Adelaide Literary Magazine No.23

OUT THE ROAD

by Connor Bowen

Sophia watched through her apartment win- old grease stains accompanied by some new
dow as smoke billowed out the tops of the pine ones. There were few enough still that she
trees a mile away on the far side of the chan- could tell which marks were fresh. When she
nel. At first, wisps of it curled around the upper lost track was when she’d buy him a pack of
branches like phantom fingers grabbing hold new ones. "Hey Sophe," he said and kissed her
and then it raged and blackened the sky. She with his tongue and his warmth.
kept her hands still on her father's ukulele as
she watched the cloud swallow the blue spring "You look like a Dalmatian," she said and
air. Droplets of sweat formed on the rosewood wiped a smudge off his skin with her thumb,
bridge and the nylon strings. Sophia didn't adding it to his shirt's collection. He yelped like
know anybody across the water on Douglas a hound and tossed his shirt at the hamper in
Island except for Mrs. Moss, whose leaves So- their closet. She was relieved that Brennan's
phia used to rake when she was in middle contempt for his boss hadn’t come home with
school, but Mrs. Moss always vacationed in him to congest their apartment like it had been
May. doing over the past week. She lay in their bed
as he took off his jeans and joined her. She
Sophia brushed the strings to hear two played gingerly with the hairs on his chest like
quick D minor chords and followed them with a they were seedlings in her garden. "Did you get
drawn-out G minor. She kept this rhythm out of the shop?"
watching two fire trucks speed over the bridge
from downtown to the island. Her hedgehog, "I did," Brennan said. "There's this beater
Shadow, climbed from the spot between her Oldsmobile on Douglas that some old fart re-
crossed legs onto her calf and glanced up at fuses to--"
her, then lost his grip and fell between her legs
again. She dropped her instrument onto the Sophia pushed her palm into his chest and
bed as if it had deceived her once she recog- sat up. "You were on Douglas? Are you okay?"
nized her strumming to be the first two she asked, then shook her head. "Brennan,
measures of funeral Taps. there’s a fire."

Sophia twisted her Claddagh ring around "I know," he said, "I saw it."
her finger, not thinking to do anything except
watch the smoke until her apartment door "Look," she pointed.
opened and Brennan’s work boots thudded
across the floor as he came into their room. His "I tried blowing on it." She gave him a look
white t-shirt and blue jeans were riddled with and he flattened his smirk. "It's the apartments
off Cordova Street. They have the road closed
off on the highway.”

"Is anybody hurt?" Sophia asked. She slumped onto her back at the opposite end
of their bed and gazed at the ceiling. She
"I don't know. It was a pretty small fire. I crossed her outstretched feet and rocked Bren-
doubt it. Are you okay?" he asked her. nan's thigh with her toes in a gentle rhythm.
"Got it." She sat up. "Let's just head out the
"I'm okay." She kissed him in compassion road. But I drive."
for all those possessions burned, the lives dis-
mayed, or worse. "Perfect."

Brennan set Shadow in his cage. He un- Sophia locked her ukulele case, Brennan
clothed Sophia then himself, and she tangled grabbed Shadow from his cage, and they
her legs around him. They rocked rhythmically brought both into Brennan's cobalt Toyota Ta-
on their bed as the ukulele case shuffled to the coma and drove north.
side of the mattress and fell onto the floor.
Sophia felt regal sitting high above the oth-
Sophia found nothing sweeter than the er cars as she drove up Egan highway. Brennan
slight smell of motor oil mingling with the had put more than a few thousand dollars into
scents of their skin. They didn't drift asleep as the truck's twenty-four-inch wheels, the rims
they’d often done. Brennan ran his hand along to match, tinted windows, a paint job, and the
her soft waist and said, "Let's do something." timing belt that he had personally installed.
He'd done all but replace the stereo and the
"Yeah," Sophia whispered staring into his cruddy speakers that crackled all the sounds of
irises as if they were showing faint reflections a low frequency on Brennan's only CD. It was a
of her optimal future, and she poured on a mixtape he labeled Real Rock n' Roll. "Into the
smile. "What do you want to do? Do you want Mystic" was playing, and every time the horns
to go to the range?" howled their chorus the speakers rattled like
something was loose in them. She pulled a cou-
"We can go to the range. Never mind. We ple of cigarettes from her pack and held them
can't go to the range. Tommy has my rifle." out like a pair of scissors between her fingers.
Brennan took one, and she handed him a light-
"Why does Tommy have your rifle?" She er. He lit her cigarette then his own. “You
just wanted to feel his voice hum. know Sophe, I was just thinking,” he mumbled
with the cigarette between his lips.
"He's with his dad and his cousin on Admi-
ralty. He thinks he's finally going to get a “What, that I look sexy in this wind?” So-
brown." phia asked and showed a side smile. He took
his cigarette from his mouth.
"He never shot a brown bear?" Sophia
asked. "That I know I'm going to marry you," he
said.
"No," Brennan said. "He hunts like a white
man." "Oh are you?" She wondered how long he'd
been staring at her before he spoke and
"Nobody hunts like my Gwich’in boy." So- she looked as if those seconds were the curren-
phia ran her hands up the sides of his abdo- cy of love.
men, inward to his chest. She pressed her lips
on the skin above his heart until she felt a beat "Someday." He lifted Shadow to meet his
and kissed it. His look gave evidence of distrac- eye. "She thinks I'm kidding."
tion that he determinedly extinguished. "I want
to do something but nothing at all," he said. "I love you, Brennan." She wished now she
wasn't driving. "Since the tenth grade, even
"Well I think you've made your way into when you were dating Lauren, Angela, you
quite the paradox," Sophia said. "Let's see."
She thought. “Something but nothing at all."

were there for me. You were my friend." Van passed eighty. "Go, Johnny! Go! Go!" Brennan
Morrison’s boisterous voice filled the car's si- howled to the trees. They rounded a bend.
lence. Sophia turned to see why Brennan had- "Johnny B. Goode!"
n’t spoken. He was looking at her like she was
something she could never imagine being. He Sophia stomped the brake. Thirty yards up
slid his arm behind her. She lifted her back the road lay a hemlock, at least a hundred
from the seat to let his hand caress her shoul- years old, fallen horizontally across the pave-
ders and fall back into his lap. "We're happy," ment. Brennan's chest met the frame of the
she said. sunroof. Shadow dug his claws at the glass, as
he slid down the windshield, his black eyes
“We’re happy,” he repeated. looking already dead, and he somersaulted off
the front of the hood. The Tacoma wrecked the
They circled the roundabout and took the tree and sent the truck's bed end upward cata-
north exit for the twenty-eight-mile stretch of pulting a bag of mulch, a shovel, and Brennan
Glacier Highway. They were destined for the through the air. Her father's ukulele case
reflective aluminum sign, which read END OF speared the windshield. The truck suspended
THE ROAD, riddled across with birdshot holes. almost vertically then fell back down. Its tires
Beyond the sign was a brush eaten path that bounced off the asphalt, as Brennan’s head hit
Sophia had never gone down. She figured she a Sitka spruce along the tree line to the right of
would today. They smoked their cigarettes the road. She couldn’t hear it over the sound of
down and in synchrony flicked them onto the the stereo but she saw it when the flesh from
road. his face and neck ripped and scattered blood
onto the foliage that he fell into. A piston
Behind a thin line of spruces and across the clicked trying to pump still, as Chuck Berry
channels, there were snow caps still on the went into his solo riff.
island's mountains and the Chilkat range that
conquered the horizon. To the right of the road With blurred vision, she scanned the brush
were endless evergreens and fauna that behind the rising curtain of engine smoke for
climbed the mountainside as high as they could any sign of movement. She opened her door to
breathe. Shadow clambered tentatively on go to him, to see if he was okay. How could he
Brennan's lap. Brennan pointed at four thin be okay? Her head was blaring with
stratus clouds running parallel. "Look," he said. pain. Maybe. She dribbled blood that was pool-
"It's God's coke mirror." She looked and they ing in her mouth onto her shirt and a tooth fell
laughed. with it. She dug her tongue around the soft
flesh where the molar had been. She had just
Chuck Berry began the voltaic first riff of stepped down toward the road when her vision
"Johhny B. Goode" and sent a current down gave a nauseous twist, and she fell and
Sophia's leg to step harder on the pedal. The smacked the asphalt.
percussion came in, and Brennan swayed his
torso back and forth, bobbing one shoulder There she saw him writhing on the pave-
after the other like he was hexed by rhythm. ment and bleating. She stumbled along the
Chuck Berry sang like he’d won it all. The road’s dividing line to where he lay. She knelt
speakers' crackling was symphonic. Sophia and picked him up to cradle him, but he
sped faster. Juneau's breeze whispered words shrieked and bit her palm. She set him back on
unheard, as hot air pattered at their open win- the road and stroked his back which seemed to
dows and out spoke it. "Go, Johnny! Go! Go!" calm him as her blood painted his quills.
they hollered in ecstasy. "Go, Johnny! Go! Go!" “You’re okay baby. Shhh, you’re okay,” she
Brennan wrapped Shadow under his collar and kept promising him. She repeated the desper-
climbed up sticking himself out of the sunroof. ate mantra over and over again. For a moment
Sophia sped faster. The speedometer’s dial

she forgot where she was and everything that cot. At one point, she started laughing and she
had happened. A slow breeze brought an un- couldn’t understand why, but it would’ve been
namable, pungent, natural scent to her nose. vile to try to stop it.
She looked up at the sky and glimpsed a
memory from far back when she was a child, Frost caked the grass of the courthouse
but it was gone before she could catch it. lawn as she was led by her cuffed hands up the
sidewalk and through the courthouse doors.
The city road crew pulled onto the berm. She didn't listen to a word of what was said as
They didn’t pull out the chainsaws that they’d she waited through the other trials. She imag-
brought to hack the dead tree into sections and ined black-tailed deer licking dew off the leaves
dispose of. They called the police. The oldest of of the devil's club that grew in the park. They
them ran to her with a pair of white socks in his were careful and deliberate with their tongues
hand and pressed them on her face. “Is any- so as not to be pricked by the thorns. Their
thing broken?” he asked. When he touched the hooves sank into the wet grass, leaving marks
socks against the gash between her eyebrows of their choice across the ground.
she winced and grabbed his forearm. “Alright, I
won’t.” She told him that she needed to go "Mr. Frederick, how do you plead to the
and see her boyfriend. “No.” He held the word charge?" At first, she didn't recognize the man
out long with dread of what the sight might do because his beard was shaven and his hair was
to her. He reached his arms around her, a pad- buzzed down to his scalp but she'd seen him
lock disguised as a hug. countless times panhandling at any given store-
front downtown.
She had an encompassing awareness that
drew all of reality to her. Nothing was filtered. "Guilty, your honor," he said.
The maroon and indigo checkers on the man’s
flannel were the vivid hues of an ocean after "I sentence you to five days in the Lemon
sunset. Bruce Springsteen sang with the still Creek Correctional Center and a fine of one
clicking engine, and she could hear him as if thousand and seven hundred dollars payable
the speakers were beside her: “Show a little through community service." He took his gavel
faith, there’s magic in the night. You ain’t a in hand. "We've had enough tragedies on our
beauty but hey you’re alright.” She could smell roads, Mr. Frederick. You know this. If I find
the sodium in the air. The world was so big and you on a second offense for any substance
she was every piece of it. She heard, with the crime, believe me, you'll be punished to the full
vibrations of the birds’ songs, the stiff words extent of the law. You're a part of this city.
behind her from one of the crew walking out You're a part of our community. Help to take
from the tree line. care of it, Mr. Frederick. Next case. Sophia
O’Rourke." Sophia stood up from the cold
“Don’t go over there,” he said in a careful wooden pew and walked to the stand as her
tone to the others. “He’s dead, man. Fucking lawyer followed. "Miss O’Rourke.” She could
mess.” see no compassion in the wrinkles around the
judge’s eyes. He could have just as well been a
*** kiosk dispensing tickets. “For the charge of one
count of criminally negligent homicide, your
There isn't time in memory, only ink stained on bail will be set at ten thousand dollars." The
pages to turn through and reread. Sounds ech- gavel rapped the pallet and sent a paralyzing
oed off the stark white jail cell walls like the crack through the room. "Next case. Henry
squealing and banging discord of an ensemble Adder." Sophia's attorney guided her from the
and back into Sophia's mind as she lay on the stand and out of the courthouse. She had told
Sophia her name when they met this morning
but it didn't matter.

Her parents posted her bail. They both send a demo team out there. Blow it all up
looked sick. Her father was wearing his rain- with fifty-or-so pounds of dynamite, I don’t
coat so Sophia knew he’d come straight from know. But they need a way to get it all out
the docks. She trembled more the tighter her there, and if we’re lucky, we’ll be the ones to
mother hugged her. She was near seizing be- run it for them. If I’m real lucky I’ll be--“
fore her mother let go and a calmness sedated
her nerves. "I don't know how long I'll have to “Can we--“ Sophia’s mother interjected.
spend in there," she told them as they drove “Can we not, please, talk about-- let’s just talk
down Egan. about something else. Please.” They listened
to each other chew instead.
"Please don't think about that, Sophie.
Please," her mother said. Sophia took a slice from the box of pepper-
oni. As she chewed, the crust dragged across
"You--" a quiver caught her father’s words. her tongue like dry sand. The slices of peppero-
He didn't try again to say them. ni were crisp like dead leaves and sopping with
fatty oil but her stomach demanded she swal-
Sophia went inside her parents’ house and lowed. Her father kept his eyes on his plate in a
they followed. She opened the door to what bashful manner. The distance between the
used to be her bedroom and shut it. It was three of them at the table felt like miles. So-
hardly lit from the outside gloom that slipped phia remembered how they’d tuck her be-
through the squinting blinds. There was only tween the two of them in bed some nights as a
her short lavender lamp resting on a nightstand child, but that was so long ago before so much
next to a bed frame that now leaned upright distance and so much silence. Now she could-
against the wall. A poster survived on the wall n’t even feel the air from her mother’s breath.
of Alice looking up at the Cheshire cat, his
backside disintegrating into the unknown. A “There’s good news,” her mother said.
mess of books and clothes and other unneeded “Your hedgehog is okay.” Sophia stopped
things -misfits of memorabilia- had all been chewing her mouthful and looked up. “The vet
stuffed into boxes that now sat on the floor. called. A policeman, what was his name?”
She opened the closet and found her comfort-
er folded up on the shelf above the hanging “Kreischner,” her father said.
rack. She wrapped herself, turned the lamp on,
and collapsed asleep on the carpeted floor. “Officer Kreischner,” her mother continued.
“He took him to the vet and he paid the bill
She woke sweating to her father stroking too. We can pick him up tomorrow.”
her hair. “Come get something to eat, hon,” he
told her. She kept her comforter swaddled “Can we go tonight?” Sophia asked. She
around her and went to the kitchen where her remembered a policeman lifting Shadow out of
mother was sitting eating a slice of vegetarian her lap and onto the road before a paramedic
pizza. Sophia and her father took their places guided her to the ambulance.
at the table. “You know,” her father finally said,
“The Taku glacier’s grown so much it’s going to “They won’t be open this late,” her mother
dam up the river. They’re saying next summer said.
the salmon won’t be able to run.” Sophia could
tell by the way his arms were moving that he “Well they might be,” Sophia said. “I’ll call
was making erratic hand gestures under the them.”
table as he did when his mind ran. “Can you
believe that? One glacier isn’t receding and it’s A car braked outside and its tires
causing problems.” Sophia’s mother set her screeched. Sophia’s hand swung across the
slice of pizza onto her plate. “They’re going to table knocking her glass of water to shatter on
the hardwood. “Oh,” she said too terrified to
muster any other words.

