Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 31, December 2019

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 IV, Number 31, December 2019 Stevan V. Nikolic
Ano IV, Número 31, Dezembro 2019
editor@adelaidemagazine.org
ISBN-13: 978-1-951896-26-3
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 Phoenix DeSimone, Glenda Kleinig,
the writers we publish, helping both new, emerging, and Dennis Vannatta, Rachael Biggs,
established authors reach a wider literary audience. Keith Rosson, Hannah Newman,
Robert Gamer, Robert Fox,
A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação men-
sal internacional e independente, localizada em Nova Michael Hetherton, Geoffrey Heptonstall,
Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic e Ade- Tom O'Brien, John Califano,
laide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objectivo da revista é
publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e fotografia de Spencer Storey Johnson, Patrick Legay,
qualidade assim como entrevistas, artigos e críticas Maria Espinosa, Sue Brennan, Joel Howard,
literárias, escritas em inglês e por-tuguês. Pretendemos
publicar ficção, não-ficção e poesia excepcionais assim Simon Lowe, Kaylee Coffman (writing as
como promover os escritores que publicamos, ajudan- Callista Van Allen), Christie Cochrell,
do os autores novos e emergentes a atingir uma audiên-
cia literária mais vasta. Emily Sullivan, Dale Stuckey, Toni Morgan,
Franklin Powers, Louis Gallo,
(http://adelaidemagazine.org)
Richard Risemberg, James Hanna,
Published by: Adelaide Books, New York Alex de Cruz, Ian Bishop, Daniel Thompson,
244 Fifth Avenue, Suite D27 Cathy Beaudoin, Edith Boyd, Leo Vanderpot,
New York NY, 10001 Adam Wagner, Mike Fumai, Keith Hoerner,
e-mail: info@adelaidemagazine.org
phone: (917) 477 8984 Timothy Robbins, Byron Beynon,
http://adelaidebooks.org LB Sedlacek, Diane Webster,

Copyright © 2019 by Adelaide Literary Magazine Pitambar Naik, Mark Tulin, RC deWinter,
Jason Boone, Doug Bolling, Mark Young,
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written Jean-Luc Fontaine, Terry Brinkman,
permission from the Adelaide Literary Maga-zine Karen Deaver, Steven Gerber
Editor-in-chief, except in the case of brief quo-tations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.

CONTENTS / CONTEÚDOS

EDITOR’S NOTES STOOGES IN PARADISE
FIVE YEARS AGO 5 by Louis Gallo 150
THE DAY IT ALMOST SNOWED
FICTION by Richard Risemberg 157
ZOMBIES, VAMPIRES, AND YE OLD WOMEN DO YOU DO HITS?
OF THE KNIGHT by Phoenix DeSimone 11 by James Hanna 160
THE PHONE BOX AT THE EDGE OF TIME
by G. M. Klein 20 NONFICTION
KNIGHT ERRANT by Dennis Vannatta 23 MEMORIES OF POLAND
BABY ON BOARD by Rachael Biggs 30 by Alex de Cruz 169
FRIED PICKLES by Hannah Newman 35 TWO STORIES OF YOUTH
THE EAGLE AND THE RAVEN by Ian Bishop 177
by Robert Gamer 40 ROUNDING THE SQUARE:
FOR EMILY by R. J. Fox 45 A SHAMANIC APPROACH TO GENDER
SOBER RIDER by Michael Hetherton 50 by Daniel Thompson 184
INSIDE OUTSIDE by Geoffrey Heptonstall 61 THE SPACE BETWEEN DARKNESS AND LIGHT
MADE TO DECAY by Tom O’Brien 66 by Cathy Beaudoin 189
TREASURE MAP TO SUCCESS A SUB ON THE FIRST TEAM
by John Califano 68 by Leo Vanderpot 193
EULOGY by Spencer Storey Johnson 73 POOP LIKE A LOCAL by Adam Wagner 197
THE LIFE COACH by Patrick Douglas Legay 81 SPACE AND OTHER TRAVEL DESTINATIONS:
RUNAWAY by Maria Espinosa 89 PACKING FOR ZERO G
THE FLAT ABOVE by Sue Brennan 93 by Mike Fumai 199
THE PIT by Joel Howard 103
ENDANGERED by Simon Lowe 110 POETRY
FABULOUSLY FALLEN SWALLOW
by Callista Van Allen 120 by Keith Hoerner 205
CHICAGO by Emily Sullivan 123 MOTHERHOOD’S COLOR WHEEL
MURMURS by Dale Stuckey 125 by Timothy Robbins 206
IT WAS HIS HABIT TO GO TO BED EARLY LISBON by Byron Beynon 210
by Toni Morgan 134 ALTERED by LB Sedlacek 212
THE CANDLE CURSE: NICE OR NEVER HEARING by Diane Webster 215
by Franklin Powers 145 BALM by Pitambar Naik 218
UNLIKE A DREAM by Mark Tulin 222

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

SOME MONDAY OR ANOTHER ANTJE TAYLOR
by RC deWinter 225 Finalist of the Adelaide Books
Children’s Literature Award 265
DEAR PROFESSOR
by Jason Boone 228 CAROLYN WEISBECKER
Finalist of the Adelaide Books
THE ARENA Children’s Literature Award 267
by Doug Bolling 231
ROBERT HOLCOMB III
CONSTANT CRAVING Finalist of the Adelaide Books
by Mark Young 234 Children’s Literature Award 269

LISP LAURA MUNCIE
by Jean-Luc Fontaine 238 Finalist of the Adelaide Books
Children’s Literature Award 271
SHADOWS AT NOON
by Terry Brinkman 242 AASHI PARIKH
Finalist of the Adelaide Books
WOMEN IN LOVE Children’s Literature Award 273
by Karen Deaver 244
ADRIAN HARDY HANSEN
AFTERNOON MUSING Finalist of the Adelaide Books
by Steven Gerber 247 Children’s Literature Award 275

INTERVIEWS ERIN LEE CARMAN
Winner of the Adelaide Books
GAYLE COMPTON Children’s Illustration Award 277
Winner of the Adelaide
Books Children’s Literature Award 251 TAMMY BOHLENS
Shortlist Winner Nominee
JULIE REED of the Adelaide Books
Shortlist Winner Nominee Children’s Illustration Award 279
of the Adelaide Books
Children’s Literature Award 254 MARIANNE SONG
Shortlist Winner Nominee
LAZARO MARIANO PEREZ of the Adelaide Books
Shortlist Winner Nominee Children’s Illustration Award 281
of the Adelaide Books
Children’s Literature Award 256 LISA WEE
Shortlist Winner Nominee
RITA GLEN of the Adelaide Books
Shortlist Winner Nominee Children’s Illustration Award 284
of the Adelaide Books
Children’s Literature Award 258 ANNALEIGHA WILKE
Finalist of the Adelaide Books
TONI FUHRMAN Children’s Illustration Award 286
Finalist of the Adelaide Books
Children’s Literature Award 260 MIRELA MANDZO
Finalist of the Adelaide Books
SUSAN L. POLLET Children’s Illustration Award 288
Finalist of the Adelaide Books
Children’s Literature Award 263

4

FIVE YEARS AGO

A REPRINT OF THE EDITOR'S NOTES FROM THE
ADELAIDE LITERARY MAGAZINE NO. 1

WHERE ARE WE COMING FROM AND
WHERE ARE WE GOING TO?

Book publishing industry is in the midst So, what makes literary periodicals im-
of its historic transformation with nobody mune to big changes in the world of cre-
able to predict the final outcome. With lo- ative writing and publishing? Well, different
cal independent bookstores trying to find journals have different business models, but
new ways to bring customers to their doors, many are nonprofits or attached to educa-
several bankruptcies of the major book re- tional institutions, and generally, all depend
tailers, amazon’s and Google’s offensives on support of dedicated readers rather than
in all aspects of book production and dis- appealing to mass audiences.
tribution, panic of the book publishing pro-
fessionals in the face of e-reader, indie and Literary magazines generally do not
POD publishing, it would seem that literary make large profits because they do not
endeavors of all kinds are under attack in cater to mainstream audiences who have
this digital age. commercial tastes. For those authors who
want to see their work published in literary
Nevertheless, literary magazines are magazines, it’s important that they sub-
doing as good as ever. Maybe even better, scribe to literary magazines in order to help
taking into account that the membership keep the market for creative writing alive
of the Council of Literary Magazines and and well.
Presses, one of the main associations of lit-
erary periodicals, has more than doubled in As many other literary periodicals, Ade-
last ten years, from 230 to more than 500 laide Literary Magazine (ALM) typically pub-
publications and small presses. lish short fiction, poetry, essays, excerpts

5

Adelaide Literary Magazine

from novels, book reviews, overview of new Literary magazine subscribers are typi-
book titles, as well as art and photography. cally sophisticated, dedicated, and opinion-
Our focus is very wide, and range from ated readers. Literary magazines are good
mainstream literature to specific topics, testing grounds for any writer desiring affir-
such as nature, politics, or esoteric. mation from his readership. We encourage
our readers to write to us, participate in the
We strongly encourage submissions by live blogtalkradio broadcasts, and express
new and indie writers. Our goal is to find, their opinions. Their opinions are very valu-
present, and shine the spotlight on great able to us.
writing, regardless of the author’s experi-
ence level. It is public knowledge that many More so, taking into account that often,
well-known writers got their start in the many lit-mag readers are writers and au-
pages of literary magazines. So, our goal is thors themselves. We ask all our contrib-
to accommodate a nesting place for best- uting authors to subscribe to ALM, not only
selling wordsmiths of the future. Generally, as a sign of support, which is very important
we try to have and maintain a literary feel. for our survival, but also to use ALM as a
Emphasis is on style and insight. valuable source of inspiration and reference
for the benefit of their own work. So far,
At the same time, we are not trying to about 40% of our contributors are regular
build a set of strict editorial standards. We subscribers as well.
desire each issue to be unique and different
as much as possible. For this reason, we are In some very old esoteric rituals, one can
inviting new “guest editors” for each subse- come across particular question: “Where are
quent issue, giving them liberty to get their you coming from and where are you going
own approach to whatever is that they want to?” The answer is: “Coming from the West,
to deliver. traveling East, and in search of Light...” If
somebody ask me the same question in ref-
The main word in our editorial policy erence to ALM, my answer would be prob-
is “opportunity.” Giving opportunity to all ably the same. Creative writing of any kind
those authors who seek to express them- has been always the source of great light
selves through the pages of ALM, without for the humanity, and it is our desire and
making a final judgment of the importance duty to do our part in the noble endeavor of
and value of what they have to offer. That finding and bringing that light to our readers.
doesn’t mean that we would publish any-
thing submitted to us. It just means that we Are we going to succeed? Only time
are open to innovations, experiments, and will tell. Our intentions are good and we
even controversies. work diligently to improve all aspects of
the ALM project. We still need to develop
By connecting ALM print publication, and strengthen subscribers base. Being an
ALM website, ALM blogs, ALM blogtalkradio independent publication, our main source
broadcast, and possibly latter and live of support comes out of subscriptions.
stream video, we want to form an open
platform for literary expressions, consisting Mark Twain once said: “The time to
of different media, where writers and indie begin writing an article is when you have
authors would feel comfortable presenting finished it to your satisfaction. By that time
their work to wide and diverse audience. you begin to clearly and logically perceive

6

Revista Literária Adelaide

what it is you really want to say.” This quote it’s important that they subscribe to literary
is probably the most appropriate to de- magazines in order to help keep the market
scribe my feelings about literary magazines for creative writing alive and well.
in general, and about ALM in particular. The
greatest advantage of running a literary As many other literary periodicals, Ade-
magazine is in having an opportunity to laide Literary Magazine (ALM) typically pub-
make it better with each subsequent issue. lish short fiction, poetry, essays, excerpts
Our first issue is done to “our satisfaction.” from novels, book reviews, overview of new
book titles, as well as art and photography.
Book publishing industry is in the midst Our focus is very wide, and range from
of its historic transformation with nobody mainstream literature to specific topics,
able to predict the final outcome. With such as nature, politics, or esoteric.
local independent bookstores trying to find
new ways to bring customers to their doors, We strongly encourage submissions by
several bankruptcies of the major book re- new and indie writers. Our goal is to find,
tailers, amazon’s and Google’s offensives present, and shine the spotlight on great
in all aspects of book production and dis- writing, regardless of the author’s experi-
tribution, panic of the book publishing pro- ence level. It is public knowledge that many
fessionals in the face of e-reader, indie and well-known writers got their start in the
POD publishing, it would seem that literary pages of literary magazines. So, our goal is
endeavors of all kinds are under attack in to accommodate a nesting place for best-
this digital age. selling wordsmiths of the future. Generally,
we try to have and maintain a literary feel.
Nevertheless, literary magazines are Emphasis is on style and insight.
doing as good as ever. Maybe even better,
taking into account that the membership At the same time, we are not trying to
of the Council of Literary Magazines and build a set of strict editorial standards. We
Presses, one of the main associations of lit- desire each issue to be unique and different
erary periodicals, has more than doubled in as much as possible. For this reason, we are
last ten years, from 230 to more than 500 inviting new “guest editors” for each subse-
publications and small presses. quent issue, giving them liberty to get their
own approach to whatever is that they want
So, what makes literary periodicals im- to deliver.
mune to big changes in the world of cre-
ative writing and publishing? Well, different The main word in our editorial policy
journals have different business models, but is “opportunity.” Giving opportunity to all
many are nonprofits or attached to educa- those authors who seek to express them-
tional institutions, and generally, all depend selves through the pages of ALM, without
on support of dedicated readers rather than making a final judgment of the importance
appealing to mass audiences. and value of what they have to offer. That
doesn’t mean that we would publish any-
Literary magazines generally do not make thing submitted to us. It just means that we
large profits because they do not cater to are open to innovations, experiments, and
mainstream audiences who have commer- even controversies.
cial tastes. For those authors who want to see
their work published in literary magazines, By connecting ALM print publication,
ALM website, ALM blogs, ALM blogtalkradio

