AdelaideLiterary Magazine No.17, October 2018

Just a few years earlier, they had stayed in a skin, there is a person beneath. Usually a
house down here every weekend in the sum- beautiful maiden. And they usually shed their
mer—a different house from his grandparent’s skin when they want to come lie on the rocks,
cottage—right on the beach, and at night he or lie on the beach. They are all over the sea
would walk down to the surf and watch the around Ireland, so I bet a few swim over this
seals in the moonlight. The house had been his way, too.”
brother’s for the summer, and his sister had
rented it for him, Memorial Day through Labor Nina laughed, but Sally still looked skeptical.
Day, because his brother was dying and he “You’re making that up.”
wanted to die by the water, he wanted to die
on the beach. But then by the Fourth of July, “I’m not. Look it up on line when you get
he was already gone. Jack’s sister had paid for home. There are a lot of legends about them.
the house up front, and she lived down in Flori- Sometimes, a man will meet a beautiful woman
da, and so she had encouraged Jack and his on the beach, and immediately fall in love, but
siblings to use it anyway, not to let it sit there then before he knows it, he turns his head, and
and go to waste. And Jack and Clarissa, the she is gone. Out into the waves, out into the
twins and their sisters, did not. Sometimes the darkness. And there’s only one way to get
girls would come down at night to the water them to stay.”
with him, playing in the waves while Jack sat on
the beach, drank a beer, smoked a cigar, and “What’s that?” Sally asked.
sometimes it would be Clarissa, huddled beside
him, and once even straddled atop of him, the “You have to steal their skin, keep it wet every
girls in the house and all long asleep, moving day, and hide it. Because if they find it, they
up and down as the tide moved in and out be- will climb right back inside, and then they’ll be
neath him. The rhythm of the water. She had gone.”
still been in love with him then.
“Do they ever come back?” Sally asked.
Now, the heads were poking out of the dark
water, looking at them, and Sally and Nina The shadows moved beneath the surface
were crouched down on the edge of the rocks, again, lower, and barely visible in the darkness.
laughing, reaching out, but much too far to “Sometimes,” he said. “And sometimes you’ll
touch. hear them sing.”

Jack crouched down beside them. The fire- He remembered their wedding. Early June,
works were now louder now, dozens breaking and an early heat wave; despite it being June,
into the sky at once. the church was like an oven, and the old priest
was refusing to marry them. Sitting back in the
“Watch and see if they shed their skins,” he sacristy, with Jack’s brothers, and Clarissa’s
said to the girls. brothers trying to reason with him; the mar-
riage license existed, Father Tom, at the re-
“How they gonna do that Dad?” Nina asked. hearsal the night before, had just seen it.
“They can’t do that.”
“But I need to see it,” the old man had said.
“They can if they are selkies,” Jack said. His hair was bright white, and combed neatly
over his pate. Blue Lithuanian eyes, and thick
Sally looked at him quizzically. “What’s a Selk- peasant skin. “I didn’t see it.”
ie?”
The license had been left at Clarissa’s mother’s
The seals disappeared beneath the surface house, and now it was missing. Everyone had
again. Nothing but shadows. looked, no one could find it. When the old
man wouldn’t budge, Clarissa had jumped back
“A selkie is a seal, that when she sheds her in the limo, flowers in hand, and ordered the

driver to take her to her mother’s, she would would just set her off again. Upset the chil-
look for it herself. dren. But she knew, he knew. And he won-
dered how things could ever be the same.
And she found it. Her sister had turned it over
to scribble a phone number and message on it, When she finally composed herself over her
left it on their mother’s bureau. And no one mothers, she was still denying they were hers.
could find it. No one except Clarissa. But she was no longer accusing him. Someone
had put them there, she said, and she wouldn’t
That was Clarissa. rest until she found out who. She would find
them. And even now, Jack wondered, if the
Her face was still slightly perspiring as her fa- investigation had gone beyond that declara-
ther walked her down the aisle—the mass set tion, that moment. He didn’t think it had.
back an hour—and she still looked beautiful,
and he had loved her. The blonde hair—she Any time he brought it up in the weeks follow-
still had bangs back then—and the tan skin ing, he had been snapped at. “If you can’t let
against the white of her dress. The slightly this go, Jack, our marriage is not going to work.
hooded blue gray eyes. She kept whispering to It is going to be over. I’m not going to live like
him as the knelt before the altar, the priest that, under a microscope, for the rest of my
reciting the liturgy, excited and nervous and life. I did nothing wrong, and I’m not going to
sure of everything to come. And he had loved be accused.”
her.
He had a shed in the back yard, a shed large
Now just a little over a month earlier, he had enough to fit a car. It was quiet and dark and
been with her, as had the girls, in their SUV, on dusty and dry in the shed, dried crumbled
their way to her mother’s for her mother’s leaves from the autumn before, in the corners,
birthday, the girls all in back, headphones on, and in between the two by fours, lining the
individual music, only Sally singing in key, when walls. He kept his fishing gear and his machi-
it all really began to unravel. Clarissa was driv- nery inside—snow blower, and rider mower,
ing, and the sun was bright, so Jack had opened and rototiller—he kept a vegetable garden in
the glove compartment, rummaging about for the summer, high fence to keep out the deer,
an old pair of sunglasses. but this summer it had already fallen to ne-
glect, Jack had little interest in the garden, and
Clarissa had looked at him sideways. little interest in the yard. Little interest in fish-
“Whatcha looking for?” ing, little interest in anything.

“Sunglasses,” he said, and as he did, he pulled But sometimes at night now though, after the
up the condoms. Three packs of two. For a girls were asleep, he would sit inside the shed,
split second he wasn’t sure what they were. A smoke a cigar, and watch Clarissa’s shadow
brand he had never heard of before, never had moving across the yellow light of the window
used. He just stared at them a moment, eve- of her room. She would usually be texting, but
rything stiffening, freezing up inside him, and sometimes speaking on the phone, or holding
then before he even could turn to her, she was it before her, speaking at it. Face timing again.
screaming. He had put them there, she said, Once he had watched as she looked slowly,
he had planted them. He had framed her. Her cautiously, about the room, right and then left,
tirade kept going, alerting the girls, but her and then pressed the image of whomever she
words were lost in the rush of blood moving was face timing up to her face and kissed it. He
through his head, emptying his heart. He felt had never felt anything like he felt at that mo-
completely empty inside, and there were plen- ment, and hoped he never would again. His
ty of sounds, but very little sense. And then by heart had seized up inside him, everything had
the time she stopped, he knew there was noth- seized up inside him. It was worse than finding
ing he could say, not now, any more words

the condoms, because even with the condoms, “She was upset, Clarissa, and she had every
there was a chance. A chance for another ex- right to be.”
planation. A chance she was telling the truth.
Now there was none. “She lies Jack! She’s a fucking liar. And I’m not
going to stand here and be accused of some-
He had confronted her, of course. She had thing I didn’t do!”
just gone for a run, her legs so slim in her
shorts once so tight; never big to begin with, “So you’re really telling me you’re not seeing
she had lost so much weight. Thirty pounds, him?”
forty. He had no idea, but she was disappear-
ing right before his eyes. She had her hair “Sure. I’m seeing him. Big deal. He’s my
pulled up in a palm tree ponytail, aging sud- friend. He listens to me. And he understands
denly but still looking like a girl. A beautiful me.”
girl. She would always be beautiful.
“Where do you go?”
She lifted her water bottle, Smart Water, up to
her lips, took a slow sip, her eyes cautious. “We sit in the car and talk.”
Then: “What? What’s up?”
“And that’s it?”
“You tell me,” he had said. He had his hands in
his pockets. His hands were shaking, and he “Yes, Jack. That’s it! And it’s none of your
didn’t want her to see his hands shaking. fucking business what we do!”

“Tell you what?” “It is if you’re seeing him.”

“Tell me what’s going on with Mark.” “I’m not seeing him.”

“Nothing’s going on with him.” Jack’s head was spinning. “You just said you
were.”
“You mean, you’re not seeing him?”
“You’re standing in front of me. I’m seeing you.
“No.” Maybe that’s how I’m seeing him. Maybe I saw
him across the parking lot.”
“Really?”
“You just said—“
“I text him once in a while. That’s it.”
“This conversation is over!” she said, “I’m not
“Once in a while?” talking to you.” She had stormed from the
room then, and Jack stood paralyzed in the
“Yeah.” She finished the water, went to fill kitchen. Listen to the shower turn on in the
the empty bottle Brita purifier in the refrigera- bathroom, her radio begin to blare. Their entire
tor. “I have to shower, then I have to run an lives drowned out with music.
errand.”
“Are there boy selkies?” Nina asked now.
“You text him more than once in a while, Clar-
risa.” Of course there are Nina,” said Sally.´“There
has to be boys, and there has to be girls, or no
She turned then, something rising in her eyes, more selkies.”
the indifference being saturated with rage.
“What are you snooping on my phone? You “The black Irish,” said Jack, “Dark hair and dark
have no fucking business looking at my phone.” eyes. Both boys and girls. Singing. They say
on Midsummer’s night, the Summer Solstice,
“His wife called me,” Jack said. “She was cry- their songs come the most clear. they bob their
ing. It’s more than just texts.” heads in the waves, and try to lure you into the
water so they can drown you. And have you
“Who? Lisa?” Clarissa said, the woman’s name forever.”
uttered in a sarcastic taunt. Adolescent.

“I don’t want to see one then,” said Nina. gured they maybe had another five minutes,
and it would be over his head. Jack steadied
“Some are probably nice,” said Sally. his feet on the sea bed of pebbles beneath
him. He balanced Sally on his shoulders, and
“That’s right,” said Jack. “Some probably are.” lifted Nina in his arms, and then he stepped
cautiously, watching the shadows on the shore,
“But not all of them,” said Nina. and started back into the channel.

“No,” Jack said, “not all of them.” About the Author

With the sky like this, the next day would be I have new stories either recently published in
nice. Red skies at night. He wondered if he The Hopkins Review, Glimmer Train, Wa-
should take the day off. Bring the twins back ter~Stone Review, Fifth Wednesday Journal,
down here, bring the canoe, and take it out on South Dakota Review, and Hayden’s Ferry Re-
the bay. They wouldn’t last long out here, not view among others. My story “Better Man”--
on the sea, but the bay would be nice. The bay originally published in December magazine--
would be calm. When he was small, his grand- was cited in The Best American Short Stories
father used to sometimes take him out in his 2015, and I am a 2016 recipient of the Massa-
old row boat on the bay. Two oars, the boat chusetts Cultural Council’s Artist Fellowship in
splintered and badly in need of a coat of paint, Fiction Award.
barely sea worthy. And his grandfather, a
shock of white hair, mesmerizing blue eyes,
and just a few teeth. Face always red from
wine and the sun. Jack could still picture him,
sitting backwards in the bow. Looking over his
shoulder, rowing. Always careful of what was
to come.

The water was dark now. Nothing but the
lights on the boats so far out, and the lights on
shore. A firework broke into the sky every mi-
nute or two, but the finale was over. Jack
looked towards the beach, dwindling quickly;
the tide came in so fast, that the beach could
disappear in the blink of an eye. Jack listened
for the voices of the teenagers, but they were
gone, too. Probably back up to the boardwalk
and into the town. Shadows.

“We should get going,” he said to the girls.

“I want to see if they light more,” Sally said.

“Do you want to have to swim?” Jack asked.

Sally smiled a little. “Well, nooo… Not in my
clothes.”

Jack took the girls hands, careful as they de-
scended the face of the rock. He handed Sally
his cell phone, and stepped into the water.
The water was moving swiftly, flowing like a
river, and was already up to his waist. He fi-

THREE AND A HALF MURAS

by Mark Budman

Mura 1 second one came from an immigrant ancestry
while the first one had always been and re-
Mura (with the emphasis on the first syllable) is mained a staunch European until her last mi-
a generic name of a female cat in Russian. Like nute. Mura 2 moved from the neighbors across
a “kitty” or a “pussy” in English. The first Mura the street and claimed us. The neighbors had a
came to our place back in Kishinev, then the large dog, a four-bedroom colonial and a two-
part of the old Soviet Union. She was trico- car garage. Their kids partied late at night, but
lored, the type that bought good luck if she they sung only in English. Mura 2 was indiffer-
passed the threshold of a new place first. The ent to the noise but disliked dogs. She passed
apartment building my wife and I moved in away at the old age of twelve. We cremated
right after the marriage was a concrete block her. I still keep her pic as my monitor back-
the color and smell of despair and fear, a so- ground.
called Khrushchev slum. A few stunned trees, a
communal property, grew in the back. The Mura 3.5
birds were few and sad, but they pooped often
and with gusto. There was a bus stop on the She was actually a he. Half Maine Coon, he
street side, and drunks slept on the dirty woo- weighed 1.5 times each of the previous Muras.
den bench under a poster of a Soviet soldier We took him from a shelter after Mura 2 ex-
bayoneting the united imperialists of the pired. He had the most enticingly puffy tail. He
world. was a biter, and he shed like he didn’t have to
vacuum the carpets. By then, the neighbor’s
Mura 1 didn’t like the sounds of the drunken kids went to college, so it was quiet. Mura 3.5
parties in the building though the drunks were roamed the grounds and fought with the
far from hoi polloi: sang in five languages. She neighborhood cats. When he was beaten, he
hid under the marriage bed. She probably would shit himself. It was difficult to wash off
didn’t care for multiculturalism. She died be- the shit from his puffy tale.
fore we left for America. We were lucky. Most
neighbors were left behind, and were buried I would sit in my rocking chair on my own deck,
not far from the first Mura. with him on my lap, watching my squirrels
chasing each other on my trees. He would purr
Mura 2 so loudly that it seemed the first two Muras
have joined him from above.
We eventually bought a house in Upstate New
York, and were proud of it. Mura 2 was an A few years later, we moved to Boston to be
American. She looked like a twin to Mura 1 close to our kids. We rented and the landlord
though they couldn’t possibly be related. The wouldn’t allow pets, so we had to find a good
home for Mura 3.5. A single mother and her

kid took him. She said they lived in a mobile
home. They wouldn’t rent, she said. It’s be-
neath human dignity.
I kept nodding to her words. Mura 3.5 didn’t
look happy when they took him. We have nev-
er had a cat again. 3.5 is a lucky number, and
we had enough luck with the cats already.
All three came to me in a dream once, and I
shook paws with each. Their paws were cold. I
wasn’t surprised. My dreams were nothing but
generic now. In the morning, I came to the mir-
ror, smiled and shouted in English, “I’m not
depressed.”

About the Author:

Mark Budman was born in the former Soviet
Union, and he speaks English with an accent.
His writing appeared in Five Points, PEN, Amer-
ican Scholar, Huffington Post, World Literature
Today, Daily Science Fiction, Mississippi Re-
view, Virginia Quarterly, The London Magazine
(UK), McSweeney's, Sonora Review, Another
Chicago, Sou'wester, Southeast Review, Mid-
American Review, Painted Bride Quarterly,
Short Fiction (UK), and elsewhere. He is the
publisher of the flash fiction magazine Vestal
Review. His novel My Life at First Try was pub-
lished by Counterpoint Press. He co-edited
flash fiction anthologies from Ooligan Press
and Persea Books/Norton.

HARMLESS PERVERSION

by Donald Zagardo

Jerry likes to Photoshop the heads of otherwise big sister and he loves her like a little brother
respectable young ladies, usually actresses, should, but more. She’s the black sheep of the
news or weather girls onto the bodies of not as family, Jerry being their mom’s little angel.
respectable porn models, often with their legs Trudy knows all about Jerry’s hobby. She ap-
spread and everything showing. It’s more than proves of everything her little brother does,
a hobby for Jerry, it’s his life’s work, his art, his but tries to keep him relatively sober neverthe-
perversion. Jerry is otherwise a regular guy. He less.
has friends, participates in intramural sports
and gets pretty good grades. Jerry has other Trudy has few friends, and most that she does
talent as well. He plays saxophone in the St. have are drunks or addicts or both. Jerry trips
Sebastian High School band/orchestra, can sing over a few as he hikes from her front door to
and even dance a little, but he excels most at the crowded kitchen where his sister is mixing
Photoshop. drinks. “Hey sis,” Jerry says. “I miss you so
much around the old house. Mom and dad are
His favorite shop-craft subject is Miss Daisy OK, but they’re sure not you!”
Brin, the lovely star of those astonishingly
mindless “Lost Puppy in Paris, New York and Trudy likes being missed and loves her baby
London” movies, that everyone, I do mean eve- brother. She knows that he won’t be lecturing
ryone pays good money to see. She is the pos- or scolding her about the unorthodox way she
ter child for decent, law abiding, painfully ador- lives life. Jerry idolizes Trudy. “Hey sweetheart,
able female adolescence; a little unrealistic as give your big sister a kiss.”
far as Jerry is concerned.
Trudy’s full wet lips leave their image on Jerry’s
When asked by friends and his amazingly un- cheek. “Come on sis, not so wet.”
derstanding guidance counselor, Mr. Peterson,
why he has taken every image of poor Daisy “As wet as I like little brother,” and she kisses
Brin, decapitated the girl, then attached her him once again, this time on the right side of
pretty head to the spread-eagled body of a his seventeen-year-old baby-brother neck.
“bad girl,” he answers, “I can’t help it. I love my
Daisy just that way!” Jerry takes in Trudy’s outpouring of sisterly
affection. He secretly likes to be kissed and
*** cuddled by Trudy. She’s the perfect big sister;
pretty face, big green eyes with black and grey
Empty beer cans amassed on Trudy’s living eye-shadow, pink lip gloss lips, nice big tits and
room table, two close-to-empty bottles of a great ass.
Svedka Vodka standing next to her refrigerator,
numerous ashtrays overflowing with crushed “Just beer for you little brother, nothing
filtered cigarettes, a whiff of marijuana in the stronger, no weed. OK?”
air; the condition of Trudy Dalton’s one-
bedroom apartment is nothing unusual for a “OK moms,” lightly retorts Jerry.
post-teen single California girl. Trudy is Jerry’s
Psshaa: Heinekens cans! Nice, Jerry smiles.

