Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 24, May 2019

Revista Literária Adelaide

# “Patrick’s not at the paper anymore.”

I le early one Saturday so I could be back to “Huh?”
cover that a ernoon’s round of local footy
matches. The traffic was thin and I made it “He’s in pallia ve care.”
in half the usual me. I drove past the paper
and wasn’t at all surprised to see Gil’s ute #
parked out front. Alcoholic or not, the man
was dedicated to his rag. I hadn’t intended to visit Patrick specifically,
but I spent the rest of that day by his bed-
Stopping at the Lighthouse Café for what side at Southern Peninsula Hospice, which
used to be my regular Saturday brunch me shared its grounds with a rehabilita on unit
treat–a toasted ham-and-cheese bagel and a doctor’s surgery. While working for
and espresso–I bumped into Angela, Gil’s Gil, I’d covered the complex’s opening and
long-suffering recep onist. had remarked, somewhat tongue-in-cheek,
to a fellow reporter what a job the ambos
“What are you doing here?” would have picking the right place.

“Buying coffee.” “Yeah,” he said, standing back from the
gaggle of poli cians and health officials. “I’d
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t mean here.” hate to come here with a broken leg and
end up in the croaker ward.”
“I know,” I said, having her on. “I thought
I’d come for a drive, see if the place has With Angela’s words fresh in my ears, I had
changed.” li le trouble loca ng the pallia ve care unit.
While pa ents on crutches and in wheelchairs
“Unfortunately, no,” she said, stepping milled about the first two buildings, the third,
aside to let someone in. “I take it your new enclosed on three sides by a perfectly mani-
job’s going well?” cured box hedge, sat there in stately repose
like a private homestead. Inside, its hushed
“Busy,” I said, not wan ng to sound too tones made me feel acutely self-conscious, as
pleased. “And you’re s ll at the paper?” if I were entering someone’s abode.

Angela’s pained expression told me all I Indeed, the look I got from the nurse at
needed to know. the front desk seemed to demand an expla-
na on.
“As a ma er of fact, I just drove past.
Saw Gil’s truck outside.” “I’m here to see a friend,” I said, at the
same me switching off my phone.
“That’d be right. He’s having trouble at
home. Spends most of his me at the office I’d called work to say I wouldn’t be able
these days.” to cover the footy, ci ng family reasons.

“I suppose Patrick’s bearing the brunt.” “What’s their name?”

At this Angela regarded me oddly, as if “Mountjoy.”
I’d u ered something inappropriate.
The nurse consulted a list and studied
“I’m sorry,” she said, shi ing about in me even more closely. When Angela told
her runners. “You obviously haven’t heard.” me how quickly Patrick had deteriorated,
I cursed myself for not returning sooner.
“Heard what?”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Now the nurse looked like she was about to shock of seeing him thus reduced, I was
tell me I was too late. understandably slow to respond. “I only
came for a drive but I had to run into An-
“He’s very red today so as long as you gela didn’t I?”
keep it brief…” She stepped around the
desk and led me down the carpeted pas- “Oh,” he said, turning to gaze at the ceil-
sageway where pot plants and embroider- ing again. “She tell you what it was?”
ies enhanced the building’s homely feel.
Halfway down I snuck a peek in one of the “Uh-huh.”
rooms. A small hairless head turned to face
me, otherwise preoccupied with something “She tell you how long?”
I hopefully had decades yet to prepare for.
“Just that it progressed quickly.”
Despite the nature of the place it wasn’t
all doom and gloom. There was a certain Patrick nodded. “Then you’d be er have
calming tranquillity as I padded along be- one of these.”
hind the nurse, whose interroga ve stance
had only been in the interests of her pa- A hand, uncannily large at the end of a
famine-thin arm, emerged from under the
ents. So music wa ed from some of the sheet. While he groped about in the bed-
rooms while in others murmured conver- side drawer, I dragged a chair over, already
sa on could be heard. Even though I’d yet sensing what to expect. Despite my vow not
to set foot in Patrick’s room, the spectre of to go near the stuff again, I dove eagerly
death was rapidly receding. into the Tupperware container like a child
raiding the biscuit barrel.
“I’ll get you to wait here a moment.” The
nurse paused outside the one door that #
was completely closed. Not a good sign, I
thought, the dread I’d just banished return- “I had a visit from the ex.”
ing with its big brother.
“Tommy’s mum?”
“Okay, you can come in.”
Patrick shook his head. “She wouldn’t
A crack in the curtain lit an emaciated visit me. Way I used to drink.
cheek, and as I drew nearer the Patrick I
remembered–the lean, square-shouldered Probably thinks I’m already dead.”
six-footer who could have been a swimmer
in another life–seemed to have melted into I was mindful of the need to keep talk
the ma ress. He turned towards me, blink- to a minimum. But you couldn’t stop a man
ing at the sudden intrusion of light. His eyes from reflec ng on his past, se ng things
looked dispropor onately large, set inside straight while he s ll had the chance. “May-
that gaunt face, and I realised that this was be Tommy thinks I’m already dead.”
the first me I’d seen him clean-shaven.
“Tell me about the ex,” I said, partly out
“I didn’t expect to see you again.” of curiosity, mostly out of concern we were
heading down a hopeless path. My move up
“No,” I said, knowing full well what town had yielded nil results as far as Tommy
he meant. My mouth had gone dry from was concerned and, as much as I wanted to
wai ng at the door and, together with the reassure him otherwise, what Patrick said
could well be true. “You must s ll be on
okay terms with her.”

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“We were only married eighteen months. “That’s right.”
Met at a bar. Both big drinkers back then.”
The nurse came around to my side, no
“But you’re s ll friends yeah?” doubt no cing the state of my eyes. “Are you
represen ng family?”
“Civil.”
“Just a friend.”
I could see he was ge ng red, but
when I made to leave he pushed the Tup- “Well, you can rest assured that we won’t
perware container towards me. let him suffer, if that’s what you mean.”

“Nurse said I’ll start having trouble swal- “How long does he have le ?”
lowing soon.” He helped himself to a cook-
ie and broke off a segment. “So how’s the “That I can’t say. But I would expect it
scribe fairing in the big smoke?” would be a ma er of weeks, not months.”

# “Right. Thanks.”

By twilight I was stoned. Not out-of-my-head “I can give you this.” The nurse handed
stoned like last me; more a happy to just sit me a fold-out brochure. “It should help you
there and do nothing kind of stoned. We’d ex- to understand the process be er.”
hausted our conversa on–and Patrick in the
process–and it was a relief to see him dozing It was a step-by-step guide on what to
peacefully and not have to fight for air. The expect in the final stages of a terminal ill-
nurse, much to my surprise, let me stay. I’m ness. I skimmed through it at home that
sure she detected a whiff of something when night and stuck it on the fridge next to the
she came to check Patrick’s obs, but she was footy fixture.
spor ng enough not to say anything.
#
Finally Patrick dri ed off for good and I
unglued myself from my chair and made my Patrick died ten days later. It was an unseason-
leaden way down the passageway, past the ably warm August morning and I was driving to
open doors where life was slowly ebbing work, admiring the wa le–and the odd female
away with quiet dignity. A new nurse had jogger–when Angela texted me the news.
clocked on and she glanced up curiously as I
trudged past, automaton-like. I rang her from work. From the noise in
the background I assumed she was at the
Outside it was dark and I breathed in the supermarket. But as it turned out, they
crisp winter air, conscious of how effortless were all there with Patrick: Angela, Gil, the
it was. I turned around and headed back new reporter, and a handful of locals who’d
though the doors. go en to know Patrick in recent years.

“Excuse me.” “It’s really lovely,” Angela sobbed gently
down the phone. “It’s like he’s asleep.”
The nurse looked up. “Can I help you?”
I could hear Gil cha ng to someone,
“I was wondering what will happen when probably a mate of Patrick’s.
he can’t breathe anymore.”
Coming across as the affable boss no
“You mean Mr Mountjoy?” doubt.

“Was there anyone there…at the end?”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

I remembered what the nurse said about Judy dabbed her eyes with a ball of s-
not le ng him suffer. S ll, the thought sue then stuffed it back under her sleeve.
of passing away without a loved one or a “We had some good mes though. Back in
friend at hand seemed irredeemably sad. the day. Patrick said you knew Tommy.”

“His ex-wife was with him I believe.” “Only as a fellow student.” It sounded
cold but I didn’t want her to think there’d
# been any sort of bond between us.

I had the chance to speak with Patrick’s ex, “I tried to get in touch with Tommy’s
Judy, a er the funeral. It was a low-key affair, mother…but she didn’t want to know.”
although a few newspaper colleagues from
his days at The Herald were good enough to A few stragglers filed past, nodding cour-
show up. The celebrant read a brief eulogy teously to Judy and myself. Then it was just
following which Gil, to his credit, gave an ac- the two of us–standing at the kerb, at the
count of Patrick’s me at the paper. The ab- end of a row of graves.
sence of family didn’t go unno ced; indeed,
if not for Judy, one could have been forgiven “Which brings me to why I stopped you
for thinking that here was a man who’d nev- just now. There are some things back at
er loved nor sired any children. the house that Patrick wanted you to have.
They’re not much but they meant some-
“Nice service,” I said a er Patrick’s coffin thing to him.”
had been lowered out of sight and the final-
ity of his passing hit home. “Sure,” I said, recalling the clu er of
Patrick’s bungalow–the mostly worthless
“Thanks,” Judy mu ered, walking de- computers and magazines that should have
murely ahead. Then, as I broke off to my car, been cleared out long ago.
I heard the cla er of s le os.
“I’ll come and grab it now if you like.”
“It’s Richard isn’t it?” Judy, face flushed
from her uncustomary jog, was suddenly “Not today,” Judy said, reaching for the
eager to speak to me. She extended a hand. ssue again. “I’ll let you know when.”
“Judy Fielding.”
It was then I realised she was s ll in love
I remembered what Patrick told me with the man.
about mee ng her at a bar. There was noth-
ing in her prim, business-like demeanour to #
suggest she’d once been a devotee of sa-
loon life. The bay shimmered like a cut jewel as I
stood surveying the near-empty beach.
“Patrick spoke about you. Said you
worked at the paper with him.” I would have preferred the cove to my-
self but on a day like this that was being a
“That’s right. By the way, I’m sorry for tad ambi ous. At least the only ones who’d
your loss.” witness my folly were an old man walking
his dog and a young couple holding hands.
“Thank you. Although I can’t say we
were in each other’s lives very much in re- I trudged back up the sand and un-
cent years. More’s the pity.” strapped the modified sur oard from the
roof of my late 1980s Mazda. With a few

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tweaks and tugs I had the makeshi mast in The de looked to be out, although I’m
place and the shower curtain nice and taut. at pains to say I wasn’t much of a beach-
goer–s ll aren’t–even though I somehow
“You may as well take this as well.” Judy managed to get that glorified ironing board
had said, standing at the threshold of Pat- to not just float but actually sail for a bit
rick’s spare room where the sailboard sat– that fine a ernoon. Eventually the whole
as yet untried by its maker. “God knows thing collapsed in a heap and I dragged the
what he was thinking…” ensemble back to shore, pleased that I’d at
least done some jus ce to Patrick’s cock-
I already had my arms full with a box of eyed inven on.
books and magazines Patrick had intended
for me–in par cular his scrapbook for which “She works,” I said, tying it all down. “You
I would have made the trip alone. hear me?”

“If you don’t want it I’ll leave it on the Across the waves a lone seagull gave a
nature-strip,” Judy said, no ng my indeci- solitary cry. At that moment we were the
sion. only two creatures about.

“No, I’ll take it.” I was trying to work out About the Author:
how I’d get it home without a trailer or roof
racks. Luckily, I was able to procure the lat- Chris an R. Fennell’s stories have appeared
ter from Patrick’s own rusted-out sta on in various print and online journals including
wagon. “What about the computers?” I Quadrant, Snorkel and An podes. In 2012 his
said, so accustomed to dodging those ob- award-winning story “Mirage” was adapted
solete hard drives and monitors each me I into a radio play. He lives in Melbourne,
entered Patrick’s abode I hadn’t given them Australia.
a thought ll now.

“Scrap metal,” Judy said. “They and the
car.”

“Do you mind if I have a go at selling
them?” I said, thinking I’d give whatever I
made to Mrs Dawes now that her star tenant
was among the stars.

With a flourish of the hand she indicated
that they were mine to do with as I pleased.

“Just think,” she said, watching me load
up the back seat. “Everything that was dear
to him–there in your car.”

“Not quite.” I was sure she knew what
I meant but she carried on as if she hadn’t
heard.

“There’s some other stuff in bags–disks
and so forth–I was going to take to the op
shop. You can have those too if you like…”

53

DRESSING THE PART

by Deirdre Fagan

The dress was boxed in 1990. The box s ll while sor ng some of Nick’s things. Sever-
had the dry cleaner’s receipt a ached to its al black trash bags were lumps on the floor
slightly yellowed side. Behind the cellophane beside the bed. Eva sat up, leaned over a
window, Eva could just glimpse the beaded bit, and peered through the window, con-
back of the dress; its accompanying veil kept sidering whether she should upset the ar-
the dress partly veiled. The veil itself had chival sanc ty of the gown. She heard the
ivory flowers decorated with pearls adorn- creak of the king-sized bed as she leaned.
ing the headband and trailing tulle sprinkled Their marriage bed. Eva slid down on her
with more pearls and edged with ribbon. back and looked up.
Eva recalled its cascade down her back. Her
auburn hair had at the me been shoul- She and Nick had shared this bed so many
der-length, though she had worn it twisted nights. Some mes they slept curled toward,
up into ribbons and bound with matching some mes away from each other. Some-
pearl-adorned ivory flowers. While her hair
had been up, she remembered fondly how mes they would lie on their backs staring
the cascade of the veil had felt like she had up at the speckled ceiling cha ng away into
had hair reaching to the small of her back. the night about work, the children, their fu-
As she danced in the arms of Nick so many ture, then collapse into giggling fits as some-
years ago, swaying back and forth, back and thing funny occurred to them or their signa-
forth, it had swung and swung, lightly teas- ture word play was introduced. Other nights
ing her back, largely bare, due to the plung- they read in bed side by side, occasionally
ing lines of the dress. Eva leaned her back pausing to read a passage to one another
against the headboard and closed her eyes. or ask a ques on about some word, place,
Swinging her head quietly and intently from or idea evoked. As Eva looked up now, she
side to side, she imagined the veil’s delicate no ced how the lace curtains draped over
touch glancing off her back once more. the canopy, and despite their constant pres-
ence, she took the lace curtains as a sudden
Eva’s hair was now a short bob of grey. indica on of what she must do.
The slate green of her eyes just as bright, if
only the white around them hadn’t become Eva’s waist had broadened with each
a bit more yellowed and blood shot with child. They had had three, two years apart.
age. Eva stroked the outside of the similarly The third was s ll at home, the second had
aged box she had hauled out of the closet just le , and the first had been away two
years at college. Eva remembered a woman
of about her current age, 56, commen ng on