7

Adelaide Literary Magazine

broadcast, and possibly latter and live to?” The answer is: “Coming from the West,
stream video, we want to form an open traveling East, and in search of Light...” If
platform for literary expressions, consisting somebody ask me the same question in ref-
of different media, where writers and indie erence to ALM, my answer would be prob-
authors would feel comfortable presenting ably the same. Creative writing of any kind
their work to wide and diverse audience. has been always the source of great light
for the humanity, and it is our desire and
Literary magazine subscribers are typi- duty to do our part in the noble endeavor of
cally sophisticated, dedicated, and opinion- finding and bringing that light to our readers.
ated readers. Literary magazines are good
testing grounds for any writer desiring affir- Are we going to succeed? Only time
mation from his readership. We encourage will tell. Our intentions are good and we
our readers to write to us, participate in the work diligently to improve all aspects of
live blogtalkradio broadcasts, and express the ALM project. We still need to develop
their opinions. Their opinions are very valu- and strengthen subscribers base. Being an
able to us. independent publication, our main source
of support comes out of subscriptions.
More so, taking into account that often,
many lit-mag readers are writers and au- Mark Twain once said: “The time to
thors themselves. We ask all our contrib- begin writing an article is when you have
uting authors to subscribe to ALM, not only finished it to your satisfaction. By that time
as a sign of support, which is very important you begin to clearly and logically perceive
for our survival, but also to use ALM as a what it is you really want to say.” This quote
valuable source of inspiration and reference is probably the most appropriate to de-
for the benefit of their own work. So far, scribe my feelings about literary magazines
about 40% of our contributors are regular in general, and about ALM in particular. The
subscribers as well. greatest advantage of running a literary
magazine is in having an opportunity to
In some very old esoteric rituals, one can make it better with each subsequent issue.
come across particular question: “Where are Our first issue is done to “our satisfaction.”
you coming from and where are you going

8

FICTION



ZOMBIES, VAMPIRES,
AND YE OLD WOMEN

OF THE KNIGHT

by Phoenix DeSimone

On Mondays, Wilbur would skip feeding ment he’d have to go through the stale, thick
the cats and making dinner. He’d punch off fog of cigarette smoke and walk on the sticky,
at his job making Xerox copies five days a beer stained floor before heading upstairs.
week, get in his car, and head for the bar. A bouncer stood at the foot of the stairs as
He’d grab the paperback he kept in the car Wilbur approached, arms crossed, scanning
out of the glovebox and try to remember around the nearly empty bar hall – I say bar
where he was last Monday; the bookmark hall because they had intended the down-
had been left at the bar one night and he stairs to be a pool-hall, but had forgot to
never had the guts to ask about it. The book measure for shit, so there was only one pool
was one by Susie Sullivan, a young aspiring table – for anyone causing a disturbance.
authoress who had never been traditional- The bouncer pivoted his head to Wilbur as
ly published, but Wilbur had followed her he stopped in front of him.
YA career ever since its infancy on Tumblr
and figured the least he could do was by “Can’t let you up there, sorry.”
a copy of her new novel she self-published.
“Is Sasha up there? I’m a Monday regular.”
Wilbur pulled the car around back this Wilbur said adjusting his glasses.
particular Monday and listened to the NPR
speaking-head go on about the new re- “No one’s up there. Top of Frank’s is closed
search that found 25% of men in their twen- tonight.”
ties reported having no sex in the last year.
I am about to be thirty, Wilbur thought to “Why?”
himself smirking. He pulled the key out of
the ignition and headed into the bar. Going “Fire this morning. And no, I don’t know
in through the back of Frank’s Sports Lounge what caused it.”

“Could you at least tell me if Sasha is here,
I –“

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Dude. You can go sit at a table somewhere acutely aware of how much time had trans-
down here or get the fuck out. It’s that simple.” pired. The only thing he knew now was
that it seemed as though our protagonist
“Fair enough.” Wilbur said walking away. wouldn’t win back its (I said it) high school
sweetheart. Sasha, he remembered Sasha
Sasha was one of Wilbur’s only friends. too. By now she at least would have come
They had dated once, way back in their to the table to ask him how the reading was
freshmen year of high school, when she going, or something to that effect. That and
was too shy to talk to anyone. None of this the thick fog drying out his saliva made him
mattered to him now. What really seemed finish the chapter, fold the corner of the
to bug him was that he never had a chance page, and head for the bar.
to fuck her and there was a part of him that
really wanted to now. Well, not just a part, As an asthmatic who never smoked, Wil-
it was a more like a quarter, maybe even a bur’s restricted lungs found it hard to tra-
half. See he had read this free Kindle eBook verse through the fog of carcinogens. The
collection of short stories by Susie Sullivan. bartender was a heavy-set man, much more
Every single short story in that collection so than Wilbur, and wore a black leather
was about a boy and a girl who had dated in jacket with the sleeves cut off. There were
high school, gone their separate ways, only some tattoos on his hair arms, one of which
to find out years later (and by years later was a rat with a knife in its belly with the
I mean both characters were 20 years old) words snitches get stitches circling around
they were meant to be together. Wilbur was the pest. He stood at the other end of the
convinced this was now the story of he and bar, talking to a group of three girls dressed
Sasha. in tight skirts and high heels.

The thing about a bar on a Monday in Wilbur looked over at the group of
a college town is that they’re slow – really young girls, their stilettos digging into the
slow. The students are all home recovering linoleum floor, while trying to remember
from their weekend bender and the em- what he drank. Was it a stout or an IPA?
ployees don’t even want to be there. So Maybe some micro-brew shit? I can’t even
much so that apparently a kitchen staff- remember what it was these days. The col-
member would accidentally catch the lege kids always seemed to want something
grease pit on fire. At that is what Walter light – Bud light, Miller light, Coors light – so
figured walking to an empty table in the he thought it must be half way decent. He
center of the foggy room. Wilbur pulled raised his hand and the bartender rolled his
out the chair, placed the novel on the table, eyes and started. One of the girls, a blonde
and rubbed his glasses on his shirt. He was with blue eyes, an ass that refused to fit into
on chapter 12: Déjà Vu. This was in many her dress and heels that made her at least
ways a sequel to those series of e-books five inches taller than Wilbur, looked over at
and Wilbur was sucking it in. our friend standing alone at the other end
of the bar. Wilbur made eye contact, quickly
Wilbur never knew how much time had looking away after he realized that she was
passed while he was reading. Unless it was smiling at him.
something for work, or one of those works
of literary greatness that he referred to A Bud Light was slammed on the bar and
as the “so-called-classics” – then he was Wilbur handed the man four-fifty before

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Revista Literária Adelaide

returning to his table. The paperback was “You don’t talk much, do you?” The blonde
opened, and Wilbur adjusted his glasses. said putting her hand against Wilbur’s.
Wilbur could read pretty fast – I think
about three pages a minute or something Wilbur closed the paperback, placed his
is what he told me – and he was deep into glasses on the table and took a drink from
chapter 13 by the time he’d pick up the pil- the Bud Light.
sner without even lifting his gaze. It tasted
like beer flavored water he would later say. “My name is Cynthia, what’s yours?”
He put the glass down in front of him and
realized that the blonde who had been at “Wilbur.” He said, placing the glass back
the other end of the bar was now sitting di- down.
rectly across from him, running her fingers
through her hair and smiling with her pearly “That’s a nice name.”
whites. A piece of tide gum rested between
her teeth. Wilbur blushed.

“How are you doing, handsome?” “Tell me, Wilbur.” She said as Wilbur gazed
into her blue eyes and wondered what Sasha
I bet you figured this, but Wilbur had would think if she saw this. “Why does a man
never been to good with the girls. Other come to a bar on Monday to read?”
than Sasha, and a girl who he’d never name
from college, Wilbur didn’t spend too much Wilbur didn’t respond – he wasn’t quite
time around the ladies. He definitely like sure he wanted to. What could he tell her?
girls, (he told me that he figured that out That he’d gone to VCU for creative writing?
in college, but that’s a story for a different That he was shot down by anyone he asked
time) but he never had the gusto to go talk to read his stories, and ridiculed for wanting
to them. Sasha and that girl from college, to write young-adult fiction by his profes-
if she even exists, must have come up and sors and peers? Oh, he most certainly could
talked to Wilbur first. not tell her that. He couldn’t tell her that he
gave up that dream to major in Business like
She sat there, still playing with her hair the rest of the heard. He couldn’t tell her
and smiling as Wilbur occasionally looked that every month or so he’d open up Mic-
up from the paperback. Sweat began to rosoft Word and type out a few thousand
form as he flipped from page to page. He words before saving it in a folder named To
was hoping somewhere in this work of fic- Be Continued, never to be seen again. He
tion he could find a scene where the guy most certainly couldn’t explain that he was
picks up the girl, but no such luck. This was living his dream vicariously through some
a novel written by a woman for a young nineteen-year-old-nobody who sold her
adult audience, and despite the heavy use eBook on amazon and paperbacks on her
of every trope from every romantic comedy website. He simply couldn’t, so he didn’t.
movie Wilbur had ever seen, the guy she
was falling for was definitely a punk. There “Earth to Wilbur.” She said waving her
wasn’t a damn thing this caricature of a hand in front of her face.
man did for himself, and it started to make
Wilbur question if a nineteen-year-old au- “Sorry,” he said wiping his eyelids. “got
thor knew anything of love in the first place. lost there for a second. I just enjoy reading.”

“A bar is an interesting place to pick, I’ll
tell you that much.” She said stroking her
hair again. “It’s cute though.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Cute?” “You sound like you could use a drink,” he
said looking down at her empty hand and
“Most men can’t even read.” bare ring finger. “Can I buy you one?”

Wilbur covered his face as he felt the Like every woman ever, she nodded her
beer-flavored water start to shoot up his head in agreement. They walked over to the
nostrils from laughter. He smiled at her bar and Cynthia asked for two coronas and
when he removed his hand and she smiled two shots of bourbon. Never having spent
back. He noticed the lack of a drink in her much time at a Mexican restaurant or on
hand, noticed how she played with her vacation, Wilbur had never had a corona
streaks of blonde hair methodically, like before. He handed the bartender a twenty
keeping time to a song – never missing a and waved him off when he brought back
beat as her index and thumb would go up the change. Tears formed in Wilbur’s eyes
and down what seemed like the same col- as the Kentucky Bourbon slid down the back
lection of strands. He looked back at her of his throat.
friends, the ones being wooed by the bar-
tender and wondered if Cynthia was just Apparently, Mexicans didn’t like the
lonely. He didn’t have on nice clothes, his taste of beer too much either, but the lime
glasses looked like they were from the 50’s, was definitely helping. Wilbur had no idea
and he had a gut that looked like it was what to do now. He didn’t know whether it
being supported by his belt buckle. was better to return to his table and find out
if the girl ends up with that loser or keep
“What is it you do in the real world?” talking to the first girl he could recall talking
to in a long time. Not just any long time, four
“Is this not the real world?” years to be exact. The last woman he talked
to, at least one around his own age, was a
“Most nights other than Monday this thin, tall, black lady who had come into the
place is fit for a movie about college stu- Xerox store to make some copies. She was
dents and their indulgence.” holding a copy of Twilight and had beauti-
fully white teeth. All Wilbur had managed
“You’re funny.” to ask her was if he could be her vampire
and buy her some coffee. She told him he
“Thanks.” Wilbur said taking another sip wasn’t her type, which Wilbur took to mean
to hide the redness in his cheeks. that she would have preferred the werewolf,
but that advance didn’t work either. She
“I sell cars. Over-priced Ford pickup trucks had to tell him she didn’t find him attrac-
to be exact.” tive and then he got it. He never spoke to
a female customer again. He always finds
“That sounds fun.” Wilbur said wishing some excuse as to why I should do it.
he said anything else.
Luckily, Wilbur didn’t have to deal with
“It’s not. You have to deal with shitty cus- thinking of something to say to Cynthia. She
tomers, a boss who inherited the dealer- leaned in close to Wilbur and whispered
ship from his daddy that has no idea what in his ear. Wilbur raised his eyebrows and
he’s doing, and I haven’t been able to sell looked around the nearly empty bar still
one of those red-neck-mobiles in over a covered in a fog of cigarette smoke. He’s
month.”

“How unfortunate.”

