Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 8, July 2017

Samantha made another effort to move away and drunk girl at the party, falling down, pity me. Poor
this time he yielded. They stood there, not danc- me. She had to find Kathryn, but there were too
ing, as others danced, and then she walked away. many, vague, fleeting, figures. She shambled off
Her hair was as wet as if she’d been swimming or to the side, dark hall, and into dark room.
taking a shower. Swimming was more accurate;
she didn’t feel clean. Not quiet, but more comfortable. The air even felt
cool against her slick skin. Samantha breathed. As
Few of the couches were occupied and she her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, she be-
slumped down onto one that was made of old came aware of something large hanging over-
fabric that was ripped. She picked at a thread and head. Amorphous shadow. She could not see.
ran a hand through her hair to smooth it down. Samantha fumbled for a light switch and jerked
Her shirt stuck to her back between her shoulder when it came on.
blades. Could anyone see? Her hand hung in the
air and she struggled to pull it down. Wires. Sinuous, reaching wires in a knot that
came undone and the wires were hands reaching
She looked at Kathryn again. Thought about a bird and the fingers became figures dancing. It was
she’d seen on the bridge. It was glass, clear with massive, black, cancerous. Samantha stared. Her
wings painted blue. She’d thought to buy it for throat burned with wine, with vomit rising. She
her sister, but it wasn’t weird in the way their fell back out of the room, light on still revealing
other birds were. It was perfect, fragile, and that hideous, groping thing, and she fell. Back
beautiful. onto that dirty floor of dusty footprints. Down
amongst the littered cups, bottles, party para-
Kathryn made eye contact and the sisters stared phernalia cast off and out. She stared—and felt
at each other. You are too far away. I need you. watched.
Bodies in between, bodies everywhere. Cutting
her off from view, but then back again, closer, There was the pink rabbit. Its slumped head
coming. Kathryn was there. watched her. Ridiculous fucking thing. It’s not
funny. It’s really not. Ugly would be a better word
“Oh, hello,” Samantha said. for it. And it wasn’t even full. Might as well finish
the job. Make it flat.
“I thought you were leaving.”
Samantha stood and the world was on a tilt. The
“I wanted to—I wanted to talk to you.” rabbit spun like something in a funhouse and she
stumbled. She stayed still and kept her eyes fo-
“Oh, sure, so you could berate me again? You cused on it until the spinning stopped and then
know, who are you to even judge? What are you she walked deliberately toward the plastic crea-
doing? Living with mom and dad? You don’t even ture. Gentle poke of finger and the plastic yielded.
know, do you?” Not so tough. Samantha looked around the side
for a plug, something to pull out and deflate. Her
“No,” Samantha said. hands squeezed against it and the rabbit
squeaked.
“Why don’t you try to figure out your own life and
leave mine to me? I’m perfectly fucking fine.” She could not find the plug. Rubber smell like
latex. Foolish grin. She punched it. Punch felt
“I just wanted to see you.” good. She smacked it again. The rabbit wobbled.
Samantha beat her fists against it, breathing hard.
“Well, you did. You saw me. Goodbye,” Kathryn She hit wildly and kicked at it. Her hands bounced
said. off and still it would not fall. She hit, hit, hit.

“Can’t we just go someplace and talk, like we “Hey, sister, what are you doing?” Milan yelled
used to? I’m so fucked up and I don’t even—” she from across the room. They were watching her.
said almost crying, but Kathryn was gone. Some danced still, but watching.

Kathryn was gone. Dillon was—forget him. For- “Destroying,” she said, but he probably didn’t
get, forget, forget. She repeated the word in a
whisper. This room was too close. She stood with
unsteady feet and took a moment to find her bal-
ance in case others were watching. Don’t be that

99

hear her. Milan laughed and the others laughed About the Author:
with him. Where was Kathryn? Gone.
Read Trammel received a MFA in Creative Writing
She fled to the bathroom, bouncing off the walls from the University of Montana in 2016. His work
of the hallway in her drunkenness. The door has been published in Driftwood Press, Yale An-
swung open, two girls at the sink. One was bent gler’s Journal, Solstice Literary Magazine, and
over, snorting what looked like cocaine. The other Foothills Literary Journal.Read Trammel received
turned and fixed Samantha with a glare. Saman- a MFA in Creative Writing from the University of
tha waved a hand—it’s all okay, hello, but fuck Montana in 2016. His work has been published in
you, really—and walked into a stall. She had a Driftwood Press, Yale Angler’s Journal, Solstice
problem closing and locking the door, but she got Literary Magazine, and Foothills Literary Journal.
it eventually and sat on the toilet. The girls out-
side were sniffing and talking low in a language
she couldn’t understand. Or maybe she could.
Maybe it was English. She didn’t know—couldn’t
follow it. Find the words.

World spin and spinning turn. Wires jagged on the
insides of her eyelids. Samantha gradually be-
came aware that there was writing on the stall’s
walls. What at first had looked like scribbles were
words and elaborate drawings. There were artists
here after all. Swallow and breathe. She bent for-
ward looked at them closely, as if trying to deci-
pher meaning. Then she saw an awkward chick,
drawn in three-quarters profile with one leg long-
er than the other as if to suggest a step. Uneven
eyes stared back at her. It was something Kathryn
might have draws and she held her fingers to it. It
was all she could do.

100

TWICE A WEEK
THE WINTER THOROUGH

Dan Berick

“This is another one of my mother’s great ideas.” “Don’t ever call me that.”

That was all that I could think of as I stood in the “Sure, okay. What should I call you?”
gray slush on the sidewalk outside the junior high
school, looking at the sullen child standing in “Not that.”
front of me.
That’s what my mother had volunteered me for
My mother and her ideas, her charity, her strays. that winter. I had graduated from high school
and was working at the mall, taking creative
“Chris honey, I told Marybeth that you wouldn't writing classes at the community college, and
mind bringing her little girl over to our place after telling myself I was going to be a writer. And now
school for a few hours. Her shift has changed at I was walking in silence under the leaden Novem-
the hospital and there isn't anyone at home for ber sky, through the dead leaves and dirty snow,
her in the afternoons. All you have to do is meet with the world’s angriest thirteen year-old girl.
her over at the junior high and bring her here.”
Jerry was outside, smoking, when we got to my
My mother could not resist a stray dog, an extra house, having passed the walk in silence.
kitten, a chain letter, a hard-luck story. Which
explained the changing assortment of dogs and “Hola, compadre,” he said, crushing out a New-
cats in the tiny yard of the bungalow where I lived port on the concrete step. “This must be the little
with her and her boyfriend, Jerry. And explained lady your mom’s been talking about.”
Jerry, for that matter.
She stared blankly at him, but Jerry’s bonhomie
All I had to do. So there I stood, looking down at was undaunted. “Like they say, amigo, mi casa is
the scowling girl, who stood immobile in her su casa” he said, sweeping his arm towards the
grimy blue fiberfill coat and a decrepit old Buffalo screen door.
Bills ski hat as the other kids streamed by into the
late autumn afternoon. The house wasn’t much (“…but it’s paid for”, as
my mother always insisted on adding), a couple of
“So you’re him? You’d better not touch me.” rooms all on one floor and a crawlspace above.
Dannyelle pulled her boots off at the front door,
(“Sweet little red-haired girl”, my mom had said.) unzipped her coat, and sat down on the sofa,
staring straight ahead, as one of mom’s cats
“Hey yeah, so...I’m Christopher. You’re Danielle, stalked by her. She looked as lumpy and shape-
right?” less without her coat as with it on, the ratty old
Bills hat pulled down low over her ears.
“Not Danielle. ‘Dannyelle’, is what my idiot moth-
er named me. ‘Danny-elle.’ Jesus. I hate it.” The room wasn’t much to look at either, a TV,
the cats, a sleeping dog I didn’t think I recognized,
She glared at me from under the ridiculous hat.
All I could see of her was red hair, enormous blue
eyes, a round freckled face, and the shapeless
lumpiness of her winter coat, cheap pants, cheap
snow boots.

101

some piles of Jerry’s car magazines, the cheap a kid at all, really. She seemed to read every-
new “sectional” my mother was so proud of. The thing, and notice everything, and it was like talk-
little sitting room opened onto the little dining ing to an actual person, not a stumpy little girl in a
area, with the kitchen behind and the two bed- grimy old ski hat. Better than talking to Jerry, at
rooms beyond that. But it was paid for. least.

