Adelaide Literary Magazine No.12, April 2018

Revista Adelaide

THE HOUSE ON EAST

ORANGE STREET

by Toni Morgan

Homer and Naomi lived in the house on East Or- said over her shoulder to the young Vietnamese
ange Street fiŌy-seven years, forty of them couple standing behind her on the porch. “The
Homer going off to work at the San Pedro docks house has stood empty for several months and
each morning, a coffee-filled thermos in one hand needs a good airing. But I think you’ll like the way
and a black metal lunchbox in the other, while the rooms flow. And the back yard would be great
Naomi stayed home to bring up their three chil- for kids.” She smiled briefly to the dark-haired
dren, make curtains, bake bread and volunteer woman whose basketball-shaped stomach
for PTA unƟl the children grew up and one-by-one pushed against the front of her black cloth coat.
leŌ and came home only at Thanksgiving or “The old couple who used to live here – she died
Christmas or the Fourth of July or some other a few years back and the old man was alone. You
holiday, and Homer reƟred and he and Naomi know how those things go. Kids grow up. They
learned to fill their days with gardening or dusƟng move away.” She led the couple into the kitchen
or watching Jeopardy on TV, and then one day and opened the back door to show them the lilac
Naomi died aŌer an illness that came quickly and and fruit tree-filled yard. “The family thought he
leŌ her cold body behind, and each morning aŌer was geƫng along on his own,” she said. “But
that, when Homer woke up and saw the empty when the oldest son came over from Tucson and
space next to him, he wondered where Naomi found the old man nearly starved to death, they
had got to, so he put on his brown trousers that put him in a nursing home. The sons are the ones
bagged in the seat and his red and black checked selling. So, what do you think?”
shirt one of the grandchildren had given him for
Christmas the year before and he put on his rub- About the Author:
ber-soled blue canvas shoes and went to find her,
going first to the kitchen, thinking she might be Born in Alaska, raised in Oregon, where she stud-
fixing their breakfast, and when she wasn’t there, ied history at Portland State University, and mar-
he’d walk through all the empty rooms calling out ried in Hawaii, Toni Morgan has lived all over the
“Naomi” as he went, but when she didn’t answer United States, from California to Washington,
he would remember she had died and he would D.C., and the world, from Denmark to Japan. She
shuffle back to the kitchen and pull out one of the now makes her home in southwestern Idaho. She
chairs from the oak table she had refinished, rub- is the author of six novels: TWO-HEARTED CROSS-
bing coat aŌer coat of linseed oil and beeswax ING, PATRIMONY, ECHOES FROM A FALLING
onto its surface unƟl the old, golden wood BRIDGE, HARVEST THE WIND, LOTUS BLOSSOM
gleamed, and he would ease his body down and UNFURLING, and QUEENIE’S PLACE. Toni’s arƟcles
he would lower his head to his hands and he and short stories have been published in various
would weep. newspapers, literary magazines, and other publi-
caƟons.
***

The real estate agent fiƩed a key into the lock and
pushed the door open. “It’s musty in here,” she

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Adelaide Magazine

‘TIS A PUZZLE

by Mary Ann Presman

Linda got up from the kitchen table and took her ballpoint pen. It seemed easier to just leave; easi-
cereal bowl to the sink to rinse it before puƫng it er, but somehow lacking.
in the dishwasher. She glanced over at Russell,
sƟll in his pajamas and hunched over his granola, She was so absorbed in thought she had to stomp
aƩacking the Star’s crossword puzzle with his on the brake when she suddenly saw Fred, from
ballpoint pen. It was Monday—this was fast and two houses down, barreling down the sidewalk in
furious acƟon. Later in the week, when the puz- his tracksuit.
zles grew in difficulty, the pace would slow. Scrib-
bles would be interspersed with chewing of the That was close! She needed to be less distracted.
pen. Russell took seriously the admoniƟon to ex- But what about Fred? Couldn’t he slow down a
ercise his brain in reƟrement. liƩle and wait for her—a woman on her way to
work—to back out of the drive? Nope. Fred was
Linda sƟll worked; she had another seven months another reƟree—this one diligently tending to his
at Meridian Bank before she would be fully vest- exercise regime.
ed for reƟrement. She glanced at the clock on the
microwave and reached for the jacket to her navy Whatever happened to siƫng on the porch with a
pantsuit, and her handbag, both hanging on a good book? Linda recalled the fantasies she had
spare chair at the table. had of the reƟrement she would share with Rus-
sell. Walks along the bikepath on preƩy autumn
“See you later, then,” she didn’t want to inter- mornings. AŌernoon movies at special senior
rupt, but didn’t want to leave without serving rates. There were crossword puzzles involved—
noƟce to her husband that she was out the door. but they worked them together, combining their
various interests to come up with the answers.
“Okay.” Russell glanced up mid-scribble. “Later.” That bubble had been burst early on in Russell’s
reƟrement.
As Linda backed her car out of the drive she tried
to remember the last Ɵme her husband had “You’re an old farm girl,” he had teased, “what’s a
kissed her goodbye. He used to give her a quick four leƩer word for farm wagon that begins with
peck every morning when he leŌ for work at the a ‘w’ and ends with an ‘n’?”
Chrysler plant—in those days he leŌ the house
before she did. Maybe the person leaving was “First of all—I’m not an old farm girl. I spent a few
supposed to insƟgate the kiss goodbye—and so it summers on my grandmother’s farm, that’s all.
was her “fault” if she didn’t get a goodbye And second, I haven’t a clue what that word
smooch now. But it could be dangerous to try to would be. Four leƩers?”
sƟck your face between Russell and the
Star crossword—you could get stabbed with a So, in the blink of an eye, she had been tested
and come up wanƟng. She was useless. Only on

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Revista Adelaide

very rare occasions did Russell bother asking for when she burst through the door that night aŌer
her help—when he thought it was something she work with her surprise announcement. Linda had
should know. her own suspicions along that line but thought it
less than chivalrous of her husband to make such
“You know all about flowers; what’s the state an observaƟon. But that was Russell for you. Or,
flower of Alabama?” maybe there was something about her promoƟon
that rankled him a liƩle. He had worked on the
Linda liked her job. She looked forward to going producƟon floor at Chrysler forever—made good
to work every day—well, most days. SomeƟmes money, a lot more than Linda ever dreamed of
she stood in front of the closet too long, trying to making even with this promoƟon—but he didn’t
decide what to wear. It’d be nice not to have to go to work in a suit and Ɵe. Maybe she was just
make that decision every day—nice not to have imagining a Ɵny bit of resentment. “The Suits” at
to make sure there was something presentable— Chrysler were a pain in the neck as far as Russell
and clean—available. Linda’s sister, Therese, took was concerned.
early reƟrement last year when the phone com-
pany made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. There “Fred wants to see you,” Bonnie told her as she
were days when Therese barely got out of her passed her assistant’s desk on the way to her
pajamas—someƟmes didn’t even take a shower. office.
And she bragged about it! Linda and Therese
were not a whole lot alike; it’s funny how that can The president of the bank prided himself on being
happen with people who supposedly have the the first one in the office every day, so Linda was-
same geneƟc makeup. n’t concerned about his being here ahead of her.

So Linda did not envision spending a whole lot of “Have a chair. You want some coffee?” Fred
Ɵme hanging out with her sister when she was asked as she came in. He rose and closed the
reƟred. She had good friends at work—Celia and door.
Rosemary. The three of them had worked togeth-
er for a long Ɵme. Linda was somewhat older, Uh-oh.
Celia and Rosemary weren’t quite ready to reƟre.
It would be a few years before they’d be available “I felt we should touch base on your future
to go for coffee or do lunch or take a day trip plans,” Fred said.
somewhere.
“Okay…” Linda wasn’t sure what he meant exact-
“Hey there, Linda.” The young security guard was ly.
sharp—he had made it his business to learn eve-
rybody’s name within just a few days of being “I mean, I know you’ve previously spoken about
hired. So even though she kept her nametag in reƟring as soon as you were eligible for full bene-
her desk, Rob was able to greet her by name eve- fits. And that’s coming up soon, isn’t it?”
ry morning.
“Right.”
“Hey yourself, Rob. Everything under control?”
“Do you have big plans for your reƟrement? Plac-
“It is now that you’re here,” he responded. es to go? People to see?”

“Got that right.” She hadn’t bothered to check to “Not really.” Linda was uncomfortable admiƫng
see if he greeted everybody the same way—but this.
Linda thought it was possible. Nevertheless, she
appreciated his playful recogniƟon of her status “And, if I remember correctly, your husband is
as one of the vice presidents of the bank— already reƟred?”
someone who did, indeed, have more than a liƩle
responsibility for keeping everything under con- “Yes. He’s been reƟred for a liƩle over a year.”
trol. She’d worked hard, put in her Ɵme, and had
been promoted to vice president eight years ago. “So I thought maybe you had plans made for
when both of you are reƟred. Travel plans? A
“Probably needed to make sure they had enough move to a warmer climate?”
females at the top,” had been Russell’s comment
“No.” Linda crossed and uncrossed her ankles.
“Russell kind of likes being at home…not doing
anything special.”

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Adelaide Magazine

“How about you?” Fred smiled to show this was a her again. She knew she should say something…
friendly quesƟon, not an inquisiƟon about her anything. “Why don’t you think about it for a few
marriage. days—talk it over with your husband—and then
let me know if you’re willing to stay on with us a
“Oh, I’m good with that.” liƩle longer.”

“Are you happy in your work?” “How much longer?” Linda immediately re-
greƩed her quesƟon, because she didn’t really
“Oh, yes!” care, but she was curious.

“You seem to be,” Fred said. He got up from be- “Oh, I think at least a year or two, if that’s alright
hind his desk and came around to sit in the chair with you. We can play it by ear.”
beside her, moving it a liƩle so he was more or
less facing her rather than siƫng alongside. “And She kind of nodded again. Fred stood, signaling
we’ve been very happy with your work.” the end of their conversaƟon. Linda got to her
feet, shook Fred’s hand, and managed to find her
“Good.” Linda wondered if this was standard exit- way out. When she got to her own office, her
interview jargon. assistant looked up, frankly inquisiƟve. Linda
brushed quickly by Bonnie’s desk, went in, closed
“In fact, we really hate to see you leave,” Fred the door, sat at her desk, and burst into tears.
said.
Russell was watching golf on TV when Linda ar-
“I’m actually dreading the day myself,” Linda ad- rived home from work that evening. Sapphire, the
miƩed, feeling herself exhale a breath she didn’t cat they had inherited when their daughter
realize she’d been holding. moved to an apartment that didn’t allow pets,
was curled up in his lap. Russell didn’t play golf,
“Well, then, maybe you’d consider staying on?” but Linda hoped that adding the Golf Channel to
their cable package would inspire him. It hadn’t
“Really?!” Linda sat taller, her spine straightening worked so far, but they’d only had the channel for
at this unexpected suggesƟon. a month. Russell seemed to be geƫng lumpier
day by day, maybe she needed to push the golf
“Really. We’ll be hiring a few new people in the thing a liƩle.
next few months, and I think you’d be the ideal
person to train them, bring them up to speed. “Oh, that looks nice,” Linda said. “Where are they
Your work ethic has always been exemplary—I playing?” She set her purse down and gave Rus-
would hope you’d be able to pass that on to any sell a bit of a kiss on the cheek before easing her-
new staff.” self out of her jacket.

Linda sat in stunned silence. “California,” he said, carefully following a Rory
McIlroy puƩ as it rolled slowly but surely across
“If that appeals to you?” Fred hastened to ask. “I the green and into the cup. He gave a fist pump
wouldn’t want to upset your applecart at home.” then looked at her with a big grin—“Luck of the
Irish!”
Linda shook her head yes, than no.
“Speaking of luck…” Linda began, intending to
“We won’t add to your workload. We’d pass launch into the liƩle speech she had rehearsed off
some of your present duƟes on to others—mostly and on for much of the aŌernoon.
to Jeffrey, he’s in line for a vice-presidency within
the next year or so.” “Wait just a sec—Tiger’s about to tee off.” Russell
held up his hand to ward off any further conversa-
“Right…” she wished she could summon an intelli- Ɵon.
gent response.
Linda sighed and went to change her clothes be-
“And we’d be willing to sweeten the deal by giv- fore starƟng dinner. Well, the part about geƫng
ing you a ten percent raise.” him interested in golf had worked—but geƫng
him out of the house to actually play golf himself
Linda’s eyes widened.

“Couldn’t expect you to delay your reƟrement
without some reward, could we?” Fred smiled at

52

Revista Adelaide

would be another maƩer. She carefully hung her When she opened her eyes, Russell was looking at
pantsuit in her closet, then eased into her jeans her. “Everything all right?”
and Cubs shirt. Linda felt herself relax a notch just
puƫng on the blue jeans and t-shirt. There was “Fine.” It was funny how he could be so unaware
definitely a physical comfort to wearing coƩon—a of some of her frustraƟons some of the Ɵme, but
tacƟle thing that she had begun to recognize and other Ɵmes his radar seemed to be acutely tuned
appreciate only in the last few years. If she were in.
reƟred, she could wear jeans all day most days.
“Want me to set the table?” he asked.
Linda had to pass through the living room again to
get to the kitchen. Russell glanced up as she went “Sure.” Did he need permission? Oh, now she was
by. “Tiger’s not having a very good day,” he re- geƫng persnickety. The dear man was just trying
ported, standing and clicking the OFF buƩon on to be helpful—and she’s finding something wrong
the remote. Sapphire tumbled soŌly to the car- with that? Linda took another gulp of her drink
pet, then performed a long end-of-nap stretch. and set the glass down. She rolled a lemon
around on the cuƫng board and got out her zest-
“Why don’t you fix us a drink?” Linda suggested, er, one of her favorite kitchen instruments. All it
as Russell and Sapphire followed her into the took was a couple of swipes and the air was filled
kitchen. with the incomparable fresh smell of lemon. A
liƩle pile of lemon zest appeared, ready to put
“Good idea—you want gin or vodka?” some zip into whatever you were making—in this
case, a Dijon marinade for the chicken breasts.
“Vodka, I think.” She opened the refrigerator and Linda liked to cook. She would enjoy having more
handed him a lime and grabbed the chicken Ɵme to experiment with new recipes—whenever
breasts she was going to pan-sauté for supper, she reƟred.
then ducked out of the way as Russell opened the
freezer to retrieve the chilled boƩle of Ketel One. While the chicken was browning, Linda chopped
carrots and tomatoes, peeled and sliced part of a
“Maybe I should take up golf,” Russell suggested cucumber, and rinsed the salad greens. She
as he dropped ice cubes into two tall glasses. turned the chicken breasts over, poured the re-
maining marinade over them, then put a lid on
“That sounds like a good idea,” Linda struggled to the pan to let them cook a liƩle longer.
keep her response low-key.
Russell had wandered out into the backyard aŌer
“I’m probably too old, though. And what would he set the table, Linda found him siƫng in one of
Sapphire do with me gone for hours at a Ɵme?” the deck chairs on the paƟo, eyes closed and
Russell poured a liƩle vodka in her glass, a liƩle head bobbing forward on his chest.
more in his, then added lots of diet tonic to both.
“About that reƟrement thing,” she began.
“She managed just fine when we were both work-
ing,” Linda pointed out. Russell’s eyes flew open and he grinned sheepish-
ly at her. “I was all worn out from seƫng the ta-
“She did, didn’t she? And you’ll be reƟring soon, ble,” he said.
so she’ll have you around for company.” Russell
handed her a glass and then clinked his to hers. “Right.” Linda seƩled in the chair next to his, fixed
“Are we drinking to something special?” her eyes on him, and gave Russell a tentaƟve
smile.
“To golf…” Linda suggested.
“Do I need to fix myself another drink?” he asked,
“To reƟrement,” Russell replied. draining his glass.

Linda turned away and took a sip of her drink, “No, don’t do that.” Linda put her hand on top of
holding the icy cold liquid in her mouth, inhaling his—she didn’t want him to get up. Not now. “We
the tang of the lime, savoring the smooth taste of have to talk about my reƟrement.”
the vodka. For just a moment, she closed her eyes
and was elsewhere. She could understand why “What’s to talk about? You wanna make plans?
some women became drunks in their old age. Take a trip somewhere?”

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Adelaide Magazine

“No, that’s just it,” Linda took her hand away and “I’m not very Ɵred.” This, from the same man
used both of them to hold onto her drink. whose head had been nap-bobbing on the paƟo
“They’ve asked me to stay on at the bank.” There, just a few hours earlier.
she’d said it.
And so Linda went to work the next day with
“Stay on? What for? How long?” nothing really resolved. Fred poked his head in
the door of her office. “Did you and your hubby
“Fred thinks I would be good at helping train have a chance to talk things over?”
some of the new staffers we’ll be hiring in the
next several months.” “Not really. We were both kind of busy last night.
We’ll probably have more Ɵme over the week-
“Several months?” end.”

“In fact, he’d actually like me to stay on for as “Good.” He paused. “Do you think there’s going
long as a couple more years.” to be a problem with you staying on?”

“But you were all set to reƟre. Right? In “Oh, no.” She summoned a reassuring smile. “I
just six or seven months? That’s not fair, is it?” just need to find the right Ɵme to bring it up.”

“Actually, I’d like to stay on, Russ.” “Okay. I’ll check in with you Monday.” He gave
the doorframe a liƩle pat. “Have a good week-
“C’mon. Are you serious?” Russell stood and end.”
looked at her. “I mean, you’ve put in your Ɵme.
You deserve to take it easy.” “Right. You, too.”

“I’m not so sure I’m ready to ‘take it easy.’” Linda Why didn’t she just tell Fred she’d be staying on?
remained seated, hoping Russell would sit back She was going to—she knew that. Even if Russell
down. “I like my job. And it’s not like we’ve made raised a fuss. Did she really need his permission?
any special plans.” Maybe not his permission—but at least his agree-
ment would be nice. Linda was not looking for-
“Well, we could.” ward to the weekend.

“The extra money I’ll be earning could help pay She spent Saturday Ɵptoeing around on the pro-
for some of those plans.” verbial eggshells while Russell was in the house.
Thankfully, he was invenƟng all kinds of reasons
“But what am I supposed to do?” not to be around—off to the hardware store and
the library, both places where he could spend an
“Just what you’ve been doing. You’ve been happy inordinate amount of Ɵme. And Saturday night
these last few months, haven’t you? With your they were more or less forced to avoid the sub-
crossword puzzles…and now you’re going to take ject when they went to dinner with their friends,
up golf.” Barry and Sue. Linda realized she was the only
one in the foursome who was not reƟred, even
“That’s not for sure.” Russell remained standing, though Sue was a few years younger. They yakked
kind of shiŌing from one foot to the other. on and on about the cruise they had just enjoyed.

“Well, it’s a possibility.” “We had so much fun we’re already making plans
for our next one. One of those river cruises in
“I need another drink,” he said, and abruptly Europe, I think,” Sue proclaimed.
turned to go back in the house.
“What’s wrong with this country?” Russell asked.
Dinner was a quiet affair…unƟl Russell turned on
the TV. “I just want to see how that tournament “Nothing, nothing. But we’ve seen preƩy much all
turned out.” What he obviously did not want to there is to see here,” Barry hastened to point out.
do was discuss Linda’s non-reƟrement. The avoid-
ance lasted throughout the evening. “All there is to see?” Russell’s challenge was
aborted by the waiter coming to ask if they want-
“Are you coming to bed soon?” Linda asked as ed dessert.
she bent to give him a goodnight kiss.