“It pays the bills.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

never told me what she said to him, but I “Call me sometime.”
know that what happened next is Wilbur
collected his belongings, left a nice tip on “I, I, will.” He said as she leaned in and
the bar for the bartender and the two of kissed him again before opening her door.
them travelled outside. Cynthia lit a ciga-
rette, Wilbur didn’t even say anything, and “Bye, Willie.”
got into his BMW that had never allotted
him one pretty lady until right now. She She stepped out of the BMW and shut
turned on the radio and began dancing in the door.
her seat to the classic rock songs playing
over the radio. “Bye.” He said with an extremely awk-
ward wave.
Wilbur wasn’t quite too sure of what
was going on, but he was just thankful To hear Wilbur tell it, that was the most
that he had paid the extra for the leather. memorable drive home ever. The air was
Wilbur, being the Wilbur that he is, didn’t pure-er, the stars were brighter, the drivers
realize that if a woman gets into your car, were nicer, and all sorts of other bullshit.
she’s probably willing to go home with you. He picked up one of the cats when he got
Wilbur went to open his mouth to speak home and danced around the room with it.
when Cynthia rolled down her window, Holding it high in the sky while it looked at
tossed out the cigarette, and leaned in close him disappointingly with the lack of any 80s
to him. Wilbur watched the smoke glide out music to back this up. Wilbur put the cat
the window. Then she did it. She kissed him. down after he started yelling and scratching.
If I had to guess, Wilbur threw Susie’s Novel
“I’ve got to get going, Wilbur.” She said. off his night stand for once in his life and
rubbed out a good one.
Wilbur said nothing. Cynthia smiled at
him and touched his face as his eyes ad- The next Monday Wilbur left the Xerox
justed back to reality. office and headed straight for the bar, per
usual. He had spent the whole week texting
“You’re cute.” back and forth with Cynthia – exchanging
life stories, winking faces and even semi-
“Than –“ nude photos. He felt his heart pounding
as he pulled into the parking lot. Wilbur
“I have to go,” she said pulling a pen out grabbed Susie Sullivan’s novel out of his
of her purse. “You wouldn’t happen to have glovebox and headed for the bar.
a piece of paper, would you?”
He took a seat at the bar, placed the pa-
Wilbur used to keep a pack of sticky perback on the stool next him and waited
notes in the glove compartment, but I asked for the bartender to approach. It was the
to borrow them once with no intention of biker dude again. Before Wilbur could get
giving them back. I like to do things like the words out of his mouth, the bartender
that to Wilbur – it really gets him going. He turned around and poured him a Bud Light.
picked up Susie’s novel and turned to a blank Wilbur went to take out his wallet, but the
page. He ripped out the page and handed bartender shook his head: “This one’s on me,
it to Cynthia who pushed the plunger down Willy.” He didn’t pay much mind to the fact
on her pen, wrote out her number in huge the bartender now knew his name. They saw
letters and handed it back to Wilbur. Ids, credit cards, faces, who knows, maybe

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Sasha had event mentioned that there was “I know who that is.”
this guy named Willy she was into before.
“Are you jealous?”
Wilbur had never sat in a bar and not read
from a book before. The way he figured it, he “You’re drunk.”
must had finished ten full novels, three books
of short stories, and four chap-books over “I am not. God forbid I actually like
the years of sitting at the bar on Mondays. someone, Sasha.”
He looked at the sports highlight show on the
screens hanging above the bar and tried to “I’m trying to tell you –“
pretend he knew the first thing about sports.
“I don’t need this. See ya later.”
“Hi there, Willy.” Cynthia said sitting in an
open seat. Wilbur turned and headed back for the
bar. He told the bartender they would like
“Fancy seeing you here.” the check, and he told Wilbur Cynthia had
already paid. Wilbur could feel his palms
“Not like I’d told you I’d be or anything.” sweating as they walked out the bar. Un-
locking the BMW, they both sat inside, and
She put her hand on his leg. Cynthia did it again – she kissed him. Her
moist lips pressed up against his, her lip
“Could I interest you in a drink?” balm barely covering the smell of whiskey.
She cracked the window and lit a cigarette
“How about I buy us both one?” again.

They sat there for an hour or so, chit-chat- “Willy.”
ting back and forth, exchange glances, and
luckily for Wilbur – sipping slowly on the “Yes, Cynthia?”
whiskey and cokes Cynthia had bought
them. Cynthia put her head on Wilbur’s “Whatchya say we gets outta here?”
shoulder as the bartender cleaned the pint
glasses while looking at the tv. Wilbur’s “I don’t know if I should be driving, home
breath stopped. Sasha had walked out of is far away.”
the kitchen and was staring at him as if she
had seen a ghost. She walked in his direction Cynthia put her cigarette to Wilbur’s lips,
and hovered over the barstool occupied by he inhaled and immediately let out a large
Susie Sullivan. fume of smoke, coughing hard.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Willy?” “That might sober you up some.”

“Of course.” “I’m not so sure that’s how it works.”

Sasha and Wilbur walked away from the “There’s a motel across the street.” She
bar. said laughing.

“You didn’t want to come upstairs?” Wilbur let out a few more coughs,
Sasha said peeking over Wilbur’s shoulder. opened his door and let all the phlegm
come pouring out before looking back at
“I decided to enjoy some company to- Cynthia.
night.” Wilbur said raising his eyebrows.
“This is my knew friend Cynth –“ “Would you mind walking?”

The door to the motel room looked like
it had never been replaced. Wilbur jiggled

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Revista Literária Adelaide

the key into the lock and turned. The door “Let’s have a drink.” She said grabbing a
opened to a room that looked like it had not bottle of liquor from her purse.
been occupied since nineteen-seventy-five.
There was still shitty wallpaper, a mattress “More whiskey?” Wilbur asked paying
that could have passed for a waterbed, and more attention to her still-jiggling breasts.
a boob-tube sat across from the oversized
down-pillows. Cynthia placed the six-pack “No. Tequila.”
they had stopped for oon the nightstand
and jumped up and down on the bed. It Cynthia went over to the small coffee
wasn’t a waterbed. Just a mattress that had maker located by the boob-tube and
the cushioning of every other comfort in grabbed two plastic cups. She placed
this room – none. the two cups down in front of the televi-
sion, turned her back to Wilbur and began
The Filipino behind the counter told pouring as he stared at her ass. The news
them that it would be an extra five-dolla anchor seemed to be staring at her breast.
for every item taken out of the mini-fridge. She walked over to the side of the bed op-
Wilbur saw nothing of particular value – posite him and sat down, handing Wilbur
airplane bottles of brown and white, a few the plastic cup. He drank from it as Cynthia
packs of peanuts, and small water bottles put her hands back on his crotch and the
that were a complete waste of plastic. anchor signed off.
Wilbur closed the fridge and remembered
what the man behind the counter had said The phone on nightstand rang and rang
– “she real niiice – yous have good timez.” – Wilbur had told the man behind the
He clicked on the boob-tube. The nightly counter he needed a wake-up call by eight-
news was on, something about how the thirty at the latest. The alarm clock on the
president and China were going back and nightstand read eight-thirty-two. Wilbur
forth on a trade deal. Wilbur was never one picked up the still-corded telephone and
for politics, so he turned around to the bed said he was up and would be down in a
where Cynthia was sprawled out, clothes minute. He stretched and rolled over. Cyn-
off, and beckoning Wilbur with her pointer thia’s side of the bed was unmade, covers
finger. Wilbur laid down on the bed beside thrown about, sheets kicked towards him,
her and looked over at her. She rubbed and an imprint in the pillow where her
her hands up and down his fat belly as she head used to lay.
began kissing him all over. Cynthia unbut-
toned his shirt, letting her hands run be- Wilbur opened the blinds and let the sun
tween the curly hair that covered his torso. come into the hotel room. Light particles
Just as the nightly news was teasing the passed through still lingering puffs of ciga-
morning news, Cynthia stuck her tongue rette smoke. He grabbed his shirt from the
down his throat and climbed on top of him. chair located by the window and began re-
Wilbur put his hands all over her now, and fastening the buttons. His jeans were folded
they tumbled back and forth until Cynthia’s neatly at the foot of the bed. He picked
hands were ripping off his belt and pulling them up, pulled them over his large thighs,
down his pants. She placed her hand on his and felt around in his pockets. The sun hit
crotch and smiled before jumping up from the television stand as Wilbur stood up and
the bed. scanned around the room. A note lay next
to the television that still played the news,
albeit now muted.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Willie, do. Wilbur picked telephone and started
dialing. The phone rang for what seemed
Sorry I had to leave while ur asleep. I like an eternity before Sasha picked up. She
had a lot of fun last night, handsome. We yelled – demanding an answer as to why a
should definitely do it again sometime. random number would call so early in the
morning. Wilbur quickly shouted it was him
Cynthia <3 before she could hang up. He explained to
her what had happened, explained that he
PS: didn’t know where Cynthia had gone, or his
money, or his car keys, or the entire ending
found your wallet in your jeans and of the night before. Sasha sighed as Wilbur
neatly folded them. I took the money I began crying. She asked which hotel he was
was owed and nothing more, I swear at, and Wilbur could hear her writing on a
piece of paper as he told her. Wilbur turned
Call me soon! off the news, made the sweaty sheets, and
closed the blinds. He walked down the long
His wallet sat next to the note. He hallway towards the elevator and told the
grabbed it, opened up the leather tri- only other occupant he was headed for the
fold and looked about it. The credit cards lobby. A man dressed in a clean-cut new
were still there, the debit cards, a Wendy’s suit and dark sunglasses depressed the
coupon was untouched, the Barnes and button labeled L and the elevator doors
Noble gift card unmoved, but the two-hun- closed slowly before it began its downward
dred-fifty-dollars that had been left in the decent. Wilbur wondered if this man was
back pocket was gone – all of it. Wilbur col- going through a situation similar to him, or
lapsed back onto the bed, his wallet falling if he’d ever even been in one.
from his hands, and stared up at the ceiling
fan that was unmoved by the events that Wilbur handed his American express to
had just transpired. Money she was owed? the man behind the counter. “It ras weal
Ur? Wilbur thought to himself, as the fan noiiice wight, good buddy?” The Filipino
still sat there motionless. And where are said returning the piece of plastic. Sasha’s
my car keys? “what she was owed?” What Honda Accord pulled up and she leaned
she was owed? what does that even mean? over to open the passenger door. Wilbur
Wilbur may have shouted those words at pulled the seatbelt around his gut. Sasha
the ceiling fan. Maybe it was because he put the Honda in drive and took off. Wilbur
realized he now only had fifteen minutes looked out the passenger window at the
to make it to the store on time, but Wilbur rising sun, the commuters walking to work,
called me – told me he wouldn’t be making the cars passing by, the dogs letting things
it in that day. Asked me if I could handle fly, the birds making them bark – anything
opening and running the store by myself – I other than Sasha and her innocence. “You
told him I’d try, and he hung up the phone. look like you could use some breakfast.”
Sasha said knowing that she wouldn’t get
No one really knows how long Wilbur a reply. She pulled into the parking lot of
stared at that ceiling fan. The man him- a waffle house, put the Honda in park and
self would not have been able to tell you opened her door. Wilbur removed the seat-
in an interrogation the next day. What he belt, rolled his eyes, and stepped out.
did know is when he got up from that bed,
he did the only thing he knew he could

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Steam rose from the coffee as the wait- hands stretched across the sorry excuse for
ress put down some creamers and brought a booth in a tight embrace.
packets of sugar. She handed Wilbur and
Sasha menus and told them she’d be back “I do have some good news!” Sasha said
in a few. Sasha looked over the two-sided removing her hands.
menu. Wilbur stared at the coffee. Sasha
pushed her feet against his legs from under “I don’t know if I’m in the mood for a
the table. He lifted his head and smiled story right now.”
at her. She took a sip from her coffee. He
picked up his cup and took a sip. He smiled Sasha grabbed her phone out of her
in an approving manor, then decided to purse. “Is this your book?” She said showing
scan over the menu. It was all the same Wilbur a picture of a paperback sitting on a
shit – waffles, eggs, sandwiches made out barstool.
of waffles and eggs, and hash browns, and
toast. Sasha put her hand over Wilbur’s as “Why, yes. Yes, it is.”
he went to reach for his coffee.
“I’ll bring it to you when I get off work
“Are you okay?” today.”

He sat there for a moment, gripping the Wilbur put his hand back over Sasha’s.
cup of joe and looking at the menu before
looking at Sasha. “I don’t think I’ll be needing it anymore.”

“Willie?” “No?”

“I’m fine.” He said lifting the coffee cup. “You can throw it away or something.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.” The waitress returned, topped off their
coffee and smiled. Wilbur felt his palms
“I should have listened.” begin to sweat as he felt Sasha grab tightly
onto his. He looked out the window next to
The Waitress returned and took their or- the booth, at the sun now high in the sky, a
ders – Sasha got the sandwich made out of few workers waiting for the bus, the dogs
waffles and eggs and Wilbur got three waf- panting, knowing they’d never have a care
fles. She walked away and then Sasha and in the world, the birds picking bread-crumbs
Wilbur were staring at one another again, off the sidewalk, and knew he’d never want
to read Susie Sullivan again as long as Sasha
held his hand.

About the Author

Phoenix DeSimone is a writer of prose and poetry from Virginia. He enjoys drinking, writing,
and occasionally working on a car. He’s spent most of his adult life as a barfly and is now
sharing his experiences with the world. He hopes to one day be a well-known author from
here to Timbuktu.