Dannyelle turned abruptly to see me staring at That one afternoon, though, it was freezing and I
her, and I blushed furiously. “Jerry’s not my dad was clapping my hands together on the sidewalk
or anything,” I said. “And it’s not like he’s Mexi- waiting for her, wishing I was home in my room,
can or whatever. I don't know what’s up with that when she stormed through the sea of kids right
Spanish shit. That’s his new thing.” past me, her red hair streaming in the wind, mak-
ing me jog to catch up with her.
She smiled at that, at least. Jerry came crashing
back inside, stamping his feet, talking some non- "Hey wait up..."
sense about the weather and whistling tunelessly
until Dannyelle’s mother pulled up outside and She charged on ahead, ignoring me.
honked her horn, and Dannyelle pulled her boots
back on and went out to the car for her ride "Hey...your hat! Did you forget your hat?"
home.
She was missing that crazy Buffalo Bills hat she
“She lives with her mother out in one of the mo- always wore. "Want to go back for it?"
bile home parks,” my mother said later that after-
noon, before I headed to work at the mall. She "It's gone, okay? Gone. One of those mongoloids
was still in her nurse’s scrubs, putting food out for in there stole it. I'll never get it back."
the animals, and good-naturedly scolding at Jerry
to pick up his crap for once, seeing as we were She was crying, standing there in the freezing
going to be having more company now. wind.
“Marybeth works part-time in the cafeteria at the
hospital, her husband’s been gone forever, I don't "Hey, c'mon...don't...it's a hat...I mean, I love the
know how they get by.” Bills too and all, but...."

“Cute little thing,” Jerry said distractedly. "It was my father's, okay? The one thing I had
that was his. The only thing. And now it's gone."
“You’re doing a good thing, Chris.”
"Hey..." I tried to put my arm around her, but she
“Better not leave those two alone, though, am I shrugged away from me. "Don't."
right?”
She headed down the street away from me. I
“Jesus, Jerry…” jogged to catch up with her again, took my
hunter's hat off, and put it on her head.
"Or else, ay caramba, amigo!" "Here....it's cold as shit out here, you need a hat.
Take mine, okay?"
“It’s a really good thing, honey.”
She pulled it down over her ears and rubbed at
her eyes with her mittened fists. "Yeah, okay.
Thanks."

I bitched about it as much as I could, of course, I was still thinking about that Bills hat a week or
but it wasn't awful, not really. I usually didn't so later as I waited for her on that sidewalk, won-
work at the mall until later in the day, and I told dering whether it would be creepy if I bought her
myself I could use the break from “my writing” in a new one for Christmas, and trying to look casual
the afternoons to get some fresh air. Honestly, I while Claudia Bennett and a couple of her friends
didn't really mind walking around town a little, walked by on their way home from the high
trying to look like a writer and hoping someone school next door.
would ask me about college. And she was kind of
a funny kid, I had to admit. It wasn’t like talking to Claudia Bennett and her friends ruled the high

102

school, even before they were seniors. They may Goodwill, and don’t have fat idiot moms who
have ruled our whole broken-down old city, for all gave them made-up names. I’m jealous of them,
I knew. Pretty, and thin, with clear skin and fancy okay? There, you got me to say it, Mr. Writer. You
coffee drinks and enough money to go shopping happy? I wish I was them. I wish I had what they
at the expensive mall over in New Hartford. have. I wish I was pretty.”

“Hey Claudia.” There were tears starting out of the corners of
her eyes, as she looked up at me defiantly.
“Hey….it’s Chris, right? How are you? What are
you doing with yourself?” “But you are pretty.” I didn't even think before
the words were out of my mouth.
“You know…working some, going to college…
regular stuff.” “Just shut up, okay?”

“College…? Oh yeah? Where at?” She was pretty, though. It hadn’t really occurred
to me. She was still chubby and lumpy with baby
“Well, it’s just Mohawk this year, but, you fat, still a kid, but she had enormous blue eyes
know….” and a spray of freckles across the bridge of her
nose and eyebrows that started out honey-
“Oh community college”, one of the other girls colored and paled to translucence as they ap-
said, and Claudia smirked along with them. proached the white downy fluff of her hairline at
her temples. She was pretty.
“Well yeah, I mean for this year….but my writing
professor thinks….” “You’re pretty. You’re just still, you know…
growing up or whatever. And you're smart. And
They were laughing and jostling each other, and you see everything. You’re not like the rest of
already starting to walk away. these people around here. And none of this…” I
waved my arms, thinking of the trailer park and
“Okay, so I’ll see you around Claudia,” I said fee- my street with its beaten-down row of bunga-
bly as they walked off, young and beautiful and lows, and Jerry with his Newports, and the empty
bulletproof. factories in the valley and our whole run-down
old city. “None of this can change any of that.”
“I hate bitches like that.”
"Please just shut up," she whispered.
It was Dannyelle, who was standing behind me.
“What is that writing stuff supposed to teach
“Jesus, you startled me. What do you mean? you? Who goes to college to learn how to write,
Claudia’s okay.” anyway?”

Danyelle scowled up at me from under my hat. It was Dannyelle asking the question for once, not
“They’re laughing at you right now, Christopher. my mom or Jerry or one of the other nurses from
Right now. Jesus. And I don’t even care if you the hospital or one of Jerry’s buddies.
think I’m jealous of them because they’re pretty. I
hate them.” “Yeah, I guess, but it’s…well it’s like any other
craft, you've got to learn it, right?”
“But I mean, she’s...”
Dannyelle snorted. “Read some books.”
“Now you’re making excuses for them too, I hate
it.” “I read a lot of books, thanks. But we study, you
know, the construction of writing…”
“Why are you so angry about it? What do you
care?” “What’s your teacher like? Some old hippie who
writes movie reviews for the Observer-Dispatch
She lapsed into silence for a block or so, kicking or something…?
up the muddy clumps of snow, exposing the slimy
layer of dead leaves beneath. “You mean ‘professor’….no, actually she…”

“I hate those people. I hate that they have real
houses to live in, and don’t get their clothes from

103

“She, oh that's even better…let me guess, she’s “Jesus, Jerry, she’s not my…”
the receptionist at a bank or something but she
wrote a thing for a magazine once about ‘Historic "Marybeth says it isn't so bad, honey." That was
Gardens of Upstate New York’…?” my mom, always looking for the good side, for the
happy ending.
“No, you’re not even close, smartass…”
I had tried not to think too hard about where she
“Shouldn’t you just be writing ? What do you lived, honestly. Or what her life was like other
need some community college mumbo jumbo than those few hours every afternoon. I was just
for? Don’t you just write? And keep writing, and doing my mom a favor, right? Helping out her
keep on writing until you can write yourself out of friend’s kid. Anyway all of us in our little bunga-
here? I mean, if you’re really a writer? Don’t you lows knew that the trailer parks were just one
just try to tell your story, and keep telling it until bad break away, a mile or two out there on Route
you can get someone to listen?” 5, waiting for us.

I didn't really have an answer, but just then Jerry "'Course she does. Christ, what's she gonna say?"
drove by in his beat up old Bonneville, shouting From Jerry, this was insight of a high order. He
“Hola, amigos! Get a room, you two!” at us. chewed silently for a minute or two, and looked
over at my mom. "Place wasn't so bad when we
“Jesus, sorry, he’s just such a dumbass…” were kids, was it? Were you ever out there
much? Respectable, and clean at least. Lotta peo-
“He's harmless, though, right? He can’t help what ple lived out there. Now...." He shook his head.
he is. Nobody can.”
"Now what?" I really didn’t want to know,
She was right about that. Jerry was harmless, though.
dumb as a stone and lazy, but harmless. Smoking
his Newports on the front stoop, shirtless in the "Well amigo, it looked like the town dump as
warm weather with his gut hanging out and that much as anything else. Trash piled up, beat-up
stupid eagle-and-American-flag tattoo on his rusty old trailers, broken bottles and weeds and
chest. Driving around in the Bonneville, listening shit…just crap everywhere."
to classic rock.
"Jesus...."
The Bonneville had swung back around, and there
was Jerry again. “Hey compadre, why don't I save "No place for a nice kid like that little girlfriend of
everyone a little time today and take the little yours, amigo."
lady right on back to her place? I’m free as a bird
this afternoon. Let’s boogie, mamacita, you'll see “Christ, Jerry, she’s….”
this hombre manyana.”
“Not a good spot at all.”
Dannyelle rolled her eyes at me and climbed into
the Bonneville, waving vaguely in my direction as A few times that winter Dannyelle stayed over at
Jerry cranked up the Bob Seger and drove off. our house. It always seemed to be some kind of
emergency involving the hospital or one of her
“Place is worse than I remembered.” mother's other jobs, and always at the very last
minute. We'd hear Jerry answering the phone,
"What place, honey?" It was unusual for Jerry to telling her mom it was no problem, and Dannyelle
make a serious observation about anything, espe- would pull her boots and coat back off and sit
cially while there was food at hand. My mother back down on the couch. Jerry loved having a
seemed almost as surprised as I was. bigger audience and of course my mother loved
having another stray.
He paused, a forkful of mac-and-cheese midway
to his mouth, and waved his free hand vaguely "Okay mamacita, we'll prepare the presidential
over his head. "That trailer park, what's it called, suite for you again."
Shady Hills? Where Chris’ little lady friend lives.
Man oh man." He shook his head, and addressed Dannyelle would just roll her eyes at him, and he
his attention back to his plate. loved that too, of course. He loved her. It gave
me a glimmer of why mom loved him, I guess.
Him with his big dumb heart, he loved that kid.