***

His copper and brass tenor saxophone shim- “Come on lover boy, it will be nice, we’ll have
mers in the light of the St. Sebastian High fun. Come on Jerry baby!” Kerry can be bizarre.
School music room’s low-grade fluorescents as
a little-late Jerry tramples second-violinist Pe- “But I gotta get home! My mom needs me this
nelope Wilson’s left foot then Kerry McDon- afternoon. Gotta go!” And off like a shot runs
ald's right on his way across the third row to- Jerry, on route to his computer.
wards the woodwind section. “Jeez Jerry baby,
watch it,” Penelope grumbles when the pain in “You’re such a liar,” Penelope shouts in the
her foot becomes real. direction of fleeing Jerry. Kerry just laughs be-
cause she knows what Jerry’s up to.
Kerry sarcastically groans, “Jerry baby.”
***
Penelope really likes Jerry and calls him Jerry
baby all the time. Kerry teases them both, all Clothing folded neatly on shelves and in draw-
the time. Penelope continues, “Jerry baby, we ers, family photos: mom and dad, sister and
will meet up right after practice, yes baby?” brother, friends and pets together on the one
wall, all framed, hanging straight and everyone
Jerry likes Penelope and tries to keep her hap- in the photographs looking quite attractive and
py, so he calls her Penny baby. “Sure, Penny healthy. Today’s mail stacked neatly on Daisy’s
baby: whatever you want, right after practice, desk, kitchen sink clear of dishes and sparkling,
for sure.” bathroom smelling like lilacs, an immaculate
tan and green carpet, comfortable furniture
The symphonies of Beethoven and the marches and energy-saving lamps; Daisy’s studio trailer
of J.P. Sousa are played by the St. Sebastian is the cleanest and best organized “home away
orchestra for the next hour and a half in typical from home” that Hollywood has ever seen. No
High School style; blaring out-of-tune horns, seriously!
isolated percussion and painful, screeching
violins. It’s terrible High School band music, but “How is it possible for an otherwise normal
somehow fun for its participants. family to repeatedly lose their poor dog?” Dai-
sy rarely questions a script, but this is her
“Come on, let’s walk together,” Penelope says fourth “Lost Puppy in Paris, New York and Lon-
to Jerry as band practice comes to an end and don…” movie/adventure and she has concerns.
the kids begin to disappear into the late after-
noon. Kerry follows. “You would think that by now the Colbeys
would learn to keep an eye on poor Charley,”
Jerry starts getting a little twitchy as they walk. she adds.
His need to get home to turn on his computer,
get to Photoshopping and transforming his “Daisy my angel, what matters most is that our
modest, innocent subjects, particularly Miss audience loves the Colbeys because of their
Daisy, into something or someone new, and brainless inability to hold onto little Charley.
significantly more exciting. This requirement is Everyone adores that clever little dog and the
vastly more powerful than his love-like for Pe- dim witted Colbeys. Don’t you love them Daisy
nelope or his desire to hang out with Kerry. Is girl?” Inquires “Lost Puppy in Paris, New York
Jerry addicted to homemade porn? Who the and London…” series director and producer
heck know? James Tyrone Witting (The Amazing J.T.).

Penny notices Jerry’s pre-flight uneasiness. She “Yes of course. They’re like a family to me J.T.,
has seen it before but doesn’t really under- really, really they are.” Then from “child star
stand why he’s like he is. “Stay with us Jerry nowhere” comes, “I’m going to need more
honey,” Penelope pleads, but knows that soon grownup roles very soon J.T. I’ve got boobs
Jerry will be gone. now you know?”

“Yes, sweet Daisy, I know.” her house, but allowed J.T. alone, to speak with
her son out on the front porch. Jerry was coo-
*** perative to a point. He agreed to stop crafting
“Brin porn,” as J.T. called it, but Jerry had one
Billy Davis is handy with computer tech issues condition. He wanted to meet Daisy in person.
and possesses a vast knowledge of the Inter-
net. He works for Daisy Brin and calls her Prin- At first J.T. refused straight out, but he knew
cess Daisy behind her back, but secretly loves from his own worldly experience that Jerry
her madly, everyone does. She calls him Geek would not yield unless his single demand was
Davis right to his face. Abigail is Daisy’s assis- met, and J.T. wanted “Brin porn” to stop imme-
tant. She does everything for Daisy. Billy ap- diately, for reasons that any studio executive
proached Abigail one rainy day with a new/old would understand. “The sooner the better,”
problem. “Abigail my dear, have you seen this J.T. grumbled into the California air.
one?” He flips open his laptop to expose a
screen-sized picture of gentle Daisy, naked in a “Can you believe it mom? I’m going to meet
barn, spread eagled on a bale of hay, next to Daisy Brin” said an excited Jerry, “my Daisy
two goats and a cowboy. Brin.” Poor dear Jerry, thought his mom.

Abigail lets out a blood curdling scream, then ***
it’s “Oh my God!” She grabs hold of Billy’s com-
puter and runs to show J.T. the latest infraction J.T.’s studio limo picked up Jerry the next
of Daisy Brin’s public virtue, still screaming. morning for a two-hour visit with the young,
innocent Miss Brin, on-set. A nervous Jerry
“They’re at it again!” Abigail still hysterical, knocked on Daisy’s trailer door and waited for
“Look what they’ve done to our darling Daisy, what seemed like a long time. Right before his
J.T., look!” She turns Billy’s laptop screen to- eyes she suddenly appeared, a little taller than
ward Mr. Witting. he expected, wearing distressed blue-jeans and
a white men’s style shirt. She was every bit as
“I promise you Abby,” J.T., as reassuring to adorable as Jerry had imagined, but with boobs
frazzled Abigail as possible, “we will find the under her white men’s style shirt. Of conside-
creep who’s been violating our dear Daisy and rable size, thought Jerry.
stop him for good. I promise!”
On film, Daisy is portrayed as an eleven-year
“And Abby, one more thing, don’t tell Daisy.” old, clear eyed and innocent. Daisy’s eyes were
clear and bright for sure, but she was not elev-
“Trust me J.T., she already knows.” en, nor was she so very innocent looking. Jer-
ry’s thoughts bounced around a bit.
Billy and his friend from California Tech, Mar-
sha worked for two days using every computer “So, you’re the guy.” Jerry was a little shocked
trick they could think of to locate the perverter to hear Daisy speak in person for the first time.
of Daisy Brin’s cinematic persona. They found
Jerry Dalton’s mom and dad’s house address, “Yes Miss Brin, it’s me, I’m the guy.” Jerry can
without too much trouble, then figured out be a little odd around girls.
that the mystery porn-boy was Jerry. J.T. and a
group of four studio security guards/ “Why do you do those dreadful things to me?
mercenaries dropped by that very afternoon, Is there something wrong with the way I look,
intent on straightening Jerry out, one way or or how I am? Please tell me!”
another.
Daisy straightened her back, standing slim and
Jerry’s mom, in her fuzzy-duck slippers and tall, filling her men’s style shirt with soft good-
green plaid bathrobe, would not let them into

sized boobs. She smiled professionally at Jerry, He’s lost interest in “Brin porn,” probably be-
and asked the very surprised young man, cause he now enjoys authentic sexual activity
“What do you think?” with the lovely Daisy, and sees her in the alto-
gether often, and loves what he sees. He has
Jerry began to feel queasy, like a young were- however, begun a new series of altered photo-
wolf might right before the change. This is graphs, similar to those of his previous “Daisy
better than Photoshop he said to himself near- Project,” but based, for the most part, on Pe-
ly out loud - way better. nelope and Kerry. Jerry was thinking about
including Trudy in his new collection, but he
Daisy took two steps forward and was on him loves his sister too much, just the way she is.
in a split second, her soft pink lips kissing him
strong and wet. “It’s Jerry Dalton, isn’t it?” she “Why do you do such terrible things to your
knowingly inquired. He was smothered by Dai- pretty friends Penelope and Kerry,” Mr. Peter-
sy’s femaleness and affection, so much so that son asked Jerry one afternoon. “They are such
he could not answer. It was the most amazing nice girls, and if they ever find out its you Jerry,
day of his life. you could be in real trouble.”

Jerry fell asleep late that evening and dreamt “They’re not so darned nice Mr. Peterson,”
of Daisy. He could still picture her naked on the responds Jerry. “And believe me Mr. P., they
trailer settee, her touch, the taste of sweet already know.”
kisses and her amazing boobs. He enjoyed this
dream and hoped that he would dream it every
night for the rest of his life.

*** About the Author:

“I may never get over it,” Jerry confessed to Donald Zagardo is a former Professor of Mo-
Mr. Peterson the following Tuesday at their dern History at St. John’ University, New York.
scheduled meeting. “She looked… just like a He has a life-long passion for literature of all
naked angel - way nicer than I could have man- kinds. In the past few years he has directed his
ufactured myself. Almost as slutty, but way writing efforts toward producing short stories –
nicer, beautiful, really beautiful. I’m in love searching for unusual topics. This story,
with her, for sure now.” “Harmless Perversion” is his first submission to
Adelaide. He is presently assembling a collec-
Jerry has gone through some serious changes tion of his own stories. Donald lives and works
over the past few months. He has recently in New York City and enjoys international travel
been “discovered” by Daisy’s studio for his un- and photography.
usual skill at Photoshop and has secured part-
time work creating advertising for B and C class
movies. So far he’s Photoshopped the head of
not-so-famous Marion Lee onto the body of a
huge green iguana for the film “Iguana Vaca-
tion,” and even-less-famous Kelly Marquette’s
onto that of a nineteen-foot-tall giraffe, for no
reason that he can think of. It’s fun, he gets to
do what he loves doing and gets paid pretty-
well for it.

Jerry is now romantically involved with Daisy
and sees her whenever she’s back in town.

VIOLET ABSTRACT

by Nya Jackson

I wasn’t able to bail Violet out of jail the third condolences. The part that made my stomach
time she got arrested because she died in po- stiffen into steel was the fact that, even after
lice custody. She’d only been in the holding cell the news, I had to keep going. When the first
for thirteen hours, three of which I’d been call on her arrest came, my concerns were how
spending making the long drive from Los Ange- to talk about this behavior and the press with
les to San Francisco where she’d been de- Violet again, on how I could hide another stint
tained. Arrested for battery and disorderly con- in rehab from the paparazzi, on what kind of
duct, Violet was given a lot of leeway because breakfast to have ready for her when she got
of her status, the very status that kept me into the backseat. The weight in my stomach
afloat and gave me access to backstage red became pronounced when I realized how all
carpet events. While I haggled with Benjamin, those little plans, the ones that seemed minute
Violet’s personal driver and most recent lust and unimportant, had turned into the one big
interest, she was sleeping on the floor of a cold plan of planning a funeral.
cell for the last time. The cause of death was
uncertain as were the incidents leading up to When I did arrive, Violet’s auburn hair had
it. Before she died, Violet had attempted to been dyed jet black and cut into uneven, spiky
abandon celebrity by cashing out her credit clunks. All that was in her possession was a
cards and taking one of her many cars out in facemask, a baseball cap, $50 on her person
the middle of the night with no intention of ($50,000 in her car), and an unopened pack of
returning. With her fiancé Frankie asleep, there cinnamon gum. She’d really been ready, I recall
had been no one else to stop her from leaving. thinking that she must’ve really been ready to
The security guards on the estate, the maids, disappear completely.
the chefs – they all believed her when she’d
said she was going out for a quick midnight The weeks leading up to Violet’s disappearance
drive, not uncommon because in driving, Violet and subsequent death had been marred in con-
found a rhythm and in midnight, a peace. By troversy after controversy. One television
the time the pills had worn off and Frankie “personality” posed a question vita twitter
woke from her induced stupor, Violet was long which was then echoed by her 15 million fol-
gone. Over three days, we looked for her and lowers: “how can someone be in hot water so
tried to track her, tried and failed to explain many times and still come out so dirty?” That
her volatility to the cops. Three days of repeat- first week alone had been a mess starting with
ed failings built up to the relieving but anti- a short clip on her Instagram story that had her
climactic reveal that she was arrested which criticizing and questioning the legitimacy of gay
flat lined into a gaping hole when it broke porn (while watching gay porn). That only up-
down to the reveal that she’d died. Before I set a small group of reasonable people but that
could even get there. They called when we group grew into a humanity of its own when
were crossing the underpass along highway 60 Violet openly insulted one of the top recording
to give the news with complimentary, empty artists on the charts, claiming that the melodic
voice their fans had come to adore was really

the voice of someone told they were too ugly a little different. There was a light in her eyes
to be famous. Violet had gone on to declare that had dimmed from mine. Though we both
that she preferred ugly authenticity to eye- had cynicism coming off us in waves, hers was
catching illusions. People were insulted, people humored and Kafkaesque while mine was just
were offended, and her publicity took a high- bitter and the difference showed. Still, “and
tide rise because everyone secretly loves bad this must be Hazel” was a common way to
behavior. It gives them something to talk steer the focus to me during her interviews
about. Her bad behavior wasn’t just apologized where I was present. Twin fever was always
for by me on account of her fame either. The hot and it was back then and it still is now. Peo-
bad behavior, the sudden denouement into ple wanted me to act alongside her or for the
becoming the woman people loved to hate, two of us to cash in on our genetics like the
was excused because Violet was beautiful. famous twins before us but I wasn’t interested.
Wide brown eyes and soft, Bratz doll lips made But before I put my foot down on that publicly,
for the combination of innocent and sexy that Violet and Hazel Saito became the siblings of
closeted perverts wet their jeans over. She had Tinsel town. One, a beautiful multitalented and
been the object of every boy and every man outspoken performer. The other, a beautiful
and every woman and every girl’s affections. agent who was somehow smart enough to
She was ideal for them. Cute and innocent and sneak her sister’s audition footage right into
sexy and badly behaved and bisexual (another the hands of the casting director who put her
perfection for the men who fetishize lesbian in one of the most highly regarded films of that
relationships but still like to fantasize about year.
humiliating her with their dick alone). More
than that, Violet was the first person any and It doesn’t happen right away. The weeks fol-
all women followed on Instagram. Her selfies lowing the official announcement, after her
were beautiful because she was beautiful and name trended worldwide and people who’d
never gave a single fuck about what was appro- just been cursing her began saying that she
priate or expected. For every woman, whether meant a lot to them and that they wished
their admiration was tinged with lustful affec- peace upon her, were quiet. Depending on the
tion or not, felt that they could be their true status of the person and the impact of the trag-
selves just because Violet was unapologetically edy, there can be a grace period where vul-
her true self. And now she was dead. tures keep their distance from the rotting
corpse instead of circling over it. That period
During Violet’s first steps into the spotlight, she soon dwindles and rekindles itself back into
would take me with her on red carpet events. incessant parasitic curiosity and soon people
She’d hold my hand, the both of us dressed in wanted to know what happened to Violet be-
clothes from our own closet and our amateur fore she died, they wanted someone to blame,
make up done by our own hands, and stop for someone other than themselves and their pu-
the cameras. The word on everyone’s lips in trid lust for celebrity. The thing that had
those early days, the one that died down with snapped Violet badly enough that she’d want-
my own insistence, was “Hazel.” Me. They all ed to cut off all her hair and embark on a jour-
knew Violet, at least to an extent. They knew ney back to anonymity couldn’t have been a
her as the Cannes breakout actress with the result of a building nervous breakdown. Some-
killer, unconventional fashion and the com- one had to have been responsible. She had to
mendable talents. It was too early in those have been assaulted, threatened, abused, bro-
days to know just how much of a modern Re- ken down, using drugs, using sex, using and
naissance woman she was but, regardless, they abusing in a constant cycle. There was no other
knew Violet. But I was new to them. I was the way that she could have died. The first call
girl on her arm who looked exactly like her but came a whole three days after her death, when

her preparations for her burial were still being thing as regal as my sister once was. “I’m not. I
arranged, and it came from the last of the gos- won’t. Thank you.”
sip magazines that people picked up while
waiting at the cash register but never actually I hung up before she could argue.
bought.
The second call came in as did the third as did
“First, I want to extend my condolences to you the fourth until they were all flooding in such
and your family,” the journalist had said, her quick succession that I couldn’t tell who was
voice Splenda-sweet. “I can’t imagine what you who or when was where. Every paparazzi trash
must be feeling or how hard it is but I’m ex- site called for information as if Violet being
tending all my positivity to you. I wish you the dead meant I’d stopped being her twin and
best.” stopped wanting to protect her. After all she
was dead. There was nothing I could protect
When I didn’t say anything, she continued: her from, no reason for me to keep secrets. But
“Hazel, I wanted to know whether you’d be even when her body is six feet under and her
willing to arrange an interview? To discuss Vio- soul has gone to its destination, I’m still going
let’s life and the influence the two of you had to be her sister and her agent. The apologies
on the industry, I know her fans would really and the excuses don’t stop just because she’s
love to hear from you. It would comfort them dead. The only difference between now and
to hear from you.” then is that now when I explain away the issue,
no one can criticize her for not speaking on her
“I’m not interested in--” own behalf.