19

THE PHONE BOX AT
THE EDGE OF TIME

by G. M. Klein

The man lent into the wheelchair as the He hadn’t wanted to make the trip. He
slope steepened. Mercifully the rain had was busy, his business was taking off, it was
stopped. The wind was against them but it the worst possible time for him to be away.
wasn’t hard work: he had climbed tougher It seemed ridiculous, an overseas trip, the
hills, the old woman in the chair weighed complications of a long flight for a woman
scarcely more than a 12 year old and the his mother’s age, she had not traveled for
path underfoot was solid. years, she had never owned a passport. He
tried to talk her out of it, scare her off the
At the edge of the cliff, at the end of idea. She wasn’t well. There was Deep Vein
their path, stood a red telephone box. He Thrombosis to think of, her heart. It wasn’t
hadn’t seen one like it since his childhood. wise. She should talk to her doctor.
It was the type with small square panes of
glass set in a pillar box red lattice with a She was fine. And determined.
flattened red pyramid for a roof. The com-
plete front panel of the box was a latticed They argued for weeks. What was wrong
door built for privacy and protection in an with her landline? Why did it have to be this
era when all types of personal and busi- particular telephone box teetering on the
ness dealings were conducted from public edge of the world.
telephones.
She was jabbing with her knotted finger
They had nearly reached the telephone at a photo in a magazine. He glanced at the
box at the edge of the world: their destina- glossy page. An old red phone box on a cliff
tion after weeks of wearing down his resis- over the sea. The headline said “Call your
tance, 15 hours of travelling. This is where loved ones on the other side”. She was crazy.
his aged mother so badly wanted to go.
He proposed an alternative, an elabo-
She had some calls to make and they rate ruse: a mobile phone from the edge
were urgent. of the world, put together by his creative
team, labelled accordingly and wrapped in
*** a cotton wool cloud.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

She wasn’t fooled. “It’s beautiful here.” He glanced down at
her, she was a small wizened child, when
He told her he couldn’t get away until had she become so small, so wrinkled, her
next year. She said she couldn’t wait that hair so white, when had he last looked at
long, she’d be dead by then. He cajoled her: her? He wondered what she could see of
she was a tough old bird, she would live to a the landscape in the scumble of green and
hundred. He’d take her next autumn or the grey that slashed past.
following spring.
“I watched you while you slept on the
She asked around the women who came plane. It’s so long since I’ve seen you asleep,
daily to help her shower and dress, they it reminded me of when you were small.
were her friends now that her contempo- You were a beautiful child, so placid.” She
raries were gone. Would anyone like to ac- turned, peering out over the high window
company her? When her large print books ledge of the foreign car, the rain runnelling
were delivered the librarian stayed for the diagonally across the pane.“I wish I had had
cuppa she usually politely refused, helping more children,”she murmured.
search the internet for airfares and tours.
Together they applied online for her pass- “You never did manage to get me that
port, and paid for the express service. She baby brother I asked for every Christmas,”
was going. he teased, focussing beyond the slapping
wipers, through the drizzle.
Meddling do gooders. He would have
to take her. She couldn’t go alone and ab- “I know. I wanted him too.” She was rum-
solutely not with a tour group or someone maging in her bag now, pulling out a large
that he didn’t know. He felt manipulated but white handkerchief. He glanced briefly from
he would go. They could do it in 4 days, he the road again, she was drying her cheeks,
booked 2 business class fares on loyalty points, wiping her nose.
and wheelchair assistance for his mother.
“Mum, that’s years ago. It’s OK now.”
He sat beside her on the little golf-cart
which ferried them to the distant boarding ***
lounge. His mother giggled and waved as if
she was the Queen, he felt embarrassed. He The wind freshened as they neared the lit-
was still annoyed. But never had he negoti- tle red building.
ated an airport with such ease.The flight at-
tendants were ready to wheel her onto the “Now dear,” the old woman moved stiffly
plane, and the two of them sat peacefully towards him from her seat. “I will need
while the other passengers fussed around some privacy for an hour or so.”
them. He drank a glass of wine, finished
editing a report, checked his emails then “That long? Are you sure?”
slipped into a deep sleep. She drank and ate
very little on the flight, spending the time “Yes dear, stay nearby and I will wave my
dozing or sleeping. She was, surprisingly, no handkerchief when I’m finished.”
trouble.
“It’s so cold here Mum, you’ll freeze.”
In the hire car on the way to the coast
she began to talk, “I’ll be alright, I’m a tough old bird, you
know,” she chuckled. “But I don’t want you
listening in.” She turned away.

He manoeuvered the wheelchair into the
telephone box, tucked the granny square

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

rug around her knees and placed the old freely over recent events, conversations,
bakelite telephone on his mother’s lap. She this strange beautiful country he had never
had her address book in her hand: scraps of visited before, his mother, and this unique
paper protruding from the pages. The hand- telephone box she was obsessed with. She
piece was to her ear and she was dialing as was a different person now she was here.
he closed the door, she was speaking loudly, She seemed so happy.
he heard her ask to speak to Bebe as he re-
treated. It wasn’t anyone he knew. Now and then he glanced towards the
phone box waiting for the wave of her
The wind in his face, the effort of the handkerchief. She had been speaking loudly
climb, the expanse of sea below him, its into the old phone and he had been able to
roar: he felt alive, more alive than he had for hear her voice indistinctly where he sat. But
a long time. Fifty metres beyond the phone he couldn’t now - had the wind changed di-
box was a bench. He sat there under the rection? Was that her handkerchief he could
felted sky looking out across the green surf see, limp through the red latticed panes?
frilled islands, discarded into the metallic
ocean. There was no horizon. He could al- He pulled open the door, the white cloth
most believe this was the edge of the world. lay on the threshold. She was slumped in
He thought of his mother making her urgent her chair, sleeping peacefully. She had
calls, the bookmarked address book, Bebe dozed off waiting for him. The travel has
and who else? He couldn’t think of the last exhausted her.
time they had been together for so many
hours, traveled, eaten, slept. He was sur- “Mum, c’mon wake up.” He stroked her
prised, he was enjoying himself. hair, as she had stroked his so long ago. She
didn’t respond.
The hour of solitude stretching before
him seemed an insane indulgence. He “Mum? Mum?” He nudged her gently. She
would check his messages, make sure ev- slumped deeper into the wheelchair. He took
erything was running smoothly without him. her hand, so cold.
No, his mobile was on charge in the hire
car. He thought about meditating, it was He seized the handpiece laying limp on
too much effort. Instead his mind ranged her lap, listened, rattled the hook switch.
There was no dial tone.

About the Author

G M Klein was raised to the rhythm of Australian bush poetry,
which sowed deep in her a love of language and literature.
Writing has been a creative outlet for most of her life and she
is currently working on her first novel. For the last 30 years she
has lived on the edge of a eucalypt woodland at the foot of
the Flinders Ranges in South Australia. She is a close observer
of the microcosms of the bush and the garden and of human
relationships. Whenever possible she favors foot travel. Her
inspiration comes from the cycles of nature and the circle of
our days.

22

KNIGHT ERRANT

by Dennis Vannatta

I got to the clubhouse a few minutes be- today. There’s a thirty percent chance of af-
fore 8:00, when I’m officially on the clock. I ternoon heating showers, you know. Those
like to be on time even though Cornell Lee, things can turn into gully washers. You’d
who owns and operates Hill and Dale Golf kick yourself to use all that water and then
Club, is pretty easy going when it comes to six hours later it rains two inches. I say we
punctuality, and most everything else. Way let God pay for it.”
too easy going Shawn, his son, says.
Shawn turned to me and grinned one of
When I walked through the door, the two those grins that really means, I think I might
of them were already arguing. “At least let me have to kill this guy.
water the 8th,” Shawn said. “It’s suffering. You
don’t water that green, you’re going to lose it.” “You like Cornell’s math, Mason? He puts
more faith in thirty percent than seventy
Cornell peered upward like he was percent.”
searching the sky for clouds although the
only thing above him was the grimy ceiling. Shawn calls his dad and his mom, Jess,
They’d shut down the grill years ago, but by their first names. I don’t see much of
the pressed-tin ceiling was still black from Jess and so I don’t know what she had
grease and smoke. It was Shawn who in mind, but I think Cornell wants to be
pointed it out to me when I started to work a friend even more than a dad to his son,
here part-time last summer: “Look at that wants to be friends with the world, which
shit. It makes me sick, sick. I got up on a is an admirable quality, I truly believe that,
ladder one day and tried to clean it, but it even if from what I’ve seen of his life the
was like trying to clean off dried molasses.” world takes a dump on him every chance
it gets.
I didn’t ask him how he knew what
cleaning off dried molasses was like. Shawn “Cornell,” Shawn said, “think about it.
is my best friend, but he’s got a short fuse, If it rains, you get one more day without
especially when it comes to the golf club spending a buck-fifty to water. But if it
and his dad, who “doesn’t take care of busi- doesn’t rain and that green dies—and it
ness” and “lets things slide,” Shawn tells me was looking purple yesterday afternoon,
about six times a day. you saw that yourself—it’s dead forever.
Nothing comes back from the dead.”
Cornell finished looking up at the ceiling
and said, “I think we might get some rain “Jesus Christ did,” Cornell said.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

From anybody else you’d think that was ***
some smart-alecky comeback, but maybe
not Cornell. He’s not church-going reli- Hill and Dale Golf Club was carved out of
gious—I don’t think any of the Lees ever piney woods, and most fairways and greens
go to church—but religious like a man who are shaded at least part of the day. The 8th,
thinks of himself as walking around in God’s though—a brutal par 4 with out-of-bounds
creation. I admire that, but it doesn’t pro- (Joe Skaggs’ pasture) snug up against the
tect him from getting dumped on. I bothers left side of the fairway and state highway
me that you kind of expect him to get 334 just beyond the green another out-of-
dumped on even more because he’s such a bounds—is in direct sun from mid-morning
nice guy. That’s just not right, is it? Maybe until sundown. Cornell operates the club
I’ll get it figured out some day. I’m only sev- on a shoestring budget and can get away
enteen. I’ve got time. with not watering most of the course too
often unless it gets super dry, but the 8th,
Anyway, when Cornell said that about you have to keep a close eye on it, especial-
Christ coming back from the dead, Shawn ly the green, from May on.
just shook his head like it was hopeless. His
dad seemed to relent a little at that. Instead of taking the utility 4-by-4, I
hoofed it across the course. Cornell says
“OK, Shawn, OK. Tell you what I’ll do. you can’t tell the condition of the grass just
Mason,” he said to me, “you’ve got a good by looking at it. You have to feel the turf
head on your shoulders. I want you to go up under your feet. I felt it. No crunch. That’s
there and check out that 8th green. I’ll let you good, but there’s always a little moisture
decide. If you think it’s in real danger—and I in the grass early in the day. Later it might
mean real right now danger—then go ahead crunch, and crunch isn’t good.
and water it. But if you think it can go an-
other day without permanent damage, let’s I got to the green but kept going right
give those afternoon heating showers a try.” across it to the little maple tree in the corner
where the pasture fence and the fence bor-
That didn’t go over too well with Shawn. dering the highway meet. It’d be nice if the
tree shaded the green even a little bit, but it
“Thanks a lot for the confidence in me, doesn’t, not in the summer when the after-
Cornell. I get it. I mean, Mason’s worked here noon sun casts the tree’s shadow onto the
a summer and a half now, and I’ve only been pasture. But it wasn’t the shade I was after. No,
on this course my whole life. Sure, I get it.” you can stand behind the tree trunk, and un-
less someone is really trying to spot you, you
“I’ve got errands to run this morning, won’t be seen from the Bradford Construction
Shawn. I need you here to man the fort, Company grounds—office, warehouse, big ve-
that’s all.” hicle shed, and lot—across the road.

“Errands, sure, errands.” I peeked out from behind the trunk.

“I need you here. Stay away from that 8th Mr. Bradford’s Lexus wasn’t parked in the
green,” Cornell said, his voice rising in the lot, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there.
closest to a command he could manage. He sometimes drives one of the company
“Let Mason handle it. Got it?” vehicles, generally the Ford 150. The 150
was right there in front of the office.
A look passed between them. I could
have added a look of my own to it.

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I looked at my watch. 8:20. Early, but not can supply the details. I don’t guess there’s
too early for what Mr. Bradford gets up to much new in that department, not that I
over there. I looked and looked, like some have any experience with it myself.
long-distance Peeping Tom who thought he
could stare through the office’s corrugated I let myself down and stood back so
steel siding. Pretty disgusting behavior, Shawn could take a look, but he didn’t. Ob-
truthfully—mine, them, everyone involved. viously he’d seen them before. Probably
But I’m only human, and it’s not like my that’s something a son doesn’t want to
spying was going to change anything or watch more than once.
hurt anybody. Shawn already knows, after
all. Heck, he was the one who showed me. Why had he had me look, though? He
didn’t say a word, just turned and headed
It was a month and a half ago, early June, around the building, and in a minute we
the school year over with and one of my first were back across the road.
days on the job. Shawn was on the tractor
mowing the 8th fairway, and I was cleaning I didn’t know what to say. “What the
the ball washer and putting fresh water in heck, Shawn”—that’s the best I could come
the barrel on the 9th green. He stopped and up with.
called me over.
“Yeah, what the fuck. . . . Uh oh, I’ve gone
He led me to that maple tree, crouched and made preacher boy blush again.”
down behind the trunk with me right be-
hind him. He craned around and looked After what we’d just seen, I don’t sup-
across the road at Bradford’s. I did, too. pose the F word would make me blush.
But I’ll admit I don’t care for it. I’m not a
“They’re in there right now,” he said. preacher’s boy, though. My dad sells in-
surance. Shawn was joking about that, but
“Who? What are you talking about?” probably the boy part he really meant. Well,
if choosing not to make the world a fouler
“Want to see? Come on.” place than it has to be—waaa, waaa, mama,
mama!—call me a boy.
You’d think he would have had us sneak
across, hide behind things, but no, we just ***
climbed the fence, crossed the ditch, road,
and ditch on the other side and then across I stood there behind the maple a couple
the lot until we were almost up to the of- minutes longer but didn’t see any sign of
fice building. At that point, though, he put Jess Lee and Mr. Bradford, so I went back to
his finger to his lips, then motioned me to the clubhouse. I was walking through the
follow him. We crept on around the building. door when I realized I hadn’t given a single
There were two square windows in the back. thought to what that 8th green looked like.
We edged up to the first one. Shawn mo-
tioned for me to take a look. I had to stand Cornell was gone on his errands. Shawn
up on my tiptoes to see. was at the counter behind the cash register.
Although it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet, al-
I’m not going to drag this out. They were ready there were four good ol’ boys playing
there on a cot, Mr. Bradford still with his col- cards at the table beside the window air
lared shirt on but Jess Lee, well, the only conditioner, which did an OK job of cooling
thing she had on her was Mr. Bradford. You them, but you could barely feel it at the