“Honey,” her mother said and went to the were staring at the ground and crying to them-
kitchen counter for the broom. One-two-three- selves or trying not to. She knew their thoughts
four-five, Sophia counted her staccato breaths, though and where the blame lay.
attempting to slow them. There were so many
sounds. Smack! The rubber pulling at the road, Tony set his shovel on the wall of the grave.
Chuck Berry’s maniacal chanting, the shovel He leaned against the wall and sank onto his
scraping like a fingernail across the bed of the knees. Sophia slid her heels off and used the
truck, smack! The metal of the engine cracking handle of the shovel to hoist herself into the
and crumbling under the hood that wrinkled pit, as Tony pressed his face against the grass
like wrapping foil. Over again, smack! Over to quiet his blubbering. It was wretched chip-
again, flesh— ping clumps of dull earth away to replace them
with Brennan. She kept digging though. She
“Sophie,” her father pleaded. His hands hoped it showed fortitude or something. Be-
were cupped around her cheeks. “Hey,” he tween two intervals of sobs, Tony expelled a
said. Her mother dropped the broom and it whisper that only she could hear. “You fucked
smacked the hardwood. up, Sophie.” His words creaked like old, warped
floorboards.
“You’re here,” her mother said to Sophia,
first putting one hand on Sophia’s back then Once the hole was dug, Brennan's parents,
frantically putting both her palms on Sophia’s Great Aunt Tara, and Tony, who looked boyish
chest. “You’re home. You’re safe.” She kept now in his filthy suit, lowered the coffin into
replacing soft hands on different parts of So- the ground. "Ah," the chief pointed at the grey
phia as if her body was too hot to touch. So- sky, toward an eagle gliding in a circle above
phia could see them clearly now, her father’s them. "A sign of better days ahead."
straight black hair, her mother’s hazel eyes.
She remembered her counting. One-two-three- Dirt showered Brennan's coffin with sleep-
four-five, she started. Six, seven, eight. Nine. ing darkness. People began to form a line in
She was back again in her parents’ kitchen front of Brennan’s parents. Sophia reached left
sitting under the yellow light of the table’s and right for her mother and father’s hands
chandelier. Her face was wet but she wasn’t and put her weight onto her heels as family
crying anymore like her parents now were. He and friends took their turns offering condolenc-
didn’t make a sound, she thought. But what es. Her mother let go of Sophia’s hand and
was he thinking? joined the row, but her father stayed with her
until her mother returned then took his place
*** at the back of the line. Whispers were hushed
and mourners dispersed a few at a time. So-
On Sunday they buried Brennan. His family phia wrapped her arms around her mother’s
members, five of them, started digging the chest, but her mother didn’t reciprocate her
grave, as was Gwich’in tradition in Fort Yukon. hug. She stared without emotion at the patch
When someone grew tired they handed the of upturned dirt, as Sophia let go. “Mom?” she
shovel off to another mourner. Some of Bren- asked. Her father took her under his arm and
nan’s family was in from Fort Yukon. Sophia walked her away toward the parking lot.
recognized Brennan’s Great Aunt Tara behind
her veil. Sophia knew the chief because of his For seconds silence ate the air, until, ar-
regalia, but she didn’t recognize the others. rhythmic in his timing, he confessed, “Your
She tried to fix her gaze on the casket. For a mother needs a moment.”
moment, she lifted her head and glanced at
some of his relatives across from her but they Before they were at the parking lot, Sophia
excused herself to the bathroom. The service
building was locked, so she ran behind it and

threw up against the wall. She pressed her Sophia said to the floor and returned to her
hands against the brick to stop their trembling. room before they could respond.
No light cast a shadow. Her father took her by
the shoulders away from her vomit and sat her In Shadow’s cage, the food in his bowl had
down onto the grass. She lay there, her head hardly diminished since she’d brought him
resting on her father’s thigh, as her father home from the veterinarian. She slid off the lid
petted her hair grown wet from the light rain. and lifted his plastic igloo to reveal him. He
Her mother came too and sat down. She rested curled his tiny snout deeper under his belly at
her hand on the small of Sophia’s back, but any the sight of her. His quills were all broken
utterance was useless. and blood stained them still. She set two pel-
lets of food on the crevasse between her index
She stayed at her parents’ house for two and middle finger. Shadow furrowed his nose
weeks after that. During those days they or- and then cautiously turned and took a piece
dered delivery for dinner every night. Sophia’s from her hand. He hid his face again beneath
episodes became less frequent, but they were himself, chewing the pellet until it was gone.
never any less vivid. One night while her moth- He reached again for the second pellet and
er was rinsing sweet-and-sour sauce and chick- didn’t retreat as far this time as he nibbled. She
en bits off the plates in the sink, Sophia’s father took two more pellets from the jar and he ate
began tuning his acoustic guitar. He started them. When he’d reach his snout out for the
singing, “You got me on my knees, Layla,” soft- pellets, she’d feel his small breath on her fin-
ly at first to himself, as he always began. Her gers. She must have done this thirty times be-
mom joined in then set the plate in the sink. fore Shadow fell asleep with his chin resting on
She walked with a groove in her step over to the edge of her palm. She didn’t move her
Sophia who was sitting at the table. She guided hand. She watched the fragile animal as his
her daughter up and to the couch, sitting her- crimson quills rose and fell with his breath.
self down long ways first with her back against
the arm of the couch and then cozying Sophia The next day she packed what clothes she
between her legs. Sophia’s back reverberated had and told her parents she thought it better
against her mother’s chest as her mother sang. to live at her apartment again in an effort at
normalcy. “Sophie, baby,” her mom was hold-
Sophia fixed her stare on the mantle behind ing Sophia’s wrists. “We want to know that
the armless leather chair her father sat in. you’re safe. We want you to stay here. Please
From as far back as Sophia could remember, stay here.” Her father said nothing but Sophia
the wood was painted cleanly white, but then could see his trepidation.
her mother had decided years ago to paint it
bright blue and now it was a blue-grey. Sophia Sophia rolled her wrists out of her mother’s
fingered the stitching on the couch as she sang grip and held her hands. “I'm okay, Mom. I
to herself and resonated with her parents. She promise. This is what I need. It will be good for
thought for a moment that she’d been smiling me.” Sophia knew that they understood that
and she probably could have, but then the ster- she would be leaving; they should just make it
ling silver pendulum swung inside the mahoga- easier. They put Sophia’s few outfits, her fa-
ny stained maple clock on the wall and rang ther’s ukulele, which had survived the crash
eight lingering chimes to disrupt the harmoni- unscathed, and Shadow’s cage with him in it
ous sounds. into the back seat of her father’s car and the
three of them drove to Sophia’s apartment.
Her father digressed to soft fingerpicking They said, “I love you,” and they hugged each
unaccompanied by any words. Her mother other. Sophia’s father took her mother by her
started for the liquor cabinet to mix herself a shoulders and pulled her gently away. “She’ll
cocktail. “I think I’m just going to go to bed,” be okay,” he said in her mother’s ear. Sophia
went inside.

That night alone again, Sophia played a loops. Then she grabbed it from under the bed.
song on her father's ukulele. It was one she'd It was heavier than it looked when he held it. It
written in high school, but she had forgotten was his father’s. Does that make it his again?
the words. That petrified her, forgetting. She Would that make this any worse?
stepped out to her apartment stairwell. She
smoked a cigarette down and threw it to the She walked barefoot under street lights and
pile of others, whose embers had already sim- in darkness holding it tightly to her thigh as it
mered and died, as she lit another one. There pressed against her Claddagh ring. Brennan's
were no stars. There was no moon in the sky. jeans draped over her feet to keep them pad-
She lit another cigarette. When she finished it ded from pebbles and bits of glass. She repeat-
she smoked another. After she drew her last ed Brennan's sure words in her head, You know
cigarette from the pack and completed the I'm going to marry you; she could feel him on
pile, she left the cold night and went inside. her skin. A biting gust blew her hair across her
face. "Fuck," she screamed. A black pile shot up
She set two pellets of food between her against the wall next to her, and a blanket slid
fingers and lifted the lid to the cage and then down to reveal a face. "Sorry," she said to him,
his igloo. She held the pieces close for Shadow worried now that he might see it.
to catch the scent, then even closer, delicately.
She set the food on his bedding and brushed "You're fine, hon," he groaned and lay back
the tips of his quills. He didn’t fidget. She down.
inched her fingers around his sides and still, he
didn’t move. She was careful not to press on She came to the park which was silent save
any of his wounds as she lifted him until his the rushing of the stream. Across the water, a
limbs and head slunk downward like rocks to bone-skinny birch tree stood short among the
the pit of the ocean. innumerous sharp pines. Its loose paper-thin
bark flitted in the frigid wind. Sophia hugged
She dug her palms into her eyes and fell her arms around herself and searched desper-
backward. Her bottom slammed hard onto the ately a final time for resolution, but it was still
carpeted floor. She fell onto her side and murder. She held it to her head, looked up into
curled her legs up into her chest, cocooning the black sky, and with the barrel of the revolv-
what she still had. She pressed harder into her er pressed trembling against the roof of her
eyes as if there might be a way to hold it all mouth, she begged for the sight of anything.
together and keep the rest out. Hours passed
as a cesspool of thoughts bred more abhorrent
ones. There are ways to escape your mind, she
thought. No. Just leave your room. Leave your
apartment and you can leave your mind.

She resurrected herself from the floor and
took her sweatshirt off, then her shirt, and un-
hooked her bra. She placed them in an orderly
row on her bed before sliding off her socks and
her jeans and setting them along the line of
clothes. She lifted Brennan's grease-stained t-
shirt out of the hamper and breathed its scent
to let it fill her. She put it on. It was long and
loose around her body. It hung halfway to her
knees. She pulled his jeans up around her waist
and ran her skinny leather belt through his

About the Author:

Connor Bowen is an aspiring writer of fiction,
non-fiction, and poetry. He has a bachelor’s
degree in English – Creative Writing at Ohio
University. He’s been published twice consecu-
tively in Ohio University’s annual Sphere Maga-
zine, A Glow in the Dark (2015) and Six-Thirty-
Five (2016). After spending a summer in Ju-
neau, Alaska, Connor was inspired to write his
proudest piece yet, Out the Road.

A MAN LIKE HENRY

by Virginia Davis

The evening had begun pleasantly enough; nose with a wadded ball of tissue, she wasn’t
Hilma was invited as a guest of Henry and Liz the first woman to fall fool for a man.
for ‘A Christmas to Remember’ with the Port-
land Symphony Orchestra at The Harbor Center The little girls were cute, dolled-up in fancy
for the Arts - a new music venue downtown. It dresses of crisp taffeta and red velveteen, and
was a special holiday show, and at times during among them, the inevitable one wearing red
the performance, the tiny, downy hairs on Hil- corduroys and a lacy turtleneck, because in
ma’s arms stood up straight, which she discov- Hilma’s experience, there is always one young
ered happened at times when she was espe- lady who refuses to wear a dress.
cially aroused.
Hilma noticed that one of Sara’s fluffy,
The director was Charlie Flatt, a boy she white. knee- high socks was slouching half-way
had as a student many years ago at Munjoy down her shin. Ten years ago, her friend Liz
Baptist Sunday school. He was now a portly would’ve been up on that stage in a flash, ad-
man, who must’ve acquired his full height at justing the lazy sock and fussing with Sara’s
the age of ten, Hilma thought, since his cinna- hair, managing to embarrass both herself and
mon-colored head tonight barely cleared the her grandchild. Now, Hilma wondered if the
podium. Mr. Flatt was dressed for the occasion impeccable Liz realized that one of her earrings
in good-natured holiday red, which allowed his was missing? Hilma had noticed this when Hen-
ample figure and mottled complexion the look ry and Liz had picked up her up for the drive
of Italian fennel sausage wrapped in cello- over but decided not to mention it. For reasons
phane. not consistent with the spirit of the season, it
was refreshing to see her friend Liz in a less
At intermission, a chorale comprised of than perfectly put together outfit. Hilma
local fourth, fifth and sixth-graders entertained caught herself checking to make sure her own
the patrons. Henry and Liz’s granddaughter studs were carefully attached to both lobes.
Sara were among those performing. On Sara’s
left stood a new student from Vermont – her The audience settled down as the children
name was Mary or Mandy. Hilma rummaged began to sing: the old stand-by “Away in The
the back of her mind for the story. How did it Manger”, followed by a secular tune about the
go? The girl’s mother had met a fisherman, and reindeer with the glowing nose, their perfor-
packed and shipped her kid out like a crate of mance ending with a less than enthusiastic
Florida oranges to live here with relatives in rendition of “Jingle Bells”, suggesting that may-
Portland before running off to Alaska with him, be it wasn’t that fun to go riding in a sleigh.
some bears, and god knows what else. Well, Hilma considered that as possibly true, the way
Hilma thought as she dabbed one side of her kids were attached to their electronics these
days.

*** ter, spring, summer and fall; on the rare occa-
sions when they went out to eat, and the few
It came as a surprise when Liz called that after- times she managed to drag him to church. He
noon to see if she would like to join them. Hil- even wore them at their wedding. Come to
ma hadn’t heard as much as a peep from Liz for think of it, the only time Sammy didn’t have
several months, maybe closer to a year, and those boots on his feet was in his casket, an
that was unusual, since they had at one time incredibly realistic surly look on his sour face
been so close. She did run into Henry though, created by a talented local mortician, known
just a few weeks before in the grocery store, for his ability to re- create on the deceased a
thumbing through one of those financial maga- remarkable facsimile of their likeness while
zines you find at the dentist’s office. alive.

He spoke first. “Why hello, Hilma. What a After Sammy passed, Hilma perused the
nice surprise.” shops downtown to purchase her husband a
pair of shiny wing tips so for once in his life (or
Henry’s bright smile indicated that he was after life, if you wanted to look at it that way),
indeed very happy to see her although they he would appear presentable for his family and
didn’t chat long - Liz was outside waiting for friends, only to be called by the funeral direc-
him in the car, he said, and he really shouldn’t tor the next day, to inform Hilma that he could-
keep her waiting. As Hilma readied herself for n’t manage to force Sammy’s feet into those
her evening with them at the Harbor Center for brand-new shoes. Even in death, Hilma rumi-
the Arts, she thought that the random meeting nated, Sammy was a stubborn son of a gun.
at the store probably prompted Henry and Liz
to extend the invitation to join them tonight. “Do you have another pair I could try?” he
asked, but Hilma discovered that she’d rather
Halfway through the assembly, as the or- her husband go barefoot than to bury him in
chestra played an unfamiliar tune, Hilma those boots; she could be ornery too.
glanced down at the wrinkled program for
identification. The pocket flashlight she fished “Just leave him in his socks,” she advised
out of her purse strayed from the list of selec- the man, “stuff something around his feet and
tions in her lap and cast a beam the size of a no one will ever notice.”
marble on the left toe of Henry’s brown oxford.
Likely he had a similar pair of black ones in his In the end, plastic flowers, gardenias and
closet at home to go with his dark suits, Hilma daisies and a couple of yellow roses Hilma
thought. pulled from a vase in the viewing room were
strategically arranged around the bottom third
There was something to be said for a man of his casket, covering his feet and giving the
who took pride in his appearance. A nobility appearance of an angry man napping in his
perhaps, a well-clothed man who demands wife’s flower garden.
respect. During her forty-eight years with Sam-
my, all she had ever known her husband to ***
wear was big, holey flannel shirts and work
boots. Big, oafish-looking boats, heavy as ce- A smattering of polite applause jostled her
ment blocks with leather tops hardened by memory back to the present, and with a deep
road salt in the winter, and laces knotted to- concentration on the program in front of her,
gether when the need to replace them was too Hilma’s pocket flashlight moved slightly to Hen-
taxing or too frequent. ry’s socks - dark blue, with narrow white and
green stripes circling the top below his pant
Her husband wore those boots in the win- leg.