104

And I guess he loved me, too. The 'presidential "Oh gross. It’s a big night for all those morons, I
suite' was just my room, and after dinner, once I'd bet."
chased the cats off of the sectional and we'd
gotten some bedding on it for me, she'd disap- She snorted a little. "Yeah I guess."
pear in there and we wouldn’t see her until the
next morning. "But it really sucks having to hear all those ass-
holes go on and on about it, doesn't it? And then
Mom and Jerry had a TV in their room, and mom having to see them all tomorrow."
worked a lot of early shifts that winter, so they
usually turned in early, too. Leaving me on that "Yeah."
sectional my mom was so proud of, pretending I
was reading Dostoyevsky and imagining what life I had bent my knees up under the pile of my blan-
would be like when I could transfer from Mohawk kets, and she leaned back against them a little.
and go away somewhere, anywhere but there.
"I know it sucks, Danny. It's shitty. It's just shitty.
I wasn’t more than half asleep when I was jolted It ends someday, but I know it doesn't make it
by Dannyelle thumping herself down on the side any less shitty now." I didn't know whether she
of the bed. hated being called "Danny" or not.

"You awake?" "Yeah." More silence. That poor kid.

"Hey....yeah, sure. What's up?" "Hey...I read that thing you wrote, that story in
the notebook on your desk in there."
She was cocooned in an old robe of my mom's,
with a pair of Jerry's enormous house slippers on "You read my notebook? Jesus...."
and my hunter's hat crammed down on her head.
There was something wrong with the heating "It was right there. I wanted to see what all your
vent in my room, and the 'presidential suite' was writer stuff was about. Anyway I only read that
always cold as an icebox. one thing."

"Nothing." "Which, the walk in the forest thing? It was an
assignment for class, it's meant to be like a fa-
She sat there on the edge of the fold-out bed, ble..."
right about level with my knees, her chin in her
hands, looking off into the semi-dark room. I "It was awesome."
could hear the noise of cars rushing by in the
street, and the murmuring of the TV in mom and I wasn't sure I'd heard her. "You liked it?"
Jerry’s room. The headlights of the passing cars
traced their way across the ceiling. "Yeah. It's a real story. Like a story in a book. I
didn’t understand what you meant about those
I nudged at her back with my knee. "Seriously, trees though.”
what's up? You okay?"
“Wait, what trees?”
"Ow. Quit it, perv."
“The poplars....why do you say the poplars are
"No, really....should I put the light on?" whispering? Is that a thing you made up?"

"No." A long silence. Just the cars outside, and "No, they make a kind of noise....poplars, I mean.
the TV, and the dog rustling around in the corner. The little stem thingies on their leaves are flat, so
they move sideways in the wind. They make kind
"Do you know what tonight is?" of a shushing noise. If spring ever comes we can
go over to the state forest and I’ll show you what
"Tonight? I dunno, the Sabres have a playoff I mean."
game or something?"
“Shusshhh” she whispered, so low that I wasn’t
"Never mind. Just forget it." sure I’d heard her.

More silence. We sat there like that for a little while.

"The middle school winter dance is tonight." "Anyway I'm sorry. About all of this, I mean. I
know this must really suck for you."

105

"All of what? What sucks for me?" tunes and smoking his Newports. We get togeth-
er and watch the Bills sometimes, tell some sto-
She didn't say anything for a long time. Then she ries about mom.
raised her hands, and dropped them on her lap.
"Tell your story. Write yourself out of here."
"All of this. Me. Having to drag me around every This is my one story. I'm not writing myself out of
day." here, not myself or anyone else.
I'm really sorry, Dannyelle. This is the only story I
She put her chin down on her fists and looked have to tell.
down at the floor.

"Hey...I mean, it definitely cuts into the time I
have to enjoy sophisticated banter with Jerry,
but, you know, it's not..."

She looked over at me, and I could see tears
glittering on her lashes, and she turned back
away. Then she twisted around and for long a
minute hugged my bent legs, and rested her head
on top of my knees.

And then she vanished back into my room.

"Tell your story," that's what she'd told me. "Be a About the Author:
writer."
Dan Berick is a father, husband, and lawyer in
Well, I'm not a writer, I never was a writer. I in- Cleveland, Ohio USA. He studied Latin at
stall commercial phone equipment, and I've got a Columbia University and went to law school at
service call to make here at the strip mall, right the University of Chicago. He has been writing
here where I used to work when I was a kid. But most of his life but only very recently had gotten
right now I’m just sitting in the van in the parking up the nerve to submit anything!Dan Berick is a
lot, wasting time. Maybe that fire in the trailer father, husband, and lawyer in Cleveland, Ohio
park did something to me too, the fire that killed USA. He studied Latin at Columbia University
Dannyelle and her mom, I don't know. I still can't and went to law school at the University of
even bring myself to think too much about it. I Chicago. He has been writing most of his life but
just try to tell myself she must have been asleep only very recently had gotten up the nerve to
when that space heater blew, asleep so she never submit anything!
knew what was happening.

My mom passed a few years ago, way too young
but hopeful to the last. Claudia works at the craft
store here at the strip mall. This place did some-
thing to her too – this place, the baby at 19, a
couple more right after that. And now here she
is, one store closing away from having to go on
public assistance and moving out to the trailer
park. You’d never know there was that beautiful
teenage girl buried somewhere inside the fat,
tired woman at the cash register. At least she
remembers who I am, now. I’ll go in there in a
minute and flirt with her a little, the way old
friends do, which I guess is what we are.

And Jerry's still cruising around town, cranking his

106

ALMOST ANYTHING

GOES

Tony DAloisio

A bunch of guys in striped shirts were trotting out to the announcers, to avoid having it all absorbed
onto the playing field, holding large metal plates back into the mud.
piled high with whipped cream. They carried
them across a shallow pit toward where the two It seemed as though the whip cream was
lines of contestants stood, facing each other. more soup than cream. Gouts of it slopped over
Twin groups of cheerleaders led the charge, all onto the trail and participants while they made
revved up and chanting and spinning batons high their journeys (they couldn't reach up to touch
into the air. The marching bands were going at it their tins; that was an infraction which would
full blast too, brassy and thunderous. The boom- bring them back to the starting line).
ing of their drums like some far-off summer
storm. "They should've made it a bowling ball or some-
thing."
From where I was sitting, with my chair
pulled around from the dining room table to view I laughed, an involuntary burst. John
the spectacle, I could see my stepbrother John stared over at me with an insistent expression.
sprawled out on the couch. It was as though
gravity had pressed him down into its naugahyde "Something that could fall off."
depths. He resembled one of those astronauts
viewed through the close-up lens at liftoff, skin "Those things are falling off."
flapping away under the pressure.
"Something that could really fall off."
"Oh my God--" His eyes were virtually
bugging out. "Oh my God--" "But how could a bowling ball stay up
there?"
The head referee--the one with the red
armband--was announcing the rules over a micro- "You know what I mean--" Wiping my ob-
phone. Each team had three minutes to carry as jection away with a hand. "The point is, whip
many pie tins as they could balanced on their cream's not gonna do anything. It's just cream,
heads one by one through the pit. If one fell off, you know? It's going to sit up there without fall-
they would have to go back, tromping through ing. Unless the whole pan goes over."
the sludge to get refitted by their teammates for
another attempt. We both were focused back on the screen.

John's head rolled back and forth against "Can you believe this? Everybody's cheer-
the couch. "I don't believe this--I can't believe it” ing. Oh my God, it's so absurd." Truly it would
have had to be, for my stepbrother to ever use
Gelatin was being added to the mix, from such a word.
firehoses attached to huge tanks. The tanks,
which you could just glimpse off to the side, each The window behind him was a picture of
held 1000 gallons. The officials had had to wait dark glass with the backyard lawn and that Japa-
until it was almost game time to pour, according nese maple right in the middle of it. The shine
from the kitchen made glaring sharp circles to-
ward the center, shifting with every move I made
in my chair.

107

John got up from the couch. "What's this guy Skid Park) in their native habitat. There was a lot
doing?" Scuttling in close to the TV set, scowling of footage taken at the community market and
away. some saloon.