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

counter. Those guys were there almost as Cornell got back. But I worked until noon,
every day playing cards. I don’t think they’d my quitting time, and he never showed up.
ever stepped on the course itself in their
lives. But that was OK. There were days ***
when Cornell took in more selling chips
and candy bars to them than he did in green I can’t stay mad at him long, which is a good
fees. Like I said, he operates under a tight thing. Friends seem to be harder to come
budget. by the older you get. At least that’s how it
looks at seventeen. Maybe by the time I’m
Shawn was standing there with his arm eighteen I’ll change my mind. Anything’s
draped over the register, looking out of possible, I guess.
sorts. I don’t think I’d recognize him if he
looked any other way. Anyway, at 7:00 that evening I got a
text from him: “Meet me CC 12 ASAP.” CC
“Well?” he said. 12 meant the 12th hole at the Blue Pond
Country Club. ASAP meant, you know, ASAP,
“Well, what?” because if we waited much longer it’d be
getting too dark to see the ball.
He rolled eyes. “Well, what in your ex-
pert opinion based on your many years of I told dad I was going out for a while, and
experience is the condition of the 8th green?” he said, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,”
which if I took seriously wouldn’t leave me
I didn’t quite lie. “You know, early in the a lot of leeway because he’s a passive kind
day, it’s not too easy to tell. It always looks of guy, mostly just sits watching television
more green now than it will later. I wouldn’t when he’s not working. I don’t remember if
exactly call it purple, though.” he was that way with Mom when she was
still living with us. That was over a year ago.
“Thanks a lot, pal. Thanks a hell of a lot I didn’t keep too close an eye on adults then,
for supporting me.” not like now when I’m closing in on being
one myself and need to figure out how it’s
“Look, Cornell asked me to take a look done.
and give my opinion, and that’s all I’m doing.
I didn’t know I was getting involved in a Shawn and I didn’t actually meet on the
grudge match.” 12th hole but on a cul-de-sac in Western
Acres, where we parked our cars (our dads’
“I’m just trying to be a responsible adult. cars, I should say), crossed the ditch behind
It’d be nice to have at least one in the family.” the houses, climbed through the hole in
the fence I suspect Shawn himself had cut
Before I could think of anything to say sometime before but don’t know for sure,
to that, he told me to go get to work on the and there we were at the 12th green. There
drainage ditch along the 4th fairway, which were a couple of golfers disappearing over
we’d been working on to clean out for a the hill on the 13th fairway, but other than
week now, a hot, miserable job. He said it that we seemed to have the course to our-
like he was giving me an order, which I guess selves.
he’s entitled to since he is the boss when his
dad’s gone, but it’s not something you like I don’t own golf clubs myself. No problem
coming from your best friend since kinder- when your best friend’s dad owns a golf
garten. He must have realized that because
he said that he’d be out to help me as soon

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Revista Literária Adelaide

club. He handed me a 9-iron and four balls at me, and although I don’t think he would
he fished out of a pocket in his cargo shorts. have hit me with it, it wasn’t the kind of
He carried a pitching wedge. thing I wanted to be wrong about.

“No putters?” I asked. I backed off, and he hit the rest of the
balls, but I didn’t watch them, only the
He shrugged. “I’m just working on my divots flopping through the air like wing-
wedge game tonight.” shot ducks.

Shawn thinks he’s got a future on the pro Without a word, he turned and walked
tour. Or thinks he would have if he could get off the green, not toward the balls scattered
more experience playing on a course where across the fairway—they were only range
the fairways weren’t half dirt and rocks and balls—but back to the fence. I followed him
the greens with no contour and too hard to through the hole in the fence and on to the
put spin on the ball like “that piece of shit cul-de-sac.
of Cornell’s.” So it wasn’t unusual for him to
just want to work on his wedges, trying to He stood there beside his dad’s car,
get that spin. twirling the wedge like a baton, waiting for
me to lay into him, I guess.
This time, though, instead of walking a
hundred yards or so down the fairway so And I wanted to, wanted to call him crazy,
we could hit back toward the green, Shawn ask him if he was proud of himself, but what
stopped on the green, took several balls out I said was, “You have so much anger in you,
of his pocket, and dropped them right there. Shawn. You need to find some way to get
over being angry at your mom.”
“What are you doing?”
“But I’m not angry at my mom, Mason. I
“What’s it look like? Practicing my feel sorry for her, but I’m not angry at her.”
wedges.”
I shook my head. “Huh uh, that wasn’t
Sure enough he took his stance, swung, feeling sorry for her over there,” I said, nod-
and lofted the ball down the fairway, a ding back toward the damaged green. “That
hand-sized divot of grass sailing over to the was anger, and a lot of it.”
edge of the green.
“I never said I wasn’t angry. I said I wasn’t
“Shawn! What the—?” mad at Mom.”

“Yeah, that sucked. Pushed it. Let’s try “Then who— ?” I started to ask. But then I
that again.” understood who. I just didn’t understand why.

He swung again and took another huge ***
divot in that beautiful green, soft as a carpet.
The next morning I got through watering
“Shawn!” the greens—yes, Cornell had decided that
God needed a little help—at the same time
“You’re right, another push. Is it my align- that Shawn finished mowing. We walked
ment, or do I have some inside-out thing into the clubhouse together.
going? Watch this one and see if you can tell.”
Immediately, Cornell came out from be-
“Stop, you idiot,” I said, taking a step to- hind the counter.
ward him, but he raised the club and glared

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“About time you two coolies got back. You to blame your dad partly. Hey, look at my
must think you’re getting paid by the hour. dad. He’s no ball of fire, I know that. I think
Whoops, I forgot, you are.” part of the problem was that Mom just got
bored with him. So I get it. But Cornell is a
“You must be in a hurry to take off on your good guy, and he’s got a tough way to go.”
errands. So sorry to delay you,” Shawn said.
He stood there looking at me like he was
“Yeah, I have to go pick up some fertilizer partly listening and partly thinking about
and stuff at Home Depot. I’ll take the pickup. something else. Then he nodded, to himself
You hold the fort here, number one son, and like, and I could tell he’d made up his mind
you, Jubilation T. Cornpone, if you can finally about something.
figure out which end of the shovel to use, I
think you just might finish off that drainage “Let’s go,” he said, coming out from be-
ditch sometime this decade.” hind the counter and heading for the door.

“I was afraid you were going to suggest “Carl,” he called over to the card players,
that,” I said. “keep an eye on the cash register for a few
minutes, OK?”
“Well, a man’s gotta do what a man’s
gotta do,” he said with that smile that “Will do,” one of them said without
makes it hard not to smile back even after looking up from his cards.
he’s just told you to work under the July sun
for three hours. I followed him outside. We got in his
dad’s Opal, old enough for a special an-
Shawn didn’t smile, though. He said, tique-car license plate, but those cost extra,
“Maybe while you’re out on your errands, and if he got one the plate would be worth
you can figure out what a man’s gotta do.” more than the car, Cornell said. The guy can
make me laugh.
I didn’t stick around to hear what Cornell
said to that. I took off for the toilet, stuck my I didn’t bother asking where we were
head into the sink and ran cold water over going. I figured I’d know when we got there.
it, then put my mouth to the tap and drank And I did.
water until I was bloated. It’d take at least
fifteen minutes to sweat that all out once I Mom lives at the Waverly Apartments
started work on the ditch. on County Line Road. There are three rows
of apartments, each four stories, one in the
When I came back out, Cornell was gone. middle facing the street and the other two
I went over to Shawn at the counter and— flanking it left and right.
lowering my voice because the good ol’ boys
were already there playing cards—said, This time of day, most people were at
“Hey, why don’t you lighten up on your dad work, so there were only a few cars in the
a little. He’s really a pretty good guy, you parking lot, one of them Mom’s because
know.” she’s a night-shift nurse at Children’s Hos-
pital. Parked next to it was Cornell’s old
“That’s what you think, is it?” Chevy pickup.

“Look, it’s not like I don’t have any idea “If you go right up there,” Shawn said,
what you’re going through. I mean, my folks pointing up at the row of apartments on the
have split up. And I guess it’s a natural thing left, “all the way to the end of the balcony

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Revista Literária Adelaide

on the top floor, you can look right down and try to kill Cornell. Sure, I was mad, but
into the bedroom in your mom’s apartment.” I guess I’m my father’s son, a little on the
passive side. And what would have been
Her apartment is the last one on the the point of it, anyway? What would I have
third floor of the central row. Apartments accomplished?
on the end have bedroom windows looking
out on the side of the buildings. We went back to the golf club, Shawn to
the counter and me to that drainage ditch.
“The thing I don’t get is why people don’t
keep their blinds closed. Do you want to go We’d cleaned out a good forty yards of
see?” he said, and then when I didn’t an- it and were now almost up to the culvert,
swer went on, “I think it’s a thing you have where the blockage was the worst, the
to see once just to prove it to yourself, so sludgy crap thick and heavy and stinky. Ug-
you know what the truth is, so you can go lier than what Jess was doing with Mr. Brad-
into battle armored.” ford and Mom with Cornell? I don’t know.
And maybe it doesn’t matter because as I
That bit—go into battle armored—was cut weeds and shoveled, I thought about
an almost poetic thing to say, and I don’t the situation and I’ve come to this conclu-
think of Shawn as a poetry kind of guy. It sion. There are things you’ve got a choice
didn’t make me any more anxious to go up whether to look at them and other things
on that balcony, though. that if you want to get paid you’ve got to
deal with. If you can recognize the differ-
Shawn kept trying to talk me into it— ence, there’s some armor you can go into
it’d be good for me, toughen me up, stuff battle with. I’m not quite to that point yet,
like that—but I just kept sitting there. Fi- but I’m working on it, and when I get there,
nally, he gave up and shook his head like look out. I’ll be ready to take on the whole
he just couldn’t understand me. Probably fucking world.
he expected me to go crazy, take a swing at
him or go running up to Mom’s apartment

About the Author

Dennis Vannatta is a Pushcart and Porter Prize winner,
with stories published in many magazines and anthologies,
including River Styx, Chariton Review, Boulevard, and
Antioch Review. His sixth collection of stories, The Only
World You Get¸ was recently published by Et Alia Press.

29

BABY ON BOARD

by Rachael Biggs

Deliberately inhaling and exhaling the crisp “My cousin’s shower.”
morning air with force, Jane noticed one
of the first leaves turning yellow and felt “Is it leaking?” she laughed at her own
grateful that Autumn was not far off and joke.
that the tourists would soon depart with
their I love NY T-shirts and dozens of pic- “Worse. Another wedding.”
tures of signature landmarks that no one
cared to look at. “You don’t like weddings?”

She jogged by two women with strollers “I’m sick of pretending to care about an-
that were engulfed in conversation, prob- other inane measurement of where we’re
ably about breastfeeding and stretch marks supposed to be and what we’re supposed
and baby’s first solid food. She smiled to be doing designed to keep us brain dead
wanly, but without a baby, she was invisible because we’re too busy picking out cakes to
to them. She consoled herself by turning care about what’s really going on.”
around to look at their widened hips and
sensible handbags full of bottles, wash “Are you angry about something, honey?”
cloths and whatever other nonsense they
dutifully packed around. Aiming to beat her Jane stepped down from her soap box.
best time of six minutes around the perim-
eter of the park today, she left the matrons “I beat my best time around the park
in her dust. today.”

Sweaty and content she stopped for “Now, that’s an accomplishment!”
a seven-dollar latte and a leisurely read-
through the Sunday Times, before arriving “Thanks.”
home to find a hand-made invitation to
her cousin Sarah’s wedding shower waiting “Don’t compare yourself to those people.
in the mailbox. “Fuck,” she whispered, as One day they will have hit all the milestones
Bethany, her eighty-something landlady they’re told they’re supposed to and there
looked up from her mail with an under- will be nothing left to strive for and even
standing smirk. if there were, there wouldn’t be time be-
tween the hungry mouths and the baseball
“Bad news?” games. It’s the striving that makes us happy
you know.”

“By next weekend I’m going to get my
time down to five and a half minutes.”

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“There used to be no choice for women. The following weekend Jane got her time
You were a spinster or a homosexual or just down to 5 minutes and 46 seconds and
pitifully unfortunate if you didn’t have chil- though it wasn’t the five and a half she had
dren.” hoped, it kept her striving.

