Adelaide Literary Magazine No.23

The images of a metal press came into fo- some people common sense. He soon felt
cus. A large simple figure stood in front of one guilty about yelling knowing Willard was some-
of the presses, working methodically. Miles one that he and rest of the workers had grown
knew him. He was born with an imbecilic na- protective of and made sure he had what was
ture who was oblivious to what happened needed to survive. He was forty-five and still
around him as if he was just one of the ma- lived at home with his mother who couldn’t
chines. He had a strong body but a short bus work because she would fly off for no reason
mind. His brain was made for the repetition of into a manic rage and yell about how “those
his work not unlike an ox in the fields. The sneaking Jews are running this country and
smell of hot grease was thick in the air, but no trying to replace us good Christians.” The old
one seemed to notice. It was Jim who first lady spent much of her adult life in an out of
smelled the press overheating when he rushed the town’s mental ward and had so much elec-
over to keep the fool from blowing himself up. tricity shot through her that some of her neigh-
Miles started yelling for him to stop that the bors joked that she could light up the whole
machine was overheating. But he kept on state. When she wasn’t ranting and raving, she
working unaware that anyone was saying any- spent long hours staring at the walls, into a
thing. It was then that Jim tapped him on the world all her own. Willard never seemed to
shoulder. The figure quickly turned to Jim, star- notice her fits, he just went on in his dull fog
ing with a dumb founded look on his face. with his routine of waking up, having breakfast,
going to work followed by dinner which meant
“Hey, don’t ya realize that your press is feeding his mother and himself, bathing her
overheating?! That goddam machine is about before showering himself then placing her in
to blow what is wrong with you? You’re going bed before he went to sleep. There were al-
to get someone killed.” ways the whispers around the factory about
the “poor bastard” but always in the tone of
Willard stood their looking confused that it concerned parents. From time to time, one of
was not yet five o’clock and he was being told the neighbors would visit Willard some lonely
that it was time to stop working. The confused weekend afternoon, knowing every well that
expression on his face lacked any sign of under- he would be watching the television while his
standing that there was a problem and what a mother sat next time him staring off into a
blown press could do to the man standing in blank spot on the wall. Through it all, Willard
front of it. rarely shown signs of anger, confusion and
frustration yes but rage was un-natural.
“I have to press this metal. The boss will get
mad at me if don’t finish. He tells me that I Miles soon forgot about the incident and
work too slow. Don’t want to make him angry.” got back into the rhythm of his job. He listened
the workers around him cursing about how the
“Willard, you are going to get yourself or boss was screwing them, that there was no
some else killed if you don’t let that thing cool raise in ten years. The loudest of the voices
off plus those things are really expensive. The was Tyrone, the only worker from across the
boss will understand, I promise. Just take a tracks who was welcomed in the factory
break, get some coffee do some goddam thing!
The boss will be really pissed if you cost the “I don’t know why we are busting our asses,
company money by doing something stupid.” they’re only going to replace us with robots. I
heard that in Spring Field the factory the boss-
The oversized simpleton shook his head es there brought in some mechanical arms or
that he understood the orders being yelled at something. Laid off three hundred men.”
him. Jim turned to walk back to his own press
mumbling something about how man can Another voice rang out,
teach apes sign language, but you can’t teach

“Ya because them cheap bastards don’t “Ya if we are out on ours asses, then what?
want to pay us. They got more money than Ain’t no jobs around for us to go to.”
God and still want to sit their fat asses on all
that cash.” “It would be just like them Mexicans to take
our jobs to, not giving a shit who they are
Still another voice, screwing.”

“Where the hell is the union they suppose “They don’t screw us its them fat bastards
to be stopping this bull shit.” in the fancy offices who own this place.”

Tyrone: “The union is all we got. It ain’t Despite his efforts to quiet the complaining,
their fault. Its them water boys for our bosses daggers were still thrown and injustices were
in public office. Taken all that goddam money voiced bitterly. Instead of engaging any further
so they can screw us.” he walked over to Willard and told him to get
back to work. Willard in his usual flat manner
And yet another voice: told him what Jim had said that the machine
needed to cool down.
“Well if you niggers got off your lazy asses
and laid off welfare maybe the union would “Listen you get back to work, don’t worry
have more money to pay off them politicians.” about Jim I’ll take care of him. If you don’t
want to get fired stop standing around and do
Tyrone: “Fuck you cracker! Every time they some work. You’re costing our factory money.
want to hire us you selfish mothers bitch about You work like a slug anyway. Now speed it up.”
how we are taking your jobs. As if we don’t
have any rights to no jobs. We get a little some- From somewhere in the room someone
thing and you go off crying to your Governor.” yelled,

The foremen stepped in with a bellowing “Hey you can’t talk to Willard like that!”
voice. He was a huge man who towered over
Jim and most of the other works in the factory. Miles turned around and ran after the Fore-
His long blond hair which was giving way to man. When he reached him, having to look up
gray strands sat limp on his back. He was a at the monster of a man, and spoke loudly over
company man through and through. Any mon- the clanging of the machines and the yelling of
ey taken from the company was also taken the other men:
from him somehow.
“Are you crazy, if Willard uses that machine
“If it was up to me I’d replace you all with it’s going to blow! You’re risking our lives
Mexicans they don’t stand around complainen letting him use his press! I know you don’t give
about who gets what and who don’t get hired. a shit about us but Christ at least think of the
They work their asses off for shit pay and I money that you are going to cost the company
wouldn’t have to listen to you ladies going off if anything happens to these machines!”
all the time. The robots would be better, we
wouldn’t have to pay anyone.” “Aint nothing going to happen. Besides I
don’t worry about the cost of them machines. I
“Hey foreman you don’t pay us shit. Its your do care about that metal that needs pressing.”
owners who pay us. You know, the one’s who
hold your leash.” No sooner did the foreman turn away to
walk off an explosion echoed throughout the
“They hold all our leashes. I’m with Tyrone. factory. Jim turned around in time to see the
If they bring in them robots then we are all dull brute fly half way across the room and
screwed. What do think any of us are go to do slammed into a concrete wall, slowly sliding
for money.” down onto the floor. His head rested on the
divide between the metal presses and the

smelters, while the rest of his body looked as if quickly dressed then raced out the door. Even
he was trying to make a snow angel. A single though his calendar said it was almost Novem-
line of blood ran from his mouth and nose. ber, the weather outside suggested that it was
Though his eyes were open, only the whites early September. The fall winds were just com-
shown while his pupils rolled up behind their ing off the prairies late in the season. The mist
lids. Willard just lay there motionless. The dampened his cloths, weighing them down.
grease used to lubricate the machine burned The mist hung over the street like a fog over
around the iron of the press. A spark from the black water.
explosion landed into a pile of card board box-
es which caught fire. The foreman ran to get Jim realized that he had no idea which di-
the fire extinguisher, but it was too late. The rection the screams came from. When he first
flames from the first pile jumped over to an- heard them, they echoed making any attempt
other, and then another. The workers looked to find them a fool’s errand. He stood in the
for anything to put the fire out but no heavy middle of the road listening for any sign of
cloth could be found. Soon the flames roared, where he should head. He felt the panic build-
filling the factory with smoke. The workers ing. He saw too many of his neighbors hand
began to rush out of the building but Jim tried their lot a nearby church with a Janis faced
to reach Willard, didn’t want his mother to preacher at its head. The congregation heard
have to give a closed casket funeral. There many a sermon from this great performer
seemed something degrading about such a about the cost of excess, gluttony and the evils
ceremony. The grease from another press of drink, often shooting arms straight up prop-
which Jim was passing caught fire and blew ositioning God to forgive the sins of these lowly
causing him to stumble backwards into some- and weak souls. But Jim many a Sunday in the
thing he never could remember. front row of the church and the stale smell of
whisky was heavy on the con’s breath. What
The woman’s scream rang out again, wak- the preacher was best known for was getting
ing Miles. He sat straight up with a freight. The everyone to hand over their money, even
noise sounded more desperate and clearer those who could only donate food stamps. Yet
than the first time. There seemed to be a sor- he drove around town in the nicest of cars one
row in it somehow which he couldn’t figure could buy in those parts.
then grew silent again. The ach in his pain back
was still lying dormant which allowed him to A few times out of the year, he held revival-
move easily. Jim left his bed then walked over ist meetings a large tenant on the fair grounds.
to the window but saw nothing outside but a The preacher would come on stage in his elec-
heavy mist which white washed all the other tric blue suit and shined white shoes, along
houses on his street. Jim walked back to his with a wide white smile and orange spray on
bed and sat on its edge and closed his eyes but tan. Before he laid down his schtick, he did a
any chance of sleep was now far away as if it little jig which ended with one of his hands in
was carried away on some nocturnal ship head- the air reaching out to God. The crowd went
ed for a distant shore. His clock showed that it wild and the hook was set. With an earplug in
was one in the morning and day light wouldn’t one ear and someone on the other name feed-
break for another five hours. He got up again ing him names from the chosen ones from the
and walked to the living room to watch the crowd, he called cancer patients or anyone
television, as he did, the woman’s scream rang with this or that illness onto the stage with him
out only this time it was a long drawn out cry and gently la id his hand on top of their heads.
of desperation then stopped. He had to know
that the poor woman was going to be alright if “I say to you Satan; Jesus almighty has giv-
it meant driving her to the hospital himself. Jim en me the authority to cast you out. Now leave
this poor soul’s body.”

The believer would then go into spasms as street noise, only the hooting, of an owl, the
if possessed and was carried off stage by ush- rusting of the leaves or the barking of a dog
ers. This performance often made Jim feel ill could be heard. The only sounds by the mod-
that such a scam could be performed on the ern world came with the occasional passing
most desperate of the lot, and the charlatan on train.
stage would never be frog walked to the up-
state prison. He would soon stop going to the The scream sounded out again only this
shows often spitting at the thought of someone time Jim now could place where it was coming
like the preacher. The most vile of insults by from and followed. The windows of the houses
the preacher was that he had a show on the showed as black canvasses with the exception
local community channel where he and his for a few where the blue flicker of tv sets could
wife, a woman whose teased up hair, thick eye be seen. Several of the houses had foreclosures
show and blush and plastic sugary gave her the signs on the front lawn. And some of those sat
look of an aged doll, would stare into the cam- empty for so long that the wood had begun to
era with a smile and caped teeth urging the rot and the paint peeled and the windows
watchers to give money to the church, “the were broken from weather rocks thrown by
lord’s house.” Such a sight made the spite in the local teenagers who grew so bored that
the back of Jim’s throat rise and he would spit they took to drinking themselves into ever
in disgust. deeper stupors. Many had dropped out of
school and either worked in a garage or slept
Those who were able to keep their heads the sleep of the forgotten in an OxyContin
on straight, they took to holding onto their haze. Jim walked on as the screams began to
families in their fight to keep some semblance come in short broken bursts.
of normalcy. They said grace every meal, for
the offerings which became less every few He eventually made it to the end of the row
weeks and often came from a local food bank. of houses where even the mist didn’t reach,
When there was work to be had, which was and he walked on until he was in front of a
rare, they went to the movies for a few hours farmhouse and off in the field he saw the sil-
of escape or held a barbeque where everyone houette of something moving around a short
was invited. Sometimes they held different wooden structure. Jim moved closer. The fig-
events on the fairgrounds. They were the ones ure let out a woman’s cry. When he got into
who held the PTA meetings for the schools and view he could see the creature clearly under
even cheered the loudest during the local foot- the moonlight. It was to his utter amazement
ball games. And it was their voices who yelled not a woman at all, addicted, beaten or other-
the loudest during community board meetings. wise, it was a goat which had been accidently
They were the hardest fighters in a time where locked out of its stable. Jim started to laugh at
hard times hung over the county, the state, this the scene. Here he was an insomniac expecting
part of the country like the heavy mist hung to see the aftermath of addiction or a murder
over this night. and it was a goat. A fantastic goat separated
from those he loved. And inside the wooden
The suburb which was like any other suburb structure he could hear the muffled cries of
in the country during the day, where they still one of its kin calling. The goat scratched at the
pined for a past that never truly existed but door with its hoof before gently banging its
was sold on black and white television screens head against the locked entrance. It let out a
by moneyed men with the best con that sold long scream which led to more rumbling from
well, no matter how vulgar the lie. And they all inside the wooden pen. Cries started coming
transmitted their promises of white futures, from the other goats now. Jim gave out a sigh
from a thousand miles out of town. But at at the scene in relief.
night it became a kind of wilderness, void of

A light from the farmhouse came on and About the Author:
the tall blackened silhouette of the owner
came stumbling out cursing something Jim was Matthew Abuelo is a writer, professional blog-
unable to make out. The farmer passed Jim ger and award-winning poet. He has four books
with no acknowledgement of anyone being out, Last American Roar and Organic Hotels,
around. The farmer opened the door to the His third book "The News Factory" and
stable and the goat ran in and the crying “Forever Turn the Midnight Carousel” have just
stopped, silence rang out once more. Under been released by Plain view Press, the first two
the moonlight which was present outside the can be found at lulu.com. He is a former jour-
cover of the mist, Jim saw that the farmer re- nalist for the online news site Examiner and he
sembled a scarecrow. His overalls hung off he most recently worked for the Times Square
thin frame, a long white beard was the only Chronicles as a housing rights journalist and
hair on an otherwise bald head. The skin was political commentator. Matthew Abuelo has
tight around a skull that seemed to be breaking performed around Manhattan including at the
out its confinement. He walked back toward his forum The Poetry Project's marathon, which
house and disappeared. also featured, Pattie Smith Susan Vega, Lenny
K, Steve Earle and many other icons. You can
Jim could hear the light rustling in the check out his other books and works at his
goats’ pen. He stood against the fence, staring website:
out onto the field of the last farm in town. All https://joerussia3.wixsite.com/thenewsfactory
the others had long been buried under con-
crete and black top for parking lots of now
dead strip malls, where fliers yellowed by age
and weather swirled in eddies and were the
last reminders of sales and lost fashions. The
parking lots were now rubble of black top.

The wind began to pick up and the mist
which had ended at the last house in the row
of houses, washed over the farm until even the
farmhouse, along with the pen where the
sleeping goats lay, was out of view. Thunder
broke in distance. Jim was no fool who refused
to get out of the rain. He walked home as the
need for sleep came rushing back and disap-
peared into the thick mist.