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Revista Adelaide

And then Russell and Linda were home—just the “Gotcha on that one, didn’t I?”
two of them. Russell walked straight to his reclin-
er and was reaching for the remote when Linda “I’m going to make myself a drink.” Linda needed
stopped him. to hit the pause buƩon on this conversaƟon.

“We can’t avoid this discussion any longer, Russ.” “Bring me a beer while you’re at it, will ya?”

“What discussion?” There it was—a perfect example of what her days
and nights of reƟrement would be like. Russell in
“You know…about the offer the bank made me… his recliner with the all-powerful remote, and
to stay on.” Linda waiƟng on him hand and foot. She opened
the refrigerator door and surveyed its contents,
“I just don’t see why you don’t want to reƟre,” then made a managerial decision.
Russell began. “We could travel like Barry and
Sue.” Linda came back into the living room with two
small glasses of tomato juice.
“If we could agree on where we wanted to go.”
“What’s this? We can’t be out of beer?”
“We’d figure it out.”
“I just think that if we’re going to have a reasona-
“But the places we want to go see will sƟll be ble discussion, neither one of us needs any more
there if we wait a couple more years.” Linda alcohol.”
thought this would sound logical, even to Russell.
“I can be reasonable and drink beer at the same
“They might be, but will we?” Russell plunked Ɵme.” Russell grinned at her, then reached up to
into his recliner. click his juice glass against hers. “Truce?”

“What are you saying?” “Truce.” Linda sat down on the oƩoman.

“I’m just saying, you never know when one of us “I just wish you could understand that this offer
is going to…you know… kick off.” means a lot to me. I’m flaƩered, sure—but it’s
also like a validaƟon of the work I’ve been do-
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Linda ing—work I like doing.”
asked. “I thought you got a clean bill of health
from the doctor just a couple of months ago.” “More than you like bringing me beers?” he
teased.
“So? That doesn’t mean something won’t hap-
pen…or some terrible disease won’t strike…in the “I know that’s hard to believe…” she realized Rus-
next couple years. Or next month.” Russell point- sell understood more than she thought he did.
ed the remote at her for emphasis.
“How about this?” Linda set her glass down on
“Something could ‘happen’ next week, Russ. We the end table and leaned forward with her hands
can’t go around making decisions on something clasped in front of her. “How about if I tell Fred I’ll
maybe happening.” stay another year? Twelve months. Then I’ll reƟre
for sure.”
“But it might.” Russell clicked the TV on, and
turned away. Then he clicked it off again. “What “Why will you be ready then, but you’re not
about that trip we talked about—taking Heidi’s now?”
kids to D.C.?” Again with the remote pointed at
her. “At least I will have taken advantage of this op-
portunity. I won’t have regrets about having
“What about it?” turned down what I think is a very appealing
offer.” She paused. “And in the meanƟme, you
“Those kids are gonna be teenagers and not can get on the computer and plan a trip for us
wanƟng to go anywhere with their doddering old with the grandkids. And maybe one for just the
grandparents by the Ɵme you’re ready to reƟre two of us.”
and spend a liƩle Ɵme with the rest of us.”
“You’re good at this, y’know? This negoƟaƟng
Linda was dumbfounded. “You’re not making any
sense.”

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Adelaide Magazine

stuff.” Russell picked up one of her hands and with her. Linda wasn’t sure she knew why Russell
brought it to his lips. “I think we’ve got ourselves wasn’t sƟll around to play “Go Fish” with them.
a deal.”
At least here in the office, there was some sem-
Linda awoke early the next morning. Something in blance of rouƟne. No quesƟon what to do next.
her subconscious told her she was alone in bed. Her duƟes were known to her and she busied
Sure enough—when she opened one eye to peek herself right through lunch and on up to five
over at Russell’s side of the bed, it was empty. o’clock.
Didn’t even seem to have been slept in.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Rosemary asked
She got up and went to the open doorway of their as she peeked her head in the door of Linda’s
bedroom and could hear the TV. He must have office.
fallen asleep watching Saturday Night Live. Linda
thought about going back to bed—it was Sunday Linda nodded.
morning, aŌer all—but knew she wouldn’t go
back to sleep. Maybe she’d go down and start the “You want to go have a drink?” Rosemary half-
coffee before she showered. heartedly suggested.

One of those half-hours of paid commercial Ɵme “No.” They both knew that wasn’t going to be a
selling the perfect piece of exercise equipment good path to go down. “I’ll be okay, honest. I just
was quietly aƩempƟng to persuade Russell, who want to finish up with this.” Linda pointed at her
appeared to be paying no aƩenƟon and in a computer screen as if there was an all-consuming
sound sleep in his recliner with his back to her. project to be completed.
Should she wake him? She came up behind him;
stepped closer. “Okay, then. See you tomorrow.”

Something was wrong. There was a sour odor. “Right.”
She reached over to shake his shoulder but
stopped. Ohmigod. Something was terribly Linda at last forced herself to go home. She
wrong. She did then—she put her hand on his opened the front door to overwhelming silence.
shoulder at the same Ɵme she stepped around for Linda walked over to Russell’s recliner, lightly
a beƩer look. caressed the cool leather surface of the arm and,
aŌer a moment of hesitaƟon, she sat down in the
“Russell? Russell!” He was grey, his mouth hung chair. Sapphire appeared out of nowhere and
open, his pants were soiled. She picked up the jumped into her lap.
remote that had fallen to the floor and put it on
the end table next to him. She shook his knee. “Now what do we do?” she asked the cat.
“Russell!”

Call 9-1-1. There might sƟll be Ɵme. She stumbled
to the kitchen and punched in the numbers.

Ten days later, Linda was back in the office. “Take
as much Ɵme as you want,” had been Fred’s ad-
moniƟon. And she had. AŌer the days of funeral
arranging and dazed family gathering and trying
to sort out who would sleep where—they had all
gone back to their respecƟve homes.

“Come with us for a week or so,” Adriana—her
sweet daughter-in-law had urged.

“No, maybe I’ll come for a visit later.” She didn’t
want to be the one who had to explain to Benja-
min and Marcy why their grandfather was not

56

About the Author: Revista Adelaide

Mary Ann Presman is an author of short stories
and a playwright, reƟred aŌer a long career as an
ad copywriter. Her work has appeared in the
online journals Adanna, Slippery Elm, Hypertext
The Raven’s Perch, in the journal Kippis!, in the
OASIS Journal 2016, and in collecƟons enƟtled,
“Curse? There Ain’t No SƟnking Chicago Cub
Curse,” “Love from Galena,” and “Sweet and
Saucy Stories from Galena,” She is a snowbird,
nurtured by two wriƟng groups—one in Tucson
led by Meg Park, and the other in Galena, Illinois,
led by Peggy Stortz. She is currently working on a
collecƟon called “The Good Dishes.”

57

Adelaide Magazine

CAGE

by Joshua Sastre

My mother stares at me through the wire mesh, My father hates milk.
not moving, breathing evenly. Taking notes in
pencil, I ask her about my childhood, her previous I turn on the television and raise the volume, just
marriage to my father and her current marriage in case she starts to scream. My father loves TV. I
to a physically abusive schoolteacher. Why she think it’s a spectacular waste of Ɵme. But it was
cheated on, and ulƟmately divorced, my father here when I signed the lease. So was the furni-
isn’t in quesƟon. The man is a pig. Cruel, loud, fat, ture. A ready-made home for a high school senior
drunk, obsessed with fishing. If he’d been a writ- on the run. First from my father, then from my
er, a Hemingway of the Bronx, it might have been mother and stepfather.
tolerable. But he was a witless sixteen-year em-
ployee of Verizon and this made it dreary and dull Now I’ve trapped her here. She can’t run but nei-
and explicitly ugly. I helped her leave him, packed ther can I. At least not unƟl I get some answers.
her bags with great efficiency one aŌernoon Can’t go back to work or school without answers.
while he was sƟll at work. Yet I hadn’t any idea of Any answer will do, but she doesn’t know that.
what she was running to, only that she’d secured
an apartment on Soundview Avenue, not terribly Most people don’t understand her, are repulsed
far, five minutes by car, but it was another world by her frequently bruised eyes and swollen
to me. Even the traffic lights blinked differently. mouth and defiant expression. They think she’s
patheƟc and crazy. She knows this perfectly well.
I pull up a chair and ask her why she chose this
world. My stepfather’s world. She asks me why I ask her how can she conƟnue to be with some-
does any of that maƩer now. I say that it maƩers one who once put a knife to my throat? Here it
because she’s trapped in a 4-feet high, 10-feet comes: the look. My mother has this blank ex-
long, galvanized, heavy-duty, uni-body chain link pression—part doubt, part horror—where it’s
wire mesh cage. She tells me I’m just another impossible to tell if she’s surprised by something
man who tricked her. or is simply ashamed to hear it out loud. Either
way, I’m not geƫng an answer to that one. Mov-
I cannot recall when I got the cage—days, maybe ing on.
weeks ago. I work part-Ɵme in a pet store. Assis-
tant manager. I get some of my best ideas there. She screams to be let out. Luckily, a potenƟal
American Idol contestant is caterwauling his way
I’m just like my father, she says. I take a minute to through Don’t You Cry by Guns N’ Roses. I like
think about that—then I write it down. that song. So does my mother, if I remember cor-
rectly. She’s not enjoying it very much now
She curses me, smacks the inside of the cage. I though, and I ask her to calm down so we can
lower my pencil and she tells me she wishes she resume. Surprisingly, she listens. She does that.
had listened to her mother and had an aborƟon. Raises bloody hell, and then—surrender. It makes
The pencil halts in mid-air, just above the sheet. me sad.
Then I jot down a thought: get milk. Half-gallon.

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Revista Adelaide

I jot down a few more notes. Actually, I’m wriƟng My mother swears she has poisoned all our
down the lyrics to the song. It’s finished—the minds. She apologizes again and starts to cry. She
English judge offering his trademark snappy and hopes there is a cure out there somewhere and
snide criƟque—but it’s in my head now. I think that I will find it soon.
what I would give to know what’s in my mother’s
head. Now Zombie by The Cranberries has re- We stare at each other, and she hits me with the
placed Don’t You Cry and its chorus of In Your doubt-horror-one-two punch. Her face is white as
Head In Your Head is smeared across my brain. chalk.

She asks if I want an apology. Before I can reply Her eyes are roving back and forth. Something
she tells me she is poison—it’s in her pores and about my expression upsets her. She spreads her
breath and blood—when she touches certain arms and inhales and screams, “Look!”
men, kisses them, the poison seeps into their
flesh. There can be no denying it anymore—she I see my mother in a cage. I see myself seeing her.
looks at me—obviously. She screams her apology I say her name. It leaves an odd taste in my
and punches the boƩom of the cage. The metal mouth. I write it down and the taste dissolves
sheet vibrates for a moment, then is sƟll. halfway.

I ask her to explain. She says she ruined my father Suddenly I stand up and thank her. I ask her not
by marrying him. It wasn’t a dream come true but to call the police when I’m gone. If she does—if
it struck her with the force of change, everything she must—I will accept the consequences but I
would shiŌ as it must, and he felt good to her. He will also go into vivid detail about the events that
was—she pauses here—an unremarkable man led us here. I will insist on a polygraph so every-
but also a kind and decent one. The drinking one will know what I say is true. The choice, as
started before any hardship, before any tests that always, is hers to make.
a married couple may face over Ɵme, certainly
before my birth. There was no reason for it ex- Honestly, I’m not sure what she’ll do. Whatever it
cept that his life was now bound to hers. Even is, I only hope that she waits. UnƟl tomorrow at
though they’ve been divorced for over three least. Or tonight.
years, he will never stop. The damage, she specu-
lates, is permanent. I ask her to move to the back of the cage. When
she does, I unlock it. Then I spin around as I hear
My stepfather was a brave and educated man, the door swing open. I close my apartment door
awarded a Purple Heart for OperaƟon: Desert and head toward the lobby. I slow down. I hear
Storm. He took her to museums and enjoyed lei- her take two steps, a third, from the cage then
surely walks through the quieter parts of Central stop. I wait more than a minute, but nothing.
Park. He was a thinker, not a drinker, she once
told me proudly, amused. Then one day he hit her That my mother cannot think of a reason to move
when he received a noƟce that she had forgoƩen in any direcƟon feels like I won.
to sign their income tax return, how they would
have to re-file the whole damn thing and their My usual bus zips past when I exit the building. I
refund, a substanƟal one, would be delayed. She realize I would rather walk anyway. The route was
says she wanted to smack herself for the mistake familiar enough so my mind was able to wander. I
but never expected him to beat her to the caught my reflecƟon in several store windows.
punch—the pun is intended, she assures me. As One of them has a TV switched to a local news
Ɵme went on, he found new and lesser reasons to broadcast. The mayor’s daughter is missing since
strike her but the frequency of their sex in- yesterday. I pretend to believe this means the
creased. The sex itself wasn’t beƩer, there was cops are too busy to worry about anything else
just more of it. today, but obviously I know beƩer. I refocus on
my reflecƟon in the glass. A gaunt moƩled face
This should be hard for me to hear, there is, I ad- with stale grief. I won’t age well but I’ve known
mit, a chaƩer inside my skull. But I can’t stop that for a while. I move down one street, cross
wriƟng. another—no traffic—and down an alley that is
oŌen used as a shortcut.

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Adelaide Magazine

I’m here. I unlock the front gate. I’m almost an About the Author:
hour early. Whenever possible, I try to give myself
extra Ɵme. There is always a lot to be done be- A graduate of the DramaƟc WriƟng Program at
fore the store opens. I switch on the lights. The Tisch School of the Arts at New York Universi-
saltwater tanks buzz a bit louder than usual ty, Joshua Sastre has published short stories in
(some of the filters are not filtering), the puppies the online journals Fear and Trem-
cry themselves awake, the parrots start vocalizing bling, Kaleidotrope, The WriƟng Disorder, Open:
their (dis)pleasure, except the scarlet macaw who Journal of Arts & LeƩers, and The Adirondack Re-
is too bored, too majesƟc, to respond either way. view, and the print journals parABnormal Di-
He’s my favorite. gest and Down In The Dirt Magazine, as well as
the online publisher bookstogonow.com. His
I open the basement door and head down the short story “Finished” was nominated for a Push-
stairs. cart Prize by The WriƟng Disorder.

My father looks at me and says if I think this is the
strangest place he’s ever woken up in, I might be
right.

I tell him if a 6-feet high, 10-feet long 12-gauge
heavy-duty galvanized chain-link mesh cage is the
strangest place he’s ever found himself in aŌer
one of his benders, I’d be wildly disappointed.

He issues a flurry of curses in rapid-fire Spanish.
His foot hits the saucer of milk I leŌ for him. It’s
nearly empty, only a few drops spill over. I almost
smile.

A moment passes and he slumps and asks me
what is supposed to happen now. I take out my
pencil and pad. Just a few quesƟons, I promise
him.

I don’t have any quesƟons for my stepfather. I
truly wish I did. I guess my blood doesn’t call out
for it—not yet anyway. I will write something
about that eventually. I make a note.

My father tells me I’m insane and that I should be
locked up forever. Me and my mother.

I write that down next and review it. I hope to
write in this style, or something like it, for the rest
of my life.

I tell him what my mother said. That we’re both
poisoned. That we’re the same.

We look at each other.

“I don’t see it,” we both say.

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Revista Adelaide

TRYING AGAIN

by Fran Turner

Marcella remembers the shotgun pointed at her wished it would stop. The manager’s quavering
face. Like the robber’s third eye, hard and filled voice addressed the customers urging them to
with a dull smolder. First, the terror paralyzed remain calm unƟl the police instructed them oth-
her, cold air trapped in her lungs. erwise.

“Don’t be nervous, missy,” he spat the words Marcella remembers her tedious interview with
through the gap of his missing tooth. “Just give the police, recounƟng the details and reliving the
me all you’ve got there and things will be just jangling fear she wanted to forget. She remem-
okeydokey.” Her hands shook as she stuffed the bers wanƟng to escape it all, wanƟng to go home
bills into the grimy canvas bag he tossed at her. to the apartment, thinking Tony might be home
“All you’ve got.” For emphasis, he tapped the early aŌer his job interview. He would comfort
barrel against the counter. Marcella saw a thin her, surely. She needed comfort aŌer what she’d
gold wedding band hanging from his finger, slid- been through.
ing up to his knoƩed knuckle as he moved the
gun. Her hand sƟll trembled as she unlocked the door
of the apartment. Wine-induced semi-oblivion
“Yes, sir,” she said, her words wobbly. The cash would help, Marcella thought, with the warmth of
tray empƟed, she slid the bag across the counter, Tony holding her close. She might feel safe again.
the smooth surface steadying her hands. Normal-
ly she asked her customer, is there anything else I The trail of clothing from the foyer to the bed-
can help you with today? Now she swallowed her room hadn’t been there when she leŌ for work.
usual courtesy and customer service training. The striped navy Ɵe and the pale blue shirt that
she had helped Tony choose for the job interview
The silence in the bank was crushing; horror-filled that morning, he’d been wearing those. She did-
eyes were riveted on her and the robber. As he n’t remember dropping a black leather skirt, or a
backed away, Marcella could see his yellow t-shirt striped sweater. She didn’t own a red bra or the
and threadbare jeans, neatly pressed as though black lace panƟes tangled in the leg of Tony’s gray
for a special day, hanging against his spare frame. pants.
Mrs. Chisholm, one of the bank’s elderly custom-
ers pressed her substanƟal body against the wall Marcella heard moaning from the bedroom, the
to give him wide berth. “Nobody move!” he bed squeaking. She smelled a cloying fragrance
snapped, waving the shotgun at the gasping that an occasional customer wore and that always
woman. “Now you all have a good day.” gave her a touch of a headache. From the bed-
room threshold, she saw the mounds of pale
The glass door with its brassy trim slid shut and white buƩocks bouncing above Tony’s prone
he turned to run. Within seconds police sirens body. His fingers clutched the thick curtain of
were howling outside the bank. Inside, Marcella auburn hair falling over his face as he groaned,
dropped into a chair someone had placed behind “Yes, baby, yes, oh God, you’re good, baby!” Mar-
her. She felt a hand paƫng her shoulder and cella couldn’t remember Tony ever telling her she