“A big question on everyone’s mind is whether Violet wasn’t afraid of death. Dying, the act of
you’re going to step into your sister’s shoes. it, did not rile her with emotions. She didn’t
It’s rumored that there were still pivotal scenes cry. In the face of danger or mortality, she
left to shoot for her last film, would you be wouldn’t panic. She wouldn’t plead. Once on
stepping in to complete her final perfor- our way to Prague to film an art house piece
mance?” that never got distributed, the turbulence be-
came severe and while many people on the
I wasn’t a performer and I wasn’t interested in plane yelped and shouted and the aisles be-
participating in the circus show that Hollywood came full of whispered prayers to fake deities,
deaths become. It’s always interesting to watch she sat with her shoulders sagged and her gaze
from the outside, when the celebrity death in on the clouds below. Death, she’d always say,
question isn’t someone related to you be it by is unstoppable. It will happen regardless of
blood or a shared IMDb credit, and to see how whether you’re ready or not. It will happen to
it turns vulture journalists into incubi and suc- the young and to the old and to the sick and to
cubae. A couple of years before, Ruby Vaughn, the healthy. It will happen when you least ex-
an actress Violet had worked with on one film pect it or when you do but the point is that it
early in her career, died in a violent car acci- will happen. According to her, it being a fact of
dent after berating club-goers. Her death was life meant there was no reason to be afraid of
met with scrutiny and her corpse put under a it. “We all know we’re going to die,” she said
magnifying glass. I don’t believe there’s always once. “We know that everyone is going to die.
peace with death but, even so, there was no So why be afraid?” The only reason Violet ate
peace for her on this side or the other. Her healthy was because she had to maintain a
case was pried open by everyone, ripped a figure for her career otherwise she’d be eating
part, pieced back together until it was unrecog- junk food casually because there was no rea-
nizable, and put up for display in exposes and son to try to protect herself from something
documentaries. While the journalist talked on inevitable. What Violet did fear, however, was
the other end, I flipped through a catalogue
and looked for a casket that resembled some-

what came after death. She believed in life had their fair share of theorizing what took
after and she feared that life after would be place during her final hours to the entertain-
tumultuous if she wasn’t a good person in this ment of the fans obsessed with her death. The
life. Sometimes when she was either sleepy death of a famous person, someone once told
and sober or wide awake and stoned, always me, was like watching a star fall from the sky. It
vulnerable either way, she’d ask me whether I was a spectacle. It was unnatural. And it was
thought she was a good person. I’d tell her that macabrely beautiful to witness. One of those
I think she tries to be and leave it at that. Violet gossip blogs has an entire article dedicated to
was so sure of her beliefs but mine stayed tracing the last hours of Violet’s life from the
muddled no matter how many spiritual renova- last red carpet event she attended to the gas
tions I tried to execute. I don’t know if I believe station she went to just before she was arrest-
in anything that she did and I don’t know if I ed, the article was littered with inaccuracies
don’t. and false time stamps but people ate it up. I
don’t know why I read those blogs. But in the
Finding the right casket became my sole mis- morning, over coffee, or in between phone
sion, the one thing I truly had to focus on be- calls with the funeral parlor, I check to see
cause it would be the last thing I could do for what latest theory is circulating. I wonder what
her. If there was a possibility that she was right results are going to come up in the autopsy
and that there’s life after death, shouldn’t I do report and wonder about her body being
my best to make sure the body that she used observed and prodded and poked. I had a
to know is taken care of? If she was wrong and nightmare that a pervert who worked the night
life after death is just death, shouldn’t I try to shift at the coroner’s office had parked himself
ensure that her sendoff is a good one with a in between her thighs and got off on how cold
pretty casket that’s lined with satin and soft her body was and how she couldn’t put up a
pillows for her eternal slumber? Shouldn’t I try fight. It bothers me. It aches me to think of
to give her a nice tombstone with something anyone taking advantage of her. Even in death.
poetic written on it like “a celestial body re- Part of the reason I became her manager was
turns to the stars” or something stupid like because I didn’t trust anyone to not screw her
that? Yes. Yes. Yes. over with binding contracts or scams. I don’t
like to think about it. But I can feel it.
I look for caskets in the city-woods at night to
avoid the vultures. During the day, I look up On the same day that I find the perfect casket,
funeral homes from the safety of my apart- a lilac tinted one lined with purple satin, the
ment and call in to request a private visitation results of the autopsy reveal that Violet died of
which is always met with strong resistance be- a heart attack with no alcohol, prescription
fore I tell them whose casket I’m looking for. pills, heroin, cocaine, or any other drug in her
Then they bend. If I was an asshole, I’d make system. The news isn’t publicized as the full
them stay open until two a.m. just because autopsy results have to be prepared thorough-
they’d let me. When I’m not determining what ly before public release, the coroner who over-
homes will have the best caskets and not saw the autopsy called me to quell any unease
browsing whilst envisioning my sister in lying in I might’ve had. Drugs would have been easier
one of them, I’m envisioning her body on the to swallow. If it had been an overdose at least I
observation table. The cause of her death is could have been pillowed by the thought that
still up in the air (along with her spirit, accord- her death was an affair that she barely noticed,
ing to all the “well-wishers”) but the collective too numb and strung out to feel every cell in
thought of the public is that she died of a drug her body die slowly. Instead, she felt every-
overdose, most likely the prescription pills she thing. She felt her chest start to burn and her
used for the anxiety no one knew about. The arm go numb and breathing get more and
gossip columns and the Perez Hiltons have all

more difficult until she was gasping for some- Violet once said the industry reminded her of a
thing she couldn’t inhale. That makes sleeping factory where the product on the line was
impossible. Her funeral ends up falling on a beauty, the profit was fame, and the waste was
Tuesday on a rare day of rain in Los Angeles. At just a pile of sold souls. “What’s your name?”
the funeral, there are distant relatives, Frankie
(who was never really invited), and no one else She hesitates. “It’s Daisy Hernandez but I can
I recognize – people who considered them- change it.”
selves close friends, who likely took a selfie
with Violet in an attempt to break the internet “I don’t want you to change it.”
and who even likelier got drunk with her at
some point. I don’t recognize any of them but “I’d like to change it.”
they smile at me like they know me and I can
tell some of them, at least for a second, think “…Daisy, what would you like to get from being
they’re looking at Violet. Shortly after the fu- an actor? You said you like movies. You want to
neral, I start packing up my life into cardboard make your mark, is that it? Just want to be a
boxes small enough to fit it and prepare for part of it?”
something new. When you’re an agent in the
show business and you only have one client Daisy takes a deep breath and on the other
and that client dies under mysterious circum- end, I can almost hear the weight on her shoul-
stances, you are no longer an agent. You pack ders lighten with the exhalation. “I want to be
up your things and get a job somewhere that respected.”
won’t judge you for losing it all. But apparently
when you’re an agent in the show business and “Not loved?”
you only have one client and that client was
not only the most recognizable celebrity of her “Both. But if I had to choose between the two,
generation but also your twin sister and she I want respect. I always told myself people
dies, your career makes a rocket launch. Before were going to stop looking at me like I was a
I finish packing the first box, one call comes in doormat and I consider myself to be a woman
and sets the tone for the rest of my life. On the of my word.”
other end of the line, the voice on the other
end of the line is one of doe-eyed readiness Despite myself, I smile at the phone. “How old
and the final drop of aspirational, a trend that are you, Daisy?”
continues with every call that comes in.
“I’m about to be nineteen in two weeks.”
“Hazel Saito?”
“Two weeks…give me another call in two
“Speaking. Who’s this?” weeks and I’ll see what we can set up.”

“I’m…I…I’m calling you because I like movies. I “Really?”
like – I want to be an actor.”
“If I still want to, yes.”
I toss another book into the half full box. “Why
are you calling me?” “Thank you. Really, thank you.”

“Because you’re the best agent out there.” “Don’t thank me yet. Tell me, Daisy, if it all
happens and you do change it, what kind of
I pause. I stop packing all together and sit back name did you have in mind?”
to stare at the phone sitting in the middle of
the table. “Who says?” “I like Yolanda. Not sure of a last name yet but I
like Yolanda.”
“…Everyone.”
I don’t ask about the choice until a month later
when the two of us are getting headshots for
her, a month before I get her into an audition
with a notable independent filmmaker whose
next project is already a trending topic. I don’t

ask her about ‘Yolanda’ until after she loses
weight and stands tall on heels she had to train
herself to walk in and her selfies start to inspire
make up tutorials. I don’t ask her about the
name until it becomes the name on everyone’s
lips whether they’re speaking out of affection
or abhorrence. It’s only after more aspiring
younameits, each one hungrier than the last,
come looking for a Hazelesque sustenance and
a Violetesque rise that I wish I’d asked about
the name choice earlier. If I had known the
reason behind the choice or even just looked
up its meaning, I would’ve told her I wasn’t
interested and I would have stopped at least a
single loop in the eminence cycle. Instead, I
took her and others on as a client and every
single one of them said they wanted to be a
performer, a patron of the arts. What they all
really meant, what I didn’t know until my
hands were sullied with more sold souls, was
that they all really wanted to be Violet.

About the Author:

Nya Jackson is a college student studying for a
degree in directing & screenwriting. She enjoys
writing short stories as well as poetry in her
free time. She also spends a great deal of time
imagining scenarios that will never happen,
doodling, and delivering famous cinematic
monologues to anyone who will listen. This is
her first publication.

AT TAFT POINT

by Liana Andreasen

Bouncing from boulder to boulder and all with the braided women in it. He was tall, hair
around the Valley, shrill voices blend with the parted in the middle in such an old-fashioned
cries of high-flying birds. way that it could have started a new style. His
dyed black hair showed just a hint of gray
By early November, Glacier Point Road had roots, and he kept it long like a Romantic poet
been closed for two weeks. At the trailhead for might have. He narrowed his eyes toward the
Taft Point and Sentinel Dome, the small parking distant remainders of fog among tree tops.
lot was lined with California black oak, incense- Even here, at the foot of the hike, the elevation
cedars and tall white firs. Free of tourists after was several thousand feet.
months of hikers sunup to sundown, the bulge
carved in the road for cars was white and silent “Cara,” he said to the blonde, and his voice
now, in the rust-colored warmth of Indian sum- startled a few bush creatures. “You tell me
mer. Massive, secretive forests surrounded the when you’re tired of carrying the little one and
road. I’ll take over.” The little one was the chubby
toddler—a girl.
Two white cars pulled into the parking lot. The
doors did not open for a few seconds. Then, Cara lowered her head in a nod, closing her
people started to emerge from both cars, eyes. She didn’t smile.
breathing in the sweet, robust air of Yosemite
Valley. Two young, beautiful women with “Cheer up. Everyone, I want to see you smiling.
braided hair down to their waist and long, This is one of the most beautiful places God
black skirts each brought a child. The blonde gave us on this Earth. Who were you at the
woman, lingering at the end of her teens, had a start of this very day? A mindless body in the
chubby toddler in her arms. The slightly older, shower. A crying child. Two mothers cloaked in
red-haired woman waved a boy of about six the ignorance around them, to the point of
out of the car. He dutifully circled the car to being invisible. Two lovers crushed by these
reach her, and she held him in front of her, artificial pressures to become successful. A
close to her body, stroking his hair with vacant musician without dignified employment. Yet
gestures as she waited for the driver to come look how the embrace of the Valley is large
out. The boy held a bird cage—a blue parakeet enough, and forgiving enough for all of us.”
inside.
He took off his leather jacket and threw it in
Three people came out of the other car. A mid- the car.
dle-aged man with glasses carried a violin case.
A young couple squeezed each other’s hands, “Won’t you be cold?” asked the red-haired
leaving little distance between them, as if they woman.
were cold.
“Jennie, darling.” He turned to her. “I do appre-
The last to emerge was the oldest man in the ciate your care. A man cannot wish for a more
group—fifties or so—who had driven the car dutiful companion. But we’ll be walking uphill
for some time. And there’s a sun.”

The boy held the bird cage up. The blue para- istence. Those who denied us have denied the
keet ruffled its feathers, turning its head to only truth there is. They stayed behind to be
hear hidden birds. with the herds and listen to lies. We have it all,
right here.”
“Not now, Huck. There’s a time for everything,”
the man said. “We must go. Jennie, do you He began walking again.
have water? For you and for Huck?”
Cara, the younger mother, was still carrying her
The boy’s mother said “Yes” and pushed the toddler in stern arms, while Jennie pulled Huck
boy gently ahead of her. She pulled her long, by the arm as the boy started to protest the
black skirt slightly, to give her feet some free- fast pace. The bird cage dangled in his hand,
dom of movement. the parakeet flying around in a panic.

“The hike is about two hours,” said the leader. “Jennie, tell the boy that the first stop is his,”
He started walking ahead of the group. “What Mister Rex said.
a shame,” he said to no one. Everyone seemed
to know what he meant. Low, patchy clouds floated in the opposite di-
rection. They unraveled gray arms toward the
They followed him, as he started on the trail to tops of the highest trees, to merge with the
Taft Point. The young couple—he with a short shimmering mist of late morning.
beard, she with boyish, dark hair—walked be-
hind everyone and for a while they held each The first clearing came soon. The group gath-
other by the waist. ered on a round rock to look at stretches of the
Yosemite Valley, the great shadows of granite
The other man, the one with the violin case, towering over the sea of brown and green
passed Cara and Jennie to walk by the side of treetops.
the leader.
“Now, Father? Mister Rex?” said the boy.
“Mister Rex,” he said.
“God will witness now. Let it go.”
“Yes, Stan?” The tall, older man did not look at
him as he took long steps on the wide trail. The boy sat the bird cage on the rock. The
young couple embraced, watching the little boy
They were in the heart of the woods, passing labor with the cage door.
shedding oaks and green firs and pines.
“But it’s going to be winter soon,” the boy said.
“You could have insisted,” said Stan. “The oth-
ers—they just didn’t have their minds made up “Do what Mister Rex told you,” his mother
yet.” whispered.

“A shame, that’s all there is to it,” said Mister Mister Rex crossed his arms.
Rex. “I’m not one to force anyone to walk with
me. There’s no signing of papers. The only true “You are mistaken, Son,” he said. “Winter will
commitment is in the soul that has erased the never be coming. Let the bird fly for as long as
chains of guilt and shame. Isn’t that what all God wills it to fly. Bear witness to freedom.”
papers are for?”
The boy opened the little door and put his
He stopped, turned to look at the small group hand in. The bird jumped on his finger, and this
following behind. They all stopped, watching way he brought it out of the cage.
his face for a sign, a command.
The blue parakeet hesitated. His beady eye
He smiled. He opened his arms wide, lifting looked up into the boy’s face, to question the
them toward the trees that lined the path. open air around. Then it flew. Mister Rex
watched the boy, and the two mothers
“Love is around us. Love is all that has true ex- watched the father’s eyes, trying to read some-
thing new in them.