I went back into the kitchen to wash the One contestant told the reporter--a guy
dishes as a commercial came on. Until I heard the holding this microphone up to his face with a big
fanfare for the show starting up again. puff ball and "ABC" on the square side in front--
that he felt very comfortable with one of the up-
"You've gotta see this. Oh my God." coming events (which involved a large airbag and
a diving platform) because he used to leap from
I scurried back in to find the referees in the his bedroom window into snowbanks when he
midst of a heated discussion. was a kid.

"He didn't have enough whip cream left to "Now they're giving interviews. I don't
qualify." A coughing fit. "Oh my God, they're believe it." John's head kept rolling on the couch.
disqualifying his pie pan. It's too small. There's
not enough draft in it. The meter didn't have He looked over at me as they continued to
enough on the gauge." question the participants.

I stood by the chair, wiping my hands dry. "What were you going to do later?"

"They're just letting it go on the air like "You mean after the dishes?"
this." He shook his head over and over. As
though he were drunk. "Nobody's pulled the "Right."
plug."
"I don't know."
I went back into the kitchen.
"That means 'nothing,' right?"
"What're you doing?"
I shrugged. "Yeah."
"Finishing the dishes."
"Why don't you ever want to do any-
"Don't do 'em now--" He scowled up over thing?"
the counter at me. "What're you doing that now
for? There's plenty of time. Just sit down and "I don't know."
watch."
He smirked at me.
"But they'll be coming back soon."
"I guess you're just going to read."
"Don't worry about Jim and Jeanette.
They've gone to dinner, they'll take a while. Just "Probably."
relax. Sit down and watch." With another scorn-
ful look. "Do them when you don't have anything "You're an owl." With an insolent blinking
else to do. Like late at night." stare at me.

"But Jim'll be asleep on the couch. He'll I shrugged.
wake up."
"How can you stay indoors all the time?"
"Do it quiet. Come on, he's never gonna
know." I didn't know what to say. So, as usual, I
didn't say anything.
"What if they get back early?"
"Don't you ever want to go outside?"
"Nobody's going to get back early." Then a
sneer back to the TV. "If you're so worried about "Yeah." Hand shrugs. "I guess."
it, I'll help you do them."
"'I guess,'" he mocked.
Now they were showing a videotape of the
Minnesotan team (who were from a place called "I go outside to mow the lawn."

"I'm not talking about that." Hand out.
"Jesus--"

108

"It was supposed to be a joke." "'Look, it says right here--"A-B-C".'"

He gave this leery look back at me. We both were snickering, looking across at
"What're you staying cooped up here with Jim each other. It was the closest my stepbrother
and Jeanette for? They probably don't want you and I would ever come to an actual moment of
around either. I mean, Jim is Jim. Don't you want camaraderie.
to get away from him?"
He looked across at me as another com-
"Sometimes." mercial came on: "Don't you have any friends?
Guys you can hang out with?"
"Then do it."
"A few."
John was heading off to the bathroom.
When he came back out, it was into the midst of "So hang out with one of them."
another hubbub.
"But I have to walk over there. I don't
"What happened?" have a car."

"It was out of bounds. A dead-play foul." "So walk. What's wrong with that? How
far can it be?"
He just stood there for a moment, this
hulking presence in front of the TV. "They're go- "It'd be easier with a car."
ing to replay it. Oh my God."
"But you can still walk. Jeez, what're you
The head referee conferred with his col- afraid of? I used to walk everywhere before I got
leagues on the sidelines. There had been a fur- my car. Or I'd take my bike."
ther stoppage of play.
"Or your motorcycle."
"What's going on now?" My stepbrother,
back at his station on the couch, was sort of loll- "Yeah, when I got that. But I didn't need
ing sideways. any of them. You should get out more. Get away
from Jim and Jeanette once in a while. And all
Evidently there was some question about those books." He gave me another over-the-
the qualifying times. Possibly the crew hadn't shoulder stare of scorn from the couch.
properly synchronized their chronometers, or else
the starting gun fired too late. Now he was up. Heading over to the side
porch to grab his jacket and put it on. As the
None of the commentators could account show returned.
for this.
"Come on, let's go." He stood at the door,
"You have any more information for us, front pocket bulging with the latest pack of Marl-
Regis?" That was one of the voices in the booth, boros.
Charlie Jones, who was the head announcer for all
the network football games on Sunday. "There's another ten minutes left--"

"Not at the moment." Regis Philbin, the "Forget about it." He swiped a hand to-
man on the field (with a little pressed-in earphone ward the still blaring TV.
connecting him to the studio), was walking along
the periphery of the many officials gathered "How about the dishes?"
around. Doing his best to answer the question of
just what exactly was going on down there. "Don't worry about 'em."

"'Why isn't any of this stuff working?'" my "But I'm supposed to do them."
stepbrother asked of the air.
"Let it wait." He stared at me. "Come on,
I shook my head. "'I don't know.'" what are you? A slave? Just leave 'em."

"'Hey, I paid good money for this shit.'" I moved toward him and the door.

"'Oh, no wonder--'" "Well, turn the TV off first--" He prowled

109

past me, this resentful hulk heading back over to Benjamin
the set to punch the button.
Inks
I moved into the kitchen.
Her Nike trainers splash by, crossing our path for
"Now what?" the second time this misty, black morning, and
she looks me in the eye (if only for the briefest of
"I have to hang the dish towel up." curious glances). Now I know why. Why I’m so
enamored by her. My subconscious must have
"Just leave it. Let's go!" felt it, even if my working mind couldn’t see it.
She reminds me of Esme.
"Where are we going?"
My poor pup, Daisy, my grandma pug,
"I don't know. We'll just drive around." shivers into a ball and refuses to walk further. Too
cold, too wet, too old. Like me. I scoop her up and
"Where?" her fur is matted from the floating—not quite
descending rainwater. C’mon, old girl. You have
"Just...around. Do you always have to go to poop at least once more.
someplace? We'll get in the car and drive."
We have a system of sorts. You live with someone
He'd gotten the car from the money he long enough and everything becomes routine.
made working for our dad on his boat as a deck- She’s got inflammatory bowel disease, and if it’s
hand when he had stayed with us the previous anything like the irritable bowels my 74-year-old
summer. It was parked outside along the curb digestive system has to work with, it can’t be fun
next to the Nova (the one our dad used to go to for my poor girl. It must be miserable actually. I
work). couldn’t bear to put her down though, ‘cause
then I’d be alone. And I know she’s got the spark
"We'll find something to do." Reaching his for at least another four years, she’s no ordinary
hand past me to flip off the light switch on our pug.
way out.
The spritely jogger’s backside is impres-
"Yeah, okay." sive. Tan, taut calves and hamstrings leading to
bright orange running shorts. She’s got a hydra-
"Glad I finally talked you into it." One last tion contraption, a belt with two grenade-sized
smirk. "And we'll take this..." He grabbed the bottles on her hips. Her stride: powerful, com-
half-full gallon bottle of Red Mountain Burgundy manding. Her curly flop of brown hair sways to
sitting there on the side porch, his finger slipping and fro. She’s a heartbreaker I bet. But I shouldn’t
through the handle. think of her that way, she reminds me of my
Esme. I’ve seen the jogger almost every morning
We departed at last, me closing the side this week, and I can’t help but wonder what the
door after him. hell she does and why she’s so assiduous with her
early-morning exercise? With her fit, petite
"Look out. Try not to knock me down the frame, she’s that ambiguous age where she could
stairs, will you? Jesus--" be anywhere from 18–33. Is she a professor? A

With a final scowl. Before we headed off.

About the Author:

Tony D'Aloisio was born in San Francisco and
attended Sonoma State University, where he ob-
tained B.A. in English in 1984. He is also a chess
master, and was once ranked in the top 100 play-
ers in California.