61

Adelaide Magazine

was good. The pain of this realizaƟon brought her reclusiveness and inerƟa. She needed to move,
to tears. Angry tears. She exploded. Her arm she decided and started up a freneƟc schedule of
swept the dresser clear. Jars of face cream, deo- fitness classes. For a while, the physical pain of
dorant, and nail polish, hairbrushes, and the hair boot camps, stretching and strengthening almost
dryer flew at the bodies on the bed. For the sec- brought her joy. But her enthusiasm gradually
ond Ɵme that day she saw faces white with hor- fizzled.
ror; now she was the source of that horror. Fury
surged through her. “Natalie, I need to do something useful,” said
Marcella. “What’s a fit body if you aren’t giving
“CelebraƟng the new job?” Marcella seethed. something back to the world?”
Sheets were being tugged at franƟcally to cover
exposed skin. “Don’t bother to pull that sheet Natalie who for years had been taking her guitar
over your withering boner, Tony. I’ve seen it all to an old age home and singing folk songs for the
before.” Now the two bodies froze under the co- residents every week suggested volunteering.
vers. She grabbed the bedside lamp, a wedding
giŌ from Tony’s favourite aunt and her husband, “Maybe walking dogs for a shelter? There’s one in
tearing it from the plug, the cord dangling from your neighbourhood.”
her cocked arm. “Get the fuck out of here, you
two,” she screamed. “Don’t linger. Or I just might “I want to get away from the neighbourhood,”
do something desperate.” said Marcella. She had run into Tony twice since
filing for divorce; her mother and Tony’s family
Never unƟl that aŌernoon had Tony ever felt a lived in a few blocks apart.
threat to his physical safety and he had never
imagined the source of that threat would be his It took Marcella a week of poring over websites to
soon to be ex-wife. Her calm and equanimity had find a charity she considered being part of. “Nat,
once been a refuge. He decided it was wise not to I’ve found it. This is a really neat thing! The Bridal
aƩempt an explanaƟon, and he edged out of bed Gown Vision raises money by selling wedding
towards his strewn clothes, thankful that Roxy gowns that women donate to brides-to-be at a
was already scrambling into hers. reasonable price. The best thing is that the money
goes to a children’s cancer charity! They need
Marcella spent the next hour gulping cheap cab- volunteers with retail experience and fashion
ernet from the fridge, pulling her clothing out of sense.”
drawers and off hangers then compacƟng it all
into her two oversized suitcases. Next was the “OK, a neat idea but insane for you, Marcella.
dreaded call to her mother. “Mom, I need my old Besides your having no fashion sense, you’re sƟll
room back.” She wouldn’t let herself surrender to hurƟng. It sounds really nuts.”
tears. “I can’t talk, Mom. I’ve had a really bad day.
Really bad. Pick me up? Now?” Her hand placed “I’m signing up for their orientaƟon. No big deal,”
the phone carefully upright in its base. She decid- said Marcella leaning up to the computer screen
ed the mature way of dealing with the tragic day studying the applicaƟon form. “I’m gonna give
was not to cry. It was beƩer not to think which them my wedding gown, too. Clear it out of
robbery had inflicted the deeper wound—the Mom’s closet.”
robbery of trust in her husband or being held at
the mercy of a shotgun. She kept her flashbacks secret. It was ridiculous
bothering anyone with what happened inside her:
“Marcella, you need to see a counselor. Or some- hallucinaƟons of naked, writhing bodies amongst
thing,” her best friend Natalie wanted to shake roiling bedsheets of sheets, of stony black eyes
her into. “You are suffering! Two calamitous staring at her from the barrel of a shotgun, a thin
events you’ve gone through. I can’t help but think finger drawing the trigger back.
you’re hurƟng bad behind that brave blank
mask.” Don’t be nervous, don’t be nervous, Marcella
finds herself repeaƟng as she walks from the sub-
Marcella did trust Natalie. And aŌer many way to her volunteer orientaƟon at Bridal Gown
months she reached a saturaƟon point with her Vision. You can do it, you can do it, she repeats
to herself, clenching and unclenching her cold,

62

Revista Adelaide

clammy hands. Despite the crispness of the au- parking spot on the side street running alongside
tumn Sunday and the dome of prisƟne sky em- the BGV. She is unfazed that the nose of her car
bracing the city, she feels locked inside herself. obstructs a driveway. She is here to help Mimi do
the ecological, generous thing of choosing a used
KiƩy corner to the dilapidated Victorian home of bridal gown to save the world from an overload of
the Bridal Gown Vision Marcella does not see the fabric and to support kids with cancer. Jennifer
historic jailhouse and the crowd of humanity in seƩles back into her seat and pulls her new iPh-
front of it, waiƟng for their chance to visit hus- one out from the boƩom of her Italian leather
bands, boyfriends, sons and fellow gang mem- bag. Mimi unclips her seat belt and looks around
bers. She does not know that, unƟl his trial, this at the other vehicles parked on the street. She is
jailhouse will be the final home of Josh Howe, the nervous that Jennifer’s car obstructs a driveway,
robber with whom she has an acquaintance. but Jennifer operates with her own set of rules. A
Among a press of young women with baby car- black Hummer gleams ominously behind Jen-
riages and toddlers waiƟng for the few minutes of nifer’s car.
conversaƟon with their men behind the thick
smeared glass, stands Josh’s son, a hardworking “How can people afford a Hummer?” Mimi won-
and skilled mechanic, resigned to his father’s pro- ders out loud.
pensity for serving Ɵme for ill-conceived rob-
beries. He will visit his terminally ill father in the “Drugs,” Jennifer answers, her thumbs clicking
jail’s infirmary. away at some important message. It’s visiƟng
Ɵme at the jail. We’re lucky to find this spot.”
Marcella does see the BVG, a dilapidated Victori-
an house in a residenƟal neighbourhood with a “Jail?”
rack of white gowns, each encased in protecƟve
plasƟc, in the bay window. She knocks on the “We passed it back there. And, another inter-
screen door. esƟng piece of local history—before it became
the used bridal gown place you insist on visiƟng,
“You must be the new volunteer! Marcella? I’m the house had been a hangout for a motorcycle
Simone and I’ll be orienƟng you.” She offers her gang. UnƟl the police raided it. Between it and
manicured hand and a warm smile. Suddenly, the jail, not so good for real estate on this end of
Marcella feels out of place, awkward and giganƟc the street.” Jennifer holds up her finger. “Wait. I
beside Simone’s peƟte frame. She immediately have to return a call. It shouldn’t take a minute.”
clasps her hands in front of her, in hopes of mak- She nestles the phone under her precise blunt
ing her big hands and chewed fingernails less con- haircut and checks her lipsƟck in the rearview
spicuous. She should have made the effort to mirror. Mimi will apologize for being late. She
shave her legs and wear a skirt like Simone, in- closes her eyes imagining the perfect wedding
stead of her roomy slacks. It must be immediately dress for her. Ivory, maybe. Elegant and simple,
obvious Marcella has no fashion sense. with long sleeves tapering to a point on the back
of her hand.
“We’re expecƟng two brides-to-be this aŌernoon.
For your orientaƟon, Marcella, you can watch me In the side mirror, Jennifer sees a man, a hulk
with the first one, and then with the second one, actually, with a wide scowling face walking to-
we can work with together. Does that sound all ward the Mercedes. His black clothes are fes-
right?” tooned with golden chains and heavy rings on
massive hands. Her throat Ɵghtens when she sees
Marcella nods nervously. “Yes, that sounds good.” him freeze and reach behind him. His hand
How could I be so stupid to apply for this, she emerges with something dull bronze and danger-
scolds herself. I don’t know anything about bridal ous. Then he dashes with surprising panther-like
gowns. She is on the verge of tears and hopes her grace and crouches beside the front fender of the
nose isn’t lighƟng up red like it always does when Hummer, the gun held alongside his face. The
she is about to cry. “That sounds really helpful, first shot fired at him cracks the back window of
Simone, thanks. Where’s the washroom?” the Hummer.

Jennifer’s Mercedes C300 slides into a parƟal

63

Adelaide Magazine

Jennifer drops her phone. “Hold on! We’re geƫng cold palms. “Quiet,” she mouths. She hopes that,
the hell out of here!” Her Ɵres tear up the street. behind the rack of billowing gowns, all safe in
their plasƟc protecƟon—the two of them are
Marcella observes Simone showing the prospec- afforded some measure of cover. Marcella sub-
Ɵve bride several dresses, encouraging her to try dues her ragged breath. The door to the show-
them on and providing thoughƞul feedback. Mar- room creaks open and brushes against the cheap
cella knows she lacks Simone’s deep knowledge plush carpet.
of the inventory and her keen eye for styles that
minimize body problems, such as this bride-to- “What the fuck! What the fuck is this?” Separated
be’s short-waist. from his gang, in a strange universe of white
gowns, he swats at the plasƟc. Marcella feels the
“The next appointment is for Mimi Vanek,” Simo- dresses vibraƟng with violaƟon, grateful for the
ne says. “She’s bringing a friend and they’re twen- wall of fabric that hides her and Simone. But she
ty minutes late.” Her nose puckers in disapproval. does not know the extent of this man’s fear nor
“We’ll give them ten more minutes.” his capacity for violence. She imagines a gun in his
hand. He stands panƟng in the ghostly quiet of
A pop like a firecracker then shaƩering glass. Mar- the room while outside the emergency task force
cella gasps and slams herself down on her hands does their work. Marcella cannot see the black
and knees. “That’s a gunshot! Simone! Call 911. cap emblazoned with a gold insignia obscuring his
Stay low!” Her heart is banging against her ribs desperate eyes. Nor can she see the firearm
and she tries to calm the panic. What if it’s just clutched in his right hand.
my nerves, she thinks. What if I’m overreacƟng?
“Who’s there?” he pokes at the gowns as he
Then another shot. Unmistakable. slowly circles the centre of the room. Marcella
feels him shuffle closer.
PlasƟc bags rustle and hangers scrape against the
metal rack as Simone edges toward the wrap- She moƟons to Simone her intenƟon to liŌ the
around windows at the front with her cell phone foot of the rack beside her and points to the one
in hand. “Simone! Get away from the window. next to Simone. Marcella counts down with three
Get down! fingers. Three-two-one! The metal rack and all
the dresses avalanche over the intruder pressing
“I want to report gunshots outside this house. him into the carpet. Marcella sees his hand claw-
We’re at Victor and Broadview, across from the ing towards the gun he’s dropped and, on her
jail.” Simone’s voice is maƩer of fact, unhurried feet, she scrambles around the rack, the yards of
unƟl a third shot rings out, glass breaks and with a fabric and the billowing plasƟc to kick it away. He
fourth metal pings. tries to push up onto his hands under the shiŌing
load of wedding gowns and the metal rack across
“Get away from the window, Simone!” Marcella his back. His one foot is now planted on the floor
tugs her down to the floor below the window but Marcella kicks again, hard, against the side of
ledge and, as she does, a bullet shaƩers the upper his knee. He crumples and yells. “Jeez-us! My
pane of purple and white stained glass hexagons knee! You broke my fuckin’ knee.” Simone wraps
and smacks into the ceiling. Simone screams as one of the fallen dresses over the assailant’s
glass shards and plaster parƟcles shower down. head. Marcella drops her weight onto his back
and the air whooshes out of his lungs.
“Simone? Are you all right?” Simone is intact.
Sirens wail and wheels squeal. The lights on the Armoured police in helmets and shiny boots
tops of the cruisers flash blood red onto the claƩer into the BGV. They brake at the sight of
shrouded wedding gowns. Orders blast through a Marcella and Simone siƫng on a squirming
megaphone, “Drop your guns now and raise your mound of wedding gowns and plasƟc wrap. The
hands! Hands above your head!” Simone trem- officer in charge retrieves the handgun from un-
bles, Marcella holds her Ɵght. der the rack that Marcella now knows is for the
size eight gowns. Two officers grab the intruder’s
The BGV’s back door slams and feet scuƩle across arms and drag him to his feet from underneath
the kitchen floor. The women gasp. Marcella the fabric. He groans, buckles on his injured knee.
squeezes Simone’s fuchsia Ɵpped fingers in her

64

Revista Adelaide

“You two women did this to me?” he looks from bed with another woman. But geƫng through last
Simone to Marcella and then takes in the disarray Sunday flipped everything on its head. Maybe it
of the bridal gown showroom. “This place is some almost healed me. Not that I’d recommend it as
weird shit.” therapy. I’ve been bawling all week.” Marcella
feels oddly liberated that all this is pouring out of
“He was carrying that gun?” Marcella’s insides are her.
twisƟng and untwisƟng. The harsh black coffee that Simone has brewed
dries up Marcella’s tears. She confides that she’s
“Indeed,” says the officer in charge. “You two are seeing a therapist finally and is ready to move
quick thinking and resourceful women. This away from her mother’s on her own. They talk
could’ve been very ugly.” about the director of BGV rushing to be with
them aŌer the previous week’s incident. “AŌer I
“It was Marcella. She was the calm one. She was was robbed, I didn’t want anybody to menƟon it,”
the resourceful one,” says Simone. “And it’s her says Marcella.
first day volunteering!” Simone is flushed and “That’s not a problem for me,” giggles Simone.
fanning herself with her hand. “I’ve been talking non-stop about it.” She glances
up at the clock. “How about you take the lead for
“Who’d think that on a Sunday aŌernoon there’d helping the next client with her gown. I’ll pitch in
be a gang standoff outside the doors of this if you need me? And guess who it is. Mimi from
place? Are you all right, there, Marcella, is it? last week. Says she’s trying again today. When
You’re looking pale.” The officer scans the show- she called this Ɵme, she apologized for not show-
room for chairs. “Let’s go into the kitchen back ing up in the middle of the gunfire.”
there. You can take a seat, catch your breath.
Collect yourselves aŌer what you’ve been About the Author:
through. We need to ask the two of you some
quesƟons before we go, but it shouldn’t take Fran Turner grew up on a farm sure she belonged
long.” somewhere else; that turned out to be Toronto.
She's a graduate of Humber College’s correspond-
The following Sunday aŌernoon the bullet is sƟll ence program in creaƟve wriƟng (Toronto) and
lodged in the ceiling, and, although the window studies with Barbara Turner-Vesselago. In 2016
has been repaired, the stained glass is forever one of her short stories was awarded second
gone. place in the Scugog Council for the Arts Literary
Contest, another is published in Dodging the Rain.
“Magnificent Marcella! Hello!” says Simone grin-
ning. “Ready for another exciƟng shiŌ at BGV? I
couldn’t stop talking about how we brought that
bad guy down. How’re you doing?”

Marcella carries her wedding gown in its thick
plasƟc protector over her arm. “Good. BeƩer than
I’ve felt in a long Ɵme. And I’m ready to pass this
on. To someone I hope has more luck with it than
I did. It’ll go with the size twelves.” She unzips the
bag and saƟny fabric spills out.

“I donated mine too when I started,” says Simo-
ne. There is a moment of silence and she holds up
her leŌ hand, wedding ring free. They make eye
contact and laughter erupts. Now they are hug-
ging, wiping tears away, and their laughter is un-
stoppable. UnƟl Marcella starts to sob.

“Sorry, Simone. I’ve been crying all week. It’s a
relief not to hold myself in anymore. I was held
up at gunpoint at my job about a year ago. I came
home that very same day to find my husband in

65

Adelaide Magazine

NEW YORK

SOUVENIR

by Luke Bandy

Fred held the copper coin in his fingerƟps. Its Fred hated how the rest of the class was so excit-
color almost matched his hair and its value ed to sing and dress up. All he wanted to do is go
matched how he felt about himself. He Ɵghtened home, turn on his PS4, and kill things.
a grip on the penny as he prepared to throw it
over the edge of the Empire State Building. It was the only thing Fred was good at. His Dad
would shout that he was wasƟng his Ɵme. That
The autumn wind cut through Fred. He regreƩed Fred should be studying, but Fred had heard that
not listening to Mrs. Merkel when she told the so much, it became white noise. He figured in
class to wear warm clothes. But Fred hated the three years he may enlist and get to kill things in
way he looked in his winter coat, so he stuck with real life, but he was hoping to kill even sooner.
his jean jacket. He felt like an idiot shivering on
the cold observaƟon deck. Feeling stupid was Fred planned to sneak away from the group the
normaƟve for Fred, though. moment Mrs. Merkel announced their New York
City trip. If he was going to New York, he was go-
The tall barrier that ran around the deck had Plex- ing to leave an impact. He was going to throw a
iglas walls. It blocked some of the wind, but Fred penny off the Empire State Building. The coin
his was sƟll outside. And being over 1,000 feet in would spiral down 86 six stories and hit a random
the air made it worse. At least, Fred thought it got person, killing them in an instant. No one would
colder the higher you were. He wasn’t good at ever know Fred did it except Fred.
science or any other subject for that maƩer.
The second the class was off the bus Fred looked
Over three hours ago, Fred had ditched the class for a moment to get away. New York was so busy
trip. Mrs. Merkel’s iƟnerary didn’t match his own. that is was easy to fade into the crowd and make
She had them visiƟng Time Square and taking the his way to the Empire State Building. He used the
Stanton Island Ferry. Then seeing Dear Evan Han- money he stole from his Dad to buy a Ɵcket to the
son, a musical Fred had never even heard of. observaƟon deck.

That didn’t surprise Fred, though. He didn’t know He had been standing in the same spot for over
many musicals. He wasn’t even sure why he two hours, imagining what would it would be like.
signed up for music class. All his music knowledge The small copper circle drilling through the top of
came from his Dad listening to his old Springsteen someone’s skull. Blood would spray onto nearby
records. But he heard that BeƩy Rogers was tak- pedestrians. No one would know what had hap-
ing music, so he decided to take music. Turns out pened right away. Then the shock would hit eve-
BeƩy Rogers moved before the semester ever ryone. There would be screams to call 911 and ‘is
began. anyone a doctor?’ And it would be all because of
Fred.
That leŌ Fred singing with the school choir in the
Christmas show. It wouldn’t be all that bad, but Fred clutched the coin in the palm of his hand
everyone had to wear elf ears and matching hats. unƟl his knuckles turned white. He pulled back his

66

Revista Adelaide

arm like a fastball pitcher, making sure to aim up Fred looked at the buildings. They towered over
so the penny curved over the barrier. He held the streets below them. It was a sea of steel and
himself there and took a deep breath. concrete unƟl it met the blue water in the dis-
tance. Fred was so lost inside his head that he
“Nice pose, Roger Clemmings. You trying out for never noƟced how amazing New York looked
the Yankees?” from where he was standing.

Fred dropped the penny as he snapped up “Nice shirt.”
straight. The coin rolled on its edge unƟl it hit a
white sneaker. A girl dressed in a pink tracksuit “Me?”
and white winter coat bent down and picked it
up. She had olive skin and mole on her right “Yeah, you. Who in the hell else would I be talking
cheek, but that didn’t take away from her aƩrac- to?”
Ɵveness.
Fred had forgoƩen he was wearing a shirt with
She held the penny in her hand and examined it horror movie maniacs paƩerned into a skull. Not
like it should be more than a penny. Fred sƟff- great for first impressions.
ened as she locked eyes with him. She walked
closer, and he could smell the jasmine in her per- “Oh, yeah. I like horror movies.”
fume. Her warm hand grabbed his wrist, opened
his clenched fist, and placed the dirty coin into his “Not me. Can’t stand the sight of blood. Where
palm. you from?”

“You dropped this,” she said. “Um, Pennsylvania.”

Fred knew this looked bad. He stared at the pen- “Oh yeah? PiƩsburg? Philly? I’ve got family in
ny in his hand and waited. She popped her gum PiƩsburg.”
as he remained silent.
“Scranton.”
“Why you looking like I killed your dog or some-
thing?” “Scranton? Like that TV show?”

Fred didn’t answer. He was in shock that she was- “Huh?”
n’t turning him in, but also because he didn’t un-
derstand her accent at first. Was this how people “You know? The one with the dumb ass that runs
from New York talked? an office.”

“Hey kid,” she snapped her fingers in front of his “Oh, you mean ‘The Office.’”
face. “What do you want me to do? Read your
mind?” “Really? That’s what it’s called? So, unoriginal. My
big brother watched it all the Ɵme, but I didn’t get
“Um, no.” it.”

Fred had to look up at her. She was an inƟmi- “It’s good. It’s the only thing Scranton is known
daƟng full head taller than him. Also, she looked for.”
like she was a couple of years out of high school.
Fred had problems talking to girls his own age. “I believe that. Driving to PiƩsburg to see my Aunt
Now he was stuck facing a possible college girl Greta makes me want to blow my brains out.
that could have him arrested. Nothing but trees between here and there.”

“What the hell were you just doing?” A cold wind swept through the observaƟon deck.
Fred squeezed his arms together and stuffed his
“Nothing.” Fred looked at the ground like a two- hands into his jacket.
year-old scolded by his mother. The girl looked at
the city skyline and blew a bubble with her gum. “Where’s you’ coat? You goƩa be freezin’.”

“It’s a beauƟful view, isn’t it?” Fred shrugged and fought back shivering.

“God, I wish I could smoke up here,” she lament-
ed. “I’m Samantha, by the way.”