THE WAYS OF FISH

by Chris Cleary

The second time a flying fish thumped Tyler were possible. Dee-Wayne had caught a hun-
Spradlin squarely in the chest seemed to him a dred-pound tuna a couple years before and
miracle. never stopped talking about it. A big fish for a
big man. He said that day they had called him
The first time he was fourteen and with his Captain Starkist.
Uncle Dee-Wayne on a charter cruise off the
coast of North Carolina. The boat, a double- Dee-Wayne was 300 pounds of Grateful
deck fifty-footer, had left shore in the middle of Dead tie-dye. His chuckle was hoarse and
the night. Harbor lights leaped off the black phlegmy. His goatee lapped over his second
water, though Tyler had already tucked himself chin. He was the incarnation of mellow. On
away in the cabin, the rough waves bouncing their way to the coast, he hadn’t flinched when
his head off the tabletop on which he had fall- he accidentally plowed down a raccoon on I-
en back to sleep. When he woke just before 95. Nothing but a big ol’ scratch, he muttered
dawn, he was surprised to see so many fellow after he pulled over to check. Or when the
passengers—about 20 in all—milling around, captain of the charter boat announced a storm
eager to start their fishing for the day. Now suddenly on the radar, Dee-Wayne responded
starboard, he propped his feet on the gunwale that water spouts were pretty cool and maybe
and concentrated on the waves hurtling past they’d be lucky enough to see one.
just below, the horizon all the while remaining
quite the same. Tackle stood up around the Peering into the distance, Tyler worried
perimeter like lightning rods, a phalanx daring about gray clouds. All he could think about
the sky to strike. were those morning shows with footage of the
rescue of a dehydrated sailor. Three cheers!
Chopped bait fish was not effective, so Dee- Yes, but for every one recovered, how many
Wayne brought him slivers of squid. Maybe, were lost forever at sea? Dee-Wayne was nev-
just maybe, he would win the pot for the heavi- er so morbid. He found merriment every-
est catch of the day. A sea bass would be nice, where. Merriment, or at least acceptance.
or perhaps a black drum. As long as it was over Zen, little dude, Zen. He asked his uncle why
18 inches, or else it would have to be thrown he was always so happy. His uncle told him he
back. That would be a shame. All that trouble, had a perpetual case of Id Gas. And what was
just to have to surrender. He didn’t under- that? Dee-Wayne grinned and replied, “I don’t
stand. He watched the workers give out num- give a shit.” Wouldn’t his uncle make a great
bered tags for the catches. The hook went in dad? He certainly wasn’t the kind of man to
through their mouths and out one of their argue and yell and then disappear for a long
eyes, little disks popping open like bottle caps, weekend. His parents’ divorce was on the hori-
and then onto a peg in the freezer. Victories zon. Horizons at home were composed of

shifting patterns, but above, where sky fled arrived so soon after the wedding, he did the
futile earth, stars remained fixed and sane. His math and verified he had been right all along.
childhood had been celestial. Hadn’t his moth-
er always cooed he was her little angel? He grew fond of the basement den, with its
particle-board bar cabinet and Pabst Blue Rib-
That was the year the first flying fish darted bon neon sign, its comfortable fold-out couch
from the waves and struck him like a bullet. and its red-felt pool table. He convinced him-
self he was on top of things, there at the
When he was fifteen, his classroom B’s de- bottom of the house, where from 8 to 5 he was
volved into C’s and D’s. His laugh became hol- in charge. His mother, off to work again, had
low, an annoying insincerity. He had not culti- brought in her mother to babysit Midget, until
vated it, was not even aware of it. He stared the routine grew wearisome, and then Uncle
down adults with an idiotic grin. His math Dee-Wayne, who lasted little more than a
teacher was first to notice, and perhaps it was week. And so it was left to Tyler, so smart he
most pronounced with her because if the lon- could skate through senior-year civics, no prob-
gevity of marriage equaled zero, then all the lem at all. Diapers were a nasty business, yes,
other numbers were no longer fast and firm, but Pampers were preferable to poring over
and one plus one no longer made two. His public policy and the political process. Midget
earth sciences teacher swore to the existence taken care of, he returned to the den to absorb
of Jupiter and Saturn, but there again was that himself into Call of Duty, an effective method
expression that said, “You can cajole all you of avoiding the realization that it was his moth-
want, but you and I both know it’s a scam.” He er, in fact, who had been absorbed and divert-
promised his geography teacher to hand in all ed out of his life. He never asked himself why
his missing worksheets, but after a while he he felt compelled to spit in Midget’s Gerbers,
learned instead to say, “I’ll think about it,” to speak to him in nonsensical phrases in the
which no longer committed him to promises he hopes that he would grow up to talk wrong.
was going to break. Not that broken promises
mattered anyway. National news he started Every so often Dee-Wayne would visit to re-
hearing everywhere, pledges to drain the es- up his nephew’s weed supply, and one day it
tablishment swamp turning into one scandal occurred to him to ask if he ever missed any-
after another, taught him selfishness and lies one at school.
were ubiquitous. He considered adopting inci-
vility, but he just could not muster the energy “Are you kidding? Most of the guys are
rudeness required. brown-nosers and morons, and the girls are all
posers and whores.”
For his 17th birthday he acquired a stepdad,
blond and tan, all new dental work through Dee-Wayne chuckled and coughed.
which Tyler was fed the same old platitudinous
horseshit. He thought he had begun to smell “And I figure if I don’t stay out for too many
perfume pervading the house, had been days in a row, they can’t get me for attend-
sniffing it for some time. He seemed to recall ance. Teachers’ll pass me anyway to protect
the subject mentioned in one of the final argu- the school’s graduation rate. I know how to
ments before his real dad had left for good. In game the system.”
class he grinned from bell to bell, and traced
boxes within boxes on his worksheets as he Dee-Wayne wet the rolling paper and
pictured his mother taking a protracted lunch sealed the joint.
break to straddle this vacuous J. Crew model
on some motor lodge’s rented sheets. When “What about your edumacation?”
his mother swelled and a new half-brother
“Ah, hell, that don’t matter.”

The walls of the guidance counselor’s office

were filled with brainwash posters of sunsets Was she going to hand him a signed blank
and beaches, kittens and puppies. Her shelves check?
and desk were loaded with the falsehoods of
family photographs. His mother was there, “Now we’re going to start learning.”
acting put-upon, and the principal as well, all
polite smiles but tired of veiled threats to take She pulled up a student desk and actually
him to court for truancy. He steeled himself sat next to him. All that he had flown through
for an inquisition, but he stared at his feet and at breakneck speed she had him go over again.
grinned, secretly satisfied to be the center of She read along with him in a deliberative man-
attention once again. ner, examined nuance, asked him to para-
phrase, asked him to think about times in his
“What do you want to do with your life?” short life when he felt something similar. How
the guidance counselor asked. had she known he had his own Claudius? He
heard himself say things about himself he was
“I dunno.” He thought the exciting field of surprised to hear.
cannabis sounded rewarding.
And in the midst of his confessions—he
He looked at the last adult in the room, his didn’t dare call them by that word—he noticed
English teacher, whom he already had met a the strangest things about her, how she styled
few times. Perhaps she too would scurry him her blonde hair in the manner of his mother,
through the doors of secondary education with how the bracelets she wore reminded him of
a 59.5%. The principal laid out the plan. All he hers, how she sometimes walked in from the
needed to pass was English. The teacher, an hallway with the grave determination his
expert in her field, was willing to tutor him dur- mother had when putting up the dishes. Was
ing her planning period. Instead of taking off at the air conditioner off or was he uncomfortably
the end of his half-day, he now had a golden warm as her pen tapped the textbook to ham-
opportunity to catch up. mer out the scansion? Sometimes the pen cap
traced the words on the page as she read the
The greatest hits of British lit. There was so passage aloud, and he felt the hairs on his arms
much reading to do, and some time mid- begin to tickle.
Chaucer his eyes began to glaze over. He
skimmed Shakespeare and the metaphysical Much to his surprise, because the text-
poets, lied and said he looked at every last book’s Doré reprints filled him with such dudg-
word, so time for the battery of tests, pro- eon, he loved Paradise Lost but found it frus-
forma hoop-jumping, and he’ll be on his way. trating.

A knowing smile from Mrs. Mason. “All “And why is that?” she asked. She seemed
right. Let’s see how you do on one.” genuinely curious.

His essay began, “It is often said that Shake- “Satan’s got every right to be pissed off.
speare is a very great writer, and that is so God set him up to fail.”
true, and this essay will tell you why.” He casu-
ally mentioned the existence of sonnets and a “Interesting. How so?”
play called Hamlet, about some guy who could-
n’t make up his mind and so all he did was “Well, he’s nothing but a pawn. And he can
crack jokes with the audience, and that was as say all he wants about it being better to reign
specific as he got. in Hell than serve in Heaven, but look at how
it’s described. That’s no bargain. Hell really
Mrs. Mason dropped his paper onto her sucks.”
desk.
The summer after he graduated, his uncle
“Okay, we got that out of the way….” chartered a boat larger than he had four years

before. “Dude needs to celebrate,” he ex- About the Author:
plained to the captain, who stood behind them
watching Tyler bait the hook. Chris Cleary is a native of southeastern Penn-
sylvania, in which many of his stories are set.
“Well, young man, celebrate with landing a He is the author of four novels: The Vagaries of
big one. Any questions about what I said back Butterflies, The Ring of Middletown, At the
there about how deep to lower the line?” Brown Brink Eastward, and The Vitality of Illu-
sion. His work has appeared or is forthcoming
“Nah,” said Tyler. “Just steer clear of flying in the Virginia Quarterly Review, Gargoyle
fish,” and he told him about what had hap- Magazine, Oddville Press, Belle Ombre, Easy
pened the last time. “Damned bastards were Street, Ginosko Literary Journal, The Brasilia
out to get me.” Review, and other publications. His short fic-
tion has been anthologized in the award-
“Well, now, they’ve got a rough time of it winning Everywhere Stories.
too.”

“What you mean?”

“In the water they’re hunted by the dorado,
the mahi-mahi, and so they use their flight as a
means of escape. But when they’re above the
surface, they can get picked off too. By frigate
birds, for example. Snatch ‘em right out of the
air. That’s what’s called being between a rock
and a hard place.”

For the next hour, as his fellow passengers
occasionally scrambled about putting their
catches into the ice bin at the stern, he re-
mained anchored to his spot, staring overboard
to the imprecise line where sea met sky, and
thinking about the captain’s justification of the
ways of fish to him. And then, like a sideways
gift from the deep, he was struck again in the
middle of his chest, directly upon the heart. He
gasped. He fit his rod into the holder, pulled
off his shirt, and massaged where the bruise
was sure to appear. His endless laughter was
full and honest.

A TABLE, FOR TWO

by Gary Jaycox F

It was ten minutes before Two on a Tuesday I know what you’re probably thinking. That
afternoon when I cracked open the door to I should have waited before ordering. I mean,
O’Shea’s Tavern. I was early and that was fine that would have been the proper thing to do.
with me. The lunch crowd had gone and the The polite thing. But I wasn’t feeling particular-
place was comfortably dark and empty. Well ly proper or polite. Not on that hot summer
almost empty. A middle-aged man sat alone at afternoon anyway. I’m not sure anymore what
the end of the bar. He was dressed in a cheap I was actually feeling, but I know it wasn’t ei-
business suit, his red tie and crumpled shirt ther of those two things. I’d just arrived in
dimly illuminated under the bar light. There town and I was still wondering what I was actu-
was a worn, tired look about him. You know ally hoping to find. Back in town one more
the look. One that comes from too many days time.
spent out on the road and from too many
nights graced by the presence of one’s own “Thanks Miss,” I said as she brought over
company. He was making time with the bar- my drink. With a plastic swizzle stick, I toyed
maid. Or he was trying to. She was busy polish- with the two ice cubes floating in my glass. I
ing up her drinking glasses with a small towel watched as I idly nudged them around and
and then stacking them on a wooden rack around. One bumping and clinking into the
overhead. From the blank look on her face, you other. Each touching, but never connecting or
could tell that she’d heard it all before. You joining up with its companion. Both forever
could tell that she didn’t really care. Well, I confined by the rigid contour of my glass. Both
could tell. I didn’t want to sit at the bar. slowly melting into nothingness as they circled
around and around. A tangled aroma of lime
I cut diagonally across the room to a small and gin permeated the air. I closed my eyes
table that was anchored into a corner. I sat and took a sip. What, had it really been nine
with my back against the wall so that I could years?
keep an eye on the front door. There was a
window nearby that faced out onto the street. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes passed by. I
I looked out onto the street, but there was ordered a second round. She was late. Maybe
nothing going on. So, I turned back over to- something had come up. Perhaps she’d gotten
ward the bar. That’s when the barmaid caught a better offer. Some things never change. I was
my eye and hurried on over. thinking about ordering my third, and that’s
when she finally stepped in. A blinding shaft of
“Gin and Tonic,” I said. “Tanqueray if you’ve yellow light from the mid-afternoon sun sliced
got it.” into the room. I couldn’t see exactly, but from
the silhouette at the door, I knew it was her.
“Tanqueray,” she nodded as she moved Tall, willowy……confident. She didn’t waste any
back into the light.

time looking around. She didn’t need to. She “You wouldn’t believe some of the things
walked over to the small table in the corner he got away with when we were in school,” she
where I was sitting. She walked over to our said looking down at the table.
table. I stood up. We hugged. We kissed for a
moment. Well, maybe for several moments. “No, I probably wouldn’t,” I replied quickly
without really thinking.
“Thanks for coming,” I said.
She went on to tell me about Mr. Halliday,
“Sorry I’m late,” she offered. our high school principal. Everybody liked Mr.
Halliday. At the time, he was new to our school
“No problem,” I replied. and oh-so-cool. She told me about his lympho-
ma. About how he finally died after a difficult
I pulled out a chair. She sat down. Then I sat struggle last year. About his wife and the three
down next to her. The small table suddenly felt young children that he’d left behind. All of it a
right. Our table. I studied her face in the sub- part of the goings-on of a small Midwestern
dued light. Time had been good to her. Maybe town.
a new wrinkle here or there. Maybe not. She
undid her hair. Long, silky and dark, it tumbled But mostly, we talked about our summer
gently into her face so that it framed her eyes. together. The summer that followed our senior
Those eyes. Soft and brown. Almond shaped year nine years earlier. After we both graduat-
with a hint of exotic. She had the kind of eyes ed from high school. A summer of freedom and
that could easily bore down into a man’s soul. of unbridled passion. A time when the two of
The kind of eyes that could take far more than us came up close. Armed with her new busi-
they would ever return. I loved her eyes. Some ness diploma, she was to begin working full
things never change. time at the First National Bank in town. She
was slated to make Head Teller within a year.
“I’ll have another,” I said turning to the And me, well, I was headed off to the East
barmaid. “And the lady, she’ll have a Mojito,” I Coast in the fall. Headed off to join the Ivy
added with a smile. League. A big man in a small town. At least,
that’s how it all seemed back then. We were
“You remembered,” she said once we were both so young and certain, so confident about
alone again. how it would all turn out. About how it was
supposed to turn out. There were the hilarious
“Of course, I remember,” I said nodding escapades at the Mall just outside of town. And
slowly. “I remember.” the lazy hours spent right here around this
small oak table. And, of course, there was the
We sat there for a minute or two. Each of night by the Lake. I was to catch the train East
us taking measure of the other. Each of us the very next day. We made love all night long
caught up somewhere between the present under a black prairie sky filled with a thousand
and the past. stars. A thousand twinkling diamonds she
called them. Well, it wasn’t love exactly. Proba-
“You look really good,” she said finally. bly more like raw animal sex. I think we both
understood that even then. Passion born of
“So do you,” I replied. lust and of the summer’s heat, fueled by an
intensity that only youth can provide. I’ve nev-
We talked for a while. She filled me in on er forgotten that night.
the latest gossip from around town. Our home
town. About the latest exploits of the Devlin After I went off to college that September,
sisters. Absolutely amazing. She told me about we phoned each other as often as we could.
Mr. Rooney, the boy’s high school basketball We mailed lots of letters, too. Funny letters
coach. About how he’d finally been caught
stepping out of the girl’s locker room one too
many times.

and some serious ones. It went on like that for our last night together. The night before I left
weeks. And then, suddenly, her letters stopped for college. In a few short words, she wrote
coming. My repeated phone calls went unan- about her pregnancy. About how I hadn’t been
swered. I didn’t know what had happened, but gone for all that long when she’d found out.
something was up. Something had changed. I She wrote that after lots of searching, she’d
wasn’t able to get back home until the Winter decided to have the baby. That adoption was
Break. And that’s when I learned that she’d the right thing to do for a soul born of the
abruptly left town. Moved to another state so I stars. And that it was all best done far away
was told. Apparently, her new job at the Bank from the prying eyes of our small home town.
hadn’t panned out. She was gone. That’s why she’d left. She said that she hoped I
would understand. That I needed to under-
It was like that for nearly a year. As time stand. That it was something she had to handle
passed by, I didn’t think about her all that on her own with the help of her family. With-
much to be quite honest. There were new ad- out me. She wrote that she had a healthy baby
ventures to be had, new college exploits. I’d boy, and that he was now in loving, caring
moved on, or so I’d thought. And then came hands. And that the entire affair was safely in
her letter during the fall of my Sophomore the past where it all belonged. That’s what her
year. Just like that. A small pink envelope post letter said on the night of the glorious bonfire.
marked from my home town. It was on a Friday That it was all in the past and that’s why she
night before the annual football game against was finally writing me. Well, that’s how I re-
our hated Ivy League rival. There was to be a membered it now as I watched the last of the
big bonfire on the College Green that night as ice melt away in my glass.
there was every year. A night packed with
primitive emotion. A night of craziness. A night “Hey, are you okay?” she asked playfully.
of alcohol-fueled abandon. All of it authorized “You’ve gotten kind of quiet on me all of a sud-
and sanctioned by the color of dark forest den.”
green. My roommate warned me several times
to hurry up. That I needed to move it along. He “Oh, sorry,” I said.
could see the fiery orange glow beginning to
rise off in the distance. I told him I’d get there, “It’s like you left and went somewhere else.
eventually. I said that I had something im- Where’d you go?”
portant to take care of first. I held her letter
close in my hands, turning it over and over, not “No really, I’m fine. I was……just thinking”.
sure what to do. Why now after all this time?
Why now? There was an awkward pause. A moment of
silence. Each of us looking at the other. The
I remember tearing open the envelope and two of us, sitting side by side around a small
hearing the hollow sound that it made. There oak table in a darkened corner of O’Shea’s Tav-
were two hand written pages folded neatly ern on a hot Tuesday afternoon.
inside. The note paper smelled like her. The
letter asked me how college was going and was “You ever think about him?” I asked finally.
it everything that I had hoped for. She men-
tioned that she was fine and that she was back “Think about……who?” she replied, shaking
in town working at the First National. She her head.
wanted to explain why she’d left and why she’d
stopped writing. She wanted to tell me as best “About the baby, about our……”
she could the reasons for her silence over the
past year. I flipped to the second page and con- “Oh. No, not really,” she offered with a puz-
tinued reading. She asked me if I remembered zled stare. “You?”