Many times, she had been shopping watch- other woman. The idea of jealousy preposter-
ing Liz carefully select pairs of socks for her ous, Hilma thought.
husband Henry; fine cotton for the summer
months, warm merino wool in anticipation of It was true, Henry could just as easily have
colder weather. It wasn’t difficult, nor did it been her own husband had she played her
take very long, to choose socks for Sammy. The cards right, she had met him first and there
purchases were always the same: big, thick was definite interest on both sides. Instead,
white ones that kept his feet dry under those she had set her sights on Sammy, that rancid
clunky boots. nut in a candy wrapper, who honked as he
waited in her mother’s driveway, sitting behind
The flashlight travelled north and caught a the wheel of that old ’52 Dodge with cold air
square of Henry’s khakis. Good grief, it had jetting out of the heater and fluid leaking out of
been a long time since she had pondered the the radiator.
anatomy behind a man’s trousers! The soft
hairs between her elbows and wrists rose once He’ll be a good provider, with that land-
again, and Hilma quickly tucked the flashlight scaping business, her mother predicted in a
back into her pocketbook. scratchy baritone, sucking the life out of her
Camel cigarettes. Likely he’ll take you to Florida
Twice, out of the corner of her eye, she while the rest of us break our backs shoveling
caught Henry reaching to clasp Liz’s hand and snow.
each time Liz shook him off, surprising Hilma
because they had always been such an affec- But Hilma’s mother was a bank teller, not a
tionate couple. Henry’s third overture was ac- fortune teller, and there were no trips south.
cepted, although she noticed the corners of When winters came, Sammy attached a snow-
Liz’s lips twitch and turn down, as if she didn’t plow that sat on their front lawn for nine
approve. months out of the year and cleared lots all over
town, ending his afternoons at Morton’s and
Those tight wooden chairs built for slim downing shots of well whiskey. The last drive-
hips made Hilma squirm as she readjusted her- way to be cleared of snow was their own, leav-
self. Well now Liz, she thought wistfully, maybe ing Hilma isolated all day.
you should be thankful you have a nice hus-
band like Henry. A man who appreciates an Then there was tea parties Liz hosted in
orchestra playing Christmas hymns, a man with the afternoon early in their marriages. The
a little class. wives of Henry’s work associates perched in
white wicker chairs in Liz’s sunroom, dainty
During intermission, Henry bought hot and demure like tiny chickadees, the Maine
coffee from the concession stand in the hall- state bird. Hilma had attended the first of
way. Liz chided him for adding cream to her these, in a dress she had made from a selvage
cup. of pewter sateen, deep-hued red poppies
swarming like bees across the bodice. She con-
“You know I always drink it black, what’s sidered herself well dressed, until she took look
the matter with you?” she said. And instead of at the smart shifts and tailored suits the others
accepting the coffee as it was, she handed it had worn. Instantly she was aware of the une-
back to Henry who returned to the counter for ven stitching of her skirt hem, and the poorly
a fresh cup. installed zipper that bunched along her spine
and caused her to squirm in her chair. The oth-
After the performance, the street outside ers sat posture straight with smooth, tanned
was icy and slick, the moonless sky black and legs - one crossed primly over the other, per-
thick as tar. Henry offered an arm to each. Hil- fectly manicured toenails peeking out of ex-
ma noticed a look on Liz’s face, as if she took pensive Italian leather sandals. Hilma sat on
offense at her husband’s gallantry toward an-

the sidelines, her own feet planted firmly in my ‘had not’. How is it, Hilma wondered, that
Liz's plush carpet like a basketball player the choice of one man instead of another can
waiting to take center court. Hilma was never a predict the rest of your life? It wasn’t fair, she
leg-crosser. decided. One exchange of ‘I do’s,’, and the rest
is history?
As Liz busied herself in the kitchen, one of
the young wives made the sacrifice of including That was the first and last party of Liz’s that
Hilma in on the conversation by asking what Hilma attended. Instead, they continued a life-
her Sammy did for work. Hilma’s mind raced. long friendship by shopping for Henry’s ties,
What could she say to this friend of Liz’s whose monogrammed Oxford shirts and finely wor-
spouse worked at the same law firm as Henry, sted socks. They lunched downtown when Hil-
who lived in a beautiful home and budgeted a ma had two nickels to rub together, and Hilma
weekly salary that would rival six months of assisted Liz with her afternoon parties, helping
Sammy’s paychecks? stuff tomatoes with tuna, mix cream cheese
and olives into spread and rinsing watercress in
Hilma considered her options. She could Liz’s beautiful kitchen sink.
respond that when the whim struck, her hus-
band groomed hydrangea bushes the color of Together, they shared sixty plus years of
the gin-blossoms on his face, or when he was- friendship between them. But when it came
n’t asleep he was either watching ‘Bowling for down to Sammy and Henry – their world as
Dollars’ with his damn boots on the coffee ta- couples never collided.
ble or keeping company with Mary Jane De-
whirst across town. That knowledge as com- Only once back when they were first mar-
mon as the Earth is round, even if Hilma was ried, did Hilma and Sammy accept a dinner
one of the last to know. invitation at Liz and Henry’s home. The conver-
sation between their husbands so awkward
Many times, Hilma considered dropping that Hilma shoved the evening like outgrown
her husband off at Mary Jane’s for good. May- clothing into the attic of her mind. One mo-
be even offering her a starter kit with a few of ment of embarrassment however, reappeared
his favorite recipes, a case of beer, and the old every now and then, making her stomach
wingback armchair Sammy had fished out of churn and her face to flush even after all these
the dump and called his own. years.

In the end she said to Liz’s guest - I’m After dessert, Henry insisted that he and
ashamed to say really don’t know what he does Sammy help by carrying the dinner dishes into
all day. But I do know that he travels a lot - the kitchen. “Come on, Sam, I have something
justifying that when it came down to brass in here I want to show you.” Henry had said,
tacks, it wasn’t as if she was telling tales. urging Sammy from his chair in the dining
room.
The group grew silent waiting for more in-
formation. The nosy wife in designer boucle A shiny new appliance sat in Henry and Liz’s
pinched her lips into a pink line so tight it kitchen, wedged under the sink beside a mas-
could’ve been drawn on with a fine-tipped sive double-door refrigerator.
marker. Hilma squared the napkin in her lap,
sat up a little straighter in her chair. She “See what I just bought Liz, Sam? Just load
crossed her legs. it up like this here and throw a little detergent
into the chamber.” Sam observed, the neck of
It wasn't long after, that Hilma recognized a bottle of beer dangling from his right hand as
only two tribes: The Have’s and The Have Nots. Henry placed dirty dishes into the racks and
Liz and Henry and the women in that room poured the soap into a little compartment at
‘had’, and it was quite clear that she and Sam- the bottom. Henry pressed a green button and

the four of them watched the appliance shud- was a question best avoided, Luckily, Henry
der and come to life. interrupted.

“It’s a dishwasher. You ought to buy one of “It probably slipped under the seat you
these for Hilma.” were sitting in, that’s happened to me many
times. You girls sit here and warm up,’ he told
Hilma never forgot what her Sammy did them. “I’ll be right back.”
next. After taking a long pull of his beer he
burped and announced: Naw, I don’t need Together the women watched as Henry
nothing as fancy as that, Henry. I’ve got my pushed his lean body against the pedestrian
own little dishwasher right here, don’t I, Hilma? traffic heading out of the venue. His septuage-
- having the gall to ask, before pinching her narian posture straight as a teenager. Several
behind, right there in front of Liz and Henry minutes later he returned waving the cash-
and their beautiful kitchen and leaving a greasy mere scarf in the air like a victory flag.
stain she never could get out in the back of her
best dress. ***

*** The car blew a tire about five miles from Hil-
ma’s house.
Henry settled his wife into the front seat and
reached for the webbing of her seat belt. “I’ll need a flashlight, Elizabeth.” Henry
said. “Do you keep a flashlight in here?”
“I’m feeling a draft on my neck, Henry. For
God’s sake, start the car and turn on the heat. I They were riding in Liz’s Pontiac. Hilma
guess I can buckle myself in.” hoped the car had a flashlight. It was no kind of
night to be out with a flat, she thought.
Liz coaxed one side of her hair around the
ear with the missing earring. Her graying hair, “Of course, I have a flashlight, it’s here in
usually carefully dyed blonde, had grown long- the glove compartment.” Liz said. “And please
er than Hilma had ever remembered. hurry, you know how afraid I am of the dark.”
She reminded him.
“Well of course you’re cold Elizabeth,
where’s your scarf?” Henry asked her. Henry leaned over his wife and opened the
glove box while Liz turned to Hilma.
“What are you talking about now? I didn’t
wear any scarf tonight.” “Hilma, do you know I was stopped by the
police Tuesday? The officer said I was doing
“Of course, you did, that gold cashmere? forty miles an hour in a twenty- five mile per
You must have left it in the theatre.” hour zone.”

“Do you mean that one you bought me for “No!” Hilma told her. “You’re a good driv-
Christmas?” Liz asked her husband, “that time er!”
you dragged me to Switzerland instead of
spending the holidays with our kids like we Although that might not have been a true
should have? I haven’t seen that for years.” statement, Hilma considered. It had been
awhile since she had been in a car with Liz be-
Liz turned around to face Hilma, straining hind the wheel.
against her seat belt.
Henry grunted from exertion or comment –
“Do you remember me wearing any gold Hilma couldn’t decide which - as he searched
scarf?” She asked. inside the glove compartment.

Like a sneeze in a crowd, Hilma thought, it “I don’t see it in here anywhere.” He told

Liz. He slid back into the driver’s seat and behavior all night, Hilma thought. Dementia.
opened the car door. “I’ll take a look in the She must be losing her mind, repeating herself
trunk.” like that.

“I don’t see why we don’t call Triple A in- So you said, not five minutes ago, Hilma
stead of fooling around here in the pitch dark.” reminded Liz. She grabbed the pocket light
Liz complained. She pulled the recovered scarf from her purse and opened the car door.
a little aggressively around her neck.
“You’re a fool to stand out there in this
Henry looked exasperated. At least Hilma freezing weather, Hilma.” Liz warned. But Hil-
felt that he did. ma decided that she had played the fool before
and it was a role she was comfortable with. She
“Nonsense, Elizabeth. I could change all stood behind Henry and clicked on the light. A
four of these tires before anyone from Triple A beam the size of a marble illuminated the seat
would get to us. I just need some light around of Henry’s trousers.
here.”
About the Author:
I have a pocket light right here in my purse,
Hilma offered, I could hold it for you, to which A New England native, Virginia divides her time
Liz replied: between her two favorite activities: writing,
and clothing and accessory design. Her fiction
“Don’t be a goddamn fool, Hilma. Stay in has been published in the Los Angeles-based
this car. God knows what lurks out there in the literary journal “Delphinium”, “Alm” magazine.
dark!” She lives in Portsmouth, NH.

Hilma had never heard Liz utter a foul word
in her life. It was insulting, really. How did a
woman that complained as often as Liz had all
night, deserve a good man like Henry?

“Now, now, we are all tired, it’s been a long
evening.” Henry said. “And yes, Hilma, if you
have a flashlight, I could use some help.”

Henry climbed out of the car and shut his
door. Hilma heard him fumble around in the
trunk while Liz opened the glove box again. She
shuffled through some papers.

“I know the flashlight is in here. I saw it just
the other day when the patrolman stopped
me.”

Liz stopped searching for a flashlight and
pulled an old Chapstick out of the glove box
instead.

“Did I tell you a cop stopped me for speed-
ing the other day?” She said, smearing her lips
with balm while making eye contact in the vi-
sor’s mirror. “Claims I was doing forty miles
per hour in twenty-five miles per hour zone.”

Well that was what controlling Liz’s odd

ROAD RAGE

by Sharon Frame Gay

The police told our family that Jason, my hus- forehead. At ten years old, he understood
band, died instantly when his car swerved off about death. Maddie did not. She held a small
the road and down a steep ravine. That's not toy in her hand, swinging her legs back and
true. It's what police like to tell the grieving forth as she hummed a tune from Sesame
family, so they aren't cursed with thoughts of Street.
their loved one suffering.
The minister droned on about Jason and all
Jason died in agony, one hand at his gush- his fine qualities. I wanted to snort. Fine quali-
ing throat. The other reached out in supplica- ties indeed. Nobody knew the real Jason, I
tion, eyes wide in horror as his life ebbed away thought. The one who betrayed me in so many
on a stretch of haunted highway. ways. Today there wasn't a dry eye in the
church, including mine. My tears were shed for
He left behind our two children. Randy, age different reasons. I clenched my hands togeth-
ten, and little Maddie, just turning four. Our er tightly in my lap, enveloped in this moment
house, once so warm and welcoming, was now of grief. I thought back to where it all began.
an empty shell. I walked through it alone the
day after he died. Randy and Maddie were at #
my mother's house a few blocks away. Even
the dog, Sander, was gone, staying with by my It was only two years ago when I discovered
best friend Liz. My fingers longed to stroke the Jason's affair with Annette, his executive assis-
granite countertops in the kitchen, gleaming in tant. Maddie was just a toddler. I was still
the mid morning sun. Friends and neighbors sporting my baby weight, feeling awkward and
had been here, cleaning the kitchen, sweeping fat in a pair of jeans and sloppy tee shirt as I
the floors. I imagined if I opened the freezer, folded the laundry in the late afternoon. Jason
there would be several casseroles, arranged had just come in from golf, sweaty and crum-
with instructions on recipe cards taped to the pled. We were going out for dinner that night.
foil, waiting to be popped in the oven. Jason said he wanted to take a quick shower
and followed me up the stairs. In a playful mo-
Jason's funeral was well attended by people ment, he cupped my ass with his hand and I
in the neighborhood and his co-workers. Every- laughed out loud, swung the laundry basket
one was somber, speaking in hushed tones. around so that it almost hit him in the nose,
Randy and Maddie sat on each side of my and we both smirked.
mother, right up front, her arms around them
protectively. I sat behind them, studied the He took a shower, and I was putting away
back of Randy's tender neck, head bent as he clothes, when his phone buzzed on the dresser.
peered at the coffin from under waves of red It vibrated and trembled, about to spin itself
hair. I wanted to reach over, push it back off his

off on to the floor, so I reached over and Jason was pulling a golf shirt over his head. He
grabbed it, my thumb automatically swiping, smelled of aftershave and shampoo as he
like I do dozens of times a day with my own leaned over and kissed my cheek.
phone.
"I'll be home this afternoon." Then he
"Hi" read a text. "I'm sitting at your desk squeezed my nipple gently. I moved away a
and fingering myself." little under the covers, embarrassed that my
breast was soft and sagging now that Maddie
I almost dropped the phone, stunned. The had stopped breast feeding. Jason kissed me
text was from Annette. again, left the room. Turning over, I ran my
hand over my belly, full and round. When was
This must be a joke, I thought. A terrible the last time I stood naked in front of him, I
inside company joke that everybody laughs wondered. I'll make up for it tonight, be brave,
about as they sit around the conference table. turn to him in the bedroom with a candle burn-
Who would text such a thing? ing on the nightstand, soft music in the back-
ground.
I scrolled up to another message. It was
from Jason. #

"Last night was gr8. I love U so much I can't Now I sat down hard on the bed like someone
see straight. Gonna play golf with buddies had pushed me. I held his phone and stared at
2day - will be thinking about U in bed. See U it like snakes were slithering out of it, all over
soon." my hands, our home, our marriage.

My heart began to pound. Last night, Jason Jason stepped into the bedroom. He was
called to tell me he was working late, his voice naked, still wet from the shower, his penis dan-
soft and regretful. I had made meatloaf. It was gling, half erect. When he saw me holding the
almost done, enveloping the kitchen with phone, he instinctively covered himself with his
home smells when the phone rang. It was hands, as though exposed.
cheerful and golden in the kitchen, the sun
going down, light flowing through the window "What the hell, Jason!" I said, my voice
like honey. Even Jason missing dinner didn't filled with rage and hurt.
alter my good mood.
"What?" he asked, his blue eyes quizzical,
"No worries, Jay - I'll keep it warm for you." innocent.
I remember leaning over and wiping Maddie's
face as she finished her grilled cheese, feeling "Annette. You're fucking her." I said it simp-
her skin beneath my hands, rubbery and soft. ly, angrily, then tossed the phone at him. He
picked it up off the floor, looked at the text,
"I'll be working into the night," he said. sighed. There was a thick silence, then he sat
"Don't keep the food warm, just your sweet down on the bed beside me.
self, and I'll wake you when I get home."
"We have to talk," he said, still holding his
I felt a surge of desire pepper my body, a hands across his crotch. "Let's still go out for
delicious feeling adding to the glow of the Oc- dinner tonight, give me a chance to explain."
tober evening. Later, I showered and dressed in
something sexy, climbed into our bed and wait- "No. We'll talk right here, right now." I
ed for Jason's hand to touch my face, for him walked into the hall, shouted down the stairs.
to whisper in my ear. "Randy? Can you watch Maddie for a few
minutes?"
But he didn't wake me up. I don't know
what time he came in. I was sound asleep and
didn't wake until morning. I opened my eyes as