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Eva’s own “lovely waist” on her wedding night There had to be something in there...a pen.
– Eva had nearly rushed the woman and her That would do. She ran the pen through the
friend as she had entered the bed and break- tape on the four sides of the rectangular
fast with Nick. The woman had turned to her box and then quickly flipped the box back
female companion and exclaimed, “Look at over. She took a deep breath. She closed
that lovely waist! I remember having a waist her eyes for a moment. She opened them.
like that!” Eva hadn’t at the me realized the She paused again. And then Eva began
full import of the comment. She now knew shaking the top of that box. A er about five
that woman had clearly known what she was shakes, the bo om fell to the bed. There
talking about. Waists are not something that was the veil and the dress, arranged so per-
improve with age. “With each child the waist fectly the way the past s ll appeared vivid-
expands,” Eva thought disappointedly, “at ly in her mind. Untouched. Archived. She
least two inches.” leaned over and breathed deeply. The dress
didn’t smell like Nick. It didn’t smell like the
The dress was a size eight. She was now fall day they had wed. It didn’t smell like
a size eight again, but she couldn’t imagine anything, except maybe an old piece of dry
her waist at all resembled the waist she had cleaning. First her heart sunk, but then her
once had. Even a er losing thirty pounds glee returned, “Nothing more to preserve
in the last six months, her waist had hard- then!” Eva hollered.
ly budged, or so it seemed. “Budged or
pudged?” It had pudged gradually over her Eva reached in and grabbed the dress
marriage to Nick. forcefully by its puffy shoulders. Crunch.
They had filled those capped sleeves with
Eva stood abruptly and walked to the
full-length mirror. She turned sideways. ssue paper to make it hold the shape of
Her stomach was prac cally concave. She her young shoulders. It was as though she
turned toward the front. She had always had been folded and put into a box, stuffed
had something of an hourglass figure, but and on display behind a cellophane win-
with a widened waist, she now appeared dow, only at the back of a darkened closet.
to be more boy shaped. More up and
down. There was hardly a dis nc on be- Eva quickly pulled the full length of the
tween waist and hip. She’d stopped ea ng dress out of the box, jumped off the bed,
meals, snacking instead when she became and took two quick steps toward the mir-
so weak she had to have food, and she’d ror. She held the dress in front of her. The
lost some of her hips, but less of her belly. dress was so much younger than she was. It
She stood staring at herself. She li ed her was so perfect. Un-aged. Not yellowed like
shirt over her head. She stood in her bra. the box or her eyes. As she considered put-
She removed her sweat pants and stood in
her underwear and bra. She brushed some ng the dress back in the box, she stared
grey hair behind her right ear. She lted her at her reflec on in the mirror, s ll holding
head to the side. Then she turned and leapt it before her underweared nudity. She then
onto the bed with a sudden feeling of hope. went and sat on the bed, held the dress
to her breast, and began sobbing. She had
She flipped the box over. Of course it been thinking about the dress for days be-
was taped shut. She lay on her belly across fore she had gathered the energy to shove
the bed and opened the end table drawer. past what remained of Nick’s things and re-
move it from the back of the closet.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Moments later, Eva stood and unzipped the wedding dress visible. She tore the cape
the dress. It was so so . Stepping into it, she off the hanger and tossed it over her shoul-
felt the sa n fabric against her thighs and ders. A quick hooking of the clasp and voila!
her sex momentarily awakened. It had been Eva felt reborn, well almost.
nearly dormant. Before sliding the dress up
and over her shoulders, she unsnapped her S ll standing inside the closet, Eva re-
bra and her 56-year-old breasts dropped called how she had so adored that veil trail-
from it. “They aren’t 30 year-old breasts,” ing down her back. She closed her eyes for
she said to herself. She raised her arms just a moment to picture it and leaned her
above her head as she kept the dress from head on the wall. The dress suddenly felt
sliding down her now nearly absent hips heavier.
by cocking her le leg up. Her breasts rose
ever so slightly with the raising of her arms. Pulling on the light string and closing
“There, that’s closer,” she chuckled at her the closet door, Eva thought about how few
reflec on as she contemplated whether brides veiled their faces. Eva hadn’t on her
plas c surgeons asked women to raise their own wedding day, even though it was s ll
arms above their heads to get an idea of the trend then. She wondered what myste-
where their breasts once were. She repeat- rious quality was lost by being able to see
edly li ed her arms over her head to test the bride as she approached; she wanted to
her theory, giggling aloud. be mysterious.

As Eva li ed the dress up and on to her Eva’s cape was beginning to feel warm as
forearms and then flabbier upper arms, she she hobbled up the stairs clumsily to look at
worried the dress wouldn’t zip. The capped the veil. The dress wasn’t sleeved, but it was
sleeves slid up and over. She turned her many layered, and that cape was wool. She
back to the mirror and began zipping. The caught a glimpse of her flushed reflec on
zipper made it part way up, perhaps farther in her bedroom mirror. She twirled. Smiled.
than she had expected, though it took some Then grimaced. There were so many lines
effort bending her arm to reach, but it was on her face. She didn’t look at all like she
never going to make it past the breasts that once had. As she approached the mirror for
had become fuller with children, too. That further inspec on, she no ced her chest
beau ful scoop back. It was going to have was turning red. It was becoming splotchy,
to be covered. With a sudden impish grin as was her face, from the heat. It was hot in
she recalled the ivory wool cape. She hadn’t here. A er another awkward descent, she
had to wear it that October day a er all. It turned the thermostat to 60 degrees be-
was s ll on its original hanger in a zipper fore climbing the stairs once again to con-
bag in the downstairs closet. sider the veil, huffing a bit as she con nued
to gather fists of gown in her hands, ring
Nearly tripping over the dress, then with yet another sixteen steps to the sec-
hois ng a handful with each fist, Eva prac- ond floor. She mu ered under her breath,
“Cinderella. Hrmph!”
cally hopped down the stairs to the hall
closet and eagerly unzipped the garment The veil was so delicate. The comb only
bag. All she had to do was fasten the hook plas c and Eva wondered how it could se-
and eye at the throat and the cape would cure itself enough in the grey hair she now
cover her bare age spo ed back but leave had. Her hair was smoother, perhaps, or

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thinner than it had been. Pinching the comb Eva went inside and walked carefully
of the veil between her thumb and forefin- into the kitchen, managing not to snag the
ger she made it dance back and forth. While dress on any of the furniture. She was in
her grey bob typically was parted slightly to the kitchen carefully ea ng a banana under
the le , she swung her head forward then her veil when Julia came in. “Mom! What
shook her head back to stare at the ceiling are you doing? Oh my God, is that your
again while she smoothed the crown of her dress from when you married Dad?” was
head with her le hand, and then gently followed by “Jeezus, it’s cold in here. What
placed the veil in a gathering of hair with do you have the air condi oning on?” Julia
her right before re-posi oning her head and made her way to the thermostat before Eva
gazing forward. could stop chewing the big chunk of banana
she had shoved in her mouth. Eva li ed her
Eva prac ced gliding around the room. dress and stretched her big toe far enough
She paused to look out the window, out from under it to hit the foot lever on
stopped and stared at some of the spines of the trash and toss her peel, and then she
the books on her shelf, then walked over to briskly walked a er Julia. “Sixty degrees,
some of the portraits of the kids when they Mom? What the heck?” “I was hot,” Eva
were babies. With the cape on she would be said dismissively as she made a sideways
plenty warm if she went outside. She could glance and shrugged her capped shoulders.
hear the air blowing through the vents, but Julia mumbled something about hot flash-
since she was on the second floor, she was es and turned the thermostat up to 70,
s ll so hot, so she decided to return to the then whipped around quickly to focus on
first and stand by the dra y front door. her mother again. “So, let me look at you!
Mom, you look gorgeous! What made you
While standing by the front door, she take the dress out? It’s so cool!” Julia fin-
started to feel much more comfortable with gered the tulle on the skirt, then reached
the dress, with everything, so she opened for her mother’s slim hips and made her do
the front door and walked out a few steps a full turn. “I always wanted you to get this
to stand by the porch railing. dress out and let me see it. What’s with the
cape, though?” “I was cold,” Eva said.
The sun was star ng to set and Julia would
be home any minute from her part- me job Suddenly past the excitement of the
at the mall. For just a moment while a car dress, Julia began walking back towards
passed, Eva was self-consicous. She began to the kitchen talking to her mother while Eva
imagine Julia pulling into the drive while she stared a er her daughter’s perfect back. “So
was on the porch, but then she realized Ju- anyways, at work there was this annoying girl
lia, her girly-girl Julia, would love to see her who wanted to try on, like, everything in the
mother in the dress. She would be so excited store,” Julia began. Eva followed a er her. Ju-
to see it out of the box that she might even lia opened the fridge and looked inside. “She
want to try it on herself. Julia was slim, a per- just kept ordering me around to get her dif-
fect size six, with a perfect sixteen-year-old ferent sizes and colors of everything as she
waist. Julia was also a roman c. She loved shoved things over the top of the dressing
roman c comedies and Seventeen magazine room door,” Julia said as she shut the fridge
and lip gloss, despite her mother’s desires to in favor of an apple on the counter. “I swear,
turn her more towards dramas and Flannery Mom, what really sucked is the girl is in my
O’Connor and Chaps ck.

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homeroom. I hated having to wait on her like the bowl of popcorn and the rest of the
that,” she said before she took a bite. wine. Julia texted away to her boyfriend in
her next door bedroom as she o en did at
Eva offered some advice, “Yeah, that night. A er taking so many flights of stairs,
sucks, but those girls are always the ones Eva knew she would be fine.
whose aspira ons are limited to dressing
rooms,” but Julia failed to see the humor Eva awoke the next morning as if in a
and rolled her eyes as usual. She said, “See haze. She squinted and looked around the
ya later Mom,” as she headed up to her room. It was s ll very dark. The blinds were
room, and Eva was le to consider her limit- s ll closed and the sun wasn’t quite up. At
ed capacity to connect. first she forgot she had gone to sleep in the
dress and thought the bunch on top of her
As Eva sat at the kitchen table head down, was the quilt wrapped around and around.
feeling like a flop, she thought, “speaking When she li ed the quilt and couldn’t see
of flop,” as she stared at her breasts. They her toes because of the pouf of the dress,
were very visible to her, if only because she she was reminded what it was like to be
had a direct view of her own cleavage. She pregnant. She was reminded of those ba-
decided to retreat back to her bedroom, this bies on her ribcage, what it was like to lie
on her back in the late months of pregnan-
me with a twist-off bo le of white wine. cy. Impossible. Si ng up in the dress now
was a bit like that. Impossible. It took more
Eva stared at herself in the mirror and effort to li herself off of the bed and swiv-
unscrewed the top of the bo le. She li ed el her legs to the side than she had expect-
the veil and took a swig. ed. The night came back to her as her head
throbbed and she rubbed her eyes. “Maybe
She could most certainly wear it. She it was too much popcorn,” she playfully said
could save me ge ng ready from now aloud, feeling like the crunchy le over ker-
on. Didn’t Einstein do that? Wasn’t he the nels she loved had popped, ballooning her
one with all the same shirts and pants so he stomach like an air popper fills a bowl.
wouldn’t have to think about clothes any-
more? She wouldn’t be too cold outside if Eva had some difficulty ge ng into the
she wore the cape, and no place was run- mini-van. The dress was even bigger than
ning their heat enough inside. Now that her she had realized in the house. With the
circula on was poorer, she was o en cold, length and billow of the cape and the dress,
anyway. She took another long swig and de- and her eyes straining behind her progres-
cided she could even wear the dress to bed. sive lenses from under the veil, ge ng
into the van became an ordeal. She had
Her quilt wasn’t very thick, and with no tried moving her body in a familiar manner
warm body to keep her company, the bed to get behind the steering wheel, but she
had been feeling colder and colder. Nick got caught on the door and the wheel and
had always generated so much heat. couldn’t wedge herself in. She tried pulling
the dress ghtly and coming in tautly to the
A er polishing off half of the bo le of side, the way she was used to squeezing
wine while si ng on the edge of her bed in out of the door when some idiot parked too
her dress, Eva got the munchies and went close to the van, but that wasn’t enough
downstairs and popped some microwave
popcorn. She finally se led into bed, re-
moved the veil, and kicked her feet up with

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Revista Literária Adelaide

either. Huffing and puffing in the 40 de- a thought as she kneeled in the drive to
gree weather, and coming at the seatback secure the cans well to the hitch. A er giv-
by leaning in from the backseat, she finally ing the rope a good tug, Eva poked a hole
put the back as low as it would go and went through the wax paper lining each can. The
around to the driver’s seat and shoved her- cans wouldn’t drag on the ground, but they
self and the dress in. The dress was about would dangle very close to the road.
ten inches above her lap and held her el-
bows raised for her. She was going to drive With each bump Eva hit on the way to
with the ps of her fingers at ten and two. the university over the next few weeks, the
She was leaning far enough back that she daily refilled cans slowly shook a li le more
was going to have to look le through a of Nick’s ashes onto the pavement.
combina on of the driver’s side window and
the backseat’s side window. She looked in With each nightly refill, Eva began to feel
the rearview and then turned to look back- a bit lighter, even as the frequent swings
wards as she backed out, but her veil caught thru drive-thrus, two or more a day, caused
and kept her head from turning completely. her dress to become increasingly ght
“Brides should not travel by minivan,” she around the waist.
thought. “No wonder they take limos and
horse-drawn carriages.” While there were whispers in the halls,
and it became clear to the Dean that some
Barely reaching the pedals, Eva caught a were even enraged, mainly those who
glimpse of Julia out of the corner of her eye, never liked Eva in the first place, the Dean
who was now standing on the deck with her never said anything about Eva’s a re. He
mouth agape, a cereal bowl in one hand, a assumed she was taking her me teach-
spoon in the other. Eva gave her a queen’s ing Great Expecta ons, forge ng that Eva
wave and gunned it out of the driveway. taught American literature, and he admired
her ability to cap vate the students so. He
This was Wednesday. nodded approvingly in the halls. Julia also
adjusted easily; she was used to giving her
By the end of the weekend, Eva was get- mother li le thought.
ng into the driver’s seat with greater ease,
at least partly due to the wear and tear on While the gown seemed interminable
the dress. By then, she also realized she had to many, it really wasn’t more than three
been doing it all partly wrong. weeks before neither Eva nor Julia could zip
the back of Eva’s dress at all. Eva was s ll
Sunday night she tapped small holes into wearing the cape every day, the warm tem-
the bo oms of several soup and fruit cans peratures had not yet arrived, and it helped
with a screwdriver and a hammer while Ju- to cover some of the stains and tears that
lia was at work. She lined the cans carefully had begun to appear on the dress, as well
with wax paper and then filled them each to as the ever-widening zipper, but the gown
the brim before covering them with alumi- simply wasn’t comfortable anymore. Eva
num foil and a rubber band. began to feel sewn in.