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Adelaide Magazine

“Fred.” raping school girls. It’s hard to describe. You’ll
have to look it up.”
“So, what were you really doing, Fred? You going
to throw that penny?” “But I was hoping to kill someone.”

Fred didn’t say a word, and Samantha laughed. “Were you really?”

“Ah, I fucking knew it. First, the wind would of “I don’t know. I imagined that I wanted to.”
blown it right back in your face. Second, it would-
n’t kill anyone even if you did get it over the barri- “But you didn’t. If you wanted to, you’d plan it
er.” out beƩer. I mean, I imagine killing my boyfriend
all of the Ɵme, but I never do.”
Fred worked at the puzzle forming in his mind.
Everyone knew that a penny from the Empire “Killing your boyfriend?”
State Building would kill someone. That was com-
mon knowledge. He could have sworn he heard it “Oh, don’t get moody. You never had a chance
class one Ɵme. with me.”

“But…” “No, not that.” Fred balked. “Killing. I think about
it all the Ɵme. I hate everything. I hate being stu-
“But nothing. It was on Mythbusters. Ever watch pid. I hate my classmates. I hate my Dad. And I
that? I think I learn more from that show than think about killing people. The worst of it…I don’t
college.” know why.”

“What?” Samantha grabbed the front of his denim jacket
and pulled her towards him. Fred went rigid as
“College. It is a waste of Ɵme if you ask me, but she pushed her lips against his. The closeness of
my mother says I got to get a degree because she her body made him less cold. He tasted the bub-
never had the chance to get one.” ble gum on her lips. Fred relaxed and let her kiss
him.
“No, the penny. It won’t kill a person?”
When she pushed him back, he discovered her
“Yeah, that’s bullshit. Plus, the chance of it actual- gum in his mouth. He didn’t chew, but let it sit
ly hiƫng somebody is like a billion to one. You’d between his teeth.
have a beƩer chance winning the loƩo.”
“What was that for?” he asked.
Fred wore a mask of dejecƟon.
“You’re being a buzzkill. I come up here to get
“There you go with the sad puppy look again. away.”
Why in the hell are you upset?”
“Get away?”
“I guess, I thought…” Fred didn’t finish. Saying it
aloud would expose the ridiculousness of his idea. “Well, I probably wouldn’t choose here to get
away if it wasn’t for free. My father works down-
“What? You thought you were going to kill some- stairs.”
one?” She said it like she was reading a tele-
prompter. It was like she met screwed up people “But you kissed me?”
like Fred every day.
“And it shut up all that agnsty murder shit you
“I think there’s something wrong with me,” he were spouƟng. You’re not a killer. You’re just
said. some kid that needs a girlfriend. Lie about your
age and get on Tinder.”
“There’s something wrong with everyone,” Sa-
mantha laughed. “I got a cousin, Arty. One Ɵme I “Seriously?”
took a look at his search history. Two words. Ten-
tacle porn.” “That and see your school counselor. It’s free
mental health care. Use it while you have it.”
“What?”
Fred took Samantha’s gum out of his mouth and
“I don’t know. It’s something like an alien octopus held it in his finger. She looked at it and smiled.

68

Revista Adelaide

“Consider it a souvenir of your Ɵme in New York.” About the Author:

An unrecognizable ringtone chimed from inside of Luke Bandy is a world traveler, teacher, and story-
Samantha’s coat. She pulled out her cellphone teller. He will have his story “Sunday the 15th”
and answered. published in the April 2018 issue of Ink Stains.
Luke is a graduate the Long Ridge Writers Group
“What?” and has earned his Master’s in Secondary Educa-
Ɵon. Recently, he returned from Prague where he
There was a pause as she listened. taught English and creaƟve wriƟng. He now re-
sides in BalƟmore, MD.
“Well, that’s not my fucking fault. Tell Terry to
do.”

Another pause.

“Okay. Alright. Chill the fuck out. Nice meeƟng
you Fred,” she said to him and went back to her
call. “Don’t worry about who Fred is. Mind your
own fucking business.”

Then Samantha turned and walked away. A string
of swears faded as she turned the corner. Fred
stood alone, holding a penny in one hand and his
New York souvenir in the other.

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Adelaide Magazine

THE BLACK DEATH OF
HAPPY HAVEN

by A. Elizabeth HerƟng

The residents of the Happy Haven ReƟrement parƟcular resident at a Ɵme, scratching at their
Community had no idea where the cat came door and meowing to get in. Once inside, Frank
from, just that he had been living there for as long would stay by their side, insisƟng on sleeping on
as anyone could remember. His origins were a the bed right next to them. He would hiss if the
complete mystery. He was a friendly liƩle fellow, nurse pushed him aside on her nightly rounds.
jet black with four snow-white paws. He had a The residents began to noƟce someƟmes, the
disƟncƟve patch of white on his chest and nose only way Frank would leave was when the person
making him look like he was wearing a tuxedo. died.

Old Mr. Dithers in 24C was the first to welcome AŌerwards Frank would be on his merry way,
him in, leaving bits of a half-eaten ham sandwich back to his normal happy-go-lucky self unƟl the
and a bowl of water outside of his door before next Ɵme. The residents would pop their heads
heading off to breakfast in the cafeteria. For out into the hall and see him there at a neighbor’s
whatever reason, Dithers thought that the cat door, howling to get in. It became the talk of the
reminded him of his favorite bartender from his community, the more morbidly curious residents
drinking days and decided to name him Frank. actually making bets as to whom Frank would
The name stuck, much to the endless amusement aƩach himself to next. Everyone joined in, keep-
of the residents, that a cat named Frank lived ing a watchful eye, waiƟng for when Frank the
among them. friendly feline would morph into the “Black Death
of Happy Haven.”
The staff at Happy Haven aƩempted to shoo him
out many Ɵmes, but Frank always found his way #
back in, usually through a conveniently propped-
open window. Of course, no one would ever ad- Millie French was in a baking frenzy. She made
mit to leaving one open. AŌer a while, the nurses the very best banana nut bread in the Haven,
and office staff began sneaking treats and toys in despite what old Marge and Rolly Gower said. Her
their coats and bags, ensconcing the cat even secret? She used a whole sƟck of buƩer and spe-
further into the Happy Haven community. Frank cial black walnuts instead of the regular kind. She
became their unofficial mascot, prowling the halls and Marge had quite the rivalry going on, Marge
in search of food and aƩenƟon as the staff happi- constantly reminding Millie she was one of the
ly looked the other way. He loved the treats and lucky few in the building to sƟll have a living hus-
homemade baked goods the residents shared band. Millie had been a widow for over twenty
with him, for he had a wide and voracious appe- years, Ed passing away from a sudden heart
Ɵte. aƩack back in ‘96. She’d made her peace with it
long ago, but the condescending way Marge
Frank gave his affecƟon freely among the resi- would talk about her husband just set her teeth
dents, especially those who fed him. There were on edge (well at least her dentures, anyway.)
Ɵmes though when Frank would latch onto one Not that Rolly was any kind of prize. Millie was

70

Revista Adelaide

convinced he cheated at Yahtzee when he turned to lock her door when a flash of black shot
thought no one was looking. He would someƟmes by her, just outside of her line of vision. Millie
fall asleep during their weekly pinochle games, jumped, scrambling to get back into her apart-
snoring loudly unƟl his own wheezing would ment as Frank meowed and wrapped himself
rouse him from his slumber, someƟmes almost around her leg. Millie froze, waiƟng to see what
tumbling from his chair. Every single week. the cat would do next. He merely flopped over
and began to franƟcally wash his back leŌ leg,
# liŌing it high up into the air as only cats can do.
She let out a long breath as Frank meowed, pad-
Men were as rare as hen’s teeth in the Haven. ding down the hallway, stopping for a quick bite
Millie and the other single gals were constantly of food two doors down. Her heart hammered in
bombarding them with dinners and baked goods her chest so fast, Millie actually had to go back
in order to win their favor. The men in her build- inside and sit down for a moment.
ing were taken care of very well, their bellies full
every night as the ladies fussed and clucked It’s only Frank. He’s not the Black Death, he’s just
around them like brightly-colored hens. Millie had a cat. Stop being so supersƟƟous.
her eye on a fella named George living one floor
below hers, always sending him freshly-baked Millie retouched her face with an old compact she
goods down on the elevator to let him know she kept in her purse and took a deep breath, leaving
was interested. That is, unƟl the cat managed to a moment later.
eat half of the bread before George could even
get to it, or the Ɵme before when some foul thief There was no sign of Frank in the hallway as she
absconded with an enƟre loaf of banana bread cauƟously approached the elevator doors while
and two dozen chocolate chip cookies. Millie holding the banana bread in front of her like a
couldn’t be sure, but she was convinced it was talisman. She rode down one floor, leƫng the
Agnes in 44B. Agnes also had eyes for George and elevator music soothe her nerves. When the
would never pass up an opportunity to spoil doors opened she turned to the right, mentally
things for Millie. preparing for what she would say to George. Be-
fore she made it to his door, Millie suddenly
Today Millie thought she would bring George the stopped dead in her tracks. Frank was stretched
bread in person to make sure it arrived safely. She out to his full length, franƟcally scratching and
pinched her cheeks and added a dab of Chanel howling at the third door on the right. Hearing it
No. 5 behind each ear. She checked her reflecƟon sent shivers down her spine, the sound the cat
in the bathroom mirror, the overwhelming pink of was making was not of this world. He conƟnued
the decor reflecƟng back at her from every corner his terrifying serenade, doors opening up and
of the room. Millie was very proud of her pink down the hallway to see who the Black Death had
bathroom, had worked hard to find just the right singled out this Ɵme. Millie swallowed hard, her
pink matching towels, fuzzy toilet seat cover and fear a lump in her throat. Tears began to cloud
matching accessories. It was the talk of the floor, her vision as Frank conƟnued to yowl and scratch
everyone wanted to come in and see it, she away relentlessly at the Gowers’ apartment door.
thought happily as she fluffed up her curls and
headed out for her impromptu date. #

There was no way Agnes could possibly compete Millie felt horrible about Rolly and for every un-
with this batch of banana bread. Millie had out- kind thought about Marge as they sat in the cafe-
done herself. Maybe aŌer she and George shared teria together aŌer his funeral. Marge sat, death-
a slice or two, they could watch a liƩle TV togeth- ly pale, as each resident of the Haven came to
er. It was almost 4:30--the Ɵme for “Wheel of offer their sympathies. The kitchen staff would
Fortune” to come on. The Wheel was must see always decorate the cafeteria with pictures and
viewing amongst all the ciƟzens of Happy Haven-- tributes to the deceased. They laid out a spread
Pat Sajak was quite the celebrity around here. of cold cuts, popcorn and cookies, served with
overly-sweet lemonade in liƩle plasƟc cups. It
Millie gathered up the bread and opened was a tradiƟon at Happy Haven as their number
the door, excited and giddy as a schoolgirl. She

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Adelaide Magazine

conƟnually dwindled, just an unavoidable fact of #
their everyday existence.
Martha Jane, affecƟonately known around the
“It was a beauƟful service,” Millie said quietly to Haven as the “One-Eyed KniƩer” for her prowess
her friend, “I am so sorry, Marge. If there’s any- with the needles (even with only one funcƟoning
thing I can do, please let me know.” eye) came through the line, shaking Marge’s hand
and wrapping a long, baby-blue scarf around her
“He would have loved it.” Marge sniffled then shoulders. She was followed, much to Millie’s
blew hard into a large wad of used Ɵssue. “It was annoyance, by George and Agnes offering joint
so sudden, once he saw that cat, he was as good condolences. Millie sighed heavily as they leŌ the
as dead!” She whispered fiercely into Millie’s ear, cafeteria together. She’d never made it to
looking around wildly in case Frank should sud- George’s room, the cat shaƩering everyone’s
denly appear. plans with his incessant caterwauling. I might
have to start from scratch, maybe this Ɵme with a
# homemade cheesecake, that ought to do the
trick...
Rolly had let him in, Marge told Millie in an angry
hiss as the residents conƟnued to pass by, giving “Millie!” Marge hissed at her through clenched
her their condolences. teeth, “We need to talk!” Millie snapped her head
up, she had been daydreaming again, thoughts of
“That damn cat rubbed up against him and George and baked goods running through her
jumped onto his lap, there was nothing I could head. “We need to make plans, you have to help
do!” Marge had walked in the door and me!”
dropped her grocery bags, shocked to see Frank
wrapped around her husband’s neck. When “Help you with what Marge? Something to do
Marge was able to pick him up and chase him with Rolly?”
back out into the hallway, the cat moaned and
cried all night at the door unƟl the neighbors be- “Yes in a way. Something to help all of us in the
gan to bang on the walls in protest. Haven,” Marge said, hysteria coloring her voice
before lowering it to a deadly whisper. “You and I,
“It’s ok, Margie. He likes me, see?” he told me, we’re going to get rid of that blasted cat once and
“There’s no harm in it, just for tonight.” for all.”

Marge watched as the cat curled up on her hus- Millie felt goosebumps break out all over at
band’s chest, circling twice before seƩling in for Marge’s last words. A moment later the Black
the night. Death rounded the corner, locking eyes with
them for just a moment before scampering off.
“He would not budge, no maƩer what I did!” They both sat in silent shock as a parƟng Frank let
Marge exclaimed in exasperaƟon. “I tried to stay out a “meow” as if to acknowledge that the
up to keep watch, but you know me—I'm just no gauntlet had indeed, been thrown down between
good aŌer ten o'clock.” them.

The next morning, she found Rolly siƫng up in #
bed peƫng the cat, relieved beyond all measure
that the “Black Death” was nothing more than a Millie thought that her friend was really losing it.
myth. When Marge finished her shower and Marge obsessed about the cat morning, noon and
stepped out of the bathroom, she found him. night, ploƫng and scheming about how to get rid
of him. Millie was loathe to tell her grieving friend
Rolly was laid out on the floor, dead of a massive most folks liked having Frank around. Some of the
coronary. Marge wasn’t fooled, she told Millie, older residents appreciated having the heads up,
not in the slightest bit. The Black Death stayed many of them finalizing their end-of-life plans
watch by his body, following the gurney out into based on the cat’s appearance at their door. He
the hallway as they wheeled him away before was a comfort to the sick, his soŌ fur and purring
prancing down the hall in search of nourishment, calming them. Whether or not he would single
a normal cat once again.

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Revista Adelaide

them out for his special aƩenƟon didn’t maƩer, she headed down the hall to the elevator and the
they loved him anyway. He was feared by some refuge of her own apartment.
but even so, Frank was simply part of the fabric of
life at Happy Haven. Marge was convinced other- #
wise, her hatred all encompassing. Millie had nev-
er seen her friend so determined. Within minutes Millie changed her mind--she
simply could not do it. She threw open the door
# and dashed into the hall, terrified she would find
him eaƟng the deadly bread. Millie felt faint, fran-
The first Ɵme Marge tried to catch Frank, she Ɵcally looking in every direcƟon. She couldn’t
managed to lure him into a corner with a can of believe what she was seeing. The banana bread
wet cat food. Once the hungry feline went for the was completely gone.
bait, she sprung at him with a pillowcase, scoop-
ing him up in a great bear hug and flinging him #
out of the front door. He landed in the bushes,
hissing and clawing through the cloth. Marge was The neighbors around apartment 44B were begin-
convinced that she had finally saved the Haven ning to get concerned. Agnes did not come down
from the Black Death. It was a short-lived victory. for Bingo on Tuesday even though she was sup-
posed to call the numbers that week. Millie knew
The very next day they saw him making his usual that Agnes would never miss the chance to be the
rounds, stopping in front of Agnes’ apartment for caller, of that she was absolutely certain.
a quick bite. A week later, Marge convinced the
UPS driver to take Frank out of the Haven and When Agnes didn’t answer, they called in Haven
drop him at the local animal shelter, saying their management, the day shiŌ superintendent using
building no longer allowed pets. Millie never his master key to open the door. The One-Eyed
knew how Frank managed to get away, but he KniƩer told Millie they found her there on the
was back three days later looking very saƟsfied floor, a trail of vomit and white powder streaking
with himself. He paused at Marge’s door, leƫng her face with a parƟally eaten loaf of banana
out a loud meow on his way down the hall. It was bread on the floor next to her. Curled up on her
on that day her friend became truly unhinged. back was the cat, both of them were lifeless as
corpses but miraculously, sƟll alive.
#
#
The rat poison was Marge’s idea. Millie was
against it from the beginning. They never heard what happened to Marge aŌer
she was sent away, presumably to the nearest
“Can’t you see Millie? We will never be safe unƟl mental health center. They found her in her
that cursed animal is out of our lives! He is killing apartment raving about black cats and demons, a
us in our beds!” box of rat poison clutched in her hands like a
weapon before the sedaƟves finally kicked in.
Millie was alarmed at how Marge looked, her Millie hoped that her friend had found peace and
eyes bulging and glazed over. was finally receiving the help she so desperately
needed.
“Just make your banana bread and I’ll do the rest-
-he goes crazy for banana bread! We’ll leave it Millie came clean about everything, her remorse
out in the hallway just for a liƩle while, just a few was overwhelming. She visited Agnes every day in
bites and it will all be over. You told me you the sick ward, the two of them playing endless
would help me, I need you now.” hands of gin rummy as Agnes recovered. Thank-
fully, she hadn’t ingested much of the tainted
Millie eventually relented, Marge wearing her treat. The cat had jumped out and startled her,
down. She reluctantly allowed her friend to sprin- causing her to drop the bread on the floor. Frank
kle the white powder onto her famous recipe refused to leave as the sickness ravaged poor
before placing it out into the corridor. Agnes. They think the cat had eaten some as well,
but not enough to kill him. The veterinarian's
Marge called out to him, “Here, kiƩy, kiƩy!” as office had given him a clean bill of health.

73

Adelaide Magazine

Agnes and Millie decided, in the end, their friend- About the Author:
ship was worth more than any man. Besides,
George had recently been seen in the game room A.E.HerƟng is an aspiring freelance writer and
eaƟng homemade apple pie with BeƩy from 33D busy mother of three living in colorful Colorado.
down the hall--the traitor! She has had short stories featured in Bewildering
Stories, Cafe Aphra, Clumsy Quips, Dark Fire Fic-
# Ɵon, Edify FicƟon, Everyday FicƟon, FicƟve
Dream, 50-Word Stories, Friday FicƟon, Halcyon
The Black Death of Happy Haven was sƟll seen Days, Literally Stories, New Realm, No Extra
around the hallways from Ɵme to Ɵme, but his Words, Peacock Journal, Pilcrow&Dagger, Quail
roaming days were definitely over. Millie had per- Bell Magazine, Scarlet Leaf Review, ScruƟny Jour-
manently taken him in, feeding him three square nal, Spank the Carp, SpeculaƟve 66, Storyteller,
meals a day, although she restricted his sweets The Flash FicƟon Press and Under the Bed. She
(including her banana bread) to rare occasions. has also published non-ficƟon work in Denver
She made him his very own soŌ cushioned bed in Pieces Magazine, bioStories, and completed a
the corner of her bedroom, but he only slept novel called “Wet Birds Don’t Fly at Night” that
there during the day. Every night he would curl up she is hoping to find a home for. For more of her
in a ball and lay on her chest, the sound of his work/contact her at sites.google.com/site/
purring slowly lulling her to sleep. Once Millie had aeherƟngwriter
goƩen through the first few nights, the curse of
the Black Death stopped bothering her. She fig-
ured she was safe enough and besides, if it’s your
Ɵme to go, what beƩer way than with a warm,
loving friend snuggled up right next to you?