110

ACTION HERO’S
EULOGY

student? This secluded trail we’re on leads to the hands, ruined from Agent Orange all those years
university. Esme went there. When I walk Daisy ago, scoops wet-food into a tin bowl and my pup
during daylight hours, it’s littered with students. squeals with delight by my feet. Hold on now, girl.
We’re popular. Sometimes we get stopped up- We need to add the fur and joint supplement
wards of a dozen times. Sometimes there’s this powder. I keep Daisy’s supplements with my pre-
clickish gaggle of giggling college girls who always scriptions. Why? I don’t know, my mind has to
have to say hi to Daisy. They tickle my pup’s once categorize things a certain way. Opening my med-
black but now bleach-white face and unfurl her icine cabinet reveals a horde of pill bottles, stand-
little piggy tail, rubbing her floppy, velvety ears; ing tall like a child’s action-figure collection. Pills
they feed her treats. They bend down with low- for pain, for blood pressure, for anxiety and de-
cut shirts and smiling faces and those girls I can pression (yes those each get a separate pill), mus-
think of that way. Call me a dirty-old man, judge cle relaxers, antihistamines, pills for swelling, pills
me if you must. You spend your entire life young for clarity, pills for cramps, pills for the sake of
and sexy until you wake up one day middle-aged. taking too many pills, and other sundry medicines
You notice you’re out of place but you do your for anything else the ravished, aging body might
best to fit in anyhow. Then you wake up old. This need to keep itself ticking just one more day.
morning I woke up a walking corpse. A few days
from now I’ll wake up a ghost. My pug pup keeps If I take all the pills at once—I wonder— would
me feeling young though, and besides, girls these that be enough? Wash ’em down with a bottle of
days: their style doesn’t leave much to the imagi- Jack? But then my poor, ancient pup would be
nation. Spandex yoga pants, jean shorts the alone, and I can’t do that to her. So I sit in my
length of my tighty-whities. Kinda hard not to frayed leather recliner that’s facing the window
notice! and Daisy joins me after inhaling her breakfast. It
seems it was only a few months ago when she
It’s not just college kids and fashion trends, the was still capable of jumping on my lap. Now I
whole world sprinted ahead and outpaced me a have to pick her up, place her next to me. We
decade ago. Over the past year, the world’s been snuggle in our chair and watch the window like
running taunting victory laps around me and my it’s TV.
pup, much like the pretty, young jogger that just
went by. (The girl that reminds me of Esme.) The I had a job and purpose once. Even after my Esme
world runs on by, and for a second it’s close passed, I returned to work after mourning her. It
enough to touch, to understand again. Then the was in the army I learned to box. Was pretty good
world yells to me, running backwards on the balls too. Made something of a side-career of it, in ad-
of its feet, that it’s on lap 2017, and I’m still on lap ditional to my countless other blue-collar voca-
2006. 2006 was when my world stopped running. tions. Not 9 years ago, I had a part-time job. I was
an old, beaten-down but respected boxing coach.
When we return from our walk I make The kids called me Uncie or Grandpa, but I didn’t
Daisy breakfast. The first shimmers of dawn are mind—that was my role and they were my fight-
repelling the dying night. My trembling, blotchy ers. But life has funny way of sneaking up on you.

111

Like with my pup: one day she goes to her favor- We take a slight curve in the trial and come face-
ite chair—same as always— but she finds her to-face with the jogger from this morning. God,
hind legs won’t let her jump up like they used to, she could be Esme’s twin. She’s out of her run-
so her dad has to lift her. One day I went to my ning outfit and dressed in jeans and a comfortable
gym—same as always— and the kids were rolling purple sweater, a brown backpack slung over her
around on the floor, putting each other in head- one shoulder. A student, I suppose. The guy walk-
locks and armbars. Then they started kicking each ing next to her towers over her. He’s wearing a
other like karate. Turns out my old-school brawl- bright red letterman jacket with a greasy mess of
ing wasn’t enough for them. The world had out- hair and a rabidly easy smile. I can’t tell if they are
paced me. They needed a coach with more fi- walking together or if she’s walking away from
nesse, and I couldn’t keep up. I aged out of the him. The jogger looks tense. The guy reminds me
fight game. of a boyfriend Esme introduced me to once.

My pup wakes me a few hours later, and I can tell Something about the look of Esme’s first boy-
from the angle of the sun outside that it’s past friend. I saw him from the window as they were
noon. She’s off the chair, ticking around the living getting out of the car, and I didn’t like him. In-
room like she’s gotta go. C’mon, old girl, I say, stantly I knew. I shook his hand with a six-shooter
grabbing her leash. on my hip. I’m pretty sure it freaked him out, be-
cause Esme was livid afterward. Vietnam ruined
Daisy was actually Esme’s dog. She got her in col- you, Dad! she had yelled. Not everyone is a bad
lege. Because I live near the university I became guy for you to fight— you totally embarrassed
the designated pup sitter. Esme would jet off to me! I took her abuse stoically. I didn’t respond. I
study abroad or road trip with her pals, and she’d didn’t tell her my thoughts, my opinions. Figured
drop Daisy off with me. Esme’s mom wouldn’t she’d realize one day. I read her boyfriend’s in-
take Daisy, she had her own dogs and her own tentions like a T-shirt slogan. I woke up old, but
new family by the time Esme was in college. At just a few days prior I was a young, horny punk
first I didn’t like Daisy. I wanted a mean, mascu- like he probably was. One day—I reasoned—she
line dog. Something I could sic on burglars, take might understand why guys like me needed to
huntin’. Like a German Shephard, now there’s a exist. Well, not any longer, I guess. Not in 2017.
dog! But one day Esme came home from back- But I don’t know . . . Maybe I overreacted. Maybe
packing Europe and I’m curled on the couch with Esme’s boyfriend wasn’t a villain after all. Any-
Daisy. Esme beamed, Oh, my God, Dad. That dog way, I spent so much time protecting Esme from
is perfect for you. You guys are soulmates. And creeps and worldly dangers I didn’t think or calcu-
this goofy fawn pup was lying next to me, tongue late that something from within, something like
out, smiling, and I thought: okay, pugs are alright. disease could . . .
And then a few years later when Esme . . . when
Esme . . . Well . . . I ended up with Daisy. The jogger that looks like Esme locks eyes with
me and offers a thin smile and quick nod. Does
Our walking trail is a stark difference from the she recognize me from this morning? or the
early morning. It’s a concrete path, concealed countless other mornings for that matter? Per-
with blooming trees and lush foliage. It was dark haps seeing me in a different light she realizes I’m
and abandoned only a few hours prior, it felt sad, not such a bad guy after all. She’s rigid, moving
isolated. Now that it’s awake it’s a bright, diverse quickly. The big guy in the red jacket glides next
and active pathway. Bicycles ring by, joggers to her, talking into her ear, but she doesn’t ap-
pound pavement, kids scoot along on skate- pear to be listening. Maybe next to the big guy,
boards. In the grassy areas off the trail, students I’m a warm, familiar face. Someone for her to
are picnicking on beach towels, dripping sandwich take solace in. That makes me nervous for her.
mustard onto open textbooks and soaking up My pup and I watch as she sinks further and fur-
faint UV rays from the clouded sun. A group of ther down the trail. Her pace quickens, and the
kids halt their Frisbee game to come pet Daisy. guy in the jacket stops altogether. She slips away
They know her by name, but they just call me and he turns around, furious. The big guy walks
“sir.” by us and flashes his wolfish grin. I spit on a bush.

112

I notice my old, wise pup at my feet: she’s growl- My eyes are still dim with sleep but my heart
ing, fur on edge. C’mon, old girl, I say, heading lurches in place when I spot what appears to be a
home. large man wearing a ski mask, hiding in the bush.
He’s about fifty meters back—Daisy and I must
They say 93 percent of conversation is non- have passed him on the trail. In the winter
verbal. The expression and slight nod the young months, I wouldn’t think twice—it gets COLD out
jogger gave me when we passed on the trail, here— but being that it’s springtime, that’s an
what was she trying to convey? Was it just a sim- odd sight. But is that even a man? Am I seeing
ple, polite greeting? A curtesy of the trail? I spend things? My eyes weren’t what they used to be. I
the night mulling it over and fall asleep to Jeop- study the figure for a few minutes and conclude
ardy reruns on my dusty, leather recliner. Daisy’s that no, that’s not a person. Nobody can stay that
curled up on my lap, snoring. still, I don’t care who you are. Well, maybe a snip-
er could.

