at each other. She
would have bet they had not tasted any of that announced, “We’ll be done in an hour, less if
coffee. we can.”

“We’ll go through the documents,” she told Jane turned down an invitation to join the
the thirty-ish de Leons when she joined them rest of the firm for lunch at La Parrilla. Instead
at the table. “And by the time we’re finished
the lawyer for the bank will be here. I’ve set up

she went to the Starbucks on Roswell Road and long gone. When the cashier hit that button
grabbed a tall to go from a barista with neck the cash drawer flew open with a sudden, loud
tattoos and nose ring. She drove to a parking thonk. However many times Jane saw the draw
lot near East Side elementary school, empty on fly open she’d blink in surprise. Self-scanning
this day in February. Schools were closed for her groceries was not nearly as much fun.
President’s Day, two separate days when Jane
was in school, now condensed into a single Jane knew she was working toward the
holiday. memory of a particular sound, but could not
figure out which sound. Trying to locate the
Sipping her coffee, the oldies station play- memory wouldn’t work, she could tell. Jane
ing softly, Jane admitted to herself that she had needed to wait for the sound to reach her on
not actually heard the click of an eight track its own. But the coffee was gone and it was
tape at four in the morning. Nor had she heard time for her two o’clock closing.
a pinball machine or a Marlboro sent flying into
a toilet by a favorite uncle. How could she? Her two o’clock was the Patels, both cardi-
Obviously the sounds could not have been ac surgeons, buying a five bedroom house in
there. Still, she could not deny she’d heard Vinings. The closing went smoothly but slowly,
them. It wasn’t like she’d imagined the sounds with husband and wife each checking their I-
as much as she’d let them return to her. phones for messages on a nearly constant ba-
sis.
Sitting in her Corolla, Jane waited for more
disappeared sounds to find her and eventually At one point Jane checked her I-phone as
they did. She heard, as clearly as if she were well. In her mind she kept hearing the high
back in the basement of her best friend in mid- pitched scraping sound the massive cars of the
dle school, the scratchy crackle of a vinyl album early Sixties made as the car approached the
before the first song starts. It was a sound of curb. Wikipedia informed her that the sound
anticipation. That best friend was now retired was made by curb feelers, which were attached
to Flagstaff with her second husband, whom to the car near the right front tire. They
Jane had never met. worked sort of like metal cat’s whiskers,
alerting the driver that the car was getting
She heard again the chugging click of the close to the curb. They had apparently been
dot matrix printer at her first job. That job had replaced by electronic curb sensors. Jane could
led to a transfer to Atlanta, where she met her not recall the last time she’d heard the sound.
husband, a professor in medieval history at She assumed she would never hear it again.
Kennesaw State. They bought the house on
Shadowridge Drive. Like all their neighbors, Before the last closing Jane called her
they came to Marietta from someplace else. daughter Abbie, who designed websites for a
multi-national company based in Denver. Jane
Growing up in New Jersey there’d been an guessed her daughter wouldn’t be able to chat
air raid siren which went off once a week; Jane long and she was right. Their two minute con-
hadn’t thought about that siren in countless versation abruptly ended with Abbie announc-
years. It was part of the national defense sys- ing, “Sorry, Mom, gotta jump.”
tem during the Cold War with the Soviet Union.
The siren was loud enough that for one minute The last closing of the day began at 5:15.
each Thursday outside conversation became The buyer was an investor Jane had worked
impossible. The siren was gone and of course with three or four times before. He was balding
the Soviet Union was gone as well. with a salt and pepper beard, which had more
pepper the last time she’d seen him. Twenty
Next she remembered the Ka-ching! button minutes into the closing she realized she could
of the cash register at the local Penn Fruit, also not recall his name. Hirani? Ciranni? She could

have looked into her file for the name easily cancer of Jane’s father was still a few years
enough but never bothered. If the investor away and her mother’s ovarian cancer a dec-
minded he never said anything. Everyone was ade beyond that.
eager to get this last one done.
The sun had almost disappeared for the
The investor was experienced and had no day, leaving only a narrow sliver of gold on the
need for Jane to explain anything. He’d heard water. With her plastic bucket Abbie was
her jokes before. Jane’s role consisted of slid- scooping water goldened by the setting sun
ing papers across the conference room table and pouring the water onto her toes. With
and instructing him, “Initial here and here” and each pour she laughed delightedly.
“Sign and date here, if you would.”
Abbie turned three a week later. The week
Her attention was free to let the memories after that Jane learned her husband’s graduate
of disappeared sounds find her; they did. She assistant was providing services beyond re-
remembered the sound of coins pushed into searching the economies of Thirteenth century
the slot of a pay phone. She heard the sounds English mill towns. All that was in the future.
of a rotary phone as it was dialed, the sssttt as Sitting in the deserted conference room Jane
her index finger pushed the number up, the could again hear her daughter laughing with
sliding click as the dial slid back. She heard the delight, scooping water turned gold by the
clipping sound of a push mower and the re- setting sun. Jane turned off the room’s lights
lentess fuzziness of television static. and, as she hoped, could hear the sound more
clearly. She sat there a while, knowing that
The closing ended sometime after six. from now on she could summon up the sound
Sitting alone in the conference room Jane con- whenever she needed it.
sidered stopping into a reception a title compa-
ny was having downtown that night, but re- About the Author
mained at the table. The prospect of another
night alone at the house on Shadowridge Drive JC Sullivan is a lawyer in Baltimore, Maryland
held little appeal. She knew how the evening with two daughters, Kira and Meredith. JC's
would go: Jane would fall asleep on the den novel, Shark And Octopus, is awaiting a pub-
couch, eventually stumble into bed, then wake lisher.
at four. Sleep would stubbornly elude her the
rest of the night. It had been that way since
Abbie left for her job in Denver the week be-
tween Christmas and New Year.