Eva a ached the soup cans to the trail- Eva removed the dress and the cans one
er hitch of the mini-van with a rope in the night while Julia was at work, and filled an-
early morning hours on Monday, while Julia other black trash bag, adding another lump
s ll slept. She didn’t give the cape or gown to the bedroom floor.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine
About the Author:
Deirdre Fagan is a widow, wife, and moth-
er of two who has published poetry, fic on,
and nonfic on. She is a Pushcart and Best of
the Net nominee. Fagan is also the author
to Cri cal Companion to Robert Frost and
has published a number of cri cal essays
on poetry, memoir, and teaching pedagogy.
She is an associate professor and coordina-
tor of crea ve wri ng at Ferris State Univer-
sity. Meet her at deirdrefagan.com

60

“THE LAST DAY OF
GUSTAVO BUSTAMANTE”

by Conor O’Brian Barnes

A noble life is of no account, Gustavo Busta- He put his head down and thought of Em-
mante thought to himself. Death is a vulture manuel, his only bego en son. Emmanuel
feeding on jackals and lions the same. He had Down Syndrome. He died at seventeen
lay dying on the street in the Skid Row sec- of congenital heart failure. Gustavo found
him slouched over in his Lazy-Boy chair. Em-
on of L.A., swaddled in soiled blankets in manuel had the heart of an angel, at least
the shadow of the 110. I’m part jackal and un l his angel’s heart gave out, or was taken
part lion but the vulture will have all of me back by the seraphim who’d lent it to him.
soon. He knew his death was his own doing.
He’d been sucking on a bo le at the bo om Gustavo was only twenty-four when Em-
of the world for decades. I’ll be glad to be manuel was born. Carmen, the boy’s moth-
done with life when life’s done with me. er, was forty-two. She was pimply and porky
and pushy and crass, but over the years he
He li ed himself up and leaned his back learned to love her. She le Gustavo when
against the rusted fence to see what his pro- Emmanuel was three, and moved with her
tector, Leon the Preacher, was doing. Leon, new amour out of the country.
who always slept beside him on the pavement,
was in one of his trances mu ering to himself Leon li ed from the pavement, s ll in
what he always mu ered to himself, Psalm 23. his trance, and stretched his ragged hands
“The Lord is my shepherd: I shall not want…” above his bald, black head, “The Lord is my
shepherd; I shall not want!” the giant man
The human refuse stretched all around shouted. “He makes me lie down in green
Gustavo on the filthy street, huddling in pastures! He leads me beside s ll waters!
swarms under cardboard boxes and in tat- He restores my soul!”
tered tents. Howls of madness would of-
ten rent the air, some mes as tormented “I know preacher man, I know,” Gustavo
screams, some mes as diabolical laughter. said li ing his head, “but I’d prefer that
Gustavo was used to it. He was used to the you’d whisper your wisdom rather than
madness and the sadness and the constant shou ng it so loud!”
stench of piss and shit. He was used to it
and he’d be used to it un l the end. The dy- Leon dropped his hands and sat down
ing and the dead, that’s all there is. again. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not
want…” he quietly recited.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Gustavo’s chosen means of suicide was and Leon were gone, but Gustavo hadn’t
the vodka bo le, but his liver proved to be le his spot for days, and he wouldn’t leave
a valiant li le hero. He abused it almost it again, at least not as a living man.
daily while on the streets, but it took more
than twenty years before it finally crapped “Hey Gus, you sleepin?” Scroggins called
out on him. He wished it had crapped out to Gustavo s cking his head out of his tent.
sooner. “If you’re up, we got that bo le we owe you.”

If a man can get used to the grime and “You got my bo le?” Gustavo said wearily.
filth, he can get used to the streets. Be-
tween the state, the churches, and the vari- “We got it,” Pi said leaning out of the
ous private chari es, a man can usually find li le tent next to Scroggins and handing the
his three-square meals a day, and by clean- bo le to Gustavo.
ing churches and soup kitchens, panhan-
dling, and collec ng aluminum cans, he can Though he s ll had two 750-milliliter
scrounge up enough money to stay at the Smirnoffs under his pile of soiled blankets,
Cecil or the King Edward or the Con nental Gustavo didn’t want to open them yet, and
and hunker down with a bo le for at least was happy to take the 375-milliliter bot-
a li le while. In the two decades Gustavo tle from Pi . He cracked open the top and
had been without a home, he spent about poured the clear liquid down his throat. The
half of that me in flophouses drinking his melancholy weight that had clung to his
vodka alone. heart all day li ed, and he felt a giddy buoy-
ancy in his spirit. Perhaps there’s no heav-
In the last few months the social services en or hell and eternity is nothing at all he
had been trying to get a hold of him to dry thought smiling his drunken smile as Leon
him out and put him in a hospice–his liver the Preacher con nued mu ering his favor-
was finally surrendering to cirrhosis–but ite psalm, “You prepare a table before me
he’d avoided the authori es by blending in the presence of my enemies; you anoint
into the shantytown of cardboard boxes my head with oil; my cup overflows, Surely
and ta ered tents in the shadow of the goodness and mercy shall follow me all the
110. No one could get near him anymore days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house
because Leon the Preacher scared off every of the Lord forever… The Lord is my shep-
interloper. herd; I shall not want…”

Leon a ached himself to Gustavo short- Scroggins took out a 200-milliliter Smirn-
ly a er he found his final sleeping spot on off bo le of his own and began drinking
the greasy pavement. When Scroggins and from it. “Give me some of that,” Pi said
Pi , the occupants of the tent to Gustavo’s to Scroggins. “We have to share it half and
le , took the blankets off his back as he half!”
slept one chilly night, Leon appeared out of
the darkness and tore open their tent, roar- “Half for you and three quarters for me,”
ing with such fury that Scroggins and Pi Scroggins said taking a great swig from the
thought they’d angered a lion. They never bo le before giving it to Pi and crawling
tried to steal Gustavo’s meager possessions out of the tent. “You don’t look so good,
from that night on and even guarded his Gus,” he said kneeling next to Gustavo,
blankets and bag of toiletries when Gustavo “your skin’s yellow.”

“It’s been that way for a while.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“It’s more yellow than usual.” “You can have one tonight,” Gustavo said
reaching under his blankets and retrieving
“What can I say, Scroggins, I’m not long one of the bo les, “but I want two of these
for the world.” Smirnoffs in return for it tomorrow.”

“Your skin’s yellow and as dry and “Sure thing, Gus. You’ve got it!” Scrog-
cracked as the desert earth.” gins said seizing the bo le and scurrying
past Pi .
“Not much I can do about it, Scroggs. I’m
not long for the world, like I said.” “You’re one hell of a friend!” Pi said
disappearing behind Scroggins into their
“Doesn’t look like it, Gus, but at least tent.
you’ve got the Preacher by your side,”
Scroggins said nodding at Leon who was s ll Gustavo was ge ng drunk on the vodka
whispering his psalm. and the day was growing late. The shadow
of the 110 was lengthening and the sinking
“Yeah, at least I got him.” sun’s radiance bathed Skid Row in a heav-
enly glow. Nothing’s so er than the so ness
“Be er to have the Preacher by you than of a golden dusk Gustavo thought. I hope
no one at all.” beauty is eternal.

“Yes, Scroggins, that’s true.” Scroggins and Pi , ge ng drunk in their
tent, roared with laughter as Leon carried
“Be er to have the Preacher by you even on quietly reci ng his psalm and Gustavo
though he’s a loon!” poured the last of the Smirnoff into his
mouth. Closing his eyes, he thought of his
“True, so true.” only bego en son, Emmanuel.

“Be er to have the Preacher by you than When he opened his eyes, Gustavo
to die alone!” Scroggins said as Gustavo couldn’t see clearly; his heart was racing;
took another swig from his vodka bo le… he was dizzy. A ght and crushing sensa on
“Listen, Gus, I have a favor to ask…” gripped his chest; he couldn’t breathe. Leon
li ed from the pavement, s ll in his trance,
“What is it, Scroggs?” and stretched his ragged hands over his
bald, black head, “The Lord is my shepherd;
“Pi and I know you’ve got a couple of I shall not want!” he shouted. “He makes
bo les under your blankets. One rolled over me lie down in green pastures! He leads me
to our tent while you were sleeping last beside s ll waters! He restores my soul…”
night. We put it back and saw that you have
another one. We put it back cuz you and Hearing the Preacher shou ng his psalm
Leon are our friends. We even gave you the at the top of his lungs, Scroggins and Pi
bo le we owed you tonight, so you know peaked out of their tent to see what was go-
we’re solid… We were wondering if we could ing on. Gustavo was clutching his chest and
borrow another on credit? Of course, we’ll writhing in his blankets, gasping for breath.
replace it. Pi ’s ge ng cash from Western Scroggins went to him and wrapped his
Union soon and we’ll be buying plenty of arms around his shoulders. When he li ed
bo les; we’ll pay you back double.” his back off the blankets, Gustavo thought

“My sister’s sending cash tomorrow,” Pi
said finishing off the li le bo le of Smirnoff,
“a couple hundred bucks at least.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Scroggs was trying to save him, but when he About the Author:
took the last bo le under the blankets and
dropped him back on the pavement, Gus- Conor O’Brian Barnes was born in Berkeley
tavo knew that saving him had never been and educated at the University of California
his neighbor’s inten on. and St. Andrews University In Scotland. He
was a finalist for the Montaigne Medal for
As Gustavo con nued to gasp, Leon his essay “Musings at the End of Modernity.”
stooped down and leaned over him.
“Though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you
are with me; your rod and your staff, they
comfort me…” the giant shouted with his
eyes aflame. Gustavo couldn’t tell by the
madman’s contorted visage if he was angry
at him or if he was trying to save him with
the prayer he con nuously shouted, but the
blackness of Leon’s bald head soon melded
with the blackness that was swallowing Gus-
tavo’s field of vision, and that was the end.

64

A QUIET MAN

by A. Elizabeth Her ng

They came from every corner of the land, #
making the long, sad pilgrimage to the place
in the middle he called home. To say the man The figure in the casket was like a manne-
would be missed was a grievous understate- quin, a freakish wax-like approxima on of the
ment. His five children were as different as great man himself. They cringed as they ap-
it was possible for children to be, all hold- proached him, his heartbroken widow finally
ing a singular, vital thread between them. A placing an old pair of spectacles on his nose
thread that crackled and hummed with his in order to make him seem more like himself.
spirit, a quiet but inescapable imprint.
Mick French took his righ ul place be-
They grieved as one in their separate side the head of the casket, his preroga ve,
corners. Almost in spite of themselves, they as a firstborn son should do. His younger
came together as the winter sols ce drew brother Charles lingered at their father’s
near. This would be one cold, dark Christmas feet, rivalry dancing between them as they
for each of them. He may not have been able stood in silent vigil, together but worlds
to draw them close during his lifespan, but apart. Charles was two feet taller and one
on this occasion he would have the final say. year younger than his more compact broth-
er, long a point of conten on that Charles
No, they would come. Whether or not used to full advantage. Mick cleared his
there were professional conflicts or chil- throat, a emp ng to rid himself of the old
dren demanding their a en on or a million bi erness to be the first in their father’s af-
other details and annoyances that occupied fec on. Even a er death it would seem.
an average life. Death was bigger than all of
those things, a sobering reminder that all Charlie, ever the “fair-haired boy” fol-
things were temporary. In the end, all any lowing their father around the farm, learn-
of them would be able to give him would ing to work with his hands just as Da did.
be day-old flowers laid at a marble stone. First in stature, first in spor ng pursuits,
They were rendered powerless against the first in everything was his handsome young-
relentless marching of me and circum- er brother. It really was unbearable.
stance, finding themselves next in line on
the chain of mortality. Mick was short and squat. He had the
unfortunate trait of having longish arms
So they came in the dead of winter, in the that hung down his reduced frame, giving
year of our Lord, nineteen-hundred-aught- him an uneven appearance. He was under
six, to pay their final respects, one by one. no illusions about which of the two of them
was more pleasing to the eye.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Charles had married the girl from Mill- have been an excellent mother. He s ll felt
er’s farm down the hill. The girl that Mick her loss like a physical pain.
had dreamed about and loved from afar in
younger, more carefree days. Erika, with her Before Ang came into his life, Mick made
dark beauty and flashing eyes had given his his living in back-room bars and alleys, par-
brother four healthy sons over the years,
tall and strapping like their father. Charles cipa ng in pick-up fights throughout the
moved them all out west to a much differ- county. He was an expert with his fists, as
ent life, se ling on the wide open plains of Charles could certainly a est to, cool and
Colorado, where “a man could take in the calcula ng in a fight. This skill had served
air” as his brother would always say. Their him well. Even approaching the age of fi y,
father’s training served him well as he and Mick was s ll in demand as a man of ac on
his bride carved out a life and ranching busi- and part me fighter.
ness from the open, untamed land.
Half the men in town were indebted to
Erika stayed behind on the ranch with him, wagering their pay on his successful
their boys, Charles telling him the trip was bouts throughout the years. Ang never liked
s ll harrowing even with the latest modern it much, but Mick excelled in the ring. In lat-
railroads criss-crossing the land. He well er years, she would allow him a prize fight
knew if there was anyone who could han- every couple of months as long as things
dle four boys and the daily opera ons of a on the farm were in order. He supposed he
semi-successful ca le ranch on her own, would need to give it all up now, the years
it was Erika Miller. Mick remembered her were certainly catching up with him.
fiery temper and bold nature, compe ng
with them even as a young girl, proving her Besides his dis nguished place in the
me le in every childish conquest. Charlie family birth order, his figh ng ability was
may have won the ba le for her heart, but the one thing he held over his brother,
he certainly had his hands full. Mick sur- height and frame losing out to raw power
mised that their life together was never in the end. Charles had best not forget his
dull. He chuckled so ly to himself at the place. Mick might need to remind him.
thought of it.
Mick’s stern expression so ened as
Mick sighed and felt the old, melancholy his only sister approached with her fami-
longing, reminding him that Ang was no ly in tow. So and frilly she was, her black
longer here to help him through this day. mourning gown unable to disguise the glow
He was grateful that Erika had never looked of her natural beauty. Her children were Sa-
his way all those years ago, his Angela was sha in miniature, towheaded twin girls that
everything he could have ever asked for in reminded Mick of herself at that age. Her
a partner. He’d laid her to rest in the same husband Henry stood, respec ully, two pac-
cemetery Da would be placed, just two es behind his wife, giving Mick a curt nod
years back. They’d had over twenty happy in gree ng. Mick and his brothers had nev-
years together before the bloody flux car- er taken to Henry, failing to find any spark
ried her away. It was Mick’s one true regret of ambi on or spirit in the lad. In fairness
they were never blessed with children of to him, Mick figured pre y much any man
their own. Ang had a good heart, would would never be good enough for his baby
sister and the only girl in the family to boot.
No wonder Henry always gave them all a

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Revista Literária Adelaide

wide berth. Mick honestly couldn’t fault tried to tamp down his mirth as Eddie sidled
him for it. up and stuck out his hand.

The years had been kind to his sister, “Mick, good Christ, what happened to
only a slight crinkle at the outside of each him? That surely is not our father!”
eye gave away the fact that she had just
celebrated her thirty-seventh year. Sasha His brother’s hand was clammy, grasping
threw herself into Mick’s open arms, tears onto Mick’s meaty fist and pumping it with
flowing down her pre y face. She loved abandon.
her stocky brother, finding tenderness un-
derneath his gruff exterior. He was twelve “There’ll be me for that later, boyo. Go
years her senior, protec ve and do ng like to Ma now.”
a second father. Nothing was said between
them, nothing needed to be. She broke Tears ran down Eddie’s face in silent tracks
off their embrace, making her way over to as he went off in search of their mother.
Charles. She had to stretch out on her toes
as high as she could to reach him, causing a Mick looked up and caught Charles’ eye
fresh wave of bile to wash over Mick. as their youngest brother finally decided to
make an appearance. Cravat loosened and
A burst of nervous energy approaching hanging around his neck, Theodore looked
told Mick that Eddie had arrived. The third as if he had come in directly from a long
of the French brethren never simply walked night on the town. The family dandy, he was
into a room, he scurried, Mick thought in known as “Darby,” a rakish, effortless rogue
amusement. Maybe it was the fact of his that cut through the female popula on like
placement in the family that caused Ed- a scythe. Darby gallivanted through life, liv-
die to be in a constant state of flux, always ing off of his charms and not much else. He
grasping to get his fair share. He was relent- had long ago wrapped their mother around
less in his habits and studies, becoming the his li le finger, a fact that rankled Mick as
only one in their family to go to university. well as Charles. It was their only real source
of agreement.
A true numbers man, Eddie set him-
self up in a respectable situa on as an ac- “I see he couldn’t keep his promise, even
countant for the local businesses in town. on the day of his own father’s funeral, god-
The man lived and breathed figures, even damn him!”
earning enough to own one of the first mo-
torcars in the county. He traveled the dusty Charles snarled into Mick’s ear, hunching
backroads of Dubuque, Iowa, his contrap- over conspiratorially. They both glared at Dar-
by as he crossed the room and fell into their
on spu ering and popping like some sort mother’s outstretched arms. His drama c
of deranged monster, terrifying livestock in sobbing pierced the solemnity of the room,
its noisy wake. theatrical and loud. It was rumored that Dar-
by had a child in every county and looking at
Martha, his wife, matched Eddie per- the female interest around the room in his
fectly in temperament, scurrying right along wayward brother even at a moment like this,
by his side. With their brood of six children Mick could definitely believe it.
in tow, the family reminded Mick of nothing
more than a large pack of mongeese. Mick “A wastrel and a scoundrel!” Charles
harrumphed in incredulity, “Da would be
ashamed, he would. He should have taken

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

a switch to that boy far more than he did, “Yes, Ma, Hagel did the best that he
God bless him.” could, I am sure of it.”