"Yeah, Mom, we're watching cartoons." got through it. Then I collapsed on the bed and
sobbed until my ribs hurt. I wondered if my
I closed the door, walked over to Jason, marriage had always been a sham.
slapped him hard in the face. He shook his
head the way a dog would if a bee stung it. He Annette wasn't the first. The first was my
grabbed my arm, pushed me away. I fell to my best friend Chloe, right after Jason and I got
knees. It shocked me. Jason had never engaged. Two weeks before our wedding, she
touched me like that before. Who was this tearfully confessed over several glasses of wine
man? Then I realized that I had just slapped that she had slept with him. She said it was a
him. He was defending himself. Tears sprung to crazy thing to do. A fling. Jason loved me, not
my eyes. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, but her, and I should marry him. She was leaving
remembered what he was doing and flushed the both of us, going out of town for a while,
with anger again. Jason was having an affair will not be in the wedding. Please forgive her,
with Annette. she said, her long black hair shining in the sun
on my parents' patio. I dropped my goblet,
Annette. His young assistant. I had never watched it break into shards of betrayal, glass
met her. She had worked with Jason for a year glinting along the paving stones, the wine
now. I was so busy with the kids, I never found leaching out into the grass. The diamond on my
the time to go to his office, introduce myself. I ring glowed in red and green as the prisms
knew she was very young. There were com- caught the light, cold in the waning afternoon.
ments at a recent company picnic that she was
an attractive girl. Jason discouraged me from When I confronted Jason that night, he
visiting the office. I'd never spoken to Annette cried. Said he regretted it with all his heart and
on the phone either. I always called Jason on begged for forgiveness. He asked that I tell
his cell. He said he preferred it that way. I did nobody.
too.
"Whether or not you leave me," Jason
I glared up at Jason. "Pack a bag and get out pleaded, "I don't want your mom and dad to
of here right now," I hissed. know. It would devastate them. Please. If you
tell them, they will never forgive me. Don't tell
He nodded, turned away from me, his back a soul. It will ruin everything."
still wet with droplets from the shower.
He was right. My parents adored him. They
Jason reached in the drawer and pulled out thought of him as their own son. I didn't know
some underwear, a pair of socks. Walked into what to do, so I kept it to myself until I decid-
the closet, came out with a shirt and a pair of ed.
pants.
I married him anyway. I was so vastly in
"Get a sitter for tomorrow morning," he love, that I willed myself to believe it was a
said. "Meet me at the Pancake House at ten huge mistake, a moment of insanity. Things
o'clock and we'll talk then." like that happen, don't they? Yes, they do, I
thought. Chloe probably called him over for
I nodded, turned and walked downstairs on some lame reason, poured him drinks, seduced
shaky legs. I was giving Randy and Maddie ice him. Jason may have felt like it was his last mo-
cream when I heard the front door close, his ment of freedom before the wedding. Perhaps
car start, headlights reflected on the garage she had placed his hand on her breast, ground
door as he backed away. her hips into his crotch, stroked him with her
hand. It would be hard to resist a girl like
I remembered the old saying, "save your Chloe. I hoped that was the only time Jason
tears for the pillow" and so I did. I'm not sure strayed, but the new affair with Annette
how I got the kids ready for bed, read them a changed everything.
book, sang a little song for Maddie. Somehow I

# making plans behind my back for how long? He
not only had an affair, he was leaving me for
Now, we sat across the table from each other her. Simple as that. I caught a glance of myself
at the Pancake House and he said, almost word in the mirror behind the counter. I looked lost,
for word what he has said fifteen years ago. forlorn. The extra pounds etched circles under
my eyes, my hair yanked back in a quick knot
"Chrissy, you can't tell a soul. It will ruin aged me. Was this why he was leaving?
everything." Ashamed, hating myself, I turned and ran out
"What the hell, Jason? What are you talking the door.
about? You're having an affair!"
It was three weeks later when I met Jason
"If the company finds out, I could lose my one night at his apartment. I had not confided
job. Annette, too." in anybody that he was leaving me, or that he
"Who gives a shit?" was having an affair. I reluctantly agreed not to
get a lawyer until we talked, not shake up
A lady at a table nearby raised her head, things that could impact our finances.
glanced over. I lowered my voice. "Who cares
anymore? You're a cheater, and I want a di- Jason answered the door. He looked fit and
vorce." handsome, as though our separation had pol-
ished him, bathed him in sunlight. The apart-
"You'd better care," he said angrily. "You ment was small but clean, with a little fireplace
better care if you want Randy and Maddie to in the living room that glowed in the evening
eat." light. Seeing him for the first time in weeks, my
heart yearned to go back in time. I wished I
"Is that a threat?" I stared at him, shocked. hadn't touched his phone, read the text. I
wanted Jason back. My life back. The kids and I
"Look, this isn't that big a town. If I get and Jason and the dog, our house. Maybe
fired, we'll all be hurting for money. I don't there was a chance. I took a step towards him,
think you want that right now, do you?" He smiled. But before I could speak, he turned his
lowered his voice. "Don't become a problem, back, walked across the room towards a table
Chrissy." in the corner.

"I'm getting a lawyer." I grabbed my purse, "Chris, I'll meet with my attorney next
stood abruptly, rattling the glasses on the ta- week, start the divorce proceedings. I suggest
ble. Jason stood too, knotted the napkin in his you get your own lawyer. Let's please make it
hand. "It's over, Jason." amicable, for the sake of the kids. Word gets
out about this and it could ruin everything." He
"I agree. It's over. But, I need you to not tell picked up a tumbler of whisky, swirled it. I
anybody until we figure this whole thing out. It watched it circle the glass in golden waves,
could ruin everything." Jason reached for my slowly, mesmerizing. Behind him was a photo-
arm, the second time in two days. His fingers graph of a woman on the table. Annette, I pre-
locked around my elbow, sent pain rocketing sumed.
up into my shoulder. The woman at the other
table glanced up again, and he dropped his I glanced at it and saw a young blond, her
hands by his side. head thrown back in laughter. Suddenly I knew
this was Annette's apartment. This is where
"I found a place not too far away. It's a one Jason now lived. Of course.
-bedroom apartment, furnished. I moved in
this morning. Let's take a week or two to figure I walked over to the photograph and real-
things out, then we'll talk." ized with a shock that Annette was the
babysitter I had been using for the past several
Now the tears started. He found an apart-
ment in less than a day. He and Annette were

years! When she graduated from college, she every single night. It made me sick to think
told me she had gotten a job, but I never made about Jason accepting her good will and love.
the connection. I always knew her as Anne. In a My parents never wanted to give up, but after
flash, I understood everything. This had been a year they knew the inevitable. I had met with
going on for years. Anne went to work for Ja- tragedy somehow. I was never coming home.
son and used a different name. They needed to help Jason, keep my memory
alive for Randy and Maddie.
I remembered the times when I left Anne in
charge of my children while I joined friends for #
weekends, visited my grandparents in Iowa,
went out to a play or an afternoon at the spa. So today we are here at here at Jason's funeral.
She and Jason must have had sex in our bed Annette is sitting in the last pew, with a few
when the kids were sleeping. Later, they may girls from the office. Her face is perfectly com-
have sipped coffee in my kitchen, their legs posed, but her hands are shredding the pro-
rubbing against each other, her robe open to gram in tiny pieces, legs crossed at the ankle, a
her navel. Turning towards Jason, I flung the bead of sweat on her brow.
photo at him, my voice shattered with the glass
as it hit the floor next to his feet. No, Jason didn't die instantly. He was driv-
ing home after making love to Annette that
"You son of a bitch! What the hell has been night, on a road not five miles from our house,
going on?" I ran to him, fingernails clawing at the twisty kind of road that one likes to avoid
his shirt, his arms. in the dark. But Jason knew his way to his lov-
er's like the back of his hand. He anticipated
That's when he killed me. It was quick, just every curve, driving smoothly.
like the police often tell the family. I died in-
stantly. He crushed the side of my head in with What he hadn't anticipated was the sight of
a tool from the fireplace. I watched from above me, as my spirit stood in the middle of the
him as he hit me again and again and again, the road, an apparition of my former self, head
way one might go after a snake in the yard, just crushed on the left side, eye dangling on my
to make sure it wouldn't coil up and strike. broken cheek. He screamed, jerked the steer-
ing wheel to the right, skidded, then crashed
Then he rolled me in a blanket, called An- through the guardrail and down into the ra-
nette out from the other room, and the two of vine.
them carried me to the car and dumped me in
the backseat. They drove all night, three coun- As he lay there dying, his life ebbing away, I
ties away, weighed my body down with rocks, leaned in close, my ghostly breath in his ear.
and pushed me into a deep lake. I heard their
voices murmuring, his sure and soft, hers tight "Don't tell a soul." I whispered. "It could
and frightened. ruin everything."

My disappearance destroyed the family.
They spent endless weeks looking for me,
badgering the police, posters of me every-
where, but there were no clues. Nobody
thought to look in Annette's apartment for
answers because nobody knew she was dating
Jason, that the room he murdered me in was
their love nest. My poor mother took care of
the kids, prepared meals for them and Jason

About the Author:

Sharon Frame Gay grew up a child of the high-
way, playing by the side of the road. Her work
has appeared in anthologies and magazines
around the world, including Chicken Soup For
The Soul, Typehouse, Gravel, Fiction on the
Web, Literally Stories, Lowestoft Chronicle,
Thrice Fiction, Literary Orphans, Crannog Mag-
azine, and others. Her work has won prizes at
Women on Writing, The Writing District and
Owl Hollow Press. She is a Pushcart Prize nom-
inee. You can find her on Amazon Author Cen-
tral as well as Facebook as Sharon Frame Gay-
Writer. Twitter: sharonframegay

BOSON’S BEST

by Keay Davidson

This is the story of how Ester the apple farmer her opinion. From the rooster’s crow at the
and her trusty sidekick Nick became the heroes crack of dawn, she stood on her soap box
of Boson. Of course, I must inform you that trying to coax the crowds to action, action
once you enter Boson, you are a Boson. So, against Malic’s sweeping hand of decay. No
welcome to Boson, friends. one stopped to listen. Her father was
concerned for his daughter’s health and safety,
Boson was a peaceful and joyful realm, but she had a mind about her, and she still
where people gathered and made merry worked harder than anyone else on the apple
amongst friends and family with music, farm. Now, with her days spent on the soap
dancing, and food. Laughter abounded beyond box, she spent her evenings in the fields
the borders and outsiders joined the frolic. chasing the bugs from the trees, hoping the
Boson grew and grew in people, in joy and in buds would have a chance to bloom in the next
size. couple of months. That is, if the orchard
survived Malic’s roundabout. She feared for
Till one day the sunniness of Boson touched her father’s life and for his farm. Someone had
Alkyne, the land of the witchdoctor Malic. to do something. She decided that if no one
Malic noticed the beauty and growth of Boson would act, then she would stop speaking and
and desired it for himself. More than to rule it, do just that: find a way to stop Malic.
he wanted to consume it. And so, he did. He
walked the realm of Boson and stripped the In the dark branches of an apple tree, she
sunny energy from the living, only to return a brainstormed, fumbling with a profusion of
decrepit energy to the creature, plant, or ideas, when a dark form tripped on the roots of
person. Half of Boson was consumed within a her tree. It was the fruit nabber Nick. He’d
few months. It looked like a dry husk, eaten, been grabbing apples all of his life without
sucked, and spit out. permission. Ester rolled her burnt-brown eyes,
recognizing the friendly neighboring thief. He
Everyone lived in fear. There were no stood tall and lanky, and his skin shone light
longer any gatherings in the center of Boson. despite the darkness of nightfall. He brushed
There was no more laughing, dancing, and the dirt off his clothes and leaned against the
singing. Everyone went to their homes and tree trunk. He was seeking something.
boarded up their doors before dusk. Not a
cricket was heard. No fireflies lit the night sky “They aren’t in bloom, yet, you idiot.” Ester
anymore. Despite the ill-fate that had befallen startled him from her perch above.
them, no one stood against Malic’s steps. No
one knew what to do. “I knew that! I was looking for you. There’s
a man who rode into town. He’s dressed in
Of course, the tragic facts did not stop the military garb.”
orchard owner’s daughter Ester from voicing

“How would you know what a military winded from the sprint. He bent over his
uniform looks like?” wobbly knees gasping air. He shook for fear,
but he wouldn’t leave Ester unguarded. She
Nick shrugged and continued, “He said that was his best friend.
he’s here to save us from Malic.”
“Anyway,” Ester turned back to Ethan.
“Oh, he is, is he? Well, where has he been “How–“
these past few months?” Ester dropped from
the tree. “–you intrude on our town, minion of
Malic.”
“I don’t know. I’m just the messenger.”
“Nick,” she didn’t have to continue. Nick
“Then, we should see what the hullabaloo passed out from lack of oxygen. She shook her
is about,” she nodded toward stream of lights head. He was certainly the oddball of Boson.
in the distance. The realm’s valley was slowly Why he remained in the realm was a question
coming to life in the darkness. People were of everyone’s mind. But as you will soon see,
curious. It was odd to see a suited stranger on everyone has a purpose in Boson, whether
horseback tölting through Boson’s heart during small or large. Ester continued. “What’s your
such a despondent time. Firstly, because plan?”
Bosons’ community had never seen military
attire except in books and tales. Secondly, Ethan laughed. “Well, I don’t have a
Bosoners’ rarely rode horses, or any animals checklist, but I’ve defeated an evil Sorcerer, the
for that matter. They figured their feet were Black Octopus, and a Googly Green Goblin.”
the best and brightest mode of transportation.
“Say that five times fast,” Nick whispered to
Bosoner’s speculated from the safety of Ester.
their home, but no one opened their doors. No
one approached the man ambling his way “I even took down my grandmother’s sink.”
through Kardiá, the center of Boson realm. Ethan winked. He was charm incarnate. His
Fear held in the heart. Ester was unimpeded. smile could make a blind man see, and his sea
She padded her way onto the valley’s over- eyes made the oceans envious. His toffee hair
worn and softly strewn emerald zoysia floor. held a light of its own. In stature, he towered
Her hair was wild from spending time in the above Ester and Nick, but he didn’t seem
trees. Jade leaves contrasted her apple red conceited. He seemed genuinely generous.
colored curls. Her face was flushed from the
sprint. “Impressive resumé. Did you kill the
Siamese, too?” Nick piped up. “Is he someone
“How?” She called. Her voice shattered the who needs defeating?”
silence in Kardià. “How are you going to de-
feat Malic? Do you have a plan?” Every word “No, but your shoulders are as big as their
brought her closer to the stranger on hea–“
horseback.
“Ignore him,” Ester interrupted. “I was
He dismounted and extended a hand with a thinking, we could appeal to Malic. Give him
smile. “Ethan.” something in exchange for sparing the rest of
Boson. While Nick and I settle on terms, you
“Yes, yes, Ester. How–“ can sneak up behind him. Capture him, stab
him, whatever you typically do to defeat a
“Ah HA!” Nick arrived with his rubber sorcerer or witchdoctor.”
chicken weapon at the ready. “My name is
Nicholas Koine, and how dare you–“ He lost his “I figured we’d just talk to the guy,” Ethan
train of thought and his breath. He was still shrugged. Nick nodded, whether in agreement
or disbelief can’t be determined; nonetheless,
he nodded.

“Yea, we can try that, too. Who needs a “You’re killing our realm and everyone in
plan when you can appeal to the better nature it!” Ester yelled. “We want you to leave and
of a mass murderer,” Ester added. Ethan never return.”
nodded in agreement, ignorant of her cynicism.
“I thought that once you enter Boson, you
Ester decided that three people were better are accepted as a Boson, hmm?”
than one or two, so they set their feet toward
Malic’s most recent conquest. They hoped to “How can you be accepted if you leech the
reach him before he discovered their presence life out of every Boson in the realm? No one
on the grounds of Linoleic. The land once will be left! Then what will you be? You’ll be
flourished with the freshest water. The completely alone. What kind of life is that?”
Blubbers and Aves lived here with fish, birds
and marine life of every kind. Now, the ground “Hmm, this is true,” he didn’t think on it
cracked with every step the cluster took. long. He shrugged, “Ah, well, that’s all I’ve
known. Too late to change now. Correction: I
All smell and sun was sucked from the don’t want to change. Now, go on your merry
atmosphere. The ground crumbled and dryly way. It’s not your time to die yet.”
gushed beneath their feet. Nothingness
lingered in the air, but the friends brought fear “But it is your’s,” Ethan barreled toward
with them. Malic, sword at the ready. He pierced through
the thick robes. Red spilled from the mark.
“Nick, stop whining.”
Malic laughed. He grew three feet. The
“I’m not whining. Its wheezing. I have dirt in crimson color licked across his garb, changing
my nose.” colors and shape. He was unaffected by Ethan
blade.
They fumbled and weaved around pillars of
salt as large as a man. The salt was once Realizing his mistake, Ethan left the sword
Bosoner’s who were caught in the wake of in place and dashed away, muscular arms in
Malic. A single centipede slinked on the the air. A high pitched scream accompanied his
cracked earth and slowly slithered to sand. frightened flee. He didn’t get far before Malic’s
wrappings reached out and whipped him,
“That doesn’t bode well,” Nick indicated turning Ethan into a drunk billy goat. The
with a finger. bleating goat stumbled and rolled. Helpless,
the ol’ goat flailed like a cockroach caught on
“Shhh. We need to hurry before Malic’s his back.
land claims us before reaching him,” Ester
whispered. Malic was still laughing when Ester and Nick
advanced. Nick smacked Malic upside the head
“Sweet smelling, living energy.” A smooth with his handy-dandy rubber chicken. Ester
voice echoed from grayness ahead. A rock used Malic’s attire against him. She wrapped
formation towered above the friends like a hill the robes tighter around Malic, like a tootsie
of stones. “Well, look at this, the prey have roll wrapper.
come to me.” Malic stepped from the shadows.
He was beautiful. He glowed and flickered with “What the–“ Malic tried to move, but only
lights and colors of every ray, like a prism. His succeeded at slinking a few inches. His hands
robes wrapped around him like a shield and freed themselves of the robes. Both were as
contrasted the darkness. He was an eye sore. grey as the drained land. His right hand
The friends could barely behold the brightness. differed from the left. The nails were as long as
His movements mirrored the timbre of his a tibia (that’s the bone in a person’s calf). They
voice, cloud-like. No wonder the sun did not extended further and pierced Ester through
shine in his direction, Malic was his own fire the…well, not the chest per se…the circular
ball of gas. “What can I do for you three?”

wound was closer to her clavicle. She dropped. Nick tended to Ester, who was now
Green and red blood streamed from the surrounded by a large patch of grass and
wound. Blood cells and platelets sprang from flowers. Her blood seemed to return life to
the stream like jumping beans. The platelets whatever it touched. Nick stopped the flow of
and particles burgeoned and flew and buried it with a stray piece of cloth torn from his
their way into the ground. Green feathers of clothes.
grass spring from the land where the cells fell.
But let’s not forget about Nick. “Ester, Ester, wake up,” Nick shook her.