In my reoccurring nightmare, I’m drowning a Vi- I round the corner and take my pup to a nice
etcong fighter in the Perfume River with my bare dewy-green spot. She squats and relieves herself.
hands. This dream comes and goes, but it’s by far It comes out a hearty, brown soup. I’d pick it up
the most powerful, the most salient. The ones I ‘cause I’m a conscientious dog-walker, but you
killed with my M16 I don’t remember too much. can’t pick this up—you’d need a baster. My poor
Something about proximity. With a long rifle, girl.
you’re disconnected, a minimal effort for a maxi-
mum impact. Struggling with that man in the riv- I see Esme and blink twice before I realize it’s her
er, my entire body felt it. Every muscle contribut- jogger doppelganger, steaming toward me with
ed to his demise and my complete concentration her perfectly paced stride. She’s out here just like
was focused toward extinguishing his life. But the past few mornings, just like clockwork. She
they don’t need people like me anymore, not in slows down and smiles this time; I must be win-
2017. Now we have buzzing fly-on-the-wall ning her over. It’s a warm, bright smile full of pos-
drones and cyberwarfare. Ha! Cyberwarfare. I itive energy. Her grin alone could will my heart to
hope that becomes the new norm. Sounds clean- keep pumpin’ for at least another decade. She
er, friendlier, whatever it is. flicks her finger in short wave, a friendly gesture
of recognition. I nod back, forcing my rusty jaw
I wake just before 5 a.m. and my sweet pup is off muscles to execute a reciprocal smile, I hope it
my lap, pacing the living room and pawing at the doesn’t scare her. The jogger—my Esme—
front door. Gotta go? Sometimes she lets me bounds the trail’s curve and out of my day.
sleep in. Other times we’re out the door and on
the trail at the ass crack of dawn. This morning is Come on, old girl, I gently tug on Daisy’s leash.
the latter. The whole week’s been the latter. But
like they say: happy wife, happy life? Better to A piercing scream echoes around the corner,
stick to her schedule; my carpet’s will appreciate rattling my nerves and stilling the air. I nearly hit
it. I know she’s just a dog, and I’m not gross or the dirt on instinct. Daisy and I amble around the
anything, but just like Esme said: Daisy’s the clos- trail’s bend, and back where that tall, ski-masked
est I’ll come to a soulmate. Although I swear my figure was, is a tall ski-masked figure. He’s almost
landlady might be interested in me. She’s a re- certainly the letterman-jacket guy from yester-
tired accountant. She drives a Prius, and I think day. He’s crouched on top of the jogger. She’
she wears a wig. been yanked off the trail, wedged in the dirt be-
tween two barberry shrubs. He’s fighting with her
On the trail the sun’s straining to make an ap- muscular legs as she kicks up at him from the
pearance. Blotted out, once again, by bouncer- ground. Quick as jackal, he slams her legs down
like clouds wearing tight-fitting black T-shirts with and drops over her in a full mount. She grips fero-
bear crossed forearms. With the shrubbery, the ciously at his crouch, and he screams in agony
trail is still very dark. My little pup’s leash jingles before clamping her thin wrists. His thick mitts
as she waddles along beside me. We stop every could snap her arms like brittle tree branches.
few feet in search of the best patch of grass to Then he flashes that less-than-human smile.
pee on.

113

I’m stupefied, frozen behind a socially construct- running. I’m running because that’s my daughter,
ed flashing-red stop sign. Fighting against my in- and I mean to murder the fucker. My left knee
trinsic male instincts to charge into battle. The pops, my low back strains, and what I imagine as
modern world has henpecked my masculinities a 50-meter Olympic dash is probably more of a
into oblivion. But more than that, I’m worried I slightly athletic, hunched-over, old-guy shuffle.
don’t fully understand what’s going on. Like if I When I reach them, the jogger has wormed out
rush to help the jogger I’ll be making a bumbling, from under his legs, nearly free of his crushing
obvious faux paus. Perhaps there’s a hidden cam- weight. The monster looks up at me from his
eraman nearby and they’re simply filming a realis- knees, confused, scared even. Yes, you’ve been
tic scene for some arts class? Or Something for caught, you son of a bitch. I put my entire body-
that YouTube webpage? Maybe a college-age weight into a wild right-hand haymaker—the only
director will call cut at any moment, and they’ll way I know how. My balled fist thumps across his
pick each other up and high-five an acting job well iron jawbone and my smallest metacarpal snaps
done? Or maybe they truly are boyfriend and instantly, leaving a shard of slick bone piercing
girlfriend, and this is some gross, sadistically kinky through my hand. The pain’s quick and then it’s
expression of love? I’ve read about such things. gone. Just a sharp jolt before my body remem-
As they continue to struggle, I wonder if I’m a bers that I’ve already mastered every form of
sexist cretin for assuming the jogger can’t defend physical pain (and emotional pain obliterated my
herself? If she can, would it even be a fair fight? identity years ago).
Her assailant’s as thick as the nose-end of a
Dodge Ram. At least twice her height. The creep flashes his stupid little smile and I’m
pleased to see a line of blood along his crooked
The bitchings, moanings, and toe-stubbing phi- incisors. In my prime, that punch would have
losophies of the modern world shatter instantly dropped Rocky Balboa in the first round, but a
with another lung-popping scream from the jog- split upper lip will have to suffice. A slight shadow
ger, muffled from behind a leather glove. Now I’m over his face, his hair knocked into his eyes. He
brings himself upright with controlled apoplectic

114

slowness and the jogger is finally freed. Get out of About the Author:
here! I shout to her. She looks me in the eye and
her uncanny likeness to my Esme captures my Benjamin Inks is a Seattle native who graduated
attention. It’s only for a second, but I don’t see Magna Cum Laude from The Ohio State Universi-
the serrated combat knife the rapist has flicked ty. He's worked a diverse array of vocations in-
open. He steps forward and the icy steel slides cluding: private investigator, personal trainer, and
easily into my gut. Again, only a flicker of pain. security guard at a senior-living community. He
The jogger stifles a scream, and I command go! as served three years in the army and writes when-
the blade hits me again. ever he can, aspiring to one day turn his passion
into a career.
The demon before me screams, fuck you, old
man! and unleashes a frenzy of slashes and stabs.
Again, and again I’m hit, a full-scale prison-yard
shanking. Upwards of twenty times, my innards
are clipped and diced into a pâté. When he’s fin-
ished, his feral eyes are replaced by terrified,
blank dots, like he suddenly doesn’t realize how
he’s gotten where he is. He starts to cry, and he
confusedly stumbles away, tossing the knife
aside.

As I hit the ground, my tunneled eyes catch sight
of the jogger sprinting off the secluded trail and
toward a busy byway. Good. My last good deed,
my last noble act as a frail shell of a once able-
bodied man. Made complete by a final, glorious
clash. I feel contented by my last shot of adrena-
line receding from my bloodstream. And then I
feel wet kisses upon my cheeks. Smooths strokes
moisten my chin. My poor old pup’s whiskers
tickle my face. I hear her leash jingle as it drags
across the cement. Fear and anxiety—my finally
defeated rivals—return in a flash, because I can’t
think of anyone who will take care of my pup, and
she’s far too old for life in a kennel, which is
where she’ll likely end up. My spirit bleeds away
as I imagine the many sad eyes that will inevitably
pass over her cage at the city dog pound in search
of a younger, healthier dog. Her puppy counter-
part. I’m sorry, old girl. We both deserve better.

115

CHRONICLES

OF THE GODS

Victor Bade

(An excerpt from the novel) when I got up that morning, that it would be my
last day in a way that I could never have dreamed.

Chapter 1 Having left home at dawn, I came back late in the
evening tired and hungry. I hadn’t eaten before I
[21st March 1368] left, and I only ate one meal at the dock at mid-
day. (Due to my intention to marry Tiami once I
(This part of my journal has a very distinct feature got approval, I had instinctively developed an
about it that makes it quite unlike the previous ascetic habit of spending as little as possible.) In
ones. I know that I have earlier written words to my haste to sleep, I ate the simplest and quickest
that effect, given all the strange things I have en- meal I could by grabbing a loaf of bread and pour-
countered on this land since I came here. But I ing myself some cider. After eating, I went to the
never imagined for a moment that there would bedroom, took my clothes off and fell unto the
come a time when that proclamation would be pad, drifting into sleep almost immediately.
justified in so literal a sense. The entire duration
of the following events is less than twenty four I was later awakened by a knocking on the door.
hours, though I have a vague suspicion that it will It was a firm but cautious knocking. I stayed on
be exactly twenty four hours when I reach the the pad for some time, waiting to regain full
end of this narration.) awareness. Upon getting up, I looked through the
window of the room to observe the state of the
After that disconcerting incident that happened night. Judging by its darkness and stillness, I could
on January 3rd, the next couple of weeks passed tell it was well past midnight. I was baffled as to
by rather uneventfully. And that is something I why someone would be knocking on my door at
felt somewhat grateful for. During this time, I did this time. I grabbed a pair of trousers nearby, put
not do much recording besides occasionally them on and left the room. When I reached the
putting down mundane observations and musings door of the living room, I stood next to it and
at the end of the day on pieces of paper. There asked sternly: “Who is it?”
was not much else to do besides my daily work at
the coasts. I had long given up any hope of learn- A soft female voice answered: “It is Moji.”
ing how the other men at sea caught their fish. So
I’ve just been using the same ways I’ve known That reply struck me like a flash of lightning; with
since before my days as a sailor. But the fact that feelings of unbelief, joy and bewilderment. Moji
it caused me to take much longer gave me a way was supposed to be at her temple far away in
to while away each day and, thus, was a mixed Okta and she wasn’t due to return to the city for
blessing of sorts. Tiami had certain commitments the next six months. Therefore what could she
at her home that had arisen during this period, possibly be doing here? Yet, it was unmistakably
and, thus, she was rarely at the tavern. I spent her voice. But, then again, I also knew that some
increasingly long periods at sea, often coming of these people had the ability to discipline their
back home after dark. Yesterday, the 20th voices so as to sound like almost anyone they
of March, was one of those days. Little did I know,