It was a hotly debated point amongst Mick cringed at the thought of the un-
the three eldest brothers that their parents dertaker’s grim services. “Hagel and Sons”
had been far more lenient with their young- had been prepping the folks of Dubuque for
er siblings, they would lament upon the sit- eternity for nearly a century. Charles Hagel,
ua on at every possible occasion. III was of Mick’s genera on, they’d even
fought each other in a few friendly bouts
“Och, Charlie, let it go. Today is not the long ago. The man stood unobtrusively at
day for such talk, go and see to him.” the foot of the coffin, quietly overseeing
the proceedings. Hagel had a unique talent,
As his brother begrudgingly crossed the that of being seen and unseen, both at the
room to greet Darby, Mick studied his moth- same me.
er. There were fresh lines criss-crossing her
lovely face, all the worry and turmoil of Dying had dras cally altered his father’s
their father’s ill health permanently etched appearance. Even under Hagel’s de a en-
upon her countenance. She looked older,
more frail, and Mick felt the cold dread of ons, Da was a husk of his proper self, all
mortality wrap around his heart like a coil. the heart and life and strength of him van-
ished in the span of a single heartbeat.
#
“Hags, I salute you, old sport. When it
Mourners came from every part of the tri- comes to corpses, you are a prince amongst
state area, a long line of humanity stretch- men! Hear, hear!” A strong wave of whiskey
ing around the parlor and out the door. Rel- filled the air as Darby held up a large, sil-
a ves of every stripe and possible familial ver flask and raised it high over the casket.
connec on passed by in an unending line. Hagel sniffed in distaste, his face carefully
Mick and his brothers shaking each hand, absent of any expression.
with their sister and mother quietly crying
by the casket. “Och, it’s sorry I am, Hags. I forgot you
are running the show now. D’ya no’ have an
His Da had been a simple man, a man of old person to pester, drum up some future
very few words. A quiet man. Ma was always business? You pompous old buzzard!”
the talka ve one, chirping about the farm
in a constant state of flux. Mick guessed his “Darby, boyo,” Mick intervened, gently
s llness melded perfectly with her exuber- placing his hands on his wayward brother’s
ance, two halves making a perfect whole. shoulders, “Step back now. Hagel does not
His father had no need for such eloquence deserve your abuse and Ma is watching.”
since his mother spoke more than enough
for both of them. When he did grace them “Sweet boy, come sit awhile with me.
with his words, it really ma ered. Your Da would not want you to suffer so.”
Mick and Hagel watched his mother lead
“Mickey, d’ya think young Hagel got him her errant son over to a chair, where he
right? Does he not resemble himself more promptly crumpled into her lap, sobbing
with the spectacles?” Tears streamed down hysterically.
her face. His parents had just celebrated
their fi y-fourth year of marriage. “I am very sorry, Hagel. It would appear
that my dear brother is an only child.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Hagel gave Mick a compassionate Mick sighed at the memory, squaring his
squeeze on the shoulder, stealthily slipping shoulders in prepara on for the confronta-
away without ever saying a word. Mick had
only a moment to wonder at his old class- on to come. He found Charlie across the
mate’s composure before Sasha waylaid him. room and set out to intercept him. A large,
square man broke away from the group and
“Brother, no good will come of those stepped in front of Mick, blocking his path.
two in the same room, Charlie has the look
of murder in his eye.” “Mickey, lad, the missus and I was stunned
to hear of it. Your Da was a good man, a fine
Mick turned to see his brother glower- friend to our family. I am truly sorry, lad.”
ing at the prostrate Darby, fists clenching
and unclenching in righteous anger. It was “Mr. McFee, I thank you, sir. If you will
only a ma er of me before things got out pardon me for one moment...”
of hand.
Charles stood up in slow, simmering
“Peace, love. I will handle Charlie if you anger, one large vein pulsa ng just above
can get Ma to calm Darby a li le. On my his right eye. Darby let out a fresh bellow,
soul, that boy could never do any wrong in drunkenly swaying on his feet and stumbled
her eyes.” back toward the coffin. Mick had precious
seconds le .
Sasha nervously crossed the room to her
mother as Eddie kneeled at the casket, his “I was hoping to talk to you about the
lips silently moving while his fingers feverish- walnut trees on your back forty. Now, for
ly worked a long string of rosary beads. He’d just a wee share of the profit, mind, my boys
kept the old religion well, Mick noted. Cer- could help you harvest ‘em, they would do a
tainly his large brood a ested to that fact. fine job, you’d find no one be er…”

A sudden memory of Charlie winding “Yes Sir, if you would give me just a mo-
their old grandfather clock forward every ment, I must…”
Sunday made Mick smile. That lad nev-
er could abide our weekly late entrance to “Seamus, lad, you must call me Seamus….”
mass, God’s honest truth! Father Dominic’s
angry scowl always made Charlie cringe beet Mick watched helplessly as Charlie came
red with embarrassment. Mick suspected it up behind Darby, his temper rising with with
was actually Erika’s giggling in the pew be- each long stride. The old farmer con nued
hind them that forced his brother into such to stand in front of him like a mountain.
dras c ac on. Ma was madder than a wet Mick gently placed his hands upon each of
hen each me he did it, but Da could nev- the man’s massive shoulders in a fu le at-
er bring himself to discipline the boy. Every tempt to guide him out of the way.
week Charlie would change the clock and
every week Ma would holler when they “Mr. McFee, I really must...if you will
showed up to church one hour early, and ev- pardon me, Mr...Seamus….”
ery week Da would quietly laugh about the
ma er and nod off five minutes a er they Charlie reached Darby and violently
sat down in the pew. Da never had much use spun him around, launching Darby’s out-
for church, he only went to keep the peace. stretched flask into the air. Whiskey sprayed
in all direc ons as Charlie prepared to
strike. Instantly, Eddie leapt up between
them from his vigil at the coffin and hear ly

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

punched Darby square in the nose, his well grabbed his hand, both of them caught in
manicured hand smar ng from the impact. an awkward, uninten onal embrace as Dar-
by roughly stumbled to his feet.
Even in that moment of impending di-
saster, Mick could appreciate the hit. He Mick turned to find his mother and Sa-
certainly knew a good punch when he saw sha. Ma had fallen to her knees, a look of
one, it was truly admirable. Who knew Ed- pure joy brightening her upturned face.
die had it in him? He certainly picked an in- Sasha was burrowing herself into Henry’s
teres ng me to discover his figh ng spirit, chest, he could see her husband whispering
a true French at the last! Och, Da, how you quiet words of comfort into her ear. Maybe
would be happy to know it! I judged the lad a bit too harshly, it might be
worth giving him a second look, especially
Darby flew backwards and struck the foot now. Da would do no less. I am sure of it.
of the coffin, barreling into Hagel, both of
them going down in an undignified heap. The Hagel smoothly pulled his lanky body up
casket li ed straight up off the stand, brief- from the floor. He was like a second ghost,
ly standing on end from the sudden impact. tastefully rising up from the grave. He
Mick and the assembled mourners watched straightened his e and loudly cleared his
in horror as his father sat up like an avenging voice, preparing to address the stunned as-
angel, rendering his silent judgment upon sembly. As he opened his mouth to speak,
them all, before the coffin rediscovered its the doors to the parlor burst open and an
gravity and rocked back, hard, into place. old, familiar voice sha ered the silence, like
a rock thrown through glass.
Incredibly, Da stayed upright a few sec-
onds more, his old spectacles s ll perched “ I see I have made it not a moment too
upon the end of his nose. He looked just as soon!”
he did in life, when Mick and his brothers
would argue and set to quarreling. Now, just Erika held alo a large jug of dark, cara-
as then, Da said nothing. He’d never had to. mel colored whiskey in each hand, freshly
brewed on the wild plains of Colorado. Of
The coffin wobbled precariously before that, Mick had no doubt.
se ling itself back onto the stand. Da ap-
peared to give them one final, disapprov- “Let us all celebrate his life, give him a
ing look before falling back into repose, the good Irish wake. He was a fine man, he de-
en re episode over in the span of a single serves a proper send off!”
heartbeat. Darby’s silver flask came hurtling
back to earth, landing hard on to Da’s chest Charlie dashed across the room as their
before the coffin lid slammed shut with an handsome sons filed in behind her. Mick
otherworldly bang. could see that they were red and wore the
dirt and grime of a long journey. He could
For a full minute, the room’s inhabitants only imagine what they’d gone through to
fell completely silent. Mick, unaware that get here in me for this day.
he had been holding his breath, let it out
in a long, tuneless whistle. He met Charlie’s Picking up Erika in a great embrace, Char-
gaze over the assembly, both of them struck lie swung her around in joyful abandon.
dumb with astonishment. Darby seemed Mick, thinking of Angela, always Angela, felt
coldcocked into sudden sobriety. Eddie a tear forming in his eye. He quickly wiped
it away before anyone was the wiser. Ma

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walked towards them, arms outstretched. with his brothers, Mick could feel Da’s calm-
If anything or anyone could have saved this ing presence in the room.
day, Mick was certain it was the force of na-
ture named Erika Miller from the farm down Da never cared about the day to day dra-
the hill. God bless her. ma that surrounded his family, he was only
happy to exist in its turbulent wake. Mick
# found it fi ng that his final, most power-
ful statement had come from beyond the
It was quite a to-do later that evening, Mick grave, delivered without ever saying a word.
couldn’t remember a be er one in the an- A quiet man to the last, was their Da. Christ,
nals of French family history. Erika’s whiskey how he would be missed!
was well spent as they toasted Da over and
over, the many stories of his long life giving Mick French hoisted his glass high in
each of them solace. Darby was waylaid by tribute, each of his siblings looking up to
Erika’s pre y younger sister, Debra Miller. him as he claimed his righ ul place as head
They sat off in a corner, holding hands while of their family.
Debra pa ently listened to his story, hold-
ing up a cut of raw beef to his bruised and “Slainte!”
purple eye as he railed against his unfair
circumstances. Eddie apologized to Darby They all drank and lowered their glasses,
many mes over, not knowing what mad- knowing that everything had changed. The
ness had possessed him. He only knew that assembled genera ons sharing in that mo-
his oldest brother Mick had a sudden, new- ment, closed ranks around him. Mick was
found respect for him. Eddie discovered the new head of the family now. For good or
that he really liked that feeling. ill, this was to be their fate. So they drank,
and laughed, and cried as all families do,
Mick and Charlie had many, many toasts swearing to hold on to their rediscovered
together, enough so that Mick agreed to let bond and really meaning it. The cold, hard
Charlie’s oldest son, James, come to Iowa light of day would send each of them back
to live with him and work the land. Mick into their separate worlds soon enough. At
knew he would never have any children of least un l the next family tragedy. Or cele-
his own and Jimmy was a fine boy. He’d also bra on. Whichever came first.
asked Henry and Sasha to take over the day
to day opera ons of his farm, knowing that Such was the madness of living.
they would benefit from such an arrange-
ment and be close enough to take care of #
Ma to boot. Seamus McFee’s boys would
harvest and collect the walnuts for a fair Sasha affec onately hooked her arm through
wage. Everything was as it should be. Mick’s, both of them amused at the unlikely
duo stumbling ahead of them. They’d all ac-
The whiskey may have been doing the companied Charlie and his family to the train
talking, but Mick had a hankering to travel, sta on early the next morning, bidding them
maybe do a li le figh ng here and there. As farewell as the first cracks of light broke
much as Ang hated the figh ng, he knew through the dreary winter sky of Dubuque.
she would approve of his new-found free- Darby and Eddie swayed drunkenly together,
dom. As he raised his glass in a final toast an unusual pair of friends, singing old pub
songs wildly out of tune.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Each of Charlie’s boys hear ly shook his The trains le the sta on with each
hand as they boarded the car, Erika giving brother, as they always were, heading in the
his arm a firm squeeze before kissing him opposite direc on of the other. The thread
on the cheek. of the old man’s influence would always
bind them together, no ma er the me or
“I’ll take care of your boy, if you’ll take distance or how many millions of obstacles
care of mine, Mickey! Swear it, now…” intervened to keep them apart. It was ines-
capable, there was no way to get around it
Mick looked up at Charlie, standing by her for they were family.
side and promised on his life, that he would.
Jimmy was the very image of his father at Somehow, somewhere, from his lo y
that age and Mick felt a sudden wave of nos- perch above, Mick knew that Da was smil-
talgia, the passing of years washing over him. ing. It just might be a good Christmas a er
all, Mick thought fondly, as the train slowly
“I do so swear, Erika, ‘ s happy I’ll be to pulled away, leaving Dubuque, and his past,
have the lad. Send him to me in the spring.” behind in its snowy wake.

Mick and Charlie shook hands warmly, About the Author:
moving into a brief, awkward embrace. No
words passed between them, for neither A. Elizabeth Her ng is an aspiring freelance
trusted their ability to speak at that mo- writer and busy mother of three living in col-
ment. All was said that needed to be. Mick orful Colorado. She has had over 60 short
was content. stories published and also has two collec-

As he sent his wayward brothers off ons of short stories that will be published by
with Sasha, Mick watched them all fondly. “Adelaide Books.” “Whistling Past the Veil” in
There would surely be a doghouse in Ed- April 2019 and “Postcards From Waupaca”
die’s future this day, for he doubted Mar- which comes out in February 2020. For more
tha would be quite so understanding of his of her work/contact her at h ps://aehert-
present condi on. Darby danced a li le jig ing.weebly.com, twi er.com/AmyHer ng or
as he waved goodbye, graceful on his feet, facebook.com/AElizabethHer ng
even at this early hour. Debra Miller would
have quite a project on her hands, but
who knew? Maybe a wedding would bring
them all together again. No easy feat, but
if anyone could tame the beast that was his
youngest brother, it was a Miller girl from
the farm down the hill. Of that, Mick had
absolutely no doubt.

Charlie’s train headed west, as Mick de-
cided to go east, jumping on the early train
to Rockford, Illinois. He had no idea of his
final des na on, only that he couldn’t wait
to get there. Mick had only a few short
months un l the spring, a er all, and there
was no me like the present.