The bird disappeared in a tree. something grand and eternal that breathed in
tectonic rhythms. There was just a hint of
“I know you cry in your heart,” the father said mournfulness in the longer notes, but hope-
to the boy. “But for all of us, without a sacri- filled trills quickly took their place. The clouds,
fice, our souls are lost to the indifference of the too, lingered.
world.”
At the end, Mister Rex stood up. He nodded at
The group sang a song of praise, looking up and Stan, who stood up as well and with gentle
sending their voices forward into the mist. hands he placed the violin at the base of a
Huck sang the loudest. looming Douglas fir. In single file, the group
descended back to the path and started on
On the trail again, the boy did not complain their hike again. Stan turned his head to see
anymore. He walked fast, gloom on his face. the violin one more time, but it was obscured
The leader walked and hummed, now and then now by shrubs. He adjusted his glasses, or
looking behind and smiling, showing his teeth. wiped something out of his eyes.
He looked pleased, the more he walked.
They were close to Taft Point, where the sum-
The young couple had become garrulous. They mer months had brought hundreds of tourists
walked at a distance from everyone, pointing in search of an easy, thrilling hike. The hump of
at nature, listening to the life hum in the crack- rock became visible and towered above the
ling of gargantuan trees. They kissed often. tallest trees. The last part of the hike would be
steep, to the greatest view of all.
The mind’s heaviness dissipated as the heart
rose to spaces that birthed themselves cease- “This stop,” the leader said, slowing down, “is
lessly all around. Gray monoliths looked for Andy and Melinda.”
weightless as invisible winds breathed from
rock to rock to sky. The young couple looked at each other and
halted. The two mothers looked at the ground,
The younger mother passed the toddler to Mis- holding their children a little closer.
ter Rex.
“Do not shield the children’s eyes. This is the
At the next clearing, they sat down in a circle. greatest gift of love that this rock will ever
They drank water and ate apples. From the know.”
mossy rocks on which they sat, they could see
across the Valley the giant granite promontory “But… Mister Rex,” said Andy, holding
called El Capitan—the centerpiece of the Senti- Melinda’s hand.
nel Dome. Its bedrock anchored deep into the
earth, the largest boulder looked like the fore- “Do you love her?”
castle of a gigantic ship, frozen in time.
“Of course I do.”
Stan, the man in his forties, took out his violin.
As the curves of the instrument touched his “This is the time to show it from the core of
fine, long jaw, his dark eyes closed and he with- your being. Nature, God’s grand stage, will
drew inward. Everyone’s face shifted to a long- bear witness to the essence of love, stripped of
ing they could not share, as the notes cascaded all social pretenses.”
into the solemn distance. Soft at first, the bow
caressed the strings, letting out inhuman waves “Can we hide behind those bushes?” said
of patterened sound that bounced around, Melinda, her voice choked with anticipation.
merging with its echo. The bow slowed down
to let the music linger, at home among the “Do you hide your soul from God?”
other earthly wonders. The pilgrims no longer
had limbs, clothes, or names, but were part of Melinda smiled and blushed just a little. She
started to take off her jeans. Young, deer-like
legs. She took off her sweatshirt. Her bra. Com-

pact, silky breasts. The six-year old tried to look “All over this country, the Natives were en-
away, but his mother gently turned him back slaved, ridden like horses when Columbus’ men
around, to watch. Stripped of his clothes, Andy were too lazy to walk. They were taken to Eu-
was hairy. rope and died by the thousands. Their arms
were cut off. They worked in mines. Husbands
Everyone sat down as Andy and Melinda and wives saw each other as seldom as every
moved a bit farther, on a patch of grass. Their ten months—and they were too tired to make
bodies fell to the ground, awkward at first, love. Among the Tainos and the Arawak peo-
then forgetting the others. The trees crackled ple, there were mass suicides. People poisoned
and buzzards cried high above, innocuous end their babies with cassava.”
rhymes to the poetry of breath. The two newly
released—and suddenly relieved—human ani- “The Lord received them in His arms,” Cara
mals tumbled, grass sticking to their perspiring murmured.
skin. Melinda’s careless pitch set a few birds
flying. The toddler was squirming in her moth- “The Lord will not accept one man to be the
er’s grip. The leader put his arms around the servant of another,” the leader said. The shad-
two young mothers, drawing them close to him ows on his gaunt face deepened. “When the
as they all watched. The contortions ended in government puts chains on you, your love is
slow motion, the trembling ceased. The lovers stunted. Your only freedom, then, is the King-
remained embraced for a while, eyes closed, dom of Heaven.”
their young bodies still tangled. Melinda
sobbed with quiet joy, rubbing her cheek They joined hands, looking up to receive the
against Andy’s bearded face. knowing gaze of the leader.

Minutes later, the group was on the move “They will tell you that nature is indifferent,”
again. It didn’t take long to reach the rocky he continued. “Look around you. Nature is
cliff, the awe-gilded boulder overlooking the love. This is not an indifferent nature, but the
Valley. Bridalveil Fall rumbled soundlessly in guardian of our life-force. If you go back there,
the distance—a thin strip of water. El Capitan you will find only indifference. Mass consumer-
was in full view, majestic like the migration of ism to lull your soul. What do you become? A
continents, standing guard above the green, void of emotion, a non-spirit. That is the ulti-
coniferous Valley. mate indifference. Need I say it? That is the
opposite of love.”
But the group didn’t lie on their stomachs to
peek below, like tourists. They did not need to He was silent for a while. The mountains awai-
be that close to the edge to see how far the ted the offering.
rest of the earth was.
“It is time.”
All eyes turned to the leader.
Mister Rex nodded toward Andy and Melinda,
His voice was strong, stony. It fell and rose in shivering in each other’s arms.
declamations that mimicked the peaks lining
the horizon. Transfixing, like the landscape. “Don’t look down,” he said. “Look to the sky,
where your heart belongs.”
“My blessed children,” he said. “Let me start by
saying I love you all very much. I declare it to The young couple stood at the edge of the
these mountains. Here, history witnessed the rock, smiling through tears. They took each
running of Indians from their lands.” other’s hand. “One, two, three,” Andy whis-
pered, and their legs pushed against the rim.
The others made a small circle around their They were gone.
leader, nodding as their furtive eyes were
drawn toward the wide Valley below. The leader nodded toward the violinist. The
man took his glasses off, dropped them to the
ground. He walked to the edge.

“Love is light,” he said, and entrusted his body “I love you, daddy,” the boy whispered.
to the Valley. The man bent his head to kiss the boy. It was
an honest kiss—the opposite of indifference.
The leader looked at his two lovers. He moved He sat the boy down on the rock.
to Cara, and he kissed the forehead of the little “Give me your hand,” he said.
girl in her arms. He kissed Cara, briefly, on the The boy obeyed. Together, they stepped closer
mouth, and squeezed her elbow. He stepped to the edge. As the boy’s eyes met the void, he
back. took a step back. His father tightened his grip.
“Now!” The man said.
Cara moved to the edge and turned her back to “No—” The voice broke.
the void. She looked in the eyes of her man, The larger figure tumbled in space, pulling after
her life. She tightened her arms around the girl him the smaller, screaming figure.
and she took in a long breath, as if to last her The air was filled with bird cries. It didn’t take
on her way down. She disappeared. long for the scream to blend with the enormity
of the sky, floating downward like a bird re-
It was then that Huck, the boy, pulled his hand turning home, to some eternal, long awaited
from his mother’s grip and ran away from nest.
them. His mother screamed.
About the Author:
“Stop him! Stop him, Rex!”
Liana V. Andreasen has been publishing short
Looking at her, his eyes darkened. He ran after stories for a few years now and received Push-
the boy. “Huck! Huck!” he called. cart nominations from Turbulence Magazine
and The Raven Chronicles. She published in
He brought the boy in his arms, patting his red Fiction International, Calliope, Lumina, Scintilla,
hair. He stood in front of Jennie. The Quail Bell, Eureka Literary Magazine, and
many others. She is originally from Romania
“You first,” he said to her. “Say goodbye to and teaches English at South Texas College. Her
your son.” book of critical theory, "The Fall of Literary
Theory," was published in October 2017 by
Jennie smiled, her mouth trembling. When she Brownwalker Press.
kissed the boy’s cheek, Huck screamed and
kicked against his father’s stomach.

“It’s all right,” she said, repressing a sob. “We’ll
all see each other very soon.”

She looked at Mister Rex, and lifted a hand to
caress his stern, bony face one more time.

“I can’t take this…” she murmured and turned
in one abrupt move, running full-speed toward
the precipice. She left the world without a
sound, as her son screamed in the arms of the
leader.

“Are you going to be a man about it?” Mister
Rex asked, turning the boy’s face toward his
face. “I love nothing else as I love you right
now, do you know that?”

The boy looked at him. Something in his fa-
ther’s eyes commanded him to be quiet. The
man’s eyes were gray, like granite. Mountains
flickered in the depths of his dark pupils.

HOW THEY MET

by Carole Glasser Langille

He knocks on the door and goes in. He was told occurred to him that anything could go wrong
the door would be open. between Nikki and him. Thinking of Nikki now
he feels a sad nervous flutter.
“Rachel,” he calls out. “It’s Henry. Just bring-
ing dinner.” It still surprises him that he is living alone. But
many things surprise him. That he would be
No answer. He goes to the foot of the stairs entering Rachel's home and speaking to her,
and calls again. even through closed doors, is the last thing he
expected.
“Shall I leave the dish in the kitchen?”
Years ago when he’d asked his friend Erica to
“That would be great,” a voice calls from introduce him to Rachel, she shook her head.
the second floor. “Thanks so much.” Even
shouting these words, her voice is pleasant, “She’s very private,” Erica told him. “You
musical. wouldn’t know from seeing her sing. But after a
concert she doesn’t even hang out with
“My pleasure,” he says. He’s brought Moroc- friends. She goes home with her husband.”
can chicken with rice pilaf that he’s made at his
restaurant. He put it on a ceramic dish which She didn’t give many concerts. So when she
he will have to retrieve. He is hoping to actually performed in the small jazz club at South Park
meet Rachel one day. As he is about to leave Hotel a year ago and he couldn’t get a ticket,
he calls out, “Shall I lock the door?” he was grateful to Erica for getting him in. Eri-
ca was probably taking pity on him because of
“Thanks, yes,” Rachel shouts. And he does, but his recent divorce. If this was one of the perks
not before he calls back, “See you tomorrow.” of heartbreak, he’d take it.

See you is not an accurate description. He has “I love that woman,” he murmured under his
only seen Rachel twice, and both times she was breath.
on stage and he was in the audience. She
sounded like Dionne Warwick and anyone “Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten you a ticket,”
hearing her on the radio would have thought Erica laughed. “Rachel’s married you know.
she was black. The first time he was at one of And she’s ten years older than you.”
her performances, four years ago, he was a bit
disappointed to see how thin and petite and She didn’t look ten years older. But he looked
pale she was. But that feeling quickly passed. younger than thirty-six.

My God, she’s amazing, he thought during that “Just because you’re so fucking handsome, you
concert. And she has impossibly beautiful red think you can do whatever you want,” his ex
hair. Back then he was married and admiring had accused him once during a fight. She said
other women was a chaste pleasure. It never his not wanting children showed how self cen-

tered he was. She might have been right. He “Hello,” he smiles. “It’s so good to see you.”
was scared of having a child. He’d explained all
this before they married. Perhaps she thought “Aren’t you nice,” she says. “I just wanted to
she would change his mind. thank you in person for this delicious food. It’s
saving my life. Literally.” She laughs.
He never thought of himself as good looking.
Besides, looks fade. His hair is already turning “Well,” he says, “if I’m any help at all, I’m glad.
grey. He is relieved he isn’t going bald; his par- Because when I put on your albums it always
ents passed on good genes in that regard. They feels like you’re saving my life.” He wonders if
were not so successful in the mental health he is overdoing it. But what he says is true.
department. But physically they’re both doing
well. “Are you feeling a bit better?” he asks.

Rachel is not as lucky. The doctors have found “A bit,” she says. “I give all the credit to your
a tumour in her brain and it’s malignant. Erica duck soup.” She smiles, then turns and goes
and a few friends have organized a schedule to back to her room. He hears a CD turned low, of
clean her house, do laundry, buy groceries. Ella Fitzgerald singing Ten cents a dance, that’s
They want to make sure she has support, espe- what they pay me, gosh how they weigh me
cially since her husband is no longer in the pic- down. It is such a sad song, but hearing it, he
ture. Henry does not know whether the hus- feels elated.
band left before or after Rachel’s diagnosis.
But when Henry learns she has cancer, he im- A few weeks later Erica tells him that Rachel is
mediately volunteers to bring her meals. going for a walk with her in the park. It has
been a mild autumn and the leaves have not
Erica says she’ll ask if it’s okay. It takes her yet changed colour. She’s finished with chemo
weeks to get back to him. and is no longer nauseous.

“Rachel says she loves your restaurant, and He wonders if, in a month or two, she might
thanks so much. She asks if it’s okay if you agree to go to the park with him. Or, if that
leave the food in her kitchen. She’s not up to seems like too big an outing, perhaps sit at the
seeing anyone.” kitchen table and talk. That might be a more
realistic expectation.
Of course it’s okay. He doesn’t expect her to
have tea and chat. She is recovering from sur- He waits. He is patient. He wants to tell her
gery. But he hopes, after a few weeks , she about his ten-year old nephew Jack and the
might say hello when he delivers dinner. baseball game they went to last week. Before
the game Henry told Jack he could get anything
Knocking on her door at five in the afternoon he wanted from the shop at the stadium – a
and walking in is what he looks forward to Blue Jays jersey, a Red Sox jersey, a cap, a col-
most each day. He gets a thrill thinking of her lection of baseball cards. He walked around
eating duck à l'orange, one of his favourite the shop pointing things out but Jack went
meals to cook, and duck soup. Erica said that right to a pair of bright orange pom-poms that
was Rachel’s favourite. cheerleaders use, and picked them up. This is
what he wanted.
And then one day, when he is thinking how
much he would like to see her, he opens her “Are you sure?” Henry asked. He pointed to a
door after knocking and there she is, at the top few other items but Jack insisted on pom-
of the stairs. There is no hall light on, it is a poms.
grey day, and he can not make out her features
well, though he sees she is wearing a knitted Henry does tell this story to Rachel when he
cap. drops off the food next. It is the first time she
has come downstairs when he’s been there,

the first time she sits with him at the kitchen He looks at Rachel and suddenly he says,
table. They both drink coffee. “Would you have dinner with me sometime?
Anytime. There’s a great seafood restaurant by
“That’s wonderful,” she says when he tells her the water.”
Jack’s mother was happy to see her son so ex-
cited when they returned. “Thank you Henry,” Rachel says. Her voice is
warm. “But I am just not going out these days.”
“I don’t know what his father thought of my He nods.
gift,” he adds. “My sister used to be such a
wild card. Then she married an investment He doesn’t say, “I know for a fact you went to
banker who is very conservative. It surprised a movie with Erica last week.” He has to hold
us all. And they have a son who likes pom- on to a little pride.
poms."
Rachel says, “Well, I’m going upstairs to rest.”
He smiles, but when he thinks of Jack he also They walk to the stairs together but just as he
thinks of Nikki’s son Eli. He tells Rachel that is about to leave, she gifts him with one of her
Nikki is no longer speaking to him and certainly smiles. “So what is it with Rachel?” he asks
would not let him near her son. Not that he'd Erica. “Why won’t she have dinner with me?”
be any good with Eli. He would be scared to
hold him, poor little guy. He pushes food and “She's recovering," Erica says. And then, "I
milk out of his mouth and can barely swallow don’t think she wants any emotional involve-
and he is so often stiff, his little arms and legs ment right now.
dangle limply when he’s lifted. The doctors tell
Nikki he will probably never walk. “Oh, great. Really, what does that mean?"

When he leaves, after he shared his happiness “Her husband left her when she got sick. She
and also what weighs so heavily on him, he has a few trust issues. The fact that she has
feels lighter. coffee with is a big deal.”

"Your sister has a son who's fine," Nikki used A couple of weeks later when he knocks on the
to say. "Our baby will be fine too. Let's be door as he always does before walking in, Ra-
brave," she’d begged. But he'd loved his broth- chel actually opens it. He is elated.
er. And his brother had jumped off a building.
He could not risk bringing a baby into the world “Great to see you,” he says. “You look wonder-
who would find it as difficult to live as his ful.” He is not just saying this. Her red hair is
brother had. He could not take the chance of growing in, curly now, when it used to be
passing on the craziness that ran in his family. straight. She has colour in her cheeks.
He was not that brave.
“Thank you. I’m feeling so much better. And
During one long talk with Rachel Henry finds I’m so grateful for your wonderful meals. But
himself telling her that Nikki was the one who I’ve started cooking again. So, really, I can’t let
was fearless, if that was the word for it. She'd you keep bringing me dinner. I just don’t need
gotten pregnant with a man she hardly knew, that much food.”
and moved in with him. When Eli was born
with problems, the man took off. Clearly other Henry doesn’t know what to say. Of course he
people's genes had not been flawless. He told is glad she is recovering. But he was not suc-
Rachel he felt guilty for failing his wife. cessful when he asked her out. If she no longer
wants him to drop off food, will he ever see
“Really?” she said. She sipped her coffee. her?
“Guilt is so boring, don’t you think.” Then she
said, “I’m sure she is grateful for Eli.” “I’m happy I have energy to cook simple
meals,” she continues. “You know, sautéd fish,
steamed vegetables; I put a sweet potato in
the slow cooker and an hour later it’s done.”