116

chose. Therefore it was likely that it wasn’t her one more thing; take your diaries along with
and that this was a trick. Yet, the overwhelming you.”
desire I had to see her again and the daring spirit
in me led me to open the door and face whatever “Why?” I asked in astonishment.
I would encounter.
“You might need them,” she answered.
I opened the door and there stood Moji looking
up at me, the delicate contours of her body and Before I could ask anything else, she turned and
face faintly outlined by the moonlight. She wore a ran off, still clutching the wrapper around her
dark blue dress and headscarf. She also had a torso. I watched her until she stopped just before
small black wrapper over her shoulders which she a horse which I had not noticed had been stand-
held around her upper body. I couldn’t tell if this ing inside the shadow of a house about twenty
was in order to keep herself warm against the yards from mine. She mounted it and rode away
cool breeze of the night or if it was a means of until I could see her no more.
discretion. She gazed at me with a fascinating
blank expression in her eyes that seemed to radi- After closing the door, I lit the lamp in the living
ate innocence while at the same time sheltering room, sat down on a chair right next to the table
abstruse knowledge. and thought about what just happened. My brain
was reeling in confusion as I rested my head in my
“Moji, what are you doing here?” I asked. palms. I will confess that I had thought (and
hoped), upon her answer to my initial question,
“I had to come and see you,” she said. that she was going to say that she had come to
see me simply because she had been missing me,
Thoughts raced through my mind as to what the for that was how I myself had been feeling, not
reason was for her stated motive for coming all having seen her for six months. The very thought
the way from Okta to see me, in violation of the made me feel warmth and even a sense of
protocols of their temples. Then I suddenly re- flattery, even though it still seemed a strange
membered to ask her to come inside. But she thing for her to do. But then, I hadn’t known what
shook her head, turning down the request, and else to think. Why else would she come here?
saying: “No, Figo. I can’t. I have to return immedi-
ately.” She paused, looked sideways to her right Her subsequent explanation and her anxious de-
as if to see if someone was coming, then turned meanor had left me in a state more mystified
back to me and continued: than any I had been in for quite some time. Try as
I may, I could not think of any reasonable cause
“I came to bring you to the temple. You have to as to why her temple in particular would want me
come with me.” there, and in such a discrete and clandestine
manner for that matter. It was just as well, I
“Me?” I asked, baffled. “Why?” thought, for I had always wanted to visit there to
see what it was like, and this was my chance.
“It’s something very important,” she replied. “I What really bothered me was the way I was to get
can’t explain right now. But you have to follow there. The image of the man at the beach waiting
these instructions: Put on your clothes and your for me in this late and dark night, in particular,
hat. Make sure you wear dark clothes. Then go to haunted me. I raised my head and looked at the
the spot in the forest where that sacred tree is. pile of papers at the other end of the table. I
Follow the path from the tree straight down to couldn’t help wondering why they had suddenly
the seashore. You will see a man waiting there for taken an interest in my diaries. But I was deter-
you. He will bring you to our temple.” mined to go through with it and find out.

Bewildered, I peered desperately into her eyes. I put on the darkest clothes I had and strapped on
The deep sincerity in them assured me that I my leather boots before strapping my sheathed
could trust her. hunting knife around my waist and concealing it
underneath my garment. Then I went to the
“What about you?” I asked. kitchen and picked the bow and quiver that were

“I’ll be returning right now. I’ll meet you there.
Please hurry.” Then she stopped and added: “And

117

resting against the wall and swung them unto my After some time of walking along the edge, I final-
back. I then put my hat on and went back into the ly settled on the spot that I felt sure would take
bedroom to gather all the papers I considered me down the desired path and then proceeded to
were the most relevant account of my experienc- enter the forest. My heartbeat increased in its
es on this island. Then I went back to the living pace as I drew back the arrow in anticipation of
room and added to them from the ones on the having to use it. I could hear the sounds of owls,
table. I did not want to take any bag with me. I jackals and other larger animals at a distance. Yet
wanted to be as agile as possible and therefore somehow it was not the thought of animals that I
not have on my body anything more than what feared but rather of something else I wasn’t quite
was necessary. I rolled up the bundle of papers sure of. The light of the moon was just enough for
and put it inside my inner coat pocket, then blew me to make my way slowly through the forest,
out the light and left the house. taking care not to collide with any trees along the
way. The place was quite dark and I had to strain
Since I had to be discreet, I decided to walk all the my eyes to make as much use of the little light
way to the forest instead of making use of one of that seeped through the branches as I could. I still
the few carts that were still operating at this time ran into a few trees along the way due to the way
of the night. I walked along the edges of the roads the branches and leaves of some of the trees
and kept to shadowy paths as much as possible. blocked any light from coming through them.
The light from the moon and the lamps of some There were several occasions that I stopped vol-
houses were enough to guide me through the untarily either because I thought I heard an ani-
town. Every once in a while, I would pass by peo- mal approaching or to carefully make out the con-
ple. Some were walking along the roads. Some figuration of the trees to judge whether I had
were sitting in front of houses, usually smoking gotten to the location of the tree I was looking
some kind of hemp. For the most part, they ig- for. I had a sense of how far into the forest the
nored me or didn’t even see me. tree was and how long it should take me to get to
it. Thus, there came a point when my stoppages
I finally entered Ariki road, the road that led to and examinations became more frequent because
the forest that was its namesake. It was a long I believed I had reached the area where I would
road that was flanked by bushes on both sides. I find it.
seemed to be the only one on the road. In spite of
the sounds of insects and small animals I could Of course, I could have just gone on directly to
hear, I felt it had a menacing quietness about it. I the sea without stopping, but I wasn’t really sure
drew out one of the arrows from my back and if the spot I had chosen to enter the forest was
positioned it upon the bow so that I would be actually the right one. I had to find the tree in
ready to fire at anything if need be. Eventually, I order to be sure. I was also aware that I could
reached the grassland at the side of the road that have ignored Moji’s instructions altogether and
led into the forest. I stopped before the edge of just gone down to the seashore and walked
the forest and looked to and fro along its length across it until I found the man that was waiting
trying to gauge the spot that would lead me for me. But somehow I felt I simply had to follow
straight down to the tree. I tried to visualize it by her instructions. This whole situation seemed too
taking my mind back to that moment eight strange for me to risk anything by deviating from
months ago when Moji and I came out of the for- the rules that had been prescribed to me.
est. [After we had left the Giant Ring that day, I
had taken her through the forest to see the tree I I finally reached a spot where I felt very strongly,
had told her about. Upon her request, we left the the more I looked around, that the configuration
forest by going straight through it from the tree in of the trees was the right one. I began to peer
a manner that was directly perpendicular to the carefully at each of the trees around me, moving
shoreline. Had we not done that, it would have towards them as I did so. I was particularly drawn
been almost impossible for me to find the tree at towards a tree at my left which I could only
this time of the night without any artificial source vaguely see. As I moved closer to it, all doubt that
of light.] it was the one slowly evaporated from my mind
as I began to make out the outlines of its shape. I

