Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 48, May 2021

INDEPENDENT REVISTA
MONTHLY LITERÁRIA
LITERARY INDEPENDENTE
MAGAZINE
MENSAL

ADELAIDE FOUNDERS / FUNDADORES
Stevan V. Nikolic & Adelaide Franco Nikolic
Independent Monthly Literary Magazine
Revista Literária Independente Mensal EDITOR IN CHIEF / EDITOR-CHEFE
Year VI, Number 48, May 2021 Stevan V. Nikolic
Ano VI, Número 48, maio 2021
[email protected]
ISBN-13: 978-1-955196-52-9
MANAGING DIRECTOR / DIRECTORA EXECUTIVA
Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent inter- Adelaide Franco Nikolic
national monthly publication, based in New York and
Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide Franco GRAPHIC & WEB DESIGN
Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish quality Adelaide Books LLC, New York
poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork, and photography, as
well as interviews, articles, and book reviews, written in CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS IN THIS ISSUE
English and Portuguese. We seek to publish outstanding
literary fiction, nonfic-tion, and poetry, and to promote Mary Anne Slack, Ivanka Fear,
the writers we publish, helping both new, emerging, and Jacob LePretre, Yamini Mathur,
established authors reach a wider literary audience. Brianna Kemper, Dillon Fernando,
Hayden Sidun, Destinee Jones,
A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação men-
sal internacional e independente, localizada em Nova Stephen Day, Alyssa Taylor,
Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic e Ade- Brooke Reynolds, Delancy Gunther,
laide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objectivo da revista é
publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e fotografia de Steve Slavin, Adam Matson,
qualidade assim como entrevistas, artigos e críticas Riley Winchester, Mark Leib,
literárias, escritas em inglês e por-tuguês. Pretendemos Yuri Korobaev, Erik Smetana, Maria Tsirona,
publicar ficção, não-ficção e poesia excepcionais assim Dennis Mitton, Jaclyn Reed, Balu Swami,
como promover os escritores que publicamos, ajudan- Christopher Nelson, Tom Sibley,
do os autores novos e emergentes a atingir uma audiên- Rachael Wesley, Mariana Graciano,
cia literária mais vasta. Sarah de Leon, Laura Gaddis,
Lori Johnson, Teresa Yang, Linda Petrucelli,
(http://adelaidemagazine.org) Gretchen Weaver, Grace Meadows,
Jessica Hartenbower, Marie Seeba,
Published by: Adelaide Books, New York Joshua Thusat, Tim Harris, Ryan Rowland,
244 Fifth Avenue, Suite D27 Robert Hirschfield, L. Ward Abel,
New York NY, 10001 Russell Dupont, Margot Hughes,
e-mail: [email protected] Katharine Studer, Januario Esteves,
phone: (917) 477 8984 Alex Koong, Pawel Markiewicz,
http://adelaidebooks.org Rachel Cloud, Adams, Peter W. Yaremko,
T.M. Boughnou, William Barrett
Copyright © 2021 by Adelaide Literary Magazine

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

CONTENTS / CONTEÚDOS TWO DREAMS
by Maria Tsirona 86
SHORT STORIES
THE CIGARETTE PACT
LEARNING TO SKATE by Dennis Mitton 95
by Mary Anne Slack 7
BLACK HOLES
SNOW JOB by Jaclyn Reed 100
by Ivanka Fear 10
USELESS FELLOW
RUBBER by Balu Swami 107
by Jacob LePretre 17
FALCONS OF KILLDARY
I AM by Chris Nelson 109
by Yamini Mathur 21
NONFICTION
BRINGERS
by Brianna Kemper 24 GREAT EXPECTATIONS: A BIRTH STORY
by Tom Sibley 121
STANDING ON THE WRONG SIDE
by Hayden Sidun 26 PUNCH YOU IN THE EYE
by Rachael Wesley 129
THE MEMORY GIRL
by Destinee Jones 31 THE DOMESTIC SIDE OF IMPERIALISM
by Mariana Graciano 136
WEDDING DANCE
by Stephen Day 33 HOW COVID STRENGTHENED
MY RELATIONSHIP
THIRTEEN by Sarah de Leon 144
by Alyssa Taylor 39
YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE
THREE SIDES TO EVERY STORY by Laura Gaddis 147
by Brooke Reynolds 41
FUTURE, PAST, PRESENT, AND ALL OF THE
EMPTY FRAME DAYS OF INFAMY AND GRACE IN-BETWEEN
by Delancy Gunther 44 by Lori Johnson 156

DAMAGED GOODS TWO DAYS IN BANGKOK
by Steve Slavin 46 by Teresa Yang 160

MAYONAISE LESS WE FORGET
by Adam Matson 52 by Gretchen Weaver 165

ATOM AND VOID PRETTY ENOUGH
by Riley Winchester 58 by Grace Meadows 167

THE ERRAND A DREAMER’S COMMENCEMENT
by Mark Leib 67 by Marie Seeba 170

PROJECT IMMORTALITY THE ANATOMY OF DISCONNECTED LINES
by Yuri Korobaev 73 by Tim Harris 172

Translated by Irina Stoliarova 73 3

EFFLEURAGE
by Erik Smetana 82

Adelaide Literary Magazine

POETRY INTERVIEWS

MY TWO FATHERS JOHN SWEEDER
by Ryan Rowland 179 Author of UNTHETERED BALLOONS,
a Poetry collection 233
AFTER LOVE
by Robert Hirschfield 187 SUSAN SWANSON
Author of REBIRTH IN ACADI,
ALONE IN THE HOUSE a Novel 240
ON A WINTER AFTERNOON
by Russell Dupont 188 PETER SCHEPONIK
Author of SEEING, BELIEVING
MASTERPIECE AND OTHER THINGS: POEMS 245
by Margot Hughes 191
LYNN GREGORY
DEMOCRACY Author of THE OTHER SIDE
by Katharine Studer 195 OF TAPESTRY, a Novel 251

SONG
by Januario Esteves 199

I AWAIT HIS RETURN
by Alex Koong 202

THE SHAKESPEAREAN
SONNET ABOUT MY DOG
by Pawel Markiewicz 203

VISION WEST
by Rachel Cloud Adams 205

DANCE DIVINE
by Peter W. Yaremko 208

SUNSET OVER LARAMIE
by T.M. Boughnou 210

DG TURD
by William Barrett 228

4

SHORT STORIES



LEARNING
TO SKATE

by Mary Anne Slack

It started out as an ordinary Saturday. I my down jacket, mittens and car keys and
was making breakfast for Jeff and myself headed out for the drive across town.
when the phone rang. My son-in-law Matt
had slipped on the icy front steps of their Benjamin got in the back seat with his
home and my daughter Jocelyn needed bag and hockey stick. “Where’s Grandpa?”
to take him to the hospital. Benjamin, her
eight year old, was waiting in the driveway “He has clients coming over. I’m your
for someone to take him to hockey practice. driver this morning. You’ll have to show me
Could Jeff do it? I didn’t even ask. My hus- where to park and everything.”
band, a self-employed architect, was look-
ing over some blueprints while he sipped Ben was our youngest grandchild, a se-
his coffee. There was a couple due to arrive rious, bright little guy with brown eyes and
soon to discuss their home renovations. a head full of curly hair like his dad. He was
quieter than usual as he looked out on the
I was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, cold, sunny day.
planning to clean closets. I glanced in the
hallway mirror, noting that my hair was due “Do you think Dad will be okay?” he asked.
for a color. White was showing along the “Do you think he’ll be in a wheelchair?”
edges of my hairline.
“What did he hurt, do you know?”
“I’ll take him,” I told her. “Do I have to go
in with him?” “Mom said he shoulda gone out through the
garage like I did but he came down the front
Jocelyn said that either I went in and steps instead and kinda flew. I heard some-
watched his practice or I could wait in my thing go ‘crack’ when he landed. He yelled
car. I looked out at the thermometer just for Mom and then he started swearing and
outside the kitchen window. 22 degrees. I holding his ankle. Does that mean he broke it?”
would be going in. I explained the situation
to Jeff and filled a travel mug with hot coffee. “Could be. Poor guy. Your mom will text
I grabbed a banana for breakfast on the run, me as soon as they know anything.”

He instructed me as to where to park
and led the way into the arena. He stopped

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and pointed up at a section of the stands. “I see,” I responded, although I didn’t re-
“Parents sit up there. You can meet me right ally. That sort of information led to all kinds
here after practice.” of questions—did the child have living par-
ents? Did some terrible tragedy befall them?
“Sure thing, honey. Have fun.” Or was it a big, extended family situation?

He turned with a serious nod of his head He turned in his seat and looked directly at
and hurried down a concrete corridor, pos- me. “I love raising him, but I never imagined
sibly in fear that I would kiss him goodbye. I I’d be starting all over with a kid at my age.”
watched him disappear around a corner and,
clutching my coffee, climbed up and found a I wondered how old he was. Early fifties
seat away from the other parents, none of maybe. Suddenly I knew who he was. I shrank
whom I knew. The boys were slow to come deeper into my puffy coat, remembering how
out on the ice and I was suddenly wishing I’d treated him almost thirty years ago.
I’d brought something to read. I pulled out
my phone to text Jocelyn but changed my He reached toward me, hand outstretched.
mind. No need to bother her. She’d let me “I’m Mike, by the way.”
know when she had news.
I shook his hand. “Suzanne,” I said. I
A man—a young grandfather or older dad— waited for him to recognize me, but he had
took a seat in the row in front of me a few seats already turned back to watch the action on
over. I studied his profile. He looked vaguely fa- the ice. I felt relieved, then irritated. Did I
miliar. Where did I know him from? His name really look that different? Had I aged that
tickled at my brain but I couldn’t bring it to much? If only I’d had my hair appointment
mind. It must have been a long time ago. last week instead of next.

The boys skated out onto the ice and I Mike was twenty-two when he came to
smiled as I spotted Ben. For a little guy he my studio for voice lessons. I was thirty-two.
seemed sure of himself, completely at ease We were attracted to each other but I did
on skates. His dad was a hockey lover and my best not to show it, wanting to maintain
had played as a kid. Ben had been on the our professional teacher/student relation-
ice since he was three. I waved at him but ship. He played hockey in a league. Hockey
he didn’t acknowledge me. All business, my was his first passion, singing his second. Did
Ben. Good for him. I wish I was one of his passions? Secretly,
I probably did, but never let on. Cool and
The man in front of me turned and caught distant. That was me in those days.
my eye. “Grandson?” he asked.
One day I mentioned that I hadn’t skated
“Yes. Number 27. He’s eight.” in about twenty years and he insisted on
teaching me. He took me to an open skate
“He skates well,” he observed. “My night at his ice rink. I was petrified that I’d
grandson is number 15. He’s nine. Does your fall on my duff and embarrass myself, but he
grandson live with you?” tucked my arm firmly under his and told me,
“I won’t let you fall.”
I explained that I was pinch-hitting today
for his dad, who’d probably broken his ankle He was true to his word and as the eve-
earlier. “I’ve never brought him before.” ning went on I gained confidence and fi-
nally agreed to his letting go for a moment.
“That’s why I’ve never seen you here. I I didn’t fall, and I found out that I loved
come every week. Jack lives with me.”

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skating. Unfortunately my “aha” moment “It was almost thirty years ago, Mike. I
didn’t translate to our relationship. I was don’t know if I ever thanked you properly
so hung up on our age difference. What an for that night. I’ve loved to skate ever since.
idiot I was. I couldn’t fall for a guy ten years I haven’t done it that often, but I’ve always
younger than me! So I made excuses and thought of you whenever I have.”
squirmed away from him until he stopped
coming for lessons. I shook my head at the “Why don’t you come sit up here with
memory of myself as the prissy schoolmarm me?” he suggested.
I was back then. I chewed on a thumbnail,
staring blankly at the ice. I obliged, remembering that stubborn,
silly young woman I once was. I’d let us both
“You know, I used to know a Suzanne. down all those years ago but I wouldn’t do
She was a singer. Beautiful girl. She gave it again. Our lives were somehow linked—
me singing lessons. I can’t remember why ice hockey, skating, grandsons, memories.
I stopped taking them. Probably too busy. Friendships have been built on less.
I was young then and had a lot of irons in
the fire.” “Do you still sing?” I asked him.

I smiled. Should I? I reached over and “Only in the shower. But I still skate. How
touched his shoulder. ‘bout you?”