72

FIRST SPRING SEASON

by Daniel Picker

My father disappeared in the dark that late The same contrap on rested high above
winter when the nights s ll ran long into the the rectangular rim of the windshield on my
mornings and the day s ll ran short with side.
darkness falling before dinner. I could sense
at that me when the house stood cool and “Turn yours on son.”
dark at night that our family and life would
never be the same as it existed before that I reached up as high as I could reach and
first spring season without him in the house. pressed the bu on in to hear the faint hy-
draulic hiss before the wiper started moving
I s ll saw my father on occasion; he had back and forth across the pane. He turned
not moved very far away, to the next large le at the stop sign and headed down our
township that surrounded our older, small- street. He stopped in front of our house and
er, colonial town on several sides. the rain began to impinge more persistent-
ly in the dark. We sat there in the dark, his
One late evening when he drove me headlights figh ng through the rain with
back home from a den st’s appointment, the motor quietly rumbling.
as I sat beside him in his old Scout truck,
and we bounced over some railroad tracks, “I’ll pick you up next Saturday at 9:30 in
he explained to me, “Your great great Uncle the morning to drive you across town for
Bill played for the old Philadelphia Athlet- the first day of tryouts when they assign you
ics; they called him ‘Yaller.’ Billy, I’ve already to your first team in the T – Shirt League.”
registered you for Li le League for your first
spring season.” “Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

As we drove over the bump of black Then he looked over toward me as he
macadam just beyond the railroad crossing looked down at the same me, and said, “I
downtown dad turned le down the nar- s ll love your mother.”
row street that led to Tulip Poplar Avenue.
The sky had already turned dark and he Silence stood in the mostly dark car,
turned on his headlights. Although March then he said, “Pull the handle toward you
had arrived spring seemed months away. A to open the door, and be careful climbing
faint rain speckled his windshield and dad out, the seat and truck are higher than the
pressed in a small silver bu on on a dark old sta on wagon.”
grey round box above his side of the front
windshield to turn the wiper on his side on. “Okay dad; mom probably has dinner
ready.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

II I seemed apart from my teammates. A er
the first week of prac ce, and a few days
My first year I had played with an old dark before our first game our coach distributed
brown leather mi with fat fingers and a fresh, new deep crimson t – shirts and wool
fat thumb. I found it in the bo om of the felt caps. Each shirt had Flynn Realty printed
wooden flower box at the first landing down across the chest in block le ers. Some caps
the cellar steps. I don’t think even my oldest had a simple, square black F above the brim;
sister, a high school so ball player, had used others did not. Every boy pulled on his cap
it for years. Perhaps it had been my un- and bent the brim as we kneeled in a semi –
cle’s. With the ancient family relic from the circle around the coach. Those caps seemed
dusty depths of the cellar flower box on the one of the best things about Li le League.
landing, where my oldest sister’s old so -
ball mi s ll collected dust in the shadows The season started that early spring
I awaited dad that next Saturday morning. with the days, short and cool and the nights
To my surprise the sun shone in a pale blue s ll long and cold. My T – shirt team, prac-
sky and the maple flowers in pale green had
sprung on branches before our house. I sat ced behind one of the distant elementa-
on the front steps and waited for dad. ry schools in town. My school, which I at-
tended with my younger brother stood just
That morning out in front of the house, seven blocks from home, but both schools
under the same sky, across the two rectan- stood stately in brick and stone with large
gles of our front lawn my li le brother came grassy playing fields behind them with
out to join me. He had an old baseball and fenced backstops for baseball.
my sister’s oversize so ball mi . We threw
the baseball back and forth in a catch. I rode my bicycle to prac ce a er school
over strange streets and neighborhoods.
But this morning as I caught the ball, I By the me prac ce ended late in the eve-
loved the weight and sound of leather in ning in early March, the sun had set. The
leather and the wonderful he of the ball. sky grew a deep purple over the thick deep
I tossed the ball back and said, “That was grass. The wind li ed, whisked through the
a nice throw; you’ve got a good arm . . .” (I large dark trees that stood around the edg-
thought to add “for a li le guy” but held my es of the ou ield close to the streets.
tongue at the last moment. I knew I would
most likely stand as one of the smallest A er prac ce, I had slid my mi over the
players on my Li le League team. handgrip of my handlebars and slid it down
near the stem of the handlebars above the
My li le brother, stood s ll even short- front wheel. The bike, old and black, with
er than I, and as only a first grader was s ll some rust, dad had pieced together from
too young for Li le League. I threw the ball old bikes in our garage, one from a neigh-
back and then he hurled it back and I heard bor. Dad had shown me several mes how
the familiar smack of the ball in my glove. to move the wheel back in its slot on the
Having a catch! What could be be er? frame, how to ghten the wheel to the
frame if the chain got too loose, and how
III to adjust the back wheel so that the chain
did not scrape and clank against the chain
My first year, shorter than every boy on the guard. He had also taught me how to patch
team, and one of three who wore glasses a flat re by patching the inner tube too.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

One evening a er prac ce before the the curb and sat down, not knowing what
start of the season, I set out riding my bike to do or whom to ask for help, not knowing
home, pedaling parallel to the back of the anyone in the strange neighborhood, and
field behind the school. I decided to cross then I started to cry. My right hand was half
the street and kept pedaling anxious to get covered in grease. I just sat on the cold hard
home but a li le unsure of the best route. I curb; darkness surrounded me, and I cried,
knew I was on the other side of the big high- alone and abandoned in the world.
way and the other side of town, far from
where I lived and far from my neighbor- A er what seemed ten minutes I li ed
hood, my school, and far from downtown the bike, bent over it, and tugged on the
even, and any place familiar. chain, but the chain didn’t budge, then I
just dropped the bike on the ground and
At the next block, I turned right, thinking sat beside it whimpering. Then I heard and
I was pedaling in the right direc on toward saw a shadowed figure walking toward me;
home. It was just past dusk; the sky was a it was someone taller than I was, but not a
deep grey and purple – black beyond the grown up. I heard a voice ask, “Hey, what’s
heavy, dark limbs of trees, which creaked wrong?”
in the wind above me; it seemed more
like a fall night than a spring night. Then I Sniffling, but trying to hide that I had
heard a loud scrape and clank and my le been crying, I said, “My chain came off and
pedal stuck and I slowed to a grinding halt. now it’s stuck.”
I looked down and could see my chain had
come off the front sprocket and was lodged “Let me see; maybe I can help you,” the
between the chain guard and the back older boy said.
sprocket, close to the back wheel. Part of
the black, greasy chain was loose and part “OK,” I said.
was caught. I tried pulling the le pedal
backwards a er dismoun ng the bicycle; This boy took the bike and turned it
I tried pushing the pedal forward with my upside down, then cranked the pedal first
hand. I even tried pulling on the greasy links in one direc on, and then the other, and
of the chain with my bare hand to try dis- miraculously this seemed to dislodge the
lodging it from where it was stuck, all with chain from the chain guard, and also get it
no luck. back on the back and front sprocket.

By now, it was dark and I was standing in “Wow,” I said quietly, smiling for the first
the middle of a deserted street with homes me in an hour, “You fixed it.”
on both sides, with lights on behind bush-
es and drapes as families were enjoying “It wasn’t that tough, now was it?”
the last of their dinners. The air grew even
colder. I could not pedal the bike forward; “Thanks,” I said as my nose s ll ran a bit.
I tried; I got on and pushed down hard re-
peatedly; I tried li ing the bicycle by the The wind was moving cold through the
seat and le ng it drop down on the pave- tree branches and limbs above us, but I
ment to clang the chain loose without any could see somewhat clearly the boy’s face
success. I dragged my bike closer toward in the moonlight; I saw grey – white clouds
racing past the moon above and his face
above mine; he seemed about five years
older than I was, and taller and stronger.
He never told me his name, but simply said,

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“I’m glad I could help you; now you can ride either side by overgrown brush, which grew
home.” wild around Cooper Creek, down below the
ou ield of the Minor League Field; the T –
I never did learn his name. Shirt Field lay further back in the shadows.
Both fields were below a steep slope and
IV the Major’s field, the Refreshment Stand,
and the bleachers for the Majors.
In my first year in T – shirts our games be-
gan in the late a ernoon a er school that I pedaled hard across the street and
spring. I was proud to pull on my deep crim- made it to the opposite sidewalk, and rode
son t – shirt over my plaid, bu on – down my bike along and around the point where
long sleeve school shirt. I put on my cap too the end of Po ersfield Street ran down into
and told mom, “Today’s our game.” Elysian Street. I saw a run – down white
house to my le ; I could see a ta ered
“Good luck!” she said from the kitchen. lace curtain torn in one corner behind the
“Get a hit!” cracked glass, the home dark and unlit. I
knew a kid from my grade, one of the three
“I’m not sure the coach will even put black kids in my class lived there. He was
me in; I’m one of the shortest kids on the as short as I was and even skinnier, with
team.” a small round head and short patches of
gnarled black hair. His name was Cecil. This
“Let me give you some change for candy was his neighborhood.
a er the game,” she said. “Now be careful
on your bike; that’s a long ride; stay on the I rode up the sidewalk of the adjacent
sidewalk on the busy streets,” she implored. street and found a place where I could run
across the street with my bike, and pushed
She handed me five nickels and I slid it up the grass slope on the opposite side,
them into my pants’ pocket. just below the Refreshment Stand. The deep
dull green – painted box was s ll locked and
“OK, mom,” I said. “Thanks for the change.” closed, but it would be open a er the game
I knew.
This night, I walked out our front door
and down the steps and slid my baseball I propped my bike in the bike rack and
glove over the handlebars, swung my leg walked past the Major’s field; I could see the
over the seat, and started pedaling. I rode green, thick, manicured field grass, and see
across town to the Li le League fields, but the dugouts sunken part way below the field,
I didn’t have to cross the busy highway as I in between first and home and third and
did when I rode to prac ce. I pedaled past home on either side. At the T – Shirt Field the
my elementary school, then past a class- dugouts stood above ground with wire fenc-
mate’s house, she with the long dark hair ing at the ends and they were painted the
who looked like Pocahontas from our So- same dull green shade as the Refreshment
cial Studies book. Then I rode past another Stand. I walked past right field, then down
friend’s house; his white stucco porch stuck the path of railroad es for steps above the
out toward the sidewalk, then I rode below Minor League Field named for Governor
the end of the football field. The goal post Driscoll. A few families with dads sat in the
towered atop a slope above the sidewalk as rickety bleachers above the Minor League
I rode down the hill. Then I reached the bot-
tom of a busy street, which ran out of town.
The bridge down to my right, surrounded on

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Field above third base. I walked past them second on a hard grounder that skipped
toward our field, which stood at a distance past our pitcher and shortstop, and their
with tall gnarled trees behind the third – base ba er ran too far around first base and
side and beyond le field. As I approached, I was caught in a rundown; Tim, the tallest
could see a few kids tossing baseballs back kid on our team, hurled the ball back from
and forth in right field and around the sandy, second to our first baseman Nat, then they
gravel infield; our coach stood behind home both moved closer toward the runner who
plate with a bat over his shoulder. He hit tried to run by Tim, but Nat got the ball back
grounders toward the infielders. to him fast, and Tim tagged him out. Our
pitcher struck out the next two ba ers, and
I crouched down and ed my le now we were up.
sneaker ghter, then picked up my glove,
straightened my cap and ran out toward I watched as one of older kids hit what
right field to field some grounders or pop seemed a long fly ball that landed about
ups, but I some mes dreaded pop ups; fly thirty feet beyond their shortstop and even
balls I some mes lost in the sun; most of skipped over the le fielder’s outstretched
the grounders that made their way into mi ; he spun in a circle with no idea where
the thick ou ield grass I could handle. The the ball went, and soon we had a man on
coach soon called us in toward our dugout third base. Our next ba er hit a grounder
just beyond first base. The opposing team past their second baseman and our runner
warmed up in bright gold t – shirts which scored, and we were winning.
said Winner’s Dodge; we called them “Los-
er’s Dodge” since we heard they had already One of my teammates yelled from the on
lost their first few games; but we had lost – deck circle, “You need a pitcher, not a belly
one too; this was our second. But a team- – itcher!” before our coach frowned at him.
mate said, “They were the worst team in
the league last year; we should beat them.” Nat hit the ball just over their short-
stop’s head in a blooper fly ball and ended
Soon the coach strolled back to the dug- up on second, as their shortstop retrieved
out, unhooked a clipboard with a notebook the ball and sent it sailing with a wild throw
in its dull silver clip, and leaned his bat over the second baseman’s head; Nat ran to
against the wooden dugout. The coach read third. Our next ba er struck out, but then
from his white, oblong notebook the start- Big Harmie was up, our chubby catcher.
ing lineup and ba ng order. I did not hear He swung and smacked a fly ball over their
my name as a starter and along with three first baseman and Nat scored, and Harmon
other kids I hovered around the backside of chugged his way, huffing to a stand – up
the dugout as our team took the field. double; his helmet fell off backward when
he stomped on the bag.
“When our team bats, you kids clear out
the bats from the ba er’s box, and replace “He’s as big as Harmon Killebrew,” our
them in the wooden rack near the on – deck coach said, “and just as fast.”
circle,” Coach said. “You can’t leave them ly-
ing around home plate. That’s important.” Our next ba er was Ted, who lived close
to the prac ce field and went to school there
Surprisingly, an older kid on our team too. His dad some mes a ended prac ce in
made a clean play ge ng the ball back to his dress slacks and shiny business shoes. He
had watched us lose our first game.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Come on son, you can do it! Just like we winning 6 – 0 in a shutout, the coach’s son
prac ced,” he called from beyond the back- now sat on the bench; he had pitched the
stop. first five innings. Timmy had moved in from
the ou ield and was pitching, and Li le Gus
Ted swung at the first pitch, sent a shot was catching for his older brother, Big Har-
straight over the pitcher’s head, and soon mon, who was yelling encouragement from
rounded first base as Harmon scored our the dugout.
second run. We scored twice more that in-
ning, and by the fi h inning, we were win- Soon we had two outs on Winner’s
ning 6 – nothing. Dodge; thankfully, no hit had made it to-
ward right field. I moved in as Coach waved
Later, in the bo om of the fi h I heard me in, the grass, thick and cool around my
Coach yell to me, “Yaller, grab a helmet and a sneakers as the sun moved toward sunset.
bat, and take some swings; you’re on deck!” With two strikes our pitcher wound up; he
seemed far away from where I stood, but I
I picked up a helmet, which was a deep soon heard the crack of the bat and saw a
blue, hard plas c and tried to find a bat I small white fly ball sailing high up toward
could swing, but they were all too long or me; I ran in a few steps, then realized it was
too heavy for me; I took a few swings and sailing high beyond me, then I back pedaled
walked toward the plate; I was up. When I and reached up with my glove, partly to
took a prac ce swing, the helmet flopped shield my eyes from the sun and I stretched
down in front of my brows. We had two out my arm and jumped as it seemed the
outs already, but Big Harmon was on base ball would fly way over my head, and the
again, this me on second; he looked red heavy ball hit my glove and lodged between
and sweaty from hi ng and running, and the pocket and webbed leather above, and
catching too. He already had two hits this I fell back on my bu . I had actually caught
game. His T – shirt, half covered in dusty the ball! It stayed in my glove!
gravel, and his curly hair, ma ed to his brow
below his cap and helmet. I heard my teammates cheering and
Coach yelling in astonishment.
I swung at the first pitch close to the plate.
As I got up, I heard Coach say from the
“Good cut Yaller; keep your eye sharp!” distance loudly and proudly, “Well I’ll be,
Coach yelled. “Yaller caught it!”

I took the next pitch and heard the um- I ran a few steps forward and threw the
pire call out, “St – ee – rike two!” ball to Timmy who was standing behind
the pitcher’s mound; he started tossing it
The next pitch arrived even quicker, but round the horn, first to the third baseman.
I swung late, and pped it, right into the I watched the ball cross the diamond to the
catcher’s mi . shortstop, then all the way to the first base-
man who tossed it to the catcher, who then
“Good try Yaller,” the coach said; “You’ll hurled the ball to our second baseman who
get ‘em next me. Grab your mi , you’re was standing in front of me and to my side.
playing right field.”
Everyone was smiling; we all tro ed in
I tossed the bat aside, retrieved my toward the dugout as the coach waved his
glove from the dugout, and ran to right field
glad to take the field. In the last inning s ll

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right arm, and called, “That’s three outs! and said, “Two shoe – strings please” and
Come on in boys! We won!” slid two nickels over the top of the counter.