He stood shaking, ready to pee his pants. She abruptly woke and slugged him. “Oh,
Somehow he found the courage to continue sorry. I thought you were Malic.” “Ah,” he held
the onslaught of Malic. “Prepare to eat my his throbbing jaw. “No, he’s down for the
chicken!” He swiped the chicken through the count.”
empty air and Malic’s nail sliced the head off
the chicken. It slapped across the ground like a “Now, what do we do?”
dead fish.
The sky responded with a shower. The
“Uh oh,” Nick held up his hands. “Wait, pillars of salt burst back to life. Bosoner’s were
wait, wait, are you sure you want to do this? I waking. Water returned to Boson’s Linoleic and
mean… you don’t want to be lonely. It’ll drive washed away the grey. Sweet smelling nature
you crazy. Think about Patsy Cline…” sprung from the earth and embraced Bosoner’s
once again.
Malic paused as Nick broke into song. Malic
joined the interlude with his own tenor voice. “Do you smell that?” Nick asked. He slowly
helped Ester to her feet. “Yea, it smells like…”
Both nodded in agreement at a great song,
and then returned to their fighting positions. “Apples,” they said in unison. Ester cupped
Nick lunged at Malic. But Malic’s robe wrapped hand with the rain water, and brought it to her
around Nick’s throat. It compressed and pulled lips. “It’s apple juice.”
the color from Nick’s face, like python
squeezing the life out of its prey. Nick placed “Really?” Nick held his hand out and
his hand on the robe trying to free himself. At slurped the liquid. “That’s better than the kind
Nick’s touch, Malic released a scream. Gaseous your dad makes.”
fumes extended from where Nick’s hand held
onto Malic. Malic didn’t have to release him. “Take that back,” she lightly jabbed him.
His robed arm grew heavy and splattered on
the ground, releasing Nick. Nick coughed and “Apple pie anyone?” Ethan must have
tried to catch his breath. Once he realized what woken up, because he now stood with his
had happened and regained enough oxygen, he hands and mouth full of colorful Malic mush.
confidently rose and strode to Malic. He placed With one hand he offered his new friends some
both palms on Malic who screamed at his of the delectable dessert.
touch. Eventually, Malic sound was garbled,
and he was no more than a pile of colorful They shook their heads.
mush and chunks at Nick’s feet. White gas
licked the air. Slowly, sun crept back into the “No, but I know what we can do with it,”
sky, but Boson was still barren, Ester was still Ester proposed.
injured, and Ethan…well, thankfully, Ethan was
no longer a billy goat blowing and burping When the cluster of friends returned to
bubbles of booze. He was now sleeping off the Kardià, Boson’s heart, they were greeted with
inebriation. hearty and cheerful welcomes from family and
friends. Everything and everyone returned to a
greater merriment than there was before
Malic, if you can imagine more jubilance than
before. Bosoner’s danced barefoot in the grass

again. Songs and singing resonated through the About the Author:
valley and into the realm and into the next.
Deserted and forgotten was the fear they felt. Sloane Keay D. is a writer who wears many
Laughing and joyful sounds graced the features different hats. She writes fiction, nonfiction,
of every Bosoner. and lyrics to her own songs. She has a back-
ground in freelance writing and editing. Cur-
Ester’s father made the best apple pie in rently, she attends Kennesaw State University
the realm, and the gathering of Boson ate from in Georgia, where she is completing her Bache-
the spoils of Malic’s defeat. The apples lor's degree in English. On campus she is an SI
nourished the land. In the days and years after, (Supplemental Instruction) Leader for the
all frolic and hullabaloo returned to normal in chemistry department and a Zumba instructor.
Boson. But no one forgot the sweetness of Outside of school, she enjoys philosophy,
Ester who heroically tracked down Malic and horseback riding, singing, dancing, weight lift-
used her lifeblood and smarts to return peace ing, and spending time with her mom, her
to the land. Nor did anyone forget the younger brother and his staffy/lab mix Samson.
courageous Nick who, despite his fear and Her favorite and most influential authors are
folly, defeated Malic with the touch of his Annie Dillard and Francine Rivers.
hands. And Ethan…well, Ethan was just happy
to settle down and find a good place to rest his
feet. And so ends the tale of Boson’s Best.

LETTERS TO JULIA

by Sara Cummings

It felt like it had been decades since I’d last The breeze twisted and turned through my
been home and driving down the same roads hair, teasing my scalp gently, and it was every-
that I’d driven for the first 18 years of my life. It thing I needed to wash the doubts of adult life
felt completely surreal. Soy fields zoomed by away. I didn’t remember the patch of highway I
on my left and alfalfa fields spanned for miles was driving being so long but just as I began to
on my right. Taking my hand off the wheel, I think that I had missed the turn I needed to
gripped the crank attached to the frame of the take, I saw my old friend. The red barn with
door to roll down my driver’s side window. As peels in his paint and creaks in his hinges was
soon as the seal between window and frame standing faithfully around the next bend in the
was broken, a rush of cool, late-summer breeze road; I smiled upon seeing him. That warm
forced it’s way in and the earthy, clean smell of feeling I got when I felt the summer air hit my
manure filled by nose, sending a warm feeling face came back as I drove up to my old friend,
dancing through my body. For most people its the barn. We held endless memories together
freshly cut lawns or ocean salt but manure is and they all came flooding back as my car
the smell that says home to me. This was proof brought me up the drive.
that you really don’t know what you’re missing
until it’s gone, or, at least in my case, until you I remember when I first met the barn and
leave it for a while. came running through the tall grass that took
over the gravel driveway at the time to stand
Momentarily, I closed my eyes and beneath him. I thought he needed a patch job
breathed deeply. I had forgotten what a treas- and a fresh coat of paint. There were places
ure clean air really was after living in the city where some boards were missing and some
for six years. As soon as I graduated from high were rotting away and I’ll bet every window in
school, I went away to continue my schooling that barn was cracked or broken in some way. I
in Chicago against my mother’s wishes and to wanted to fix him up but he wasn’t to be like
spite my father. There were a lot of things that any other old barn, though. I wanted to paint
planted the desire to move from my tiny, him purple or possibly orange, I don’t remem-
crowded hometown in my mind- lack of oppor- ber, but it was one of the many grand plans I
tunity, lack of privacy, lack of vibrancy- but the had when I was young. My dad had plans to fix
drunken habits of my father are what pushed him up too- they just weren’t as creative (or
me away the most. For a moment, just a quick outstandingly brilliant) as mine. He took me
moment, I wanted to know what living without through every area of that barn, showing me
the heavy burden of alcoholism was like but I the dust-covered concrete floors, the barn
ended up staying away for longer than I had
originally planned.

stalls that had been abandoned long ago by are to their little girls anyway. All I knew was
their cattle, and explained all of his ideas for that I was with my father, my hero.
renovation. We were going to install lights, put
new gates on the stalls and “get that place in It was a bright August day when I had gone to
working order.” But no purple paint, he had visit the farm and so, having had forgotten my
told me. sunglasses back on top of my dresser in my
apartment in Chicago, I sought shelter from the
After I had pulled up past the front side of the sun’s rays underneath the now empty hay shed
barn, dust clouds dragging behind me, I parked that stood boldly next to the old barn. It looked
my car next to the lean-to where my dad’s like a skeleton, no longer housing bales upon
green John Deere and red Allis-Chalmers were bales of hay. Leaning against one of its sup-
always parked after a day of work. The big, porting poles, I sat down in the dirt and
black tires of the tractors reminded me of the grabbed a stray piece of hay to fiddle with. I
rumbling sound the machines made and how could still remember what the shed looked like,
gargantuan those tires really used to look in my filled to the rafters.
eyes. I got out and walked around my car to
lean against them, looking out at the herd of In the fall, when all the hay had been cut,
cattle behind the fence line 20 meters away. raked, and baled up to be brought off the fields
and stacked underneath, my brother and I
My dad would get in his (then brand-new) John would sneak off from doing our chores to climb
Deere and with the fork lift, stab a bale of hay the mountains of bales. We would play one
to feed to our cows. The job my younger broth- game where we’d race on top of them, hop-
er, Tyler, and I were always assigned was to ping from one bale to the next, to see who
carefully follow the tractor ruts into the pas- could scale across them the fastest and anoth-
ture with a pair of shears, cut the twine from er game where one of us would hide some-
the bales he brought out there, and collect the where between all the bales and it was the job
strands before he plunked them into the hay of the other person to find them. I always won
feeders. Dad always told us that the worst mis- the races because I was older and my legs were
takes you could make while on the farm are longer but he won hide-and-seek because he
forgetting to remove the twine from a soon-to- was smaller. Once, as I was counting to 15
be-eaten bale of hay and failing to remember while Ty hid, I heard an ear-piercing screech.
that the electric fence is turned on. I learned He had fallen between a cluster of loose bales
that second lesson the hard way. and was stuck between them at least two bales
down.
Ty and I would race around those bales of
hay that were hoisted in the air by the fork lift I ran as quickly as my scrawny, scratched up
and pull as many strings of twine as we could 11-year-old legs could take me to where I
to see who could gather the most; everything heard the scream and peered down between
had to be a competition. Now, standing and the bales to meet my little brothers frightened
looking at the tires of the tractor that were for gaze. His brow was furrowed and his eyes glis-
sure bigger than both of us at the time, it was a tened with tears. His arms were reaching up-
miracle neither one of us were run over. I ward, body pressed against the hay, and he
looked up into the cab of the John Deere and was trying to grab onto something to pull him-
memories of riding along on the pop-down self out.
passenger seat while my dad cut and raked hay
ran through my mind. Those were the days “Jules! Help!”
when my father was the most hard-working
and genuine man I knew, which most fathers

Panic filled my body and I slammed down Vietnam. The night before he left, he stopped
onto my stomach to reach for his hands. I over at my apartment with a few beers and we
stretched and I strained but my fingertips were sat at my kitchen table, reminiscing on many
still a few feet away from his. parts of our childhood together and also talk-
ing about the adventure he was about to em-
“Ty… I-I’ll go get dad.” bark on. I could remember a sizable lump form-
ing in my throat and looking down so he
“O-,” he hiccupped as tears spilled from his wouldn’t see me begin to cry. I was afraid of
baby blue eyes that now projected worry, him leaving but didn’t want him to know.
“Okay, hurry.” That’s when he reached over and placed a
warm, comforting hand on my shoulder.
Since that day, I have never seen so much
anger and fear spew from my dad’s gaze at the “Jules, I’ll be okay.”
same time. When I breathlessly told him what
had happened to Ty after running across our I looked up at him with wet eyes just like
entire cow pasture, he immediately dropped the ones he looked up at me with when he had
the tools he was using to repair the barbed- fallen between the hay bales.
wire fence, wiped sweat from his brow, and
began sprinting toward the hay shed. I had He continued, “I’ll try my best to write
never seen him sprint like that and tried des- whenever I can… say, once every two weeks or
perately to keep up with him. We reached the something.” He then smiled a cheeky smile.
shed, climbed up the mountain of bales, and
made our way to where Ty was. My dad “Deal,” I replied, smiling back, wiping my
reached one strong, fatherly arm down into the face with the back of my hand.
hole and hoisted him out. That afternoon, my
brother and I received one of the sternest talk- Jules,
ing-tos we had ever been given and were never
allowed to climb in the hay shed again. May 25th, 1966

I eventually learned that Ty could’ve been I’ve been in Vietnam for a little over 2
crushed by those hale bales if they would’ve weeks… really just beginning to settle in and
shifted in the slightest way and as the two of us get used to the fact that this will kind of be my
grew up and entered high school, that farm home for a while. It’s very different from the
became less of a magical place. We began to U.S. but alike in many ways too; they have their
see it as the place where we’d only go if dad bustling cities- Ho Chi Minh, think New York
couldn’t handle a task on his own, where we’d City but in Asia. The only English-speaking peo-
only go if we were asked. After the hay bale ple are my buddies. I guess that was to be ex-
incident and learning what could’ve been my pected though. Weather is decent…but it IS
brothers fate, I swore that I’d never let him be May.
in any kind of danger again if I could help it.
I know you’d rather hear all about my ad-
After finishing four years of medical school and ventures over here but I miss you. How’re you
working as a surgical assistant for three years, doing, how’s mom? And dad? I hope everything
Ty joined up as a combat medic. He said that is okay and Chicago is still treating you well.
he had always wanted to join the military, just Are you going to be moving home anytime
never wanted to go through basic training. He soon? Maybe when I get back?
entered with a captain’s rank and after a few
short months of training, him and the men he Oh, and did you know that I love you?
had learned how to help were shipped off to

Yours Truly, memories but this visit, the first visit I had
Ty made in years, brought me to the realization
that it held much more than blissful childhood
-------------------- recollections.
Ty!
Julia,
June 2nd, 1966
February 10th, 1968

It’s so great to hear from you, you wouldn’t It’s bad. I’ve never experienced this much
even believe. Waiting to receive this letter felt violence and blood and hate in my life. I thank
like waiting for ages! It’s crazy to think that God every day that I’m putting good out into
you’re all the way across the world- I’m not this world by saving lives and not taking them
sure if I’ll be able to handle my little brother but it’s hard, you know? Seeing my friends, the
being so far away but I’m really glad to hear people I’ve spent months… years with, in so
that you’re trying to get used to living there at much pain and even dying… soon, though. Soon
least. Vietnam isn’t an English-speaking coun- it’ll all be over. My birthday was recently, I
try, what did you expect? can’t remember which day. 4 days ago? Maybe
a week… I spent it praying.
I miss you too, Ty. I’m doing okay. The firm
is keeping my schedule busier than ever so I I miss you and I miss home and I miss the
don’t have as much time to think about how cold weather, believe it or not. I miss not hav-
much I miss you. Mom is well. She came and ing to sleep with one eye open and I miss being
visited last weekend. Dad? I haven’t heard from able to have dreams not nightmares. I miss not
Dad… I’m not sure when I’ll be moving back, if having to see red every day. Tell me you’re
at all. Maybe you could come live with me? okay. Tell me what Chicago is like.

But did you know that I love you more? Oh, and did you know that I love you?

Thinking of you, -Ty

Jules Usually my parents and I each get a letter
from Ty every two to three weeks- it’s almost
I dropped the now limp straw of hay from my always like clockwork- but we hadn’t received
sweaty hands and looked up to examine my anything in months. My parents continuously
surroundings. While I was remembering the try to convince me that it’s no big deal and
hide-and-seek incident and the events leading even that he’s simply forgotten but I worry that
up to my brother’s departure from home, it something’s gone wrong. He wouldn’t forget to
had grown dark around me and was now dusk, write me. Two nights ago, I had a dream that
the sun barely winking at me from behind the he was killed by a ricocheted bullet and they
trees across the hay field. Pushing off from the just ‘accidentally’ forgot to write my family to
ground, I stood up, brushed the dirt from off of tell us that he was gone. When we did get a
my backside, and began to make my way to- letter, the words on the page spelled out noth-
wards my parked car next to the tractors. I’d ing but gibberish. Somehow, in my mind, it
always associated our family farm with happy translated to, “We regret to inform you…” I can

remember, in my dream, wishing that I had “My family and I have not heard from him in
never gotten any letter at all. The waiting, the two months, usually he writes us every two or
anticipation was better than those words jump- three weeks, and we are very concerned for his
ing off the page to attack me. I couldn’t imag- safety and request to know his status and/or
ine losing the person who I swore I’d keep out whereabouts.
of danger for as long as I lived Thank you very much in advance. Please reply
in a timely manner, it would be greatly appreci-
When I woke up from that nightmare of a ated.
dream, I was shaken by violent cold sweats and Sincerely,”
shivers, my tee shirt stuck to my clammy neck, Do I sign it as being from just me?
and tears streamed down my hot face. I secret- “Julia N. Hamline.”
ly and guiltily began to wish that we wouldn’t
ever receive a letter. It somehow brought me About the Author:
comfort to imagine that he was okay, safely
living out his life in another part of the world,
keeping other people safe. He wasn’t meant for
war but he was made to save. Selfishly, I found
myself wanting him to come save me- to bring
me back to the childhood where everything
about our farm was magical and to relieve the
worry that rattled my bones every day when I
remembered that there wasn’t anything a big
sister could do to ensure that he brother was
out of harm’s way.