Jane could feel the likelihood of getting She’d been out for dinner and a little
stuck talking to Bethany for another forty too much wine last night with a co-worker’s
minutes increase with every word. She felt si- brother and she felt it. The guy was partner
multaneously guilty and fearful that one day at a prestigious law firm with a ski condo
she would be the old woman hanging around and a yoga habit at some passé studio ev-
the mailboxes desperate for conversation. eryone had heard of. No one told him that
being six-feet-tall and able to buy material
“I know and I’m sorry you had to live goods wasn’t meant to be substitute for a
through that. I’ve got to clean up. I’ve got personality.
a lunch date.”
Jane was at the point in her life where
She turned and started up the stairs dating struggling musicians or bartenders
smiling and waving, so as not to be rude. with coke habits was frowned upon though.
She saw the judgement when she chose in-
“Have fun, darling,” Bethany called after teresting men over secure ones. Her cous-
her. in’s wedding would be a melee of queries
about why she wasn’t married or at the
Once inside her apartment, Jane made very least seriously involved. Did she even
herself a smoothie full of all the right things have a beau? They’d ask. Did she not want
to keep her looking twenty-five until she a family?
was forty-five and sat on the floor with
her back against the couch. She opened The truth was she didn’t know. It seemed
her computer and went to the dreaded like a nice idea. It sounded so easy to know
social media sites created for an occasion that instead of being the oddball single, you
just such as this, when an otherwise sane could invite everyone to your suburban
woman wanted to compare herself to house for dinner by way of a Christmas card
others in order to perpetuate self-loathing. with a photo of some kids that resembled
you or the other adult in the photo, save
She looked at her cousin’s page. There for a few missing teeth and unmanageable
it was. The ring and the hashtags and the cowlicks. She fantasized about the photos
guy who’s primary role was to secure her she could post of her honeymoon in at an
cousin’s status as marriage-worthy. Jane re- all-inclusive in the Cays or Cancun, as if this
membered the days of buying her booze un- husband figure of hers would be enough to
derage and hearing the stories of the losers anesthetize her to the predictability of buf-
she’d slept with when she blacked-out. This fets and umbrella drinks.
future husband of hers would never know
that though. He would never hear the sto- And then there would be the babies.
ries of blow jobs in bathroom stalls or tree Would she she get a mini van? Oh, hell no.
sap in her hair from when she used to take But who’s to say? Did her cousin think when
suitors behind the portable in tenth grade. she was throwing up a mouthful of some
She was wife material now and her shiny stranger’s semen that she would someday
ring proved it.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

be baring a Baby on Board decal as if adult of peek-a-boo. It was quite possibly the
lives were somehow inferior? Never say sweetest sound in the world–like cherubic
never. harps strumming, and clouds opening up to
allow sunlight to beam solely on Jane. She
The following Sunday, Jane not only felt overwhelmed with love for this child
made her time, she beat it. Five minutes who just moments ago she hadn’t even
and 24 seconds. Smiling proudly she sat on known. Was this how it was for soul mates?
a bench to catch her breath. Beside her a Was this the love at first site she’d heard so
women with a fancy stroller filled with a many basic bitches babble about?
fancy baby prattled on her phone about get-
ting in shape whilst slurping a 700-calorie If this baby was hers, there’s no way in
frozen coffee drink. She was focused on the hell she would run away and leave her alone.
jungle gym off in the distance, presumably Was it possible her mother didn’t want this
at another of her spawn and didn’t seem to gleaming little angel? Maybe the kid she’d
notice sweaty Jane. run after was her favorite and she was she
fed up with shitty diapers and someone
The fancy baby did though. She watched hanging off her nipple.
Jane’s every move until she made eye-con-
tact and joyfully returned the smile Jane She thought about stories of babies
still wore from beating her best time. The being left on doorstops or nowadays at fire
smiling baby was a girl, as evidenced by her stations and wondered if this was a fate
decadent pink down coat complete with such as that. She’d seen the bumper stickers
ears. Though she wasn’t sure what kind of on police cars and ambulances reading:
animal had pink ears, (maybe a pig?) Jane ’Don’t Abandon Your Baby’ and wondered
was charmed in spite of herself. if seeing that in writing was enough to deter
people who might actually be considering
She did her best to look stoic, but the it. Jane’s face turned somber and the baby
happy girl-child was having none of it. She mimicked with concerned empathy. The
continued to smile and gaze at Jane with connection with this child was undeniable.
impish eyes that sparkled like the pond
they sat beside. When she began to blow The mother was well out of site now.
bubbles with her tiny bowed lips and wave Was this her cue? She looked around. No
her chubby little hands, Jane melted. Be- one was watching. If anyone were, they
fore long the twosome was engaged in would assume Jane was the mother and
passionate flirtation, neither able to get having just finished a jog around the park,
enough of the other. was heading home to her husband where
he’d spend the day doing home improve-
A moment later, there was a scream in ments and she preparing a nutritious meal
the distance, followed by a burst of dra- between laundry and a trip to Pottery Barn.
matic tears and the presumed mother of
this adorably gleeful baby tore herself off She imagined her real life with this baby.
the bench and dashed toward the play- The rapture of waking up to her smile. Her
ground. first steps. The whimsical bedtime stories.
The companionship. The sense of purpose
Jane didn’t pay much attention at first, and the relief to get out of her head and
smitten as she was with the baby who focus on someone else’s well-being was all
was now outright laughing at their game

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that was missing from her life. Selflessness she’d say she ran up and found the aban-
was what it was all about, right? This was doned infant and was riddled with concern.
the enlightenment the single ladies sought She was going to take her to the nearest
in their Kundalini and meditation classes. police station.

She’d could tell people that she had ad- ‘Why not call 911?’ the authorities might
opted and that she’d wanted it to be a sur- ask. Because she never brought her phone
prise. She’d come back from maternity leave on runs. It was a much needed technology
glowing and force the photos on people break.
that had been forced on her. They’d have
to listen to her meaningless chatter about The baby’s eyes were closing intermit-
plain things the child had said or done that tently, on the brink of sleep where she might
were truly remarkable to her. She would dream of lilies and doves and halos woven
read the blogs on how to parent and be of baby’s breath, but then out of nowhere,
part of the complaining mom’s club. Heck, she coughed, her little lungs needing to rid
maybe a mini-van would be a practical themselves of something impure. Jane’s
mode of transportation once the girl be- plans to kidnap her perhaps.
came school-aged and carpool was needed
for all of her friends to get to dance practice The mother’s ears perked up like a
and sleepovers in the suburbs. German Shepard hearing his master’s car
turn onto their street and she scooped her
She stroked the baby’s downy hair and son up and started over in their direction.
the little one yawned. Jane picked up the coughing baby, knowing
as fast as she was, she could get away on
“Ohhh, are you tired honey-bear? Do foot before the mother could give a de-
you want to come home with me and have cent eye-witness account, but along with
a snuggle?” the weight of the child in her arms, she felt
the weight of being a mother beyond the
She stared longer at this gorgeous little first steps, whimsical bedtime stories and
nugget. Her innocence brought tears to morning smiles when the baby sneezed
Jane’s eyes. forcefully, expelling an ungodly amount of
green snot onto Jane’s cheek and into her
“I’m going to take such good care of you. hair.
We’re going to be so happy together, you
and I. We’re going to have to give you a Horrified, Jane did her best not to
name, aren’t we? Helena? Madeline? How scream and drop the baby. She succeeded,
about Harper? I’ve always liked Harper for but the fantasy came to a screeching halt.
a girl.
What if she wasn’t cut out for wiping
She looked toward the playground. She noses with her sleeve, interrupted sleep
could see the woman that had been sitting and making endless chicken nuggets or mac-
beside her. She was wiping the nose of a aroni and cheese? She didn’t feel confident
four-year-old boy on her sleeve and talking that she wouldn’t be tempted to eat these
gently to him, still with no mind of the baby foods if they were in the house for this child,
she’d left alone. and then what? Her body would go to shit,
hell, he whole life could go to shit! And so
Jane stood, planning the quickest route when the baby’s haggard mother appeared,
home in her mind. If anyone caught her

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Jane handed over the child who had since “Right. Mom’s see it all.”
stopped coughing and was back to her de-
lightful disposition, playfully tapping Jane’s “Do you have a picture of your kids?”
snot-soaked face.
“No, I left my phone at home. Needed a
“Oh, thank you so much for watching technology break.”
Daisy! My ‘adventurous’ son”, she laughed
at her own air quotes, “had a spill and I Jane untangled her hair from the baby’s
could tell you were trustworthy. You’re so fist and handed her over.
good with her; you must be mom.”
“Gotta get back to my little ones. My hus-
“I didn’t realize you’d seen me.” band’s re-tiling our downstairs bathroom
today.” And with that, she sprung like a ga-
“We see everything, don’t we?” zelle and made it home in her best time yet.

About the Author

Rachael Biggs is an author whose memoir Yearning for
Nothings and Nobodies published in 2012. She studied
creative writing at Langara College and UCLA and holds a
screen writing diploma from Vancouver Film School. Her
short fiction has appeared in The Dalhousie Review, Horror
Sleaze Trash, Charge Magazine and 5 on the Fifth. IG: @
rachael_bigggs_author

34

FRIED PICKLES

by Hannah Newman

Jasper did not know how to love his moth- leave the Longhorn’s parking lot already. His
er. He had been living with her for all twen- mother was seventeen minutes late. When
ty-five years of his life and each day seemed it turned to twenty minutes, he turned his
to be more unbearable than the last. His engine on and was ready to reverse when
brother, Shelby, quickly moved out at the he heard a car honking wildly behind him.
age of twenty-one and has since been liv- Jasper looked out his window to see his
ing with his girlfriend, Bianca (without their mother peel into the empty parking spot
mother’s knowledge), and also working a next to his car, Civic to Civic, blasting Pat Be-
very reasonable job in downtown Nashville natar, and waving her entire arm at Jasper.
as a hotel manager. Jasper didn’t have any She looked crazy.
of this. Once Shelby moved out, their moth-
er suggested that the three of them should His mother, Molly, left the car on as she
meet for dinner once a month, to catch up dug through her purse and fished out her
on things. Jasper was hesitant, of course, wild berry lipstick. Jasper honked his horn
since he already lived with her. There was when she was done applying it and sig-
enough to catch up on as it is, but he agreed, naled with his hand for her to roll down her
knowing it would make her happy to see window. The music blasted out of her car,
her little Shelby, who had not made much startling a family leaving the restaurant be-
time for her since he moved out. fore she could turn it down.

On the way to their first dinner, Jasper re- “Shelby can’t make it. Something with
ceived a call from Shelby saying he wouldn’t work,” Jasper said out his window. He
be able to make it to Longhorn’s and that watched his mother’s face fall.
he was sorry. Work had to keep him. Shelby
said he felt bad that the night couldn’t work “But we’ve been planning this for weeks!”
out for the three of them, but that he was she said. “He couldn’t just say it was an
sure they could find out when to meet next. emergency?” That’s not really how life
Jasper told his brother good luck and that works, Jasper thought.
he understood, but did not mention how
not sorry Shelby sounded. That wasn’t nec- “He did sound pretty busy,” Jasper said.
essary at the moment. His mother’s body began to hunch behind
the steering wheel. “Should we just re-
Now Jasper was left sitting in his busted schedule?”
Civic, contemplating whether he should just
“What? No! We’re not gonna let that ruin
our supper.” Jasper watched in despair as

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she turned off her car and wrangled her “Your waiter will be with you shortly,” the
purse. She stepped out of her Civic and hostess said as she flung crumbs from her rag
pointed, purse in hand, at the Chili’s next onto the floor and walked away. The table
door. “We haven’t been to Chili’s in awhile. somehow looked worse than before–almost
Little bit cheaper than here,” she said. “Plus, greasier. Jasper’s mother rolled her eyes.
I think they have one dollar margaritas or
something. It’ll be fun.” He noticed how she “Honestly.” Jasper thought to remind his
tried to cover up her hurt with excitement. mom that they were eating at a fucking
Chili’s but then decided against it as the
“Shouldn’t we move our cars or some- waiter walked up to their table.
thing?” Jasper called out to her but she just
waved her hand in her careless way. “Hi, welcome. My name’s Toby, I’ll be
your waiter for the night. Can I get you guys
Molly led them through the entrance started off with something to drink? An
and went straight up to the hostess, a appetizer maybe?” Toby had a smile that
teenage girl who clearly did not want to be looked too goofy for Jasper. He was large in
working. height and weight but had slender arms. It
made him look unnatural.
“Just two,” Molly said. The hostess slid
two menus from her podium. She guided “Toby, what’s your favorite app on the
them through a sea of couples, past a few menu?” Jasper’s mother asked this ques-
families and their pink-faced kids, and then tion to every waiter anywhere they went to
seated them at a booth close to a window. eat. He believed she only did this to infu-
riate him.
“I don’t mean to bother you, but could
you clean this up for us a bit? The table looks “Why don’t you just get what you want,
sticky.” He watched his mother as she sat Mom?”
down and put her purse in her lap. Jasper
looked up at the hostess to signal with his “I just want to know what Toby likes! He
eyes that he had nothing to do with this, but seems like a nice man,” she said. “Toby, do
she was already headed to the kitchen to you prefer the chips and salsa or the fried
grab a rag, her feet clopping like a horse. pickles?”

“She doesn’t seem that happy,” his “Well, ma’am, I’d say the chips and salsa.”
mother said. Jasper looked at her over his He gave his smile.
menu as she flipped through the desert
section. “If you’re gonna work in customer “Yes, they are good, but the chips were
service, you have to be welcoming. You just kinda cold the last time I was here,” she said
have to.” looking up at him, almost expecting an ex-
cuse. This seemed to catch him off guard.
The hostess came back and quickly
wiped the table with a dirty rag. It was dis- “Oh. Well, I’m sorry about that. I’ll make
gusting, but Jasper wasn’t bothered at all sure they’re hot for you guys this time.” She
by it. He watched with a full heart as his sucked her teeth and waited an uncomfort-
mother’s mouth turned into a scowl. She able minute before giving her answer.
watched the girl’s every move and sighed
to see if that would do anything. “We’ll take the fried pickles,” his mother
finally said. Jasper wanted to kick her leg
under the table.