The law firm was quiet enough Jane could
hear the distant swishing of traffic on Inter-
state 75. The sound reminded her of waves
sliding onto a beach. It was then that the
memory came back to her, the one she’d been
heading toward since hearing the click of the
eight track.

Jane remembered being at the beach in
Avalon, on a day in late August. She was with
her then-husband Doug and their daughter
Abbie, at that time two. Jane’s parents were
sitting on beach chairs watching their grad-
daughter by the ocean’s edge. The pancreatic

LUCKY PEOPLE

by Christine Terp Madsen

On the eighteenth anniversary of the end of He was no longer a professor of electrical
World War II in Europe, Bubbe Jozef and Zayde engineering. She was no longer a prestigious
Sofia gave up. Lutsk housewife. They no longer visited luxuri-
ous Warsaw nightclubs to hear Vera Gran sing
We are tired, they wrote, tired of trying to purring anthems of love and desire that even
become who we are, tired of trying to leave the prestigious soldiers murmured about.
behind who we have been made. We are lucky
people. We survived. We have gotten from But the electrical repair shop was thriving.
Ukraine to here, through all of it, and now you And Helena was busy, thanks to her mother’s
must carry on. industry and her own skills. And their grand-
children were happy in school.
Through the war they made themselves
invisible, made their daughter and son-in-law And then that Tuesday morning they
invisible, made their grandson invisible, made wrapped themselves in all of their warm cloth-
each step from Lutsk to Warsaw to the Bronx ing, took the #2 subway to W. 110th St. to Cen-
invisible. tral Park to Harlem Meer, where they lay down
and let the snow cuddle around them.
And then at last they could make the sim-
chat bat of their granddaughter visible, the Their bodies were found five days later.
start of the electrical repair business visible,
the purchase of a triple-decker in the Bronx Stanislaw, their grandson, was 20. Lisa Den-
visible. ise, their granddaughter with the bright new
American name, was 12.
They lived on the top two floors of the tri-
ple-decker, the attic room giving them an extra Miklos said nothing. Helena wept for three
bedroom. The Sterns lived on the first floor, weeks. Bubbe Jozef and Zayde Sofia were bur-
rich enough to pay for the beautiful parquet ied properly.
floors, the tiled kitchen, the garage, and the
distinctive bay windows. From somewhere Helena found a respecta-
ble family of second cousins to live in Bubbe
Bubbe Jozef, once a professor of electrical Jozef’s and Zayde Sofia’s apartment on the
engineering, built his business with his son-in- second floor. Lisa Denise always thought of
law, Miklos. Zayde Sofia, once a prestigious them as Aunt and Uncle and Gloria. Stanislaw
Lutsk housewife, cut and basted and sewed tried to not think of them, but if he did, he
and hemmed any dress she could conjure. thought of Gloria, two years younger.

Miklos worked hard at the business in the Helena, now answering to Helen if she had
Bronx, and Helena worked hard at cutting and to, and despite being a naturalized American
basting and hemming. Stanislaw completed his nowhere near completely American, was home
high school studies with honors, and his par- most afternoons when Lisa Denise arrived from
ents stood on either side of him as he wore his school, unless she was delivering dresses to
cap and gown and someone took their picture customers, was most certainly there every
on the front stoop of the three-decker. Lisa evening when Miklos and Stanislaw arrived
Denise held his diploma. home, with dinner waiting for them, a nice hot
meal, her sewing set aside, as tired as she was
Then Stanislaw, now answering only to already, her real work beginning just now, as
Stan, started at NYU at its Washington Heights the men in her life filled the house with the
campus on scholarship, at last completely aroma of their busy day and their American
American, a naturalized citizen, a high school ways. She listened to all the Broadway show
graduate, a college student. He came home tunes she could afford.
every evening from classes, tired from learning,
tired from carrying books, tired from making “Any mail?” Miklos helped himself to some
new friends, tired from being completely potatoes.
American. He secretly listened to the Beatles
on his little radio in his little bedroom after he “A few bills. The Reader’s Digest.” Helena
finished his homework late at night at the hurried with the meat.
breakfast table.
“Homework?” Miklos didn’t even look at
Miklos, now answering to Michael and al- Stanislaw.
most completely American, a naturalized
American, came home every evening from his “Just some chemistry.”
business two blocks over on Olivet Street, tired
of the price of electrical wire, tired of the price “Stanislaw, use complete sentences,” said
of wages, tired of the price of hurrying from Helena, pushing open the swinging door to the
one job to the next. He listened to Frank Sina- kitchen with her hip.
tra on the phonograph after dinner, wishing he
could afford a hi-fi like he saw advertised on “You don’t,” he retorted. “Why should I?”
the pages of the New York Record Messenger. He ducked his father’s hand before it could
land on the back of his head, but the backswing
Lisa Denise, answering at school to Lisa, caught him on his cheek. Lisa Denise sup-
never to Leee-saaaa, especially if it was Stani- pressed her giggle by choking on her own bite
slaw calling for her, and always completely of potato. Stanislaw recovered by interpreting
American, having been born right in the Bronx her choking for the giggle it was, and extended
at St. Barnabas Hospital itself, arrived home his leg underneath the table to kick her unpro-
first, before either Stanislaw or Miklos, her tected knee with his foot, clad in its workman’s
school being only one block away, never tired boot, which caused her to spit her bite of pota-
from school, never tired from homework, nev- to onto her plate.
er tired from playing with her friends, never
tired of talking, or of asking Gloria any question “Sta-a-an!” she wailed.
she thought of, until it was time to help her
mother. She listened to any record she could, “Lisa Denise, that voice!” said Helena.
dragging the phonograph behind the sofa her- “What would your Zayde Sofia think?”
self to the radiator if her mother didn’t, before
her father locked her there on the weekends so “Enough!” Miklos yelled. “Get in there!” He
he could take his nap in peace. pointed towards the living room.