I needed to know where he was and if he was Sara Cummings is an undergraduate college
okay; I grew tired of waiting and wondering. student at the University of Minnesota Twin
After reaching my car, opening the door and Cities who has been writing all her life. While
plopping down into the driver’s seat, I began she’s had small essays and papers recognized
digging and rummaging around in the backseat in contests in high school, has produced works
and found an old notebook with pages that that she is proud of, and has received many
were yellowed from time and exposure and compliments on her writing, this is her first
scribbled all over from random use. I shakily submission to a literary magazine. Even though
flipped through the written-on pages and final- she’s just begun to take creative and fiction
ly found one that was blank on the front and writing courses at the University, writing has
back. Grabbing a pen from my center console, I always been an enjoyable hobby for her.
began to quickly scrawl on the page, “To
Whom it May Concern.” Who even was this
letter going to be sent to? Maybe I was crazy.
Ty was okay, right? I stopped writing momen-
tarily.

“I’m writing in regard to my brother, Tyler
Christopher Hamline,” my hand continued on.

We were always Ty and Jules, Jules and Ty- the
siblings so inseparable that you’d swear they
came out of the womb attached at the hip.

THE COMPANY HE

KEEPS

by John Garcia

He sits at an empty table in Leon Cafe in down- do has caught his interest. People in a booth
town Guatemala City. Looking up, he watches behind him talk in loud voices and he listens to
the uneven, twirling blades of a dust-covered the sound of their laughter and wonders
ceiling fan, and slides over two stools. He re- what’s so funny, and he thinks of turning
moves a folded copy of El Heraldo from be- around to look but doesn’t. He sits instead in a
neath his right arm, orders a cafe negro and mesmerized limbo staring at the TV. The
opens the newspaper. mouths of fútbol announcers move without
sound, volume off so as not to interfere with
He read most of it this morning. Well, not the tinny noise of 1970s disco music playing
most of it. Who does? He’ll reread a few stories from an overhead speaker.
now, probably skip again the ones he passed
over earlier. He recognizes the paper for what La Botella, he thinks.
it is: a prop. When he walks down Avenida
Barahona to Leon Cafe he’d rather have the You’re right, a voice in his head agrees.
Heraldo open to the few things that interest
him than have nothing in his hands and be The voice belongs to another part of him-
seen sitting by himself staring absently at one self that has no physical shape at least none he
of three TVs like the two older men to his left can envision. It is him but not him. A kind of
by the door. Their thinning gray hair cut evenly guardian-angel-alter-ego-sounding-board. It
above the collars of their shirts, their folded responds to his thoughts and actions providing
hands, their feet tapping the foot rail. Near comfort and assurance, a presence that never
them, a shelf holds a hovel of abandoned, leaves him except when much to his surprise
battered paperbacks. On a wall, curling photo- he finds himself talking to someone.
graphs of baseball players and movie posters of
films he can’t recall. Through a dusty window, A waiter refills his coffee and puts it on a
he notices a man seated at a table on the side- napkin. Coffee slops onto the table and the
walk reading tarot cards. CONSIGUE TU FU- waiter wipes it away with a towel and brings
TURO DIJO a sign on his table reads, get your him a fresh napkin. The man nods. Bored ob-
future told. No one stops. serving the two men watching TV, he studies
the front page of the Heraldo although he has
He observes the old men watching the TVs already scrutinized it he doesn’t know how
for no reason other than nothing in the Heral- many times. He notices one item he had not
read earlier about a gang shooting. Three peo-

ple died. The news doesn’t surprise him. This is him and after a few more seconds, he no long-
Guatemala. It is common enough for him to er notices her, no longer allows his imagination
see masked police officers patrolling the to meander toward fantastical expectations.
streets in dust-covered body armor, their fin- Then for no good reason he can think of, she
gers on the trigger of their weapon. He navi- speaks.
gates streets feeling little concern about
getting caught in the crossfire. He doesn’t have --Do you come here often? she asks.
a family. If he loses his life, he will leave no
one behind. He only worries that he might die He puts the paper aside. She looks directly
slowly. What would be the point of an agoniz- at him and then turns away and then faces him
ing death when he has no family, no one who again and waits.
would hold his hand one last time, no one to
gasp words of love before he lost conscious- --Yes and no, he says. Sometimes. I guess I
ness, no one to leave a lingering kiss, no one do, come to think of it, yes.
to write his obituary?
--It’s been a while for me, she says. Do you
He turns to the sports page just as a young live nearby?
woman sits beside him.
--Eleventh Avenida.
Where’d she come from?
They look at one another without speaking.
I have no idea. He turns back to his paper slowly like someone
trying not to make a sound. She resumes look-
The woman props her elbows on the table ing at the TV. He assumes that’s it, conversa-
and rests her chin in her hands. She stares at a tion done. He already misses her.
TV but he can tell she isn’t paying attention. He
notices her loose, revealing blue blouse and Nice girl.
tight jeans and how her blond hair falls down
her back. She has a ring. He can’t tell if it’s a Yes.
regular ring or a wedding ring.
He stares at a mirror behind the coffee bar
Wedding ring, I bet. but can’t see his reflection through the stacked
cups and glasses but he knows well enough
Yes, married. what he looks like: The receding hairline, large
nose, stick-thin body. Years ago, some women
He guesses the woman is a good thirty told him they liked his blue eyes.
years younger than him. He wonders why she
sat at his table when there were plenty of emp- Do you think she likes me?
ty ones and then decides not to think about it.
Who cares? Just one of those things. He has his I think so, yes.
spot. He sits at this table every time he comes
in. Other people tend to sit near the center of I do, too.
the cafe where sunlight streaming through the
open door settles like a shore beacon pointing Some nights, a friend might call him and
the way to a shelf of plastic wrapped sandwich- suggest they see a movie. He has lived alone so
es. He turns back to his paper. But the woman long now that the very notion of doing some-
disturbs him. Of all the places she chose to sit, thing in the evening exhausts him. But then the
she sat with him. Her perfume fills his head and melancholy feeling passes replaced by a surge
a kind of yearning overtakes him. He repeated- of energy and he says, Yes, let’s see a movie!
ly glances at her until her presence, like the with the enthusiasm of a child too long cooped
unsteady fan above his head, no longer throws up. The idea of going out and breaking his soli-
tary routine has him rushing about his apart-
ment as if he were late for an appointment. He
becomes almost giddy and unable to focus,

unable to sit down until he dashes out of his --Sorry? he says startled. What’s that?
apartment to meet his friend.
--We wanted kids, or my husband did, and I
Afterward, when he returns home, he can’t did too, of course, and he wanted them to go
sleep. Possibilities fill his mind of other things to a private school away from the gangs and
he might do, should do, and of other people he Guatemala City has good private schools.
might call, but as he eventually settles between
sleep and wakefulness, he knows he will return --I see.
to his routine once more and without interrup-
tion for some time, a routine that by its very --I said, ‘Well, OK.’ I wasn’t excited, you
nature allows him the certainty of certainty. know, but I got pregnant and I’m so glad I did. I
His good feelings about the evening turning mean its amazing. He’s a wonderful little boy.
into a simmering resentment of the interrup-
tion that disrupted his life and opened his eyes --How old?
to what had been missing from his life until
enough days pass that he can view his outing --Two.
as an aberration. He might even ask himself if
he had left his apartment at all or only imag- --A handful, no?
ined this excursion.
--Yes. My husband is very happy. And so am
Although she has stopped talking to him, I of course.
the woman has had a similar effect as the
friend who had suggested they see a movie. His --Congratulations, he says.
heart races. She has brought back memories of
Mariana. All these years later (what, at least She doesn’t respond. The silence drifts be-
twenty?), he misses her. The feeling rising up tween them again until he could almost con-
from a great depth like a once-dormant volca- vince himself she was not sitting beside him,
no. Mariana. Engaged and then they weren’t. that they had never exchanged a word, their
When they attempted to reconcile, they sat chance encounter a figment of his imagination.
silently in a couple counselor’s office, beside Then she speaks again.
one another but apart. He had felt like a mem-
ber of a movie audience viewing their life to- --And I get to stay at home, she says. I had a
gether on the screen of his memory, transfixed job but now I have to stay at home. Fernando
like a witness to a car wreck, marveling at the doesn’t want his son taken to daycare.
velocity of their unraveling. The years they had Strangers taking care of his kid, he said no way.
spent together vanished just like that as if they So, I stopped working and, well, I stay at home.
had never existed as a couple. Even after they I think he’s right. About daycare, I mean.
broke up, he litigated in his mind all the ways
he believed she had wronged him, until he had --What did you do?
successfully prosecuted his point of view. He
became obsessed with his arguments, mutter- --Sales. You?
ing and repeating them daily until enough time
passed he thought Mariana no longer mattered --Maintenance.
and his loss became a kind of companion in its
own right, replacing her and accompanying him --Oh, she says. Like a janitor.
through the ensuing years as any spouse.
--Yes. I don’t call it that.
--We wanted kids, the woman says break-
ing the silence. --Of course not. Maintenance. It’s more
professional.

--You have to know what you’re doing. It’s
more than pushing a broom.

--Of course.

At one time, he enjoyed his work. Maybe --Camila. I like that. Did you like being a
because he saw the results so fast. Mop the parent? I mean did you have any doubts?
floor and it’s clean and shiny in a matter of
seconds. He liked that. Liked the pride of rub- He feels the ceiling fan brush a light whirl of
bing his floors with a cotton ball to show his air over the spot where she had placed her
supervisor how spotless he kept them. But it hand on his arm. He wishes she had not with-
did not take long for him to realize his was a drawn her hand. He liked the warm, light pres-
profession that enjoyed little respect. You need sure of it on his arm. He liked the idea of her
to do something else, Mariana would tell him, hand remaining on his arm. He imagines grip-
and his friends, too. You can’t just be mop ping her fingers. He imagines walking out with
floors the rest of your life. her. These thoughts linger until he can no long-
er conjure the feeling of her hand.
After he and Mariana ended their engage-
ment, he applied the word “just” to about eve- --No, I had no doubts at all, he says. I was
rything he did. I’m just going to work. I’m just grateful.
getting the mail. I’m just going to the store. The
number of insignificant tasks that had made up It was not him but Mariana who had a
his days and had once given him pleasure left daughter. She married someone else and had
him amazed by their blandness as critiqued by three children one of whom she named Camila.
his friends. He adopted an attitude of indiffer- A mutual friend told him the news. He said OK
ence to what he had once enjoyed doing until hiding his annoyance.She should have married
he felt as indifferent about them as everyone him and had children. Camila was his daughter.
else. He woke up each morning without joy or Or, at least should have been.
expectations and felt his life ease into a kind of
inertia absent of all ambition doing things for --And your son?
no other reason than they had to be done.
--My son what?
--It’s a job, he tells her.
--Sorry. His name.
He returns to his paper. The woman and
pulls it from his hands, folds it and puts it on Fernando. Like his father.
the table.
--Of course. A strong name.
--Hey, I’m still here, she says.
--My husband thinks so. He wants another
--Of course you are, he says. I’m sorry. I baby. And so do I, of course.
thought. . .I don’t know. You got quiet.
She bites her lower lip, thinking.
--No. You got quiet.
--How old is Camila?
--Sorry.
How old would she be had she been his
--I was thinking. I just wanted to ask, do you daughter? He does the math. He and Mariana
have children? were twenty-eight at the time of their engage-
ment. Give or take a couple of years, they
--Yes. probably would have started having kids at
thirty or so. He’s sixty now.
She raises her eyebrows and leans closer to
him and places a hand on his arm. --Thirty, he says.

--Well? she says. What? Boy, girl? Names. --Does she have kids?

--Girl. Camila. --Not yet, he says.

He thinks he would have been a fine father,
a fine husband. No better and no worse than

most men. He would never know so he has no She glances at a table behind her where
reason to think otherwise. two men and a woman sit and points at one of
the men.
--My mother is watching him.
--He’s an ex-boyfriend. We haven’t seen
--Your mother? each other in years. It was nice to meet you.

--Yes. Little Fernando. She’s watching him --And you, he says.
today.
--I feel we still have so much to talk about.
--Oh, I see. Well, that’s nice. A bit of a break
for you. He sticks out his hand and she takes it.

--She’ll have him for two days. I think its --Nice to meet you, he says again and she
important he has a chance to bond with her. smiles and pulls her hand away and he feels
the retreat of her fingers drag across his palm.
--And you have a chance to be alone with She walks to her friends. He hears all of them
your husband. talking excitedly.

--I’m here with friends, she says. Fernando The woman and her friends run to the back
works a lot. of the cafe, laughing and shoving, stampeding
on the worn wood floor and overwhelming him
--Well, that’s nice, too. I mean that you’re in a wave of noise and more laughter until they
here with friends. reach a cigarette machine.

She forces a tight smile. He considers reach- I need.
ing for her hands. He would hold them and say,
It’s going to be all right. It’s going to be fine. Need her?
Whatever it is, for whatever reason you’re talk-
ing to me, it’ll work itself out. We’ll be togeth- Something. He doesn’t know what or who.
er. I know, she’ll say. Thank you. You’re so He opens the Heraldo, scans its pages without
sweet, so good to me. reading. He notices the two old men who had
been watching fútbol have left. The tarot card
He waits. All these years later, he can recall reader sits slumped in his chair perhaps asleep,
each argument, each disagreement with Maria- the cards having spilled out of his hand and
na almost word for word except now he realiz- onto the sidewalk.
es they weren’t quarrels so much as declara-
tions. They had approached their differences The early evening light has faded and long
by expecting each other to concede to their shadows penetrate the cafe’s open door. The
point of view. Neither would. They pummeled man feels he should leave. It’s not safe to walk
each other with their anger until they were left home in the dark but he doesn’t move. He
gasping and so exhausted that at night they wants to think she likes him. Just like him. That
went to bed and held one another without would be enough. He could see having coffee
passion but rather with the comfort of two with her and doing all sorts of other things he
people who despite their differences knew doesn’t do now but might have had he and
each other too well to let go. He tries to re- Mariana married.
member when they did let go. He can’t. Not a
specific moment. One day it seemed the Someone taps his shoulder. He shudders in
shouting had stopped because she had gone. surprise and then his mind fills with possibili-
ties. He has no words for the wonder and joy
--I have to leave, the woman says. he feels.

It’s her, yes. Turn around.
Smiling, he opens his arms to embrace her
but it is the waiter he sees before him holding
an empty tray in the palm of one hand.
--Another coffee? the waiter asks, before
we close?

About the Author:
John M. Garcia lives in San Diego, California.