“I knew her, too. You took her skating “I still sing but I haven’t skated in a few
once and you told her you wouldn’t let her years.”
fall, and you didn’t,” I said.
We sat quietly, lost in our memories I
His eyes flashed with recognition and a suppose, as we watched our grandsons fly
slow smile spread on his face. “Of course. across the ice with ease and grace, perfect
I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.” in their innocent youth.

About the Author

Mary Anne Slack is a retired elementary music teacher
and writer from central Massachusetts. An avid reader
and library trustee, she works at writing fiction with the
support of the Quaboag Writer’s Collaborative.

9

SNOW JOB

by Ivanka Fear

Winter came in early November and place. As usual, Gord complied without a
seemed to have every intention of staying word.
for the long haul. “I hate, no I absolutely de-
spise, positively abhor winter,” complained “I could use a nice hot cup of tea,” Martha
Martha, as she trudged along the slippery, told Gord. “Would you mind…?”
snow-covered ground. “You’d think people
could try a little harder to keep their side- “No problem,” replied Gord. He was ac-
walks clear. There’s no safe place to walk in customed to accepting orders even before
town. Especially for older people like us, it’s they were given. After 40 years of marriage,
a death trap, is what it is, all this ice and a man learned his place.
snow,” she continued as her husband, Gord,
walked silently beside her. Settling down in front of the TV in her
flannel nightie and cozy socks minutes later,
Gord and Martha turned the corner and Martha grabbed the remote from Gord and
headed toward their grey brick bungalow, said, “No sports. I want to watch one of
having cut short their nightly walk due to my shows.” Martha’s favourite shows were
the hazardous walking conditions. They mysteries and thrillers, as were her favou-
met and were greeted by their neighbours, rite books. Although Gord didn’t share her
Linda and Greg and their two kids. “Nice passion for murder, Martha liked to have
night for a walk,” Linda said, “Great to get company while she tried to figure out the
some fresh air.” whodunit and why.

“Aren’t the sidewalks just awful, though? “I suppose we’ll just have to postpone
And it’s not like you can walk on the road in- any further walking till spring,” Martha de-
stead. You’re likely to get run down by a car cided for the both of them. It’s just too dan-
the way some young people drive,” Martha gerous being out there.”
responded. Gord looked at Greg and just
shrugged as if to say, “What can you do?” “Mmhm,” agreed Gord.

As they entered the front door of their As the month continued, the snow kept
house, Martha reminded Gord to wipe his coming down on the town of Richtown.
feet, place his boots neatly on the mat, and Having retired from his warehouse job in
hang up his jacket. With her OCD, Martha the spring, Gord found himself increasingly
couldn’t tolerate any mess or things out of bored spending days on end at home. When
he expressed an interest in working part-
time or volunteering, Martha shot down his

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suggestions, insisting this was their chance window. “The neighbours have a snow
to spend more time together enjoying each blower. Why don’t we have one? Oh, that’s
other’s company. As Martha had never right, we can’t afford one! I guess you want
wanted children, it was just the two of them. me to go out there and shovel myself?”
At first, Gord thought she would change her
mind about having a family, but after sev- “No, no, of course not, dear.” Gord re-
eral years, he lost hope. Martha’s scornful assured her he’d get right on it. Although
expression when she watched children mis- Martha was all for equal rights, she made it
behaving in public with their parents made clear snow shovelling was men’s work. Gord
it clear she found them disgusting (both the bundled up and headed out to take care of
children and their parents). The closest they the snow problem. He did his best to keep
came to having kids were the cats she doted the driveway and walkway clear of snow.
on. Not being particularly social, when she Each day, he shovelled, despite the ache in
was not working at her job at the post office, his back. Each day, the mountains of snow
Martha had preferred to spend her time that lined the driveway got larger. One day
alone or with Gord. They had no real friends turned into another, November turned into
to speak of, just some acquaintances. They December, and Gord kept shovelling. Not
rarely visited relatives as Martha had no that it mattered all that much. They rarely
use for them. So now that they were both went out. Martha refused to drive in the
recently retired and alone, they had to en- winter, fearing she’d have an accident.
tertain themselves.
As Christmas approached, Martha’s
During the spring and summer, it wasn’t mood lightened somewhat as she deco-
really that hard to keep busy. There was rated the house and they spent their eve-
plenty of work to do outside the house. nings watching romantic Christmas movies.
Gord mowed the lawn, did minor repairs Gord bought her the 60” television she had
on the house, and puttered around in the requested and Martha surprised him with a
garage. Martha did the gardening and sat snowblower. “I know it’s a lot to spend, but
outside reading her mystery novels. Each you deserve it,” she told him.
evening, they went out for a walk around
town. Some days, they got in the car and “Wow, that’s quite a machine,” Gord said
went for a drive to the lake. Martha loved graciously. Martha outdid herself and cooked
wading in the water and she could sit all day a delicious turkey dinner for Christmas Day.
in the sun and sand with a book in hand, “This is nice,” Gord complimented her.
while Gord quietly tolerated the hot beach,
sweating and burning, waiting patiently to Then January came and stole the pleas-
get out of the sun. But now that winter had antries of Christmas with its ice, snow, sleet,
settled in, Martha had become irritable and freezing rain, and wind. Martha decided it
discontent. Not that she was ever content, was time for Gord to do some minor reno-
but winter made her fit to be tied. vations indoors. “This place is falling apart.
We haven’t updated anything in decades!
“Look at our driveway! And our sidewalk! I know a new kitchen or bath is out of the
How am I supposed to get out of the house question, but how much would it cost to put
at all with that snow closing us in?” Martha a fresh coat of paint on the walls? And while
shouted at Gord as she stared out the bow you’re at it, maybe you could sand down
the kitchen cupboards and restain them.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

And I’m really sick of those leaky taps. By he could, which was rather thick, and salted
the way, I’ve been looking at curtains online. and sanded till he ran out of salt and sand.
I’ll need you to put new rods up.” Martha “That should do it,” he said to himself.
spouted her distaste for their home with
barely a pause for breath. February brought more of the same.
Day in and day out, Martha grumped and
“Whatever you want, darling,” Gord prom- demanded. Gord couldn’t seem to do any-
ised. thing to appease her wretched mood. “Do
you think you could put your dirty socks in
“Don’t you darling me, just get started. the hamper instead of on the floor? You’re
I’m sick of looking at this place,” Martha a grown man, an old one at that, you’d think
told her husband. you could look after yourself,” she nagged.

The excitement of fixing up the house Gord picked up his socks, did the laundry
placated Martha for a while, and Gord didn’t (as he often did), and tried his darndest not
mind doing a bit of painting, if it made her to upset his wife. All the while, he kept the
happy. At least he didn’t need to break his driveway blown, salted, and sanded. Inside,
back shovelling now that he had the snow- he painted and sanded, repaired and deco-
blower. Unfortunately, as always, she didn’t rated, while Martha kept finding more jobs
stay happy for long. One day, in her excite- for him to do.
ment to redecorate, she took the car to the
city to do some shopping for decor items. “Do you have to leave your empty cup on
As she was carrying her packages into the the counter? How hard is it to put it in the
house later in the day, she slipped on some dishwasher? You’re such a slob,” Martha
ice in the driveway. Although she was fine, berated Gord.
she started on her tirade against winter
with renewed vigour. Gord picked up his cup, turned on the dish-
washer, and wiped down the counter. “Sorry,
Upon entering the house, Martha my bad,” he said. “I know I’m a lazy slob. I’m
screamed, “That’s it! I’ve had enough! I just so lucky to have you to look after me.”
slipped and fell on my bottom. It’s a wonder
I didn’t break my back.” “I love you anyway,” Martha said as she
hugged him.
“Are you okay?” asked Gord, concerned.
“Love you, too,” he said back.
“Yes, but no thanks to you. Is it too much
to ask you to salt and sand the driveway? “Feel like a short walk around the block?
Do you want me to break a hip or crack my It’s really getting to me, being cooped up
head open? Do you want to be pushing me like this.”
around in a wheelchair just because you’re
too lazy to keep that damned driveway “Sure, good idea,” Gord replied.
clear?”
As they carefully walked along the edge
“I’m sorry...I’ll fix it,” Gord said, trying to of the driveway, Martha asked, “What are
calm her down. He put away her packages, those huge white bricks sticking out of the
got her settled on the couch with a blanket pile of snow?”
and a cup of tea, then got dressed to go
outside. He chopped as much of the ice as “They’re just chunks of ice from when I
was chopping up the driveway,” Gord an-
swered.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“Wouldn’t be very good if someone is here, that’s for sure,” he suggested. Mar-
slipped and hit their head on that, would it? tha’s sister and her family lived in the states.
Just watch we don’t get sued by somebody,” “I know it’s a long bus ride, but a change of
Martha said. scenery might be just what’s needed.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Gord said once again. “Maybe you’re right,” she agreed. “I’m
just so fed up with winter and being locked
After their short walk around the block, up like this. It’s enough to make a person
Martha settled in on the couch for one of go nuts. I’ll go spend some time with her.
her TV mysteries. “Come watch. There’s Maybe we should think about a move to the
been another murder,” she told Gord. states ourselves before next winter. Things
have to change. With the house fixed up a
“What a surprise!” Gord joked as he bit now, it should be easier to sell. I don’t
joined his wife on the couch. want to face another miserable winter like
this,” Martha decided.
Near the end of February, the living,
dining room, and bedrooms had been com- “Whatever you want, dear,” Gord acqui-
pleted, and Gord was starting on the kitchen esced, “Sounds like a plan.”
improvements. Martha yelled at Gord as
he was removing the cupboard doors for The next day was garbage and recycle day.
sanding. “Honestly, how many times do I In the evening around 9 pm, Martha looked
have to ask you to pick up your newspapers out the window and saw the recycling bins
after you’re done with them? I work hard to hadn’t been brought in yet. It had been a
keep things neat and tidy, and all you do is stormy day and the snow continued to fall,
keep messing things up. It’s a full-time job the wind continued to blow. “I can’t depend
following you around and picking up after on you to do anything, can I? They can’t stay
you.” out there all night. If the wind doesn’t blow
them away, the snow plow will bury them by
“I wasn’t done with them yet,” Gord ex- morning,” Martha admonished.
plained, “but I’ll put them away if you want.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Gord said as usual.
“Oh, never mind,” retorted Martha as “Why don’t you go have a nice hot bath while
she headed towards the recycle bin in the I throw out some more salt and get the bins,
laundry room. “I am SO tired of this!” then I’ll get you your tea and we’ll watch the
last episode of that murder mystery.”
As March began, winter showed no sign
of releasing its grip. “I wish we could go Martha couldn’t argue with that, so she
on a holiday somewhere nice and hot. If I did as she was told. Nice and comfy in her
had married Bob, I could afford to travel all pyjamas, she sipped her tea. “It tastes a bit
the time. But no, I had to settle for you. It’s funny. Did you remember the sugar?” she
not like I had any shortage of suitors when asked Gord.
I was younger. Why I chose someone with
so little ambition, is beyond me.” Martha “Oh, sorry, dear, let me fix it for you.”
mused aloud, oblivious to the fact that she
had belittled her husband maybe just one Then they settled down on the couch to-
too many times. gether and enjoyed the last episode of the
Agatha Christie miniseries. “Ah ha, I knew
“Maybe you should think about going to it,” she exclaimed as the killer was revealed.
visit your sister. It’ll be warmer there than it