“But he kicked me!” Lisa Denise protested.

“No backtalk!” Miklos was on his feet.

“I haven’t finished!” “She told you to do your homework.” She
could barely see her brother in the dining
“Oh, no, Miklos, let her eat first,” Helena room, but Lisa Denise turned her back to him
offered. to him anyway, and resumed eating. She could-
n’t believe her luck to get a new record.
“Now!” He grabbed the collar of her Peter
Pan blouse and dragged Lisa to the place be- Helena, being a fan of Broadway musicals,
hind the sofa, where the radiator was hissing, having delivered dresses that afternoon, having
where there was no phonograph hiding, where pleased Mrs. Rubin with her special pleating on
the chains were waiting to be locked around the waistline of a new dress for her daughter,
her ankles to keep her there until Miklos was and having received a nice tip for said pleating,
ready to unlock them. felt it not only befitting, felt it not only right,
felt it not only justified, but also somehow op-
“And you—” Miklos pointed to Stanislaw portune, somehow also convenient, that she
“—talk nice to your mother.” should stop by Cohen’s Records and ask Mrs.
Cohen’s advice on which new long-playing rec-
Helena returned from the kitchen and took ord she should purchase for her collection.
her place at the table silently. Stanislaw Mrs. Cohen, being the arbiter of all such
smirked in Lisa Denise’s direction, but Miklos, matters in Helena’s world, would advise her
too intent on his piece of beef, did not notice. well.
No one spoke until he finished his meal.
And indeed she had, for now in her posses-
“I am going for a walk,” he said. That meant sion lay a tightly-wrapped copy of the extreme-
he was going to get Uncle Stefan and go to the ly exciting musical, “Funny Girl,” starring the
bar on the next block for as many beers as they young woman from so nearby, from Brooklyn,
had coins in their pockets to buy. He clomped Barbra Streisand, so nearby she grew up even
down the backstairs and his cheery false voice closer than Broadway itself, it was a miracle. It
came to them muffled from the second floor. was such luck. And now, miracle again, Helena
Soon two sets of feet clomped the rest of the knew, her own daughter, her Lisa Denise,
way out of the house, and only then did Helena would hear Barbra Joan sing the glorious notes
and Stanislaw stir in their chairs. even before she herself, before she, Helena
herself, did, because she must tend to her
“Do your homework,” she said. She picked housewifely chores while her daughter was
up Lisa Denise’s plate and took it to her daugh- bound to the radiator, bound by her husband,
ter in the living room. but as a reward Lisa Denise would hear the
lovely Barbra sing the songs of the lovely Fanny
“You’re going to give that to her?” Stani- Brice and forget for a few moments her own
slaw asked, incredulous. tedium.

“Do your homework,” she repeated. Helena Now Stanislaw, in the kitchen with his
handed Lisa Denise her plate, who pushed the chemistry homework, lulled by the serious
half-eaten bite of potato to the side and re- matter of covalent bonds, all other sounds
sumed her meal. Helena placed the phono- drowned out by the roar of warm water rush-
graph on the floor beside her, and gave her the ing through the kitchen drain, all other sights
small scrap of baby blanket that her daughter obscured by the vision in his mind of the image
still clung to when she was upset. of a certain cousin Gloria who he was sure was
brushing her hair to a very fine sheen in her
“I got a new record this afternoon. I haven’t back bedroom just about now, all other
even played it yet. Let me get it for you. I’ll be thoughts dulled by his plans to slip down the
right back.” She ran upstairs to her bedroom.