WANTED MAN

by Anahit Petrosyan

Now that he was suspended, Levi lied down in “Let’s rehearse again,” called the voice of
the back seat of his car and closed his eyes, his analyst through his earpiece. “Your name is
going back three weeks to when he had been now Ivan Asbury, you’re a professional sniper
assigned this undercover mission as an agent. and a contracted hitman. You’re after two
He had known well what he was going into and wanted men- Mavis and Glib Gudenko.”
with whom he would have to deal with. All of
that was still fresh in his memory and played Levi frowned at the name of Mavis. The
like pictures before his closed eyes. agency had not yet discovered who Mavis was
to Levi. All they knew was that Mavis was top
He was eight, his brother, Jon, was four for wanted killers. He worked for Glib Guden-
when they were separated, never to hear of or ko, who in turn provided his safety and hidea-
see each other again. Their parents had kept ways. Gudenko was known for his strategies as
them apart and erased any memory of them a mastermind criminal. He directed an infa-
being family in the first place. Levi avoided go- mous Ukrainian mob comprised of young men
ing back to that day no matter how hard his who had been victims of kidnap and abuse,
mind tried to remind him. Twenty-one years who carried out his agenda, one of whom was
apart from Jon was enough to keep Levi awake. Mavis. Levi, with the help of the agency, had
He recalled the morning he was to get on a taken down the next man to work with Mavis
flight where he would have to enter his broth- and succeeded in forging his identity to the real
er’s life again, not as Levi, but as someone else, Ivan Asbury, a sniper hired by Gudenko to call
someone with a mission to lure a criminal into the next shot with Mavis.
his trap.
“Mavis is Gudenko’s right-hand man,” rang
His team was with him each step of the the familiar voice through his earpiece. “Your
way, tracking his trip to the airport through a job is to organize the rendezvous point where
chip implanted under his skin. Levi was to Gudenko is to meet Mavis and Ivan. Buy some
check in every now and then to report of his time before backup arrives.”
observations. That morning was the start of
Levi’s new identity, one rehearsed continually Nearly twelve hours in, Levi had arrived at
at the agency until it became the only identity Kiev, Ukraine, where one of Gudenko’s drivers
Levi related to. There was one shot to take. was assigned the task of transporting Ivan As-
Levi rested his head with his identification and bury to where Mavis awaited his arrival. Levi
flight ticket in his hand, feeling hungry and was trained to control his stress levels, but his
nervous as he analyzed the strategy. heart beat rapidly in his chest. He was now a

new person, one with a completely different ward everything he looked at- everything but
identity, and the charade had begun. his snipers.

The car stopped by an abandoned ware- That evening was spent planning the tactics
house. Levi was escorted in by the driver who on paper, burning the evidence, and mentally
waited for clearance from Mavis before head- rehearsing the plan, location, and angles which
ing out. It was dark inside where Levi stood. were to be taken. Levi listened and kept his
There was no sign of Mavis yet, until a door own agenda in mind. He provided his methods
creaked, and a slim figure appeared in the of the assassination, which pleased Mavis, and
shadows. He gestured with his hand for the the men worked to build the final plan.
men to follow him inside. Levi fixed his jacket
and walked forward to the lighted room where “Our target will be in Pechersk, conducting
Mavis stood. He motioned for the driver to his campaign,” Levi added. “This is the best
leave, and the brothers were left alone. angle to get a clear shot at him,” he said,
pointing at the map.
Levi wished to smile and tell Mavis who he
really was. His little brother was now a grown “Gudenko will meet us there only after the
man of twenty-five. He still had those curios shot. Then he’ll send you back to your divi-
brown eyes and the turned-up nose. His ash- sion.”
brown hair was now clean cut and brushed.
From his cheek to his chin ran a deep scar and “And you?”
Levi recalled the day of their separation, when
he and his brother were only children. That “I’m not the person of interest here,” Mavis
was who Levi saw, Jon with his childlike won- snapped.
der, not Mavis, the top wanted sniper and right
-hand man of one of Ukraine’s strongest ma- Levi glared back. There was not a trace of
fias. Jon left in Mavis. It seemed to Levi that all had
been wiped clean. Out of Jon, the child, was
“Ivan Asbury,” Levi stretched his hand out. made a new identity- a killer with no con-
Mavis shook it with a firm grip and a cold stare. science. Levi turned and looked around at the
warehouse. It was beginning to get colder as
“Which division?” Mavis asked. night approached.

“Gudenko’s 436”. “Ivan,” Mavis called, “the plan is finalized.
Gudenko’s driver will take you to one of his
Mavis nodded, keeping his curios eyes on hotels now. I’ll meet you tomorrow night at
Levi, as if to catch him at fault. “I was from 414, Club Napoyi - drinks on me, for good luck,” he
month of April, first day, kidnapped at four. grinned, opening a bottle of beer for himself.
Twenty-one years I’m at this,” he grinned,
haughtily. Two killers in a warehouse wasn’t how Levi
had imagined his family reunion. He turned his
Levi tried to look impressed. He couldn’t back and walked out of Mavis’s workplace,
help but study his brother’s face. waiting for the driver’s arrival. It occurred to
him that perhaps he should have continued his
“Must have been difficult, training with life as it was, for the deeper he dug into his
guns and the mafia at such an age,” Levi in- past, the more he sunk underground. He felt
quired. his upper arm, where the tracking device was
planted, and sighed. The act had to be believa-
Mavis shot him a passing glare, leaving the ble. Like Mavis, Ivan came from a dark past,
question hanging in mid-air. Levi was quick to and Gudenko was his savior as well. Like Mavis,
catch the resentment in Mavis’s eyes, not par- Ivan was angry and only found solace in suc-
ticularly for him, but resentment directed to- cessful missions.

“Where’s that driver?” Levi asked aggres- only to fill the cups and say another one, which
sively, making his way back into Mavis’s work- Mavis seemed to enjoy. He lit a cigarette while
room after half an hour. Levi spoke, taking a long puff and returning to a
tranquil mood. Levi had managed to use his
“Here, have some vodka and calm down,” same drink as if it were a new glass with each
Mavis responded, leaning back in his chair. toast while Mavis drank until he no longer
could.
He poured it into two shot glasses. It was
apparent that he had been drinking alone until “Do you remember your real name?” Levi
Levi had returned. He spoke more and carried asked, hoping to get answers from the past
an easy change of tone. The hostile look had now that Mavis had let his guards down.
left his eyes. Levi planned to use Mavis’s state
of mind to his advantage. Mavis shrugged, rubbing his chin with
downcast eyes. “I was just a kid,” he barely
“This is Ukraine’s best,” he tapped the said. “I remember I had parents and a brother.
bottle. I haven’t seen them since my abduction. Hell, I
don’t remember a thing about them.”
Levi took a seat, waiting for Mavis to pick
up his glass. Levi felt his throat begin to choke and he
coughed for air.
“Budmo,” he raised his glass and drank it in
a swift gulp. “When my day’s over,” Mavis continued, “I
lie down and imagine what they might have
“Long live Gudenko,” Levi replied. looked like, but I see nothing but silhouettes. I
don’t know where I was born or who the hell I
Mavis set the glass down and poured an- was,” he paused. “To hell with it,” he smiled, “I
other drink for the two of them. He stood, with know who I am now, a killer, a wanted man.”
the glass between his thumb and middle finger.
He eyed Levi with half-lidded eyes while pick- It fell silent for some time and Mavis rested
ing up his sniper with his left hand, resting it on his hand on his sniper, laid on the table before
his shoulder. He frowned now and dropped his him. Suddenly, his eyes shot up at Levi, who
head. had been silent all along. He leaned forward,
the cigarette hanging between his lips.
“This is what we live for now,” he said, rais-
ing his glass, “Gudenko and his snipers. May we “Take this away and we’re nothing,” he said
always be the best in what we do- and this is between his teeth.
what we do,” he set his glass down and picked
up his weapon, aiming it at imaginable objects Just then, Gudenko’s driver arrived. Levi got
and pretending to shoot. to his feet while Mavis stayed seated with his
eyes closed.
Levi watched with pity as Mavis continued
in his pretense. He then turned to Levi and “Ah, to hell with you too,” he called after
grinned, slowly turning the weapon at him and Levi. “I had to drink so much just to make you a
laughing. little interesting to have around.”

“That’s enough,” Levi ordered. “I want to Levi glanced back at his brother, shook his
make a toast,” he filled the glasses, and Mavis head, and headed out. He was taken to a suite
went back to the table, impatiently waiting for where he would rest to meet Mavis the next
his fill. day. Levi fell asleep in his clothes that night,
too tired to even remove his shoes. His mind
He stood with his glass and Mavis watched spiraled around endless thoughts and his heart
like he did when they were kids, his eyes curi- ached for his brother. He hid his face in the
ous and searching. Levi made his toasts short,

pillows, feeling the familiar burn in his throat. pour the drinks, throwing in an olive and
He began to doubt if he could finish the mis- cutting another one in half. He thought about
sion, and in his thoughts, he fell asleep. Mavis’s unusual order. The two different drinks
were slid over to the snipers. Mavis picked his
The next evening, Levi set out to meet Ma- up, raised his glass, and drank. Levi, however,
vis at Club Napoyi, according to Gudenko’s kept his eyes on his drink as an abrupt suspi-
plans. He made his way through the crowds of cion took hold of him.
people, past the dancing and the flashing
lights, through the various odors and perfumes “Budmo,” he barely said, lifting his glass.
to the bar where Mavis sat with girl in a tight
dress. She left at the appearance of Levi. Mavis As he drank his eyes turned to Mavis who
gave a cold hello as Levi took the seat beside had kept his glare fixed on Levi while leaning
him. forward in his seat, about to spring out of his
chair. The tension grew heavy. Levi threw the
“Quite a place,” Levi said, looking around glass on the table and jerked out of his seat,
the club at the Ukrainian women, some of pushing past all the people who got in his way.
whom had watched him enter. He watched the Mavis followed, running aggressively behind
dancing lights across their moving bodies. his target. Mavis knew every pathway in that
club, but Levi observed while he ran. Coming to
Mavis followed his gaze, feeling his heart- an exit, he flung the door open and made his
beat fall in sync with the pounding of the mu- way down flights of stairs leading to an under-
sic. Gudenko’s bartender approached the men. ground inventory. He ran with his gun in his
He would know the snipers by the specific hand as Mavis shouted behind him. Suddenly,
drink they would order- a drink that only the Mavis threw himself over the railings, falling
snipers knew within themselves - then send a over Levi and beating him with his fists.
confirmation to Gudenko on the shooter who
was assigned to work with Mavis. “You’re gonna tell me who sent you,” he
yelled.
“What will you have, gentlemen,” he asked,
looking first at Levi. Levi felt the ground for his gun while
fighting off Mavis with his other hand.
“Spotykakh for me,” Levi replied.
“I’d kill you right here, but there’s some-
Something like an electric shock seemed to thing far worse waiting for you.”
go through Mavis’s spine. His jaw clenched,
and he shot a glare at the bartender, who re- The men were now on their feet, punching
turned a similar expression. Levi was unaware, and kicking. Levi knew that backup was on its
turning his attention to the crowd of women. way, thanks to his tracking device. He threw
Mavis took a long look at Levi while the sudden Mavis to the ground with full force, reached for
realization dawned on him. his weapon, and held him at gunpoint.

“Don’t make a damn sound about this,” he “Your name was Jon,” he said, breathing
said to the bartender, who had already picked heavily, “I can tell you who you were. I know
up his phone, which Mavis forcibly put away. where you were born, who your family is. I
have the answers to your past.”
“You know what, make that two,” Levi sud-
denly turned back around. Mavis slowly got off the ground. “Who sent
you?” He asked again.
“No,” Mavis replied, “you know what I
have. Give me a shot of horilka with one and a “Whoever sent me will be here with backup
half green olives.” in sixty seconds. If you don’t run, you will fall
into our hands,” Levi warned.
The bartender nodded. Levi watched him

“You probably don’t know what I’m capable
of,” Mavis seethed. “You’ll be the easiest one
of my targets, I promise you that.”

“Then your true identity will die with me.”
The sounds of tapping feet interrupted. Levi
glanced up the flights of stairs and back at Ma-
vis.
“Jon, run!”
Levi’s eyes shot open and he quickly sat up
in the backseat of his car. He rubbed his face
and wondered how to spend his time on sus-
pension. If Mavis would be coming for him,
then he would meet him in the middle.

About the Author:

Anahit Petrosyan is a young writer and gradu-
ate of CSU Northridge with a bachelor’s degree
in Creative Writing. She is the author of the
young adult novel, Chasing After, the short
story, “Mother Wolf”, in the Northridge Re-
view, and her more recent publication,
“Wanted Man”, in Adelaide Magazine. She con-
tinues to write short stories and is working on
her second novel.

CHANGING LANGUAGE

by Steve Colori

The bluish lights from the television were glow- “You know, I golf with a guy who was in the
ing from the bar. I was out to eat with some army. He says those guns are made for one
friends on a week night and there were several purpose, and that’s to kill people,” Jose said.
groups of people in the dining area. “Today, at
a synagogue in West Attleboro, five people “So what about our second amendment
were shot. The gunman was arrested and rights? We can’t just get rid of guns,” Kyla said.
found to be a member of the Aryan Brother- She took a sip of beer and stirred her frothy
hood…” the news anchor stated. soup.

“Wow, did you see that?” Kyla asked. “They Rob placed his drink down on the wooden
really ought to do mental health screening be- high top. “You have to remember the second
fore allowing people to have guns.” amendment was put in place when muskets
were the primary weapon. If the government
“I don’t know if that’s going to solve the wants to take over, none of us would ever have
problem,” I said. a chance. I think the automatic weapons have
to be gotten rid of.”
“It seems every time one of these things
happens someone with a mental illness is in- “I agree. I think those guns are just too
volved,” Kyla said. much. No civilian needs an automatic rifle,”
Jose said. He fixed his golf collar and flagged
“I don’t know about that,” Rob replied. He the waiter for a drink. The waiter nodded and
and Kyla had been married for thirty-one years. walked away.

“Well, what do you think it is? They must “I just think these people who go on
have a mental illness,” Kyla said. “That’s what I shootings have to have some sort of mental
consider it to be. It’s all kind of relative to me.” illness,” Kyla said.

A server walked by carefully with a simmer- I picked at a wooden knot in the table feel-
ing plate. I stared blankly at the steam rising ing like it should have been easy to remove. It
from the freshly charred meal. “I’ve never remained where it was. “There’s a difference
harmed anyone and I’ve had schizophrenia for between having a diagnosed mental illness and
years,” I thought. “They know about my diag- a hate crime,” I said as calmly as I could.
nosis… This is such a strange subject. Maybe
she just doesn’t include me in the category of “Well, I don’t know if I agree. Something
having a mental illness??” has to be wrong mentally with these people,”
Kyla replied. She took a swig of beer and placed
the foamy glass down.

“Yeah, I agree they aren’t necessarily stable About the Author:
people,” Jose said. A plate crashed to the
ground shattering in twenty directions. Silence Steve Colori has published seventeen essays
pervaded the room. I could hear my heart beat with Schizophrenia Bulletin by Oxford Medical
pulsing in my temples. Journals and he has been featured in a number
of literary journals. He has had schizoaffective
“You can’t label everyone who does some- disorder for thirteen years and writes a mental
thing wrong as having a mental illness,” I said. health column titled Steve Colori Talks Mental
“Every time you attribute a hate crime to men- Health with The Good Men's Project. Over the
tal illness it misconstrues the situation.” years he has worked hard to overcome the
disorder and he has come to live by the words
“How does it misconstrue the situation?” "To Improve is to Change; to Be Perfect is to
Kyla asked. “I think these people are messed Change Often" (Winston Churchill)
up, is that not okay to say?”

“It’s not mental illness that’s causing these
crimes though. It’s hatred and rhetoric. It has
nothing to do with someone’s diagnosis,” I
said.

“I’ll agree to disagree,” Kyla replied.

“How would you feel if I said blondes are
dumb when you’re VP at your company?” I
asked.

“We are dumb though,” she laughed. “I
don’t see why everything has to be so PC. You
can’t say anything without getting in trouble.”
Kyla picked up her burger and finished the last
piece in a bite that seemed too big. The waiter
carried away her plate.

“Well, I think when you use labels it affects
the way people are treated and that’s what
makes the difference,” Jose said.

“I still want to just be able to say whatever I
want to. Why should I have to change for eve-
ryone else?”

“What is so difficult about changing the
language you use; especially when it can make
such a big difference?” I asked.

The blue lights from the television flickered
as they switched news anchors.

CANCERPHOBIA

by Anna Lindwasser

“John Proctor got me feeling some type of way. “I don’t think that’s the whole point,” said Na-
I can see how he honorable. He sacrificed his hima, flipping through her post-it note heavy
life for what he believed in. But we talking bout copy of The Crucible. “I think it’s more the dan-
a thirty-year-old man who slept with a teenag- gers of mass hysteria than it is Mr. Proctor.
er and then threw her out the house ‘cause his Give me a minute and I can show you the line
wife said so. Ain’t nothing honorable about that’s making me think that.”
that.” Nahima Dorian shook her head.
Mrs. Wright would give both girls credit for
“Interesting,” said Mrs. Wright. She tried to their insight. Tazhane didn’t need it—her class-
suppress the bubbly joy that came with stu- work, test, and essay grades were flawless, and
dents taking the material seriously, but could school policy didn’t place much weight on par-
not avoid grinning. “Do you think that what he ticipation. Nahima, on the other hand, needed
did was redeemable, or not?” it badly.