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Gord didn’t answer. He was already fast didn’t want to wake me. Left a note, though.
asleep. Said she’s had all she could take of this mis-
erable weather,” Gord told him. “I’m just
Turning off the TV and the lights, Martha staying behind to finish up some renos I’ve
looked out the window before extinguishing been working on. Hope to get it all done be-
the outdoor lights. “What on earth? Is fore she gets back.”
he losing his mind? Honestly, if it weren’t
for me, he’d forget his head!” Martha ex- Gord drove to the bank and withdrew
claimed. “Oh, well, if you need a job done some cash from the ATM, then went to
properly…” Martha was feeling rather the comic book store and treated himself
groggy herself, but she pulled on her coat to a few copies of magazines Martha didn’t
and slipped on her boots, opened the door, allow him to buy. His next stop was the
and went out to fetch the recycling bins that Canadian Tire where he wandered around
hadn’t moved since she last looked out. It just enjoying the chance to browse without
was dark, but the house lights and street being pestered. After that, he had lunch at
lights were on. She’d just quickly grab the a fast food place and gorged on fatty foods
bins and get right back in, she thought, as Martha didn’t let him eat very often. The
she glanced over at her useless husband. afternoon was spent at the movie theatre,
“Just useless,” she muttered. an action adventure flick Martha would
have hated. “I could get used to this,” Gord
* thought. “But Martha will turn up sooner
or later. Things will change. Better enjoy my
The next morning, Gord made himself coffee time on my own while I can.”
and toast and read the newspaper in peace
and quiet. “I’m sure you’ll be a lot happier After a couple of weeks, the weather
where you are now,” he said aloud to no one. took a turn for the better. A few days of
“Won’t need to worry about all that snow and warm sun and gentle breezes had started to
ice, not to mention the mess around here, melt the snow. “It won’t be long now,” Gord
and won’t need to look after your useless thought. “She’ll be turning up soon. Better
husband.” When Gord woke up earlier, Mar- be ready to face the music.”
tha was already gone. He missed her nagging
and complaining, but he’d get used to it. By the end of March, the snow moun-
tains were dwindling despite Gord’s snow-
After breakfast, he got dressed and pre- blowing. Winter was clearly coming to an
pared for a day of making choices. He was end. Martha hadn’t turned up yet, but it
free to do whatever he wanted, for the time was just a matter of time.
being anyway. As he made his way towards
his car, he looked at the mounds of snow One day, Greg and Linda were walking
and thought it would still be a while before past Gord’s driveway with their kids. “Mom,
they melted completely. Greg was leaving Dad, look! There’s a boot in the snow!”
for work and waved to Gord. “Hey, haven’t shouted one of the kids. As they examined
seen much of you lately. Heading out on the boot up close, Greg and Linda told the
your own today?” Greg asked him. kids to go home and lock the door. Attached
to the boot they had noticed a leg.
“Yes, Martha’s gone to visit her sister in
South Carolina for a few weeks. Took the When the police came, the accident
early bus. I didn’t see her leave, guess she scene was cordoned off until the coroner

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Revista Literária Adelaide

could examine the body and take it away. “We’re too old for that texting stuff. She
Gord was in absolute shock. The police said she’d talk to me in a few weeks. I fig-
interviewed the distraught husband and ured she was busy having a good time and I
took notes. Apparently, the wife was sick didn’t want to bother her. Besides, I figured
and tired of winter and had planned to stay I would have heard if something was wrong.”
with her sister in the states for a while. On
the night of her departure, she had prob- The neighbours were interviewed next.
ably ventured out late at night to collect the Greg and Linda confirmed that Martha was
recycle bins beside the driveway. She must fed up with the winter weather and Greg
have slipped on the slick smooth surface told the police that Martha was indeed
and hit her head on a chuck of brick-like ice. supposed to have left for her sister’s place.
The snow plow driver mustn’t have seen When they were asked about the relation-
her as the snow filled in around her body. ship between Martha and Gord, they hes-
She was planning on getting on the first bus itated and exchanged glances, then Greg
of the morning headed to the city. The bus said, “Probably what you’d expect it to be
stop was only a couple of blocks away, so after 40 years of marriage.”
she hadn’t thought she would need to wake
her husband to drive her there. There was The coroner’s report indicated that
a note left on the night table next to his Martha had suffered a blow to the head, con-
side of the bed. The husband showed the sistent with a fall on hard, sharp ice. Between
investigating detective. It was written in the the blow on the head, exposure from the
wife’s handwriting and it read: cold, and suffocation from the snow piled on
top of her, the conclusion was that she died
Darling, as the result of a tragic accident the night be-
fore she was expecting to leave for a vacation.
Sorry to leave without saying goodbye.
You were sleeping so soundly when I came *
to bed tonight, I didn’t want to bother you.
If I’m gone before you get up in the morning, Six months later, Gord stood on the pier jut-
don’t fret. A little exercise won’t hurt me. ting out into the Gulf of Mexico. He opened
Don’t worry about me, I can handle a suitcase the ceramic vase he was holding and tipped
on wheels (haha). I’m so looking forward to the contents into the water. Martha’s ashes
some nicer weather and a visit with Sue, but flowed out. “You’ll never need to face an-
I miss you already. I’ll let you know when I other dreadful winter, my dear. You always
expect to be back. See you in a few weeks. wanted to vacation in warmer climes. You’ll
love it here. You deserve it,” Gord said to
Love you, his wife. For once Martha was silent.

XXO The substantial life insurance policy,
along with the sale of the house, would
P.S. Don’t forget to feed the cats. ensure that Gord could travel anywhere
he wanted. There was a lot of world to see
Martha’s suitcase was found packed and there were a lot of people to meet, he
and ready to go in her closet. Gord hadn’t thought to himself.
looked in there as he had no reason to do so.
He never disturbed her things, he told the He hadn’t really expected to get away
police. When asked whether he had tried with it. It would have been worth it, though,
to text or call his wife or her sister, he said,

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

just those few weeks of freedom. He was after that was turn on the snowblower and
fed up with winter, but he was even more cover her with a blanket of snow. Then he
fed up with his wife. Thanks to winter, her packed her suitcase, put it in her closet,
reign was over. wrote the note, and went to sleep alone.
When he woke up, Martha was gone. A
The last murder mystery episode night, tragic accident caused by snow and ice,
while Martha was in the bath, Gord had aided and abetted by sleeping pills in place
dumped buckets of water on the driveway of sugar and buckets of water in place of
close to the bricks of ice sticking out of the salt. Stir in one fake handwritten note,
snow bank, next to the recycle bins. He written after decades of forging his wife’s
had spiked Martha’s tea with sleeping pills. signature. Add a bit of good fortune and a
Knowing the forgotten recycle bins would great snow job.
irk Martha enough for her to venture out
herself, he feigned sleep. Luck was on his A delicious recipe for murder. Too bad
side. Sleepy, not paying attention, she Martha wasn’t here to solve it. She would
had slipped and hit her head. All Gord did have loved it.

About the Author

Ivanka Fear is a Slovenian born writer and former teacher residing in midwestern Ontario,
Canada. She holds a B.A. and B.Ed., majoring in English and French literature, from Western
University. Her poems and short stories appear in or are forthcoming in Spadina Literary
Review, Montreal Writes, Spillwords, Commuterlit, Canadian Stories, Adelaide Literary,

October Hill, Scarlet Leaf Review, Polar Borealis, Lighten Up,
Bewildering Stories, The Sirens Call, Utopia Science Fiction,
The Literary Hatchet, Wellington Street Review, Aphelion,
Sad Girl Review, Tales From the Moonlit Path, Muddy River
Poetry Review, Understorey, Suspense Magazine, Close to the
Bone, Drunken Pen Writing, Last Leaves Literary, Analogies
and Allegories, The Mark Literary Review, and Blank Spaces.
She has completed her fifth mystery/suspense novel, and is
currently looking for an agent. You can read more about her at
https://ivankafear.wix.com/mysite

16

RUBBER

by Jacob LePretre

Did you use a rubber? Hey, not my kid who is getting DNA
tested. Guy like me, I leave no trace.
No. Course I didn’t use a rubber. I mean,
Christ, yeah now that’s an idea. But I’m not I swear to God. Why are you gonna make
an idiot. Watch where you’re driving. me crash this car?

Well. Hell of a way to celebrate a three Relax, you’re all fired up. I shouldn’t be
month birthday. getting you going either, that’s on me. Just
trying to make it light.
Piss off.
Alright, sorry. Don’t say it like that though.
Easy now, not in front of the kid. And
don’t tell me how to drive. Like what?

Shut up, he checked the child bundled Nevermind.
asleep in the back seat.
I think it’s your kid.
Just saying, pre-cum got yah is what hap-
pened. Will doom the best of any man so I Man, I’m gonna kick the...
say.
I’m serious.
Shut the hell up. Lights green. And at
least I’m still getting some. Why?

Ha. Listen, I’ve been with enough girls to Well, I mean shit, he fits right in, already
know that no one knows what they’re doing, hanging with us and not a complaint in the
not even you tiger. Sex is nothing but slop world since I seen him, gotta have our blood.
and dirt and stink. So I’m over all that.
The brothers laughed.
Oh yeah? You? You’re done with all that
huh? Well you got me there. I’m not sayin the
kid is bad, I just think she’s a liar.
Yup. Nothing but farts and groans.
You think she was shaggin someone else?
Shhhhhuha. Funny man. Done shaggin?
I do.
Yep.
Whew. That’s tough. When you’d figure
You got away for two years, come back this?
now and say that and you think I’m the idiot?
A year ago, or something. Doesn’t matter.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Huh. Why didn’t you ever tell me? Or her? C’mon now. My whole life man. My
whole life before I was even going, all gone
What? Over the phone? Not an easy for me and all for this kid now. I don’t think I
thing to say when everyone is saying con- could even do it.
grats on the kid, hip hip hooray. I mean she
threw that whole get together. That sur- Pops would say that’s what they call
prise. The announcement like she won the growing up.
fucking lotto or something. Hard to speak
in front of a room full of family and friends, Yeah well.
thanks for coming and by the way, is it really
my kid? Anyways the whole thing took off. Don’t know why I thought of that. So you’d
Bang, nine months and three months and I leave though?
got a kid now.
Yeah.
Well shit. Shit. I really got nothin to that.
But frankly, with me sticking around we Today, you’d be gone today?
don’t even need her. We can raise this kid
right in the family. Why are you putting it like that?

Oh yeah? Slow down a bit here, coppers What do you mean? That’s how it is.
will stick behind this wall.
Then yeah, if it’s not mine, fuck I would
Yep. leave. Today. I’d leave today. Drop the kid at
a firehouse and I’m gone.
Raise the kid though. I’ve gotten into it
myself pretty dang good. Alright. Alright. Relax. But now, what if
it was your kid though huh? What are you
I’ve been around before. We’ll let Ma hoping for here? You love this kid, if it’s
handle the handwork. yours? You want this kid?

Sure, Ma would love that on her plate. I love the kid if it’s mine.

Sure she would too, all us back together, So you love the kid, as of right now
plus one more? How is she since pop? without knowing, you love the kid?

Same as she was when you left. Yes.

Sorry. And in an hour if he’s not your kid, you
won’t love him anymore?
About what?
That’s right.
Nothing. What if it’s not your kid?
Well damn. A little harsh but alright. I
I don’t know. can’t say. I guess I can’t. But I mean, wouldn’t
be the worst thing to just do a couple more
Might as well could be at this point, months, a year or two. I mean look, you’ve
three months of work and pay qualifies already gone this far. Don’t do it for the girl
owning the baby in some parts. even, do it for the kid. Give him a break. Give
him a deal, a cheap one year gig, maybe you
Man, I don’t even want a baby if it’s not take a little pay cut. He grinned. Give him a
mine. cheap one year deal why don’t yah?

Not even a little? You’re a jagoff.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Really though, you could. Just saying if Yeah, well. I’m not much older pal. Maybe
you never thought about that side. I gotta time to wisen up yourself.
bring that up. The soft side. Change a life,
a baby is a blessing, that’s what they said Yeah, well. Like you said, not your kid in
when you came around and I didn’t believe the backseat, not your kid to take care of.
it. But yeah, you got me there though, I You just go off and run when the times are
don’t know. We never had this in front of us tough. Why don’t I act like you, follow suit?
before. Could still manage having a little fun
while seeing that he got off to a strong start. He stopped at a red light. You watch it.
Probably just work more and not drink as You fucking watch it.
much. She could really take care of it. Well.
You think the other guy will be around? What?

You think she’ll take care of him? Don’t tell me about what I did and didn’t
do. Like you said, shits hard. Is for everyone.
I’m trying to give people the benefit of And yeah I ran. I ran when I was scared.
the doubt. I mean, it’s a kid man. A living And maybe that’s why I’m telling you about
thing. A baby! some options. Time to grow up.

You don’t think I know that, been there I said I don’t wanna talk anymore.
for damn 90 days. Hell you so into it, why
don’t you take him? *

The baby made a noise in the back. The At the front door of the building the young-
dad said nothing. er brother got out and got the kid and the
older asked if he wanted him to come in.
You upset him a little, huh? Why would I
take him? Ha, not my kid, brother. Nah, we’re good. Just wait around,
shouldn’t take too long.
Asshole. God damn asshole. Just drive.
If he isn’t mine, I’m gone. And I’m done Alright.
talking.
Thanks.
Not yours but fell to you. Not sure what
to make of that either. But you’ve got a kids Good luck.
life you can change. Save a person’s life,
that’s comic book shit. Inside they were seen right away and
swabs were taken and in a half hour the
What about mine? doctor came back into the room and told
him that their DNA was not a match and he
Huh? apologized to the younger brother and he
asked if they would like a minute together
Nothing. It’s hard. in the room and he said no.

Always is, hard choices. Bad news too, Outside he waved and the car pulled
you’ll probably get no glory. around and silently he strapped the baby
in the back seat and got into the front and
Huh? closed the door behind him.