“Boy, if Dad knew that Mom gave that rec-
ord player to you all the time—” said Stanislaw.

back stairs and then climb ever so carefully up stairs, the third pair having dropped off at the
the inside wall of the garage to balance on the second floor, where Uncle left to check that
frame of the window where he was certain he Grace was all right, and upon seeing the angry
could see directly into her bedroom to watch face of her husband dropped back a half step in
her lovely arm, no doubt bare of any clothing, fear until seeing the terrified face of her son, as
stroke her lovely hair. terrified in terror as Miklos’s face was angry in
anger.
Helena, in the kitchen lulled by her own
covalent bonds, hers of the dishwashing kind, Miklos, propelled through the kitchen,
as the suds washed over the three plates, three through the swinging door, into the dining
forks, three knives, three spoons, three glasses, room, into the living room, dragging Stanislaw
as she placed each item in the rack to be dried, and followed by Helena, stopped in his tracks
she hoped by her son, since her daughter was when he heard the refrains from “Funny Girl,”
otherwise occupied, as she considered whether specifically the refrain from “Henry Street.”
it was worthwhile to ask her son to take a bowl Stanislaw crashed into him, and Helena, crying
of Jell-O to Lisa Denise or whether she should and calling after them, caught her breath when
just take it herself, as she washed the pot in she realized that the secret phonograph treat
which she boiled the beans, the pot in which she had arranged for her daughter when she
she boiled the potatoes, the pan in which she was chained to the radiator had been revealed.
baked the meat, and the resignation with
which she wiped her hands and returned to the “Miklos, no—what would Bubbe think?”
living room with the little dessert for the girl, wailed Helena.
who was humming softly to “His Love Makes
Me Beautiful.” She smiled at her dreamy-eyed Miklos, realizing simultaneously that he had
daughter, gave her the bowl, and didn’t notice been betrayed by his son and his wife, whirled
her son had disappeared from the kitchen from one to the other, then flung Stanislaw
when she returned. from his grasp and flung his own body over the
back of the sofa to reach the phonograph.
Then Miklos, home earlier than expected, There, even before Lisa Denise could uncover
spotted Stanislaw clinging to his insecure perch her eyes, he yanked the arm of the record play-
on the garage window and recognized his im- er off the record, scraping it across the thin
pure intent instantly, as did the father of the vinyl, so that it wailed a sharp response in
intended victim, and the two less than sober unison with Lisa’s.
working men stared him into submission
soundlessly, and proceeded up the back stairs, “Daddy, no!”
Stanislaw valiantly attempting to bond with his
father and second cousin Uncle Stefan in a Miklos, never one to wait for an answer,
manly way as a 20-year-old might, but finding much less wait for his daughter, much less wait
little sympathy from a father of a 12-year-old for his crying daughter, clomped out the front
and a 20-year-old, as he should have expected, door.
but being 20 years old could not have known.
Stanislaw seized the opportunity to fade
Helena, having finished the final bowl and towards his bedroom.
utensils she had gathered from Lisa Denise and
having gathered up Stanislaw’s books and pa- Helena seized the opportunity to grab Mi-
pers and having finally settled down for a few klos’ keys from the sofa, where they had fallen
minutes of covalent bonding of tea and water when he flung his body over the sofa, and un-
at the kitchen table, rose to her feet at the locked Lisa Denise from the radiator.
sound of two pairs of angry feet climbing the
Lisa Denise hid her face underneath the
remnants of her favorite bit of blue haze of
baby blanket and sobbed.

The phonograph continued to play a refrain
from “Funny Girl”:

—are the luckiest people
—luckiest
—lucky
—lucky.

##

About the Author

Christine Terp Madsen is an editor and writer
who lives in Moretown, Vermont, where she
writes fiction and poetry, and hunts wildflow-
ers. She can play handbells, French horn, and a
rototiller. Her work has been published in
Bellevue Literary Review, Creative Colloquy,
Cold River Anthology, and Shark Reef Literary
Magazine, among others. She has written a
novel called Let Me Take You Home and a
memoir entitled Sufficient Grace: How Chris-
tian Science Saved Me from Christian Science,
which tells the story of her employment as an
award-winning journalist, and firing from The
Christian Science Monitor, because she is a
lesbian.