“It’s great you’re feeling better. But let me at “Come join me on the walk next Sunday.” In-
least bring food on Sunday. I love cooking Sun- stead he says, “Jack’s father has agreed to let
day mornings in the restaurant. You can save Jack take ballet lessons. Jack is over the moon.
the food for another day, if you’re not hungry. He hopes to go to Toronto to study when he’s
I’d be very sad not to bring you Sunday sup- older. What spirit that kid has.”
per.”
“Are you surprised your brother-in-law was
Rachel doesn’t answer right away and for a okay with Jack dancing?”
few moments he feels dread hovering. Then
she nods. “Okay,” she says. “It’s hard to stand in Jack’s way. He’s a force
that can’t be ignored.” Henry sighs. “And his
A few Sundays later they are sitting in her father is not the stereotype I imagined. People
kitchen drinking Chai. It’s cold outside. He tells can surprise you.”
her about the walk he took earlier in the day.
It’s not Rachel but Erica who breaks the news
“There are a few acres of forest behind the to him a few months later, when they are hav-
restaurant,” he tells her. “I don’t know who ing rice pudding in his restaurant. She tells him
owns the land. It was beautiful going uphill, the Rachel’s tumour has returned. “Her doctor did
path encrusted with hard snow. All around another biopsy weeks ago and told her he
were ice trees from the recent freezing rain, couldn’t operate. She just let me know now,”
shimmering branches coated with silver hoar Erica says.
frost. Have you seen the ice trees in the park?”
Henry feels as if he’s been sucker punched.
“Yes.” She is listening carefully. It’s four in the afternoon and the place has not
yet opened for dinner. He does not see how he
“In the woods air smells clean. And it’s not as can work that evening.
cold walking there, surrounded by trees, as it is
on the road.” He describes how he tramped on Erica says, “She’s doing alternative medicine:
the surface of ice and crashed into streams, acupuncture, Chinese herbs. She is incredibly
that his boots got soaked but his feet stayed upbeat. It’s unbelievable. She said, “It may go
dry. On Sundays he always schedules the after- into remission. Anything’s possible.”
noon off, he explains, and he usually hikes. He
tells Rachel about the walk he took with his It’s true that for a couple of weeks she hadn’t
nephew a few weeks earlier. It hadn’t snowed come down when he dropped off food. One
yet and light was green, shining on moss. “Just week she called down to say she was resting.
looking at the colour of moss made me happy,” She’d apologized and he said not to get up. But
he says. He explains that when they went off he saw her last Sunday and she didn’t say a
the path in the woods, Jack stopped and thing about the diagnosis. She looked paler,
turned to him. more tired, if he thought back. And she was
wearing a scarf on her head. But she still
“ ‘What’s that?’ Jack asked . ‘Is it traffic?’ looked beautiful with graceful face, her deli-
cate features. How could she not tell him the
They’d heard a whoosh, and then a few tumour had returned?
minutes later, another whoosh and Jack
thought it was a car passing far below on the When he goes to Rachel’s house with brisket
road. ‘That’s the ocean,’ I told him. The air she wants to eat right away. “It’s my favourite,
was so clear, the crash of the waves across but I’ll only have some if you join me.”
from the restaurant echoed in the woods be-
hind it. A beautiful sound.” She has many favourite meals, he thinks. He
does too, but in his heart he believes they are
Rachel is looking at him with such, what is it, both hungry for the same thing.
tenderness? It is hard for him not to say,
“I love this,” she says, savouring the tender

meat. “How long do you cook it?” To listen to About the Author:
her it is hard to believe she’s received bad
news. Carole Glasser Langille's most recent collection
of short stories, "I Am What I Am Because You
He tells her that Eli is in the hospital again. He Are What You Are" was nominated for the
learned this from his sister that morning. Alistair MacLeod Award for Short Fiction. She is
also the author of four collections of poetry
“Poor little boy,” Rachel says, her face cloud- and has been nominated for The Governor
ing. “Some people have such a difficult time.” General's Award and the Atlantic Poetry Prize.
She does not appear to include herself in this
statement. She does not seem frightened or
worried.

He tells her he knows about her diagnosis.

“The doctors don’t know everything,” Rachel
says . “I’m not afraid, for some reason. I sort of
believe, and I don’t know why exactly, that I
am going to be okay. I’ve already lived longer
than the doctors predicted.”

Henry sighs and breathes deeply.

“It doesn’t look like you think I’ll get better,”
she says.

He begins to protest.

“I guess the only thing I can do is show you,”
she says. “Shall we go for a hike next week?”
She pauses and looks at his surprised expres-
sion. “I’m able to walk, you know. I’m not the
one in the hospital.”

“Yes,” he says. “We’ll walk in the woods.”

“A small hike. Say about twenty minutes. Can
you shorten the route?”

“Of course,” he says, smiling. I know just
where we’ll go.

That was six months ago. These days their
walks last over an hour.

THE DREAMERS

by Fred Miller

Middle-aged and solitary in nature, he was one sat perched on a government stool under dust-
of those odd little characters who appear in the laden lamps, the allure of a small café awaited
shadows of our lives, in cafes, in bars, and by his daily arrival. Every evening he’d listen for
bookstalls along the rivers, only to vanish from the bells in the cathedral to strike the hour that
our memories from one day to the next. And would allow him to conclude the precise proce-
though he answered to the name Umberto, his dures of the day. At once he’d arrange his pa-
identity mattered little to anyone. Clerks in the perwork in a neat stack and shuffle down the
Spanish ministry were widespread and as com- stairs and cross the cobblestone plaza to a ta-
mon as mice. ble by the window of the café and weave the
fantasies that sustained his ordinary life.
Over the years his individuality had been ob-
scured by the countless routines required of a In fairness, it’d be good to know the café
government clerk, and no doubt when he died, opened its doors each day when the first mo-
his presence would fade like morning mists rose face peered through the door in hopes of
over the river nearby. Even so, in overlooked a grappa to gird for the coming day and closed
souls such as his, hidden reveries are free to when the last patron ran out of money or was
roam the vast expanses of the imagination and too drunk to order more.
often provide worth and consequence those
who dare to dream. In Umberto’s private Today as he approached the café on what
world he lived large and garnered immense would become a seminal day in his simple life,
respect from all in his fanciful path. Yet he Umberto could hear the music from the canti-
knew better than to risk exposure of his color- na down the lane toward the river. Across the
ful imagination to those in the village where he province this bar was known to welcome all
lived. with cheap whiskey and loud music as well as
some late-night debauchery that often includ-
Our hero resided in a simple room in a simple ed two whores who frequented the place
house owned by a stern-faced woman who nighty except Sundays, their consecrated day
matched him in the meticulous routines he’d of rest.
come to appreciate. She expected the rent to
be paid by sundown on the first of the month A visiting poet had once described this place as
and not one moment later. And he’d remit this a mecca for tongues that paint portraits of
pittance for a room with a bed and a chair and cheap love and worries that fade behind masks
a wash basin, but not one moment before the of merriment. Yet not once had our beloved
deadline would loom. And both appeared satis- clerk darkened the door of this establishment
fied with this expected routine. of sin. He’d long ago settled on the dignity of
the café where, in the peace of his corner, he
A short walk across the plaza from where he could build fresh images of self-esteem.

“Ah, Senor Umberto, your usual? said a waiter. tasies and false hopes along the streets of the
He nodded and made his way to his customary village, her chin wet from her toothless cries.
table where he’d sip sherry and await the small And he wondered if she’d cast spells on a rival
crowd that gathered here each day. and when discovered, had been abandoned to
the shadowed doorways and alleys of this un-
“Tapas, Senior?” the waiter said. After a simple forgiving environment. He imagined her in a
nonverbal assent, Umberto paused to savor past life, barefoot in a bright dress spinning to
the aroma of ham tidbits wafting from the the fiddles under bright stars and the cheers
kitchen. While he watched the late afternoon and mysteries of those who’d left her behind.
sun sketch shadows across the plaza, a mangy
dog emerged from a blind alley, his tongue An ancient couple appeared in the fading light
leading the hunt for basic sustenance in the and were soon hustled to an obscure table
empty marketplace nearby. near the back of the café. Our friend watched
with care these faces of yesterday’s youth,
And through the broad leaves over the win- both soon nibbling tapas in silence, and each
dow, he spotted two men in frumpy suits mov- offering gestures of assurance to the other.
ing toward the café, their faces lost in serious And time-to-time holding hands in memory of
debate, their cigars stirring like fireflies in the a tacit bond still honored as if recently made.
early evening gloom. Ah, the buyers of bulls for Umberto mused on his own circumstance and
the rings of Seville, he thought. wondered what might have been if not for the
fates.
Once they were seated, curled expressions of
doubt filled their countenances and at once he Interrupted by flashes of brass and color, he
knew. Our sage observer could be of great ser- saw the local constable march by, his destina-
vice to them in their negotiations if asked. But tion the warm companionship of a whiskey at
only if asked, he sighed. the bar. A lonely man, Umberto thought, a ca-
reer steeped in perceived glory. How could he
In another life, he could see himself as a great have been marooned in this small village?
rancher where he alone had the knowledge Some say his ambitions were crushed by jeal-
and foresight to place values on his bulls, the ous tongues. Others pointed to petty quarrels
finest in all of Andalusia. His shrewdness now with people of importance. Yet our champion
legend, he’d await the buyers who’d gasp knew better. Lack of grit, he reasoned and nod-
when informed of the prices. Later, they’d bow ded to himself. If he’d been blessed with this
to his wishes at the end of heated delibera- man’s connections, he thought, he’d now be
tions, a mere trice in his busy schedule, Umber- the captain of the Civil Guard in Seville, his ex-
to thought. And instinctively he flicked his ploitations the talk of the great city. Sad, he
wrist. mused, no mettle to the man.

While the staff hurried about seating new arri- From the window, he heard laughter from a
vals, Umberto noticed a torpid smile in the cluster of sweet voices moving down the lane
doorway behind deep-seated eyes that blinked toward the cantina. There, he’d heard whis-
like spent candles and darted about in desper- pered, simple hopes were destined to die in
ate hope of gestures of welcome. Pinned the eddies of concession and defeat.
across her faded dress were rows of lottery
tickets while others lay clutched in her tiny Nearby a young couple with hands entwined
hands. In a flash, a waiter spotted her and whispered promises Umberto knew she’d cher-
shoved her back into the street as if he’d en- ish forever and he’d soon forget. Once differ-
countered a stray biddy along a dusty path ences between the families could be resolved,
nearby. he was confident they’d be married by the lo-
cal priest, and she would bear his children, and
Umberto recalled her raspy voice hawking fan-

her body would settle. Yet her man would pre- have become best of friends. But in his heart,
tend not to notice. he knew better. He was but a lowly clerk in the
ministry, and once his station in life was re-
Later, after strands of grey appeared and vealed, he’d surely be dismissed from the so-
promised expectations he’d so boldly made cial sphere of this august figure of the village.
had waned, they’d reside in a modest dwelling
where together they’d gracefully age. And in At that moment a graceful silhouette passed
idle moments she’d wonder what could have his table under escort of the wait staff. In con-
been only to be interrupted by the sharp cry of cert they moved effortlessly to a preferred ta-
a child. ble leaving a slipstream of lilac in the air. Even
in the soft lights, he could envision those dark
But in this moment of bliss they shared tonight, eyes and sparkling features that he’d held in
it was as it should be, Umberto thought. And cherished moments of fancy.
though his time for such opportunities had long
since passed, the future, he reasoned, be- She was a countess, he’d concluded, one wid-
longed to them, the dreamers. owed and left destitute by the late count’s
wicked indulgences. Umberto pictured her
More free tapas were placed on his table, an- once moving about in the great cities, a grand
other reason he preferred the café. He nodded doyenne and patron of the arts.
to the waiter and gazed about the room now
alive with chatter. With rapt attention, he watched her laugh at a
jest offered by the waiter who’d seated her. To
In the dim evening light, he could see the ap- be by her side, Umberto thought. But he knew
proach of the man with the limp and a cane, this might risk a derisive laugh. No, he rea-
his broad shoulders back and his head high, a soned, a woman of her station and presence
reflection of his place in society. Yet our hero must remain hidden away among his treasured
could never fathom why a great matador fantasies. With a melancholy smile, he eyed
would choose this forgotten village for his re- her until he became aware of eyes around him
tirement. Could it be that he was born here? watching his gaze.
Perhaps he trained at one of the famed ranch-
es in the valley. Better still, maybe he’d come From the window, he could see more revelers
to realize that in the great cities he’d have be- moving toward the lane down to the cantina by
come lost in a sea of retired matadors. Here he the river. Even from here the distant echoes of
was recognized for untold acts of bravery in the music had become clear. Emerging from
the ring. the far side of the plaza, he espied three young
women en route to join the growing crowd.
The wait staff saw him too and jockeyed to see One caught his eye and waved. And then burst
who’d be lucky enough to seat this man of dig- into laughter with the others. The countenance
nity. Once determined, the loser would scurry of our noble clerk flushed as he sunk down in
to the bar for his favorite sherry and hurry back his chair. Children, he mused. Mere girls. No
to meet him at his table. refinement. But tucked away in his mind he
could see himself as part of this troupe arriving
Umberto recalled once having the good for- arm-in-arm to shouts of his name from several
tune of making eye contact with the matador quarters of the smoke-filled bar. But no, he
here in the café. Nods had been exchanged and reminded himself, the music was too loud, and
Umberto’s heart had leaped before he’d shyly brawls were apt to erupt without notice. And
looked away. Still, he longed to approach this the food, he’d been told, was not so good.
great man and introduce himself and discuss
the fine art of the fights. Perhaps the matador A lazy river mist eased through the doorway
would ask our man to join him for a drink. Per- and curled around soft tongues and gestures.
haps. But who could say? Over time they might

And at a table near the bar two faceless wom- Spain, is he… is he as good as they say?”
en gazed about the room in tacit games of pre-
tense. “Ah, it is Juli you speak of?”

Umberto peered in the direction of the mata- “Yes, el Juli. Have you seen him in the ring, el
dor and studied his shiny boots and the sparkle Matador?”
of a cuff link. Many times he’d imagined him-
self in the ring, his hat raised to an adoring “Yes, Senor Rivera, I have seen him fight. His
crowd, the shimmer of a sleeve in the late passes are excellent, a brave young man in-
afternoon sun. And the bull, hundreds of kilos deed.”
of madness spurred by the smell of fear in his
nostrils. Taunting the animal our beloved mata- “As good as Manolete, el Matador?” They both
dor was resolved to meet this foe on his own smiled at Umberto’s reference to this legend of
terms. And with a whirling cape in perfect ve- the ring.
ronicas, he’d ignore razor sharp horns just inch-
es away. Again and again, he’d tease the beast “Ah, it is early yet, Senor Rivera. We shall see.
with the crowd in uproarious wonder. Now, my friend, I must be going.” Leaning on
his cane, he stood. Umberto rose as well.
Unaware of his own posture he found his eyes
locked on the matador, the stoic figure return- “We will meet again, Senor Rivera, and perhaps
ing the look. Flustered by his own miscalcula- discuss the young matadors, yes?”
tion he lowered his reddening face. But from
the corner of his eye, he could see the matador “Yes, el Matador, we will indeed, yes, we
rise and walk in his direction. The embarrass- should.” Our diminutive clerk could feel the
ment, he thought, the humiliation to come. eyes of everyone in the café on the two of
What have I done? them.

“Senor?” The matador’s cane struck the tile floor as he
moved toward the entrance and out into the
Umberto looked up and rose unsteadily to the night. Umberto could feel cool perspiration on
towering figure before him. “Yes, el Matador?” his neck and forehead as he thought to himself,
yes, we must meet again and discuss the fine
“My name is Juan Carlos Diaz, and since we points of the young matadors and the bulls. He
both come here often, I thought we should nodded to himself and paused to look out into
become acquainted.” the plaza, his guest now a ghost in an ethereal
mist.
Yes, el Matador, yes,” he said. “I know who you
are and I’m…I’m Umberto Rivera, at your ser- “Check,” he said to a nearby waiter with the
vice.” After a small bow, he motioned for his click of his fingers.
guest to be seated. Umberto prayed the man
could not hear the pounding of his heart. “Check, Senor, so soon? The night is still
young.” And for our protagonist it truly was, his
Without notice two waiters appeared to take custom to tarry until nothing but idle stares
fresh orders. Senior Diaz politely waved them and coughs filled the remainder of the evening.
away.
“Yes,” he said with verve, “I have places to go
“You are interested in the bull fights, Senor and people to meet.” Umberto dropped the
Rivera?” requisite coins on the table and realized his
legs were trembling. With care he shuffled
“Yes, el Matador, oh yes, I love the fights.” Um- across the café and out into the evening air, his
berto’s mind raced for something clever to say. head high.
“Um, the young matador who is the talk of all
For a moment he paused and looked up the

street toward home and down toward the ech-
oes of trumpets that ricocheted off moon-
washed walls in the lane below. He hesitated,
filled his chest with moist river air, and started
down the cobblestone path toward the music.
This will be a new day he told himself, a turning
point toward renewed successes for el mata-
dor Rivera, the recent sensation in the great
rings of Spain.

About the Author:

Fred Miller is a California writer who specializ-
es in penning short stories with eclectic
themes. His first was selected by Constance
Hunting, the New England poet laureate in
2003. More than fifty of his stories have ap-
peared in publications around the world in the
past ten years. Many of his stories may be seen
on his blog:
https://pookah1943.wordpress.com.