It’s all hard. So?

Ha. You don’t know, you really don’t know. Take us home. Mom’s house.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

He’s yours? Ahaha! This is good, man, this is good.
Hell a baby is a blessing. I like the little guy
What you think? already, not gonna lie. We can do it. We can
all do this. Maybe I like him more than you!
Come on, come on, come on down! He
shook his younger brother on the shoulder. Yeah. Maybe you’re right. Yeah, we’ll be
This is good news, this is good news, my alright. Already over the first hump.
brother!
There he is, there he is! That’s the spirit.
The younger brother said nothing.
The three of them drove home together.

About the Author
Jacob LePretre was born and raised on the Southside of
Chicago, where he continues to write and live today.

20

I AM

by Yamini Mathur

“A strange holiday practice. A short family I’m the spirit of the forest, living on sweet
trip; nature excursion into the wilderness, fruits by the day and laying wherever I can
trekking on hills, or roving the streams hid- for a rest in the night. I’m the spirit of the
den among distinct shades of green. Why forest, far from the city’s clearing, away
do most, if not all, excursions end beside from the clan, and away from all the tribes.”
a bonfire under the moonlit sky accompa-
nied by a blaring array of loud-sounding “We live in and with an indescribable har-
chords?” mony together; the spirits, the divine trees,
the beasts, the birds, the demons, the peb-
“This is my land, this is my verdure, this is bles, and the tiny sand gravels.”
my home… well, this is it. I am the Spirit of
the forest. I care for all those that live in it.” *

Gives out a deep exhale; quivering the “Help me with these crates, TJ!” A shrill voice
leaves beneath and all the ones above. Whis- called out, shaking us all awake.
pers- “Nah! Not true. Let me do this again.
Ahem. I am one of the many spirits, not the *
spirit of the forest. We are many… we are
one. We are - never mind. It’s complicated.” “Here, they come on their nature excursion.”
I take a deep sigh; they quivered below and
“But when they come walking in, looking all the ones above. “Spirit! When will they
bewildered and terrified; watching the twi- ever get used to my sighs!?”
light mirage, they beg me for help, they pray
me for the safety of themselves and their I sway a wee bit closer to see how these
loved ones.” beings appear to be. “Will they sense my
presence? A thought I always get, especially
And - when the new guests arrive. I’m unseen, un-
felt by most, but I must be on my utmost
“Oh! Right. I shall first get to the point. guard, I must hide and watch. I shall not have
Let’s make this clear - I’m the spirit of the the molecules in the air that they breathe
forest, not a beast of the night. They - the getting mixed up with those of mine?” My
beast, sleep by the day, awakening only face scowled “Well ... I could… but I would
when the night strolls by.” not. Not at least till the time I’m revered, not
at least till the time I know they shall not put
“I am the spirit of the forest; I do not kill, me and my loved ones in any harm.”
and I do not take that, which is not mine.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

* enough they sang in harmony together. The
swatting stopped only to begin an incessant
“I shouldn’t have to come. This is only a chitter-chatter and a little more laughter.
pretense. Holiday with nature. Year by year,
why must we be here!? Why is this the only *
place for a summer vacation? This wilder-
ness is not where I ever want to be. Oh, The trees and the bushes swayed with me.
why! Oh, why!” That’s how sitting on a soft Pleased we were together.
glazed rock he lamented and sighed.
Suddenly one turned back in a flash and
* glared right through as if momentarily, he
heard me whisper. Holding the hand of the
Footsteps of a small angel. “I know them; I other, barefooted and careful, they walked
know they care. They are the ones that skip on the path of grit, dirt, seeds, and sharp
every step within permissible boundaries; gravel. I wait, I wonder if they reach the
an image painted by their thoughts and edge or sprint away in terror? His sullen
their curious mind. Sometimes that makes eyes watching me, the other skipping glee-
me contemplate, intrigued by their percep- fully, humming a continuous chorus, uncon-
tion… or is it deception? Why do they see cerned of the world but happy with relent
me the way they do? I am the only reality - I from the bugging scoundrels. He looked up
know this because I can see and I can think at the blue skies, the drifting clouds that
the same way as they do.” expanded and contracted, dissolving some-
where behind each other and creeping up
* again, thickening, forming shapes all in front
of his gaze. Enchanted cheerful faces; I sent
“Get off you demons! Stop bombarding. You in the wind filled with sweet pollen and col-
stupid buzzing thingies. Am I your only meal orful dust. Quickening bare steps bare on
today!?” Putting his shirts back on, tucking the foot, the path of grit, dirt, seeds, and
it in, trying not to show off any more of his sharp gravel. “Careful,” I whispered, but of
skin than required. Waving around his lit- course they couldn’t hear, so I softened the
tle arms, but to no avail. They were every- earth with green moss and dewdrops.
where around, as if in love with him.
*
“Heehee”, the other giggled - an ice
candy giggle. She came and sat next to him “Oh, look! A jeweled beetle!” he stopped,
on a large glazed rock. Picking up the stones pointing out the bug on the green moss.
and tossing them together, it splashed be-
fore they dived in the calm lake water. The “Ahh, look at these… the creepy-crawly
laughter, the giggles, oh, it makes me swell centipedes.” Picking one up gently with
with pleasure. Landing back on the shore be- her soft hands, letting the centipede move
side the edge of the lake, covered in soiled around her palm towards her arm as if on
water and the useless mosquito repellent, a clear path, throwing a gregarious giggle.
I see them still swatting off the little devils.
I sent in the frogs, I sent in the swallows. He walked along with a frown, not
They began a brand-new chorus, forgetting waiting for the other “Careful there! Don’t
to welcome the dragonflies, those that I crush them under your muddy foot”.
sent in a while later. Oh, never mind. Soon
“I’ll do what I have to! No one tells me what
not to do!” Upset on receiving instruction

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Revista Literária Adelaide

by another as little as he? He walked away The distress of theirs becomes destruction
stomping his foot, thrashing the obstructing to us. When will they realize, Oh, Great Spir-
bushes, hitting them with small bare fingers. it, when will they accept? This earth is my
ownership, they are merely a tenant. I am a
“Wait for me!” She ran, giving not a thought reality; they are a living illusion.
to the oh, tiny - falling - centipede.
*
*
“TJ! Isa! Time for supper!” An acute piercing
I sighed once again, and together they quiv- voice shrilled once again, silencing the ten-
ered all below and the ones above. So this ants of the woodland.
was it. Mood swing. One moment of laughter
and the other distress. Living within straight A second instant and the sound of re-
lines of a rectangle, a square, how will they tracing, fading footsteps on the path of grit,
ever comprehend with the curves, squiggles, dirt, seeds, and sharp gravel filled the moist
wiggles, and the shaded life of my world? air.

About the Author

Yamini Mathur - A graduate in psychology; born and brought
up in India; Yamini lives in Thailand with her husband and
two children. Part-time writer, part-time baker, she has 12
years of work experience in the hospitality industry. The
onset of her debut short story ‘The World Within’ took off
her journey towards the field of writing. An avid reader, she
is also a volunteer in an International school giving reading
classes to a group of students.

23

BRINGERS

by Brianna Kemper

The doctor and nurses were rushing around. “What will these two souls do without
The beeping starts to speed up as the moth- their mother? The father couldn’t handle
er struggles to stay alive. A few moments this, he will hate the children. My boss
later the beeping stopped, and a long beep hates taking the woman, but it is her time.
took over. The doctor looks over to one of This is my job. Stop meddling,” said Bel.
the nurses. Immediately the nurse escorts
the worried soon-to-be-father out of the “Bel why are you such a rule follower,”
room. His eyes filled with tears knowing he Asha said in a childlike voice.
might lose his wife and new babies, as the
doctor said, “I can’t stop the bleeding.” She looks dead at Bel. Not just looking
through him as every other Life-Bringer
As the nurse escorts the father out. A wom- does, but really seeing him. This makes him
an in a white flowing goddess gown floats blush and turn away with a heavy sigh.
into the room holding two balls of light, as
if she was just mist in the room unseen by “Bel, please. The father needs something
the doctor and nurses trying desperately to keep his spirits up. All he has ever wanted
to help the wife birth her children into the is about to slip from him and his time will
world. The woman smiled from ear to ear end sooner than it should. You have seen
happy to finally bring two little souls to this the outcome before.” Asha uses all her
family whose souls have suffered so much might pleading with Bel.
loss.
Nothing seems to work. Tears fill her
Right before she could gift the souls to eyes as she nuzzles the two small souls in
the wife. A man in an elegant suit comes in, her arms.
times seems to stop. The doctor and nurses
are frozen in place with worry and determi- “Little souls, I am so sorry. My friend has
nation on their faces, to save the lives who his orders.”
hung in the balance. His eyes narrowed
seeing the woman. “Asha...” Bel looks at her. He could see her
sadness.
“Asha, what are you doing here? No life
will be leaving this room,” he said coldly. Out of nowhere a devilish grin pops on
her face. “What if you let me send one of
“I have to bring these souls to the mortal the souls to the mortal plane. You take the
plain, Bel,” said Asha. mother, a random soul, and I give you one
of the souls I hold. Your soul count will be
equal and one of the new souls still lives.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

All is still balanced,” she battered her eyes round belly. As Asha did this the small souls
knowing, he has a soft spot for her. disappeared into the frail woman. She finds
herself next to Bel, as he pulls out and hits
Bel places his fingers on his temples, the top of a pocket watch. Again, time starts,
rubbing them, “Why do you do this to me?” the room once more busts into a shark-
like frenzy, as the doctor tries to stop the
“So, is that a yes?” Asha said as her sad bleeding and save the three lives.
voice became much higher pitched.
Bel moves through all the people run-
“Look, if I get caught doing this then my ning around, as if he was a ghost, making his
hands are tied. Death-Bringers laws are strict. way to the woman. Once he is at her side,
I will become a new soul just like those you he places his hand on the woman’s shoulder.
hold. Then thrown into a life much worse Waiting for both, the pocket-watch and the
than death itself,” said Bel looking at her. clock on the wall to match up. As soon as
She didn’t respond. She knew the laws of it did, he whispers to the woman. A ball of
Death-bringers and Life-Bringers are strict. light comes up from her chest. Bel grabs it
He is right, but she didn’t care. Asha’s only and smiles just before it disappears. Both
desire is to make sure this family has some babies cry out as the doctor hangs his head,
happiness instead of the sadness of losing in defeat. Asha watches as the doctor leaves
all their children. She knew that Bel was the the room to inform the father.
only way she could do this.
Bel pulls out a pocket-size notebook. “It
“Balance must be our top priority. We looks like we are in luck. I am two souls over.
both will be punished if our bosses find out So, all is in balance,” he said looking at Asha
what you have asked of me…” He waited for with a smile.
her response, but she was silent hanging her
head. “Fine, for you and only you this one Asha smiled back. A few minutes of quiet
time. Send both souls. We both know the happens between them. “Thank you, Bel.”
mortal plane is better with a friend,” said
Bel, exhaling and placing one of his hands He leaves waving bye to Asha. She is
on the bridge of his nose. happy she brought some happiness to the
father, but also sad that she couldn’t give
She smiles at him. Walking over to the him both, his wife and his children.
woman, placing both souls on her large

About the Author

Brianna Kemper studies creative writing at Full Sail University.
She enjoys writing stories for her children.

Follow her at @artmis312 on twitter.