CLOSING TIME

by Edith Boyd

Mr. Colton’s wife sounded nice on the phone. some day. To tell the honest truth, my guy
She called the store often, and when she did, I would have to be a little more handsome than
got a good feeling, except when she was upset Mr. C, whose belly had a way of floating up and
about one of their kids. Then, she didn’t have down when he walked.
time to try to guess my name.
Sometimes, I felt like Mrs. C pestered him
On those days, she just said, “Is Roy…I too much, and since she didn’t have a job other
mean Mr. Colton there?” Their son, Davey had than the kids, I knew it was important for Mr. C
some problems, and it was usually him she was to keep his job. Nana knew better than to both-
calling about. Mr. Colton was my boss at the er me at work. Nana knew a lot of stuff that
Winn Barn Supermarket. I think he knew I was- other people didn’t know about not bothering
n’t sixteen yet, but he never asked too many people.
questions.
“Lizzie, keep your business to yourself,” she
Since Grandpa died, my grandmother was often said. “Don’t get into other peoples’ trou-
pretty broke, so I got a job at Winn Barn to try bles, or let them know about yours.” That suit-
to take that worried look off her face. Nana ed me just fine, as I wasn’t the kind of kid who
tried to hide her worries, but I knew her like I had a big mouth.
knew my face in the mirror. When she rubbed
her hands together, like somebody using lo- When Mrs. Colton was in a good mood, she
tion, I knew there was an extra bill, or she would say, “Is this Lizzie?” “Yes,” I would an-
thought about how I would turn out. swer, a little embarrassed how happy it made
me.
It wasn’t like I was a bad kid, it’s just that
she was getting older, and since the accident, “Lizzie, if he’s not busy, would you put Mr.
there wasn’t any other family to keep me. The Colton on the phone?”
job kept me busy, and helped keep my mind
from missing my mother’s voice, bouncy and I didn’t mind getting him for her, but
up, looking on the bright side of everything. I wouldn’t do it when the big boss of Winn Barn
knew Nana was as sad as I was about Mom, was visiting all the stores and had Mr. C in the
and my job at Winn Barn gave her a chance to office. The big boss, Mr. Baxter, had a mad look
let loose with the crying and praying out loud. on his face most times. I figured it had nothing
to do with how hard Mr. C worked. The big
And watching Mr. Colton talk to his wife shot guy was just mean for the fun of it.
quietly on the black phone, gave me hope that
there would be a nice guy like him in my life

“Mr. Colton is in a manager’s meeting, Mrs. be in the way. Even the popular girls at school
Colton, but I will ask him to call you, when the didn’t hear words as nice as that from their
meeting is over,” I said, on one of those days. guys.

She got quiet in a good way when I said When Mr. Colton escorted Mrs. Colton out
that, and I could picture her being proud of him the door, I felt as if it didn’t matter that they
for being a manager, and not just a cashier. weren’t fancy people.They knew stuff, like
Nana did, about how to live.
“Oh no, we can’t interrupt an important
meeting,” she said, with the kids making a After work, Nana usually had a special
clatter in the background. I could tell Mr. C snack waiting for me. I appreciated this, but
didn’t tell her when the big boss was being these little treats made me miss my mother a
creepy, or Mrs. C wouldn’t have sounded so lot, cause she was interested in stories about
proud and cheerful. people. Never mean ones…just stories about
regular people, maybe guessing what we
I didn’t know what was wrong with Davey, couldn’t see. Momma used to crinkle her nose
and it didn’t really matter, cause he was part of when Nana hushed us up about other people’s
their family, just like Nana was part of mine. business.

I remember the first time Mrs. Colton came One night, sitting with Nana, I opened up
into Winn Barn. Mr. Colton was done his day about Mrs. Colton, and Nana listened. I think
shift, and Mrs. C had somebody drop her off at losing Momma changed Nana in some good
the store. I knew her as soon as I saw her. She ways. She wasn’t so sure about everything all
wore a fancy dress with glitter on it. I could tell the time.
she wasn’t a regular customer because the
people coming to Winn Barn weren’t dressed “Nana, they had a date tonight. It looked
like that. The way she looked around made me like an old movie or something…Him so happy
think of her on the phone. I took a big guess just to be with her.” Nana tilted back her head,
and walked over and said, “Are you Mrs. Col- and looked at the ceiling, and I felt like she was
ton?” remembering Grandpa, cause her face was
sweet…a funny word to think about Nana.
“Why, yes, I am. I’m meeting my husband
Roy…Mr. Colton.” “Lizzie, a good marriage is a beautiful
thing,” she said, and I was so surprised I nearly
“I’ll go find him,” I said, and as I was walk- choked on my pie. it was so dreamy and not
ing away she said, “Are you Lizzie?” Nana - like.

“Yes, I’m Lizzie. I help out here since my It didn’t last… this side of Nana. Davey Col-
Grandpa died.” Then, I was ready to kick myself ton had to spend time in the hospital, and eve-
for saying that, but her face was so open like rything at work was different and kind of sad.
she was the kind of person who cared about Mrs. Colton began calling more often, and Mr.
things like that. Colton didn’t seem as happy to hear from her. I
thought of asking about Davey, but realized
“I’m sure Mr. Colton appreciates your hard that Nana might be right that I shouldn’t poke
work,” she said, and then she blushed a little into other peoples’ business.
like she said too much, like I did.

Mr. Colton blushed, too, when he saw his
wife. “Darla, you look beautiful,” he said right
in front of me, and I pretended to be busy
stacking a display shelf, cause I didn’t want to

Although Mr. Colton didn’t call in sick very Nana told me not to worry about the kids at
much, he happened to the day the big boss, school.
Mr. Baxter was there, and I overheard the
mean boss say some horrible things about Mr. “Not one of them has your heart, Lizzie,”
Colton and Davey. she would say peeling potatoes in the kitchen.
“Not a one of them.”
“Maybe we should get rid of that fat slob
with the screwed up kid,” he said to one of the I liked that Nana said those things, but I
other managers, just as I was walking by. I didn’t see where a heart could get me popular
froze behind a stack of baked beans that were with the cool kids at school.
on sale.
On another night that Nana let me watch
“Roy’s a good guy,” the other manager said, the Glitter show, a local newscaster came on
and the big boss said “Kid’s killing us with in- after the ad and said, “Breaking News- Winn
surance payments.” Barn Supermarkets to close 50 stores.”