A TWINKLE IN THE NIGHT

by Donald Himelstein

Stan Waltman was tired. He had driven almost “Oh, okay,” she answers pleasantly. “He’s in
two hours in the cold and wet snow and as he the back, will you wait a moment while I get
entered the town limits he felt the first releas- him.”
ing stress that had kept him alert all morning
slowly begin to diminish within him. Stopping Stan looked around again taking in the displays
at a red light in town he realized with some of hard cover textbooks on math, science and
anxiety it was after 2:15 PM and his appoint- languages. Way in the back he saw fiction nov-
ment was scheduled for 2:30 PM. els and many famous writers and told himself
he would take a look later.
Then he saw the sign Bellmore College proudly
on display indicating it was three miles up the “Hello, young fella.”
road from the town. Stan breathed in a long
sigh of relief and road through the small town “Oh, hi,” Stan said, momentarily surprised. “I’m
and out into the woods once again until he Stan Waltman from Bradberry Publishers.”
found the entrance sign to the College.
The man extended his hand and smiled amia-
In a moment he had pulled into the visitors bly. “I’m Sergeant Baddeck, you from the vest
parking and stopped. Gathering his heavy sam- pocket people, right.”
ple bag and some sales forms he headed quick-
ly into the main building and immediately saw “Yes, that’s correct,” Stan answered letting his
the sign for the book store in the basement. hand go which was dry to his touch. “I under-
stand you needed a refill on the dictionaries,
Soon as he entered the room he felt relaxed, fine, but Sergeant Baddeck , I have some other
the bookstore had a quiet, friendly atmosphere products you might be interested in and if you
that almost forced you to come in and look don’t mind I could show them to you now?”
around. He saw a rack of sweatshirts and hats
with the name of the school printed in large “This is a perfect time son,” he replied. “The
letters and assorted school supplies that in- spring term just started about two weeks ago
cluded pens, notebooks, paper items and final- and then the place was a mad house, but right
ly his own product stuck high on a shelf in the now it’s quiet, so let’s see what you got, okay.”
rear, vest pocket dictionaries.
Stan took out his samples and placed them on
Stan walked right up to the counter which the counter explaining about the Stenso letter-
looked abandoned to him. He waited a mo- ing guides, and his other products. Surprisingly,
ment until a rather pretty young girl came from they were rarely interrupted until late in the
the back. afternoon when groups of young co-eds began
wandering into the store.
She smiled. “Yes, can I help you?”
After more than two hours Stan had shown
“Right, actually, I have an appointment with him everything he had and was grateful for a
Sergeant Baddeck.” fairly nice sales order. Looking at his watch he
saw it was almost 4:30 PM. “I guess I had

better be going,” he said, putting his samples be you passed it on the way in, nice place,
back in his bag. clean, or so I’m told, lot of the girl’s parents
stay there on visits.”
“Took longer than I would have thought,” the
Sergeant said, smiling. “You want a cup of “Say, how about a decent restaurant?”
coffee we make it fresh every day?”
“Like Italian food?”
Stan now relaxed. It was too late to drive all
the way back to Philadelphia. He would have to “Who doesn’t?”
call in the order, but it was getting dark and he
would first have to find a decent motel and “I’d recommend Salaconi’s,” the Sergeant said.
have some dinner. “Yeah, I sure would, Ser- “The wife and I ate their just last week, won-
geant.” derful Italian food. But its Friday night so it’ll
probably be crowded but don’t let that bother
The sergeant got a paper cup and pointed to you they have small tables for two and a nice
the coffee machine in the corner which Stan service bar, you’ll enjoy it.”
hadn’t even realized was there. “Go help your-
self, milk and sugar right on the coffee table.” “Where is it?”

After Stan got his coffee he said, “I gather you “Right in town,” the sergeant answered. “Can’t
served in the army?” miss it, you’ll see the lights and all the people
standing out front. Well, good luck young fella,
“Fourteen years in the service, made Staff Ser- I enjoyed your visit today.”
geant,” he replied. “How about you son, you
serve in the military?” A minute later Stan was up the stairs and out
into the clear, but cold night anxious to get into
Stan nodded slowly. “I was in the Army Medi- the car and turn the heater on. He drove to-
cal Corps stationed in Germany for a year and a ward the highway and headed back to town
half.” hoping to find the motel the Sergeant had told
him about. Within a few minutes he had en-
“I knew we had something in common the mo- tered the town limits and drove along watching
ment I saw you,” the sergeant responded. “I until he saw the lights on the Italian restaurant
loved and hated every minute of it.” and mostly young couples waiting quietly on
line for a table.
“Why’d you get out?”
Must be good, he thought, or this was the only
“Wife got sick,” he answered. “Didn’t have any decent place in town for dinner. He drove
choice, but it hasn’t been all that bad, she’s through the small urban area and two miles
better now and I manage this store, can’t com- down the road he found the Regency motel.
plain.” Stan parked and then went in to the motel and
registered for a room. The male clerk was
“I’m glad she’s better.” friendly but business like and in minutes Stan
was back at his car to gather his overnight bag
“Thanks, so am I.” and his sample case with the sales reports.

Stan liked the sergeant he felt that he was a The room was comfortable and clean. Taking
sincere person who had done the best he could out his sales reports he began to look them
for everyone around him. After talking for al- over thinking he would call them in first thing
most another half hour he asked, “I guess it’s tomorrow morning. It was almost six o’clock
too late to drive back to Philly. Any good motel and he was hungry, it had been a long day, but
or restaurant you could recommend in the a- he had a nice sale from the sergeant and one
rea?” other small sale from a stationary store outside

“The Regency Motel is just outside town, may-

Philly. Maybe, he thought, he might just buy a He didn’t quite know what to do, but then al-
turkey and cheese hero and a cold ginger ale at most as if a natural order had taken place she
the deli he saw just up the road, come back smiled and her lovely dark brown eyes came
and watch T.V. alive. Stan was taken back, but watching her
now he saw she was very pretty with lovely
He got back in his car and drove toward town, golden-brown hair combed down around her
but as he came within sight of the late night face and a kind of soft attractive light deep
deli he thought why not just drive into town within her pleasant striking brown eyes.
and enjoy a real good dinner at the Italian
place the sergeant had recommended. Stan It was then that he noticed she was at a round
kept going and in a moment was back in the table with two other couples, but she was
town limits and found the restaurant still alone, and somehow this bothered him. Stan
crowded but now he realized only two couples couldn’t take his eyes off her, but then one of
were still waiting for a table. the other women at her table glanced at him
and leaned over and whispered something into
Pulling around the block he found a parking her friend’s ear.
space, made a note to himself where he had
parked, grabbed his small sample case and Before Stan knew what was going on the other
walked back to the main street and down one woman, slightly older, but also rather attractive
block to the restaurant. He found only one oth- was waving at him to come and sit with them.
er middle aged couple in front of him and be- Stan didn’t quite know what to do, but when
fore he knew it a young female hostess was he looked at the younger woman she was still
leading him to a small table in the corner. watching him openly smiling softly with a warm
cordiality in her eyes.
Stan liked the place right away. It had a warm,
pleasant feeling of good, delicious smelling Then he saw her wave inviting him to join
Italian food with the aroma of tomatoes and them. Stan got up and walked over to the table
garlic cooking somewhere in the back kitchen. and everyone looked up at him. For a second
He realized it was crowded and slightly noisy, he felt like a fish out of water and couldn’t say
but a nice noise, a gentle murmur of soft voices a word, but then the older woman pointed to
all talking at once. an empty chair for him to sit down. “Hi, I’m
Doris, this is my husband Jerry, that’s Paul
When he got to his small table for two it was in sitting next to Gloria, and this lovely lady next
the corner, but he didn’t mind, it had an excel- to me is Betty.”
lent view, and he planned to go over his sales
reports while he waited for dinner. When the “Hello, I’m Stan hope I’m not interrupting any-
waiter came he ordered an antipasto and an thing?” He felt awkward with everyone’s eyes
Eggplant Parmesan, his favorite. on him, but when he glanced at Betty still smil-
ing with those lovely cordial eyes he didn’t feel
“Anything to drink, sir,” the waiter asked. so strange anymore.

“Oh, yeah, I’ll have a glass of red wine, thank Doris said, “We were just about to have dinner
you.” and thought why not come and join us since
you looked so lonely all by yourself at that ta-
He was alone and right then he pulled out his ble.”
daily sales reports and began to go over them.
It was no more than a moment when he began Stan couldn’t help looking at Betty who kept
to feel as if someone was watching him. Stan smiling and glancing warmly at him until he
looked up and into the eyes of a young woman said, “well to tell you the truth I was just going
at the next table staring right at him. to work on my sales reports then have a quiet
dinner and head back to my motel.”

Jerry said, “See, I told you he was a traveling very slowly began to feel more comfortable
salesman.” with one another. For Stan it was a first, he had
never felt like this toward a girl so fast and
Everyone laughed and Stan couldn’t help but what he saw in Betty’s soft, tender eyes made
smile along with them. him feel even more relaxed.

“So, what do you sell?” Gloria asked. “You live in this area?” Stan asked.

“Ah, I work for a publishing company we sell “A few miles from here,” Betty answered quiet-
vest pocket dictionaries and stenso lettering ly. “I’m a teacher, we all are, Doris and Gloria
guides, office supplies like that.” teach at the same school, we often have dinner
on Friday night together during the cold winter
“Oh, how nice,” Betty said. months.”

He loved the sound of her voice, it was soft and Stan held his breath, but knew he had to ask
sweet with a lovely lilt to it and somewhere the question. “No regular boyfriend in the
down inside he felt the first real joy that he had wings somewhere waiting for you?”
decided to have dinner at the restaurant. Stan
couldn’t help feeling an excited flush of elation With a shy grin Betty answered, “no, I’m afraid
with Betty, sensing her presences and the not, just haven’t meet the right guy, I suppose.
warmth of her body sitting down right next to What about you, some lucky girl back home?”
her.
Stan shook his head. “No, nobody back home,
“Where do sell too around here, Stan?” Paul I’m afraid.”
asked.
“Where is home?” she asked.
“The main account is the college just outside of
town.” “Brooklyn New York, but I think it’s time to
make a move. I’d like to go back to school, get
“The girl’s college,” Gloria said. “That must be my degree, not sure I want to stay on the road
nice.” much longer.”

Everyone laughed good-naturedly and even “Then why don’t you, I mean go back to
Stan took it in a friendly way, but all of a sud- school?”
den he felt Betty’s soft hand patting his arm
and they looked with a strange depth at each “I may just do that,” Stan replied. “The new G.I.
other for the first time, their eyes staring as if bill opened up for Vietnam Era Veterans, and I
they were locked together. Stan sensed the think I’ll take advantage of it. Now may I ask
magical moment that had flashed between how come a lovely girl like you hasn’t found
them and his face became warm. His heart someone?”
seemed to pound a little faster but then it past-
ed and the waiter was serving their dinners. Betty saw Doris and Gloria watching them and
smiled softly knowing that whatever she said
“Cosmo,” Doris said to the waiter, “Stan is go- would be overheard, but she didn’t mind.
ing to have dinner with us, you don’t mind, do “Stan, to tell you the truth it just never hap-
you?” pened. Oh a few boyfriends in College, that
sort of thing, but back home there really wasn’t
Cosmo smiled, staring at Stan and without fur- anyone I could say I wanted to be with, you
ther comment said, “No, no, I’ll bring every- know what I mean?”
thing to the table.”
Stan smiled, his eyes dropping. “Yes, I do.”
Dinner was served and without saying to much
at first Betty and Stan quietly ate their dinner The night went along quickly and then they had
together, laughing, glancing at each other and coffee with Betty and Stan sharing a delicious

Italian desert. For Stan it was fun, exciting, a big trouble. I’m sorry I’ve got to go back right
little strange even to be sitting relaxed with now. I promise you, Betty, I’ll call.”
these friendly, intelligent, small town people,
his eyes always on Betty who he couldn’t stop Stan began to rush off with Betty calling out for
looking at. him to be careful. He didn’t hear her, his mind
was already on his lost sample case. He walked
Then Doris said, “Oh, my, look at the time, my then sprinted back to the main street turned
baby sitter will be very upset, I told her mother the corner and now ran full out toward the
I’d have her home by now. Sorry, but we got to restaurant.
get going now, let’s go Jerry.”
When he got there the place was getting ready
Betty looked at Stan and whispered, “I came in to close. Only a few people were still sitting at
their car, I have to go Stan, now.” Then her the bar enjoying a last drink. His eyes searched
lovely eyes gazed at him with a burning light of the room where he had left the sample bag,
anxiety. “Will you call me?” but with a shock he realized nothing was there,
the tables had been cleaned and the floor was
“Yes, of course,” he whispered softly. empty. Stan glanced quickly around but saw
nothing, his throat tightened and a terrible fear
She took out a pen and wrote her telephone raced through his body.
number on a napkin, the only paper she had.
Her eyes were misty soft when she gave it to Only two tables off in the corner were still oc-
him. “Do call me I really want to hear from cupied with late customers who sat quietly
you.” talking. His eyes scanned the room with great
anxiety but he saw nothing, then the waiter
“Betty,” Stan whispered quietly in her ear, “you came out from the kitchen and Stan walked
know I’ll call you, I promise you.” quickly toward him. “Cosmo, you remember
me, I was sitting at a table over there and I left
They paid the check and then Stan said, “Betty, my sample bag, did you happen to see it.”
I’ll walk you to the car.”
“Oh, yes, I found the bag and put it in the kitch-
Betty laughed softly, her eyes still glowing with en,” Cosmo said, happily. “Wait one moment,
delight. In a moment they were outside walk- I’ll go and get it for you.”
ing in the cold, clear night waving goodnight to
Gloria and her husband who walked off to their Stan waited anxiously until Cosmo returned
car as they followed Doris. with the sample bag and handed it to him. “Oh
thanks, Cosmo, you have no idea how im-
“Where are you parked?” Betty asked. portant this was to me, thank you again for
saving it for me.”
“Oh, I’m parked around the other side on
Vetter Street.” “My pleasure,” Cosmo answered. “I’m glad we
found it for you.”
When they got to the car Doris said hastily,
“I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to get home, nice Stan walked out of the restaurant with a feel-
meeting you Stan, hope we see you again ing of gratitude. Then he realized Betty was
soon.” gone. He took the napkin from his pocket but
he had crumbled it with his anxiety and the ink
Stan shook hands with them and was about to was no longer legible. He began walking quickly
say something to Betty when he realized his back toward the car around the corner where
sample case was still back in the restaurant. they were parked hoping that she might still be
there.
Betty saw the change in his face. “Stan, what’s
the matter?” As he approached the parking spot he realized

“Oh my God, Betty, I left my sample case back
in the restaurant. If somebody takes it I’ll be in

the car was gone and nobody was around. A Stan laughed softly. “I’m glad you did.” He
restless fear began to flush through his body dropped his sample bag and put his arms
and thoughts of never finding her again flashed around her feeling her soft, warm body and in
like lightening through his mind. that moment they kissed tenderly, their lips
gently pressed together for a very long mo-
Stan rushed back to the restaurant but found it ment.
about to close and nobody around as his heart Taking a breath he released her and looked up
sank with a tender sorrow he might never see at the clear night sky.
her again. In a deep loss he walked dejectedly “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Betty said.
back to his car knowing he might have lost “Yes, looks like stars twinkling in the night
something very precious that he might never skies.” Stan said. “We don’t have the sky this
find her again. clear back in Brooklyn, too much pollution, I
suppose.”
He turned off the main street onto Vetter and Betty smiled sweetly and whispered, “Well
walked softly in the dark not really paying here the stars twinkle in the night, all the
much attention. Slowly his eyes adjusted as he time.”
came closer to his parked car and gradually They kissed again and they both knew this was
began to realize someone was sitting against going to be a very long happy relationship.
his car fender.
About the Author:
The street was quite dark but slowly be began
to sense who it was and somewhere deep in My novel, ABOVE HONOR, was published by
the depths of his soul he came alive again. Fireside Publications, and my short story, The
When he approached the car Betty was sitting Best Gift of All was published in the Holiday
quietly against the fender smiling as if she had Tales Anthology. I also had a short story
been waiting all night. published in the Apeiron Review which is an
online publication.
“Well, hello,” she said with a grin. I served in the army as a medical corpsman
statoned in Germany and graduated with a BA
When he spoke he couldn’t keep the surprise in Political Science from Richmond College,
out of his voice. “Betty, how did you mind now the College of Staten Island, and worked
me?” he asked. for the State of New York as a Social Security
Disabilty Examiner, now retired.
She moved off the fender and came closer to
him. “You did say you were parked on Vetter,
right, and I assumed you had the only New
York license plates, so I just walked over here
and waited for you.”

Stan smiled happily. “That was smart, what
happened to Gloria and Jerry?” he asked.

“They had to get home, baby sitter was
waiting.”

“You know for a moment Betty I thought I had
lost you and that almost put me into a panic,
but tell me, what if this wasn’t my car, how
were you planning on getting home tonight,
doesn’t seem to be much public transportation
or taxi service in the area?”

Betty smiled prettily, “I just took a chance.”