25

STANDING ON THE
WRONG SIDE

by Hayden Sidun

I’m going to kill myself. That’s the decision on my eardrums with each step. Has it al-
I made as my feet hit the frigid hardwood ways been so loud in here? I think.
floor after a long night of staring at a dark
ceiling, and that’s a decision I’m perfectly The echoes transform into the deaf-
content with. I pull my plain black hood- ening jiggling of my front door handle. I
ie, probably the only one I’ve worn since don’t think I’ve ever thought about it, but
I moved to this godforsaken city, over my- today, it doesn’t fail to murder my hearing.
self and stand in front of my body mirror, A single jerk sends the door flying toward
trying to catch a clear glimpse of myself me, and I stumble backward, saved from
through the cracks in the glass. I still vague- falling on my ass by a single echoless foot-
ly remember punching it, but perhaps I was step. Sunshine floods my hallway as I pick
trying to beat the image of an angry man myself up and walk outside. Slamming the
making a disgusting stain on society. door behind me, I force my key into the key-
hole. A single quick rotation of my wrist and
My bedroom door eerily creaks as I close the familiar faint clicking sound that comes
it behind me. Each creaking step down my after secures the house. I grunt as I slide my
ancient, falling apart staircase makes me house key off the keyring. They make these
clutch onto the railing a little bit tighter, and keyrings so damn tricky, I think.
by the time I get to the bottom, my knuckles
are as white as the moon on a clear night. I kneel to the concrete and lift the corner
My footsteps echo through the hallway as of the rough brown doormat with the very
I inch closer to the front door with each tips of my fingers. I place the key on the
careful step. The walls close in on me faster ground and smear the fingerprint of dirt off
than a man can plummet off the Golden the key’s bright silver finish. Dust flies as I
Gate Bridge. I can’t breathe, almost like my drop the corner back down and stand up.
lungs are attached to an oxygen-sucking The echo still rings in my ears as I take one
vacuum, and fat beads of sweat drip down step down the concrete steps. Another layer
my desert-dry face. That godawful wall- of dirt coats my hands as they slide down
paper stains my vision with an outdated the railing and guide me to the sidewalk.
floral pattern as the echoes pound harder

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Revista Literária Adelaide

One foot in front of the other—at least, into the ocean, and my shivers become
that’s how Mom taught me to walk. more violent as I pull my hood over my head
and shove my hands in my hoodie’s pockets.
I force a smile as I look at the three- I should’ve worn a thicker jacket, I think.
story townhouse, complete with chipping
blue paint and a design older than my At the corner stands a towering street
great-grandmother, I call home. I started light that swayed in the wind. Few cars are
renting my bedroom in this house when I waiting to cross the cracked graying road
first moved to the city. With its horrid ex- this morning, and I am the only person on
terior paint and the countless, expensive the sidewalk for as far as the fog allows me
maintenance projects I have yet to start on, to see. Across the street is a rundown drug
the house became mine a few years later store with a small and empty parking lot in
when the owners moved to Reno and sold the back, and across from that is a gas sta-
it to me at the small price of my yearly rent. tion abandoned long before I moved here.
It seems like so many years ago that I was Attached to the street lamp is a dirty white
nothing but a stupid college kid with real placard boasting the word “Lombard” in
ambitions. I still remember smiling with large and emboldened black letters.
each sip of my morning coffee as I sat on
my bedroom balcony and watched the sun Lombard coils a few times somewhere
rise above the horizon. The yellow layer of behind me, and somewhere along the next
the morning sky that sat above the Marin intersecting road sits that house they used
Headlands still makes me warm inside. My for that show I watched when I was a kid.
creaky, wooden chair with its peeling white I’ve always envied the kids on that show be-
paint is still on the balcony—hell, I can see it cause they’ve always had something—well,
from here. Damn, how times have changed. frankly, many things—I didn’t have growing
up: a family. I’ve never met my father; he
Turning right, I begin my journey down left before I was born, and Mom never
the sidewalk, browned by last night’s told me anything about him. Whenever I
rainstorm, outside my townhouse in Cow would ask, she would say to me, “There are
Hollow. Goosebumps cover my arms as far more interesting things to learn about,
the cold San Francisco breeze blows past sweetie,” as she continued to do whatever
me, and passersby bundled in their heavy it is she was doing. Mom and I lived with
jackets, scarves, and beanies stare at me as her mom on her farm, and she stayed there
I shiver walking past them. On the inside, even after Grandma’s death and my move
these people are taunting me. I can feel it. to California. Mom’s first time visiting me
in San Francisco was three weeks ago, and
My feet become more slanted as the the image of me sitting on the floor of my
hilly Divisadero Street becomes steeper. guest bedroom and sobbing as I held onto
From the top of the hill, you can see the her cold, lifeless hand only a few hours after
roofs of hundreds of houses and the very I picked her up from the airport will forever
tops of luscious green trees that line each stain my memory.
street. You can see Angel Island and the hills
of the Tiburon Peninsula on a clear day, but God, I miss home. Waking up at sunrise
today, the fog is so thick that I can barely to the crowing of a rooster at dawn and the
see the water ahead of the Marina. The cold sweet smell of hay bales each morning are
breeze hits me like a wave crashing back far preferable to the annoying beeping of

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

the alarm clock and the horrid smell of as- from my memory, as I stand before my des-
bestos soaked into the walls. The sense of tiny and watch as all the things that make
freedom I had roaming my family’s thousand me miserable play in my mind one after
acres beats the feeling of confinement I get the other, like advertisements in a movie
sitting in traffic on my way to my dead-end theater. The Golden Gate Bridge, with its
job—until, of course, I was fired. Let me tell crimson towers slowly being consumed by
you, I would much rather have Grandma’s the fog, stands in all its glory before me as
home cooking than a box of ramen every I swim in a puddle of my misery. Fixing my
night if afforded the choice. I hated moving gaze at my feet, I begin walking.
to the city, but I had to go after that college
degree, that job at a failed tech startup, that Hundreds of people brush past me as
potential for a life outside the farm; twelve I walk down the bridge. Some are on foot,
years later, I have nothing to show for it but some are on bicycles; some are from the
a crumbling townhouse and a job as a cable city, some are tourists; some speak English,
car operator. I guess I’ve always had the op- some don’t. Some are young, some are old.
tion to go back home, but all that would be Some are in love, some are alone. A voice
left for me there now is a house furnished in my head is telling me that I won’t jump
only with childhood memories and a thou- if someone stops me and at least tries to
sand acres of overgrown grass. talk to me, but out of all the people who
make up that diverse crowd of pedestrians,
The Presidio has always been my favorite not a single one of them takes notice of my
part of the city. The swaying palm trees, gloominess and pulls me aside to talk.
the luscious grass, and the white buildings
topped with red roofs complement the The bridge’s pedestrian path takes me
classic California beach vibe; even in the past the first tower and onward to the next.
thick morning fog, it is as beautiful as it can I could continue to the next tower and dis-
get. Someone could spend an eternity here appear into the Marin Headlands, but I have
and have no clue that they’re in a massive to—no, I want to—follow through with a
urban city. Wooden benches and towering plan for once in my life. I stop walking a few
pine and cypress trees line the path that feet past the first tower and turn toward
takes me to my final destination. The sound the city as I rest my forearms on the railing,
of birds chirping and the smell of salt that wet from last night’s rain and this morning’s
comes off the bay brings a tear to my eye fog. I can barely see Alcatraz sitting in the
as I continue my journey one step at a time. bay, and the city’s skyline, blanketed by the
I’ve always hated hikes and long walks, but thick gray fog, is absent from view. Clearing
this one has never failed to enlighten my my mind, I take a deep breath as I swing
soul with a profound sense of happiness. my right leg over the railing and pull myself
to the other side of it. Passersby can only
I’m not sure how much time passed be- stare as I look at each of them with eyes
fore I reached the end of that path. The sheer pleading for help, but after a few seconds
beauty of the trail entranced me so much of invisibility, I turn around and face the bay
that I had forgotten I was even walking, and once again. I try to force myself to let go,
with each step, a new wave of happiness but something inside me is holding me back.
washed over me. The hike now appears in Just do it, I think, but I grip the railing tighter
my mind as a blur, one that is slowly fading as I picture myself plummeting toward the
freezing ocean water.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“What’s your name, son?” someone asks. to live to see tomorrow. This must be what
I jump upon hearing the voice, one that it feels like to be worth a damn to someone,
probably belongs to an old man, but I can I think, losing myself in his eyes. They’re as
feel my knuckles getting whiter. blue as the water I’m about to plummet to-
ward.
A short pause passes before I respond,
“Danny.” I can barely hear myself say my own “Why aren’t you standing next to me
name. today?”

“And what are you doing today, Danny?” “I don’t know you.”

I look down at the deep blue water as it “You don’t have to know me to walk beside
ripples and waves. Two sailboats are moving me.” He takes his hand off mine and waves
toward the city in the distance, and a cruise his arm at the pedestrians before returning
ship is making its way toward the bridge. “I his hand. “There are hundreds of people on
was thinking of taking a little swim.” this bridge who don’t know each other, yet
they walk beside each other. You see that?”
The old man laughs. “That’s what beaches
are for! Bridges are for crossing.” I nod, keeping my gaze locked with his. “I
can’t continue to live.”
I look over my shoulder and see him
in the corner of my eye. “Then I suppose “Is it that you can’t, or is it that you don’t
there’s some symbolism in this.” want to?”

“Why don’t you turn around and look at “I have no will to. I have no family, no job,
me?” no money.”

I nod my head as I turn around. I look “Why’s that?”
at the old man in his eyes, and he looks at
me in mine as he runs his fingers through I sigh as tears begin to run down my face.
his long beard while crossing his arms. His “I was a cable car operator until the city fired
head is covered by a checkered flat cap, and me last week. I tried to explain that I only
he sports a flannel shirt and corduroy pants stole fare money so I could feed myself dinner
underneath his full-body windbreaker. He that night, but apparently, eleven years of
nods his head as he looks at me, and I only employment means nothing when a wrin-
hope that he will figure out how to help me. kled five-dollar bill goes missing.” Shaking
my head, I continue, “And it’s not like I can
“Are you just going to stare at me, old man?” get a better job. I dropped out of Berkeley
because I was working on this startup, but
He keeps nodding. “You’re on the wrong the startup failed a few months later, and I
side of the bridge.” couldn’t afford to go back to school.”

“I know.” “I’m sure you have a family to fall back on.
Perhaps you have someone to love and take
He steps closer to me as he removes his care of you?”
gloves from his hands. He puts the gloves
into his windbreaker’s pocket and places his I sniffle and watch sorrow and pity re-
wrinkled hands on top of mine. I watch him place the concern in the old man’s face. “My
smile as warmth exudes from his hands and father left before I was born. I have no clue
onto mine, and in his curled lips, I can see if he’s alive or where he might be if he is. My
the hope he has for me and a plea for me grandparents died when I was young. My

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

mom died a few weeks ago at my house I shake my head as he lets go of my face.
while she was visiting me. Her first visit to “What?”
San Francisco ended in her lying in a morgue
with a sheet over her corpse. She was the “I own a restaurant on the Embarcadero,
only family I had left. I have no siblings, no and I have a spare bedroom in my house.
cousins, no aunts or uncles, and certainly You can live with me and work for me as
no friends or coworkers willing to take me long as you promise to continue living and
in. I don’t even have a girlfriend.” live with a purpose starting right now.”

“I’m sure you’re capable of finding one.” Mouth ajar, a nervous chuckle escapes
my lips. “You wouldn’t do that for me.”
“Don’t you get it, old man?” I shout. “I’m
incapable of being loved!” I bury my face “Climb to this side of the railing, son, and
into his chest and sob. He places his hands I’ll prove you wrong.”
on my cheeks and holds my head as we lock
eye contact once again. Through the sound of my deep breath,
The voice in my head screams at me to trust
“Son, I could give a shit about how bad this old man. He grabs my hands as I begin
you have it. What matters most is not the to lift my foot off the ledge, but the trac-
tragedy that strikes, but rather what you tion of my other foot escapes from under-
do when it does. When everything at home neath it as I do. My body violently wobbles
disappeared into thin air, so to speak, you as I lose balance and slip from the ledge,
came to this city seeking an opportunity to trusting the bridge with my life as I tighten
succeed in life. Now that everything here my grasp on the crimson rail. My eyes meet
is going wrong for you, you’re responding the old man’s shoes until he kneels down
by killing yourself instead of trying to take and allows me to look into his eyes through
account of your life and find hope for your- the rail. He places his hands over mine and
self. And to think that nobody loves you? slowly nods as a tear rolls down his cheek.
That’s pure bullshit. I love you enough to try Pain rushes through my arms as my body
to help you because you’re a human being calmly swings like a pendulum in the wind,
with thoughts and feelings, just like me, ev- and he moves his hands to my forearms,
eryone in this city, and those who let go of trying to pull me to safety.
the same railing you’re holding onto.”
For the first time in months, I smile a
“I can’t be loved. Few have tried. None true, happy smile, only this smile comes
have succeeded.” with something I’ve never felt before: a
shred of hope for the future.
“Then let me be the first.”

About the Author

Hayden Sidun is a high school student whose short fiction
appears in The Dillydoun Review. Outside of school and work,
he is involved in local politics and enjoys writing stories and
listening to country music in the early hours of the morning. He
lives in the San Francisco Bay Area, of which he is a proud native.