How I missed my mother who would listen I couldn’t pay attention to the rest of the
to me tell this terrible thing, and try to paint a show, and dropped my notebook on the floor
picture of things working out for the Colton thinking about Mr.Colton, and Davey, and all
family. the hospital bills….and horrible Mr. Baxter who
didn’t like my boss or his family.
“Lizzie, maybe Mr. C. Is like Job in the bi-
ble,” she might say with a little smile to keep “Trust your instincts,” Nana liked to say,
Nana off her back. and my sinking stomach told me things were
going to get worse for the Coltons. I could al-
Or she might say something like “You have ways babysit or get into another store, cause I
to take the bad along with the good, little la- was young and healthy, and willing to work to
dy,” in that sweet Momma- like way. But she help Nana.
wouldn’t tell me to mind my own business.
As I lay in bed that night, I pictured our
Not ever would she do that. People were Winn Barn staying open, and hoped for things
different in their ways, even in families. that I knew to stay the same. I felt a little sorry
for myself too, cause losing my mother was big
If Momma had lived, would she have over- enough to have nearly killed me. Most of the
ruled Nana’s television rules? Probably. Nana popular kids still had mothers. I wanted to slap
was wacky over my mother. Probably made it them when they said nasty things about their
easier for her to like me. moms.

The night Mr. Baxter said awful things “It’s so pathetic how my mother thinks she
about Mr. C., Nana let me watch a show the can dance,” one of the cheerleaders would say.
kids at school always talked about. I hated that And another would jump in, making fun of her
I didn’t know who Duffy was, or would he get mom. “At least she didn’t show up at Spring
back with Meredith on the show “All That Fling dressed like a hot air balloon,” Carlie said,
Glitters.” I took notes about everybody, so which got a good laugh out of the others, but
when one of the cool kids said something at then Carlie got a hurt look when the others
the lunch table, I could join in, and maybe start laughed.
to fit in.

“See,” I wanted to shout at them, “that’s That very day, Mrs. Colton brought the fam-
her mother you’re laughing at, and that is nev- ily in, and she was bubbly and telling them how
er right” even though the daughter fed them she wanted them to see Daddy’s old job before
the line. he started the new one. She was pushing
Davey in his wheelchair, and the other kids
These were the kinds of things I heard at walked on either side of her smiling and touch-
school that I had to keep from Nana. ing a few of the shelves.

She had enough, losing Mom and Grandpa I lost a lot of interest in watching “Glitters’
and being stuck with me. or trying to fit in at school, and spent most of
my time thinking how I could help Mr. Colton.
During my next shift at Winn Barn, it didn’t Instead of bothering Nana with the story, I lay
take long to know our store would be one of in bed and talked to my mother, pretending
the ones that was closing. she was still alive.

“Did you hear, Lizzie?” One of the cashiers “Mom, what should I do?”
asked me as soon as I walked in the door.
And then it hit me like a bolt. I would save
“Hear what?” I said, doing Nana proud that my money and take a bus to Winn Barn head-
I wasn’t spreading stories. quarters, three hours from here, and I would
meet the boss of Mr. Baxter, and the higher
“Our store will be closing within ninety boss of him. I would wear my church dress, fix
days,” said a cashier I liked to avoid cause she my hair, and sit outside the office of some big
liked to gossip. “Some of us will be transferred shot Winn Barn guy, and let them know they
to another store. Least that’s what I heard,” weren’t going to get rid of Mr. Colton. They
she said while swinging her head to deal with weren’t going to shave their bottom line with
the next customer. my friend.

I then saw Mr.Colton shake his head in a no They were going to give him a transfer to
motion to his gabby employee. No matter how the Monroe store, and if they said no, I was
this turned out, I was going to try to get Mr. going to tell the newspaper about it.
Colton to meet Nana. Seems like they’d have
the no spreading stories thing in common. They were going to give a good man a way
to protect his family the way Nana protected
In the following weeks, Winn Barn wasn’t me. They were going to agree with me, and
receiving its normal deliveries except for fresh give some other Winn Barn kid a chance to be
produce, and the shelves were starting to go around a family where the husband says to his
bare. wife, “Darla, you look beautiful.”

One afternoon, when Mr. Baxter was there,
I walked by the office and he was telling some-
body on the phone, “I’ve got it covered Mitch. I
told Colton he was getting a transfer to Mon-
roe, but we’ll just string him along and get rid
of him and that kid. Boost the bottom line in
any way we can,” and then he laughed like Mr.
C and Davey were just yesterday’s newspaper
as Grandpa used to say.