“No,” I lied.

“That was such a long time ago. Like ten or
eleven years,” she said.

“He’d be going on eight and a half,” I coun- tinued talking. Laughing. And you know, I could
tered. swear that some of the old magic was finding
its way back. Across the years and the miles, it
“Well, like I said. It’s ancient history. Let it was beginning to feel like I’d never left.
go, babe. It’s long done.”
“I need to get going,” she said abruptly
“Sure. It’s ancient history,” I said staring after finishing the last of her drink.
into my empty glass. “It’s done.”
“You do?” I stumbled. “I mean, right now?”
There was more silence. And then she ab-
ruptly changed the subject. She told me that “I’m sorry,” she said rather sheepishly. “I’ve
she was now a Vice President with the Bank. got to go home and get ready. I sort of……
That earlier she had completed her degree in Well, I have a date later on tonight.”
business and finance at the local university.
She asked me if I wanted to walk on over and “Oh. Sure. I wouldn’t want……”
see her new corner office. And then she joked
that I would need to consult with her if I ever She hesitated for a second time. I could tell
wanted to get a loan. We laughed. I told her that she wasn’t sure if she should say anything
that I was an Assistant Professor at a small lib- more. That maybe she’d already said too much.
eral arts college back East, just outside of Phila-
delphia. And that I was on a fast-track for ten- “You’d like Freddie,” she offered finally.
ure. She smiled, again with those eyes. “You know, there’s a little bit of you in him.”

“It looks like we both got what we wanted,” I told her that I would probably like Fred, or
she said softly. Freddie or whatever his actual name was. And I
lied when I said that I was truly happy for her,
I nodded but didn’t say anything. She went that she’d managed to find someone new. She
on to tell me about her divorce last year. I mentioned that she’d been seeing him for
mentioned that I had recently broken off my about six months and that it might be getting
engagement. She seemed genuinely con- kind of serious. But that she wasn’t sure. And
cerned. I said that I was doing alright. The bar- how could two people ever really know for
maid stepped over to our table. I ordered her sure? I didn’t have any answers, at least none
another Mojito. She didn’t say no. that I wanted to share. So, I kept quiet. I just let
it go. We stood up from the table. Awkwardly,
“No thanks, Miss,” I said, covering my glass sort of at the same time. Then we pulled each
with a hand. “Maybe a little later,” I smiled. other close and we kissed. Just like before. And
just like earlier that afternoon.
To tell you the truth, I was feeling pretty
good right about then. I didn’t need another “You come and see me when you’re back
drink. Besides, I wanted to stay sharp. I thought here again,” she said playfully. “When you find
that maybe after O’Shea’s……well, maybe we yourself jetting between the coasts going to all
could both go out and have dinner together. of your important meetings and conferences,
That I’d ask her out for old time’s sake. And well, you tell the pilot to set his big jet-plane
that possibly there might be something more down right here. You tell him to land it right
for each of us later on that night. That’s what I here at our municipal airport. You still remem-
was thinking anyway. That’s what I was hoping ber the name of your old home town, don’t
for as I purposely rubbed my fingers back and you?” she teased.
forth over four small letters carved into our
table. Four worn letters carved crudely into an She worked her warm lips down along the
oak table from nine years before. Her initials, side of my neck, slowly, purposefully, biting
partnered closely together with mine. We con- gently as she went along.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she whispered.

She turned to leave. It was only then that I About the Author:
noticed how busy the place had gotten. The
after-work crowd was filing in. Many of the Gary Delmar Jaycox holds a Ph.D. in chemistry
empty tables positioned around us were now from Dartmouth. After several years at Colum-
newly occupied. I watched as she moved bia University and Caltech, he spent the next
through the crowd, as she slowly worked her quarter century at DuPont as a Principal Inves-
way toward the door. I watched her go. And tigator in their Central Research Division. Dur-
you know, it was then that I finally realized ing this time, he also served as an Editor for
something. Of the women that I’ve known in technical journals published by Pergamon Press
my life, well, she’s the only one. She’s the only and Elsevier Science. Having authored or co-
one who looks as good leaving a room as she authored over 120 US patents and scientific
does coming in. I followed her with my eyes as publications, this is his first foray into the
she opened the door, as she stepped out into amazing world of short-fiction writing.
the late afternoon sun. From the window next
to my table, I watched her as she walked along
Market Street. She moved up past the old Post
Office, and then cut quickly to the left and she
was gone. Just like that. Like I said before,
some things in this life…… Some things just
never change.

I got up from the small oak table and I
moved purposely across the room. I sat down
under the bar light.

“Hi Miss. Yeah, it’s me. I’ll have another.”

FAITH AND DESTINY

by John Tavares

Things were happening so fast—Faith couldn’t punched and slapped her sister and called her
believe how quickly her anger overpowered a cowardly, back stabbing bitch. Her sister
her. When she discovered her sister took her threw herself at her and, like she was a vam-
brand new black yoga pants, and chopped the pire, bit her exposed collarbone. She threw
legs off, so they were ragged ass tight short herself at her and ended up pushing her back-
short cut-offs Destiny could parade her fat ass wards, so Destiny lost her balance at the top of
in downtown, on Yonge Street, and around the the stairwell and fell and tumbled down the
boardwalk and beach at Summerville Pool, she steep hard wood steps.
flew into a rage.
Destiny screamed as she tumbled down the
Faith confronted her sister in her bedroom, flights of stairs, over the landing, and came to
where she was taking nude selfies of herself in rest in a rumpled heap on the rug at the
front of her bedroom mirror and sending them bottom of the stairwell. When she rushed to
through a messenger app on her smartphone her side, and tried to arouse her from her un-
to one of several boyfriends. She got into Desti- consciousness, Faith realized Destiny, uncon-
ny’s face, started shouting and name-calling, scious, had suffered some sort of head injury, a
and demanding reparations, a brand new pair concussion, or a brain injury, possibly a hemor-
of yoga pants. Her sister pushed back and rhage, and feared she was on the verge of
punched her. They got into a pushing and shov- death or dying. Faith grew agitated, excited,
ing match at the top of the steep stairs at the paced the house looking for a cordless tele-
end of the corridor where both opposing doors phone or a smartphone. Finally, after she hit
of their narrow bedrooms faced each other. In the intercom button on the base and scooped
retaliation, her sister jabbed her hard, slugging and shovelled a row of books, compact discs,
her in the stomach, and punched her back hard and DVD’s from a bookshelf, she found a cord-
in the mouth. She split her lip and when she less handset.
spit blood into the bathroom sink. When she
looked in the mirror and discovered the broken She called 911. After the paramedics ar-
tooth, she groaned and screamed. She thought rived, and prepared Destiny, still unconscious,
about all the time she spent brushing her for transport to the hospital, in a huge body
teeth, and the thousands of dollars her mother and head brace, Faith told the paramedics Des-
and her mother’s dental insurance plan spent tiny, a weekend gymnast, wearing gym tights,
on retainers, braces, cleanings, X-Rays, and injured herself practicing a gymnastic maneu-
filling, cavities, and indeed all the tedious time ver, a toppling routine on the hallway above
she spent each morning and night obsessively the stairs. The paramedics, to her relief, didn’t
cleaning and brushing her teeth. She flew into seem the least suspicious, and the police for
an even deeper and stronger rage. She some reason weren’t summoned. She rode in
the back of the ambulance alongside her sister

and accompanied her through the hospital Their mother took down the hospital infor-
emergency department and trauma ward. mation and the neurosurgeon’s name and cell-
Then she called her mother at Humber College. phone number.
The sociology professor was in the middle of a
lecture on social psychology experiments on “Mom, with Dad, it’s a Catholic guilt thing.”
obedience to an introductory class. Surprised
her mother didn’t even answer when she “You’re wrong. He’s converted long ago to
called from the smartphone her mother had evangelical Christianity, and he’s been ostra-
given her father, if only for emergencies, a gift cized by the rest of the Portuguese community,
he declined, saying God’s work didn’t require a who aren’t big fans of the evangelicals and
smartphone but a megaphone, Faith tried a Pentecostals, assuming they ever embraced
few different smartphones her mother bought him in the first place.”
for her daughters.
“Mom, you’re not being fair! Show a little
Her mother finally answered when she compassion and understanding!”
called from her sister’s smartphone, which
actually caused her to feel a spate of jealousy. “I’m sorry, but I’m not getting into argu-
Maybe Destiny, her first born, from an un- ments over your father again. Not when your
planned pregnancy, was her favorite daughter. sister’s in hospital.”
She told her mother her sister could be dying
of head injury in the trauma ward of St. Still jacked, excited, pumping adrenaline,
Michael’s Hospital; the doctor insisted on hav- ready to kill the next man who crossed her,
ing a parent or guardian present, but she Faith decided to take matters into her own
couldn’t stand to see Destiny in that condition. hands. She thought about taking her mother’s
Ativan to help calm herself down, but she
“Don’t they have a specialist?” thought she needed to settle the score with
her father somehow. She packed the Swiss
“Yes, she’s actually a neurosurgeon, and, Army knife she won as a consolation prize in a
mom, she’s black, or mixed race. She’s got junior triathlon on the Toronto Centre Islands,
awesome curls, doesn’t straighten her hair.” and she drove the all-wheel drive hybrid car
out of the garage. Faith decided to drive
“That doesn’t matter. Just so long as Desti- straight to Dundas Square to check and ob-
ny’s getting the best medical care she needs.” serve if her father was preaching with his meg-
aphone. When she pulled alongside the en-
“What about that wild and crazy white trance to the subway station and the water
dude, Dad?” Faith always thought of her father fountains, across Yonge Street from the Eaton
as white, despite the fact he considered him- Centre, which saw more foot traffic than any
self coloured; he tanned dark, darker than mall in Canada, she saw him shouting through
some blacks, during the summer. the upraised amplification device. She pulled
the all-wheel drive car alongside him where he
“Forget about him. Leave him to preach at stood on the boulevard of the square, shouting
Dundas Square. We don’t need any kneeling into his megaphone, as he shouted about seek-
and day long prayer vigils at her bedside.” ing forgiveness and repentance.

“He is her father.” When he saw her, he said, “Faith, you don’t
even have your driver’s license. Your mother
“But he’s also crazy.” says you still can’t drive alone.”

“A religious zealot maybe?” “I have my learner’s, my beginners.”

“It doesn’t matter what he is. This is about “But your mother says you’re still not li-
your sister, not your father, and I don’t want censed to drive alone.”
him at the hospital.”

“Shut up. Get in the car.” “It’s time to try again.”

“But I’m preaching.” “That’s not my decision to make.”

“Get in your wife’s car.” “The least you could do is move into the
basement apartment.”
“But I’m bringing the word of God, the gos-
pel of Jesus, to sinners and the sick and the “Your mother doesn’t want me living back
poor and the rich.” in the family abode again.”

“But, but, but, it’s always but with you, Dad, “We hardly saw you when you lived at
everything, even the most basic emotions and home any way.”
desires, needs to dissected, qualified, analyzed.
But, Dad, you’re mentally ill, you’ve been diag- “Maybe that’s the reason. She became very
nosed with bipolar disorder. Get in the fucking officious about living together, starting with
car.” separate bedrooms, then separate telephones,
then separate toasters and coffeemakers, then
“Faith, you’re starting to sound like your separate washing machines and washrooms,
mother. In fact, I think you’re parroting her. and that’s partly how I ended up in the base-
Anyway, we’ve been through this a million ment apartment. She says she doesn’t want to
times before.” affect my kosher lifestyle, but her sarcastic
implication is offensive and I don’t have dietary
“Dad, you’re obsessed with God, religion, restrictions.”
and preaching. You need to take your medica-
tion, your lithium. Now get into the fucking “She probably said that because you eat
car.” the same thing, black coffee and peanut butter
and brown bread toasted, day after day, meal
“Faith, are you all right?” after meal.” Faith forced a laugh, trying to re-
lieve her own tension. “She’s full of BS, mom, is
Faith pointed the knife at him and gasped, sometimes.”
“Get in the fucking car before I stab you and
stab myself.” “What do you expect from a professor of
sociology?”
“Faith, this is disturbing, but I’m used to
disturbing with you.” “She just a college professor, not a profes-
sor professor, and she is your wife.”
She jabbed her thigh with the tip of the
knife blade and the incision on her thigh start- “Faith, she’s a published academic, in a
ed to bleed, as she uttered, “What do I need to world where you publish or you perish, and
do to show you I mean business?” we’re separated, practically divorced.”

Faith turned off the megaphone and sat in “She doesn’t talk about getting divorced,
the passenger seat beside her daughter. “Dad, and she is dating another man, but I think it’s
we need to get together as a family again.” to keep her from getting bored. You two may
get back together again someday.”
“Where is this coming from – out of the
blue?” “I wish I could be as optimistic.”

“Better late than ever.” Faith told him about the Serbian or Albani-
an helicopter pilot her mother sometimes dat-
“But your mother didn’t want me in her life ed. He spoke in a thick Eastern European ac-
any longer, or even in your life and your sister’s cent, and Faith often wondered how air traffic
life any longer; she's been very clear about controllers could understand him. He regaled
that.” her dinner parties with the most astonishing

tales of aviation adventures. When he flew a along the waterfront. “If you get pulled over by
tour helicopter around Niagara Falls, he said, the police, you could find yourself in some fair-
he was routinely called to locate or attempt to ly serious trouble. You’ve only got a learner’s
rescue people who, usually in acts of despair, permit.”
threw themselves into the Niagara River above
the massive waterfalls to end their existences “Why are you always worried about what
in spectacular style, including presumably the police will think or do? This isn’t a police
drowning and a plunge over the spectacular state; we live in a democratic society. Anyway,
falls. Several times potential suicides he was don’t you have your driver’s license?”
sent to rescue refused to cooperate, pushed
away the harness, or would not grab the rope “I let my driver’s license expire. I take public
the flight engineer dropped from the helicop- transit; it provides me the opportunity to talk
ter hovering overhead. Through some difficult to commuters about the gift of God.”
and dangerous maneuvers, he would position
his helicopter into a hover, creating concentric “If you don’t get arrested for harassing sub-
waves on the river surface that literally blew way and bus passengers.”
the swimmers back to shore, at which both
they usually decided death by drowning was “That’s never happened.”
not feasible with this pilot flying overhead.
Then again he was reminded how dead serious “Pardon me?”
and intent these people were about perishing
and ending their existence. Faith thought he “Ok. Maybe once, but we best not dwell on
must have been a Catholic because he was still the past mistakes of well-intentioned law en-
intent on rescuing them. Oftentimes he won- forcement officials.”
dered if he had done the right thing, especially
after he heard the one of the victims he res- Faith drove the car to the Ferry Terminal
cued died in a fiery car crash that also killed and left the car parked beside a row of Toronto
another motorist, a tourist. public works utility vehicles and a fleet of To-
ronto Hydro trucks, while a security guard
“Where are you taking us anyway?” scowled at her.