As I tro ed into the infield a few team The young woman pulled the long red
mates rushed up to me, and pa ed me on strings from the wax paper in the oblong
the back, saying “Good catch Yaller; you box. I quickly wound them in a ball and
made the final put out!” stuck it in my pocket. I could feel the damp
nickels in my other pocket where I had held
Then as we stood before the dugout the onto them as the older taller neighborhood
coach’s son du fully stuffed a few stray bats kids demanded money.
in the long canvas bag, and gathered a few
stray ba ng helmets. Soon I stood in the dark beside my bike
in the bike rack behind the stand. The last
“Congratula ons boys; our first victory! Major League game reached its final ba er.
Free Sno – cones for everybody!” Coach Everyone in the stands focused a en on on
called out, and the rest of my teammates him. Soon another team might enjoy free
started rushing off the field, through the Sno – cones too, and the disconsolate losing
fence gate and up the hill to the Refresh- team would head home a er the din had
ment Stand. died. I walked my bike down the dark grass
slope a er sliding my mi down the rusty
My team mates loudly jeered, “Loser’s handlebar, and swung my leg over the seat.
Dodge never wins!” I started pedaling in the dark below those
trees of that first spring back toward home.
Cecil’s tall cousins stood hovering around
the green, wooden stand, with the counter About the Author:
nearly a foot above my head; I tried to ig-
nore them and reached my hand up. Daniel Picker’s work has appeared in Har-
vard Review, The Sewanee Review, The Phil-
“One Sno – cone please. We won.” adelphia Inquirer, Middlebury Magazine,
The Oxonian Review, The Dudley Review at
“What flavor?” the woman asked. Harvard, RUNE: MIT, Sequoia, Vermont Lit-
erary Review, Soundings East, Elysian Fields
“Root Beer,” which was my dad’s favorite Quarterly, Ireland of the Welcomes Maga-
too. zine, Rain Taxi Review of Books, The Kelsey
Review, The Abington Review, The 67th
Teammates joined parents for rides Street Scribe, and more. Daniel Picker was
home. The sky grew darker. Cecil’s two cous- awarded The Dudley Review Poetry Prize at
ins, Darrell and Ernie surrounded me, their Harvard, and a fellowship from The Dodge
faces dark and shiny in the lamp light; “Got Founda on and The Fine Arts Work Center.
any change li le Billy?” they demanded. He is the author of a book of poems, Steep
Stony Road(Viral Cat Press 2012).
I looked down silent; I hoped to buy
some long, red shoe – string licorice for the
long ride home. I ignored them and stood by
my old bike by the bike racks. Soon, I heard
them menacing other kids in the distance.
When they were not hovering by the count-
er anymore, and knew another winning
team might be coming up from the Minor
League field soon, I snuck up to the counter

79

CORA

by Olivia Du Pont

“The first thing I remember was that every- while my parents were out. He fed me dinner
one was yelling around me, my mother was and then put me in the bath. I watched as he
crying, and the last thing I remember was touched me for the second me as if I was
seeing was a woman standing at the end si ng in a movie theater. S ll, I felt nothing.
of my bed. She looked at me for a moment,
smiled, and then looked away. I then felt my- The next thing I remember seeing was
self slip away. I woke up and felt like I was something beau ful. I saw my father walk
floa ng. There was nothing around me but through the doors just ge ng home from
yellow light, I looked around with curiosity work and gree ng my mother with a kiss. I
rather than fear. I looked down at my hands ran up to him yelling “Daddy!” jumping into
but they looked different—my en re body il- his arms. I was eight. My brother was not
luminated the room. There were no thoughts home. This was a good memory.
that ran through my head, but instead there
was a movie playing in my mind.” I saw many other things in between. I
saw myself as a ten-year-old, playing with
“What did you see?” my friends at school. I saw that one me
when I was eleven and I called a girl in my
“There was a li le kid, and it took me a class a bitch for the first me. I felt the pain
moment to realize that the li le kid in the as I watched her walk away to find some-
movie was me. I was three years old and I where to be alone and cry. I felt the guilt
was lying in my newly bought “big kid” bed. that came knowing that I hurt someone else.
There were fake glow-in-the-dark stars on
my ceiling, but aside from that my room was The next thing I saw was a memory from
dark. The door opened, and in walked a tall when I was thirteen. It was my birthday and
person who looked like my dad. It took me a I had just celebrated with my friends. They
moment to realize that the figure standing in had all gone and I was lying in my bed. It was
my doorway was my sixteen-year-old brother. the middle of the night, yet I was s ll up. My
He walked into my room, sat down on my bed brother came in and seeing that I was awake
next to me, and touched me thinking I was sat on the end of my bed smiling and wish-
sleeping. I moved, and he got scared—quick- ing me a happy birthday. He told me how
ly leaving my room. This was the first me. happy he was to see me growing into such
a beau ful young girl. He was twenty-six.”
The next memory that played in my head
was from when I was five years old. My broth- “it’s okay Cora, keep going.”
er was eighteen and he was babysi ng me
“I remember seeing what happened next
and this me I shied away. I couldn’t watch

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it, so I closed my eyes. I remember being in your gut that something bad is going to hap-
that place, surrounded by nothingness and pen but can’t figure out what it is. I start-
watching something that couldn’t be real. ed crying and realized that I couldn’t do it
‘This isn’t real’ I thought. I was convinced anymore—I couldn’t live like this. There was
that my mind was making this up. But I was nothing here for me, why would I want to
not to be deceived—within fi een minutes, stay in a world that has no room. So I didn’t.
my en re childhood was taken away. And The next day I bought a gun and that night
then I saw every horrible night that came I shot myself in the chest. This was the last
a er that for the next three years. memory that I saw play in my head.

The memories fast-forwarded to a me ***
when I was twenty years old. I was a junior The movie in my head stopped and within a
in college and I was a criminal jus ce major. I moment I started to disappear. Everything I
had a boyfriend who I had just started da ng. was disappeared, but my mind was s ll there.
I was happy—and I had completely forgo en I could no longer see anything, but I heard a
about what had happened to me growing lone voice coming from somewhere near me.
up. I saw a memory of my boyfriend and I go-
ing out to a nice restaurant—it was the first ‘Who are you?’ I said fearfully.
‘You have to go back. There is not yet a
me a guy had taken me out for a nice din- place for you here.’
ner before. A er dinner we went back to his And with that, there was a shock, a boom,
room and watched a movie together. He was a shot of something beau ful, and then—life.”
kissing me and I stopped him like I always
do. I watched the fear in my eyes, and then About the Author:
I saw my face go blank. ‘Stop. Next me.’ I
had said. I watched several more memories Olivia Du Pont is a sophomore at the George
a er that with my boyfriend where I said the Washington University majoring in Psychol-
same thing over and over again. And then I ogy with the eventual goal of becoming a
watched the memory from when I was twen- Holis c Health Coach.
ty-one, as he was breaking up with me.

‘You are scared of me and I cannot figure
out why.’ He said. ‘You make me feel like a
monster, like I am doing something wrong.’

The memories fast-forwarded to my
twenty-second birthday. I was at a bar with
some friends, drunk and having a great me.
I went back to my room and the alcohol was
star ng to rub off yet I s ll had the a ertaste
in my mouth. I started to feel sick and the
bad thoughts that always come when I am
alone began to resurface. It was the weird-
est thing—I could see myself thinking and I
knew exactly how I was feeling in that mo-
ment. I was so upset that night but I couldn’t
figure out why. Almost like when you feel in

81

PIT STOP EXISTENCE

By Margery Bayne

“The pay is shit, but money’s money.” #

It was the first thing Steve said to Na- At Hal’s Diner, Nathan he was in the back
than a er staring him down when he first ten hours a day shaking fries in the deep
stepped into his kitchen. Steve was in his fryer and scooping ice cream into tall glass
late-for es and pot-bellied, half-Italian and cups. The Hal of Hal’s Diner was twelve
looked it, but seemed as small-town Amer- years dead and the place was now run by
ica as much as everything in Berlin, Mary- his daughter, the combined owner / man-
land, USA. ager / some mes waitress. Her named
sounded like Sarah, but the plas c nametag
Not knowing what else to say in re- pinned to her blouse read Cera. She was
sponse, Nathan said, “Amen.” thirty-three and a bit dowdy with dark hair
down in s ff, hair-sprayed curls. She was
Steve chuckled and tossed Nathan a unmarried, childless, and could pass for half
crisp, white apron the same as Steve’s ex- a decade younger if not for the frown lines.
cept for the missing Jackson Pollock deco-
ra on of grease spla ers and sauce stains. Cera had hired him, no references or
“Let’s get to work.” applica ons about it, as soon as she heard
his story, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes.
# “Hun,” she said, “You can work here as long
or short as you need.” When smiled at him
Berlin was boring and gray, all brick buildings, it was sweet and honest, like a mother’s
ba ered wooden siding, and too many an- smile, like Cera was more invested in his fu-
ture than he was.
que shops squeezed onto too few streets.
Nathan had been heading to where ocean #
met land, ready to test out the so ness of
the beaches and the girls in bikinis both, like Some mes, when the diner wasn’t too
he had been doing all down the east coast. busy, Nathan would find Cera leaning over
the lunch counter, chin res ng in her hand,
But his car had broken down just as he staring out the front window like it was
inched into this town, maybe forty minutes the view of something be er than Pete’s
by highway away from his des na on. His Hardware. He watched her from the kitch-
transmission was screwed to hell, it turned en doorway, but he could probably sit right
out. Was going to take two to three weeks down next to her with distrac ng her out
to get the parts and get the work done, and
two to three thousand to pay for it all.

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of her slump. It was a sort of despera on they talked enough for anything to be per-
that didn’t mind being seen and made no sonal. However, there was a clear disdain
a empt to stay hidden. Steve held for anyone intruding upon his
kitchen, his employer included but Nathan,
The second me he saw Cera like that, the outsider, most of all.
a week into his stay, he had tempta on to
ask her what was going through her head. When the inevitable lull between the
But he kept his mouth cemented shut. It breakfast and lunch rush hit well- med
wasn’t his place and he wouldn’t be here enough to set the wall clock by it, Steve
long anyhow. He wouldn’t even be interest- shoved a plate of chilly fries into Nathan’s
ed in Cera’s staring but for its intensity: the hands and shoved him out of the kitchen.
way her long fingernails slightly cut into her
cheek with the way she cupped her chin, Sure as hell, Cera was leaning against the
the glazed-over look of her eyes, the stoop counter. Some curiosity bubbled up into Na-
of her shoulders, the wordlessness. than’s chest like heartburn. Maybe it was the
playful eye roll this morning, or maybe the
But nine days a er he got into town the knowledge he was going to be in Berlin lon-
mechanic le a message at Nathan’s motel ger than he expected and it would be nice to
that his car part was back ordered, and it be on friendly-ish terms with someone.
was going to take longer – a vague, indefi-
nite period stretch dependent on factors far “What’re thinking about?” Nathan
from his control. asked, his plate banging against the counter
top as he set it down and slipped onto the
Next morning, he flipped row a er row stool across from her.
of bacon on a sizzling griddle for two hours
straight, jerking is hand back every so of- She startled out of her posi on. “What?”
ten when grease decided to spit up and
s ng him. Steve mumbled under his breath Nathan nudged the plate toward her
about the fi h person to request changes with his the back of his knuckles, “Fry?”
on his special omelet of the week, because,
“It’s not the same fucking omelet without “Um, oh, no, thank you.” She brushed
the same fucking cheese.” her hair back behind her ears. “And I wasn’t
thinking about anything.”
“Just get the orders out,” Cera snapped
as she measured out coffee grounds into Nathan just shrugged off the edged de-
the paper liner and started up the machine. fensiveness of her tone, feeding himself a
Steve just mumbled his complaints a li le couple of fries dripping with greasy top-
quieter and called Cera a control freak. pings. A silence deepened between them
un l Cera finally snapped, “What?”
Nathan glanced between the two and
Cera caught him. She nodded her head at When Nathan didn’t immediately reply,
Steve and rolled her eyes, making her look she walked away, past the kitchen doors,
ten years younger. down a li le hallway that led to the re-
strooms and her ny back office. Soon,
# lunch patrons started wandering in with a

As far as Nathan could tell, Steve didn’t dis- nkle of the bell ed to the door. Nathan
like Nathan on a personal level. It’s not like dropped the le over half of the fries into
the trash and slipped back into the kitchen,
wai ng for orders.

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# wrapped an arm around herself. “It’s what
I wanted. I know. I’m a conundrum, right?”
“I want to apologize for snapping earlier,”
Cera said later, during the pre-dinner lull. Nathan blinked, and his eyes were s ng-
“It’s not the kind of boss I want to be. Just ing, so he bowed his head and scrubbed
because you called me out on daydream- at an imaginary spot. It hadn’t been three
ing.” Her shoulders are slanted down, and months since his dad had passed, but his
she grimace-smiled in this way that was death hadn’t latched him down like it had
sheepish, like being caught in a daydream with Cera; it had unleashed him. But it was
something to be embarrassed about at her true, however, you can never really get any-
age. thing you want.

Nathan raised an eyebrow in response. #
He didn’t need to voice a thing, because she
had been wai ng to burst, like a ke le on Over the next few days, Cera mined out some
the edge of boiling. of the truths behind Nathan’s life during
their free moments. About how Nathan was
“It was never my big dream to run the nineteen years old, but halfway to twenty, as
diner,” she said, “I had my own ambi ons. if his gangliness hadn’t given away his youth.
And they weren’t here.” She sounded sur- How he grew up in a small town similar to
prisingly not bi er about all of this, as she this one but bigger. His mom had le them
laid it all out with the shrug of one shoulder way back when he was li le. He couldn’t re-
and a so expression on her face. member her and he honestly wasn’t upset
about it. He insisted, as Cera made doe eyes
“Then, why are you here?” He put a spe- at him and looked like she was ready to give
cial emphasis on the word, at once weight- him a hug and encourage him to cry on her
ed, yet somehow unbiased. Here wasn’t shoulder. But it was true. He didn’t have the
bad, but it could be suffoca ng. Seven energy to spend caring one way or the other
states between, but Berlin wasn’t unlike about a woman who hadn’t cared enough
his home: full of warmth and familiarity. about him to s ck around.
A friendly embrace that had, somewhere
along the way, turned into a choke hold Nathan told Cera about his dad, about
the lung cancer that stole the life right out
“I grew up in this diner. More than my of him as Nathan sat through it for over five
childhood house, even. But my dad died, years, wai ng for the awful inevitable. He
and I had the op on, sell it or run it myself.” talked of the funeral, of the overwhelm-
She shrunk herself down some more. ing mass of well-wishers, of how lost and
alone he was, wandering about an emp-
“So you did what your father would’ve ty house and finally tying up all the loose
wanted,” Nathan said as he dishtowel-ed ends, scrounging together what was le of
down the front counter. his family’s money, and driving straight out
of town one night without bothering with
“No,” said Cera with a smile that didn’t any goodbyes. He talked about the places
reach her eyes. “I did what I wanted. I told he had gone to since then and the girls he
you, this was my home. My dad would have met there, who usually ended up being girls
wanted me to live my life even if that meant he screwed. And he wasn’t sure how deli-
the death of his legacy.” She sighed for may-
be the fourth me this conversa on and

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cately to put that. Cera was worldly, but he shoulder. Memories slipped inconsequen ally
was never sure if he were talking to a friend together, piecing together a bigger story.
or to a mentor or to something else en rely.
Dad had been sick and stubborn about
Cera let a few more things slip too. “I it. He was tough, a carpenter his whole life.
wanted to be an actress. It sounds so sil- His hands were calloused and he was miss-
ly now, thinking just because I got lead ing the thumbnail on his le hand from a
role in a high school performance meant I hammer stroke gone wrong. Sickness was
could take on L.A. or something. I know it something that was dealt with by a couple
wouldn’t have worked out, but…you never of Tylenols and Coke and Campbell’s chick-
know. There is a whole other life out there en noodle soup. If it where dras c, a day or
that I could have lived.” two in bed.