About the Author

Edith Gallagher Boyd is originally from Phila-
delphia. She and her family live in Jupiter, Flori-
da. Her published stories can be viewed here:
edithgallagherboyd.com

SANDCASTLES

by Kamila Stopyra

1 there now, building a sandcastle with someone
he likes…
Dry air from the nearby desert touched Alan’s
delicate face. The 13-year-old nodded politely But the brutal truth was, Alan had no friends at
to an old man speaking to him. Yet, the boy the moment and it was by no means the result
was too focused on desperately trying to stop of him being unlikeable or anti-social. Rather,
the tears coming to his eyes; he was not such is the life of a person living at a busy five-
listening at all. star hotel. People come and go, not paying too
much attention to how they behaved or what
The man noticed a familiar face in the posh they said during their stay. But for Alan,
crowd and excused himself. The boy adjusted memories remained, becoming more painful
the cuff of his shirt, wondering why they all had every time he was alone again in his luxurious
to wear elegant yet impractical clothes amid apartment.
Dubai’s heat wave.
‘Enjoying the party?’
One of the waiters approached straight away, a
young Arab with a perfectly white smile. Alan, up to this point lost in his thoughts,
shrugged his shoulders. His father Raphael
‘Would you like some wine, Sir Fletherty touched the boy’s face and looked him in the
Junior?’ eyes.

Alan smiled, sadly. ‘Is something wrong with your mother?’

‘I’m only thirteen, thank you.’ Alan turned his face away.

Still, the waiter did not move. ‘You should know if it is. She was your wife,
after all.’
‘Your father expressed a wish that I give it to
you, Sir.’ Raphael Fletherty narrowed his eyes.

‘Dad doesn’t always know what’s best for me. ‘Some situations are not as black-and-white as
And my name’s Alan.’ one thinks they are. You’re a smart boy, I’m
sure you’ll understand one day.’
The waiter bowed politely.
The father mussed up Alan’s shiny hair and left
‘As you please, Sir Fletherty Junior.’ as quickly as he came. Seeing him gone, Alan
readjusted his hair and asked for a lychee juice
He disappeared into the crowd. Alan looked in
the direction of the beach. He would love to sit

at the nearby stand. He glanced at the Oasis Alan timidly, drops of sweat slowly appearing
hotel they were at the balcony of, wondering if on his forehead.
he will ever be able to call this impersonal
place a home. Suddenly, he heard a familiar The girl faced him for the first time, her
laugh. Alan turned to see Raphael touching a suitcase the only thing in between them.
hip of a much younger girl, smiling at her,
slightly drunk. ‘Sure. Don’t all people come here to do it?’

Alan pursed his lips and disappeared behind Alan knew he was already in love with this
the curtain of the hotel entrance. voice, somehow reminding him of his mother’s
accent. She used to speak like that when he
2 was very little and they still lived in London…

Alan passed through the reception on his way ‘I can show it to you tomorrow.’ proposed
to a lift, thinking he truly had enough and it Alan.
was time to sleep. But then, he heard a soft
voice. He furtively glanced at the tag attached to her
suitcase, proudly stating ‘Maddie Khan’.
‘Are there any excursions to the city I could
take?’ The girl gazed at him critically.

Alan blinked a few times, recognising the ‘Do you know it well enough?’
London accent. He took a discreet look over his
shoulder to see an astonishingly beautiful girl ‘I’ve lived here a year, Maddie.’
in her early twenties, whose full rose lips were
slightly open as she awaited the receptionist’s She smiled for the first time, putting her name
answer. tag on the blank side. They were passing by the
tenth floor.
‘Of course, Madam.’
‘I bet you do.’ she said, meticulously analysing
Alan, now fully engaged, watched the girl’s big his tanned complexion.
grey eyes sadden as she heard the price.
Their eyes met for a second in the lift’s mirror.
‘Thank you. I’ll make up my mind and let you
know soon.’ ‘Incredible,’ started Maddie yet again. ‘Not
only have you got a London accent like me,
But it was already obvious from her tone that we’ve even got the same colour eyes.’
she will not be able to pay for the excursion.
Yet if so, how come she had enough money to Alan peered at their reflections. Maddie was
come to the five-star Oasis? indeed right.

The girl with a room card in her hand passed ‘Will you trust me now? I can fetch the taxi at
next to Alan and entered the lift. 9.30 am if that suits you.’

Before the boy realised, the door started ‘Fetch a taxi?’ she seemed to lovingly enjoy the
closing; desperate, Alan jumped inside and, moment. ‘You’re already quite someone, that
fortunately, the doors opened. for sure’.

The floor she chose was 18th, so there was The lift stopped, having reached the 18th floor.
plenty of time to think of the right tactics. If Alan blinked again, just as Maddie left with her
only he could gather his thoughts… suitcase.

‘I overheard you wanted to see Dubai…’ started ‘See you at the reception,’ she said as the
doors closed.

Alan leaned on the lift door, his heart pounding
heavily. Only after a few moments was he able

to press the button taking him to floor 24th, the ‘So why Dubai?’
last one, to go to his private apartment.
She shrugged her shoulders and continued
3 staring at the Burj Khalifa.