She braked the car for a woman in a motor- “You’re going to get towed. To release the
ized wheelchair while the snaking downtown vehicle from impound will cost a mint.”
traffic behind her at Yonge Street and Front
Street honked their horns impatiently. “You’ll “I’m not worried about a tow truck or tow
find out soon.” truck drivers, although I’d like to date one of
them. They seem cool and macho, towing ex-
A B-I bomber flew overhead, seemingly pensive cars, getting into shouting and shoving
gliding to the eastern half of the city, before it matches with entitled owners, packing pistols
circled around again. “An American flying in their glove compartments. You worry about
across the skies over Toronto—I’d say that was money too much.”
an ominous—nay, even an apocalyptic, sign.”
“Where are we going?”
“Except they’re just here as part of the air
show.” “On a ferry ride to Centre Island.”

He glanced out the tinted window at the “Why?”
Toronto Police cars, its siren screaming, lights
flashing, pushing through crowded traffic “To get closer to peace and nature and to
wending the lakeshore and hotels and condos meditate.”

“How are we supposed to pay for this little
excursion?”

“Typical dad, always worried about money

and no minute details left to chance. We pay very Toronto type of thing, isn’t it? Anyway, I
for adventure with Mom’s credit card, the way think the politically correct term is clothing
we’ve done it every time.” optional beach. We’re going to get closer to
nature.”
Faith showed him the credit card and
laughed, a heckle her father recognized. They walked the short distance along the
“You’re reckless.” roadways, pathways, and trails, past yachts
moored along the convoluted shorelines and
“I’m reckless?” Faith gave him a peculiar bays, rows of portable toilets, and washrooms,
look. which looked like they could withstand a nucle-
ar blast, on Centre Island to Hanlan Point
“What are you thinking?” Beach. When they arrived and her father saw
the nude adult bodies on the beach, he tried to
“I’m thinking about what you saw in Mom. walk away and started to hike along the path-
She said you met at Caribana, when she was a ways and trails through the sand dunes, but his
masquerade in the parade. You asked to take daughter chased after him, grabbed him, and
her picture and then she flashed you and threatened to stab them both or otherwise
smothered you with her breasts.” make a scene, so he finally ceded.

“She was a hard woman to resist. I think I “Take off your clothes.”
got caught up in something beyond my con-
trol—beyond the control of either of us.” “And to what end, to what purpose.”

“Is that your way of saying you were “Take off your clothes, Dad, and get closer
attracted to her looks, her body and not her to nature and God, as he, or she, created you.
brains, and you had good sex together?” The knife on this Swiss Army knife is awfully
sharp.”
“As a parent, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear your
latest transgression. Your mother is blessed “Faith, you’re only perpetuating stereo-
with a beautiful body as well as a beautiful types of African-Canadian women.”
mind and personality. She has no shortage of
attractions—that may have proved a problem “And what stereotypes would those be?
for me.” And do I need to remind you about my Portu-
guese-Canadian half?”
“May have?” Over his objections, she led
her father through the line of tourists and day- “Faith, you’re too smart for me. You know
trippers, skipping the queue to the front of the I’ve given up reading. I now take a strictly bare
line, and paid for an adult ticket for him and a knuckles approach to preaching.”
youth ticket, even though she was nineteen
and didn’t bring her high school identification Faith heckled, “The man Mom – no book
and an adult ticket for her father. They shuffled hater herself—”
through the lines and rows of expectant holi-
daying, touristy and crowded aboard the ferry. “Your mother loves books and knowledge-“

“Faith, where are you taking me?” “The man Mom could never drag away
from a book says he’s given up reading. This I
“To Hanlan Point.” have to see.”

“Isn’t that the site of a nudist colony?” “There’s nothing to see, especially since
even my eyesight has declined.”
“I’ve never heard of any nudist colony. The
beach gets a bit odd with all the gays, nudists, “That’s why I want you to take off your
swingers, swimmers, straight people, and fami- clothes.”
lies all in their separate sections, but that’s a

“And put them where?” “God will help you figure out the way, the
true way.”
“On the fine hot sand beside you.”
“Dad, I fucked up.”
Faith stripped off her top, bra, shorts, and
underwear to reveal a taut, muscular, almost Faith started sobbing. “Boys finally notice
masculine body. me, and like my looks, and I’m not sure if I
care, but I like the attention, and I’m finally
“Your mother tells me you’ve been excel- starting to care about my appearance.”
ling in athletics in your senior year in high
school. Is that why you decided to stay an extra “You look fantastic.”
year?”
“And I’m starting to care about my clothes,
“Dad, I’m nineteen years old. The rest of my instead of letting mom buy them, and your
friends and peers are in college and university, other daughter mangles and vandalizes them.”
and I stayed behind because I simply didn’t
have enough credits to graduate.” “There’s always been a sibling rivalry be-
tween you two. It’ll work out.”
“That’s only because you’re going through a
rebellious teenage phase and no longer apply “It will not work out.”
yourself to your school work. They say you
score very high on all your scholastic aptitude She muttered barely audibly beneath her
tests, you’re academically gifted, you’ve excep- breathe about how angry she was her sister
tional skills in mathematics, and you should be had broken her front teeth with her clenched
pursuing a career involving numbers, but you fist and a punch to the mouth and started
stopped handing in your papers and assign- choking back the sobs, as she bit her knuckles.
ments or you hand them in late and don’t “I think I killed her.”
study. You’ve changed. Anyway, you look like
an Olympic athlete now. Your mother even When her father asked her what happened,
tells me you’re competing in swimming, run- she realized her instinct for self-preservation
ning, and biking races.” was too strong or she didn’t have the courage
to admit the truth. She looked her father in the
“Oh, so you finally noticed. I’m a triathlete eye.
right now and they want me to compete in the
qualifiers. Dad, I went from a bookworm who “When are we going to be a full family
read every Harry Potter novel sixteen hundred again, Dad?”
times and had the biggest collection of young
adult novels I read and reread while I snacked “Faith, I want to be a family. I come from a
and nibbled junk food. I lounged around the culture and nationality that has family as its
house all daylong reading, writing, and drawing absolute foundation. But your mother doesn’t
when I wasn’t in school. I was practically sixty want me around my own daughters, our
pounds overweight. The coach asked me to daughters. She thinks I’m a bad role model and
play basketball because they had a shortage of influence, and I’m not certain I disagree with
players, and my classmates were amazed at her. But you’re both grown up now and you’ve
how strong and fast I was despite my size. Then turned out fine. Your mother even tells me
I started training at the gym, weight lifting, you’re competing in swimming, running, and
cardio training. Boys finally noticed me. But biking races.”
now I’m beginning to think I’m a lesbian, or I
just don’t care, or I wonder if it’s just revenge “Yeah. I told you, she told you, but you
against the guys, for all the times the boys ig- don’t care. All you care about is God, Jesus, and
nored me and insulted me.” old-time religion.”

“That’s not true, and I have to tell you: on
occasion I’ve been followed and approached

on the subway and bus stations on my way he marvelled the clothing optional beach
home, after I tried to visit my daughter and seemed the last place in Toronto where there
their mother, by large thuggish men who told was a readily accessible pay phone, and he
me to stay from my own wife and children.” punched the three digits for the emergency
services number.
“That’s her old high school buddies from
the hood, Jane and Finch, the towers. They’re As her father tried to speak with the 911
just messing with you and your head.” operator, a squadron of F-16s, the Blue Angels,
the United States navy aerobatic and precision
“Probably at your mother’s instigation.” flying team, flew overhead, creating an crack-
ing and thundering that momentarily drowned
“They’re just typical men, and they go into out sound and sensation, which awed the long
overdrive and overkill.” line of crowds snaking along the shoreline of
Lake Ontario for the annual Labour Day week-
“What does your sister have to say? end airshow.

What about her?” As Faith swam further from the shoreline of
Hanlan Point Beach into Lake Ontario, an
“She wants you back, even more than I do.” Armed Forces search and rescue helicopter
spotted her, hovered, and circled overhead.
They strolled along the beach towards the They sent a search and rescue helicopter just
island airport where the number of sunbathers for her? The rescue technician threw the heli-
and swimmers started to diminish, and she copter’s bay door open, leaned through, threw
started to sob. down cables and lines, and lowered the bucket.
She looked up at him, and he looked down at
“Oh, Dad, I fucked up.” her with the most intent gaze. He drew back
his smoke screen visor so she could see his
Faith stepped into the water, and waded hazel eyes and fierce chiselled expression. He
away from the beach. She swam further and even doffed his jacket, so she could see his
further from the shoreline, and her father strong, muscular arms, and this seemed like a
started to stride and plow through the shal- strange gesture until she realized the hot tem-
lows, splashing through the gentle surface after perature and humidity must have been over-
her. The cool fresh water was immense, still, whelming for him and she was swimming not
and calm. She swam freestyle hard and fast, merely topless but completely nude.
but she wasn’t destined for the steel mills of
Hamilton, or the condominium towers in Eto- He shouted at her, but she could not read
bicoke, or the far closer Canadian National Ex- his lips or hear his voice above the eggbeater
hibition grounds and Ontario Place, the geo- noises of the helicopter blades and its whining,
desic dome or windmill; towards the blurred whirring engines. Still, she felt as if they had
horizon, the indistinguishable line between sky established some sort of bond or connection.
and sea, the vast lake, and on the other side of He looked too handsome to resist, the hero of
the expanse, New York state and the United a fairy tale, and she surrendered her swim and
States, she swam with determination. Her fa- climbed into the rescue cage. She felt the whir
ther soon lost sight of her, and, realizing there and steady hum and vibration of cables and
was no way he could catch or help her, swam pulleys mechanically powered as she was hoist-
back towards the shore. Gazing from the shore, ed and felt herself ascending upwards on the
he couldn’t observe her swimming anywhere in cable to the helicopter hovering like some
the lake, although he was confident she was lustful monster overhead.
alive, afloat, and swimming further to sea in an
act of teenage rebellion. He walked to the life-
guard stand and then further down the beach
to the nudist parts. Confident in her strength,

About the Author:

John Tavares was born and raised in Sioux
Lookout, in northwestern Ontario, but his par-
ents immigrated from Sao Miguel, Azores. He
graduated from Humber College (General Arts
and Science), Centennial College (journalism),
and York University (Specialized Honors BA).
His journalism was printed in various local
news outlets in Toronto, mainly trade and com-
munity newspapers. His short fiction has been
published in a wide variety of little magazines
and literary journals, online and in print, in
Canada and the United States.

THREE STORIES

by Jason Joyce

Warm Wash Clean The night Jasper died, I was working a dou-
ble at the diner. A retired miner had talked
Dennis had done so well the past months: fin- of ghost hunting expeditions. He was con-
ishing the steps, moving back in, finding a job. I vinced the earth was “withholding secrets”.
had found the beginnings of vows for our re-
newal in his bee sting handwriting, tucked next In the pile of laundry, I saw my sweet boy,
to his leather-covered change box. rigidly curled beneath bleach-blanched under-
garments. I imagined his head fighting immi-
It was not that I missed nights coming nent sleep like a child in the backseat of high-
home from work to find him face down on the way-bound car in a Georgia July. Nodding.
sofa, mirroring the plate of spaghetti on the
floor, reruns of stock market analysis splashing I thought about pregnant teenagers. I
the white wall. It was the needy soul I missed, thought about my father’s friends who tied
imploring me to fix all, clean up, do anything strings from his fingers to all his important
but call it quits. things so that no one could take them from
him when he slept. I imagined tiny miners be-
Some nights the furniture had joined the neath my feet, churning through dirt, digging
conversation and I wrote to my mother once up feathers and finger bones, searching for the
Dennis was asleep, telling her how I was learn- dirty secrets that the earth holds.
ing to settle.

The shelter director limped to a row of cag-
es to fish out Jasper, the calico cat. His pros-
thetic leg squeaked when he bent over. I envi-
sioned kittens climbing the leg, thin claws
pricking and clinging to fabric and plastic-like
cork. I wondered what he did when he was
alone.

Turning Off Someone Else’s Porch Light On the car ride home, you mentioned
that close only counts in horseshoes and hand
My grandmother blamed her farts on tiny frogs grenades. This is why we can’t have nice
that my brother and I could never seem to things.
find, her cigarette ashes speckling the mashed
potatoes. Cooking complimented by my grand- For sale: two barely used bicycles and a
father, who sounded as though he had mud in bedroom set. The living room has been swal-
his throat, a brash crocodile in a tweed chair. lowed by a forest: vines and veins and drapes,
a woodpecker punching out the piano’s
With him we had afternoon snacks of Prin- teeth, the timbre of the trees. And later
gles and language. We were tiny miners that night when I turn out our porch light I pre-
searching for ghosts the dirty earth tend it belongs to someone else.
holds; arrowheads and prehistoric bones, so
scared that we’d one day end up
like Micauley Culken in Home Alone.

Dark dust streaks blanket your face, worn
like war paint, supernatural wisps, worker bee
static fuzz, feathers, finger bones and soil mak-
ing your hair a mess.

We’ll have you Danny Tanner spic and
span soon soon. Like lessons learned one year
at summer camp, that have now be-
come: “leave a light on when you go out for
the evening”.

October came and passed but we all kept
our masks on. Gypsies, ghouls, goblins, assassi-
nated presidents spattered with blood and
spittle, but we all left a light on.

And, O! what pioneers were we when we
avoided be trampled outside the auto-
matic doors of that Toys R Us on Black Fri-
day, smooth like bounce passes from Stock-
ton to Malone, confined in checkout
lines like coal mine canaries.

Motown’s Most Lonely space in school that coming year. But
that would have to be postponed indefinite-
My mother took up mediation or yoga or ly. Scientists were at a loss and could only ref-
something. She sat, shades drawn, chanting, erence some old Motown song when trying to
“ohm mani pedi ohm flower petals”. guess what happened.

That was the summer the neighbor girl got Then my sister ran away with a boy in white
her boobs. It was also the summer when I stole high-tops on a dirt bike. That was the summer
two flightless ducks from the gypsies that we drove across two states to find her, the
thought they were chameleons that owned a summer I saw Indiana’s second biggest rocking
pretend petting zoo. chair, the summer when the news anchor re-
ported the moon “had moved on”. My mother
Kenny and I took the ducks out to the back cried for some reason and started meditating,
lot and shot at them with a BB and my father became worried that no one
gun. When people thinks you can’t was safe so he bought extra locks again.
see them and you take what is theirs, it’s just a
lucky catch. It’s a pair of hands practicing in the On the nights when it gets real bad and my
dark, hoping to unhook a bra, but past that no parents scream and break things, I like to sit in
idea what to do. my closet behind the stacked tubs of my old
toys and think about the moon. I pretend the
And I had no one to call about moon bought Indiana’s biggest rocking
those ducks decorated with pel- chair, and is resting on some big country
lets because a family member wasn’t dead or porch in its high-tops knowing exactly how to
injured, and that was the only time I was al- French kiss and what to do with boobs.
lowed to use my cell phone.
About the Author:
Then my father put an extra lock on the
door because someone or something Originally from Wyoming, Jason Joyce, M.B.A.
kept letting the dogs out at night. That was the is a writer, arranger, consultant and optimist
summer my classmates said a mountain pan- who has made it his life mission to never grow
ther was on the prowl, the same summer a boring. You can learn more about his compa-
curfew was imposed. It was also the sum- nies, current projects and published work by
mer my father was caught feather-handed near visiting jasonrjoyce.com or @savageconfetti on
the neighbor’s open window with an African Instagram.
grey parrot he plucked from its cage.

It was just a lucky catch. The damn bird
wouldn’t shut up at night, so my father took
matters into his own hands. Then he paid the
fine and bought them a new bird that ended up
being much more quiet. But it was still for the
better he said, that we didn’t tell our grandpar-
ents or friends about this.