There are certainly worse ways to leave this
earth, Millie thought as she carefully leaned over
to avoid disturbing Frankie. She kissed him once
on the head before turning off the light, seƩling in
for a long and peaceful night in the Haven.

74

Revista Adelaide

TERRIBLE BLUE

by Peter Hoppock

The pure blue sky peals in Barton’s ears like a most of the photos from Basrah of Barton and his
single note from a church organ; harsh and unre- platoon buddies, everyone is shirtless but Barton.
lenƟng enough to shaƩer the thick glass of the
picture window of his second-story apartment. The couch the children are siƫng on is long, clad
On days like this, traumaƟc Ɵnnitus accompanies in slick, sƟcky orange vinyl, and has thin cushions
the sunlight, but it also brightens the front half of that do not give. There are no rugs or lamps in the
his living room, and silhoueƩes the heads of his room. There is no desk, no other chairs, no bu-
two children, Ellie and Carl, who are siƫng across reau; only the TV stand upon which a flat-screen
from him. RCA sits. The ceiling fixture in the kitchen behind
Barton is on, but neither it’s dim radiance nor the
In the one-bedroom walk-up Barton has occupied natural sunshine reaches him, and he remains in
since he and Sharon separated, all the furniture is shadow. It has been several minutes since Barton
rented, except for the grey La-Z-Boy, which catch- turned off the TV—sƟll warm—but two hours
es halfway towards the reclining posiƟon. It has since Sharon dropped them off. Barton is una-
always caught, and for this reason Sharon never ware of the passage of Ɵme, having given up on
used it; she parted with it for the same reason watches and clocks months ago, when Sharon
she parted with him; it was not—how did she put took lawful custody of the children.
it?—fixable. Siƫng is as tortuous for Barton as
standing: just below his right hip socket, re- When his kids arrived, Sharon had stayed in the
jiggered with Ɵtanium and plasƟc, the femur is car, had waved them onward through the rolled-
graced by a half-dozen metal screws; the recon- down passenger side window, had made Carl
structed pelvis has fewer—but longer—screws, promise to remind their father that this visit, un-
poorly posiƟoned for siƫng. Reclining in the half- like the previous ones, had to be short. Barton
bent La-Z-Boy provides the relief that tradiƟonal had opened the door before they were halfway
chairs and flat beds cannot. He coaxes the unfold- up the stairs; each child had given him a quick hug
ing parts past the catch, and listens to the sky. as they entered, and ignored the box Barton
pointed out was to be used for storyƟme today.
Facing him in the rented couch, his children sit, As he rushed towards the TV, Carl had squawked
legs dangling and nervously kicking, waiƟng for something about having to go back soon, and
him to begin the promised story Ɵme. Ellie is four, before Barton could reposiƟon himself into the
with Sharon’s curly blonde hair, which she is twirl- recliner, both Ellie and Carl were seated on the
ing with the forefinger of her leŌ hand, a habit sweaty couch, with their faces slightly Ɵlted, two
she picked up from her mother. She has a hopeful masks of contentment bathed in the screen’s
expression on her face. The sulky expression be- glow. AŌer a while Ellie lost interest and had laid
longs to Carl, who is seven, and although he has her head sideways, which is when she first discov-
Barton’s long eyebrows and brown eyes, his skin ered the bag.
is darker, more naturally tan—like Sharon’s. In

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Adelaide Magazine

They are as unaware as Barton how the alloƩed —So does that mean you’re mad at yourself? says
Ɵme has long since passed. Carl, and he is onto something there, thinks Bar-
ton. He considers responding to his son, but Carl’s
—When are you going to tell us a story, daddy? smirk puts him off.
asks Ellie.
Ellie looks at Carl because she knows he’s just
—Soon, sweeƟe, says Barton. I’m thinking. being a jerk. Her father does not seem mad at
himself at all. She is content to wait for what she
—Why’d you turn the TV off? says Carl. It’s a com- hopes will be a funny story, or several funny sto-
plaint, not a quesƟon. ries.

—I want you guys look at the stuff in the box I —What kind of stories today, daddy? asks Ellie.
brought out, says Barton.
—Well that’s what the box is for, guys, says Bar-
—What’s in the bag? asks Ellie. ton. The stories go with the pictures in the box. I
have a story for every picture in the box. All you
Between the couch and the La-Z-Boy Barton has have to do is pick one, or two, or more.
placed a topless 10”x10” cardboard box, full of
photographs and memorabilia. Under the belly of —What about the bag? asks Carl. Is there a story
the La-Z-Boy is a small brown paper bag, the kind about the bag?
Barton once used for his children’s school lunch-
es, which he had not meant for either of the chil- Barton is angry with himself for not having hidden
dren to see. Ellie has been eyeing the paper bag the bag. He had placed it there so he wouldn’t
since the TV was turned off, and has ignored the have to get up again.
box. Barton understands this—because the box is
open, and the paper bag is not. Because she is so —No. The bag is for something else. It’s for later.
young, the possibility that mysteries could unfold Ignore the bag. Why don’t you both look through
to reveal horror or disappointment has never the pictures, OK? Pick one and I’ll tell you a story
occurred to her. She whispers to Carl, who bends about it. Any picture, any one you choose, I can
over to take a look. Unimpressed, he sits up tell you a story about it.
again, legs sƟll kicking nervously, and picks at the
palm of his right hand with the fingers of his leŌ, Ellie gets off the couch and kneels on the floor in
ignoring both objects. front of the box. She and Barton are both startled
when the phone—a single landline resƟng on the
—OK, then. Daddy’s going to start storyƟme, says kitchen counter behind Barton, rings. Its annoy-
Barton. ing, tradiƟonal trill bleats again and again, punc-
tuaƟng the muscular tone of the sky, with its lin-
—Mom’s gonna be mad, snarks Carl. gering reminder of St. Basil’s on Ashland Ave.
where Barton, when he was Carl’s age, imagined
Ellie claps and sits up. Carl rolls his eyes. God lived. Carl pops off the couch aŌer several
rings, but Barton waves him back like a traffic cop
—Why do you do that? says Carl. Why do you say and Carl stands, mute, unƟl the ringing stops. He
daddy like you were somebody else? It’s weird. returns to his seat with a sour look on his face.

Ellie sits sƟll. The box itself is one of the stories Barton might
tell, the boƩom half of an abandoned puzzle box
—It’s not weird at all, says Barton. You know, it’s that once contained 1000 picture pieces of an
like when your mom says your dad this and your apple orchard. It was the puzzle Sharon brought
dad that when she’s telling her stories about me. to his bedside in the hospital the day aŌer his
Or when she talked to Ellie about Carl, and says, operaƟon eight years ago; the puzzle she came
Your brother is in the doghouse, young lady! back day-aŌer-day to piece together while he
writhed in pain, or slept, or talked when he felt
Ellie and Carl look at each other and smile. strong enough to share a liƩle about that horrible
day, the day that broke his life into pieces that
—Funny, right? Barton conƟnues. Not funny ha didn’t seem to fit together anymore. The actual
ha, because it’s not. The thing is, we don’t ever puzzle pieces are long gone, tossed in the trash
want to think badly of the people we love. She’s
really mad at Carl, but doesn’t want to be. So she
says your brother instead of his name.

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Revista Adelaide

and burned along with many of Barton’s personal —Except it really happened, says Barton. Do you
items—civilian clothing, including underwear; remember where I met your mom?
army faƟgues and assorted memorabilia from
Iraq like the colorful scarves and wraps he had —The hospital, says Carl.
collected before his tour ended, and then given to
Sharon as presents; cards from Sharon he had Ellie nods—her default mode of communicaƟng.
once cherished, posters of his favorite heavy met- She nods yes to everything, which is why she
al bands. The box now contains the remaining spends so much Ɵme siƫng on the toilet looking
photographs of his and Sharon’s past: some at the ceiling and then straining to get off. Carl
courtship and pre-courtship; some from his child- smiles; pleased for having got the answer right.
hood; some shots of his army buddies. All the
pictures Sharon didn’t care about, leŌ scaƩered —Anyways, I proposed to your mother only a
around their old house like a debris field following week aŌer we met. Who does that? Right? That
an explosion. hardly ever happens, even in the movies. Your
mom said no that first Ɵme. I’m sure she told you
Carl slips off the couch and joins Ellie; Ellie has that. But to be fair she didn’t really believe I was
been examining individual pictures before seƫng going to keep my leg, did she? Everybody thought
each one aside; Carl begins fingering through the I was gonna lose it. Even me! What was I thinking,
pictures half-heartedly. AŌer only a few seconds, huh?
Ellie returns to the couch and sits back slump-
shouldered. Barton leans over the box and sorts through the
pictures. He finds the one he’s looking for quickly.
—I don’t like those pictures, she says. It is a picture of Sharon, at his bedside in the VA
Hospital, taken with a disposable camera she had
Carl stares at one for a long Ɵme before showing bought at the corner drugstore which she had
it to Barton. been using to document her assignment as Milieu
Therapist in the Psychiatric Wing of the Captain
—Skinny as a rail when I was in the army, says James A. Lovell Federal Health Care Center.
Barton. Hard to believe, eh?
—Here’s the picture I took of your mother just
Carl shows Ellie the picture but she finds it unin- before I asked her the second Ɵme. You remem-
spiring: a rare picture of a shirtless and sun- ber, the same one that used to be on the table in
burned Barton with his three Basrah bunkmates, the entryway to the house, only smaller. Isn’t she
in front of a pock-marked humvee, taken the beauƟful? I proposed and even though she said
cloudless morning of the day the IED turned the no that first Ɵme, she thought it was charming
lower halves of Lakeman and Donaldson into spa- and romanƟc. She kept coming, and I kept asking
gheƫ, blew into red dust the bone and muscle of her. She kept saying no. Everyone—and I mean
both Carrick’s hands to above the wrist, snapped everyone—thought it was crazy I kept asking. But
Barton’s right femur like a wishbone, and then later—months later!—she said yes. Of
shaƩered his hip. course by then I was walking. But only because
every minute of every day I pictured myself walk-
—This is what I looked like when your mother and ing down the aisle with her.
I met, Ellie. Which is what my first story is about.
—This is a dumb story, says Carl. Ellie punches
—This isn’t a make up story? asks Ellie. him in the arm.

—Did you handle rocket launchers and stuff like —I like it, she says. Carl lies down on his stomach.
that? asks Carl.
—You’re dumb, says Carl. Ellie makes a face. The
He snatches the picture from Carl and sets it on face is the same one she uses to show how icky
the floor to one side of the box. certain foods, like spinach and raspberries, make
her feel. Barton ignores or does not noƟce her
—This isn’t a war story Carl, says Barton. It’s a reacƟons. Carl has crawled closer to the La-Z-Boy
love story. and extends his right arm underneath the porƟon
holding up Barton’s legs.
—Like a fairy tale, I guess, says Carl to Ellie. He
means to sound irritated, but Ellie seems pleased.

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Adelaide Magazine

—Carl! No! yells Barton. her. Did she ever tell you about the Ɵme I put you
in it and then rode my bike all along the lake-
Carl flinches, and retreats, like a squirrel sensing front? I figured she did! Boy, was she mad!
danger, back towards the couch.
—She said it was dumb, says Carl.
—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice, says
Barton. —Stop saying dumb! blurts Ellie. She brings her
clenched hands up to her cheeks.
Carl presses his back against the lower part of the
couch. Ellie scoots sideways next to him. Their —Look at these, Ellie, Barton conƟnues. He holds
feet extend to either side of the box. the paper-clipped photos in front of Ellie, who
plucks them from Barton’s extended hand. She
—I’m not mad, conƟnues Barton. Well, no, that’s looks at the top one and smiles, having recog-
not true. I want to be honest with you guys. I was nized herself. Carl grabs the pile from her and
mad so obviously it’s silly to say I wasn’t, right? pulls the top one off, which Ellie snatches back.
But I’m already over it, see? He stares at the next photo.

Barton twists onto his leŌ side and feels for the —Ahhh, that’s Uncle Jeff, says Barton. From when
bag with his leŌ hand. When he finds it, he gives the two of us were in college. Best man at our
it a Ɵny push backwards towards the kitchen, wedding. Doesn’t even look like him, does it? All
further away from the children. With the paper those Christmases, eh? I know, your mom told
bag out of reach, Barton leans forward in the La-Z you he’s not your real uncle. Uncle George and
-Boy, leƫng his legs drape over the sides. He rum- Uncle Christopher are your real uncles, but you
mages through the pile of photos in the box again can sƟll call him Uncle Jeff. He loves you guys al-
and picks out another, larger picture. Ellie twists most as much as I do.
her body down and sideways, straining to look
under the La-Z-Boy. Her brother elbows her, and Carl discards that one, revealing a third photo.
she sits up.
—That is one I’m really proud of, Barton pro-
—This one is of my brother and I geƫng our claims. Taken by my pal Donovan when I was in
Scout badges for swimming at the summer camp. high school and my parents were gone for the
The thing there was, I swam across the lake with- weekend. Bet you didn’t know I was a gymnast.
out the boat. You’re supposed to have the boat That’s me doing a handstand right at the ridgeline
next to you when you do it. Half a mile. I thought of the roof. It was even higher up than it looks.
maybe they wouldn’t give me the badge, but That roof was steep! Next to me is Danny Zawiki
there were like a dozen witnesses on shore, so and next to him is Gene Lowenk. It took guts. A
they had to. But hey, Ellie, you’re learning to neighbor called the cops. I got grounded for like a
swim now, right? And I’m so proud of you! Carl’s month!
a great swimmer already, aren’t you Carl. Right
buddy? —PreƩy cool, Dad, says Carl.

—That’s not really a story, says Ellie. Her hands —I can do a headstand, says Ellie. She puts her
nervously make and unmake fists. forehead down on the floor between her hands.
Her legs start to rise up and she falls to the side,
—Well, I’m not done yet, says Barton. landing on the box and knocking several photos
out.
Carl, not yet recovered from Barton’s out-
burst, has folded his arms Ɵghtly across his chest. —Sorry daddy, I can do it, she says, pouƟng. She
Barton nervously searches through the pile of remains siƫng.
photos again. He finds a group of photographs
paper-clipped together, and holds out his hand so —Yes, I know you can sweeƟe, says Barton. You
that both children can see without moving from don’t have to do one. I know you can do a head-
their posiƟons on the floor. stand.

—The top one is you in the baby carrier, Carl. No, The phone begins ringing again. Carl and Ellie
wait, that’s not you, it’s Ellie! Mommy loved that glance back and forth between the phone
carrier because it was so soŌ and you were facing and their father. Barton talks over it, because it

78

Revista Adelaide

reminds him of Ɵme, his unseen enemy, which he aƩack means, because Carl rolls his eyes, and Ellie
must try to ignore. Every Ɵck of the clock since sƟffens all her joints and shouts out:
Sharon leŌ has been like a jab of pain, a piece of
shrapnel tearing into his skin, through muscle and —Mommy?
bone; that she ever loved him, that she bore his
children, now serves only to intensify the realiza- The phone starts ringing again. Barton ignores it,
Ɵon that his recovery from Basrah was never because he must calm Ellie down.
more than a slow descent into hell. Only the old
memories escape the torture of Ɵme. They float —No, not your mom, Ellie. My mom. The Grand-
above the misery. ma you never met, says Barton.

—Maybe it’s mom, says Carl. Carl squeezes both of Ellie’s hands between his.

—It doesn’t maƩer, says Barton. —And it’s just an expression. It means my mom
was really scared and worried, adds Barton. He
Carl turns his aƩenƟon to the next photo, well begins laughing. Carl and Ellie press against each
worn and faded. The phone finally stops ringing. other, shoulder-to-shoulder.
He and Ellie both wiggle their way back onto the
couch. —You shouldn’t laugh, says Carl. It’s not funny.

—OK, now here’s a story! Barton exclaims, the —I shouldn’t. You’re right. But I’m only laughing
energy in his voice startling the children. That was because I lived! That’s what happens when you
my first ever bike. It had the brakes where you cheat death, kids. You laugh. I could’ve been
just back-pedal, not like today where the brakes killed. And then I wouldn’t have met your mom-
are on the handlebars. It was a hand-me-down my and you wouldn’t have been born. That’s why
from my brother. My dad painted it blue and I’m laughing. I’ve cheated death more than once,
made it a birthday present. First thing I did was you see?
race it down the CaƩanio’s driveway like all the
guys did. His driveway made a u-turn and right at —You shouldn’t cheat, says Ellie.
the u part there was like a ten-foot drop-off into a
creek. You’d race your bike towards the edge, and Barton noƟces the tears slipping down both Ellie’s
then slam the brakes hard as hell to make the cheeks.
longest skid mark you could. The idea was to get
your rear Ɵre skid mark to end as close to the —Ellie, don’t cry. That’s not why I told the story. I
edge as possible. Rusty Wiggins had the record. thought you’d think it was funny, how daddy’s
Twenty-two feet and seven inches and the rubber done a lot of silly things.
streak stopped just three inches from the edge.
Anyways, I pedaled hard—you had to have a lot —It’s not! says Ellie. It’s not funny! The anger
of speed—and I stood up on those pedals and holds her tears in place.
pushed down with all my might and—crack—the
chain broke! —It’s not fun…ny. It’s cur…ray…zee, whispers
Carl. Ellie slams a fist into Carl’s shoulder.
Ellie is startled by the way Barton spears the word
crack and pauses before the chain broke. She Ellie wipes her wet cheeks. Carl manages a weak
inches closer to her brother. smile.

—What happened? asks Ellie. The doorbell rings, a series of ding-dongs, star-
tling Ellie and Carl again. Carl begins to rise, but
—My feet came off the pedals and my buƩ Barton waves him back down as he himself disen-
slipped off the seat—boy did that hurt— and I gages from
sailed—sailed—off the edge and landed all the
way on the other side of the creek! My mom had the La-Z-boy.
a heart aƩack when she saw me!
—You said it wasn’t mom, Carl muƩers. This was-
Both Carl and Ellie appear to know what heart n’t any fun, anyway. C’mon, Ellie. He grabs Ellie’s
hand and yanks her towards the door.

—We don’t know it’s her, Carl, says Barton. He
limps towards the door, blocking their way.

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Adelaide Magazine

—I want to go, says Ellie. He moves towards the edge of the window, so he
is not visible to anyone outside. He Ɵlts his head
Carl lets go of Ellie’s hand and runs the other way, in an aƩempt to sightline the front door, to see
towards the large picture window that offers a who has been ringing the bell. Ellie keeps her face
view of the street below. pinned to the glass. Carl stares at his father the
way children might stare at a pile of delicately
—Carl! Get away from the window! Barton snaps. balanced wooden blocks on the verge of collaps-
His voice is like sandpaper in the children’s ears. ing, afraid that even the slightest touch will bring
They freeze. Barton steps towards the window about the very event they were hoping to avoid.
but is not nimble enough to avoid the corner of The look is enough to make Barton sigh—a deep,
the couch, which he trips over, falling to the floor. huge, total breath kind of sigh. He walks back to
the center of the room and moƟons to the chil-
—Ah-ah-ah! he uƩers loudly through clenched dren by waving his arms in sweeping circles.
teeth.
—See, Dad? says Carl, understanding that the
Ellie screams. pantomime is an invitaƟon to return to the couch.
I told you!
—Dad, are you OK? says Carl. Do you need help?
Ellie runs back and looks for the picture she had
Barton lays sƟll; his children approach slowly, one been holding before all the noises started. She
on each side of him. Ellie is crying again. Slowly he finds it on the couch, sƟcking out between two
shiŌs weight so his dysfuncƟonal hip is off the cushions, and holds it like she was reading a
floor and he sits up. menu. The two children sit politely sƟll, legs
mute, waiƟng.
—I’m sorry, says Ellie. He holds out his arms and
embraces her. Carl slips away, back to the win- The doorbell ding-dong-ing stops, and is replaced
dow. by loud, rhythmic thwumps coming from the
building entrance at the base of the stairs. They
—No, no, no, no, says Barton. Nothing to be sorry raƩle the double-hungs on the side of the Bar-
about, Ellie. I’m the one that’s sorry. For the ton’s apartment, each impact a hammer-strike
worst storyƟme ever! Can you please just give me between his eyebrows.
a few more minutes? Please?
—OK. I guess Ɵme’s up, eh? Why don’t you both
—There’s people standing out front, says Carl, come here and get a big hug, says Barton, his
maƩer-of-factly. Ellie pulls away before Barton voice cracking.
can react. She joins her brother at the window,
presses her face against the glass, and returns The anguished expression on Barton’s face van-
quickly. ishes when Ellie and Carl, one on each side, em-
brace him. Their arms surround his waist, his
—Uh-huh, she says when she returns, allowing strong arms fold over their shoulders. He releases
Barton to enfold her again. And mommy’s car. them when he feels their grip loosen.