“I gotta think about it,” she said. “Tazhane, For whatever reason—systemic inequality, lack
thoughts?” Her eyes shifted toward a class- of preparation, being too smart for the con-
mate of hers who rarely spoke but often had fines of the test—Nahima was terrible at multi-
something smart brewing in the stew of her ple-choice questions. Say a question were ask-
brain. Good choice. Mrs. Wright would have ing which literary device Langston Hughes re-
called on Tazhane too, once she got done with lied on most heavily in his poem Good Morning
Nahima. Revolution. Nahima probably wouldn’t get the
correct answer, which was b) personification,
Tazhane crossed her arms and leaned back in because she'd be focused on the ten other po-
her chair. “I think it depends on whether we’re ems she'd memorized by Hughes that relied on
talking about real life or fiction. In real life, no, metaphor. She'd pick c) metaphor, and she'd
he’s not redeemable. A thirty-year-old hooking be wrong. The person who graded Nahima's
up with a teenager is nasty—he’s taking ad- test would have no idea that she had memo-
vantage of her. But we’re talking about fiction, rized ten Langston Hughes poems. A wrong
and the whole point of the story is John re- answer was simply wrong, a failed test was
deeming himself.” simply failed, and a failing student was, simply,
a failure.

But Nahima was a poet, not a failure. Nahima which was heavier than it should be, and dug
was a barista at a fair trade coffee shop who out her copy of The Crucible.
drew kittens in the foam when she made lattes.
Nahima was a passionate lover of small dogs, ~`~`~
especially her terrier mix, Poppy. She was an
activist who shut down a bridge while declar- At 7 AM, one hour before the official start of
ing that black lives matter. She’d be going to school, Mrs. Wright was hunched over at her
college soon, and she already knew that she desk, looking at an online wig store while
wanted to double major in poetry and psychol- waiting for her Regents Prep kids to trickle in.
ogy.
Nahima Dorian, Tazhane Norwalk, Ludmilla
Mrs. Wright's job was to make sure Nahima's Stepanova, Miguel Gonzalez, Brooklynne Lai,
test score reflected the girl she saw every day and Gemini Delgado - six of the 12 kids who
in her morning prep class and her 7th Period had signed up for the class - were yawning in
ELA class. Her hands scribbling notes furiously, their seats. All but Miguel had remembered
shooting in the air to share her thoughts, their workbooks.
squeezing her close friends shoulders as she
leaned in to tell them a joke. "Good morning, scholars," Mrs. Wright said.
"Thank you for coming in despite this blustery
Mrs. Wright’s other job was not to die. day—can anyone define that word for me,
blustery?"
~`~`~
While Ludmilla raised a tentative hand, Brook-
Despite its insistence on killing her quickly, the lynne shouted "it means windy!!" Ludmilla's
cancer carbonating its way through Mrs. soft blue eyes shifted into something sharklike.
Wright’s bloodstream was going to have to She snapped, "bitch, you stole my answer!"
wait until her 11th graders passed the New
York State ELA Regents Exam. Brooklynne fired back a flippant, "suck my blus-
tery dick!" and the two girls gnashed teeth at
Her doctor and her husband were against this each other until Mrs. Wright mollified them
plan. Both insisted that working in a public with the cliché, "great minds think alike."
school setting was too dangerous, both be-
cause of the stress and because of the thriving "My mind’s great as fuck," muttered Brook-
germ colony that was your average student lynne, hugging her knees to her chest, tear-
body. drops bubbling in her eyes. Mrs. Wright consid-
ered scolding them both for inappropriate lan-
Sprawled out on her doctor’s lumpy armchair, guage, but chose not to.
Mrs. Wright said she would start treatment,
but she wouldn’t take a medical leave until the “Yes Brooklynne,” said Mrs. Wright, knuckle
school year ended. “I have a responsibility to grinding out a knot of pain in her forehead.
the children,” she said. “You are an intelligent young lady. Now, why
don’t you demonstrate that intelligence for the
“You have a responsibility to your health and to class, and remind us of the annotation strategy
your family,” her husband said, kneading her we learned yesterday? That’s what we’ll be
fingers and twisting her wedding ring so her working on today.”
skin was twisted too.
Brooklynne spat out the format they’d been
“You go ahead and work out my treatment working on for six weeks, missing the third
plan,” she said. “I need to finish my lesson question they’re supposed to answer—what
plans for tomorrow.” She picked up her purse, literary device does the author use? Tazhane

raised her hand and pointed this out, reading it “Can you help me with these multiple choice
off the rubric in a crisp, imperial voice. Brook- questions?”
lynne’s eyes narrowed and her shoulders
tensed, but Mrs. Wright was able to calm her This was said in the scratchiest, most congest-
by clearing her throat and shooting a knife- ed voice Mrs. Wright had ever heard outside of
laced look her way. a children’s cartoon. The word multiple sound-
ed more like buldible than the word itself.
Twenty minutes later, as the kids were digging
their way out of a pit of multiple choice ques- Nahima was suffering from some kind of infec-
tions, Nahima raised her hand. tion. Black swipes underneath her eyes, a swol-
len, chapped nose, and her mouth hanging
Walking toward Nahima’s desk left Mrs. Wright open so she could breathe made that clear
so fatigued that she had to clutch the back of enough. The rattling cough that announced
her chair for support. Nahima grabbed her arm itself the instant Nahima sat down made it
to steady her. “You okay, Miss?” crystal. The messy sneeze aimed into a bundle
of tissues plucked from the box on her lap
“Yes—I’m fine. What do you need?” ramped it up to blinding.

“I can’t concentrate on this stuff. I got a head- Still, Mrs. Wright asked, “are you sick, dear?”
ache.”
If she was sick, Mrs. Wright was screwed.
Mrs. Wright stifled a flash of annoyance. She
had chronic myeloid leukemia, and she was “Yeah,” Nahima rasped. “That headache from
somehow dragging her corpselike body to yesterday turned into a cold. My nose got mad
school and teaching five lessons a day. That stuffy last night. I couldn’t sleep.”
wasn’t even counting this prep class, not to
mention all the grading and planning and par- “I see.” Mrs. Wright frowned. She couldn’t say,
ent calling and emotional managing and get away from me you disgusting germ foun-
meetings and paperwork and endless endless tain, don’t you know that I have cancer?! Be-
grind—but she didn’t mention any of that. cause Nahima didn’t know, and Mrs. Wright
didn’t want her to know. If she knew, she’d tell
She smiled. “Sorry honey. Do you want to go her friends and they’d tell their friends and
out and get a drink of water, see if that’ll sooner or later the whole school would know.
help?” Then they’d be giving her flower arrangements
and get well cards and their deepest, most sin-
“No…you got any painkillers?” cerest of sympathies. All while looking at her as
if she were something stuck to the bottom of
Mrs. Wright had a half-canister full of Oxyco- their shoe.
done in her purse, but seeing as she’d probably
be arrested if she gave Nahima one of those, Nahima wasn’t doing anything wrong by asking
she said no. her teacher for help while having a cold. She
didn’t understand the material that she needed
“Okay, thanks.” She twisted around, tapped to pass the test and graduate. Mrs. Wright
Gemini on the forearm. “Got any painkillers?” could not, in good conscience, turn her away.
Gemini handed her an ibuprofen. After five
minutes of rubbing her head and whimpering, And so she just shoved her hands into her
Nahima got to work. pockets, determined not to touch anything
until she could disinfect the surfaces Nahima
~`~`~ breathed on.

After a coughing fit that made Nahima sound “This test is getting me tight!” Nahima moaned,
like she was trying to dislodge a rock from her digging fists into her streaming eyes. “Making
throat, she croaked, “I can’t figure out the an- me feel so dumb. I can’t guess the right an-
swer to question four. It could be #1 because swer—half the time all the answers make
Pyotr is showing his contempt for status, but sense. I’m not a mind reader, I don’t know
he’s also showing his indifference to wealth so what makes most sense to the people who
it could be #2. The last two answers make made the test. All I know is what makes sense
sense also if you look at what the narrator says to me.”
after Line 50—she’s saying people don’t take
action and just complain or stay quiet, because She blew her nose, turning three tissues into
they’re not confident. And that’s #4. I can’t mulch. “I’m never going to pass this test,” she
even use the elimination method here because whimpered. “I’m never going to graduate high
they all…” school. If I was just smarter…”

She trailed off, nostrils twitching and eyes Mrs. Wright’s aching arms moved without her,
slamming shut. After gulping air for a few sec- wrapping Nahima into a germ-ridden embrace.
onds, she sneezed furiously into a waiting “Honey, you’re not stupid. It’s the test that’s
handful of soggy tissues. stupid. It expects a very specific way of think-
ing, and very smart people don’t necessarily
“Nahima, are you sure you’re up for this right think that way. The test measures how well
now? You sound terrible.” your thinking lines up with the test, nothing
more.”
After noisily blowing her nose, Nahima said,
“I’m okay. I just really want to understand this Nahima nodded into the now damp collar of
so I could do good on my Regents.” Mrs. Wright’s shirt, then pulled away. She
wiped her face off on another handful of tis-
Mrs. Wright’s guts were performing a trapeze sues, and mumbled an apology.
act, her heart slamming against her ribcage like
a kid belly-flopping into a pool. If she caught “It’s okay,” Mrs. Wright said. “You’re in a bull-
this cold she’d probably get pneumonia and shit situation. I’d be crying too.”
die.
~`~`~
But this was her job. Get Nahima and the rest
of the 11th Grade through this fucking test if it Three days later, Mrs. Wright was the one cry-
killed her. So she took Nahima’s sheaf of Re- ing. Mainly because what started off as Na-
gents questions, and said, “let me just look hima’s cold had transformed into her own
over the text real quick, and then we’ll talk pneumonia, but also because her red-faced,
about that question.” blustery husband was growling at her about
how she should never have let that girl get so
Before Mrs. Wright got halfway through the close to her. He thought she shouldn’t be
text, she was interrupted by the sound of heav- working while she was going through chemo-
ing breaths, whimpering, and hiccups. She therapy. He thought what she did was not nec-
looked up to see Nahima wiping tears onto her essary. He did not want to lose her. He won-
sweater sleeve. dered how she could be so careless with her
own health. Did she want to die? Did she want
“Nahima? What’s wrong?” Mrs. Wright didn’t him to be a widow? How could she be so
want to get too close, so she just sort of hov- selfish?
ered over her, brow wrinkled with concern.
“Whatever it is you can tell me.” She couldn’t say anything because she couldn’t

breathe. The tubes up her nose and down her she hadn’t figured out a sufficient lie. “Don’t
throat were doing it for her. Her husband sat feel bad. I didn’t get your cold. It was a stom-
down on the side of her hospital bed, tried not ach thing I got from my husband.” This said
to jostle her but did it anyway. “Jennie, you without having any idea whether or not Nahi-
don’t have to keep working. Obviously we’ll ma blamed herself in the first place.
have to make a few sacrifices, but I can keep us
going until you get better. Then you can find a “Oh. You feeling better now?” Nahima fiddled
new teaching job. If you die…” with one of her beaded braids, cocked an eye-
brow. As if she didn’t believe her.
What she wanted to say was I won’t die, but
even if she could, her husband would just “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” Mrs. Wright
launch into telling her how hard it’ll be to treat forced a smile as bright and wide as she could,
her leukemia if it turns acute, how likely it was stuffed down the cough rumbling in her throat.
that she’d die if she kept picking up infections “Anyway, what’s going on? I’m sure you and
from the kids, how he wouldn't be able to walk Gemini didn’t come here just to check up on
into a silent home after work without crying, me.”
not when he was used to The Clash blaring
from her laptop while she banged out lesson “We was so worried, Miss!” said Gemini, loping
plans and talked to the cat. toward her desk. He dragged over two desk-
chair combos for himself and Nahima, and sat
Mrs. Wright didn’t want to hear any of that. down. He said, “You right though, that’s not
She closed her eyes and tried to blur his words why we here. We got something to show you.”
with sleep. The last thing she sensed was her
husband’s fingernails scratching her scalp as he Nahima took a white Hello Kitty folder from her
tried to stroke her chemo-sparse hair. tapestry bag. She said, “we been writing a
book. Well, I did the writing, and Gemini did
~`~`~ the photography. We bout ready to find a pub-
lisher, so we was hoping you could make some
“Mrs. Wright?” edits. We asked Mr. Patel for help with the
photos already, we just need you for the poet-
“Yeah?” Mrs. Wright dragged herself up from ry part.”
the heap of essays she’d been disrespectfully
using as a pillow. A full class period worth of Without stopping to consider whether or not
labor from these kids, and she drooled on the she had the time or skills to help, Mrs. Wright
product? What was wrong with her? Well, nev- agreed. Nahima smiled, and handed her the
er mind that now, her students were here and folder. Inside was a title page, and about 80
she had to give them her full attention, no pages worth of poems and photos.
matter how sleep-strangled her brain might be.
“This is awesome,” Mrs. Wright said, flipping
Nahima and Gemini were standing in the door- through the manuscript. “Thank you for show-
way, Gemini leaning languidly on the door ing me this—it’s always a bit of a thrill for us
frame, Nahima standing primly with her fingers English teachers when the kids are doing extra-
laced around her middle. curricular reading and writing. I can’t wait to
read it.” She looked at the title page, which
“Hey,” she said. “I’m glad you’re back. I was held the collection’s name: FAFSAphobia.
worried about you! Why you was out for so
long?” “Most of the poems are about where we at
right now, trying to finish high school and plan
“I was sick.” Mrs. Wright stared at her finger- for the future. The whole thing was starting to
nails. She hadn’t wanted to tell her that, but

stress me out, so I started writing poems.” The poems were already what they should be,
without Mrs. Wright’s help.
“What an excellent coping mechanism,” said
Mrs. Wright. She would never have the nerve ~`~`~
to write about cancer. Then she’d have to
acknowledge its existence outside of her medi- Twenty minutes into the Global History Re-
cal appointments, and process its implications. gents, which Mrs. Wright was proctoring while
Not a chance. her students sweated through the ELA test in
another room, Ms. Ng poked her head into the
“Thanks for helping us out, cuz,” said Gemini. room. “Ms. Wright, just so you know, Nahima
didn’t show up for the test. Claudia called her
“No problem, bro,” said Mrs. Wright. Gemini mother but there was no answer.”
laughed. Nobody said bro anymore.
Mrs. Wright furrowed her brow. “Did she try
~`~`~ her father?”

Mrs. Wright edited the manuscript with a nee- “Yes, same thing.” Ms. Ng chewed her bottom
dle in her arm. She usually had a good twenty lip. “Just thought you should know. We’ll talk
minutes before the chemo cocktail put her to more later.”
sleep, and this was a good distraction from the
aching bones, grisly rashes, and riotous nausea Good, because Mrs. Wright felt like she’d just
that she knew would come after the treatment. been hit in the chest with a hammer. She
couldn’t talk to Ms. Ng. The only thing she
The manuscript involved about 40 poems and could do was sit, mouth gaping, fingers curling
20 photographs. The photos included Nahima into a fist that she swore to God she would not
and Miguel hunched over Chemistry textbooks, hit her leg with. Not in front of the kids.
Tazhane and Ludmilla craning their necks to
see at the clock tower at the Brooklyn College Nahima. NAHIMA. All that extra work and she
library, and Gemini kissing a five-year-old boy’s misses the test? Mrs. Wright’s early mornings
chubby cheek. Probably his brother. There was that could have been spent sleeping, spending
Nahima in a winter coat, arms outstretched to time with her husband, SLEEPING, all those
catch the snow. Brooklynne and a 10th grader hours upon hours of planning, grading, and
named Julissa midflight on the basketball sacrificing for Nahima to just say, “screw it?”
court. A failed math exam, with the student’s
name smudged out. The whole 11th Grade class Mrs. Wright shut her eyes. Forced enough air
holding up signs at the Union Square Black into her lungs to choke out “thank you Ms.
Lives Matter protest. Beautiful photos, mostly Ng.”
black and white. Mrs. Wright hoped that Mr.
Patel would have some decent feedback for ~`~`~
them.
Mrs. Wright sat on a student desk, arms
The poems were hard to read critically. There crossed, while Nahima stood awkwardly in the
was no rubric, and Mrs. Wright didn’t specialize doorway. “Are you coming in or what?” barked
in poetry. Reading it, she felt that generalized Mrs. Wright.
joyous glow of reading something she liked,
and she could not put her teacher hat on. She Nahima’s brow wrinkled, and her lips folded in
changed some spelling, moved a few lines on themselves. She walked in, stood in front of
around, but ultimately, there was little she the desk. “Why you yelling, Miss?” she asked,
could do to change its core. staring down at her sneakers.