And I had no idea what to think when the
moon disappeared for good, other than that I
was really looking forward to learning about

THE HARD WALK

by Forrest McElroy

Tommy struggled to climb out of the car, wob- He snarled. Tommy heard the driver’s exasper-
bling precariously until he gained purchase ated sigh, and the man turned back on the
with his crutch. The driver got out of the sleek, driveway and waited by the car.
black government vehicle and came over to aid
him. Tommy glared at the driver. The man Tommy took a firm grip with both of his
backed away with his palms out. Tommy hands and began pulling himself upwards. He
straightened and brushed his free hand over had managed to get his foot underneath him,
his freshly pressed uniform. He donned his when the door to the blue house opened, and
Army issued dress cap and started forward up an older couple came out onto the porch. The
the gravel parkway. woman wore a dark green dress and smart
black shoes. Her hair was bark brown and grey-
As Tommy hobbled up the driveway, he ing, pinned up behind her ears. The man wore
gazed around at his surroundings. A white pick- tan slacks, brown dress shoes, and a white un-
et fence lined the small lot leading up to the dershirt that was smudged with dirt. Tommy
house. A freshly mown lawn glistened with gazed at the Man’s bespectacled face. He re-
morning dew. The house was a faded blue. A membered Will had spoken often of how his
white washed porch with a swing had two father came home from work and went
freshly painted white steps leading upwards to straight into the garden.
the door. A gold star in a field of red hung from
the front window beside the front door, mov- Tommy’s throat tightened with emotion,
ing gently back and forth in the slight breeze. and his grip on his crutch slipped and he fell to
his side in the driveway. “Damn!” he yelled,
Tommy’s face curled into a snarl of defi- frustration and grief causing his voice to come
ance at the rising guilt he felt towards the task out hoarse.
that lay before him. You owe this.
The old gardener came over quickly to his
Tommy took an unsure step and his foot side while the wife waited anxiously on the
slipped out from under him. He shouted out in porch. “Hold up, son,” he said, clear concern in
alarm as he fell to the ground in a heap. Tom- his voice. His strong arms lifted Tommy up. He
my sat up and dragged his crutch over to him- scooped up Tommy’s crutch and Tommy took it
self. He heard the driver’s feet on the drive- gratefully. “There now, come sit on the porch.
way gravel behind him. “Get away from me.” Mary,” the man called. “Can you get the boy a
glass of water, dear?” he called to his wife.

As she swept inside, Tommy came to sit on you! How’s my boy? Is he coming home?” He
the stairs of the front porch. He took off his grasped Tommy’s free hand and squeezed it.
cap. “Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Hewitt.” Tommy could feel the desperation for news of
Tommy said, sighing. Mr. Hewitt peered down his son in the man’s grip.
at Tommy, his hands on his hips. “Do I know
you, boy? What can I do for you?” he asked in a Tommy shook his head. Flashes of the mud-
steady baritone. dy French field appeared in his mind. The
sound of gunfire and screaming filled his ears.
Tommy gazed up at Mr. Hewitt and saw Will’s terrified face starring straight through
Will’s face looking back at him behind the spec- him, looking at nothing and seeing nothing.
tacles and wrinkles. His eyes stung, and tears
spilled over onto Tommy’s face. “I am so sorry, Tommy closed his eyes and took a breath.
sir. God help me, I am so sorry.” A sob crept After centering himself, he looked again at Mr.
out of his throat and Tommy buried his face in Hewitt’s now hesitant expression. “Will can’t
his right hand. He fought down the powerful come home, Mr. Hewitt. William is gone, sir.”
storm of grief that threatened to sweep Said Tommy, and his words rocked the man
through him. back on his heels like a physical blow.

A firm but gentle hand squeezed his shoul- Mr. Hewitt’s face whitened, and he sank
der. “It’s okay, son,” said Mr. Hewitt. “Take a onto his knees in the driveway. “My Will?” he
minute. It’ll be okay.” His voice was calming asked, and his voice sounded small.
and soothing, like he was speaking to a
spooked horse. Tommy hobbled forward. “I’m so sorry,”
Tommy said, but the words felt hollow to him
Tommy angrily whipped his eyes and as they left his lips.
turned his face up to look at the old gardener.
“It won’t, sir,” said Tommy, miserable. He Mr. Hewitt didn’t seem to hear him. He fell
shook his head back and forth at Mr. Hewitt’s to his knees. He sat back on his heels and
concerned and confused expression. shook his head. His hands were upturned and
lifeless in his lap. “They took our baby boy.” he
“How do you mean? Who are you, son?” said. Tears formed in the old gardener’s eyes
Mr. Hewitt asked. His voice had lost some of its and spilled down his cheeks.
softness. The question came more demanding
as the man’s patience began to diminish. A sound of shattering glass cut through the
scene, and Tommy staggered and turned
“My name is Tommy Ryne, sir,” said Tom- around in alarm.
my. “I’m a friend of your son, William.”
Mrs. Mary Hewitt stood there on the porch.
Mr. Hewitt’s face turned from a puzzled Her face had gone white and empty with
expression to one of happiness. “Glad to meet shock, starring at Tommy. The pieces of the
glass cup she had dropped were scattered all

around her, and the water from it dripped be-
tween the cracks of the old wooden porch. A
stuttering scream clawed out of her throat as
she collapsed to the floor, headless of the glass
shards that dug into her legs. Mary Hewitt
screamed silently there, rocking back and forth
as she clutched at her stomach. Finally, she
managed words between her gasping sobs.
“My boy,” she said, and she closed her eyes.
“No, no,” her voice trailed off into sobs.

Mr. Hewitt stood uneasily to his feet and
came to his wife’s side. He gently raised her to
her feet and pulled her inside, closing the door
behind them.

Tommy looked out toward the street. The
sounds of Mrs. Hewitt screaming tore through
the peaceful suburb, and neighbors stood out
in their doorways. Tommy felt their eyes. The
guilt of bringing the hell and pain of the War to
these people threatened to crush him. He took
rapid, hopping steps with aid of his crutch back
down the driveway and climbed into the black
car.

The driver started the car. “Are you alright, About the Author:
Mr. Ryne?” asked the Driver, and the concern
was there again. Tommy glared angrily down at
his hands and his vision blurred with tears.
“No. I am not. Can we please leave?” He
begged the Driver, and his voice wavered again
with emotion and exhaustion. “I’ve done
enough.”

Forrest McElroy is a Marine Corps Veteran of
the terrorism conflicts of the Middle East. He is
a published writer whose written works up to
this point have been private reflections on the
traumatic influences of war. He is in the cur-
rent process of honing his craft while writing a
fantasy novel series. He is a father of a strong
willed two-year-old daughter. He is married to
his high school sweetheart. They live in Stuart,
Florida.

DISTRACTIONS

by John Himmelheber

My arms full of groceries, mostly light stuff but made a yogi proud. And the day was hot. Per-
a couple heavy things, I was just leaving the haps eighty degrees. The car's windows shut.
Giant Grocery south of Baltimore. I had to ad- The motor off--no air conditioning. Should rap
just the load once to avoid straining. There was on the window to see if the man was all right?
a car about thirty feet ahead of me with a man If he were a child, I would have grabbed the
in the driver's seat. He was very still. melon-sized piece of concrete nearby that had
broken off a parking lot stop --the kind used to
He must be waiting for his wife, or some- keep cars in their parking spaces-- and
one else close to him. No one would wait that smashed the window to save the man who was
patiently for someone they didn't like. His head 30-40 years younger than he was. I would be
was slightly bowed and looked rested, as if he hailed a hero. In a ceremony at City Hall, I
were about to doze off. would be given a certificate by the mayor for
my heroism. I would have the unending thanks
As I got closer to the back of the car I could and love of his mother and father, who had
see more than just the back of his head. There forgotten he was in the car when they stopped
was a glow on the edge of his face, angelic but for a cold drink from the 7-11 next door and
also neonish, like the glow on the sidewalk on then thought they should pick up some cold
the Block in Baltimore, reflections from the all cuts and bread for dinner from the grocery
the bright signs outside the strip shows. It was store and then met their old neighbor inside
pretty there, like a circus, and I never under- who had moved years ago and whom they had-
stood why my mother always said to be quiet n't kept in contact with and were so happy to
when our family car crept through that street. see and catch up with. But, since the man was
It was magic to me; maybe it was a kind of an adult, quite in charge of his own destiny and
magic to her, too. such other things as opening windows or turn-
ing on AC, I just stared at that piece of concrete
The glowing-faced man's car was bright (although, to this very day, I wonder if it could
green. Not neon green, but a kind of spring have broken the window, and how many blows
green, like the early leaves on the sycamore it would have taken).
trees, before so much chlorophyl turns them
mature and strong and dark. The car itself was I was almost to the car now.
of no distinction. A sedan. Or maybe a small
wagon. Certainly not a truck. Or a sports car. There was a feint smell of gasoline. I could-
And timeless; it could have been five years old, n't tell if it was from the car with the man or
or twenty. from some other car. It may have wafted over
from the Shell station across the street. It was
The man was doing a good job being still. I raw, and it smelled of danger. Oil smells calm-
secretly admired his stillness. It would have er. Oil smells of earth and dinosaurs' DNA and

the pressure of a million years. Gasoline smells news. Perhaps it was a gaming app and he was
of industry and hurry and capitalism and un- 10 points from breaking the world record. Even
ending fire. I lifted the collar of my t-shirt over if it was something mundane --the Weather
my nose. I must have looked like an amateur Channel, say, or his wife's message to remem-
robber absconding with stolen groceries. The ber milk-- I had to know. So I dropped one of
smell persisted. Like an old woman's perfume my bags, the one containing bread, some dog
in church, it was inescapable. Except the man treats, potato chips, just outside his window.
escaped it. He breathed only his own odors. Nothing that could make a mess. I leaned down
to pick it up, and made a show of rearranging it
I was about to pass him. Should I look at in my arms so that I could look inside, down at
him? Should I be prepared to quickly look away the man's lap. There it was, his iPhone. I could
if our eyes meet? Or maybe nod and smile? clearly see the screen, about three feet from
What if he were doing something illegal? Or me.
immoral (at least in public)? Or perhaps he's
not in public. Perhaps he considers himself It was completely white.
removed, safe from all the smells and sounds
of modern life. About the Author:

Should I pass and not look? Or glance side- Some years ago John Himmelheber retired
ways to see his face? Maybe I could fake look- from teaching high school English and now he
ing back at something near him --the hood of teaches writing to seniors in Asheville, North
his car, the late summer cirrus clouds whirling Carolina. He continues to write and occasional-
in the noon sky--and somehow steal a quick ly to publish. John also edit the Smoky Blue
look at his face (hoping, of course, he wouldn't Literary and Arts Magazine.
be already looking at me). Not looking would
take great will and determination on my part,
not to mention dismissing all the previous
speculations I had amassed.

I decided to pause ever so briefly and look
at the man's face. I really had no choice. I had
invested too much. It would have been tragic --
no, anticlimactic-- to ignore him. Like listening
to Aida but stopping short of the Grand March.

The hair on the back of his head was slightly
gray, like mine. He even had a bald spot like me
(except mine was in the middle of the back; his,
more on top). As I began to see the side of his
face, the glow became more perceptible, and,
at the same time, artificial. What a fool I was.
The bowed head, the glow, his stillness: he was
looking at his cell phone! It explained so much.
I had wasted my time. There was no mystery
here, no man-child to save with a piece of con-
crete.

Still, I needed closure. I needed to know
what he was so intently watching. Perhaps it
was the CNN app telling of some great or awful

IMAGE & VOICE

by Liz Whitt

It was the first time he ever saw her. He was white coats. Always being poked and prodded
ten years old and he could feel the warmth with funny shaped utensils. He couldn’t hear
seeping from his skin as it rested on the exactly what the man in white coat told his
smooth, frigid glass of the window. He saw the parents each time, but he had a pretty good
moving truck a few days prior but hadn’t yet guess by lipreading. He might have thought
seen the family until just then. He gazed at the nothing of it, except for the fact his parents
two kids playing in their front yard, the near would look sad on the drive home when they
blizzard not hindering them in any way. A thought he wasn’t paying attention. Mason
snowball suddenly caught his eye as it arched never wanted to speak since he had sign lan-
through the air towards the small girl–wrapped guage as a means to communicate. But for the
in so many layers she looked like a giant pink first time he wanted to, his thoughts still linger-
snowball herself. The throw was perfectly ing on the girl he saw through the window.
aimed, a direct hit that pelted her in the face. A
smile tugged at the corner of his lips as she fell The very next morning Mason was eating
back into a huge mound of puffy white snow. breakfast with his parents, when he saw his
The boy who threw the snowball was grinning parents suddenly both look towards the front
in triumph and he guessed this to be her sib- door. He kept eating his waffles while his par-
ling. However, the little girl’s attention was not ents got up, wondering who could be at the
at her brother. As she stood up her piercing door during Christmas break. The cold breeze
green eyes were peering back at him. His face slithered its way down the collar of his shirt,
flushed, and he immediately shut his curtains. getting his attention away from his mouth-
Even though he was embarrassed at being watering waffles he was still chewing. New
caught spying, he felt an odd rush of pleasure York winters were brutal. He looked over and,
after their exchange. in the entryway, stood the girl with his wary
parents behind her. The half-chewed waffle got
He was used to the silence, it had never stuck in his throat as he tried to swallow rather
bothered him before. Although he wasn’t born desperately. His eyes drunk her in. Her long,
deaf, Mason couldn’t remember a time when blonde hair gleaming like a halo as it rested just
silence didn’t accompany him like an old friend. above her waist. When he saw her through the
Since he was home-schooled he didn’t have window he thought she was fair skinned, but
much exposure to the outside world besides upon close inspection there was a subtle gold-
the internet. His only friends being the ones he en tan with a hint of freckles. She smiled, and
met online through a deaf community website. he thought he was in heaven until her lips
His childhood was littered with memories of his started moving quite rapidly. Mason’s spirits
mom and dad taking him to the white building, sank as he failed horribly to read her lips and
with its white walls and the people dressed in watched as his parents had to explain his

situation. For the first time, he was embar- “You have really cool parents”, she wrote
rassed by his lack of hearing and was filled with and passed him the tablet.
molten anger.
“Thanks. Why did you decide to come
“Hi!”, he shouted rather clumsily. over?”