—And a police car, says Carl. Ellie nods her head —There we go, he says soŌly. Mmmm-mmm! If
in agreement. She releases herself from his em- it’s OK with you guys, I’m going to go right back to
brace and grasps his hands in hers, tugging at my chair. Why don’t you take the box with you?
them. Lots of great pictures in there. No? That’s all right.
I don’t mind. Man, but that banging is annoying! I
—Come look, daddy, beckons Ellie. don’t think that’s your mom knocking, though—
ha!
Barton, standing unsteadily, looks at his children,
who are looking out the window. He is certain of Ellie and Carl gather in front of the apartment
what Sharon has convinced them: how she got door that opens to the flight of stairs leading
the short end of the sƟck all these years; how down to the building entrance. They wait, feet
miserable she had become living with a man who shuffling and fingers twitching, for Barton’s
used physical pain to feed his misery. They must approving nod. The specter of his wife—a ghost
know, or sense, Barton thinks, that their mother
is unhappy in an angry way, while he is unhappy
in a just plain sad way.

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Revista Adelaide

image—appears between the children and him- He does not see his children climbing into their
self, holding a large Ɵmepiece, the kind train con- mother’s van, gliding noiselessly past the empty
ductors used to pull out of their vests in the prior police car. He cannot see the men leaving the
century. ground floor entrance, dragging the portable
baƩering ram. What is important is they will be
—Fuck you! whispers Barton aloud, easing back far away when he puts an end to the nightmare
into the La-Z-Boy. The appariƟon dissolves as he that had become as solid and fixed as the cement
makes several painful readjustments. and stone and brick of the apartment building
that encases him, as tormenƟng as the anguished,
Ellie and Carl understand their father is not refer- never-ending sound of the terrible blue sky.
ring to them, because he is facing the window.
They see a preƩy picture frame filled with pure, It would take the force of an explosion to free
welcoming blue, exquisite and smooth, while the him.
single note in Barton’s head has raged into a cre-
scendo played by all the instruments in the or-
chestra, the lingering final note of a symphony.

—Sorry about the cussword, Ellie, says Barton, his About the Author:
voice rising above the note. Just talking to myself.
Never mind. Go ahead, then. I’ll just blow you a
kiss from here. G’bye, honey. See ya later, big
guy. You go on down now and be with your mom.
Be with her. She loves you. Be with her. Go on
now, Carl. The door’ll close when you leave OK?
It’ll lock automaƟc. I’ll be fine. Go!

Ellie and Carl open the door hurriedly and run Peter Hoppock says about himself: I published
down the stairs; Ellie holds her arms above her two stories: 'Stuck' in WritesForAll, and 'Missing
head as she bounces down the steps, and Barton Person' in Curbside Splendor. 'Mr. Pegg To You'
smiles when he noƟces that she is clutching the was a finalist in the Press 53 Novella CompeƟƟon.
photograph in her right hand, the one of her as an I write ficƟon mostly, which is uncomfortable and
infant in his carrier. It is the past, floaƟng above oŌen seems hopeless unƟl the end. There is some
the misery, in his child’s Ɵny hand. The door slow- saƟsfacƟon in the labor itself, however, like the
ly closes, cuƫng off his view; Barton is startled digging of a ditch; there is a beauty to hard work
when it slams shut behind them, the spring lock taken up without the promise of a reward.
snapping into place. The banging stops.

Barton bends over and stretches under the La-Z-
Boy for the paper bag. He holds the bag in his lap
for several seconds before reaching in.

Although he cannot see down to ground level
from this posiƟon, he can see the tops of a few
trees and the cloudless sky. The blue feels even
more intense, deep and resonant. For his chil-
dren, it is the blue of innocence and peace and
endless possibiliƟes. But for Barton, it is the blue
of the day of the IED outside Basrah, when a
spray of red doƩed, then covered, then stained
and altered forever Barton’s percepƟon of the
sky.

When he closes his eyes, the terrible blue sky
diminished in volume, and he pictures Ellie smil-
ing, eager to show Sharon daddy’s photograph. I
was a good father, he tells himself.

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Adelaide Magazine

MARCH AROUND
THE FIELD

by Sam Gridley

“I want to march around the field and sing again,” chants and rally cries and post-game ice cream
Lexie announced as she stepped into the living cones with candy sprinkles. At the end of the sea-
room. Meg gaped at her. son, the girls' teams had their own awards gather-
ing and a peculiar closing rite, with everyone
Outside, brick and concrete and asphalt conspired marching in a circle around the bases singing a
to mulƟply the heat of this steaming city Saturday totally absurd diƩy.
in August, a day when Lexie of all people ought to
take it easy, but here she stood with her official Lexie loved all this nonsense, and Meg loved her
league T-shirt flopping loose over her scrawny for loving it, but right now Lexie needed to stay
frame. The sight of her in this getup—almost six home and rest. Instead, she tugged her cap on—
feet tall and scarcely 130 pounds, jeans cinched with its script MSA logo that looked like a tangle
round her shrunken middle—sent an ache from of caterpillars—and cocked her head toward Meg
Meg’s heart to the fingers that gripped her coffee on the couch. “Closing ceremonies, 10 o’clock,”
cup. she insisted. “I lost the whole season but I won’t
miss this.” Set at a rakish Ɵlt, the cap revealed the
Meg remembered her partner’s earlier whine, sparse gray-blonde stubble and the paler scalp
two months ago, when the soŌball season start- beneath.
ed: “We’re missing the parade,” Lexie had com-
plained then. Just last week Lexie’s knees had buckled in the
supermarket. The chemotherapy had wasted her
“You’re kidding,” Meg had teased, “that’s the part more than either of them had expected—and far
you care about? Not the screaming parents or more than the cheery doctors had forewarned.
blind umpires or the girls skinning their knees?” Meg blamed those doctors for a long list of sins.
Lexie had turned pouty and refused to answer. Like, for instance, downplaying the length of the
process, the ups and downs, the emoƟonal burn-
In Meg’s view these neighborhood sports rituals out for both the paƟent and her partner. Like
ranged from tedious to annoying to preposterous. being too casual about the pain and debilitaƟon
The Millville Sports AssociaƟon’s summer season aŌer surgery, as well as the effect of nausea on a
opened with that parade in June, when all the skinny person who couldn’t afford to drop 30
players and coaches and umpires and supervisors pounds. And most of all she blamed them for the
and team sponsors—for dozens of teams involv- fact that, aŌer enduring eight months of torture
ing girls and boys from six to sixteen—assembled masquerading as treatment, which had produced
in a church parking lot and struƩed two abreast “progress” but not yet an all-clear, Lexie was sƟll
to the fields, led by a bagpiper, no less. At the not Lexie, and might never be again. Look at her
introductory ceremonies local poliƟcians spouted now, trying to be normal but alternaƟng between
senƟmentaliƟes about building character in the a smirk (like an eight-year-old who’d stolen sec-
leaders of tomorrow—the same speeches ond base) and a grim rotaƟon of the jaw.
every year, Meg was certain. There were standard

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Revista Adelaide

“This is mad, you can’t go,” Meg objected. “It’ll be “Yeah, I can sƟll taste those leather wafers.”
a hundred degrees out there, you’ll get dizzy
again. And there’s a summer bug going around, Now Meg was edging toward the kind of banter
we can’t risk another infecƟon.” they’d oŌen fallen into during the past few
months, a convenient cover-up. But Lexie would-
“I’ll just sit in the stands. I’ll keep my cap on, and n’t take the bait. PracƟcally on Ɵptoe, angled to-
I’m taking plenty of fluids, see?” With a semi- ward the front door, she persisted in a half-
ironic flourish Lexie brandished a boƩle of vitamin whisper, half-singsong, “So, I’m going now … ,”
water. “Besides, I’m sƟll finishing up the anƟbi- and Meg had to bark, “Wait! Shit! … Damn you,
oƟcs from the bronchiƟs, I’m protected.” I’ll come. Hang on, I have to change my—”

Meg grimaced. “See, you’re admiƫng how frag- “Hurry up, they’ll be starƟng.”
ile—”
In the roasƟng-hot car (because ten blocks to the
“No, I’ve stopped being fragile. I may drop dead field was too far for Lexie to walk) anxiety clung
but I won’t be fragile. And I’m sƟr-crazy, I’m tell- like plasƟc wrap to Meg’s shoulders. It didn’t help
ing you—too long in this fucking house!” that she remembered the dream that had re-
turned last night for the tenth or twelŌh Ɵme.
Meg flinched. Another Ɵme, she might have wel- Alone in a parked car that began to roll backward,
comed this fighƟng spirit, a trait of the old Lexie she tried to grab the wheel and stomp the brake
that had faded since the diagnosis. But not in this but she was barefoot, in the back seat, and she
way—not coupled with recklessness. couldn’t stretch her arms or move her feet, and
the car spun around and headed forward now,
Meg was shoeless and sockless on the couch, in somehow dodging a child, a snarl of trucks, a
the raƩy shorts she wore only at home, newspa- tree—amazing luck!—but as it went faster and
per on her lap, coffee cup in her hand, the re- faster she knew a catastrophe was coming.
mains of a cranberry muffin on the end table.
Meg’s immobility, plus the slump of her buƩ into Meg clenched the steering wheel and griƩed her
the cushions, made a statement for her: Let’s teeth. A chance to finish her coffee would have
appreciate the wonders of air condiƟoning and a cleared this muck from her head, but here they
late lingering breakfast. This morning, there’d were at the field already—mulƟple fields actually,
been no fighƟng about vitamin regimens or doc- jammed into a grassy rectangle of park—with
tors’ appointments or whether to chance pepper mothers and fathers and daughters milling on the
on the scrambled eggs. Why not draw this mo- sidewalk, no parking spaces of course, so she cir-
ment out as long as it would last? Why not, Meg’s cled to the back street and managed to squeeze
posture said, come sit with me on the couch and the Volvo into the last legal space before the fire
cuddle awhile? In the months since illness en- hydrant. Lexie had gone silent in the passenger
tered their life, and then spread unƟl it consumed seat, staring out the side window.
their life, such Ɵmes had been rare.
As the two women cut a diagonal across the
The silent argument wasn’t effecƟve, though, so grass, Meg took hold of Lexie’s arm. Though
Meg went on: they’d been legally married for two years now,
they were discreet in public, not adverƟsing their
“Remember, Terry Pulaski is commissioner this relaƟonship in this neighborhood where gentrify-
year. Her awards speeches will take an hour. And ing liberals mixed with tradiƟonal Catholic fami-
her nieces are bound to get two or three prizes, lies of Irish, Polish, Italian, Ukrainian extracƟon.
like Best Snot ProducƟon or Hairstyle Most Likely Not that they hid anything, but public displays
to Clog Drains.” would have drawn gawks from the more con-
servaƟve folk, and in their early forƟes they were
“C’mon, our awards are for sportsmanship and past the stage of flaunƟng. Today, however, tak-
leadership, that sort of thing. And I don’t mind ing no chance that Lexie would stumble, Meg put
Terry as much as you do, she’s worked for the a lock on her forearm, her fingers wrapped Ɵght
league forever. She invented our spring cookie- around the taller woman’s wrist.
bake fundraiser.”

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Adelaide Magazine

Both sets of bleachers were packed, and when called to a dozen people at least, breathing in
Meg noƟced people glancing at them she pic- short gasps between her teeth.
tured what they saw. An odd pair for sure. Meg
dark, short-legged, square-faced, strong regular On the diamond in front of the bleachers, near
features—not unaƩracƟve but kind of blockish, the pitcher’s mound, the officials clustered
she always thought when she caught sight of her- around a long table filled with gliƩering cheap
self in a mirror. Lexie so long and lean, blonde, a trophies. Meg turned to offer her sunglasses, but
natural athlete, with a complexion that used to Lexie was already chuckling with the girl on the
resemble heavy cream, and hair that once tum- other side, leaning down to share the joke. Meg
bled in such sparkling blonde waves it took your didn’t recognize this leggy kid who could have
breath away. Now, with her skin blotchy and hair been Lexie thirty-odd years ago, and the sight of
gone, she brought to mind a gawky heron out of them laughing together brought a clog of mucus
water. to her throat.

Seeing this, or imagining that others saw it, Meg Half-closing her eyes to the glare, she imagined,
felt a bristly heat in her face. Already she was for a moment, that Lexie would be given a life-
sweaƟng hard, and her arm was slick where it Ɵme achievement award today. It’d be fiƫng, for
wrapped around Lexie’s. The sun smacked the sure; Lexie had worked fourteen years in this
side of her head, and the humidity stuffed itself league, coaching, organizing, officiaƟng, and they
like a wet sock down her throat. The main flush of all loved her. Not one doubt had ever arisen be-
heat was internal, though, and it got worse as cause of her sexual orientaƟon. Lexie won peo-
Lexie squinted into the stands. Where were Lex- ple’s confidence that way—everyone just knew
ie’s sunglasses—had Meg let her come out with- she could be trusted. Even her geometry students
out them? Her eyes were chronically dry and red in school adored her, and what sensible kid ever
from the chemo, and in this glare … And sun- liked geometry?
screen loƟon for her erythema—hadn’t even
thought of it! It’s not my fault, Meg argued to But if an award were in the works, wouldn’t the
nobody, I wasn’t the one who came rushing out officials have called to make sure Lexie would
to this goddamn pointless— aƩend? In an instant the fantasy turned to resent-
ment. Ignoring Lexie aŌer all she’d done for the
“Hey, hi there … Good to see you … I knew they league—these assholes!
couldn’t keep you away … There’s a place here …
It’s your coach from last year, honey … Move over Then came the same sensaƟon as a few moments
a squinch … Easy does it, let me.…” Lexie grinned before, a flush that had needles in it. What was
into the overlapping voices and gestures as peo- the maƩer—good god, was she starƟng meno-
ple leaned or scooted to open a narrow path up pause—now?
the bleachers. Too late, Meg realized how difficult
it’d be for Lexie to climb the narrow aluminum Being exposed this way—it felt like a violaƟon.
slats, but other arms reached to steady her when Since the chemo began, this was their first ex-
she bent and teetered. Meg stumbled behind, tended ouƟng in the neighborhood, and it was
muƩering “Excuse me, thank you, thanks” as her too much, having all these people stare and
jolƟng handbag endangered ears and noses. They cluck … Well, maybe they weren’t staring but they
managed to flop safely onto the fiŌh of six Ɵers, were looking, and speculaƟng: I bet it’s all
between a large Polish grandmother with a ker- through her. Like a walking skeleton. She won’t
chief and a twelve-year-old skinny blonde in a last Ɵll Thanksgiving.
green team jersey that read “Wolverines” on the
chest and “Jack’s Barber Shop” on the back. The woman behind them shiŌed a liƩle and bent
“Sorry,” Meg said to the man below her, whose down to place her mouth close to Meg’s ear. “I’m
back she’d crunched with her knee. “Hi, so glad you two could come today,” she whis-
Noreen” (to a woman one row down, three seats pered. “She’s looking great.”
over), “god, it’s suffocaƟng, how long do you
think this’ll take?” Lexie, for her part, nodded or Who was this person, Amy, Abby, something like
that? Meg crooked her neck awkwardly to re-
spond to the lie—because it was a lie, surely, no-
body could think Lexie looked “great.”

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Revista Adelaide

“Yeah,” she whispered back, “she had to come, ramble meant something to her. “Proud of her”—
nothing would keep her home. I’m worried about Meg was sƟll mulling the phrase—yes, she’d al-
the heat, though, we’ve had some dizzy spells.” ways been proud that Lexie could get so involved.

Why was she sharing this with a person whose A trust officer in a bank, Meg dealt daily with
name she couldn’t remember? The woman went wealthy individuals eager to protect their as-
on, “She’s so strong, so brave, you must be proud sets—an urge that, she had long been aware,
of her. An inspiraƟon.” stemmed from the opposite of trust. In her mo-
ments of personal honesty, Meg someƟmes felt
Meg gave the curtest of nods, put off by the plaƟ- that her work polluted her view of the world,
tudes. Seconds later she realized she might have making her too oŌen the cauƟous one, the pessi-
been rude, but she didn’t care. “Proud of her,” mist, the holder-back. The one who, instead of
sure, you bet, I’m proud that she’s stupid and enjoying the goods, would lock them away. Or
stubborn enough to drag us into a sauna that’ll perhaps that was her nature and she’d gravitated
leave her sapped for a week. to a job that matched her outlook.

She dug into her bag for the vitamin water. If opposites aƩract, that old saw explained how
“Lexie, here,” she jabbed with her elbow; “drink Lexie had won her. Before they met, three years
this, you’ll get dehydrated.” People didn’t know, aŌer college, Meg had dated a series of guys,
but there were chemo ulcers in the mouth lining wondering why none of them impressed her. Lex-
that made it impossible for her to eat properly. ie had come into her life like a gulp of iced tea on
Lexie took the boƩle and sipped, giving Meg a a hot day. A relief, a kind of salvaƟon. A miracle
wink, and then turned back to the twelve-year- that such a person would not only noƟce Meg but
old. Next Meg produced lip balm from the bag, fall in love with her.
which Lexie duƟfully applied in two broad
sweeps. “Am I OK now?” Lexie said with a smirk. So yes, she’d been proud, but when you watched
the cancer warp an energeƟc personality into
“Take my sunglasses.” recklessness one day, desolaƟon the next—when
your lover became your irresponsible child, it
“Don’t need ’em, the cap shades my eyes. Can we wasn’t easy to, to …
relax now, Mommy?”
As a late arrival climbed to an empty seat, the
No, Meg wanted to shout, we cannot relax. Your stands vibrated and Meg felt a small wave of nau-
skin is going to crisp like bacon because I forgot sea, a swooning, and for a moment she was in the
the sunscreen. And I am not your mommy, why car again, driŌing out of control backwards, up a
are you making me act this way? slope, careening leŌ and right. Was Lexie driving?
As she closed her eyes, the car arrived on a nar-
When someone on the field tapped a micro- row trail in the woods where Meg tumbled out
phone, the chaƩer in the stands subsided. Terry and gazed around, lost, Ɵll she spoƩed Lexie
Pulaski, a stout woman with an arƟficial blonde beckoning from the sunlight on the crest of a hill.
perm, began a speech thanking everyone for “Hurry up!” Lexie called, “you’ll miss it.” “What?”
coming out today and thanking the coaches and Meg huffed, laboring upward with her short legs,
umpires for their hard work and dedicaƟon and “what’s there?” At last she reached Lexie’s side,
thanking the sponsors for providing such excel- and the tall beauty looped an arm around her
lent uniforms and equipment and thanking the shoulder and bent to kiss her on each eyelid. Be-
Parks Department for supporƟng the league fore them, coiled on a rock to soak up the late
through the use of these wonderful fields and morning sun, lay a glistening green snake, its back
thanking the volunteers who cleaned the area and sides brilliant as a ripe lime. When Meg shiv-
each weekend and thanking last but not least the ered, Lexie assured her it was harmless, and they
players themselves for making this such a great gazed for long minutes before kissing again.
season, the best, in her opinion, in the thirty-two-
year history of organized girls’ sports in Millville … Then Lexie slammed her palms together and Meg
jumped in her seat. Everyone was clapping.
Lexie bent forward, hands on her knees, a Ɵght They’d begun the awards, with the Ɵny tee-ball
smile on her freshly balmed lips as if this empty

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Adelaide Magazine

girls first, and a ponytailed bruneƩe in a yellow These kids, Meg glowered, have something spe-
Cream Puffs jersey held a trophy a third as tall as cial with her. Something simple and charming,
she was. Puƫng two fingers to her mouth, Lexie unrelated to cancer. But what gives them the
let out a piercing whistle. right to endanger her with it?