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“Great!” Toby said. “What would you Toby mumbled something about getting
guys like to drink?” He looked at Jasper. their drinks and that he’d check on them
later.
“I’ll have a Stella, please.”
“Look what you did,” said Jasper’s mother.
“Are you sure?” his mother asked, leaning “You scared him.”
forward. Jasper blinked.
“That was all you, Mother,” he said. Her
“What do you mean are you sure?” he eyes turned to fire.
asked in disbelief. “I want a Stella.”
“You know I hate when you call me that,”
“I know that, but aren’t you going straight she spat, her head rearing over the table.
to work after this?” Toby shifted in his spot, Her hair seemed more wild than ever.
growing more uncomfortable by the minute.
“And you know I hate when you try to
“Yes. I am,” Jasper said through gritted order for me,” he said. They both sat back
teeth. “One beer won’t hurt me.” in their seats and fumed for a minute in si-
lence. Jasper took a second to look at his
His mother looked up at Toby and gave mother, dressed in a white button up with
a false smile. a collar that was absolutely too pronounced
for her neck. Her French manicure was at
“Give him a water, too,” she whispered. the point of lifting from her cuticles entirely.
Jasper almost laughed at how ridiculous She had mismatched metal bracelets on her
she was being. Toby waited on the mother wrist because she had said some time ago,
as she looked at the drink menu, scanning that it added character. Jasper thought it
her eyes over the margaritas before looking just made her look cheap.
confused.
“What are you getting?” he muttered
“What is it now?” Jasper asked. at his mother. She sniffled and closed her
menu.
“I thought you guys had one dollar mar-
garitas?” she asked Toby. He looked at her “I’m not hungry,” she said like a child.
and hesitated before saying,
“Oh really? You’re not hungry?” he asked.
“Uh, I think that was a promotion at Ap- “Then why are we even here?”
plebee’s, ma’am.”
Right as he asked this, Jasper noticed
“So, you guys aren’t doing that here?” a man who looked very similar to Shelby
she asked innocently. Jasper made a noise walked into the restaurant. He squinted
in his throat. and realized that it was indeed his younger
brother. Shelby must have gotten out of
“Did you not just hear what he said?” he work somehow to join them here and seen
asked his mother in disbelief. “That was a their cars in the parking lot over. Jasper was
promotion at a completely different restau- elated. As he was about to stand up to wave
rant. Not here.” She cut her eyes at him and his brother over, he noticed Bianca clung to
then looked back up at their waiter, who Shelby’s arm. Jasper was confused.
was now standing at their table for entirely
too long a time. “What’s wrong? What are you looking at?”
his mother asked. Jasper watched his brother
“I’ll just have a water, for now, thanks.”

“Oh, come on. Do you think he cares? He
doesn’t care,” Jasper said, raising his voice.

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signal the hostess that their party was for her throat. “I would’ve understood. I can
two. They were led to the opposite side of understand.” He stared at her for what felt
the restaurant, by a similar sea of families like an eternity, his eyes shifting between
and pink-faced kids. Jasper’s heart sunk. He her face and Shelby’s just beyond her.
and his mother sat completely undetected.
Molly shifted in her seat to turn around and “You’re right, mom. He could’ve at least
see what her eldest son was looking at. told you.” Molly was quiet. “Do you want
to leave? We can get our food to-go.” She
“Wait! Wait! I was just looking at the TV!” shook her head.
He grabbed his mom’s shoulder and forced
her around, looking at her wide-eyed. She “No, no. We’d have to walk past them
was shocked. and that—I just don’t want to bother them.”
Jasper’s mother looked up. “We should get
“Jasper, what the hell?” she scanned his more fried pickles. I like them here.” Her
eyes. “Are you okay?” eyes were pooling with liquid.

“I’m fine,” he breathed. “I’m fine. I just “Let’s wait until they leave,” Jasper of-
thought I saw someone I recognized.” This fered. She nodded, thankful for the sugges-
was, to Jasper’s horror, the worst thing to say tion. They waited two hours for Shelby and
because Molly then turned instantly, excited Bianca to stop having fun and leave. Toby
to see who he could’ve been talking about. barely checked on Jasper and his mother,
She hoped to see a familiar friend of Jasper’s, only stopping by to ask if they wanted drink
but to her dismay, she saw her youngest son refills or something else to pick at other than
smiling with his girlfriend in a booth that he their fried pickles. They weren’t really that
didn’t belong in. She whipped her head away hungry for something substantial anymore.
as if she saw something she wasn’t supposed At around closing time, Jasper watched
to see—like she had been peeking and prod- Shelby and Bianca slip out of their booth
ding as a child, as one of her own. and out of the restaurant. He looked over
at his mom and said it was time to go, that
“Did they see me?” she asked quietly. it was time to leave. As they were walking
Jasper hadn’t seen despair on his mother’s back to their cars, his mother checked her
face in awhile. phone and gasped.

“No,” he said, returning the softness of “Jasper, you had work! You were sup-
her voice. “No. They didn’t.” He felt like a kid posed to be at the gas station an hour ago!”
again, seeing her shoulders heavy, her face He placed their third fried pickle order on
looking at the table but not really staring top of his car.
at anything. Her thoughts were elsewhere,
not in this world, and he contemplated “I texted Ben and said there was an emer-
whether he should speak or not. Some part gency. He took my shift.”
of him loved seeing her hurt, but another
part, a part he hadn’t felt in a very long His mother’s mouth opened slightly as
time, wanted to wrap his arounds around her arms fell to her side. She didn’t know
her shoulders and protect her. what to do as her emotions consumed her,
fearful of making a wrong or bothersome
“He could’ve just said he was going out move, hoping that only her tears would do
with Bianca,” her voice broke. She cleared the talking. Jasper, also never good with his

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words, gathered his momma and hugged
her small shoulders hoping that this would
help in some tiny way. They didn’t speak.
Somewhere up in the sky, God’s reading
lamp shone brightly over them in the Long-
horn’s parking lot, giving them a darkness
to hide in before they both parted ways to
return to their home.

About the Author

Hannah Newman is 24-year-old student working on her
BA in English at Kennesaw State University. She currently
works at her university’s writing center, where she tutors
students on their writing process and helps lead the
creative writing club, “Write Place.” In Spring 2020, she
will begin working on her masters in Professional Writing,
where she will continue crafting her passion.

39

THE EAGLE AND
THE RAVEN

by Robert Gamer

I first laid eyes on her outside the Diamond Canadian Club, with a glass of ice on the
Intercontinental on Franklin Street in Ju- side.
neau. A breath taker in looks, she worked
the crowd of tourists streaming by from the “Sure you don’t want to get an order of
anchored cruise chips in port to lure them halibut and chips?” I asked. “It’s about as
into the high end stone establishment. I good as you can get.”
saw right through her saccharine smile at
once. It was like looking into the mirror. “You just invited me for a drink,” she re-
minded me.
Risking it all on one throw, I stalked
straight up to her and said, “My name’s Waiting until the waiter had cleared
Tommy, and if your free after work, I’d like away, she said, “I’m A Tlingit.”
to take you out for a drink.”
“You’re everything!” I couldn’t help
Giving me the once over, the saccharine saying.
smile still in place, she said, “Sure Tommy,
that’s awful nice. I’m through at ten.” The sugary smile not fading, she gazed
straight at me with those sparkling coal
At ten sharp I arrived, but she was no- black eyes. “You just passing through,
where in sight. Not that I was afraid of being Tommy?”
stood up. Twenty minutes after the hour
she did appear. “How about the Sandbar & “I think that I’m going to call Juneau my
Grill down on Industrial Street?” I said. home for awhile. I’ve got a boat- a purse
seiner. Brought it down from Sitka. My
“Okay,” she nodded her head. seiner can wrap up 250-500 fish in a set. Yes,
I feel pretty confident that I can make do in
Although the place was rocking, we these waters.”
managed to find a table all the way in the
rear and sat down. When the waiter finally The waiter returned with our drinks. I
came over, I ordered a Jim Bean on the took a sip from mine, while she gulped hers
rocks, while she asked for a double shot of right down. “You been living in Alaska long?”
she wiped her lips.

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“I came from Michigan when I was thir- Finishing what was left of the Jim Bean, I
teen with my dad. I didn’t see much of him, signaled to the waiter to refresh our drinks.
though. He was off logging. When he did “You must have a lot of admirers,” I threw
come back, he’d spend his time boozing and out.
whoring. Finally, he beat a dude to death
who he thought had cheated him in cards. “Your right, I do. For a squaw, I’d say that
That happened when I was fifteen. He got I’m in high demand.”
12-25 years at the Anchorage Correctional
Complex. I haven’t seen him since.” I had that coming. “That’s okay. I’ll join
the line.”
“That’s too bad!” she said.
When the waiter returned with our
I took another sip of my drink. “Not re- drinks, she drained hers right away, not
ally. He used to whip me something awful, even batting her eyelashes. I would have
and that’s when he was in a good mood. I taken my usual time finishing mine, but she
never felt nothing much for him.” blurted out, ”Down the hatch, Tommy. I’d
like to take you for a ride.”
“And your mom?”
Sounding like a fine idea to me, she was
“Your guess is as good as mine. Never set quick on the draw all right. I gulped down
sight on her. She left when I was an infant. Run the Jim Bean, and we were out of there. She
off and never came back…How about you?” led me to a beat up Jeep Wrangler sand-
wich parked on 4th Street. Getting in on the
“My people-they go back over a 1000 passenger side, there was no question that
years. The totem pole outside our hut has the alcoholic content in her blood made her
16 rings-sixteen generations.” unfit to drive, but then, this was Alaska.

“You still live in your tribal hut?” Gunning the jeep, she headed took a
right unto Franklin Street. Taking Franklin to
The smile became leery. “You mean Front Street, she swung a left. Front Street
where we do the war dances, and smoke crossed Main Street where she banged a
the peace pipe?” right. Main Street took us right to the Egan
Drive. Picking up speed, we were heading
“No, I didn’t mean it that way at all,” I north.
came back, chastened. “I was just curious
about where your digs are.” As we passed by the Aurora Basin, I
thought that I’d say, “Where I live.” She
“For your information, we live in our didn’t say anything. In fact, she didn’t say
quarter. Our Indian pride is still intact.” anything during the whole drive. We drove
by the lone McDonalds franchise in Juneau
“I ought to tell you that I was in stir,” I and the miniature Costco outlet. before hit-
swallowed hard. ting the open road. There wasn’t much of
anything to see after that.
“You did time?”
After about 30 minutes, she started
“A year for Grand Theft, three for Ag- slowing down. I had no idea if she planned
gravated Assault. I had a choice view of to make out me or kill me. Whatever
Gastineau Channel from my cell during the she wanted to do was the way it will be.
last stretch. Won enough playing Texas hold
‘em, though, to make a down payment on
my boat.”

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Stopping the car, she turned off the engine. “What’s wrong, Tommy? Surely this isn’t
We were in total blackness. “You come out the first time that you hooked up.”
to this spot much?” I asked.
“Okay.”
I noticed that the saccharine smile had
totally disappeared. Her face had been re- Going down the row of boats, I led her to
configured to as true a look as could be. All my craft, Drifter. She wasn’t much to speak
pretense had been dropped. “Only with my of, but I wouldn’t have exchanger her for
Raven.” the Queen Mary II. Drifter held her own in
the sea with the best of them.
“Your raven?”
“A little paint job wouldn’t hurt,” she
“Can’t you take a joke?” looked the boat over.

“I’m afraid that I don’t get the punch line.” “Nor would a couple of thousand bucks
to have it done.”
As she got out of the Wrangler, I decided
to do the same. Although a brisk, cold wind Boarding, I took her right away to the
had come up, she didn’t seem affected cabin below. “I gave the cleaning lady a
in the least. Not that there was any place week off so I hope that you don’t mind the
to wander. Locked in by the foothills of a clutter.” The scent of fish overpowered the
mountain, we had come to the end of the nostrils.
road. In fact, there was a signpost stuck in
place that said just that: End of the Road. Settling on the bunk, she took a deep
breath. “The Eagle and the Raven!” she de-
Seeing that she had walked up to the clared, her eyes opening wide. “We are invi-
signpost, I went over and joined her. After olate.” With that, she began peeling off her
looking away for a few moments, she clothes. What met my eyes was not entirely
turned and faced me. “Kiss me, Tommy,” I what I expected. Her body was full of lacer-
heard her say. “Kiss me, Raven.” ations, as if she had been through a grinder.

It wasn’t as if I needed any convincing. I “What the hell!” I finally burst out.
brought her into my arms as she squeezed
her body into mine, a perfect fit. Our lips “Love marks,” she brushed me off. “I have
met. a husband, and must stay with him.”

I don’t know how long we stayed there “Not any more you don’t! I’ll-I’ll put a
necking, but eventually we got back into the stop to this.”
Wrangler. Cutting a u-turn, she started back
on Egan Drive. Although no words were ex- “Tommy, I appreciate what you are saying,
changed during the ride, fully articulated but you are not of my people. We have to
was what was between us. I had never felt keep to our ways to go on. Now, if you are
closer to another human being in my life. going to screw me, you’re sure taking your
time.”
Pulling into the first available spot at
the Aurora Basin, she turned the engine off. Up to this point, the relations I had
“Are you going to invite me aboard?” she had with the opposite sex had been with
asked. working girls, a few minutes of carnal plea-
sure and it was over, pure business. This,
“You want to-sure,” I stammered. though, proved to be a world apart. I don’t

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know exactly how to put it: it seemed as if battening down, I grabbed a quick shower.
we both were gnawing for something in- Dressing, I took off right away for the Dia-
terred deep inside, a complimentary side. mond International, hoofing it into the cen-
tral distract.
When it was over, she lay beside me tug-
ging for breath. “My Raven,” she gasped. “A Expecting her to be at her assigned post
Raven, Tommy, do you understand?-a Raven drawing in potential customers, I was taken
represents a moiety.” aback to see another taking her place. Al-
though she didn’t lack for looks, there was
“A what?” no way she came near the beauty of who
she was substituting for. Waiting until an
“So is an Eagle,” she ignored me. “To us, hour after the Diamond Intercontinental
they are intended to be a match.” closed, she did not appear.