He knew his voice came out funny even “Because I’ve seen you staring out you win-
though he couldn’t hear it and felt the heat dow and wondered why you never come out-
rush to his cheeks. He looked to his parents for side to play”
affirmation, but they were frozen with shock
because they had never heard their son’s voice “Oh. My parents don’t let me play outside
before. He dragged his eyes away from his par- unless they can watch. They usually are busy
ents back to the girl. Unlike his parents, her working.”
eyes were giddy with excitement. Mason
thought this would be the perfect moment to “Why do they have to watch?”
run upstairs and lock himself in his room.
“Um it’s not safe because I can’t hear my
He was still sitting with his back against the surroundings and people can’t get my atten-
door when he felt the vibrations of a knock. He tion. I also don’t talk so if something hap-
was expecting this. He opened the door to find pened… it’s complicated.”, Mason typed.
his mom with a plate of cookies. A tradition she
did whenever someone was sad. “Well I thought it was really awesome when
you spoke out loud to me. We should play eve-
“How are you honey? What happened back ry day and be best friends.”
there?” she signed.
He smiled at her response and she una-
“I don’t know. I’ve never had a friend be- bashedly reached for his hand and held it with
fore who wasn’t like me. I just wanted to be her own as they watched the rest of the movie.
normal.” Mason signed back.
Six years had passed and while a lot of thing
“You shouldn’t think that being deaf makes had changed, the friendship between Kate and
you not normal. Hearing people aren’t even Mason had not. Mason now attended the pub-
considered normal half the time anyway. You lic school since they had expanded their educa-
should want to be yourself and nobody else.” tion to help teach deaf students. His hazel eyes
she replied. Mason was silent as he contem- hadn’t changed but his face had become less
plated her advice. She stood up to leave. “She round, his features sharper somehow. Thanks
is a sweet girl. Her name is Kate. I know you to puberty he had grown quite tall, a whopping
have friends online, but I think you’re ready six feet and two inches. Kate had stayed exactly
now. By the way, you have a beautiful voice.”, the same in his eyes, as beautiful as the day
she signed with tears in her eyes before closing she sprung into his life. Thanks to her, he had a
the door. mix of non-hearing and hearing friends even
though they preferred to hang out alone. She
The next day Kate came over and things became quite versed in sign language and
went a little more smoothly. His mom acted as helped him with the transition into high school.
the interpreter for introductions and then They spent most of their time goofing off and
eventually left them to their own devices with since Mason’s parents trusted Kate so com-
an iPad to communicate. Mason tried paying pletely, he was allowed to go wherever with
attention to the subtitles on the TV, but his her.
eyes kept wandering toward her. I wonder if
she’s as nervous as I am, he thought. She met Mason had to overcome more obstacles
his gaze and quickly typed on the iPad. than most due to his impaired hearing, but he
lived a relatively normal life. He was laying on

his bed, fighting the urge to fall asleep. It was a broken window. She puts the car in park and
rare night when him and Kate weren’t hanging sat for a moment, considering what to do. She
out but some nights she worked a part time job saw that Mason’s bedroom light was on. Her
in order to save money for college. He wanted parents were at the concert with his parents
to stay up to make sure she got home safe be- and probably wouldn’t be able to hear their
cause Kate had been complaining about her cellphones. Her brother was at the football
creepy, older coworker making crude com- game which would result in the same problem.
ments to her. Lately as the days went by he She pulled into her own driveway and opted
began thinking about his feelings for her more for calling the police. They were on their way.
and more. He wasn’t sure how to tell her or After hanging up, she could feel her heart
even if he wanted to tell her. He didn’t want to pounding and a million different, horrible sce-
risk their friendship, but more importantly he narios running through her head. Please dear
didn’t want her to be burdened by him. He God let him be okay, she prayed. She felt the
mulled it over in his mind a bit and decided to sweat bead on her forehead as her anxiety
text her. His parents weren’t home tonight skyrocketed. Her hands trembled, and she real-
because of The Dave Matthews concert in Al- ized she couldn’t just sit there and wait for the
bany. It might be the perfect opportunity. police as she’d been instructed to do. This was
her best friend.
“Hey Katie, can you come over as soon as
you get home? Text me so I can come open the Somehow her legs took her to the front
door.”, he texted her. door. Her eyes watered as she faced the fear
that something terrible could be waiting inside.
“Sure Mase. I’ll be there soon, we close at Her love for her best friend pushed her for-
11pm. I’m about to leave as soon as my creepy ward. As she opened the door she cried out in
ass coworker stops hitting on me long enough horror as the scene displayed. The house was
for me to escape lol. I think I’m going to tell my trashed as if a hurricane blew through it. Her
boss soon, it’s getting out of hand. See you in a eyes darted around, looking for any sign of
bit.”, she replied. movement. She noticed the TV missing and
immediately suspected robbers. This thought
Kate was tired after her shift at work. She brought on other morbid scenarios and she lost
had been up all-night thinking about what to all sense of self-preservation as she bolted up
do in order to deal with the situation about her the stair towards Mason’s room. Her pepper
coworker, which required a lot more time and spray was clutched in her vise-like grip. She
energy than she had expected. She didn’t want took a breath to steady herself and pushed the
to get the guy fired but he was definitely over- door open.
stepping his boundaries. She was almost home
and looking forward to seeing Mase and asking There he was, sleeping safe and sound in
his advice on the matter. He was such a good bed. She started crying in relief as she went
listener and always knew how to make her feel over to wake him up. Staring at his face, sud-
better in the non-verbal way of his. Her phone denly overcome with exhaustion from the trau-
rang. Damn it, she thought while looking at her ma of the night she had an epiphany. She was
phone. It was her coworker, Evan again. How completely and wholeheartedly in love with
did he ever get her number in the first place? this boy. She risked her life in order to protect
When was it going to stop? Kate had ap- his. She had to tell him. She shook him awake
proached a red light and came to a halt, tossing and he woke up with a start.
her phone on the passenger seat. Her foot
eased on the gas as she raced to get to Ma- “Katie why are you crying?” he signed vehe-
son’s house. mently, annoyed with himself that he had fall-
en asleep.
She pulled into the driveway, noticing a

She just shook her head and wrapped her
arms around him in response as he held her
close. As he breathed in the scent of her, he
was overwhelmed by how much he realized he
loved her. As he pulled back to look her in the
eyes, he noticed she was staring at him exactly
like he was at her. Without thinking, he leaned
in and lightly pressed his lips to hers as the
flashing red and blue lights illuminated their
faces through the window.

HORSE AND GARDEN

by Norbert Kovacs

Gene Stamp was proud of his flower garden. was bored and disinterested in his flower
He had set its plot in the middle of his backyard patch, he took it as an affront. Mrs. Mabel, an
where any visitors would see it immediately old woman who liked to walk by Gene's place
through the bay window of his parlor. It made in the mornings, joked once to him, "Wouldn't
a circle in the grass of the lawn, its flowers a your daffodils look a bit nicer next to your vio-
fantastic variety throughout the spring: blue lets?"
violets, white crocuses, daffodils, tulips, irises.
He called the garden his “little jewel” and nev- "They're fine wherever I put them, thank
er tired of hearing it praised. you," he had answered, scowling, and stalked
away.
Gene was proudest of the compliments
that Darrel Finch, the town mayor, gave. A Gene's garden had been the one pleasing
landscape designer before taking office, Finch sight near his backyard for some time. The for-
designed a beautiful local park that Gene great- est behind the lawn formed a crowd of decay-
ly admired for its rose-bush lined paths and ing, broken maple trees, the stone that peeked
sculptured hedges. Many other people be- from the ground there a uniform gray. From
lieved, like Gene, that the mayor knew what the garden, the lawn descended at a run to a
went into attractive horticulture; magazines weathered barnyard fence, past which lay the
from Fine Gardening to Country Living had rec- abandoned neighboring property. Its last own-
ognized the mayor as a “green thumb leader." ers had quit long ago and the lawn had grown
Every spring in the last several years, Mayor into an unkempt meadow. An old stable stood
Finch had visited the more famous (and a short distance away, the boards in its roof
wealthy) town citizens as part of a local house- crumbling, the white paint on its outside
calling tour and made it a point to see the peeled in streaks. However, one day, as Gene
homes’ gardens. On every one of these tours, stopped to survey his tulips, he heard hammers
he had called Gene's the best garden in town. and saws at work in the stable. He discovered a
"No one can beat your tulips and irises, corral of white stakes and boards had been
Stamp," Finch enjoyed boasting. "They're the built joining it. Someone had put there a won-
nicest looking flowers around." The press and derful black horse. The animal had a lustrous
townspeople, who attended the mayor on the mane, sides of broad muscle, and strong, sable
tours and liked to endorse his taste, fell to legs. Her large eyes were intelligent and atten-
praising Gene in the same line. This pleased tive as she turned her fine head and ate at the
Gene greatly, but it went badly to his head. He overgrown grass the corral builders had not
believed he was superior to the rest of the cut.
town's gardeners, "the less talented horticul-
turally" as he came to think them. If a friend Gene was glad to find the attractive horse
in view of his garden. He went eagerly down

the hill to meet her owner but met only hired “I saw him riding her the other day near
workers at the stable. The owner, the workers my neighbor’s," Gladys, one of Gene’s woman
said, was busy training elsewhere. Gene antici- friends, said. "A beautiful horse. Shiny, black
pated the man coming later that day, but he mane. Great profile.”
did not show any time Gene checked for him.
“Here," Jason said, considering quickly,
When he went to town, Gene mentioned "maybe we could go down and see her if your
the horse next door to his friend John, who neighbor was open to it. We might go as a
surprised him by saying he had met the man group.”
who owned her. John told him about Manuel
Rios, a short, dark haired man, who worked as “We could go after I tell you about my gar-
a horse trainer and coach in their town and the den," Gene said.
area.
“Come on, Gene! We can hear about your
"He's a demanding teacher, he says. Puts garden later. The horse is bigger news.”
his students through every kind of drill. But he
makes a few of them very decent horse riders “Yes, let’s see her!” a couple of the other
for it." This report encouraged Gene. He imag- friends said, growing excited.
ined his neighbor had to be a serious, proud
sort of man. Someone worth knowing, he be- Gene hid a frown. “Alright then, let’s,” he
lieved. said. He led his friends out the back door and
toward his neighbor’s lawn down the hill. They
The next week, Gene had several friends to found Manuel by the corral grooming the
his home for tea in the back parlor. Outside the horse. The man lifted his brown face to the
parlor’s big bay window was the garden group and raised a hand to them as they came
crowned by blue irises. “My flowers have come and introduced themselves.
up a very strong color this year,” he said in
ready time. "I'm too happy to show you Starlet," Ma-
nuel said when Jason asked, so the friends
Several of the friends gathered by the win- gathered around the corral. Gene drew near
dow and made compliments to the same with them. As they admired the animal, they
effect. started talking with her owner. They learned
he was, in fact, a trainer as they had heard. He
“They're just lovely.” had moved to this part of Connecticut for its
horse country. “I feel sure I'll make a lot of
“Very nice. How do you do it, Gene?” friends with all the horse owners in the area,”
he told them. He said he liked his new home,
Gene smiled and thought of telling them his first with a stable and corral where he could
about his new method of watering the garden. keep Starlet rather than house her apart.
But his friend Jason said just then, “Doesn't the “She’s a real friend, and here I can take care of
new horse trainer I've heard about live down her as I think I should be.” Manuel went on to
the hill from you?” say that he rode Starlet to riding and horse-
manship lessons where he used her to teach.
Gene’s face slackened. “There is a man with "She works for all types of riders."
a horse down there.”
Manuel was as interested in learning about
“It must be him. He’s supposed to be pretty Gene and his friends as they were him. With a
good horse-wise.” friendly light in his face, he asked into their
lives, careers, personal interests. He listened,
“I've heard something like it.” his eyes focused carefully on theirs, as Jason
told about managing at the bank and Gladys
“They say the guy has a very attractive
horse.”

leading the local women's club. Manuel had given a horsemanship show as part of the
seemed encouraged. "I don't know other horse field day at the local elementary school. She
trainers who get introduced like this on coming said that the children had cheered as Manuel
to a new town." He let the people in the group trotted Starlet through a winding course of
touch and stroke the side of his horse as they orange traffic cones and leaped over a fence
spoke. arranged in mid-soccer field. The children were
even more jubilant when a few were let to ride
Gene stroked the horse because his friends Starlet through the course of cones without
were, but he did it without enjoyment. He Manuel guiding them. "I heard he managed it
thought, once or twice, to revive his garden as all by hand prompt," Gladys said, leaning for-
a topic of conversation, but whenever he tried, ward confidentially. "The schoolchildren talked
his friends always rushed out some new ques- about that horse for days afterwards."
tion about Manuel, the horse, and prevented
him. Gene was left silent. The discussion ended The horse gained notice through less public
with the friends parting amicably with Manuel means, too. Local people walking the extensive
and returning with Gene up the hill. trails in the woods beside Gene's home had
spotted Manuel and his horse at their corral in
“The next time I visit, Gene, I’ll have to stop the afternoon. Many of them came to meet the
and talk with your neighbor again,” Jason said, pair with inevitable curiosity. Manuel was as
leaning toward his companion confidentially. affable and courteous with these visitors as he
“He has the makes of being a really good had Gene’s friends, and many hikers in the
friend.” woods detoured to get acquainted.

“Why not?” Gene smiled politely. But inside All the good favor toward Manuel and his
he was angry that Manuel had displaced his horse did not sit well with Gene. Mayor Finch
garden in his friends’ interest. would stop by on his tour of the local gardens
in the coming weeks, and Gene feared the man
Gene was more upset when he went out also would visit his neighbor, whom everyone
next to water his irises and discovered Manuel in town was praising to the sky. If Starlet im-
and his horse, Starlet, down the hill. Manuel pressed him as much as everyone else, there
was exercising her, and the horse’s strong mo- was the risk the mayor would praise the horse
tion as she ran, the earthy lunge of her flank more than his garden. Gene's envy flared a
made Gene burn. Gene went indoors to avoid hideous green at the thought. He decided that,
the pair. However, he was not to forget Ma- under no circumstances, would he sit by idly
nuel and his horse, or at least escape news of and let Manuel and Starlet take higher honors.
them. When he met his friends, they seemed He resolved, in fact, to remove the horse be-
to talk about nothing but Manuel and Starlet. fore Mayor Finch visited.
Manuel and the horse had turned into local
celebrities after making several remarkable Gene considered how to do it. His first idea
appearances around their small town in the was to lead the horse from her stable at night
Litchfield hills. Jason reported that the two had and goad her into the woods, where she could
entertained a huge party organized by a very run, not to return. It hit him quickly that she
rich local man with a estate in the west of might not go on her own even if encouraged.
town. Manuel had delighted the guests by hav- Most horses would not, being used to stay in a
ing his horse skip sideways, crossing her legs in stable at night. He considered again. He imag-
rhythm to stereo music. "It was a great perfor- ined hiring a thief to take Starlet. Perhaps for a
mance I heard," Jason said smiling. "His horse few hundred dollars?, he wondered. However,
can dance." he believed an outsider might ask questions
and cut out before making the theft. The ploy
Gladys reported that Manuel and Starlet

would mean more trouble than good. Gene every opportunity to gaze warmly into the
decided, finally, that he would have to steal the horse’s eyes as Manuel did and to caress her.
horse himself to do it right. He realized that, to Manuel, who seemed to sense Gene’s new
manage well, he would have to become famil- interest in Starlet, allowed Gene to mount and
iar with the animal: a strong creature like her walk the horse around the corral for him. Gene
would resist if a stranger tried leading her, es- led her slowly, the two of them going at ease.
pecially in the evening when Gene expected to He felt the horse had become used to his com-
take her. Manuel was the sole man, at that pany.
moment, who regularly handled Starlet. Gene
would have to win his trust to be let to handle Gene was confident, at last, that he could
the creature then gain her confidence. He dis- lead the horse from the stable without any
liked the idea: his last notion of a good time incident, so he acted on his plan to dispose of
was pretending to like his garden's rival. How- her. He wrote a glowing newspaper ad offering
ever, he had fixed on the idea of not losing the the horse for sale. "A bargain at $___", it read:
mayor's favor to a plain horse so decided to he asked a low price, hoping to attract a buyer
pursue the scheme. fast. He placed the ad in some non-local papers
to prevent anyone in town discovering he
He ventured by the corral one afternoon meant to sell a horse they all knew belonged to
while Manuel was grooming Starlet and bid his neighbor. No sense in incriminating myself
him a warm hello. He told Manuel he had a first thing, he thought. Within a week, Gene
long interest in horse riding and gave several got an interested party from Massachusetts,
“personal opinions” on points of horsemanship whom he invited to his place on a day he knew
--discipline, practice, upkeep--that his parlor Manuel would be out and leave behind Starlet.
friends had reported Manuel naming in conver-
sation. Manuel seemed encouraged. As if ad- Gene led his buyer, Mr. George, a docile,
dressing a colleague, he went into some techni- bovine-faced man, down the long hill of his
calities of horsemanship. "I'll tell you how it backyard toward his neighbor’s stable. “I keep
was training her to sidestep," he said. Gene the horse on the land where my superinten-
listened, understanding little, but nodded so dent lives,” Gene explained as they passed
his neighbor would keep talking. After answer- through the white fence. “He has the small
ing Manuel's inquiries over his garden, the two house you see over there. I let him stay free.”
parted amicably. However, Gene returned up Mr. George nodded and Gene sensed the man
the hill disliking Manuel as much as ever, his took his words at face value.
true interest only his garden’s reputation.
The two came to the corral, and Gene led
Gene resumed his overtures a few days Starlet out for inspection. He had her jog
later. He came over when Manuel was by and around the corral some to show how nicely she
convinced the man to let him brush Starlet. moved. Mr. George found the horse was im-
“Her mane is very nice and soft,” he said as he pressive and beautiful as Gene had claimed
stroked her, trying not to grit his teeth."You and said he would purchase her. Gene was
must enjoy cleaning her." pleased. With a cold professionalism, he ar-
ranged the details for picking up his neighbor's
On a day soon after, Gene visited while Ma- horse. He told the man to come for her Friday,
nuel was walking Starlet around her corral. the last day she could stay before the mayor
Gene paced alongside them and touched the visited on Saturday. He said Mr. George should
horse’s side as they paced. come at nine thirty that night for her. Gene
picked the rather late time so that he could be
Gene made further visits in which Manuel sure Starlet was there and that he could take
let him lead and even saddle Starlet for him. her under cover of dark. Manuel would be in
Gene put the equipment on securely taking