30

THE MEMORY GIRL

by Destinee Jones

Benio sank deeper and deeper into Mr. behind Mr. Walters’s door of secrets. He
Walters’s consciousness. The elevator in Mr. was warned against it by a man in a hooded
Walters’s mind sped past his recent mem- coat. He said he was an old acquaintance of
ories, then slowed down for the ones still Mr. Walters, one that Benio hadn’t seen in
rooted deep in his psyche. His retirement any of the old man’s memories. He should
party, from a decade ago, marked his fif- be worried, but he wasn’t.
ty years of service: The stiff smiles and
pleasantries put on by his former co-work- There were tall double doors with moving
ers made this memory boring to record. mechanisms like the inside of a clock. In his
The memory that came before was of his experience, as limited as it was, doors that
granddaughter’s birth. The hospital room hid secrets imprinted hints of what the se-
was full of pink balloons and happy faces; cret was about. This secret had something
the sterile scent of hospital chemicals per- to do with Mr. Walters’s profession. Benio
meated through the doors. His daughter’s twisted the handle. It was locked as he ex-
first birthday smelled of cake and ice cream, pected. Maybe the lock mechanism isn’t in-
there were screaming toddlers and music side the handle, but on the door itself.
muffled by the glass. And then came his
first wedding anniversary. Mr. Walters was Benio didn’t feel the ache and strain of
young then, handsome and bright-eyed. his limbs as he grew until he was as tall as
His wife cried over a pearl necklace he gift- the door, for being in one’s subconscious was
ed her. Benio smiled the first time he saw painless. The gears were cold. He pulled hard
this memory, but today was his last day and on one, but it would not budge. His finger
he couldn’t bring himself to smile again. was almost pinched between the metal
gears. He kicked the door, slammed into it,
The last memory was Mr. Walters’s and nothing happened. Different tactic then.
fourth birthday party. The party wasn’t
grand or loud. Faint music played as Mr. Benio shrank back to normal size; the
Walters danced with his father. Benio re- door was warm under his hand. He closed his
corded this one yesterday in explicit detail eyes. The door is as tall as a waterfall, brown
for Mr. Walters’s family. Once he’s gone, all like the bark of palm trees, the gears are gold
they’ll have left are pages of his life and like my favorite pen, and they move as one.
their own memories of him. The last one The door glowed blue, the gears stopped
Benio was requested to retrieve was locked turning, then turned counterclockwise. He
pulled down the handle and the door opened

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

a crack before he was blasted back. It hap- “Nothing. I got what I could.” But not ev-
pened so fast he couldn’t comprehend it. He erything. “I’m sorry.”
staggered to his feet, the door was closed,
the gears turned clockwise, and it was cov- Mrs. Walters’s cry pierced his ears. She
ered by a translucent blue shield. Benio ten- turned on him, and her small fists beat against
tatively touched it again, then snatched his his chest. The assault barely hurt; his failure
hand back. Blue sparks glided onto his fingers was painful. He repeated over and over that
then disappeared, red blisters were left in its he was sorry until she calmed and sat down.
place along with a burning sting.
“I hoped maybe there was something he
The subconscious was supposed to be hadn’t told me. Theo was forthcoming with
painless. I was warned this would happen everything. How can I live on not knowing
someday. How am I supposed to become a the one thing he kept to himself?” she said
mentor if I can’t do this much? Soft ringing while fiddling with her pearls.
pulled at his mind. The longer it went the
louder it became, until he opened his eyes to Even though he’s been doing this job for
the white walls of Mr. Walters’s hospital room. two years, Benio didn’t know how to com-
fort her. All he could do was bow and offer
“Did you get everything?” said Mrs. Wal- his condolences again before leaving.
ters. She handed him the notebook, turned
to a fresh page, with his special pen clipped “I take it you didn’t open the door?” The
to the binding. man in the coat stood across the hall.

“No. There was a door and-and...” Benio “I couldn’t,” said Benio. His back straight-
didn’t go on. He turned off the alarm. It was ened, his hand shook around his notebook
a minute past 2800. He started at 2700 and and he took a step back towards the room.
has nothing to show for it. He set down the
notebook. Mr. Walters was just as he left him, “Just as well. What happened between
sedated for the end and worn from time. the old man and I should stay locked away.”
The man patted him on the shoulder.
“If everything is finished the doctor is “You’re lucky you couldn’t open the door.
ready for him,” said Mr. Walters’s nurse. I would’ve hated for you to go home in a
casket,” he said it like taking someone’s life
Benio moved out of her way as she un- was as easy as tying one’s shoes.
locked the bed’s wheels and pushed him
out the door. As the man took his leave, Benio fell back
against the wall, shaken, and he wondered
“That’s it? There’s nothing left?” Mrs. if this encounter would be locked behind his
Walters held the blank page, hands shaking, door one day too.
her tears wet a few spots on the paper.

About the Author
Destinee Jones is a Creative Writing student at Full Sail University.

32

WEDDING DANCE

by Stephen Day

He was winning. The little blue marble that He cradled a few of the chips in his left
kept rolling around the turntable fell more hand as he deftly slipped one and then an-
often than he expected on his number or other to his right to snap the chip on a color,
his color. Roulette waa a game he had been a number, or a line that seemed to him a
attracted to while visiting the casinos at At- potential winner, or he skidded it across
lantic City while on a business trip, and now the table and Rosemary would place it the
he was here, in the capital of gambling, Las square that he indicated with a nod or a
Vegas, and he was really winning. He looked “please.”
forward to the little ball whirling on the ma-
hogany wheel and “clicking” in a slot carved “The board is closed,” Rosemary said fi-
out on the edges. So simple, he thought, It nally, passing her hand over the board as if
is just so simple. He had accumulated over to say a prayer for him. He felt special every
one-hundred dollars in large chips and each time he watched her golden bracelet with
time he bet he would see more pushed over the pearl charm flow neatly over the chips
to him from the attractive blonde behind that were now scattered around the black
the table. Her name was Rosemary, and and red squares and numbers.
she looked to be about in her fifties. Nice
hair and hands. He was just climbing into “What brings you to Vegas?” she finally
his 70’s and on this night he was working on asked after letting the ball spin on the
an eighteen year old glass of Glenlivet and wheel. He did not reply right away, but in-
a smooth tasting Cuban cigar that he had stead watched as the ball settled into the
picked up along the Strip the night before. red three slot and he moved his focus to
He had always wanted to taste a Cuban. the red three on the corner where he had
placed five five-dollar chips.
He was alone at the table, and as he
played he talked to Rosemary, “I seem to “3-1,” she said with a smile, “it looks like
be winning tonight,” he mumbled with the you win again. “Place your bets,” and the
cigar sticking out of the side of his mouth game began again.
with a lilt in his voice and lifting his chin to
look at her, “I like winning.” “I am here for a wedding,” he said finally,
“my niece is getting married to a man from
She smiled, pushed some more winning Hawaii, and we are here on what you would
chips towards him and then said “place your call a destination wedding. The whole
bets.” family made the trip from different parts of
the country. It has been fun. We had a few

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

days on the Strip and now we are here at Just then his nephew, Brad, a young
the hotel for the ceremony and reception.” man of twenty-five and his younger brother,
Samuel, appeared at the end of the table,
“Is your wife with you?” she asked, each with a long Cuban and a fresh drink in
pushing a few more chips his way, “Too bad each hand.
she is not here to enjoy the winnings.”
Their appearance broke the mood and
“No,” he replied, glancing at the golden he was suddenly drawn back into the reality
wedding ring on his hand, “she is not with of his family and the loss of his wife.
me,” and noticing that his ringed finger was
very visible while he stacked the chips on “Let me join in,” Brad said, covering the
the table, and built them into neat piles. He table with a puff of smoke. “It looks like you
twirled the ring with his now empty right are winning!”
hand. “My wife died about eight months
ago. We had scheduled this trip for the wed- “Yeah,” he replied, “I think it’s the scotch.”
ding with tickets and all, but her fight with
cancer caught up to her.” He didn’t know “Good,” Brad followed,” maybe we can
whether it was the night, the scotch, or the get lucky as well,” and he laid down a
loneliness that made him talk so much, but one-hundred dollar bill and asked for chips.
now it was too late. “I’m here with my son
and daughter for a few days and the wed- Rosemary took the money, counted out
ding. It’s her side of the family, and my kids the bright gold and white chips, and then
are very close to their cousins.” slid them over to Brad at the end of the
table.
“I am sorry to hear about your loss,” she
said and he watched as her hand again “Place your bets,” Rosemary said, and he
passed over the table, “the board is closed.” followed her gaze as the boys spread their
chips around the table, even topping some
“Thank you,” he responded again, that he had placed there because they knew
watching her pinched fingers with the red that he was having a lucky night.
nail polish set the marble loose on the table.
“Are you married?” he asked, not believing “Go with the odd numbers,” he said, let-
that it was him talking, “I don’t see a ring.” ting them join into the flow of the game.
“They have been working for me.”
“No, “ she replied without stopping to
count the chips on the table, rake the losers Rosemary smiled, and her hand once
into her drawer, and count out a few more again passed over the table. He smiled
winners for him. “My husband left me about as she announced the black seventeen, a
three years ago.” I have lived here in Vegas for number special to him because it was the
about a year. It isn’t all that bad. I have a good day of his wife’s birthday. He always had a
job, and I don’t mind the heat.” Then after a few chips on seventeen, and his and Brad’s
short pause and another “place your bets,” chips played the winner on that turn of the
my cousin had cancer. She died last year. wheel.

I wish I could have spent more time with “All right,” yelled Brad, sounding a little
her. bit more inebriated than he had thought
when Brad first stood at the table. “It’s a
Am I ready for this? He asked himself, winner,” as the cigar smoke filled the air
she is very attractive and she smells nice.” above the table.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Brad grabbed his cips and left them in a wonder if Rosemary was interested? He
large pile in front of him while, unlike Brad, missed his wife as he rolled on his side and
Randall took each one he had gained and slipped into the position that he had slipped
stacked it neatly in piles of five and ten into each night for the forty-two years that
chips each. That was so he could keep track. they had been married. He smiled, This
He tracked Rosemary’s eyes only to pause is the slot I like, and he brought his knees
when he saw her reflected in his wedding up towards his chest, pulled a large pillow
ring. It was a flick of light that carried the under his arm and fell asleep holding onto
red dress and nail polish, but he saw it. the soft shape of a body that he could never
win back. “Good night,” he said to the pillow,
Brad was much less organized and as re- hugged it tighter, and fell asleep.
sult his train of thought also skipped around
the nuances of the game as he never dis- He slept late and wandered to the
covered the energy that brought his chips restaurant, alone, and found a buffet with
together with the moving ball and the little eggs, bacon, and good coffee. His son and
grooves in the roulette wheel. daughter joined him for the second cup,
and they talked a little about the trip, the
Randall was in tune, and kept winning, strip, and the scotch the night before. He
but Brad lost his chips in a very short time. felt that there was a strange absence of
Samuel just watched and occasionally threw his wife’s memory in the conversation, but
out a suggestion, but nothing seemed to he was not ready to bring up any kind of
work. That is when the game ended. Brad deeper discussion about her. His children
was broke, he placed his last chip on top seemed to be in agreement. He paid the tab.
of the black seventeen that Randall had al- They spent the rest of the morning walking
ready covered, and hoped for the best. They around the grounds of the hotel, checking
both lost. on the rooms where the wedding reception
would be held, and eventually meeting the
He had been doing fine, alone with Rose- cousins for a beer and lunch. He left his kids
mary, but his luck changed also and the with the cousins to let them socialize and
game lost its allure. again he was alone to walk and think about
all that had happened during the last few
He gathered his chips, thanked Rosemary, months. His wife’s death was still on his
and left a good tip. He caught one last whiff mind. He knew it would be there awhile. It
of the essence of her beauty while pulling had been a massive heart attack after three
himself out of the chair holding tightly to years of chemo, transfusions, and all that
the edge. He was more than a little drunk. goes with it. He knew that she had gone
He walked with Brad through the lobby with quickly for a reason, and she had prepared
the purple and gold carpet, and rode with him as best she could have since he cried
him in the elevator to the fifteenth floor with her in the kitchen once the words
where they had rooms. multiple myeloma were uttered. The three
years went too quickly.
He said good night to Brad, opened his
door, and rolled into bed, alone, like he had The wedding was in the garden at the
been doing for so many of the previous back of the hotel, and the warm sun had
nights. Death is like a game of Roulette, he everyone sweating even though they were
mused, letting his head spin from the scotch under large pine trees. The chairs were white
that he had consumed during the night. I