“Yeah,” Nathan replied. “Lamen ng about But he didn’t get be er this me. He
throwing your life away following unrealis c probably wouldn’t have gone to the doc-
ac ng ambi ons and regre ng selling your tor if it was just him, but he had a son to
father’s diner…” take care of. Dad got diagnosed with lung
cancer two months before Nathan finished
Cera huffed out a single laugh. “I guess eighth grade. The treatments started up
so. But s ll, maybe I would have met some- soon a er that, long doctors’ visits, trans-
one special. Instead of just si ng here lucent orange bo les of pills spilling over in
was ng my life.” the bathroom cabinet, even an IV line that
Nathan was taught to put in the thick veins
They locked eyes for a moment and of his father’s arms by a nurse who came to
nothing broke away. Cera laid her hand gen- visit them at the house a couple of mes. It
tly on his arm. That was where it started. was a strange and dizzy mess of things all
jumbled together that summer.
#
Nathan didn’t tell Cera how the cancer
He didn’t know how it happened, but they had sucked his li le two person family dry.
were stumbling through her bedroom door, That despite all types of medical cocktails,
mouths hot and frustrated against each oth- his father was only withered away more
ers’. He didn’t recall how they took the stair- and more un l he had to stop working. He
case or what street her house was even on. became pale, his once thick arms became
thin, and brown hair, the same shade as his
Nathan had never been with an older sons, fell out. How Nathan quit the lacrosse
woman before that night, but it was nice, all team halfway through his sophomore sea-
gone the awkward fumbling of youth. Cera son—he had been good, college scholarship
took enough command, knowing what she good, if he had stayed at it. His teammates
wanted, what he wanted, and they moved all groaned at him, for they were on track
together. to the championship, and while Nathan
wasn’t the star player, yet, he was a starter
# and a damn good one at that. Coach didn’t
say much, because he knew why, that Na-
There were more things that he hadn’t told than couldn’t a end daily prac ces when
her, ones that taunted him in his dreams, even he had to get an a er school job as a ca-
when he was collapsed and content on her
bed, the loose ends of her hair ckling his bare

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

shier at the supermarket, had to count out He looked up at her slantways. “I don’t
his dad’s pills every day, had to snip out 50 have anywhere else to go.”
cent coupons for canned soup and boxes of
cereal, and accept charity-ridden casseroles Nathan stayed to help her close up with-
from members of the local church with a out being paid for it. He offered to walk her
certain brand of humility. to her car; she offered to give him a ride.
He didn’t say anything when she turned the
He was only sixteen when he had to wrong way out of the parking lot, and they
accept that not only did his dad have can- ended up in her bedroom again.
cer, but terminal cancer—that very soon
he would be an orphan. He didn’t tell Cera #
that resen ng all the hardships he had to go
through for his father turned into resen ng Cera’s fingers were splayed across his bare
his father himself, the weak skeleton echo chest. A er the fourth or fi h me, it had
of the human being he used to be. become normal, comfortable. Nathan had
checked out of his dingy motel and sort of
Because Cera loved her father. moved in with her. He was s ll living out of a
duffle bag, but it was a duffle bag on the floor
# of Cera’s closet rather than a motel room
with peeling wallpaper and a moldy smell.
“This was wrong,” Cera whispered when
they both woke up the next morning. Her Nathan blinked at the clock. “We’re gon-
naked body was curled up flush against him na be late to work.”
and she didn’t pull away.
“I’m the boss.”
“It’s not like I didn’t want it. It’s not like you
took advantage of me. I’m an adult,” Nathan “I’m not. And Steve will beat me with a
replied in slow mumbles as he watched the spatula.”
blades of the ceiling fan cut through the air.
Cera sighed. “Yeah. He would.” She rolled
“You’re only nineteen. You’re just a baby.” out of bed and Nathan watched her pull her
But she snuggled closer to him and he bit pan es up her legs, pass the li le dimples
back his snarky retort about her not thinking of cellulite at the top of her thighs and clasp
so last night. on her black bra with arms pretzel-twisted
behind her back. He could feel the cold be-
All day at work, she avoided eye contact side him with her body gone and it was like
and directed her orders only to Steve, who a wound in his side.
interpreted this as a hos le a ack and be-
came more grumpy than usual. But Nathan “You coming?” she asked, glancing her
stayed around to have dinner a er his shi eyes over her shoulder.
ended and a er that just sat alone at a two
person table in the front corner by the win- Nathan shi ed so he was si ng up
dow, watching the people wander down the against the headboard, the blankets pooling
sidewalk outside. in his lap.

“You’re off the clock,” Cera interrupted “You’re beau ful,” he said. He wasn’t
him as she poured coffee to refill his mug. sure when his defini on of beau ful includ-
“You don’t have to stay here.” ed love handles or the three gray hairs he
had spo ed by her temples last night.

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A skep cal expression ran over her face, Downstairs, Cera was cooking scrambled
one that said she didn’t think he was lying, eggs while wearing a purple robe and fluffy
but she didn’t believe him either. slippers. Nathan slumped into a seat at the
kitchen table and stared thankfully at the glass
Cera dropped Nathan off two blocks of water and bo le of Advil set out for him.
away from Hal’s, around the corner. He ar-
rived to work five minutes later than she “Finally awake, sleepy head,” Cera said,
and no one was the wiser. too cheery and loud as she dished eggs onto
his plate. He grunted in response, stabbing
While nothing illegal was going on, peo- his fork at his food and shoveling the eggs into
ple wouldn’t approve if they knew. Small his mouth. They were dry and under-salted,
town gossip was like poison, Cera had said. not like Steve’s. Nathan realized then, he had
Nathan agreed, having enough of prying never eaten Cera’s cooking before.
eyes and whispers in his hometown as the
poor kid whose only parent was dying of He devoured his plateful before looking
cancer. It wore on you, and it didn’t ma er up. Cera was si ng across from him, chin
if they were sympathe c or scandalized. in her palm, elbow res ng on the table, just
watching him.
#
Nathan shi ed and looked down at the
“Y’know,” she said to him another night of swirling grain on the table top. There was
the many he stayed to help her close up only so long someone could suffer that
without being on the clock, “You don’t have stare. Especially for someone like him, who
to stay here all the me.” By “here” she wanted to skirt around the edges of life, un-
meant “with me” because they had fallen no ced.
into an inseparable rou ne of work, sex,
sleep, repeat and Nathan’s life being spent He said, “Why did you do this—this week-
in her house, in her car, and in her diner. end thing?”

He answered, “There’s nowhere else I’d Cera blinked and drew back, breaking
rather be.” Her expression seemed sad and the moment in a way that Nathan was aim-
touched simultaneously, but at least she be- ing for.
lieved him this me.
“Can you ask me that again tomorrow?”
#
This evasion was the opposite of roman-
Sleeping with the boss had its perks, like c pledge about hearts or commitment he
when she scheduled both of them off for had an cipated. All the things he thought
the whole weekend. They got drunk on a woman of her age to want, but that he
wine late into Friday night and made out couldn’t give in his pit stop existence.
some. Around three in the morning, they
feel asleep together for the first me with- He had misread her. Cera was dedicated
out the precursor of sex. to Hal’s. Only the remaining hours were for
him. He was the one who had given his life
Nathan woke up with a pounding at his up to her.
temples. Reaching out with his eyes screwed
shut he found Cera’s side of the bed empty. “Can’t you tell me now?” he asked.

“Why couldn’t you have just waited?”
she said, then told him.

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She had go en a call from the mechan- The steering wheel had been smooth
ic at the dinner when Nathan couldn’t be under his hands as he drove down the main
reached at the motel. The part was in. His street, away from the house that had once
car would be ready by Tuesday. been his home, past the turn that lead to
his high school, past everything. Once out
“Oh.” He couldn’t look her in the eye. of the town limits, where the road was
open and empty and the speed limit went
She was up and around the table, her up to fi y, he pressed down on the gas ped-
hand hovering by his shoulder, then his jaw, al with only the vague knowledge that he
but never touching. “It’s okay. I always knew was headed south. That was all he needed.
this was temporary.”
It had been immature, running away. Not
# a solu on for anything. But Nathan had giv-
en up his childhood to be a man, in turn he
The night Nathan had le his hometown, he was dumping adulthood to be a teenager. It
had sat on the hood of his car, just taking in was the fairest trade he could come up with.
the sounds and rhythm of his neighborhood
as it slept. #

All the things he had deemed worth of Cera woke up slowing beside him on the
taking were jammed into boxes and duffel last day of their weekend break, her face
bags in his trunk and his backseat, clothes buried against his arm so he could feel her
mostly and a few albums of family photos lashes against his skin as she blinked slowly.
stuffed in the bo om where he wouldn’t
run into them too easily. The rest had been “I could stay,” he stated. Her lips twisted
thrown into a dumpster around the block: against his skin in what he guessed was a
the yearbooks from all the days in school smile.
that he was never invested in and the la-
crosse s ck that had become a useless “And what? Con nue with this secret
key to unlock a future that was now out of fling un l we’re discovered or it gets boring?
reach. Work at my diner the rest of your life? Hell,
Nathan, I’m doing that and I don’t like it.”
He had told no one he was going to
leave. He was nineteen and adult in every- “You trying to make me leave, Cera?”
one’s eyes here. He was supposed to pick up
the pieces of his father’s prolonged death “No,” she said quite firmly. “You have
and get a full- me job, maybe take a few nothing to stay here for. Just think about
classes at the local community college or go it. You know you aren’t going to stay.” She
to trade school, work the rest of his life, get shi ed and snuggled her head into him.
some money, then get married and have a “Now, shut up.”
kid, or have kid and get married. Either way
worked here, but both of them came to the She was right, but… Cera didn’t under-
same result. It meant you would be trapped, stand that staying somewhere voluntarily
once you let done even a single anchor, and wasn’t the same as being stuck.
that was the end. A stalemate.
#
He refused to get stuck here.
“Hear you’ll be leaving soon,” Steve grunted
partway through the first hour of shoveling

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out pancake stacks and omelets the next do whatever—” he coughed and smirked,
morning. “Well, just wanted to say that you “Whoever, she wants. You can to, for all I
weren’t completely horrible to work with.” care. I’m just saying, it’s be er not to get
a ached to something you can’t have.”
Nathan laughed.
Nathan knew as Steve said it, it was
Cera stuck her head through the kitchen one of those all encompassing proverbs
door. “Hey, table nine s ll needs its food.” that ed up everything that was hanging
loose, o en unsaid and usually untouched.
Steve just waved her off with a flick of Maybe even the pieces of his life. His dad’s
his hand. “It’s coming. Tell them to wait a name taking its place on cold granite; Cera’s
goddamn second.” hands, nails, trailing his skin; the armchair
his old man withered away in now empty;
Cera glared at him, then her eyes slid Nathan’s blue car, rusted bumper and all. A
over to Nathan by the fryer, and their gaze steering wheel, a gray motel room, his old
locked for an impenetrable moment. Steve house sold to an unknown family, his duf-
coughed. fel bag taking up space in a closet. Street
lamps glancing off of large glass windows,
“Well,” she said, eyes snapping back to a sports jersey discarded on the locker
her cook. “Hurry up. Please.” room floor, the Hollywood sign on its hill,
chili fries.
The door of the kitchen swung shut with
her exit. Steve was watching him. The phone rang in the office and though
the sound was muffled by the walls, and
“Be er get on that order,” Nathan piped probably would have been ignored or even
up for excuse of not having anything else to unheard in hustle of shoving out orders, it
say. seemed to scream out.

“I’m not stupid, y’know. I know what’s It didn’t ring a second me. Cera stuck
been going on between you two. You’re her head through the doorway. She gulped
easy to read. Might as well been banging on visibly and said in almost a whisper, “Na-
the lunch counter.” than, your car’s ready.” A sigh, the door shut,
then swung open again. “Dammit, Steve, ta-
There really wasn’t much Nathan could ble freaking nine. Can they have their food
say to that, so he didn’t say anything. Steve some me today? Jesus Christ!”
didn’t seem angry, just sta ng the facts in
an exhaus on that curved over his shoul- When she disappeared again, Steve
ders. “But it’s over now.” The relief carrying glared at Nathan like this was all his fault,
in the lint of his voice held volumes, enough but Nathan just threw down the dishtowel
to shoot Nathan into the defensive. and went to find Cera in her cramped office,
dabbing under her eyes with a ssue.
“We weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“I’m not crying,” she stated without a
Steve arched up an eyebrow as he ex- waver in her voice to betray her.
pertly flipped an omelet on the skillet with
the twist of the wrist and a spatula, giving She slipped him an envelope of cash
Nathan the impression that he en rely over the desktop, her fingers curling convex
missed the point.

“It’s not like she’s my li le sister,” Steve
said. “Hell, she’s a grown woman. She can

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

with unneeded force. It was the rest of his About the Author:
pay in cash.
Margery Bayne is a librarian by day and
“You’re rushing me out,” Nathan said. a writer by night. She is a published short
story writer and an aspiring novelist in the
“We had a weekend for goodbyes. No areas realis c and specula ve fic on. In
use drawing it out. Rip off the band-aid,” 2012, she graduated from Susquehanna
she said. “Steve can handle himself. He did University with a BA in Crea ve Wri ng. In
it before without you, and he can damn well 2017, she placed second in the Bal more
do it again.” Science Fic on Society’s Wri ng Contest.
She is currently pursuing her Masters of Li-
“Glad to feel needed.” brary Science. In her me not spent reading
and wri ng, she enjoys running, origami,
“I admire you, Nathan. I never got out of and being an aunt. More about her and her
my town. But you did yours. I am not going works can be found at h p://www.mar-
to be what stops you now. I don’t want you gerybayne.com.
to be stuck like me.”

She stood up and leaned forward a lit-
tle across the desk, then paused, as though
thinking be er of it, and straightened her-
self up, rolling her shoulders back deliber-
ately.

“It was nice to know you, Nathan… I nev-
er want to see you again.”

#

He was going sixty down yet another high-
way, anchorless, dri ing towards the hori-
zon, but it felt like he wasn’t moving at all.