bed by then, he knew, for he went to sleep someone, if not he, had taken the horse onto
early, so would be unlikely to interfere. "I can't his property. Gene did not want to give any
do it any other time," Gene said to settle any sign this had happened. He let go the bridle,
doubt in Mr. George. "I'm on this awful work walked back down to the fence, and after grap-
schedule that kills my weekends. It's real bad." pling in the dark, found and closed the gate. As
Finally, Gene asked his buyer to park at his it shut, he heard the horse step quickly from
house when he came. "I won't have the con- the spot where he had left her. He turned but
tract of sale ready until then," he claimed. "So did not see where she had gone in the dark.
it'd be a favor." Gene asked this as he planned
to have Starlet at his home rather than Ma- Gene faced around toward the woods. He
nuel's when he gave her over. It would make had seen Manuel and Starlet riding many times
the whole transfer safer and less likely to draw in them, so imagined that was where she may
undue attention, he trusted. Mr. George hesi- have gone. Gene went into the wooded dark
tated once on the terms. "It does seem a and moved carefully amid the many maples. He
strange time and process. I don't believe I slinked over broken rocks and root-choked
bought any other horse so." But he added paths. He listened for Starlet’s hooves, thud-
quickly, "Of course, I'd rather not lose a beauty ding on the earth, the heave of her breath. But
like her because of when I bought her or any he heard no sound except his own. And the
such technicalities." So all was arranged. woods showed no shape recalling her. Finally,
Gene returned to his lawn, puzzling over where
Around nine on Friday night, Gene, as the creature could have gone.
planned, went down to his neighbor's to steal
the horse. The evening was complete darkness. Gene's sight had adjusted to the dark by
There was no moon, and the maples of the now and, as he stepped from the trees, he
forest raised wide dark heads beside his lawn. spotted the horse shuffling about his lawn. He
Gene proceeded carefully, hardly able to see went toward her but, near mid-lawn, he
three feet ahead. He passed onto Manuel's stopped in horror. Up ahead, his garden lay in
land, reached the stable, then Starlet’s stall. He ruins. Iris heads were torn from their stems. His
found the horse lying on the straw in the cor- beautiful rose bushes were pounded down. His
ner, her legs tucked under her. While she lilies lay crushed and flattened in the dirt. How
seemed tired, she stood promptly enough could this be?, Gene thought gasping. He
when Gene entered. Gene laid the hand she seized on the truth almost at once: Starlet had
found so familiar on her face and gave her a trampled the garden as she walked blindly in
carrot from his pocket. As she ate, he fitted her the dark. Gene sat on the ground and put his
with a simple bridle and led her outside. head between his knees. Was this wreck what
he now had to show the mayor tomorrow?, he
On the lawn, Gene moved slowly into the asked himself. He hardly could think it.
dark. It seems even darker than when I had
come, he told himself as he fumbled forward. As he held motionless and stunned in the
He edged first from the corral, then toward the dark, Gene realized he had to do something
gate. From behind, he saw no light nor heard about the horse because Mr. George was com-
any motion from Manuel’s house to suggest his ing for her. And soon. However, he wondered,
neighbor had noticed the theft. Gene felt en- in his deepening funk, if it was worth getting
couraged. He walked at ease to the picket her away now. He believed he could not show
fence by the end of his yard, opened the gate, the place in its new state to Mayor Finch. He
and brought the horse through it. He did not go felt it would be better to not open the door to
six feet onto his lawn when he realized he had him (or even be home) than show the garden
not closed the gate behind him. He considered and explain how it had been ruined. Then Gene
that an open door in the fence might hint that reflected some more and had a new idea. He

would blame Manuel for the damage, he And I can’t show you to my garden this year
thought. He would tell the mayor that Manuel, even though I know how you have come ex-
in a jealous mood, had led the horse out at pecting it." Gene looked down at his shoes as if
night to destroy his prize flowers. Gene had the unable to say any more.
perfect proof of the story too: the horse’s hoof
prints were all over the garden dirt! Mayor Finch, very concerned, asked, “How
is this? Has anything happened?”
To ensure there was a horse now to accuse
Manuel, he went and fetched Starlet from “There has. But to explain it, I’d have to
where she ambled by the side of his house. He introduce you to my neighbor who lives down
led her back her down to her stable and her the hill.”
stall and left her lying peacefully on her straw.
Then he walked back up the dark hill and re- “You mean the man with the wonderful
turned home. In his living room, he took some sable horse?" a woman in the entourage
paper and scribbled this note: chirped. "We meant to see him right after
you.”
Mr. George,
Gene kept himself from wincing. “I do mean
Please forgive me. I've decided not to sell him. Why I can't show you my garden concerns
my horse. Accept my apologies for drawing you his horse. I could say more if we go down to
from home for no reason tonight. see him.”

Gene Stamp The mayor's face expressed a meld of curi-
osity and puzzlement at Gene's insistence. He
He taped the note to his front door and said however, “Let’s all go see him together.”
went upstairs to bed. Soon enough, he heard
Mr. George arrive and park his trailer in the So the party and Gene went down to Ma-
front driveway. The fellow emerged from his nuel’s estate. The horse trainer greeted them
vehicle and came to the door. A pause ensued. at the door and after making introductions, led
Then the fellow returned down the step, got in them out back to Starlet.
his vehicle, and left. Got rid of him, Gene
thought with a smile and drew snug the blan- “We have decided to come early at your
ket on his bed. neighbor's request,” the mayor said as they
walked across the lawn. Gene looked coolly
The next morning at ten, Mayor Finch and toward Manuel as the mayor spoke, but his
his entourage of staff, local reporters, and neighbor did not show if he picked up on it.
prominent townspeople arrived at Gene’s. The Manuel led the party around the house to the
mayor beamed at the gardener when he corral where his horse stood. Everyone clus-
opened the door. "I hope we've got you at the tered around to look at her.
right time," Finch said, greeting him with his
trademark good-humor. Gene drew the mayor near the front so
they and Manuel were closest to Starlet.
Gene calculated not to reflect the man's “Doesn't she have a beautiful mane?” Gene
good mood. He did not smile at the man or his asked the mayor.
entourage, and made no motion to usher them
into the house. “Yes, it's so black and shiny.”

“I wish I could receive you in a better condi- “And don’t you think her face good?”
tion, Mayor Finch," he said. "However I can't.
“She does have nice eyes.”

“Nice body, too, eh?"

“Yes. She is a very handsome animal. But

you had said she had something to do with “I’m sorry if I have this wrong, but weren’t
your garden...” you trying to sell me the horse in that corral?”

Gene drew himself up and spoke so every- It was Mr. George who spoke. He had ar-
one would hear. “Her owner led her from her rived not long before and wandered up with
stall last night and walked her all over my flow- the mayor’s group when it had gone to see the
ers.” garden. Mr. George had addressed the garden-
er, so the crowd turned toward Gene.
The crowd that had oohed and aahed the
horse fell quiet. Manuel’s brow crunched with “I did nothing of the kind,” Gene said. “I
incomprehension and he said angrily, “What don’t sell other people’s horses.”
are you talking about?”
“Now don’t tell me that. Just a few days
Gene faced the mayor and crowd. “Come," ago, you convinced me I should buy her. I came
he said. "I will show you what he and his horse last night like we arranged so I could take her.
did.” Gene marched up the hill. The mayor and You left a note on the front door saying you
his entourage seemed beside themselves and thought against selling her. I came again today
did not move. A few stared at one another. supposing I might convince you to sell regard-
However, Gene continued up the hill and a less. You really did clinch me on her.”
feeling came over the group that he really must
have something to show. The mayor, then the Gene gritted his teeth. Drat my salesman-
different members of the entourage and Ma- ship, he thought. “I don’t know what you
nuel went up the hill after him. Gene led them mean," he told Mr. George aloud. "I’ve no idea
to the ruined garden where he turned to the who you are. I never tried selling you a horse.”
crowd. He cried to them, “Look at this mess!
Snapped and broken flowers everywhere. “Listen, I have my horse trailer in front of
Smashed rose bushes. Trampled lilies. This your house. I brought it supposing I might get
used to be a garden of beautiful red, blue, and the horse at a higher price than we had
yellow. But my neighbor destroyed it last night. settled.”
He knew you were coming today and did this
so you would think more of him and his horse Gene paled but thought to go on denying
than me.” him. “I never discussed prices or horses with
you. I don't know why you should have brought
Manuel's brown face darkened. “I did no your trailer.”
such a thing,” he said.
His large eyes burning, Mr. George reached
“Then how did the hoof prints of your horse into his inside coat pocket.
get there?”
“Well, then, what about this newspaper ad
Gene pointed at the smashed tulip heads for the horse that I answered?” the bovine-
where everyone saw the imprint of a horse’s faced fellow said. He took out his wallet, pulled
hooves. A shocked silence fell on the group. out the ad, and read it to the group. “‘For sale.
Sleek, sable horse. Well built, rides excellently,
Mayor Finch was the first to speak. He disciplined. Trained and trainable. A bargain at
strode up to Manuel. “Just what is the meaning $____. Call Gene at ___ to learn more.’ Fresh
of this? Why did you destroy the garden?” from my local Berkshire Herald.”

“I had no idea this happened," Manuel Gene realized he was caught. He turned
said, baffled. "I am not to blame.” and faced the group, his face white. “Yes, I did
try to sell the horse,” he said. “I lied all about
At that moment, a voice familiar to Gene the theft. I took her to be rid of her before the
came from the crowd. mayor came. I didn’t want her here to be ad-
mired. But the horse got the better of me.”

The crowd burst into cries of indignation. About the Author:
"Mr. Stamp, this is shameful," Mayor Finch
said, gesturing with his forefinger. "I never Norbert Kovacs lives and writes in Hartford,
would have thought a man who took as much Connecticut. His stories have appeared in
pride in his garden would stoop to maligning Thrice Fiction, Westview, Gravel, STORGY, and
his neighbor." The mayor marched for the front Ginosko Literary Journal. Norbert's website is
of the house where the group had parked their www.norbertkovacs.net.
cars. His entourage, confused with shock and
embarrassment, followed on his heels. "I can't
believe it!", "Terrible", "How could he?" they
called as they fled. With the same brand of
anger, Mr. George, his bovine-face cemented
hard, said to Gene, "So is this what comes of
trying to buy from you?" He flung the ad for
the horse at Gene and sped scowling for his
trailer on the other side of the house. Then
Manuel glared at his neighbor, turned and
stalked down the hill for his home. Gene
watched him go inside and felt sure that the
man never would speak to him again.

Later, Gene read the news reporters’ blis-
tering stories about the garden visit and the
mayor’s condemnation. Alone in his parlor with
the curtains drawn over the windows, he
doubted if many people would come to admire
his garden again—and even whether he should
plant a new one. The worst of it was that he
knew he had brought on all the trouble. I may
as well have trampled the garden myself than
let the horse, he thought. However, there was
no getting around the fact he did what he did
and it would take planting several gardens with
kind-heartedness, and even good words to his
neighbor, before he happily admired his flow-
ers.

SWEET DREAMS

by Jasmine Dalrymple

It’s just a dream it’s just a dream I keep telling cause I don’t know anything horrifying or per-
myself. My eyes jolt open and my heart begins haps it’s just the classic case of writer's block.
to race, I’m in near sweat from that nightmare. But sitting in bed wasn’t going to make that
The rhythm of my heart is racing as adrenaline assignment disappear. I swing the covers off
pumps into it. It felt as I were about to have a and slide into my house slippers. I walk over to
heart attack. I sit up in my bed taking deep the window and draw the curtains letting in
breaths trying to calm myself down. The that morning sunshine. It’s a beautiful area
warmth of my bed had a comforting effect on where I live. I purchased this apartment after I
me and helped settle my nerves. That is the graduated from NYU. The city noises can be a
fourth nightmare I had this month—the same bother sometimes, but I’m up on the tenth
repetitive one to of an incident I experienced floor so I can’t hear those obnoxious horns
as a child. Now that childhood event is honking.
haunting my dreams. I have no reason to be
frightened it was long ago, but what disturbs I walk into the kitchen and begin to fix my-
me the most is the fact that I keep dreaming self a cup of coffee, I pour some french vanilla
about it. creamer in and stir it. I take my mug and walk
over to my desk I have facing the window. I like
I sit in my bed thinking about why all this to be able to look out the window when I’m
was happening to me. I come to the conclusion writing.
that it’s because all the stress I’ve been going
through these past few weeks. I’m a staff writ- I log onto my computer and begin checking
er for a newspaper here in New York, and my emails to see if I got any queries from my
things have been pressing down hard on me. boss on my upcoming column. I like checking
I’ve been assigned to write an interesting col- my emails in the morning, so I know what I
umn that's due by the end of the month on a have to do for the day.
horrifying event people have experienced. The
reason my boss is making me write such a ridic- I scroll through and see nothing unusual
ulous column is that Halloween is right around just typical Monday emails of advertisements
the corner and he wants something to spook and store discounts. I gaze down and see an
up the paper. email that was sent to me at midnight.

I don’t dare say that I haven’t even started, The sender’s name read Nance. Nance? I
but it's true. I haven’t been able to write a sin- thought to myself I don’t know anybody named
gle sentence over the subject. Maybe it’s be- Nance at least not someone I can recall. I
clicked on the email and saw it was addressed
to me, Elyce Murray and Allie Smith.

My eyes widen when I see the names of my I decide to give Elyce a text and see if she
two friends who I haven’t seen in years. They knows about the email. I logged off of my com-
were some of my closest friends growing up puter and grab my cell phone and text Elyce
back in Illinois. I haven’t kept in touch with any asking:
of them except for Elyce who occasionally texts
me to wish me a happy birthday or Merry Hey Elyce, I was wondering if you’d by
Christmas. Allie is one I have not spoken to any chance got an email from Nancy Cypress
since High School. We had a couple of falling about a funeral for her parents?
outs in our teenage years and never reconciled.
I hit send and wait for her to reply, I wasn’t
I scrolled down to read the email. sure if she still had the same number. But I
used the one she texted me on a few months
To: Christine Prescott, Elyce Murray, Allie ago to wish me a happy birthday.
Smith
I wander around my apartment anxiously
From: Nance waiting for her reply. I gaze at the clock and
saw it was nearly twelve o’clock instead of pac-
Hi, Girls! ing around waiting. I need to preoccupy my
mind and decided to take a shower. I took my
Long time no see It’s me, Nancy Cy- mug back to the kitchen and ran the faucet to
press! Sorry for such a late email, but you’re all rinse out the coffee left in the inside. I set the
hard to find. I’ve been up making funeral ar- mug upside down on a clean hand rag and
rangements for my parents. Both of my parents headed to the bathroom.
passed away. I’m inviting you all to the funeral
which will take place this weekend. We have The shower was a refreshing start for me. I
lots of catching up to do. Please email me back feel much better about myself and ready to get
to confirm. to work. I slip into some jeans and a flannel and
towel dry my hair, it was a little damp but not
Love, completely wet. I’ve been avoiding using any
hot tools on my hair for a while now. I’m trying
Nance xoxox to grow out my hair and I’ve been doing a great
job so far.
Nancy Cypress. I can’t believe I have come
back in contact with Nancy. I haven’t seen or I head back to my desk and take out my
spoken to her in years, much longer than Elyce notebook and folders that held the story I was
or Allie. I can honestly say I forgot about Nan- working on. I pick up the pencil and begin to
cy. I’m not sure what Nancy is up to these days write, then hear a ding. The ding came from
but I think she is still living in Cypress. Nancy’s my phone—a text had come through.
family owned Cypress Woods and a house in
the woods. The woods have been in her family I grab my phone and see Elyce's name ap-
for over a hundred years. Allie, Elyce and I use pear on my phone. I unlock my cell phone and
to go out to Cypress during the summer to stay click on the text from my notifications.
with Nancy and her parents. I can’t believe her
parents are dead. I remember them so vaguely, Hey, Can I call you???
all I recall was them being really nice and great
parents to Nancy. With those three question marks, I assume
Elyce didn’t know. But of course, I wasn’t going
I wonder what happened? to stop her. I replied with a, Yes.