“Don’t do that,” Meg muƩered, “you’ll aggravate “This is idioƟc,” she said aloud without meaning
the sores.” Lexie ignored her. to. “The whole damn business.”

Though Meg tried to listen, the dozens of honors Lexie turned with a frown. “What?”
were indisƟnguishable (what was the difference
between “team spirit” and “sportsmanship”?), “Nothing, nothing.” Meg shrank in her seat, hop-
and soon the pulsaƟng sun fuzzed her brain into a ing no one had understood.
stupor again. Was that woods scene a memory—
from last fall? Could they have been healthy and “Hey, are you OK?” Lexie asked. “You almost
cheerful that recently? Or was her mind veering knocked me over.”
off wildly like cancer cells? She wiped her lips on
the shoulder of her shirt because, for a few sec- “It wasn’t me! I’m fine. Except my brains are
onds, it felt like she’d been kissing the snake. boiled like everyone else’s.”

Clap-clap-clap, Connie! yay Connie!—Lexie With all the bellowing and whistling, it was Ɵme
shouƟng louder than all the rest. Chubby kid with for Lexie to drink more water, but Meg failed to
dark bangs, top baƫng average in the seven-to- offer it, sagging into a numbness of perspiraƟon
eights. Don’t get manic on me, Meg thought, and and resentment. She’ll be sick aŌer this. Her skin
aloud she said, “Hey, let’s not overdo it, huh?” will blister. And they’re not even giving her the
award she deserves.
Lexie, panƟng a liƩle, winked conspiratorially at
her. But what, Meg wondered, is the joke here? Four hours later, or so it seemed, a mad scramble
There’s already a red patch on your neck, do you took place. The girls were deserƟng the bleach-
know that? ers, and when Meg reached for her partner’s arm
she realized Lexie too was gone. It was a shock—
Watching the giggly girls claim their prizes, smell- how did she get away? The thorny heat rushed to
ing the sweat and perfume and hints of fried egg Meg’s face again.
from the bodies around her, Meg despised all this
health and happiness. She pulled out the vitamin On her other side the Polish grandma beamed
water and drank some herself—how ironic if she and clapped. A fragment of melody rode on the
were the one who passed out. She ought to have wisp of breeze created by the sudden exodus.
worn one of Lexie’s caps, though she looked ridic-
ulous in them. Years ago, someone had adapted a silly folk song
as an anthem for the girls’ teams—
The ceremonies droned on. Some liƩle kids
crawled under the bleachers to enjoy the only Oh the Millville girls are champions all
shade available. Meg’s upper arms smelled like
overripe squash, and her damp pants clung to the Polly wolly doodle all the day
sƟcky metal seat. Had someone spilled soda
here? When the girl next to Lexie hopped down They wag their bats and wallop that ball
to collect her own award, Lexie leaped up to
cheer, and Meg jumped to grab her partner by Singin’ polly wolly doodle all the day
the elbow. One of them wobbled, it wasn’t clear
which, and both nearly pitched onto the specta- [Refrain]
tors below, but they regained their balance in
Ɵme for the famous Lexie two-fingered whistle How I love, how I love
and a high-five as the girl returned. Squeals, whis-
pers, fist bumps, dippy grins. How I love my MSA

For nothin’s greater than mashin’ my taters

Singin’ Polly Wolly Doodle all the day

—and so on for five inane verses.

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Revista Adelaide

Nine-year-olds, teenagers, toddlers with their with her hands in her lap, oozing from her arm-
moms, proud fathers and grandpas, all brayed pits. She’d make Lexie come find her, supported
with gusto as they stepped around the bases to by those silly prancing friends. Maybe this was
the beat. “Oh, this is so—” Meg grumbled to the childish of her, but so what, that’s how she felt.
grandmother, but the old woman, who perhaps
understood no English—who perhaps thought But then Meg spun, in a fright, and troƩed toward
“polly wolly doodle” was English—kept clapping the crowd. She couldn’t see Lexie at all, just a
in Ɵme, the knot of her kerchief bobbing under mass of people marching two-, three , five-
her chin. abreast in a ragged line around the bases.

Scanning the field, Meg couldn’t find Lexie in the The thorny heat swarmed into her face once
crowd of marchers. She’ll crumple out there, more, worse this Ɵme. No, I didn’t mean it, hon-
they’ll have to call an ambulance, the sirens will ey, it's not idioƟc, not if you love it so!
come echoing down the street. It’s not my fault, I
warned her! Is that her? Where is she?

But, you know, she wants them right now, not Let me past, you people! I can be stupid and
me. brave too!

This was true, and it sƟrred biƩerness. OK, Meg Round and round and round they went, or so it
granted, let them have her. And aŌerward … (the seemed, because a number of girls began a sec-
idea slowly uncoiled) … let them wait three hours ond circuit aŌer compleƟng the first. How I love,
with her in the emergency room. And then … How I love, the chant rang out, and Meg lurched
maybe they should take her home with them, dizzily, inside the circle now, spinning in her own
deal with all the consequences. crazy arc over the pitcher's mound.

The sullenness fed on itself like a snake swallow- At last she spoƩed Lexie between second base
ing its tail. These people, Meg stewed, who think and third, arm in arm with a teenager and a six-
she’s the “brave” one, the “inspiraƟon,” do they year-old. Were her legs giving out? Were the girls
have the slightest idea what it’s like? To wonder if helping her? As Meg ran to join the end of the
every cough or gasp is a symptom? To clean up row, breathless and lightheaded, she shouted
the diarrhea on the toilet seat and the vomit in polly wolly doodle with the rest of them. And for
the sink? To nod and smile at the cocky male doc- an instant, when Lexie sent a quick exhausted grin
tors and agree with their exaggeraƟons about her way, she was elated.
“progress”?
About the Author:
Because … because when you see what it’s done
to you—your own life, your own love, hacked and Sam Gridley is the author of the novels THE
sliced, bizarre hot flashes, fantasies like runaway SHAME OF WHAT WE ARE and THE BIG HAPPI-
cars, exasperaƟons festering like sores—what do NESS. His ficƟon and saƟre have appeared in
you say then about inspiraƟon and bravery? more than fiŌy magazines and anthologies. He
has received two fellowships from the Pennsylva-
More sensaƟons than words, these thoughts nia Council on the Arts and a Wallace Stegner
brought a shudder to Meg’s arms, a trickle of ice Fellowship from Stanford University. He lives in
water under the sweat on her shoulders. Philadelphia with his wife and neuroƟc dog and
“Goodbye,” she said to the Polish lady. “You hangs out at the website Gridleyville.blog.
should get out of the sun—that scarf is no protec-
Ɵon.” As Meg stepped from the bleachers, she
took a deep gulp of the viscid atmosphere, stum-
bled and pointed herself toward the Volvo.

She would wait there, she decided, Ɵll Lexie was
good and done with this behavior. She’d put the
emergency brake on Ɵght so the car wouldn’t run
away. She’d sit rigid behind the steering wheel

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Adelaide Magazine

THE CREEDE

CONUNDRUM

by Mari Wise

It’s been eight months since I have seen my family I took one more deep breath and sprinted away
and it’s about Ɵme I got back to them. The stress- from the house. I stayed under the trees as much
es of life smothered me again, but this Ɵme I suc- as I could, but geƫng hit was inevitable. AŌer
cumbed to them. I had to get away from it all and making my way across the development, I hopped
what beƩer place to clear my head, than my fami- the gated fence and headed towards the road.
ly’s summer home in the mountains? The thick, There I waited for at least two hours before any-
dark, storm clouds are rolling in and gathering one would pick me up. Finally, a rickety, white
above my head. Just horrible weather for relaxing. truck pulled over to let me in. I climbed into the
I will leave tonight aŌer everyone is asleep (it’s front seat, thankful to be out of the rain.
the best way to avoid pesky neighbors prying for a
desƟnaƟon.) Yes, tomorrow I will surprise them all The man driving the truck was huge. 6’ 7” maybe
and we can be together again. They haven’t lost 6’ 8”. His beard hid most of his face and his neck,
faith in me I’m sure. but his eyes were gentle. Like killing some poor
hitch-hiker would be unthinkable to him.
A large lightning bolt cracked across the dark sky.
I could hear thunder booming in the distance and Trust your gut William. Safe. This is safe.
resonate in my eardrums. The lights suddenly
shut off, but I was only surrounded by darkness I looked to the man and said, “Thank you very
unƟl the back-up generator spurred to life. I took much sir. You have no idea how long I’ve been
a deep breath to calm my nerves, placed my pen out there.”
on the table, and pushed the chair back to stand
up. I put the few possessions I brought with me in “No problem man, where ya’ headed?” he re-
my green duffle bag and made my way towards plied. He seemed to be scanning me up and
the door. I slowly pushed it open and slipped out down.
of my room into the long, ominous corridor.
“Creede, Colorado. Anywhere around there
I crept down the hall, listening to each soŌ foot- would be great.”
step. I could only see by the faint light of the flick-
ering bulbs that lined each side of the hallway. I “Right on my way” the man said with a chuckle.
walked out the front door and closed it quietly
behind me. As I stood on the porch of my second He pulled away from the side of the road and we
home I froze. Rain. Cold rain fell from the sky and were off.
rolled off the overhang above the porch. Fear
struck me once again. I had no choice; I had to The man gave me a very suspicious glance and
make a break for it. said, “Tell me. What the hell were you doing out
there?”
Don’t think about pneumonia, don’t think about
pneumonia. Everything will be fine William. Do it “Well, honestly I messed up. I leŌ my family a
for your family. while ago and I’m just tryin’ to get back to them. I
just hope they can forgive me.”

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Revista Adelaide

“I see. Well nobody has ever done anything so small, run-down apartment in New York City. I
bad that they can’t be forgiven.” saw my mother passed out, drunk and drooling
on the floor. Then, I saw my father come home
“I hope to God that you’re right.” from a long day at work and try to shake her
awake. She was beyond reaching, so he gave up
We sat in silence for a moment. It was excruci- and melted into the couch. I could see on his
aƟng. Alone with a stranger in a car, with nothing sunken face how Ɵred he was. How mad he was.
to talk about. I could feel my pulse race faster. I A shudder ran down my spine and I shook the
had to break the silence. I couldn’t take it any- memories away.
more.

“Normally I would never go out in the rain like The rain. Look at the rain William. Nothing

this” I blurted out. maƩers except the rain.

“Oh really? Why’s that?” We conƟnued down the road in silence. I saw the
signs leƫng me know I was close to home as I
“Well I could get pneumonia of course. The cold watched the lights on the side of the road rush by
rain like this. It’s just waiƟng to happen.” me repeatedly. Finally, I had arrived.

He laughed slightly and shook his head. As I opened the door to get out the truck, the
man grabbed my arm and said, “Hey. Look aŌer
“Something funny?” I said. yourself. Okay?”

“Well I mean, the chances of that happening are I pulled my arm out of his grasp and slammed the
preƩy small man.” door. As I watched the red, brake lights get small-
er and smaller, the man’s voice played on a loop
“Oh, it could happen. There’s a lot of shit out in my head. I listened to his words while I walked
there that can kill you and I don’t intend to meet from the center of town, to my family’s home.
death for a while now. Scares the hell ouƩa me.” I
replied. Look aŌer yourself. Look aŌer yourself. Look aŌer
yourself. Why the hell did he say that to me? I
“What else scares you like that?” he asked. know damn well that I need to look aŌer myself.

“Where do I even start? Airplanes, boats, eleva- The voice stopped as I stood face to face with my
tors, escalators, the sun, germs, dogs… to name a past. I paced back and forth on the doorstep for
few.” almost an hour, contemplaƟng what I should say.
My focus broke as I heard a dog bark inside.
He gave me an uneasy look. Suddenly, I felt like I
had shared too much. I was very thankful when William! William, did you hear that? A dog bark-
he changed the topic. ing? We never had a dog. Why is there a dog
barking in that house William?
“So, you’re geƫng back to your family huh? Mom
and Dad must be preƩy upset you’re gone?” he One more deep breath. I mustered up my cour-
chuckled. age and knocked on the door. The wait seemed
unbearable. The barking inside got louder and
He smiled his big, dumb smile again. In that mo- louder. I heard light footsteps approaching the
ment, I hated him. The hole in the pit of my stom- door. Finally, the door creaked open, but instead
ach grew larger and began to consume me. I of my wife I came face to face with a stranger.
could feel my blood boiling and my hands ball
into fists.

“No.” I said coldly. “Hello, can I help you?” she said.

I looked out the window and stared at the rain, “Um, my family. I’m looking for my family, they
trickling down the glass. He shot me an uneasy live here.” I stammered.
look again.
“I’m so sorry sir, I don’t know what you mean.
“I’m only messin’ with you man. Don’t take it too This is where I live.” She replied.
serious” he said.
“My family! Where the hell is my family?” I hol-
I didn’t speak to him again. My mind flashed to a lered.

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Adelaide Magazine

“Please, I don’t know! I have no idea!” she said, “Who the hell was that? What is going on?
backing away from me. Where’s my family?” I pleaded.

I couldn’t believe her. They wouldn’t just leave The officer sighed and said, “William. That was
me. They would’ve wait for me. I started to feel it your daughter.”
again. The anger building up inside of me. Taking
control of me. “Impossible” I scoffed, “My daughter is ten years
old.”
“WHERE ARE THEY! STOP LYING TO ME!” I
screamed. “William. How long do you think you’ve been
gone?” he asked.
She looked at me, completely frozen. Too scared
to move. I knew I was frightening her, but I could- “Eight months! I’ve been at my summer home for
n’t stop. Then, her face lit up as if she recognized eight months.” I said. “Please, enough! Let me
me. A spark of hope lit in my gut, but she speak to my family. I messed up. I know that, but I
slammed the door in my face. I heard the door can fix this! I’ll make it beƩer and we can be to-
lock behind her and as the door locked, I felt my- gether again. I just need to explain!”
self fall apart. I kept screaming and banging on
the door. Before I knew what I was doing, there “Ten years” the police officer replied.
was a rock through her window. I couldn’t control
the rage. “What?” I asked.

I heard sirens in the distance. Red and blue lights “You’ve been gone for ten years William. You
began to flash around me. Nothing made sense were admiƩed to a mental asylum ten years ago
anymore. I dropped to my knees, placed my aŌer what happened.” He said coldly.
hands over my face, and wept. They cuffed me
and threw me into the back of a police car. Down “What the hell are you talking about? Where is
to the staƟon. For some reason, it all felt so famil- my wife? Where are my two girls?” I said, growing
iar. impaƟent.

When we arrived at the police staƟon, they sat “God, William. They’re dead. They’ve been dead
me in a cold room and asked me a long series of for ten years.”
quesƟons. Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door.
The police officer in the room opened it and “What? I don’t…What happened?” I said.
talked briefly to his colleague. Then, he slipped
out of the room. I was only alone for a moment, “You were under the impression that your wife
when a young woman walked in. She took the was having an affair. Started to doubt everything.
seat across from me and stared at me for a while. Started asking if your kids were really yours. One
day, we think, you snapped. Murdered your wife
Her brown eyes met mine when I said, “Who are and youngest daughter in a fit of rage. Your oldest
you?” survived, she was out of town with family friends.
That’s who you just met.”
She seemed to wince as she said, “You don’t re-
member me?” Silence. My mind was in shambles. I couldn’t even
wrap my head around what he was saying. Then I
There was pain in her voice. Her soŌ eyes seemed felt it again. The rage. It prodded at me and filled
to peer directly into my soul. my gut unƟl I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“No. I’ve never seen you before in my life” I re- “You’re lying. YOU’RE LYING TO ME! That’s abso-
plied. lutely impossible. There’s no way!” I screamed.

She started sobbing and ran out of the room. I “You called us when you finished. We found you
had never been more confused in my enƟre life. cradling their bodies in your front lawn William…
The police officer came back in to check on my I’m sorry.” He responded.
condiƟon.
My vision tunneled. I saw a white, burning light
consume the room. I couldn’t think. My world
had just been set on fire, and all I could do was

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Revista Adelaide

watch the ashes driŌ to the ground. My heart was About the Author:
beaƟng out of my chest and tears fell from my
eyes. Mari Wise says: I am a writer from Santa Barbra,
California, currently living in a quiet town in Ches-
“You’re lying! You’re lying! It’s not true!” I ter County, Pennsylvania. I am currently working
screamed through tears. on a collecƟon of poetry and short stories. The
topics of my work range from insights about soci-
In my hysteria, I barely felt the needle plunge into ety to human emoƟons and their percepƟons of
my neck. The room started spinning, everything the world. In my free Ɵme, I enjoy creaƟng music
was moving. My eyelids felt as heavy as stone and with a variety of instruments including the cello,
I was losing the baƩle it took to keep them open. piano, guitar, and marimba. I also spend a great
SƟll crying, my world went dark. deal of Ɵme reading novels from an eclecƟc group
of genres; though science ficƟon is my favorite.
I woke up and greeted the beauƟful morning.
Through my window, I saw the sun rise over the
evergreen trees. I immersed myself in chorus of
blue, purple, and orange, grateful to witness the
first masterpiece of the day. God, how lucky I am
to live in a place like this? Absolutely breathtak-
ing. I pulled out the chair that was tucked under
my desk and sat down. I took a deep breath and
began wriƟng.

It has been eight months since I’ve seen my family
and it’s about Ɵme I got back to them…

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Adelaide Magazine

MEETING
MELISSA

by Edith Boyd

The gate guard’s voice was different. Less defer- meet someone who knew my Jack. As her silver
enƟal. Honda pulled into my driveway, I had a moment
of panic that she had come to harm me, but en-
“Mrs. Palmer, there’s a young woman named during the chronic grief was so debilitaƟng, I did-
Melissa here to see you. “ n’t care what she did to me.

“Did she tell you her last name?” I said. “I don’t Or so I thought.
know a Melissa, nor am I expecƟng one, Officer
Williams.” “Mrs. Palmer, I’m Melissa Hobart, and I knew Mr.
Palmer from the Slater office in Chicago.”
“She said she worked in Mr. Palmer’s Chicago
office.” Keeping the door slightly open, I summoned my
most formal Sailfish Cove tone, and said, “What
Jack…. The gate guard menƟoned Jack as if he may I do for you, Ms. Hobart?”
were sƟll alive. As if all were not lost to me.
She fumbled in her purse and I feared a gun, and
“Doris,” I said, breaking the protocol of Sailfish nearly slammed the door. Her slender fingers
Cove, with its Officer this and Mrs. That. “Does produced an i-phone photo from Slater with Jack
she seem dangerous?” surrounded by employees, including her.