THE UBER DRIVER

by Taylor Lovullo

WASHINGTON, D.C., 2017 phone. I selected the “Pool” option, which
meant I might have had to share the car with
I remember it starting out like a normal Satur- another passenger who had a similar destina-
day afternoon. I had nearly finished my study- tion along the way, — but it was worth it since
ing for the day, so I closed the cover of my his- the Pool option was always a few dollars
tory textbook and placed the cap on my pen. cheaper. I waited for the man named Abdou in
There were just a few more pages of the chap- the grey Honda Civic with the license plate
ter left to read for when I got home later that number starting with 7KJ. It was a beautiful
night. I switched off the lamp at my desk— I afternoon — I noted that, for the first time in a
always studied with the light on, being careful while, I didn’t need any type of jacket. I picked
not to strain my eyes. Even though it was late at some fuzz on my shirt and stood idly until I
April and the sun was shining outside, it still saw the grey car with 7KJ on the front plate. He
always felt dark in my dorm room since a larger asked my name when he pulled up to the curb.
academic building loomed nearby, never allow-
ing for many rays to filter through. “Yes, that’s me,” I replied. I opened the door
and took a seat on the felt cushions in the
I grabbed my purse and keys— I wouldn’t need back.
much, since I was just babysitting for some
family friends that happened to live in DC, al- “How are you today, Miss?” Abdou inquired.
beit on the other side of the District from Fog- He had a thick accent, and his words came out
gy Bottom, where I was attending a University. noticeably slow and spaced apart. I smiled and
I was wrapping up my second year and was looked at myself in the rear-view mirror from
content with my experience in college so far— the back seat.
I studied hard during the day, spent time with
my friends at night, and picked up a little extra “I’m doing well, thank you. A little stressed
cash babysitting for a few families on week- because all my final exams are coming up, but
ends. you could say everything is pretty good,” I re-
sponded as I reached for my seatbelt.
I looked at the time: it was 4:30. On Saturdays I
usually left at 4:00 and took the metro to the Whenever I was in an Uber or a cab, I tried to
other side of town to arrive at the house by not only answer the questions coming from the
5:00, but today, I needed every spare minute I front seat, but also to add in a little detail out
could find to study. Finals were two weeks of politeness. I didn’t want to drop one-word
away and I was feeling particularly stressed answers and then sit in silence for the rest of
about my history exam. So today, I figured I the drive, like I’d seen some of my friends do
would just take an Uber. when we shared an Uber together— I knew it
had to be dull for the driver, chauffeuring
I stepped outside and hailed an Uber from my strangers around for scant pay. I never minded

having a bit of dialogue with them, and I knew ed me of some dear little grandfather and his
it would help break up the monotony of their kind spirit showed through despite the obvious
job, being behind the wheel all day long. And I language barrier. And as someone who spent
had at least a twenty-minute drive with this years studying French but still only able to
man ahead of us, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to speak a smattering, I appreciated the fact that
make some conversation. this man was becoming trilingual and I didn’t
mind the heavy accent that blanketed his
“Ahhh, yes. So, you are college student? Do words. A good man, I thought. I was just about
you enjoy it?” Abdou asked. to ask how much time he’d been in the United
States for and why he’d left Senegal when we
“Yes, I really do. It’s always really hard work, eased to a stop.
but luckily summer is just around the corner
and I’m in for a nice long break.” “Another passenger,” Abdou explained.

This made Abdou laugh, for some reason. A I looked out the window and saw an older man
bellowing, cheerful laugh, which filled me with approaching our car. He was rail thin, wearing
joy even though I didn’t really know why he a grey suit, with his white hair combed back
thought my answer was so funny. and a leather briefcase in hand. Clearly a law-
yer or lobbyist or businessman, which were as
“You a lucky girl.” He said, grinning in the mir- abundant passing through the streets of my
ror. university as students were, due its proximity
to some of the most important buildings in the
Abdou was probably in his early to mid-sixties, nation’s capital. So, it didn’t surprise me that a
with dark, smiling eyes and graying hair pulled man like this one was getting into the car—I’d
into shoulder-length dreadlocks. We drove a seen them walking around all the time.
few blocks through Foggy Bottom, and he re-
marked how nice the neighborhood was. He However, I was immediately unsettled by him.
continued to ask me questions, and even He seemed cold and hardened in his posture
though the conversation lagged a bit because and facial expression as he strode toward the
sometimes it took him several seconds to regis- car. He opened the door, sat in the passenger’s
ter what I said, I genuinely didn’t mind talking seat and peered back at me. I met his steely
to him. We kept on chatting, and the way that blue gaze and noticed a frown that appeared
he computed his answers thoughtfully before permanently fixed, given the depth of the wrin-
saying them aloud made it obvious to me that kles around his mouth and the sagging features
he likely had only recently learned English. of his face. He turned back towards the front
and muttered something under his breath.
“Where are you from, sir?” I asked as we made
a right turn. I didn’t hear what he said. Clearly Abdou didn’t
either, because he didn’t respond and our car
“Senegal,” he said wistfully, but he managed to remained quiet for several moments. I wasn’t
still smile. even sure if his mutterings were directed to
anyone in particular.
“Really?! How cool,” I replied. “I speak a little
French… Do you speak French or Wolof back More grumbling came from the man with the
home?” As someone who was interested in icy presence. This time, it sounded angri-
languages, I was curious to hear the answer to er. Abdou glanced at me in the mirror with a
this question. questioning look in his dark eyes, and I just
shook my head slightly as if to indicate “I have
He smiled again, with a twinkle in his eye. “I no idea what he is saying, either.”
can speak both... smart young lady. You are like
my daughter, back in Senegal.” Finally, the white-haired passenger erupted as
we came to a red light.
I returned his grin. I liked Abdou— he remind-

“I’m talking to you, you dumb *%^{+@!” He Still feeling uneasy, I looked at the time on my
shouted, turning to face Abdou. phone. 4:49. I would be right on time to my
babysitting job. Then, I tried to block out what
The abruptness of it nearly jolted me from my had happened and concentrate my attention
seat, and my jaw dropped in disbelief. on my phone to return a text message. But a
noise from Abdou in the front seat made me
The word was like lightning once it left his look up once again.
mouth— it shocked with its potency and then
lingered in the air for a few moments. It left He was crying. Large tears slid down his ebony
nothing in its wake except a dead silence. face and I felt that my mouth was agape. Sud-
denly, it occurred to me this was probably not
It genuinely shocked me. I had grown up learn- the first time an incident like the one I’d just
ing to never use that word or refer to anyone witnessed had happened to him. Should I say
by it. It conjured negative images of the past by something? I thought. But what on earth could
labeling someone in a derogatory way because I possibly say?
of how they looked. Abdou was visibly shaken,
too: his eyes lost their sparkle and his body “Abdou, are you alright?” I asked softly.
stiffened up.
Silence. I only found my answer when he
“I am sorry, sir, I just did not hear what you switched on his turn signal moments later and
said.” glanced back at the car’s blind spot with teary
eyes. We pulled onto the right shoulder of the
“How could you not hear that? I was speaking highway and stopped.
right at you. I was asking you a question. You’re
just a dumb *%^{+@ ,” he repeated, shaking To my astonishment, he put his head on the
his head vigorously. “And it wouldn’t hurt to wheel and began to sob as if he’d just lost a
learn some goddamned English while you’re child. Loud, unapologetic sobbing. It was the
living in this country.” first time in my life I had ever seen a man cry.

I cringed and looked in the mirror at my Uber I just sat in the back quietly with my own head
driver. Abdou’s jaw clenched but he said noth- bowed down, staring at my hands in my lap. A
ing. No reaction whatsoever. I mentally ap- few more minutes passed, and I contemplated
plauded him for not stopping the car and calling someone for help when I finally decided
reaching behind him to strangle the white- to ask one more time:
haired man sitting to my right. We just rode on
in silence until we reached 14th Street and “Abdou, are you alright?”
Constitution Avenue, near the Washington
Monument. Abdou rolled to a stop. He lifted his face and turned around slowly. He
had finished crying, but his cheeks were still
“We are here. Have a nice day, sir,” Abdou said streaked with tears and I could see a profound
calmly as the man in the grey suit grabbed his pain dwelling in his eyes.
briefcase and slammed the car door behind
him without saying another word. “Do you really think I wanted to be an
Uber driver? Do you think this is the life I want-
Abdou glanced at the map on his phone ed?”
propped up on the dashboard. He was calcu-
lating which route would get me to Anacostia I weighed the two questions, and a deep sad-
the quickest while I was still struggling to regis- ness gnawed away at my heart. “No,” was all I
ter what had just transpired in front of me. We could say.
weaved through the heart of the nation’s capi-
tal until we reached the 695 Highway. We got Abdou sighed deeply and blinked a few times.
on and drove without a word spoken between He pulled back onto the freeway and I just
us for several minutes. watched out the window as the trees rolled

by— they were growing back their thick green
leaves in full force. It was undoubtedly a warm,
gorgeous spring day, but all I could feel was the
cold of winter in the depth of my soul.
I returned to my dorm later that evening. My
roommate was out with her boyfriend, so I was
alone, left to finish my reading from earlier that
day. I flicked on the lamp, opened my history
textbook again, and tried my hardest to study,
but I just couldn’t. All I could do was weep for
what I had seen that afternoon.

About the Author:

Taylor Lovullo is a Junior at The George Wash-
ington University in Washington, D.C. with a
major in Spanish and Latin American Lan-
guages, Literature, & Cultures. She grew up in
Southern California and enjoys reading, learn-
ing languages, and traveling. This is her second
short story

WRAPPING THINGS UP RIGHT

by Susan Swanson

A little more than a week after surgery I “Oh I do.” Nodding vigorously.
brought Ma home. She was still “Ma” even
though Bill, roommate at Yale, had pulled me “Even with cancer in the limp nodes?”
aside and said I’d be a laughingstock if I used
that word around campus. So I didn’t. But, I’m “Lymph,” I said gently. “But the doctor got it
afraid, as soon as I got home I reverted. all.”

As far as Ma’s surgery, it had all gone well, the “He don’t know.”
doctor said. He’d taken out the lower lobe of
the right lung and some lymph nodes where he “Ma, you’re just feeling down today. That’s the
found cancer. The chest tube had been what way it is when you have major surgery. Ups
bothered her most, it seemed, and that was and downs. Tomorrow you’ll feel better.”
removed the day before she came home. A
“real lift” in her words. But she was still on pain “Might be. Might not. Could be I’m gettin’ near
pills. “It hurts a little where he cut in” was how the end. I been thinkin’ about it. Thinkin’ that
she described it. The way she moved, though, in case that’s so, I better wrap things up right.”
gave the impression that her right side was
crammed with razor blades. Even so, she was a “Ma—” I raised a hand in protest.
good patient, serious about coughing and
breathing exercises and elevating the arm that “No, really. I ain’t been fair to you, always
was starting to swell because of what the doc- puttin’ you off about your pa. If I drop dead,
tor called lymphedema. there’s no one to tell you a thing. And there’s
stuff you should know.”
One day in particular was hard to forget. It was
a while after she’d gotten home. The three of One thing to be said for the pain killers she was
us were in the living room. Rusty lying in a shaft taking, she wasn’t blinking as much. But her
of light coming through the screen door, red mouth was so dry, she said. Which was why I
coat shimmering, every once in a while twitch- kept a glass of water on the old flat-topped
ing and snapping at a house fly that buzzed and trunk on the other side of her chair. Whenever
even landed on his nose. Ma sitting, half asleep she started licking her lips I’d get up, reach
and still in pajamas, in the easy chair, head over, and hand it to her. And that’s what I did
resting on the pillow I’d brought from her bed, now. Then waited as she took her time sipping.
feet on the ragged footstool. And me on the Meanwhile, heart skipping, I was thinking, stuff
couch. I should know? And that’s what I said: “Stuff I
should know?”
“You’re looking good,” I told her. “You’ll soon
be back to normal.” “I mean before I pass.”

“You really think so?” She looked doubtful. “But you’re not going to pass.” I hissed it.
“Ridiculous word if you ask me. And whatever
it means, you’re not going to do it anytime
soon.”

“Well then, even if I’m not about to—” A hint years after you was born. Pa’s sister in Den-
of a smile. “—kick the bucket, it’s time I mark wrote that Ma and Pa died in a bedroom
cleaned the deck.” up top.”

She pinched the corners of her eyes between “So they were living in Denmark?”
thumb and forefinger.
“Yeah. Moved there. Pa always wantin’ to go
“Headache?” I said. back. That was when Ma left me the books you
was always askin’ about. She didn’t have room
“No, thinkin’ where to start.” for ‘em and me bein’ their only kid . . . .”

I was thinking too. My heart bumping now. “Strange — a Dane and an Indian.” I tapped my
Finally. At last some explanation as to why itpp lips, stared toward Rusty, turned back. “How’d
had always been just Ma and me. they meet?”

Wincing, she pulled herself up a bit. Ruby, on “Ma come to work for some minin’ family near
the other side of the screen door clucking Butte.”
away, caught her eye and she focused on her
for a minute. Then, wagging her head hopeless- “Butte?”
sly, said, “I jus’ never could tell you. That part
o’ my life was so mixed up. And dark.” “You know -- Montana. Pa, come from the old
country, was already workin’ in the mines and
Rusty moaned in his sleep. livin’ with this family when Ma got a job with
‘em. I guess Ma and Pa just made friends and,
“The dog knows how I feel.” A little smirk be- well . . . .” She shrugged, sucked in, held her
fore looking around as though searching for chest.
escape. “Well,” giving up, “you remember
when I tol’ you my pa and ma come from Den- It hurt to watch. “Slow down,” I said.
mark?”
But she carried on. “Pa ended up a supervisor.
“Yes.” He were smart. Even taught Ma to read. And
once she got goin’, well --” She cleared her
“It weren’t true. It were just Pa. Ma was a throat. Or to be blunt, brought up some of the
Blackfoot.” She nodded affirmation, meeting mess from her lungs, coughing it into a tissue
my eyes. from the box on her lap and throwing it in the
paper bag on the floor next to her.
“You mean Blackfoot Indian.”
“You okay?” I said. I knew I should offer a
“Yeah.” She took what looked to be a painful breather, even tell her to stop for a while, but I
breath. “There was so much prejudicial against didn’t want to take the chance she’d change
Blackfoot. Drunks, they called ‘em. Stupid, lazy, her mind and clam up again. “Anything I can
worse. That’s why I never tol’ you. Jus’ pre- get you?”
tended I was a Dane like Pa. And for some rea-
son I looked more like a Dane than an Indian, She shook her head.
so it went fine. Except for learnin’ language. I
never been real good at that. Pa and Ma were- “Here, let me fix the pillow.” I stood up and
n't neither.” braced her back with one hand, pulling the
pillow up with the other. “Better?” She nodded
“Then I was right about our background. Those and I sat down, reaching over and touching her
Indian books are your ma’s?” arm. “May I ask something?”

“Uh-huh. Pa bought ‘em for her.” She again nodded.

“First things first. Are they still living?” “Why’d you keep the books if you didn’t want
me to know about your ma?”
“Ma and Pa? Uh-uh. There was a fire a few

She shrugged. “I jus’ couldn’t give ‘em up. I this bag of bones, the prescribed pain pills
guess I needed . . . uhh . . . somethin’ solid? Or might be too strong.
whatever you’d call it. And they was so special I
didn’t want to keep ‘em in the attic where And it was those pain pills I was thinking about
pests would get at ‘em.” A shrewd look. “I did- now. How they were affecting her mind.
n’t plan on human pests.” “Maybe we should put this off,” I said. “You’re
tired. I can tell.”
She was quiet for a while. Half asleep, it
seemed. Pale, breathing loud, a sort of grimace “No.” She licked her cracked lips. “It’s what you
on her face. And a son waiting for whatever always wanted. No backin’ out now. Besides,
else she had to say, hoping she’d get on with it for all you know, it could be the best news in a
before she really fell asleep. And suddenly long time.”
feeling guilty. “I’ll let you rest now,” I said. “We
can finish later.” “Why would you say that?”

“Uh-uh. I wanna get this over. I want it behind. Her eyes fluttered a little, like they’d always
It ain’t pretty. There’s things you won’t like. done. It was kind of reassuring. She was acting
Things . . . criminal. But you should know.” normally, medicated or not.

“You? Criminal? You’ve never done anything “I say it because this midwife who brought you
bad in your life.” into the world was . . . how’d you say . . . well
connected?”
“How’s this then?” Her puffy, dark eyes met
mine. “I bought you.” Wow. The tale was getting better. At the same
time, I was trying to pretend it was as conceiva-
“Bought me what?” ble as the first one, about the Dane marrying
the Blackfoot. That one I could believe. It fit.
“I paid for you.” Indians in Montana, mines, immigrants seeking
work. It made sense. But this — buying a baby
“For sure," I said, blinking after a shocked and not getting caught? There were laws.
pause; then going on as though I didn't grasp
what she was saying. "No doubt. Raising kids is She had to be delusional. Medications too po-
expensive. But I’ll make it up.” tent for that scrawny frame. Even so, I wasn’t
about to cut her off. When I was a kid telling
“Freddie. Listen. I bought you from a midwife. her my fantasies about that family in the sky
Right after you was born. I’m not your real that I sometimes paid a visit to, she never cut
ma.” me off. She humored me. Listened. Showed
real interest. And who did it hurt?
It hadn’t been easy being around her after the
surgery. There’d been those days in intensive “So, who were the midwife’s connections?” I
care, with the IVs pumping meds in and the asked.
drainage tubes flushing stuff out. Nasty stuff.
And then the terrible pain I knew she was going “Business people, politicians. This midwife took
through. Maybe, I thought, when she came care o’ their dirty jobs. When they got some-
home I’d feel better about it. But, no, it was one in trouble, they went to her and she
even worse, because now I was in charge. helped ‘em out. Aborting, deliverance, findin’ a
Worst was keeping the incision clean, worrying home, collectin’. I paid a hundred for you.” She
that in washing it I’d rubbed too hard and loos- coughed a long, sticky cough and reached for a
ened the stitches. Or that I hadn’t dried it well tissue. After she’d spit into and tossed it, she
enough and it’d get infected. Or the fresh sat for a moment. “Could be you’re the son of
bandage would come off, letting germs in. Even a gov’nor or minin’ bigwig.”
wondering how she’d gotten so skinny. And
worrying that, because she was little more than The story was getting so weird, so bizarre, it
made me uncomfortable. What to say?