I began to contemplate the email on I set my phone back down and walk back to
whether or not I should reply or keep my dis- my desk. I figure Elyce might take a while to
tance and not attend and focus on my work. call, so I head back to my desk. Before I could

sit down the phone rang and buzzed on the “Yeah, sorry. I got to get back to work. Talk
table. That was quick I thought to myself, I later?” I said.
scurry to the phone and see Elyce’s name. I
answer it. “Hello,” I said. “Of course.”
“Bye.”
“Chris?” I hear Elyce say slightly confused I hung up the phone before she could say
through the other end. She must’ve thought goodbye. I was frazzled by what she said. I
my voice sounded different. The name Chris can’t seem to recall what she was referring. I’m
sinks into my mind. I haven’t been called that not sure if my mind intentionally cut that out of
in years. That name brought back memories. In my memory or if I can’t simply remember.
fact, Nancy Cypress was the one who nick- Whatever it was will be coming back to me
named me that years ago. Allie and Elyce even- soon.
tually caught on to it and started calling me
Chris too. I never liked Chris because every About the Author:
Chris I knew was a boy and far too masculine Jasmine is a junior at Texas Christian University
for me. I preferred my real name, Christine. currently pursuing a BA in English and a minor
After hearing Elyce say Chris after all these in Creative Writing.
years makes me realize that it’s stuck with me.

“Elyce, hey it’s Chris,” I say trying to spit
that name out of my mouth.

“Hey, Chris! Its been so long, how are you?”
Elyce voice changed to excitement. “I’m doing
fine just trying to figure things out.”

“Oh, believe me, I know what you mean. I
can’t believe Nancy’s parents died. It’s unbe-
lievable.”

“I know, it’s crazy to believe it. But death
gets you unexpectedly.”

“Exactly, what I thought when I read the
email. Are you going?”

“I’m not sure. That’s why I called you. I
wanted to know what you were doing?”

“I’ll go if you go. It’ll be nice to see every-
one again. Plus we haven’t been back there…”
Elyce takes a long pause like she was contem-
plating on saying something. “...well you know
since that thing happened to you.”

I felt my throat tightened up hearing those
words. I can’t even remember what Elyce is
talking about. But I know something did hap-
pen to me in Cypress woods, but I don’t re-
member. I paused for too long leaving Elyce’s
voice echoing my name. “Chris! Chris. You still
there?”

THE WASATCH

by Keith Perkins

The park bench is dry. A grey nylon duffel bag, Before staking his claim to this worn bench,
hastily packed days before, is stowed beneath Layton shared a modest home with devoted
the chipped, weathered planks. A backpack is parents and four sisters on the arid edge of
snugly positioned on one end of the bench and Cedar City. It was a simple place. Subdued, well
serves as an imperfect pillow. This suits Layton, -manicured, ordered, clean. Not a wrinkle of
the present occupant of this makeshift bed, as dissent disturbed their docile, domestic nest.
it best protects his most coveted items--a final, That is, until one evening when Layton sat
meager paycheck, a few items of clothing, toi- down at the usual hour, in his usual chair, for
letries, and his favorite book. A blue parka par- his usual family dinner.
tially protects his chest and upper legs against
an early morning chill. As an attenuated morn- “Well Layton, Your mission assignment
ing light steals over the vast, somnolent valley, should be here any day now,” his mother
this nascent arrival to Salt Lake City’s disparate chirped. Her deep reservoir of perpetual mirth
stew of Pioneer Park vagabonds is exhausted, countered Layton’s cavernous chasm of jagged
alone and liberated. cynicism.

He recalls his first night here just a few days His eyes darted to his plate. He skittishly
ago. A cool, spring rain tormented his slender maneuvered the mashed potatoes around his
frame during that long, sleepless night. In this steak, creating an imposing wall resembling a
distant place, on this unforgiving bench, he medieval fortress.
curled up tightly, head firmly embedded in his
damp backpack, shivering, scared, and misera- His four sisters ate silently, dutifully in fluid
ble. unison.

Layton sits up groggily and surveys the “"Go ye therefore...” his father intoned. His
park’s dawn stillness. A few blocks north, the deep baritone voice descended like an impene-
downtown church’s lofty top mildly glistens trable veil over the table.
amidst the tight cluster of buildings. The snow-
dusted Wasatch Mountains rise precipitously “Yea, I know dad, and teach all nations,”
to the east above the parched valley floor. He Layton interrupted sarcastically, finishing a
runs his fingers slowly through his thin, dishev- phrase that so often resonated in their devout
eled blonde hair and peers across at a vacant house over the years.
bench. His neighbor from the night before is
gone. His father put his fork down and continued
chewing. He cast a furtive glance at his wife
Emily before locking his bespectacled eyes on
his only son.

“Is everything ok Layton?” his father asked. destine lines from a book tucked away in his
loose fitting clothing. His voracious reading
He vigorously renewed his campaign to appetite. His addiction to caffeine. His elicit
fortify the wall of mashed potatoes. romance with his co-worker Sara. The fact that
he was no longer a virgin. All neatly and se-
“I’m ok,” he said curtly. curely locked away in that cozy bookstore.

His parents sniffed recent hints of restless- His future, as his parents conceived it, in-
ness, but quickly dismissed them as pre- cluded a two-year church mission, a degree
mission jitters. They were inevitable. Benign. from a local college, marriage, followed swiftly
Fleeting. by a brood of his own. It was a well-tread, un-
questioned trajectory dutifully owned and dog-
They knew nothing of Layton’s waning dedi- gedly pursued by his Cedar City peers.
cation to the church. They knew nothing of the
formidable sway that literature and writing Layton dismantled the forbidding wall of
held over him. They were blind to the mighty mashed potatoes around his steak. He reached
ache he harbored to sever the tethers of the for his napkin, patted his lips and cast a cursory
church and wrestle with a creed of his own glance at his four sisters. They sat silently, de-
choosing. murely before empty plates.

Perhaps that is what drew him to Cedar On his park bench in the expanding dawn,
City’s sole second-hand book store where, one Layton sits back, unzips his backpack and takes
desultory afternoon, he encountered Sartre’s out Paul Theroux’s The Great Railway Bazaar.
dark, sobering tale of existential angst. In- He grips each side of the front cover and lin-
trigued by its title, he lowered to the dusty, gers on the image. A faded green train moves
creaking wood floors and devoured No Exit through fertile, undulating hills as Indian faces
before in one sitting. He felt a surge of empa- and limbs dangle listlessly through open win-
thy for that trifecta of tortured souls confined dows. Some passengers lean precariously out
to wile away endlessly in that well-lit, nonde- open doors, bearing witness to this speeding,
script room. efficient people mover.

The bookstore became his forbidden pleas- As he flips to a random page, he senses the
ure. After school. Weekends. Even audacious approach of a stranger.
visits during school lunch. It wasn’t long before
he answered an ad affixed to the storefront “Hey brother, do you have a minute?”
window and was hired as a part-time associate.
It was a rare and rather shocking pardon grant- Layton instantly recognizes the upbeat
ed by his pious parents and it came with one tone. The unyielding smile. The upright pos-
inviolable concession--that he donate 10 per- ture. The thick Book secured in his right hand.
cent of his meagre weekly earnings to the He is Layton’s age and his blue suit, black tie
church. and polished shoes contrast sharply with his
ragged jeans, dilapidated t-shirt and dirty
As if making up for lost time, he consumed sneakers.
Dickens, Emerson, Poe, Chekhov, and Achebe
with rabid avidity. He unearthed in the scant “Yea, sure,” Layton says.
Paul Theroux titles in stock a frenzied rush to
dream, to reach, to journey with that thirsty The invitation came instinctively, yet once
curiosity for both peopled and unpeopled plac- delivered, a tsunami-like wave of regret and
es. Layton read at work, on his short walk frustration overwhelm him. He warily edges his
home. He even excused himself at church, re- body aside to make room for his impeccably
treating to the bathroom to steal a few clan- attired guest.

“Well, the Heavenly Father has given us a “Spare me the forgiveness!” he interrupts
beautiful day today,” he says, an exuberant loudly.
smile dominating his fair, unblemished face.
“But the Good Lord,” he retorts demurely.
Layton sighs, positions himself more firmly
against the back of the park bench, and turns “Stop!”
sheepishly towards his pious visitor.
Years of pent up religious angst and frustra-
“Yea...I guess.” he says indifferently, shrug- tion rush out in a raging torrent.
ging his shoulders. He is now mere inches from
the absolute last person he wants in his com- “I’ve left the church,” he says loudly. “I pre-
pany. fer Dante, Theroux and coffee!”

The stranger places the Book on his lap, one This final fusillade has the added muscle of
hand clutching each side. a firmly outstretched finger directed at his now
retreating guest.
“Where are you from?”
A lady on an opposite bench looks up cau-
His voice, bereft of cynicism, still penetrates tiously from her morning paper. Her wide eyes
to Layton’s core like daggers. register alarm as they emerge meekly from
behind a wide swath of pages.
“Cedar City...just here in Salt Lake visiting,”
Layton says unassumingly. “Well, listen, if you ever want to talk,” he
says gently.
He taps both sides of his Book, studying
Layton with sustained earnestness. The young man reaches into his pocket,
retrieves a card and offers it to Layton.
“If you’ll allow me, I’d love to share a brief
passage.” “Sorry...I didn’t mean to…”

Every fiber of Layton’s exhausted body rises “Don’t be silly my brother,” he says.
in vehement protest.
They shake hands before the young man
“Uh...sure.” briskly turns and retreats into Pioneer Park,
clutching his Book with renewed urgency.
He opens the Book and points his right fin-
ger at a marked section. Layton returns to his frayed copy of The
Great Railway Bazaar. He then looks up and
“Whosoever shall put their trust in God turns in the direction of the towering Wasatch.
shall be supported in their trials, and their…” The highest peaks still greedily cling to a reced-
ing carpet of white. The downtown church con-
“Enough!” Layton interrupts sharply. tinues to glisten in the now mid-morning sun-
shine.
“I’ve had premarital sex, I am an utter
wretch without my morning coffee, and I know After a brief walk, Layton finds a spacious,
the passage...Chapter 36...The Book of Alma.” spiritless room at the city’s charity mission
where he sips coffee and nibbles listlessly on
With this jarring salvo, his young visitor eggs and toast. A few nearby vagrants own
recoils sharply, his face reddening. He shuts the tired eyes and unruly white beards that protect
Book tepidly and resumes his original, upright deeply furrowed cheeks. An older man and
posture, clutching and tapping each side. woman at an adjacent table slowly tremble in
their seats. Several people stare beyond their
“My brother, they repented and sought plates and coffee with gaunt, expressionless
forgiveness...” faces.

Layton distractedly taps the few remaining Layton adjusts his position in the cramped
pieces of eggs. He looks across the table at an booth and peers up at the snow-tinged Wa-
empty seat and is beset by powerful images of satch.
home. His parents are surely sick with anxiety.
Members of the local church have likely mobi- “I’m not coming back Sara...there’s nothing
lized an unprecedented prayer campaign. Ab- for me there,” he says abruptly.
rupt, unexplained disappearances did not hap-
pen on the outer fringes of Cedar City. An in- “Oh...ok,” she says haltingly.
nocuous absence from church on Sunday was
enough to invite curious whispers. “I mean...well, the church...you know,” he
stammers nervously.
On his return to Pioneer Park, he stops at a
payphone. “Yea, of course,” she says.

“Sara...it’s me...Layton.” In a plan hatched during that final steak and
mashed potato dinner, Layton decided to se-
“Good God Layton...where the hell are cure work in Denver, save money, and then
you?” she asks, her voice dripping with exas- continue alone to Boston. He feared a return to
peration. Cedar City--and to Sara--might stymie his ulti-
mate goal.
No one knew of his brash, pre-dawn depar-
ture by bus. Not even Sara, his most trusted “And what happens in Boston?”
bookstore confidante.
“Hopefully my studies...a new life…” he
“I’m in Salt Lake...I’m ok...” says matter-of-factly.

Sara was Layton’s age and he found in her a “More or less everything we talked
needed sounding board for his religious misgiv- about...” she says with an anxious chuckle.
ings. He was drawn to her love of books and
travel and her shared pangs for a life beyond There is a brief, tense silence.
Cedar City. On their mutual shifts, they seam-
lessly bantered for hours about many of life’s Sara looks down at a small stack of mail on
vagaries. It was Sara who suggested that Lay- the counter. She retrieves an oversized, square
ton use the bookstore address for his college envelope addressed to Layton. It’s marked with
applications. In a bid to keep her similarly de- a return address from Lesley University College
vout family at bay, she had done the same. of Education.

“Your father has been in here asking ques- “Well, what about your mail?” she asks.
tions,” she says anxiously.
“I’ll send you a forwarding address from
“Did you tell him anything...I mean...about Denver.”
us?” he asks.
She returns her gaze to the envelope and
“No...of course not!” tenderly caresses the broad, square front with
her fingers.
Layton knew it wasn’t in his father’s fiber to
pointedly cross-examine Sara. Nor did he really Layton lifts his leg to ease his claustro-
care any more that his connection with her had phobia in the cramped phone booth. He turns
led organically, one unassuming evening, in the slightly, catching a glimpse of the Wasatch
sparsely lit back storage room, to an egregious through the smudgy window. It’s now re-
violation of church doctrine. For most locals, splendently bolder and beaming broadly in the
this other bookstore, owned by New Jersey late morning effulgence.
transplants, lacked the literary pedigree of the
town’s church-sanctioned establishment. He finds the same park bench empty, and
with a midday, weighty fatigue stealing over

him, he arranges his bags, and quickly drifts Adjacent to Layton, Theroux’s Railway Ba-
into a deep sleep. zaar peeks timidly from the unzipped top.

He’s startled by an abrupt slap on his stom- Not far away, the pious young man stands
ach. resolutely, turns to the downtrodden teen,
shakes his hand and offers him a card.
His father stands over him, brandishing an
oversized, rolled up envelope in his right hand. ***
His stern face is easily betrayed by a swelling
paternal empathy. About the Author:

“You can go to Boston, Layton...” he says. Keith Perkins is a high school English teacher in
New Jersey. His work has appeared in The Irish
He unfurls the envelope, hands it to Layton Post, Amsterdam Quarterly, The Avalon Liter-
and joins him on the bench. ary Review, hackwriters.com, travelmag.co.uk,
and myveronanj.com. A father of twin toddlers,
Layton immediately sees the Boston Uni- Keith enjoys travelling, writing, reading, hiking,
versity College of Education seal stamped in skiing, and naps.
the corner. A barrage of images assail him. Im-
pending deadlines. Rushed applications. Bus
station agent. Secrets exposed. Sara.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” his fa-
ther says imploringly.

Layton rips the seam, takes out the cover
letter and hurriedly grabs snippets of the open-
ing paragraph.

Congratulations...acceptance...scholarship.

His eyes moisten. He stops reading and
looks at his dad.

“I think Sara might have some more mail
for you at the bookstore.”

He leans over and fiercely embraces his
son.

“No more Book of Alma wisdom...I prom-
ise,” he says over his son’s shoulder.

“Dad...I just,” Layton sighs.

“There’s room for all of us,” his dad inter-
rupts. “Just promise to stay in touch.”

As they separate, Layton sees the same
smartly dressed young missionary, Book in his
lap, talking intently with an unkempt teenager
on a nearby park bench. The listless, disconso-
late teen looks dispassionately up past the mis-
sionary towards the Wasatch.