“Not for me to say, Mrs. Palmer,” the gate guard “Come on in Melissa,” I said and directed her to
said, “but she seems O.K. And, of course I had a the den.
good look at her license.”
“Would you like coffee, water…a soda?”
“Please send her in, Officer Williams. And enjoy
your evening,” I said, and she added, “I should “No, I’m good, Mrs. Palmer.”
have said something earlier. I’m so sorry, Mrs.
Palmer. The Mr. was never too busy to greet me “Call me Kathy,” I said as I went into the kitchen
and the other guards, and we appreciated it.” and grabbed two boƩles of water, relieved that I
feared the imagined gun. Perhaps my depression
Jack wouldn’t noƟce differences in people’s occu- was a sliver lessened.
paƟonal status, as driven and ambiƟous as he was
in his work. He endeared himself to everyone he I sat across from Melissa in one of our matching
met. Maybe a bit too much to aƩracƟve women, eggshell colored couches, and I noƟced she de-
but even then, he was guileless and remained, in voured the water, aŌer thanking me.
his mind, the geek who couldn’t woo the girl. But
woo me he did, enough for me to be admiƫng a “I wanted to meet you. “ she said directly, and
stranger who said she knew him in his Chicago then rolled her tongue over her upper lip and
office, said, “Mr. Palmer told me about you.”

TrusƟng the guard’s insƟncts, I prepared myself to Oh no, I thought, Jack was not only unfaithful, he
had dipped into the twenty year old set.

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Revista Adelaide

“You knew Mr. Palmer well enough to discuss “Waking up, thinking he was at work, and re-
me?” I said fearfully. membering the horror of it all. Or watching one of
our crime shows, and turning to tell him who was
“Whatever went on between the two of you….” I the villain, and seeing his spot on the couch emp-
trailed off, kicking myself for how wimpy I sound- ty. Nothing you have to say to me can be worse
ed. Why couldn’t I behave like the heroines of than that, or at least that’s what I thought unƟl
stage and screen who delivered the perfect line now.”
with grit and panache?
“Mrs. Palmer, I thought you knew. My mother
Melissa looked over at the painƟng on the wall, thought you did.”
and there was something in her profile that was
vaguely familiar. I had a few cousins in Chicago Her mother. There was no way I was ready to
whom I never met. hear any details about Jack’s other woman. Clear-
ly, the man and the marriage I was mourning
“Are we related ?” I blurted out. were a sham. I didn’t want to cry in front of Melis-
sa, and I needed Ɵme to absorb the shock of infi-
“Sort of,” she said, as she repeated that tongue delity. Maybe there were countless other women
rolling thing, and I knew. She was related to Jack. and maybe other children, which pierced me, and
By blood. reminded me of the torture of trying to conceive.

“He said he was going to tell you, or I would have Feeling as if Melissa meant me no harm, I fum-
done this differently.” bled for my i-phone and asked her to enter her
contact informaƟon.
“Tell me what?”
“Please leave,”I said, as I made my way to the
She opened her mouth, then closed it, and aŌer a front door and held it open.
few seconds said,
She didn’t say anything, but I noƟced her eyes
“That I’m his daughter.” were watery and she did the lip thing…so like
Jack. As devastated as I was by his decepƟon, I
I got up from the couch and paced around the had a sense that I would need to meet with Melis-
kitchen trying to do the math. She seemed about sa again. There was so much I needed to know.
twenty. That would have put us smack in the mid-
dle of ManhaƩan and the ferƟlity specialist. I went to the fridge and popped open a soda, and
returned to the couch…the spot where I heard
I grabbed the edge of the kitchen entry and said the news that exploded my universe. Jack loved
slowly and maliciously, “How old are you?” another woman, and I never sensed it. My mind
went through the Ɵme nine months before the
“I turned nineteen in May,” she said earnestly. May Melissa was born. Blessed or cursed with a
photographic memory of dates and Ɵme. I could
In the way shock lets normal thoughts through, I re-create my birthday in July that year, and the
thought how open young people are. frequent trips to New York to the doctor who
promised us a baby. I had no clear memory of
Here comes this liƩle creep to ruin my life, and Chicago trips during that Ɵme, but did remember
she has no clenched fists or shoulders. No fear several hurricane warnings that kept Jack from
that I may be extremely fond of my Second flying home.
Amendment rights. She just sat there, living proof
of my failure to give birth, with a guileless, open As I sipped my Pepsi, I mentally repeated Jack’s
expression. many assurances that I was enough for him with
or without a child. That we were enough. That we
“I’m a Taurus,” she said, as if that explained eve- were a complete circle unto ourselves. What a
rything. crock, I thought as the tears started to flow. My
silent criƟcs during the services who thought me
I sat down on the couch across from her and sur- heartless and stoic would be pleased to see my
prised myself by saying, “When I lost Jack, I didn’t tears, to see me behave like a normal widow…
want to go on living.” whatever that was.

She started to speak, but then looked at me in-
stead.

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Adelaide Magazine

More than ever, I wished I had a sister to comfort But as soon as I met her liƩle boy, nearly a tod-
me. I envied the tales of sisterly support and fun dler, hiding behind his mother’s leg, I fell in love
from the Ɵme I was a small child, talking to my and developed a relaƟonship with him that has
dolls, pretending they were the siblings I didn’t lasted. Of all the sympathy notes I received aŌer
have. I couldn’t share these feelings with my Jack’s death, the one from Travis really got to me.
Mom as she’d hoped for a house full of kids, and Even if Julie prodded him to write it, the words
was only able to have me, Kathy Dolan, the only were hearƞelt and belonged to Travis, and I felt
child surrounded by all the Mc Gee and Conway not envy of Julie’s motherhood…just a strong love
kids. for her child.

And when one of the Conway kids envied my I sent Julie a text before calling her. I used my
mounds of Christmas presents, I envied the land line to ensure good recepƟon and spilled the
squeals of delight and banter in their home. story of meeƟng Melissa.

In spite of the living proof of Jack’s secret life, I “Kathy, I’ve never lied to you, and I won’t now.
consoled myself that he did love me and my de- I’m truly shocked by this. Jack loved you com-
sire for a child interfered with our close- pletely. It had to be a one night thing, a blunder,
ness…..unƟl we gave up. We had ruled out adop- an aberraƟon.”
Ɵon for various reasons, and as I pedaled back-
ward in Ɵme, the year before Melissa’s birth was And then she started to cry. She switched gears
not one of our good ones. quickly, and in the language of best friends said
between hiccups, “What’s she like?”
However, the taste of betrayal was very biƩer. I
got up and poured my soda down the sink and “Sweet, young, slender…open. And she does the
decided to go to the gym. I would pant and sweat lip thing like Jack.”
through memories of my life with Jack, from the
Ɵme he approached me on campus unƟl the day Julie became really quiet. I could tell she was
he lay next to me moƟonless, his spirit having about to say something I wouldn’t like.
departed while I slept.
“Spit it out!” I said.
The gym had become a friend of sorts, as I navi-
gated the hellish loneliness of becoming a widow. “Maybe Jack sent her to you to tell you what he
I hadn’t befriended the sƟff people of Sailfish died feeling guilty about. Or to keep him close to
Cove. I preferred the gate guards to the residents, you in some way.”
something Jack and I had in common. A stab of
fear went through me that Officer Williams would “Oh, for heaven sakes, Julie. Jack cheated on me.
deduce that Melissa was Jack’s child and share it Had a child with another woman. Deceived me
with the other guards. My fear was reduced when unƟl the end of his life. Please don’t give me your
I realized Doris Williams, the gate guard, was not L.A. hocus-pocus.”
a gossip, and even if she were, nothing in life
would alter the fact that Jack was gone. “I’m sorry, Kathy. I really am. “

When I arrived home from the gym, I felt a liƩle “Me too, Jules. Thanks for listening. I’m gonna go
lighter and decided to call my friend Julie. I now.”
checked the Ɵme as it was three hours earlier in
L.A. Julie loved her home and sƟll had a few teen- The morning aŌer my conversaƟon with Julie, I
agers whom she worshipped at home with her. awakened with something other than the leaden
Our friendship became strained when she was feeling of loss. I was curious. Before I lost my
pregnant with her first child, Travis. Always empa- nerve, I sent Melissa a text and asked if she could
theƟc, she waited to tell me her good news know- meet me at the campus Starbucks. Although we
ing the envy and angst it would invoke in me. I didn’t discuss much about her life, I knew she was
remember the evening she called when phone aƩending Cutler University near my home. The
calls sƟll arrived through land lines. I did the best I whole encounter was so shocking, I hadn’t even
could to fake a joy I didn’t feel. thought about how weird it was that she would
be going to school near me.

I had a hard Ɵme holding on to anger at Jack. Or

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Revista Adelaide

my curiosity was greater than any feeling I had “When I got up the nerve to meet with Mr. Palm-
felt other than grief in a long Ɵme. er privately, he beliƩled me by expressing regret,
then saw I felt hurt, and soŌened his tone. He
Melissa stood up as soon as I entered Starbucks. knew the encounter that caused me to be in the
She had chosen one of the cushy love seats for world, and he lost all veneer of Mr. Businessman,
our meeƟng. It was hard not to be taken with her and told me about you, and how he had to live
delicate bone structure and her open manner. with the guilt of that night in Chicago.”

She started first. “My Mom was in remission from Oh Jack, I hope you suffered, I thought as I was
MS. She had a one night fling with a businessman. dying for more details of the part that made me
Not long before the MS killed her, she told me seem cherished. I didn’t want the part where
how my father loved you and made my mother Melissa’s mother had six pack abs, or something
feel somewhat shabby as he spoke aloud of be- like that.
traying you. She told me who he was, but she
never told him about me.” On a subsequent trip to Starbucks, Melissa was
free from classes, and I invited her to my home
“Did she have a way of reaching him?” I said, for take-out food. We seƩled on Chinese. I could-
stricken with fear of the other woman. n’t ask Melissa all the quesƟons I wanted to about
her mother, as the young woman was clearly grief
“It didn’t take research to know about the Slater -stricken without her. I knew the feeling…. During
office, so I assume he told her that,” Melissa said the Chinese meal which allowed us to loosen up,
looking down. she told me how she and Cutler University came
together.
“How did you meet him?”
Jack, who only met Melissa in the past year, pre-
“I interned at Slater so I could get to know him. “ paid her tuiƟon in a gesture to bring her close to
us.
“Did your mother know?”
“We had a few lunches in a deli, where he was
“She was already gone when I met your hus- guarded, and told me about you….a lot. He said
band.” aŌer you killed him, you would be decent to me. I
believed him, so here I am. And you are beƩer
My husband Jack. Gone from this world leaving than decent.”
me to face this alone.
Did I kill Jack? I wondered…all that passive aggres-
Siƫng here in Starbucks with Melissa Hobart sion, and obsession over our lack of children?
Palmer. My husband’s daughter. Harping on him that he worked too much, which
allowed me to sit here in a beauƟful home paid
I had no financial worries, which is a lot more for…no mortgage note strangling me…
than many women go through at the loss of their
husbands. I began to enjoy meeƟng Melissa, beƩer than my
ouƟngs with some of my neighbors.
“Try not to hate my Mom. She was single. She
was sick. And she was happy to have me. And I, One evening, three months aŌer meeƟng
her,” she said with such grace and dignity that all I her, I admiƩed to myself that I liked Jack’s kid. .
could do was stare. Perhaps it was aided by the chardonnay I was
sipping.
Melissa was well-spoken and intelligent.
We agreed that she would call Jack just
She checked her phone and said she had to make that… Jack.
a class.
“Jack didn’t take care of living expenses.
We both halƟngly said we would meet again, and Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful as hell to be at
she added a guileless, “I don’t have many friends Cutler. But I probably won’t be able to stay on,
here.” Neither do I, I thought to myself as I made without a beƩer job,” she said maƩer-of- factly.
my way home.

The following week, at Starbucks, I heard a lot
more about Jack which redeemed him somewhat
in my eyes.

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Adelaide Magazine

This was the same night I asked if Jack wanted a About the Author:
paternity test.
Edith Gallagher Boyd is a former French language
“No he knew my mother’s name, and that she teacher. Her short ficƟon has been published in
lived in Naperville.” mulƟple online literary magazines, and can be
found by googling her full name. Her short story, "
I had a hard Ɵme breathing thinking of his re- The Flower Shop," published in The Furious Ga-
membering this woman’s name for twenty years. zelle, appears with her nickname, Dee Gallagher
I nearly lost all kindly feelings about the situaƟon. Boyd. She lives in Jupiter, Florida.

But as I was walking Melissa to her car, I imagined
the cuckoo clock Jack loved Ɵcking in the den, and
I was pierced with joint stabs of loneliness and
affecƟon, and said,

“There’s plenty of room for you here in your fa-
ther’s home, Melissa.”

She did the lip thing, and looked away, and said
quietly, “Thanks Mrs. Palmer.”

“Kathy,” I said, blinking back tears. “Please call me
Kathy.”

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Revista Adelaide

FIRST SIP

by Haley Biermann

Everything is more charming in Harvard Square. what I’m ordering, of course. I first heard the
The thought occurs to me as I approach the name of the concocƟon my first year of graduate
wooden framed doors of the slightly curved Star- school. Olivia and I had come here to study for
bucks on Mass Ave. Their two windows, like rec- Renselier’s first major exam, which was notorious
tangular eyes, allow me to peer in before I pull for being in all intents and purposes, a major shit
them open. It’s the anƟcipaƟon I like, I think. I show.
can see glimpses of the hanging ceiling lamps that
offer a dim, and sort of nostalgic illuminaƟon over Olivia watched my eyes fluƩer wildly as they cas-
long wooden tables and firm chairs. There are caded over the endless cursive scrawls of caffein-
students with laptops, laughing lawyers in suits, ated possibiliƟes, her lips curving into an amused
and old friends dressed for a night out— leather, smile.
buƩon down skirts, red Ɵghts.
“You do know what Harvard girls order, don’t
I pull hard on the handle, and become a part of you?”
the warm and familiar space. The door shuts si-
lently behind me, sealing me inside. It’s silly but I I knew she was joking but I felt like a down right
can’t help but whisper a sincere thank you to it idiot when I let out a high-pitched laugh while
for saving me from the shockingly frigid grasp of holding up my hands in an awkward surrender to
the late November wind. Knowing that this is just my ignorance.
Boston’s gentle introducƟon to months of an in-
terchangeable tangle of grey, snow, and cold Olivia gazed seducƟvely through her eyelashes,
makes me want to stay inside unƟl I spy liƩle Ɵlted her chin downward for dramaƟc effect, and
green leaves budding on the trees. The sharp and said in her best husky Italian accent, “Cinnamon
obtrusive sounds of roaring engines, horns, and Dolce LaƩe. Grande per favore.”
shouts of the evening are magically muffled as if a
giant, heavy blanket was thrown over the enƟre Again I knew she was kidding. But it did have a
square. Instead my ears eagerly consume the nice ring to it, and I was a Harvard girl. If I had
pleasant hum of quiet chaƩer and grinding coffee learned anything at school, it’s that dangling from
beans. that big H are ExpectaƟons, and it’s best not mess
with them. Maintain your Composure. No Men-
The worn floorboards creek a liƩle as my feet tal Breakdowns. What to Study. Who to be
carry me mechanically to the line, which isn’t half Friends with. Which Guy to Date. Marry. If I was
bad considering it’s a Friday night. It’s funny, it expected to drink this cinnamon thing, I’d give it a
moves in a kind of rhythmic way. The barista asks try. The expanse of chalky white scribbles wasn’t
how she can help, the customer gives his or her so scary once you picked one with prevalent ap-
habitually insƟncƟve response, next person in proval and stuck with it.
line. I like the steady and predictable flow,
the sort of thing you can tap your foot to. I know I’ll have a tall Pike please. Iced Cascara LaƩe.
Caffè mocha, no cream. I close my eyes and listen

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to the voices ahead of me reciƟng their chosen is smiling, encouraging me. She knows I’m not
beverages. like the other girl.

“What can I get for you?” I let out my trapped breath and my rigid shoul-
ders relax. “Yes, grande please.”
“Oh umm. Wow—there’s so many opƟons, aren’t
there? I think it’s my new mission to try them all I quickly pay and move to the side to wait for the
at some point. But today I’ll just get a hot black man who makes the drinks to bellow out my
coffee, please. A small one.” name. He does, and I lurch forward and wrap my
hands around the cup before someone else can
My eyes snap open at the sound of the unex- mistake it for their own. I can’t stand it when that
pected lapse in rhythm. happens. You’re leŌ with the uncomfortable de-
cision of telling the thief that she has something
The culprit is a Ɵny twenty-something year old of yours, or geƫng back in line and ordering all
girl. She can’t be over 5’2’’. She’s standing there over again.
smiling up at the stone-faced barista, her head
just barely popping out from under her vibrant I don’t even have to look at it to know it’s mine—
green knit scarf. It looks as though it has half the smell of rich cinnamon is too strong for my
swallowed her body whole. mind to quesƟon it. I noƟce that the first leƩer of
my name has now been changed to an inky,
The barista rolls her eyes before asking the girl, scrawled K instead of a C, but these liƩle details
“Tall Pike?” don’t get to me as much as they used to. For
some reason I think the K makes me sound more
“Yeah, sure. I’ll have that,” the girl says with that couture anyways. I immediately head to the
foolish smile sƟll beaming across her face. stairs beyond the counter. I ascend to the second
floor, the cup warming my hands a liƩle more
The man in front of me shiŌs his feet and checks with each step. When I reach the top, the center
his watch. The woman next to him smirks, vague- of my palms are slightly moist.
ly entertained by the young girl’s awkward lack of
knowledge. I try to look anywhere but at that I hold the cup up so that the top of the brown
giant green scarf. Something about sharing the powdered whipped cream is aligned with my
dim room with the vibrant monstrosity makes me nose. The atmosphere around me becomes
feel claustrophobic. I can feel it trying to domi- blurred when I focus on it. My eyes follow round
nate my vision, making everything else around it and round the wide white ruffles from where they
look sallow and dull. float above the murky brown liquid. The rings get
Ɵghter and Ɵghter unƟl the cream reaches a deli-
My eyes dance around the green beast, and final- cate point, and then nothing. It reminds me of a
ly seƩle on the menu board behind the counter. I wedding cake topper and I can’t help smiling.
realize I haven’t looked at it since that day with Soon that sweet, familiar taste will kiss my lips,
Olivia. There are coffees, teas, laƩes, iced bever- dance on my tongue, and warm my throat. The
ages, drinks with expresso, and some I can’t even first sip is always the best. It is the promise of
idenƟfy. I suddenly feel as though I want to hold many more to come. Maybe you noƟce the sips
my breath so that I don’t drown. But part of me that follow less as your taste buds become accus-
also wants to open my mouth, just for a taste. tomed to the flavor, but that’s not what you’re
thinking about when you raise the cup to your
“Miss. Miss? Ma’am! What do you want?” mouth for the first Ɵme.

The barista’s gaze is on me and I freeze like a rab- I proceed to my armchair in front of the windows
bit in the road. What do I want? Cinnamon… that line the enƟre wall, granƟng customers a
Cinnamon what? I feel panic bubbling up inside lovely view of the whole square. I sink into it as
of me. The barista is looking at me expectantly. easily as a child slips into the lap of her father. I
Someone behind me clears his throat. am about to submit to the desire when I noƟce
something out on the square, behind the glass.
“Cinnamon…uh,” I stare at her blankly, brows
furrowed, and eyes pleading for help.

“Cinnamon Dulce LaƩe?” The barista offers. She

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