90

VALIDATION

by Ivanka Fear

I lost my iden ty today. Seriously, I woke up every room and closet, then down to the
this morning and couldn’t for the life of me basement. What a beau ful home I have.
remember who I am. Maybe I’m s ll dream- Nicely decorated, I thought as I strolled
ing, I thought. I sat up in bed, rubbed my through. No one was in it, though.
eyes, and looked around. Judging by the
light coming in from the window, it was ob- Maybe they already le for work. Or
viously early morning. Nothing in the room maybe I live alone. That’s more likely as it’s
was familiar. Am I in a hotel room or stay- so neat and dy, not clu ered, I considered.
ing over at somebody’s place? I wondered. I sat down on the sofa in the living room
Tossing aside the covers, I set my feet on and tried to think.
the rug covering the hardwood floor. I was
wearing a long short-sleeved nightgown What is the last thing I remember? I
and slipper socks. Making my way to the asked myself. Nothing came to mind. I de-
entrance of the bedroom, I flung open the cided to have a look in my purse to at least
door to find a hallway leading to a living find out my name. That might jog my mem-
area. “Mom? Dad?” I called out. No answer. ory. I went back to the bedroom and looked
Where are they? I asked myself. Walking on the dresser, on the chair by the bed,
back down the hall, I found the bathroom on the floor, in the closet, even under the
and a er using the facili es, I took a good bed. There were clothes and shoes neatly
look in the mirror. “What? Who is that? I arranged in the closet and clothes folded
asked in horror, the mirror image staring away in the dresser. On the dresser was a
blankly back at me. vase of silk flowers and a jewelry box, but
the box was empty. There were books on
Obviously not what I expected to see. the night table by the bed. There was no
Okay, so the good news is I seem to be fairly purse anywhere.
able-bodied. The bad news is I can’t remem-
ber who I am, I thought, or even how old I Star ng to worry that I had lost it, I
am. Clearly, it wasn’t Mom or Dad I should looked through the en re house. It was no-
be looking for. I was obviously an adult. An where to be found. “That’s just great,” I said
older one, at that. Maybe a husband or a aloud. “No ID, no money, no phone.” In fact,
partner, though? Kids? Maybe even grand- I realized, there was no computer or laptop,
kids? “Hello? Is anybody home? Hello?” I not even an Ipad to be found. “I’ve been
yelled, walking through the house checking robbed!” I exclaimed, finally realizing what
must have happened. It must have been
the shock of the robbery that triggered my

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

memory loss. Post-trauma c stress? Maybe I stored all my important documents in a
I had been hit on the head? Knocked un- lock box at the bank, for all I knew.
conscious for a while? That would certainly
explain why things were missing and why “You need to stay calm,” I told myself.
I couldn’t quite get my bearings. But wait, “Someone is going to miss you and come
why is the TV s ll here? Nothing else seems looking for you.” If not Mom and Dad, then
to be disturbed either, I no ced. And there surely a spouse or kids or a sibling. Someone
are lots of nice things here. Taking an in- would come by sooner or later. Wouldn’t I
ventory of the house, I was relieved to see be missed at work? I must have friends out
nothing had been destroyed in the robbery. there somewhere. Someone must be ex-
Okay, so it’s not so bad. It could have been pec ng me to show up somewhere today.
worse. I guess they just took what they In fact, someone should be calling me to
could grab and carry and got out as quickly find out where I am. I went to the kitchen to
as possible, I postulated. check the phone in case there were phone
numbers listed there. Oh, that’s right. I
I decided my next move was to find out should have no ced that before. There is
who I was and then file a report with the no home phone, I realized. Nor was there
police. “There must be something here…” a phone book anywhere. I was star ng to
I said, “Something with my name on it... really panic.
maybe a bill or a le er or some documents
in a lock box.” Talking to myself must be “Okay, this is ridiculous. I could wait all
something I’m used to doing, I realized, I day here for someone to come check on
must live alone. Very methodically, I went me,” I decided. “I’m be er off to head out
through drawers and closets, cupboards and find someone who can help me. There
and shelves, trying to find something that must be neighbours close by who know me.”
would indicate my iden ty. I must be one Opening the front door, I realized I would
of those obsessive compulsive people, need to get dressed first. I headed back to
who like everything perfect, I mused. I was the bedroom and took out a pair of pants
shocked, however, to find no bills wai ng and a top from the closet. The pants were a
to be paid, no notes to remind myself of bit snug. Need to watch my diet, I thought.
things I needed to do, no address book, I grabbed a sweater to put over my top and
no lists of computer passwords, no calen- slipped into a pair of sandals, which didn’t
dar, no photographs, no insurance papers, seem to leave too much wiggle room. Wid-
nothing personal in fact. If there was a clue ening waistline and swelling feet. I need to
to my iden ty in this house, I couldn’t find get more exercise, I vowed. I headed back to
it. I supposed I must be one of those peo- the front door, and decided I be er leave it
ple who is very careful about not leaving unlocked as there were no spare keys si ng
passwords si ng around. You couldn’t be on the entrance table. That’s when I no ced
too careful these days. Probably I paid all my car was gone. “Oh great! They’ve taken
my bills online and kept my contacts and my car,” I moaned.
my daybook on my phone. Same with my
photos. It’s what everyone did these days, I glanced to my right and le and saw
wasn’t it? There was likely a reasonable there were homes on both sides of my
explana on for why there was no paper place, but none directly across. There was a
trail of my existence in the house. Maybe wide expanse of lawn across the street from
our three houses and beyond that there

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was another road. I walked to the house on back to the street, I set towards the main
my le first and knocked on the door. There sec on of town.
was no answer. Must be at work, I reasoned.
I tried the other house and again, there was I walked into the police sta on and be-
no response. That’s to be expected, I reas- gan to explain my situa on. The officer at
sured myself. As it was a fairly warm morn- the desk told me to have a seat and she
ing, I decided it wouldn’t hurt me to keep would fill out a report. “Let’s start with your
walking un l I found someone who knew name and address,” she said.
me. There had to be someone who would
recognize me. “Um, Ginny. It’s 44 Oriole Drive,” I told
her, having memorized the street name and
Walking across the grassy expanse, I ven- house number from when I exited my home
tured towards a group of homes on the next earlier.
street. I got lucky this me. Someone an-
swered. “Yes? Can I help you?” she asked me. “Last name?”

“I’m hoping so,” I replied. “I wonder if “I’m not sure.”
you know me. I’m one of your neighbours.”
“Not sure?”
She stared at me in an odd manner, and
then said, “Oh, yes. I think I’ve seen you “Well, I’ve had a bit of memory loss from
around town some mes. Sorry, I can’t quite the incident,” I explained.
place you though. Was it Ginny or Jenny,
Gina, maybe? In a town this size, I know “What was taken?” she con nued.
most people know each other, but I feel like
I haven’t seen you around recently. Have “My purse, phone, jewelry, keys, my
you been away?” computer, my car...I’m not sure what else.”

“I don’t think so. The thing is I seem to “Did you get a look at the thief?”
have lost my memory today. I think I might
have been robbed or mugged,” I explained. “No, he was gone when I woke up.”

“That’s awful! You poor thing! What can “Was there any sign of forced entry?”
I do to help? Come inside and I’ll call the
police for you,” she offered. “I don’t think so.”

“Thank you. That’s very nice of you,” “Can you describe your vehicle? And tell
I said, “But actually, I’m fine. I think some me the licence plate number?”
fresh air is just the thing to clear my head.
I’ll just walk to the sta on and tell them in “I don’t remember.”
person what’s happened.”
The police officer then asked if I had
“Are you sure? Are you up for that?” she any ID on me at all. Of course, I didn’t. She
asked. looked me over carefully, then said, “Wait
here a minute. I’ll be right back.”
“Yes, thank you again.” It was so nice to
be recognized, even if not fully, and to have Rather than reassure me, my visit to the
someone care about my well-being. I was police sta on brought on an anxiety a ack.
feeling so much be er already. Heading What if I had done something terrible and
couldn’t remember? Maybe I had murdered
someone and this amnesia was the result of
my guilt? Could it be that the police might ac-
tually be looking for me? Is that why she le

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

the room? Does she suspect something about “No. It’s been stolen,” I explained. “Do I
me? I ran all kinds of scenarios through my bank here?”
mind. Maybe there was more to my memory
loss than just a simple home robbery. “Don’t you know?” she asked again, ap-
pearing puzzled.
Fearing I would be arrested for some-
thing I might have done and couldn’t re- “Never mind,” I said as I went out the
member, I exited the sta on and quickly door.
headed further into town. There had to
be some way for me to find out who I was. The next place I stopped at was the post
“The library! That’s it!” I shouted to no office. I asked the clerk how I could get my
one in par cular. Surely I could find out my mail.
name by checking online to find out who
lived at 44 Oriole Drive. Excited by the pros- “Do you live in town?”
pect of finding out my last name, I entered
the town library and asked to use a comput- “Yes, 44 Oriole Drive.”
er. “Do you have a library card?” asked the
librarian. Of course, I didn’t. “You should have a key for your postal
box, then.”
“Can I just use the computer for a few
minutes?” I asked. “I’ve lost it. Can you get my mail for me?”
I asked, hoping my name would appear on
“Sorry, we can only allow our patrons to an envelope, bringing me a step closer to
use the library computers,” she told me. figuring out who I was.

So much for that idea. Even a er I ex- “Do you have some ID with your address
plained that I had my wallet stolen, she re- on it?” she asked.
iterated, “Sorry, I know I’ve seen you here
before, but it’s just policy. What we can do “No, it was stolen. Look, do you know
is get you a new card if you give me your who I am?” I inquired, star ng to get more
informa on. Do you have some ID with your than a li le agitated by this point. How could
address on it?” I possibly have my ID when it was stolen?

A er leaving the library, I decided there “Sorry, no, I’ve seen you around before,
had to be other places in town where I but I can’t hand mail over the counter. Post
could get some valida on of my iden ty. office policy. Can I have your name and post
People seemed to recognize that they had office box number? I can check and let you
seen me before, so surely there had to be know whether there is any mail in your box.
someone who knew me. I decided to check When you come back with your ID, I can
out the bank next door. The teller asked help you get your mail,” she offered.
how she could help me. “Do I have an ac-
count here?” I asked her. She gave me one As I le the post office, I tried to think
of those strange looks I should have been where else I could turn to find valida on
ge ng used to by now. of my iden ty. I needed to know who I was
and find someone who knew me before I
“Do you have your bank card with you?” could begin to understand what had actual-
she asked me. ly happened to me. I con nued walking and
saw the H sign for Hospital ahead. “That’s
it! Someone there should be able to help
me with this memory loss,” I figured.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Excited now, I went straight to the main “Someone stole my purse, my car, my
desk and told the recep onist, “I need to phone, my computer, and I don’t know
see a doctor. I need help. I don’t remember what else. I woke up this morning and my
who I am.” stuff was gone. I couldn’t remember who I
was. I was so scared,” I cried. I started to let
“No problem, we’ll get someone to see it all out now that I was finally safe.
you as soon as possible,” she said. “Can I
have your health card?” “It’s okay, Mom. We’re going to get you
home and take care of everything,” said the
“I don’t have it,” I told her. young man. “You’re fine now. Let’s go.”

“Do you have some other ID? What As they escorted me to the back seat of
about other health insurance?” she asked. their car, I heard them whispering. I started
to get suspicious. What if these people are
“No, I don’t have anything,” I said, losing the ones who robbed me? I panicked, No,
hope. no, they seem nice enough.

“Why don’t you have a seat in the wait- I listened closely to what they were saying.
ing area, and I’ll get someone to see you “It’s a good thing that furnished model home
shortly,” she told me, with a sympathe c was accidently le unlocked last night. Other-
expression on her face. wise she might have spent the night outside
like last me, poor thing,” said the woman.
I sat down and waited, not knowing what
else to do at this point. I felt like I had been “This is the second me this month
there for hours, flipping through magazines, she’s go en out. I’ve asked them to keep
staring at the TV screen on the wall, watch- changing the access code, but she seems
ing people come and go. Finally, someone to always find out what it is,” answered the
came towards me. There were two of them. young man.

“Mom!” they both shouted as they held “Access code? You mean 35478?” I spoke
out their arms towards me. “Thank good- up.
ness we found you! Are you okay?” asked
the young lady with long brown hair. She “How is it that she remembers that and
looked familiar. I could have sworn I had yet can’t remember so much else?” asked
seen her in the mirror this morning, except the young man, shaking his head.
she was a lot younger looking. How odd!
“I’m right here, you know. I haven’t lost
“Mom, we need to get you back home. my senses, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I
The officer at the police sta on told us tried to tell them.
there was a woman fi ng your descrip on
looking for her iden ty,” said the handsome “Maybe we need to find a place with
young man with dark hair. more security. I hate to take her further
away from the town where she’s lived for
I was so glad to finally be found I could so many years, though,” I heard the woman
hardly think straight. These people knew say. “And besides, it would make it so much
me and would help me. “I’ve been robbed,” harder to visit her as o en.”
I told them.
“Are you taking me home?” I asked to be
“What?” they both exclaimed, shocked. sure.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Yes, Mom. We’ll get you se led back About the Author:
where you belong soon. It’s just a few min-
utes longer,” assured the dark haired man. Ivanka Fear is a re red teacher from midwest-
ern Ontario, Canada. Her poetry and short
“That’s good. Will you get my stuff back?” stories appear in Spadina Literary Review,
Montreal Writes, Spillwords Press, Commut-
“Of course we will. Don’t worry about erlit, and Canadian Stories.
anything.”

It was so good to have someone else in
control, taking me home and ge ng my be-
longings back to me. But there was just one
thing I s ll didn’t know.

“Do you know my name?” I asked them.

“Yes, Mom. It’s Gillian Roberts.”

Finally, I knew who I was. Valida on at
last. Now if only I could remember who
these two nice young people were.

Wait? Why are they taking me in the
opposite direc on of home? Who are these
people?

“Help, help me!” I shouted as I banged
on the car window. “I’m being kidnapped!”

96

NOTHING FOR YOU HERE

by Mitchell Waldman

I’ve got bad news: there is nothing for you All these years thinking these things,
here. Nothing. looking for a plan, but there is no plan. That
is the plan. (A Zen-like truth). The truth is
Do you want to go through life in a dream there is no truth, but only the truth.
state?
And the living go on, chasing the dollar,
You are nothing but a cog in their wheel trying to live, accumula ng what they need
machine, a consumer to be consumed, or have been told or brainwashed into be-
bought, sold, entertained. A commodity to lieving they need. Not living, really, just sur-
be traded, milked ll there ain’t no more viving, un l the swat of the great golden fly
milk le . In your cushy chair, dreaming your swa er. SMACK! We’re through with you.
way through it all, un l the final breaths of
your life. Not so bright. Dark, in fact, very dark, I
know. And who wants to read, who wants
And what will you have accomplished, to think about this shit? Nobody. So dream
what will you have learned, what will you your life away in the trance of what you
have done, le behind? Watching your life think is life. Compete, achieve, accumulate
pass you by, buying what they want you to things un l the very end without giving it a
buy, toiling to make their profit margins, thought, or asking “Why?”
then fading into dust while you sit in your
casket and the corporate wheels grind on, Watch your TV, play your video games,
disposing of no longer produc ve workers cut your lawn, change those light bulbs. Buy
with their huge golden fly swa ers, as their the best designer clothing, that pres gious
machine lives on and on and on…. car. Wear a big stone on your finger. Show
them that you ma er, that you’re important
Is this what your life was all about? on this li le speck of dirt on this ny planet
in this solar system in this universe that is
Shit’s go a happen. Shit’s gonna change. just an unseen speck on the map of it all.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

About the Author:

Mitchell Waldman’s fic on, poetry, and
essays have appeared in numerous publi-
ca ons, including The Waterhouse Review,
Crack the Spine, The Houston Literary Re-
view, The Faircloth Review, Epiphany, Wil-
derness House Literary Magazine, The Bat-
tered Suitcase, and many other magazines
and anthologies. He is also the author of
the novel, A Face in the Moon, and the story
collec on, Pe y Offenses and Crimes of the
Heart, and serves as Fic on Editor for Blue
Lake Review. (For more info, see his website
at h p://mitchwaldman.homestead.com).

98