“So this midwife, was she a doctor?” I finally dreamed it? If she were under the influence of
got out. pills wouldn’t she sound doped, drowsy? What
was going on?
“Chiroproctor, my friend said.”
“How about this woman — my mother?” I
“And this friend, where’s she now?” asked. I couldn’t call her my real mother. And
Ma was reserved for this person who’d raised
“Left town even before me.” and loved me all these years. (Why was I even
thinking these thoughts? Why considering the
“But you must know her name.” existence of someone new? Okay, I’d admit —
Ma’s story was sinking in.)
“Myrtle. That’s all. Besides, she never got really
into it. She jus’ let the midwife know when “I never knew your real ma,” she was saying
someone was on the market.” now. “I jus’ saw her a couple seconds, lyin’ in a
bed behind a drape, eyes like yours, big and
“A sort of middleman.” black. An’ so young. She couldn’t a’ been more
than sixteen, seventeen.” Ma was staring out
“I guess.” Ma winced, held her chest, went on the screen door, barely nodding, seeming to
in a froggy voice, “She cooked for the same absorb her own words. “It was the quickest
family I cleaned for. She knew I was lonely after thing I ever done. The best too. At least for
Ma and Pa moved to Denmark, and said a baby me.”
might jus’ do the trick and that she knew o’ this
lady, this midwife, who could get me one. “For me as well,” I said, voice a little trembly as
I finally admitted to myself that what she was
“And the midwife’s name?” telling me was more than fantasy.

“Don’t know.” “But at the time, it were pretty scary. Leavin’
the car runnin’, sneakin’ to the side of the
“Where’d she do her work?” building with the baby blanket — a pink one,
me thinkin’ you’d probly be a girl — tappin’ on
“Brick building on a corner in Butte.” a door that opened just a crack before this big
mama in glasses lets me in. I think the door
“You think you could find it?” even squealed. And then inside, I realize she’s
cradlin’ you in one arm. You, soon to be mine,
“No.” before my very eyes, all wrapped up in a little
white sheet. And, o’ course, in her other hand,
“So you actually met her?” the bulgin’, bloody towel of afterbirth that she
tosses in the shoppin’ bag sittin’ wide open on
“If met means her sayin’ ‘It’s a boy’ and me the floor. By then, I’m sneakin’ a peek through
handin’ over the money and takin’ you and—” a gap in the curtain, catchin’ a look at your ma,
She shook her head, squeezed her eyes. “—the who’s pale as the sheet you’re wrapped in,
bag of afterbirth.” starin’ at me with eyes that make me think I
should give you back.
“Afterbirth?”
“‘What’s your name? Spell it,’” the big one
“It’s what comes out after the baby. It was real says, lookin’ at me through those thick glasses.
heavy, and in a bloody towel that she dropped So I do. Then she asks for the money and I hold
in a shoppin’ bag. ‘Throw it out on the way out the wad I been savin’ for months and she
home,’ she told me. And I did. Pullin’ to the wipes her free hand on her dress and takes it.
side, openin’ the window, leanin’ over you — I’m thinkin’ all the while ‘bout my friend and
puny, wet and cold, prob’ly no more than an
hour old, squirmin’ and whimperin’ under the
blanket I’d brought — and throwin' the mess in
the woods.”

Could Ma make all this up? Could she have

how she should get some part of it. What she About the Author:
did meant a lot. That she helped me, I mean.”
I am new to the idea of publishing in a literary
“Do you remember anything more about the journal but, having read recent stories from
location? The building or street?” Adelaide, have decided it may be a good fit for
my story, Wrapping Things Up Right.
“It was plain ol’ brick, kinda tall, maybe three At eighty-one, I'm not the youngest starry-eyed
stories. There was one streetlight, dim, that dreamer you've met up with, I'm sure, and I
made me really creepy. But I was glad it was have no publishing credits. But having spent
dark. I knew what I was doin’ was wrong. But I many of the past twenty-five years writing the
din’t think it was that bad. I was givin’ this baby sort of thing I like to read, I feel like it's time to
a home where there’d be a lotta love. I knew share.
that. And if I din’t take him home, somebody I hold a bachelor’s degree with major in English
else would. And then I’d jus’ be lonesome and minor in journalism from the University of
again. No one to talk to. You know what I Minnesota. A while back I was chosen to study
mean?” A pause, her eyes to mine. “No, you with Marilynne Robinson, Pulitzer Prize winner,
couldn’t. You never been lonesome.” at the Iowa Writers Workshop Summer Ses-
sion.
Little did she know.

She looked at me long and hard. “So that’s it.
Now you know. And if it changes things be-
tween you an’ me, I understand.”

Now I knew? But what? Plain and simple, noth-
ing more than that I was a black market baby.
Birth parents? Not a clue. Blueblood, bigwig,
vagrant, prostitute — any was possible. And
why they did what they did? No idea. My only
hope would be finding them or blood relatives
— aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters — who knew
the truth, who might even be looking for me.

And someday maybe I’d do that. Not now,
though. For now it had to be enough to just tell
Ma it was all very interesting and I appreciated
her honesty, but that it really didn’t change
anything. She’d always be my ma. And all I
cared about was getting her well. Which may
have sounded stilted, wooden. But I meant it.

GRANDMAMA’S FLOWERS

by Susan Beckham Zurenda

The day before Grandmama came to get me, I to my mother, I was the one Grandmama
planned how to stow the cat in her car and spoiled. If that was true, it suited me fine. I
take him to her house in Fairview with us. My basked in the haven of my grandmother’s de-
mother had told me absolutely not, that cats votion.
did not like to travel and besides, Alfred was an
outdoor cat (a point I ignored because I would Now, I think perhaps my grandmother be-
fix him an indoor sandbox once we got to stowed all the love that was in her to compen-
Grandmama’s house). I knew if I could sneak sate. There had been too many burdens of re-
him past Mama into the back floor of Grand- sponsibility raising my mama and her sister
mama’s big blue Plymouth, I had a good alone to dote on them. But once I came along,
chance. she had survived as a woman alone so that all
the stored-up love she hadn’t been able to use
And sure enough, I convinced Grandmama I a little at the time the normal way, poured out
needed Alfred by saying he would keep me on me.
occupied. Even though when she was working,
there was always my great-aunt Bead—a She never talked about my grandfather, who
schoolteacher out for the summer— to enter- was dead, but over time, I learned little bits
tain me. Mostly, though, I wanted to see if and pieces from Bead. He was an alcoholic,
Grandmama would let me. She let me do any- maybe because he’d been gassed in the war,
thing I wanted, but I was upping the ante with Bead said, or that’s what people wanted to
Alfred. think. And it was the Great Depression, and
Grandmama couldn’t take care of everyone.
I would have pulled it off if Mama had not She had to put him on a train to live with his
come around to the car window to kiss me sisters downstate so she could settle down and
goodbye. Alfred had already started howling earn a living for her children.
from the back seat floor, and there wasn’t
much hiding that. “Mama, what were you At first she taught school, but she hated it. The
thinking to let Emma put that cat in the car?” way Mama told the story, Grandmama got re-
my mother snapped. She opened the back ally low and went to see old Dr. Buchanan who
door, and Alfred jumped out. I knew she’d be was a young doctor starting out back then. My
angry at Grandmama. It was the way my grandmother told him she wasn’t going to
mother treated her sometimes; it didn’t matter make it, and he told her to go home and dig in
that Grandmama was helping her out by taking the dirt to feel better. And she did. It turned
care of me. Daddy said it was because my out she had a green thumb for flowers. Then,
grandmother had bent over backward to give she took a course in flower arranging, and had
both her daughters everything they wanted, a touch for that, too. Eventually, she staked a
and they took it all for granted. But according pole with a white wooden arrow printed with

the word, FLORIST—the first in Fairview—in big “It’s awfully late,” Grandmama said, but her
black letters at the bottom of the drive. And for tone was of two minds. I could tell I had the
more than 40 years, her business had pros- watermelon in the bag.
pered.
“Can’t we go?” I pleaded.
“She wanted the cat to go so badly,” my grand-
mother responded to my mother who now “She doesn’t need to go,” Bead said. “The wa-
flared her hands dramatically to the sides of termelon can wait until tomorrow.” I wanted
her head. Grandmama ignored Mama’s ges- to step on Bead’s toe.
ture. She touched my knee in consolation. She
wasn’t one of those hugging kinds of grand- “Please.” I presented a doleful look and
mothers. Her affection came in other ways. I Grandmama succumbed. We drove to the
once told my friends that she’d find me a live A&P, but it had closed. I could see people still
pink elephant if I asked her to. inside the store, but the door was locked. I was
so disappointed that I worked myself into a
“Honestly, Mama, sometimes I wonder,” my state. Before long—screwing my forehead in
mother said, bringing down her hands and concentration—I was crying real tears.
waving us away. “Drive carefully going around
the curves.” But I knew she’d speed the whole “Now, Emma, don’t be upset,” she said. She
43 miles along the sharply twisting two-lane patted my arm. “We’ll buy something wonder-
road. She always did. ful at the dime store tomorrow instead.”

*** “I want a Barbie, and they don’t sell them at
the dime store,” I said.
As soon as we bumped full speed over the rail-
road tracks, I looked up across the road to the “Well, then, we’ll go to Pope’s,” she said.
house and saw Bead waiting on the front Pope’s was the jewelry store in Fairview that
porch. She came to live with my grandmother sold a little bit of everything. I cancelled my
before I was born. My great aunt never mar- frown, stopped my sniffling, and smiled in an-
ried and had no other family of her own. “Got ticipation of this treasure that my mother be-
to get in the kitchen and get supper ready,” lieved should be reserved until my birthday.
Grandmama called to Bead from her open car
door. “Your grandmother needs to get to bed early,”
said Bead—ever my grandmother’s support-
By the time I meandered into the house, she er—during supper. “And I have to leave for a
was already quick-stepping down the hall with music club meeting that is starting about now,”
my small suitcase under her arm. Bead trotted she reminded my grandmother. I saw her point
behind. “Can you entertain Emma?” she called her thumb at me and then the bedroom, like
to her sister. I didn’t much want to be passed she thought I couldn’t see.
off to Bead who always did whatever Grandma-
ma asked. I never knew what made Grandma- “I have to get up early to do a funeral tomor-
ma her boss except she was two years older. row, Emma,” Grandmama said. Early usually
meant 5:00 a.m., but all I thought about was
“Does she want corn dogs?” Bead asked. Now holding out to watch Wednesday night TV
that she mentioned it, corn dogs were exactly when some of my favorite shows came on.
what I wanted. Grandmama made a thick, deli-
cious batter to roll the hot dogs in and then “You can go to bed,” I said. “I’ll watch TV.” I
deep fried them. saw Bead shake her head as she was leaving.
We both knew my grandmother would not go
“I want a watermelon, too,” I said suddenly. “It to bed without me.
would go good with corn dogs.”
Grandmama went to put on her nightgown
and after a few minutes came into the living

room where I was watching The Patty Duke fell sleep beside her in the ornate white iron
Show. I was surprised to see her barefooted. bed.
She normally wore black leather oxfords, even
with her nightgown, until she boosted herself The next morning, I opened one eye a narrow
onto her high bed, at which time she dropped slit and watched my grandmother at her dress-
her shoes at the exact spot where her feet ing table. I was supposed to stay asleep, but I
would hit the floor. I thought she kept her liked watching her get ready for the day. Sitting
shoes nearby in case she needed to stomp a at her dressing table, she parted her long, gray
roach, because if you got up in the night to go hair in two halves, twisted each length, and
to the kitchen and turned on the light, roaches knotted the two parts together at the back of
were likely to scurry across the floor into the her head. She dusted powder on her face and
cracks. They scared me, but Grandmama would twisted blue crystal bobs onto her ears to
say, “Pay them no mind,” and stomp the ones match her blue jersey dress.
she could catch with the bottom of her clunky
shoe. “Hey, Grandmama,” I said when she was tip-
toeing out of the room.
“I really wish you would come on to bed,” she
said, standing directly over me. “Emma, you go back to sleep, please. Take one
more little nap.” It was one of her favorite
“I’m not sleepy,” I insisted. things to say if I woke up early when she did.

“I can’t sleep until I know you’ve settled down. “Okay,” I said, but I wasn’t going back to sleep.
How about a bowl of ice cream? Would that
help you get sleepy?” From my spot sitting on When she felt me creeping behind her at the
the couch, I looked down and marveled at her coffee pot, Grandmama called for Bead to
toes. Some of them entwined like worms with please get up and make my breakfast. I ate
her big toes twisted over her second toes, Bead’s cooking quickly—a sausage patty with
which nearly crossed over the third ones. I several bites of grits—so I could help with the
wondered if they hurt to be that way, but I flowers. A funeral was a big event.
didn’t ask because my attention shifted as I
heard the music signaling the commercial had Grandmama looked over sideways at me when
ended and the show was coming back. I bounded into the sun parlor. She glanced at
her watch. “I want to help,” I said. She poked
“No. I just want to watch TV. Patty is selling the flowers she held into a bucket of water.
kittens,” I said, pulling on her hand so that She reached down for a watering can and
she’d sit beside me. I felt not the least bit of offered it, but watering dish gardens on the
guilt, or none I can remember. shelves was not what I had in mind. I pushed
the watering can away.
“Oh, Emma,” she said, exasperated, and sat. I
lay my head in the soft belly of her lap and glid- She ignored my petulance. She turned back to
ed my fingers back and forth along the smooth her table underneath the longest row of win-
cotton of her nightgown. As much as I wanted dows where the sun was beginning to peek
to watch TV, just as much I wanted my grand- through. This was the table as rounded as her
mother with me. back, so I knew she was making the crucial cas-
ket spray to cover the dead person.
“Let’s go to bed,” she said after the next show,
Gidget—my favorite— ended. “It’s way past She worked quickly. Going back and forth to
dark now.” She opened the curtains a crack so I the big glass-front refrigerators for gladiola,
could see. mums, and something purple I didn’t know.
Sticking in flowers, standing back, taking some
Grudgingly, I put on my pajamas, but only after out, starting again. “Let me help arrange the
getting her promise to scratch my back until I flowers,” I said.

“I have a lot of arrangements and not much “I know. Do what you have to do. I’ve got a
time,” she said glancing back at me. I looked deadline down here.”
down at the stone floor, sulking. “I’ll tell you
what. If you’ll let me work by myself for awhile I followed Bead to the windowless junk room
and go check on Bead, we’ll go shopping soon.” where they kept every manner of thing. “Got
The approaching shopping trip was surely the to find the light,” she said, rummaging her
only thing that could have gotten me out of her hand around on the wall.
way because I liked helping my grandmother
work. My ultimate desire was to tie a floral “I see it,” I said when the room lit up. “It’s in
bow as fast as her one day. But the thought of that corner.” In her clunky oxford heels exactly
buying Barbie swayed me. like Grandmama’s, Bead scrambled over a
bunch of her students’ old geometry projects.
“Bead,” my grandmother called coming into
the hall. There was no answer. “Bead,” Grand- “Okay, here we go,” she said climbing out and
mama called up the stairs. “Bead, are you dragging the long, narrow box.
dead?”
I had no intention of asking Bead to hold onto
“Run up there, Emma, and see,” she said. the box and pull me along the flat floor. I ran
with it flapping against my hip to the top of the
“Will Bead let me ride in the box?” I asked. stairs. The box was my sled, and the stairs were
my hill. I jumped in, the bones of my skinny
“I should never have let you get in that box last bottom hitting hard, and shoved off. My
time.” She paused. Then added, hoping to dis- thumps down the steps made the whole foun-
suade me, “And what would your mama say?” dation tremble.

“I want to help you or ride in the box,” I said, It didn’t take long before Grandmama came
standing my ground. into view. I knew I had frightened her by the
way she said, “That’s enough of the box,” and
Grandmama squeezed her hands together and grabbed it up. “You’re going to break some-
hummed her nervous sound. “You tell Bead I thing.” She didn’t mean something in the
said to hold on to that box and stay in the hall- house because she didn’t care much about the
way.” appearance of the house. She would have ig-
nored a broken spindle on the staircase. She
I pranced up the stairs and found Bead sifting meant me.
through papers in her room. Probably getting
ready to send off a poem to the Greyhound Bus Her reaction pleased me. I was at the age of
Company about her ride on a Greyhound bus taking risks to prove myself, of stretching my
from South Carolina to Virginia. She did things boundaries, especially with my protective
like that. But I didn’t ask. grandmother, and though I shouldn’t have, I
felt a thrill.
“Can you find the cardboard box from last time
I was here?” I asked. “Lunch would be a good thing,” Bead said, wip-
ing her brow and turning me toward the
“Your grandmother thinks that’s dangerous,” kitchen, even though it wasn’t really lunchtime.
she said. She reminded my grandmother she wouldn’t
be available after lunch as she had an appoint-
“She says I can ride in it.” ment to coach a student who had nearly failed
Bead’s geometry class and needed to catch up.
“Margaret?” she called.
***
“What do you need?” Grandmama hollered
back.

“Emma wants to ride in that box that all those
wreath forms came in last time she was here.”