Alan had been sitting in the armchair for a long ‘It’s like a city of mirage, isn’t it? It’s a desert in
time, nervously squeezing the arm rest. He fact, but then all of these buildings… they’re a
glanced at the nearby clock: 9.28am. Would bit like sandcastles, aren’t they?’
Maddie actually come? Or was his proposition
regarded as inappropriate? Alan nodded, thinking.

But there she was, sweeter than ever before, 4
leaving the lift with an analogue camera
hanging on a thin strap, hypnotically dancing ‘Are you sure?’, asked Maddie.
around her body.
Alan and she stood in front of a till in an
‘Ready to explore, Prince Charming?’ she opulent perfume shop at The Dubai Mall, a
winked at him, no trace of irony in her voice. bottle of expensive liquid shining in front of
them.
Alan gulped loudly, suddenly feeling his mouth
got dry. He stood up mechanically, next to her ‘I am.’ Alan smiled politely. ‘Put it on Sir
naturalness feeling more like a robot than a Fletherty’s Junior account,’ he addressed the
human being. man at the till.

‘I’m Alan, actually,’ he mentioned timidly, Maddie blinked twice, trying to put things
leading her to the front of the hotel, where a together.
black Ferrari limousine waited.
‘Who are you, Alan, an Arab Sheikh?’
‘A taxi, you said?’ asked Maddie joyfully, not
entirely believing that the vehicle she was Alan gave her a wonderfully packed bottle,
looking at had been waiting for them. looking straight into her eyes.

Alan opened the back door and she got in, ‘When I am one day, I’ll buy you an island on
amazed. Palm Jumeirah.’

But Maddie became even more astonished Maddie laughed, amused by the seriousness of
seeing the astounding architecture they were his tone.
passing by.
‘Will I be one of the Sheikh’s many wives?’ she
Despite the wonderful views behind the car mocked him further.
windows, Alan kept gazing only at Maddie,
feeling pleased by each of her smiles, patiently ‘No, you will be the one and only’, responded
answering the questions she had and enjoying Alan, to make things clear.
the moment of connection that he experienced
so rarely. ‘I already love you, Sheikh Alan.’ Maddie said,
taking his hand.
‘Do you often travel on your own?’, asked the
boy. Alan thought he was about to faint but bravely
managed to hold himself together as they
Maddie’s phone rang, making her look down walked out of the store.
for a second, her smile suddenly fading. She
rejected the call. 5

‘It’s my first time, actually.’ ‘Thank you, it was a wonderful experience,’
said Maddie to Alan at the reception.

‘If you like to, we can…’ 6

But what Alan just wanted to say was suddenly ‘Seven stars? And what’s the actual difference
interrupted by another call on Maddie’s phone. between five and seven?’ asked Maddie,
Again, she suddenly turned very upset about it. observing the Burj Al Arab hotel, shining
proudly in a distance.
‘Excuse me.’ Maddie said, answering the call.
Alan smiled, seeing Maddie’s perturbation.
Alan kept staring at her while she listened to
the person on the other side of the line, her ‘Prestige, I guess.’
smile disappearing with each word she just
heard. They were sitting on a deserted beach, a one
with a perfect view on the famous yacht-
‘I’m an adult, alright? I know what I’m doing.’ shaped building.
Maddie’s voice seemed changed, suddenly it
lost all of its delicacy and joy, replaced by ‘Prestige,’ said Maddie with an obvious
decisiveness and pain. contempt. ‘That’s exactly the word I hear much
too often.’
Alan listened to her voice breaking and gently
touched Maddie’s shoulder just as she fully ‘Is it something about your dad?’
began to cry.
‘It’s about all of them, really,’ Maddie looked
‘Yes, always the same; able to destroy the best away at the horizon. ‘They never realise
day of my life!’ prestige isn’t the most important thing in the
world.’
Even if it was not addressed at him, Alan noted
in his mind the nicest compliment he has ever Alan nodded, unsure if he had understood
received. properly.

‘I’m actually enjoying this, you know? Being far ‘I’m sorry to hear that. But… if you’re not after
away from you two, telling me what to do with prestige, then why are you staying at our
my life!’ hotel?’

Maddie hung up suddenly, unable to bear it Maddie opened her beautiful lips and closed
any longer. She hid her face in her hands, them abruptly.
attempting to stop the tears.
‘You’re right. It just doesn’t make sense.’
‘I’m sorry, Alan,’ she said. ‘My dad… he can be
cruel, sometimes.’ She hugged her knees, suddenly lost in her
thoughts.
‘Don’t worry, mine’s the same. I guess dads
just are that way.’ ‘Yes, that’s the trap I got caught in; to prove
something to my parents, I started using their
He smiled at her faintly and she did the same values. And I hate myself because of that.’
through tears.
Alan looked at the Burj Al Arab for a moment.
‘You’ll never be like that, would you?’
‘I don’t know, maybe… I often find it impossible
Alan shook his head. Maddie stood up. to disconnect from the world my dad imposed
on me. You know, hotel, Ferraris, cocktail
‘See you tomorrow, hopefully.’ parties or luxurious apartments. That’s the life
I’ve lived, I’m not sure I could suddenly
It was all that Alan heard before Maddie function out of this context.’
disappeared behind the lift’s doors.
Maddie looked at him, amazed.