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

with padded backs, very neatly lined up with “I am,” she said, “I have to go. I will see
a large center isle. He liked that. The families you at the reception. Save a dance for me.”
sat on two sides of the aisle in a traditional
setting. His niece, Bethany, was marrying an “I will save two,” he said while squeezing
Hawain native, and his family and friends her arm, and as she walked off to rejoin the
who had flown to Vegas and the hotel, as he wedding party he let his hand linger on her
and his family had done from different parts shoulder just long enough for her to turn
of the country. He had never been to Hawaii, and look back at him. She smiled again, and
but it had been on the list that he and his then her long hair fell over her face as she
wife had spoken about so he felt a slight con- turned back.
nection. He tried to open discussions with
the other side of the family with small talk He had a sudden rush of interest and
and questions about their home, but there for an instant the loneliness that had been
seemed to him a type of isolation that each haunting him throughout the trip disap-
side maintained without understanding peared into a short fantasy. It’s nice to feel
that it was happening. He chalked it off as love again, he thought catching himself and
the cultural divide that it was, and thought returning to reality, if only for an instant.
little more about it. He loved his niece, and
he was happy that she had found someone, He sat with his children at the wedding
and he also cared a lot for his brother-in-law and they all dealt with the heat as best they
and his wife, Rachel, who was his drinking could. His son was a bit more practical and
partner at family gatherings. He smiled removed his suit jacket. His daughter had
when he saw her walking down the aisle in on a pale blue dress that was meant to be
her long and flowing light green gown and worn in warm weather. The ceremony was
her dark brown hair neatly curled around short and they all moved quickly into the
her shoulders. He smiled as he thought of air conditioned rooms that lay just beyond
all the times that they had ended up at one the gazebo that was positioned strategically
end of the Thanksgiving or Christmas table under the trees.
with wine glasses in hand beckoning to the
wine gods to let them each just keep making The reception was set in a darkened
the other laugh. Everyone else used to hint room at the side of the hotel, and without
that they should be separated, but somehow fanfare the bride and groom entered, they
they always found a way to sit together. “It sat at a table on a raised balcony, and he sat
was karma,” Rachel used to say. with another older couple and his son for a
dinner of roast chicken, mashed potatoes
He smiled when she came over to hug and vegetables. Of course, there was wine,
him and she kissed him on the lips as was her but he had already filled his glass with Glen-
custom. Not everyone did that. He liked it. livet while greeting his brothers-in-law, their
wives, their children, and the guests from
“You look beautiful,” he said after releasing Hawaii. Without his wife, their sister, he felt
her from the embrace. “Thank you,” she re- a bit like a wedding crasher, and the usual
plied, looking him in the eye and smiling. “I conversations that included his family were
am glad that you are here.” shortened or abreviated because there was
just not enough information that he could
“Jean is a beautiful bride,” he said, “what a share. His wife had always been the better
beautiful wedding. You must be very happy.” communicator and he had depended on
her to get a picture of what was going on

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Revista Literária Adelaide

in the family. When he talked now, there only to hear her complain, but not really.
was a sadness in each word, and a sorrow He loved her for her love of dancing and so
deep underneath each laugh and memory. much more. The scotch was working again.
He found that he was repeating himself as
he labored to conceal his grief, and he fell When he grabbed Rachel he took a
back on the old stories and the old jokes. I strong lead and she melted into his arms
may not stay here too long, he thought. I letting him direct her around the floor as
am not into this. they chatted about the wedding, the family,
and the children whom they all loved. His
At his table with his new friends the con- sophisticated dance steps, and the com-
versation was typical, and he learned that plementing music propelled them over the
they had been married for over thirty years floor and into another world. When the
and they had four children all who had fin- song ended, there was another kiss on the
ished college. “It was forty-two for us, he lips, and another warm embrace, and she
said, and he thought of his own two chil- walked away to join with someone else.
dren, their successes, and he joined them
in a mutual congratulatory toast with the As he stood there watching her, he
champagne that they found at the table knew that it was a final good-bye, it would
when they had first sat down. be the last time that he would be with her.
The thought grew quickly and expanded.
Then the music started, and things He looked about the room. There was the
changed. He and his wife had loved dancing young and athletic Marjorie, all of twen-
and they were often the only couple on ty-one, and her mother, Sally, who was an-
the floor when jazzy or waltzy music was other of his favorite relatives. There were
playing. He immediately focused on the DJ so many, and they lived in so many different
as it seemed the song choices were chosen places in the world. They were all held to-
for his wedding and not his nieces. Interest gether with him through the memory of his
in his new friends waned, and he began to wife. Without hesitation he let the music
look for Rachel. He knew that he wanted a lead him to interact with each one, each
dance, maybe two, and since she was now lady, young or old, who he placed in his
living in Hawaii, close to her daughter, he physical memory alongside his wife’s as
knew that it might be one of the last dances he danced and shared the music and the
that they would ever have together again. heightened significance of the interaction.
Each time he spun one around, or stopped
The disc jockey had his number, and he suddenly changing the pace or the beat, the
smiled when he thought of Rosemary. She way he used to do with his wife, he recalled
had also had his number. What a place, he her smile because he knew that she was
thought, I am going to have fun tonight. The with him saying good-bye as well. He was
smooth jazz beats and long musical phrases dancing for both of them. All night he spun
fit his dancing style perfectly, and each and swirled, laughed and gasped for air, and
time he stepped on the floor he was again like a game of roulette, he saw the ball drop-
holding that magical moment. In his mind ping into its perfect place with each new
he could see he and his wife gliding across partner. It was his way of saying goodbye
the floor, around the floor and flirting with to his family who had come to share in this
disaster as he would change the beat with a destination.
step or two and bring her to a sudden stop

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

He saw Rachel for the last time the next He smiled, kissed her back, and his
morning at breakfast. They embraced and goodbye settled in his memory. He had done
she kissed him softly on the lips. “Thank the right thing!
you for coming. You were really something
on the dance floor last night. Jean is still
talking about it, and how you danced with
everyone. You made it a very special night.”

About the Author

Stephen Day writes about those lessons and memories
that he has gleaned from his family and friends. He enjoys
finding the meaning of things from everyday experiences.
He is currently living in Costa Rica where he has time to
write and reflect.

38

THIRTEEN

by Alyssa Taylor

“We have to go,” Christian whispered to him- standing there trembling in a dark hallway
self. was the most disgraced, alone, and judged
Christian had ever felt.
Four months, twenty-three days, seven-
teen hours, forty minutes, and twenty-six He closed his eyes and prayed a silent
seconds was how long it took to plan this prayer to a God he knew had grown deaf
heist. as he aged.

Twelve paintings. That was the job, nothing And there Toni was standing in the
more, nothing less. middle of a room with his hands in pockets.
His eyes fixated on the scene depicted in
Christian stood still for a second, lis- the painting beyond the velvet rope. Toni
tening for movement other than his own swayed back and forth ever so slightly,
after he slung the weighted duffle bag over causing the keys in his pockets to jingle.
his shoulder. The gallery wasn’t massive,
but it wasn’t too far from elaborate, and the Christian walked toward him, the heel of
halls mirrored more a maze than a gallery. his shoe clicking against the hard wooden
Some of the corridors lead nowhere, while floor and echoing through the gallery.
some curved into abstract causing Chris-
tian’s head to spin. “We need to leave,” Christian said. He
stared at Toni’s side, hoping Toni would break
He checked frantically over his shoulder. his trance-like state and turn to face him, but
The hairs on the back of his neck standing Toni’s eyes remained on the painting.
straight, sent a shot of adrenaline through
his body as his eyes scanned the room. Christian rolled his eyes, staring at the
Paintings that still hung peered at him. Their painting in hopes of figuring what was so
eyes gored a gateway into Christian sending fascinating about it.
shivers down his spine. Eyes from a self-por-
trait saw Christian steal money from cash At first glance, it was just people on a ship.
registers at gas stations. Another looked in
horror as Christian slaughtered two men On second glance, the scene was trav-
in cold blood. It should have settled his elers seeking refuge in a distant country.
nerves that they were their only witnesses
to his crimes, but the rumination churned On third glance, it was God’s wrath.
his stomach. Their eyes bore judgment and
“We have to go,” Christian said.

Christian glanced at the painting again,
the temptation to strip the piece from its

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

encasing and paint his own strokes of ad- The only sound that remained was Chris-
miration. tian’s heartbeat ringing in his ears.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Toni asked. Christian didn’t know how he got in
the car, but he was sitting in the passenger
“Very,” Christian said. seat in a vehicle speeding away from Bos-
ton’s lights. He looked down at his hands
“We could take it, you know,” Toni said. to see them cut up with splinters. Christian
looked in the rearview mirror to see some-
Christian’s heart rate climbed at the thing obscuring his view. He turned to see
thought of extending his hand past the the painting still in its frame sitting in the
velvet rope. His hands trembled as he fought back seat.
to keep his arms at bay. Toni’s words rang in
Christian’s head. “You could’ve at least taken the painting
out of the frame,” Toni said.
Christian felt the eyes of the paintings
on his back. He would rather submit to their Christian glanced back at the painting
judgment than take the painting and saw one man holding the rope of the
sail, staring back at him. His eyes weren’t as
“No, we gotta go,” Christian said. detailed as the portraits, but something
about the man seemed sinister, he ap-
Toni sighed before rolling his eyes. “You’re peared to be smiling, and Christian couldn’t
no fun. You let this shit get in your head.” help but smile back.

Toni turned on his heels and walked
away - disappearing into a dark hallway.

“How does he know his way around this
place?” Christian said to the darkness.

About the Author

Alyssa Taylor is an aspiring show creator attending Full Sail University, working towards a
Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing. She will be the first of her family to graduate from

college and obtain a degree. She is currently working
on Twilight of the Avatar, a spinoff of Avatar, the Last
Airbender series, and This is America, a crime show
thriller that follows a dance between a cop and a serial
killer. Alyssa hopes to use these experiences to further
her skills in working with new people so; that when she
opens up her own company, she will have the skills she
needs to ensure collaborative effort from all departments.
In her downtime, she enjoys spending time with her family,
watching movies, cooking, studying psychology, or reading
her favorite book, The Odyssey, by Homer.

40

THREE SIDES TO
EVERY STORY

by Brooke Reynolds

The Woman that longed only to make a living to provide
food to feed their family. All this destruction
Collapsing structures, boarded up windows, caused by a missile from a passing warship;
and heaping mounds of trash are what I collateral damage. This was how I lost my
see from my office window and yet, I am husband, my children’s father.
the lucky one. My babies will eat and their
bones will be clothed tonight. This liberat- But I am not bitter. Loss is part of life. I
ing job has freed me from nights filled with am glad for what I have, which is more than
scratchy beards and beads of sweat that others. A few years ago, a woman like my-
drip onto bare flesh in exchange for shekels. self would never have been allowed to have
But I’m still not free. this job. Now, I work in an office building
managing inventory for an equipment com-
Beyond the rubble is the sea. In Gaza, pany. I like to sit and look out the window
the sea is my jewel. What I love most about of the building I am grateful for and search
the sea, is the feeling of freedom and in- the sky for birds and think how free they
finity. The sea is uncontrollable. The roar of must be. The walls of the building act as a
the waves drown out any bad thoughts that sanctuary from the constant vibrations as
flood my mind. The sea is the one place I the earth shakes and more victims fall. It is
can bring my children where they will feel while looking out the window that I see a
safe. man.

But my jewel is also a reminder of the Seeing this man aches my stomach. He
prison I am locked in every single day. The slinks through the front door of the ware-
waves that bring me peace also carry war- house across the way with the boarded-up
ships. Every grain of sand holds the story windows. He has a scratchy beard like the
of a dead child lying next to a bucket and men I’ve served in my past life. He also has a
shovel that was meant to build sandcastles noticeable limp and talks to a guard outside
instead of digging graves. Every drop of the door. This warehouse, like many of the
water holds the story of a dead fisherman

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

buildings surrounding us, used to be aban- I take great care in my work. I double
doned. check my measurements and add the in-
gredients at a slow rate. There are others
Maybe I should tell my boss about the who work for me, but I am responsible for
man, but I fear if I do, I will lose my job. I making sure everything is assembled cor-
cannot go back to the old ways. I cannot risk rectly. If I don’t mix the fertilizer with the
being out in the open, out on the streets, fuel at the correct ratio, I’ll be left with a
out near the warships. I need the money to slow burn instead of the explosion we’re
feed my babies so I choose silence. attempting to achieve. Ammonium nitrate
can be a very fickle element. The first thing
I crack the office window to let in a warm to happen will be the explosion of the det-
spring breeze, and I pause. A screeching onator that creates a wave that vaporizes
sound is approaching, like a hawk diving for the ammonium nitrate and causes large
its prey, screaming louder as it gets closer amounts of gas to form. This drives the big
until there’s heat… BOOM.