“That’s fine by me.” I had had in my arms I repeated my watch for a solid week
who I had always dreamed about, and it with the same results. With a heavy heart, I
was as simple as that. My eyes were closing made up my mind to go up a step- to inquire
and I felt myself drifting off to a deep and within as to her whereabouts. The artificial
gentle sleep. smile on the face of the greeter vanished
the moment he laid eyes on me, as if he
When I opened my eyes in the morning, didn’t have to pretend with the riff raff.
she was gone. I sat bolt upright. Thinking “How can I help you?” he barely got out.
that she might have gone up to get some
air, I scampered outside without a stitch “I’m searching for someone. Employed
on. She, however, was nowhere on the here, she stands outside trying to entice the
deck. Returning to the cabin, I noticed that tourists inside. “
she had left a neatly folded Chikat blanket
by the pillow. Picking the blanket up, I no- “You don’t mean the young lady outside?”
ticed that woven in were two expressions he snapped.
stitched beside each other, Taakw aaneidi
and S! eefk weidi. “No, it’s not her. She was working last
week.”
Putting off her disappearance to having
to go to work, I just prayed that she wasn’t “Oh, you must mean the Tlingit.”
going to take a beating from her other side.
Although I had beaten a man to a pup once, “Yes, that’s her.”
I had no reservation about taking his life, if
it came to that. “Pardon my saying, but you must be new
to these parts. The Tlingit keep to them-
A day of fishing lay in between seeing selves. As for the woman you are seeking,
her again. Going out trawling, the weather she was the easiest pick up you could find.
shortly turned. With the waves white She’d open her legs for you on demand.
capping, the boat began to bob. So did That’s the reason her husband used to beat
my spirits. The char, halibut and Chinook her silly all the time. ..Where is she? Her
salmon crowded my nets, though. husband probably had enough and finisher
her. We’ll never know. What they do to each
At last, satisfied that I had had a respect- other out in the woods is their own busi-
able day out, I headed back to my berth. ness. Who cares, huh? She’s one less Indian
After hauling out and storing the catch, and who we have to bother about.”

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What kept me from decking this man, I’ll times as I stared down into the depths, I
never understand. Slumping, I just felt the have observed what you can’t see. I had the
air leave my system. certitude that she would never leave me, no
matter what.
“You all right, mister?” the greeter asked,
looking me over. A couple of weeks afterwards, I bought a
quart of Canadian Club. Hailing a cab, I told
I turned and strided off. the driver to take me to the end of the road.
The driver understood where I meant.
When they say that life has its ups and
downs, they certainly had me in mind. When we got to the sign post, I got out
From the beginning, my life had been on a of the cab. Opening the bottle, I took a few
steady downward slide. Then I had run into slugs. The whiskey felt good going down. I
her, and the direction reversed-at least for went and placed the bottle in front of the
awhile. sign. The driver didn’t say a word. That’s
Alaska for you. Anything goes.
Nevertheless, I can’t help feeling some-
thing has changed. Although I had been “I will always be your Raven,” I said in
beaten down and knocked silly, my spirit parting.
had somehow remained intact. You can’t
tame the wild. You have to kill it. That it The cab left me off at the dock. I made
hadn’t done, and maybe never will. my way back to Drifter. The air felt crisp and
clean. There was nothing to do but curl up
I have never mourned anyone before. in the Chikat blanket and drift off to sleep,
The fishing helped. Being out in the deep, in content that she’d be soaring where it
the great, fertile openness of the sea, many counted, in his heart, and in his soul.

About the Author

Robert Gamer currently resides in Danvers, Massachusetts.
Learning from such masters as Chekhov and Turgenev, he
is working on a novel. When not writing, he continues
to push for protecting the environment and fixing the
immigration system.

44

FOR EMILY

by R. J. Fox

“Tell Emily I love her.” At least, she had no regrets on her end.
In the two weeks he lay in a coma state,
Her husband’s dying words. His death she made told him she loved him count-
bed epitaph to Amy, his wife of 25 years. less times. And though he didn’t respond,
she was hopeful that it still reached him
On the heels of not saying a single word deep inside his heart and soul. Though she
for over two weeks, two days after being wasn’t 100% certain, she was pretty sure
placed under hospice care. he squeezed her hand in response one of
the times. Perhaps it was wishful thinking.
It would be another two weeks before A meaningless reflex. But she refused to
he passed, so she certainly didn’t expect believe that.
those to be his final words.
She kept reminding herself that all that
But in the end, that’s exactly what they really mattered most at this point was
were. making sure he remained as comfortable as
he could under hospice care. And that all the
Though James rarely expressed romantic arrangements were taken care of. Their two
sentiments, she certainly never doubted grown children – Lucy and Michael – had
that he loved her as much as she loved that all covered, leaving her with the primary
him. She could at least take solace in that. task was to stay by his side every moment of
Yet, here he was confessing his love to his remaining time on earth. An early finish
someone she didn’t even know. And it hurt line that took her and the kids by surprise.
more than she cared to admit. Perhaps had
he confessed this to her at some point, it She was grateful that she at least told
would have lessened the sting, rather than them that he had loved them shortly be-
leaving her in a cloud of mystery. Had her fore his coma. That gave her some solace,
never confessed his love to someone else, at least. She was also grateful that they
it wouldn’t never would have bothered her didn’t hear him profess his love for Emily.
that he never told her that he loved her. If She wondered if she would tell them later.
she didn’t expect it when he was healthy,
she certainly wouldn’t have expected If there was one silver lining to his un-
when he was too far gone – too ravaged expected illness, it was that it finally put to
by aggressive cancer combined with failed rest a longstanding feud with Michael. If
chemo to express statements of love. But only had it been that easy when the final
Emily changed all of that.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

curtain wasn’t already closing. Funny (on it dwelling on something that really didn’t
second thought, it wans’t funny at all) matter right now?
how death has a way of way of repairing
old wounds, if only to leave a behind much Because it did matter.
deeper suffering in its awake.
Emily mattered.
The past no longer mattered. Or, so she
thought. Her husband wanted it known that it
was Emily who was loved. Not her.
She tried to regain her focus and stop
worrying about something she had no con- Five days later, he passed. She was by
trol over. But no matter how hard she tried his side, along with their children. She was
to fight it, she couldn’t get it back. holding his hand when he took his final
breath. It was the best anyone could hope
Only one thought continued to plague for when they pass.
her:
As Amy stared at his now lifeless body,
Who the hell was Emily? her brain refused to process the fact that
he was gone forever. Even though she knew
A constant loop. he was.

She considered the possibility that his Her children hugged her, then left the
proclamation was a drug-induced, qua- room to give her one last moment alone
si-coma hallucination. But he had said it at with her first and only love.
a time when he seemed more coherent and
alert than at any other point under hospice The funeral came two days later. As ex-
care. pected, it was a great turnout. Nothing com-
petes with Italian weddings and funerals. In
She had so many questions that she fact, it rivaled the 500 guests at their wed-
wondered if she would ever have answers ding. Had it been up to her, it would have
to. Was Emily someone from his past? been capped at 250. But when his mother
Or, present? She kept coming back to the demanded to pay to keep the Italian tradi-
theory that he was confused. If by some tion alive, what choice did she have? At a
miracle he awoke from his coma, would she funeral, there are no invites. The generous
ask him about it? Or, would she let it go? turnout was a welcome distraction from her
Her grief was deep enough. Why deepen it? grief, but also overwhelming at times. And
Then again, if she didn’t ask, would it haunt there were several strangers she did no rec-
her for years to come? After his inevitable ognize.
passing, would she look for evidence? Or,
would she feel too guilty snooping through Was one of them Emily?
his stuff for clues posthumously? Then
again, he was the one who brought her up Would she even want to know?
in the first place. He didn’t have to mention
her at all if he wanted to keep it a secret. She suddenly found herself becoming
Then again, it wasn’t like his judgment was angry. Why couldn’t he take it to his grave?
sound. He was so close to doing just that! Maybe
it would have been different if she told him
She tried reminding herself once again who it was. But to just drop a line like that
that time wasn’t on her side. So why waste without any explanation was torture.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

She tried to focus on her grief, but all she She decided to sleep on it and placed it
could think about was Emily. And there was next to her nightstand before she went to
nothing she could do about it. sleep. The next morning, she opened it. It
was a simple gold bracelet. Though there
And then he was buried. Along with all was nothing unusual about the bracelet it-
his secrets. self, she knew right away that it was never
intended for her: she was allergic to gold.
One secret in particular. He knew that.

A few weeks into the new “normal”, Amy And she wished she had never opened it.
realized that the ghost of Emily wasn’t going
away any time soon. Though she avoided it But it got her no closer to solving the
at first, she soon began the inevitable task mystery.
of snooping: through his computer, e-mail,
drawers, etc. And though she felt guilty for Who was Emily?
snooping through his stuff, she figured he
had it coming to him. And she was angry. Several weeks passed. And no further
Particularly angry that he covered his tracks evidence surfaced.
so well.
She finally gave up. That fact that there
He could find no evidence of anybody was someone else was a reality she had
named Emily. Not in his e-mail. Nor, his so- to learn to accept. Not that it really mat-
cial media account. Nor, in his phone. tered. It was all in the past now. And the
past was the only place where he could re-
But then it dawned on her. What if Emily main, despite everything feeling very much
was from before they knew one another? in the past. No apologies or reconciliation
A childhood crush? Someone he took to required, let alone possible.
a high school dance? Someone he trans-
ported back to the present through the fog Nothing would bring him back to life.
of his clouded, drug-addled mind that was No matter what, he was dead. Dead, dead,
reaching the finish line of life? dead. Knowing the truth wasn’t going to
change that fact. And he was just as dead
Just when she gave up on ever finding to Emily as she was to her.
an answer, she found a possible clue: a
small, wrapped present tucked deep inside But wait! Did Emily even know? It was
his sock drawer. Was this the smoking gun quite possible she didn’t. He saw no evi-
she had been looking for? Should she even dence of missed calls or texts on his phone.
open it? What would opening it prove? And Wouldn’t she have tried contacting him?
what good would not opening it do? Was it possible he had some hidden form
of communication that she wasn’t privy
She decided to sleep on it for a night. to? A burner phone? Should she hire a pri-
What harm could that do? Keeping it vate investigator? Then again, why put her-
wrapped felt like a part of him was still alive. self through that? Because she feared she
A gift from beyond the grave. would otherwise never find closure. And
would never grieve properly. Until she fi-
But intended for whom? nally solved this mystery.

She was pretty sure she knew the an- She wondered if she should solicit her
swer. But would there be any proof? kids to help? Did she really want to drag

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

them into this? She decided to keep it to Emily entered.
herself. For his sake. And for the sake of
their children. “Have a seat.”

A few more weeks passed. And then an Emily sits down on the couch. An hour
unexpected knock at her door. She looked later, Amy finally knew the whole truth:
through the peephole at a woman no older Emily was the product of a college one-
than 20. Probably another damn solicitor. night stand. Several years before she and
But when noticed a car was parked in her Jim had ever met. He was fully prepared to
driveway, she realized that solicitors don’t be a father. However, the mother preferred
usually park in your driveway. Did this to raise the child on her own. She even
person have the wrong house? refused child support. They worked out a
deal that he could send letters and presents
Though she considered ignoring the for birthdays and Christmas, but that there
stranger until she went away, she realized she would be no other contact. Once she was
didn’t have a choice. The knocking continued. 18, she would be allowed to pursue a rela-
tionship with her father if she so chose.
“Hello, may I help you?” Amy asked.
She turned 18 last week. And now, here
“I know you don’t know who I am,” the she was, in her father’s living room.
girl said. “But I know who you are.”
“He never met you in person?” Amy
“I’m sorry?” asked, still in shock.

“My name is Emily Ford…” She shook her head.

Amy’s brain struggled to process any of “I found out about his passing through
this. a Facebook post. I realize that me coming
here was a risk. And I understand and am
“You don’t know me, but I know your sorry if you are upset.”
husband—”
“No. I’m so happy you came.”
“How dare you…” Amy said, feeling the
urge to strangle somebody for the first time She truly was.
in her life.
“Hang on a moment. There’s something
“I’m sorry,” Emily said. “I could leave. I he would have wanted you to have.”
didn’t mean to—”
Amy retrieved the bracelet, which she
“How did you expect someone to act now realized was probably intended as a
when their deceased husband’s mistress birthday gift. Or, perhaps graduation gift.
shows up on their doorstep?”
“It was wrapped. Clearly intended for
“Wait. Is that what you think I am?” you.”

“Please…” “How do you know it was for me?”

“I’m his daughter. He was in college.” “I’m allergic to gold.”

Amy felt the anger awash away, as con- Emily put in on. Held it against her wrist
fusion and relief settled in. and smiled.

“Come on in…” Amy said. “It’s lovely.”

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