The Man A whistle like a pot boiling rings in my
ears. It grows louder until there’s heat…
As a chemist, I know that nitrogen is es-
sential for both the maintenance as well as The Other Man
the destruction of life. While I tend to fo-
cus on the essential nature of this element, Coordinates are locked in at thirty-nine de-
my boss requires me to focus on its darker grees and forty-nine seconds north by thir-
aspects. Sometimes more death is the only ty-four degrees and forty-four seconds east.
way to honor your family.
My headset continues to confirm the lo-
Since I sprained my ankle last week, I’m cation. “Roger that”, I say as the plane slows.
behind on production. I was out on the I make one more circle ‘round. It’s scorching
beach with the kids and tripped on some- hot in the cockpit and I blink away the sweat
thing buried beneath the shallow sand. I as it drips into my eyes.
probably should have sought medical at-
tention, but doctors are busy dealing with The dashboard serves up the scene. The
real injuries. So instead, I limp through the land below is a flat map of muddy browns
pain. My boss has threatened my family if I mixed with asphalt gray bordered by a deep
don’t finish in time. He is a very serious man. blue of the adjacent sea; a full-on Picasso
from the sky. The crashing waves remind
We keep the operation running in a me of home, of summer vacations with the
warehouse with boarded up windows. We wife and a cool, refreshing mojito with its
used to be closer to the sea but recently taste of mint and lime. I lift my visor and
moved several buildings away from the wipe away the sweat to clear my eyes.
shore. Now, we operate next to an office
supply manufacturing plant. The sea had From this distance, I can’t make out the
too much traffic. Guards stand watch at the difference between buildings. I only have to
entrance to the new facility because there be close enough. My stomach flips with the
are too many people watching. We can’t change in altitude or maybe with what I’m
risk being found. about to do. The last strike I was off target

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Revista Literária Adelaide

but thankfully the building hit was empty. I toes sink in the sand and to watch him ex-
reassure my conscience that I am just fol- perience the waves against his feet.
lowing orders and this time I’ll hit my mark.
I’m directly over the target now so I flip
The thought of my wife welcoming me off the safety cap and wait for the signal. My
home with her pregnant belly, so round and thumb rubs the inviting red button, swirling
full of promise keeps me going. I’m sure our and teasing. I hear the order and my thumb
son will be born by the time I see her again. presses down.
I can’t wait to take him to the beach, let his

About the Author

Brooke Reynolds is a veterinarian from Charlotte, North
Carolina. When she isn’t saving animals, she enjoys
reading and writing fiction. Her stories have appeared
at such online and print markets as Massacre Magazine,
Fantasia Divinity, The Airgonaut, The Literary Hatchet,
Ghost Parachute, Every Day Fiction, Riggwelter, Ricky’s
Back Yard, Coffin Bell, Ink Stains Anthology, Sanitarium
Magazine, and The Horror Zine. Her forthcoming novel
HEALERS is set to be published by Adelaide Books in
early 2021. You can follow her on twitter @psubamit or
check out her website reynoldswrites.org.

43

EMPTY FRAME

by Delancy Gunther

Ben’s paintbrush danced across the canvas in Finally, the weeping willow was all that
unwavering arcs. Greens and blues splashed was left. Ben wanted to weep too, but he
together in vibrant harmony, a clear midday had to finish this. The trunk leaned to-
sky mixed with the bright green leaves of ward the fountain, yet never did it touch,
a weeping willow tree accented by gentle branches reaching toward the sky. The
hues of gold. A sunny day in a beautiful gar- leaves hung like soft green curtains, envel-
den unveiled with each stroke. oping the area enough for privacy without
needing to hide the rest of the garden nor
Marianne would love this. Ben smiled, the chateau that it resided in.
touching up the details of a statue in the
background. Marianne would remove her gloves,
guiding her hand through the streams in
Beige and white colors blended with tandem with the wind. Gentle hums car-
the terracotta pathway leading from the ried a lingering tune as she twirled amongst
back door to the central fountain, winding leaves and rose petals, even in the winter
around it before splitting off into two sepa- snow Marianne would dance like no one
rate paths. One led to Marianne’s cherished was there. But spring held a powerful magic
rose bushes, peeking around the corner on this tree. On the lowest branch, over a
like a mischievous child. She, like a doting patch of green by the statue, was a swing
mother, would tend to them often, apron aloft with rope and white ribbons.
stained and face damp with sweat from the
long day. The other rested at the base of Marianne, barefoot while adorned in
the tea area where many a pleasant conver- pastel dresses and matching sunhats would
sation took place. Laughter filled the air as soar on this swing. Higher and higher, child-
Ben told a joke, much to Marianne’s delight. like laughter pealing with each timed kick,
hair sailing like a ship out the harbor. A
Next were the benches, dark iron at- blissful time filled with warmth and sweet
tached to bold wooden seats, two on ei- fragrant roses.
ther side of the fountain. How the fountain
would glisten in the afternoon light before All had faded once pungent paint
moonlight crept in. It was quiet, peaceful, brought Ben back to his senses. Paintbrush
and empty save for two lovely souls dancing halfway done with the swing, he added
beneath the stars in only their silk night- the finishing touches and took a step back.
wear. But they didn’t care. Beautiful. Ben wiped remnants of paint off

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Revista Literária Adelaide

his cheek, damp with sweat and stained by single empty frame hanging on the wall.
grief. How long had he stood there painting, The same room that he and Marianne had
unaware of the tears marring his face until fought over— where he had found her, cold
now? and lifeless, in a pool of blood that mingled
with the semi dried oil paints staining the
It was this place, this accursed land that wooden floor.
no longer had a purpose, scarred by years
of sorrow and neglect. Browns and grays, In all of that time, Ben blamed himself. If
broken tiles, standing water, and decaying he hadn’t been so caught up in his work, if
rust were all that remained of his old home. they had only talked it out, then she would
No amount of paint could ever bring those still be here. Out in garden, laughing and
joyous colors back, yet he still tried. On this smiling the way she always did.
day for the past forty years, Ben painted.
But she was gone. There was nothing left
He painted until the day was done, then of that time any more. Only the memories
stowed it away amongst his growing collec- remained. No matter how many times Ben
tion in a secret room behind a bookshelf in finished the painting he could never bring
the study. The same room that was once himself to hang it on the wall.
his art studio. The same room that had a
So, the frame remained empty.

About the Author

Delancy Gunther is an upcoming writer who aspires to
become an author through hard work and perseverance.
Her favorite genres include, but are not limited to, fantasy,
romance, and drama.

45

DAMAGED GOODS

by Steve Slavin

1 2

Rather late one weekday evening, I saw a Fifth and Fifth obviously took its name
very attractive woman struggling to pull a from its location on Fifth Ave. at the cor-
huge suitcase up the subway station stairs. ner of Fifth Street, in what had long been
the slummy part of Park Slope, now one of
“May I help you?” Brooklyn’s most desirable and expensive
neighborhoods. I waited for Zoey in front
She gave me the onceover, and after of the restaurant, and she was fashionably
concluding that I did not appear to be an late.
axe murderer, she thanked me. Ten min-
utes later, we were standing in front of When she finally arrived and began to
her building. I was about to ask her for her apologize, I waved her off.
number when she handed me her card. She
was an assistant buyer for a major depart- “Zoey, trust me…, you are well worth the
ment store. wait!”

“You must be very important.” “That’s very nice of you to say, but after
the day I just had, I’m not sure I’ll be very
She laughed. “Yeah, right! If you’d like – good company.”
if you can spare the time – I could tell you
all about my … quote unquote … wonderful “I would rather be with you on one of
job.” your bad days than with most of my friends
on their good days.”
“You really hate your work!”
“You may want to re-evaluate after to-
“That would be the understatement of night.”
the year!”
“What happened?”
“I’ll tell you what. How about dinner at
Fifth and Fifth this weekend?” “We had our quarterly assistant buyers’
day sale. The store advertises about how
“Well, if you don’t mind dinning with a this is a great opportunity for its assistant
very tired boring person, how about nine buyers to show off their talents. We get
o’clock on Saturday night?” to pick out the items that go on sale, and
then we’re on our feet for ten hours getting
“Sounds like a plan.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

pinched in the ass, propositioned, and even “Listen buddy, we have some pretty
worse things that I can’t even talk about. dumb employees!”
And worst of all, since we get fixed salaries,
we don’t even get paid for the day!” Just then, Zoey came out of the elevator.
“Hey Jimmy, yuh gonna do another strip
“Well, why don’t we go inside and sit search?”
down? Your feet must be killing you!”
“Nah, you’re clean! Have a nice evening.”
“Yeah, but the rest of my body feels even
worse!” 4

“You know, I do give decent massages.” We walked a few blocks to a restaurant she
liked. “Do you bring all your beaus here?”
She smiled. “Well, maybe later. Right
now, I’m starving.” “Only the ones who make me split the
check.”
3
“Hey, I’m old enough to remember when
We began seeing each other most week- we had to pay full freight.”
ends and occasionally during the week as
well. Zoey worked in a five-story building “Yes, Steve, even I remember those good
across the street from the store. I waited old days.”
for her in the lobby.
“Hard to believe!”
I noticed the guard checking the shop-
ping bags, pocketbooks, packages, and “Why just the other day a kindly young
carrying cases of the people leaving the man asked if I’d like him to help me cross
building. That seemed kind of weird, be- the street.”
cause virtually everyone coming out of
the building was an employee of the store “Sounds like a pick-up line.”
across the street. So, the guard must have
been assuming that they pilfered stuff from “You want to hear a real pickup line?” She
inside the store perhaps at lunchtime, and paused. “Can I help you with that suitcase?’”
then brought it into this building – didn’t
make much sense. We both burst out laughing. Then I
leaned across the table and kissed her.
Maybe the third or fourth time I was
waiting for Zoey, I causally asked the guard The kiss seemed to last and last. Finally,
why he was searching employees as they both of us sensed a growing silence, and
left the building. then we noticed the waitress standing near
us, a big smile on her face.
“Well, some of them steal stuff from the
store during their lunch hour, and then Then she asked, “Where do you guys
bring it back in here when they come back think you are? … In Paris?”
from lunch.”
“You mean, we’re not? I asked in faux dis-
“That’s pretty dumb! Especially since belief?
they must know that you’re going to check
them when they leave.” “Actually, “added Zoey, “we really did come
here to eat.”

“Well, I’m happy to tell you that you came
to the right place.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Thank you!” said Zoey, “Could we start were perhaps the worst of these. There was
off with a couple of glasses of white wine?” also the unpaid overtime, the strict dress
code, and the blatant sexual harassment by
“And what are your specials this eve- their “superiors,” who were all males.
ning?” I asked.
“Let me tell you about one especially
We quickly ordered, and then Zoey said, obnoxious term that is commonly used to
“Steve, I want to ask you a question, but you describe the women over thirty…. Are you
can definitely feel free to say ‘no.’” ready for this, Steve?”

“Yes!” I nodded.

“Great!! …But aren’t you curious what my “They call us ‘career girls.’”
question is?”
“Lovely.”
“Sure!”
“But that’s not all. folks! Almost every-
“OK! Would you like to come to wedding body working there is treated badly, one
with me?” way or another.”

“Does this have anything to do with a “Jimmy had mentioned that there was a
heavy suitcase?” big problem with employee pilferage.”

She gave me a strange look. “Actually, it “Jimmy doesn’t even know the half of it.”
does!”
“Since I love listening to you, you can tell
“Well, if the outcome is the same this me the other half.”
time, then I’m definitely all in.”
“Well, you are about to become indirectly
“Great! Then sit back, young man. This is involved in this. But, on the bright side, I
going to be a long story.” think a good lawyer would be able to get
you off without you having to do any prison
5 time.”

It took almost an hour to fill me in on all “With that guarantee, it appears to be a
the details. I would be just a bit player in a win-win situation. I’ll get to play a small role
complicated morality play. Most of the ac- in advancing the cause of social justice, and
tion would take place in “the store.” get a free lunch as well.”

Zoey and virtually all of her fellow em- “Actually, it’s going to be a free dinner,
ployees referred to this very large and well- and you will also get a free suit that will be
known department store as “the store.” yours to keep.”
The pay was lousy, nearly all of the women
working there were disparaged, and man- I tried to figure out where this was going.
agement was at best “clueless.” But just then, the waitress arrived with our
food. We decided to save this discussion for
The assistant buyers – all of whom were later.
young women – felt especially put upon by
management, since they were forced to work 6
long hours for relatively low salaries, and
were periodically called upon to do rather It was nearly midnight when we left the
unpleasant tasks. Assistant buyers’ days restaurant and headed toward my apart-

48