118

stopped a few feet from it. The little moonlight was looking up at him. I tried to gauge his eyes,
that seeped through the branches allowed me to but the hat he wore cast a shadow over his face
see the faint conformations of the bark-encrusted that made it hard to do so. Looking at me steadi-
limbs and head that protruded from the tree. ly, he repeated his instruction. I decided to do as
Then I felt a sudden rush of fear and quickly he said. I handed him my bow and arrows and
turned to the direction of the sea and began to then unstrapped the knife belt around my waists
stumble through the benighted forest as quickly and gave it to him. Then I put my hat in my pock-
as I could. I continued to hear the sounds of wild et and lay down on my back, keeping my eyes on
animals as I went, particularly the sounds of wild him. He placed the weapons in a corner of the
dogs. Once or twice, I again had to stop and listen canoe and then picked up a large black cloak that
carefully because it seemed as though a large had been lying folded on the floor and began to
animal might be approaching, and then I contin- spread it and cover my entire body with it.
ued onwards when I stopped hearing the sound.
“What’s going on?” I asked him. “What are you
When I finally emerged from the forest, I found doing?”
myself facing the skyline and staring in awe at the
beautifully lit sky above the horizon. The void He simply said: “You have to keep still and do as I
between the stars appeared to expand as I gazed say.”
at it. It seemed to usher my perceptions into the
infinite realm of existence that Moji had told me I was bewildered as to the purpose of this but,
about. The dimensions beyond this world in nevertheless, remained silent. Since no one else
which their gods inhabited. Light from the sky was in sight, as far as I knew, I could not see the
sparkled radiantly across the waters as they point of covering me especially given that it was
bounced across the waves. dark? But I decided to trust him and resigned my-
self to the situation. After he had covered me, I
Then I suddenly remembered the man that was could no longer see anything. I heard him pick up
waiting for me at the shore. It was then that I the oar and begin to strike it gently into the wa-
noticed a small vertical dark figure that appeared ter. Soon, I felt the boat move further into the sea
to be floating on the water not far from the until we were above the deep waters. Then the
shoreline. I slowly walked down the shore to- boat did a turn to the right and began to drift
wards it. As I approached it, I began to see that it swiftly along the ocean.
was a man standing in a canoe that was swaying
back and forth on the water. He kept the canoe in After a long period of time - what seemed to me
place with a long oar that he was holding which like an hour - we finally got to a point where I
was thrust deep into the water and seemed to could feel that we had embarked upon land. I
reach to the ground beneath it. The man was could no longer hear the waves of the sea and the
completely dressed in what seemed to be black heavy breeze that came with it. The waters
clothing (but which I later saw was actually dark seemed to be more still and I got the impression
blue with dark red stripes across it). He had on a that we had entered into a narrow body of water,
large hat and wore a scarf around his face so that perhaps a river. When the boat finally stopped, I
it covered the bottom half of his face below his started to raise my hands to pull off the cloak, but
eyes. I stopped a few feet from the shoreline and the man quickly stopped me and told me to re-
stared at him for some seconds. Then he raised main still. Then, after some time, he stooped over
his left hand and beckoned me to come. I remind- and began to wrap the cloak around me, asking
ed myself what Moji had told me, and then, with me to turn as he did so. At this point, I no longer
a deep sigh, I began to walk into the water until I bothered to ask anything. I just reminded myself
reached the boat. why I was here and just corporated.

After I climbed in, he told me to hand him my After completely wrapping me up in the cloak, he
weapons and lie down on the floor of the canoe. I pulled me up to my feet. Then he brought me
looked at him, baffled. I was still on my knees and down unto his shoulder, straightened back up and
stepped off the boat carrying me like a sack. As he

119

marched on, I could hear him begin to step over Not before long, he returned, untied the horse,
twigs and plants and I could feel my own legs and mounted it and began to walk it through the for-
head brush across low-lying tree branches and est. After some time, I began to sense we were
leafs. We seemed to be in the midst of dense going up an incline and my body tilted slightly as
woodland. we went. At certain times, we went along lateral
planes and, at other times, we went downward
After a while, he stopped suddenly and heaved before heading back up again. I was feeling
my body upwards and placed me onto the back of drowsy but the nature of the journey and my situ-
a horse. Even without the slight neigh it made, I ation discouraged me from the idea of sleeping.
would still have known it was a horse from the Yet, I felt increasing unease due to the pressure of
way it felt and the way my body arched over it. the horse’s bony back on my body as we went
[That may seem an unnecessary thing to say, but I across sloped planes. I finally decided to allow
had to say that it in light of the fact that the last myself to sleep so as to alleviate the discomfort,
time I was placed upon an animal in such a man- and, after keeping my eyes shut for some time, I
ner, it was a lion.] I could hear the man walking eventually drifted off.
away and I reasoned that he was going off to se-
cure the canoe. Naturally, I felt very strange and About the Author:
somewhat humiliated in this position especially
since I did not know the reason for it. I took com- Victor Bade is an emerging writer based in Sierra
fort from the fact that I wasn’t tied and I could Leone, primarily Freetown. He attended the uni-
free myself from this position if I chose to. I real- versities of Fourah Bay College and University of
ized that that was an indication that I could trust South Alabama where he studied engineering. As
him, for he seemed to trust me. I listened atten- a student, he worked for few years as an assistant
tively to the sounds of insects and animals perme- editor at a local publishing company.
ating the place while the horse exercised its
limbs, grunting occasionally as it did so.

120

ADVICE FROM

MR. WHISKERS

Wayne Hall

Nonchalantly Melvin Langley pressed the green settling into his well-worn leather recliner. He had
button on the over-sized remote causing the tele- never been much of a drinker, but he enjoyed the
vision to come to life drowning out the silence way the heavy glass felt in his hand. As he swirled
that loomed throughout the small apartment like the brown liquid around, he was pleased he had
a thick fog. He showed little care for what info- never acquired a taste for hard liquor. He knew
mercial or movie played on the television but only that his addictive personality could not take one
that it was loud enough to take away the sharp more obsession, and it would most likely send
edge of the quietness. While a man with a thick him over the edge, but in his mind, he had no
mustache spoke loudly about the world's sharp- doubt the edge was there and close enough as
est knives, Melvin walked into the kitchen where things stood now.
he placed a frozen dinner into the microwave. He
thought of nothing particular as he watched While placing the drink that he had yet to taste
through the glass door while the frozen dinner on the end-table, Melvin noticed the red blinking
turned round and round, as graceful as a ballerina light on the answering machine. " You have one
before a captive audience. message," a mechanical voice proclaimed when
he pushed the button next to the annoying red
He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the micro- light. " Mr. Langley, I don't feel I have to tell you
wave's glass door and noticed a crumb in his oth- who this is or why I am calling, but since you have
erwise well-groomed beard before walking into not contacted me I think it would be safe to say
the bathroom to examine his reflection more that your horse did not come in yesterday? So,
closely, with the help of a mirror with proper here is what needs to happen; you need to meet
lighting. Melvin plucked the crumb from his beard me Monday evening at nine o'clock, you now the
and held it between his fingers. The crumb looked place, and Mr. Langley, please bring all of my
to be cake; then he remembered that today had money. Just remember you were the one that
been Rachel's birthday, she worked two cubicles came to me, I never begged you to take the
down from Melvin. At lunch, the office had sur- dough."The man's voice sounded cool and collec-
prised her with cake and ice cream. He looked at tive as if he had been ordering a pizza or some
the crumb one more time, ' Strawberry cake with other daily task, but he wasn't ordering a pizza;
cream-cheese icing," he thought as he checked instead, he was making a statement, a statement
his beard for more crumbs but found none. Find- that Melvin understood loud and clear.
ing cake in his beard that had been there since
before noon caused him to feel a little embar- Melvin picked up a pamphlet that lay on the table
rassed but also sad that no one at the office cared next to the answering machine. The pages were
for him enough to let him know he had food in his dog-eared and worn as if they had been read over
beard. Looking in the mirror one more time, he many times. In glossy print, the front page read, "
remembered he had bigger problems to deal with Horse Racing Every Thursday- Sunday come enjoy
than cake in his beard. the fun." He thumbed through the first few pages
until he found race number nine. " How could his
Melvin poured a small amount of scotch into horse not win?" he thought. He placed his finger
a glass and walked into the living-room before under the print that read 2-1, " The odds were

121

near perfect, and the horse was gray, so how Melvin took a small sip and felt the liquid burn
could she lose?" as he mumbled to himself he until it reached his stomach, causing a warmth to
remembered how his Grandfather had said, " spread throughout his entire body. From what he
Never bet against a gray horse." Crumbling the could tell, Mrs. Pingington's special tea contained
pamphlet and tossing it onto the floor, he wished ninety-nine percent vodka and one percent green
he had not followed his Grandfathers advice; he tea. He took another long swallow and immedi-
wished more than anything he had bet against ately felted more relaxed; even the worn lumpy
the gray horse. green loveseat felt comfortable.

Later that evening, Melvin paused in front of a Mrs. Pingington sipped properly from her now
green door directly above his apartment to read a half empty cup extending her pinky finger each
wooden sign that read, " Happy Cats Live Here." time the cup tilted upwards. Melvin could tell
He pressed the doorbell and listened to the sound from her glassy eyes this was not the first time
of footsteps shuffling across vinyl flooring. The her cup had been filled that evening. " What
door opened slightly still secured by a brass chain; brings you upstairs on a Friday evening? A young
through the opened slit he could see an eyeball good looking feller like you should be out painting
and one-third of a smile before the door closed the town with a car load of girls," she said while
again reopening without the security of the chain. refilling both cups.

" Well, if it isn't Melvin Langley who lives down- " The fact is Mr. Pingington; I don't know one girl,
stairs," Mrs. Pingington said. She always ad- much less a car load, that would be seen riding in
dressed Melvin this way, if they met while check- a car with me. I guess it just dawned on me today
ing the mail or at the local grocery store and he that I have no friends," he said.
supposed if they met any place else, though they
never had, she would greet him the same as Mel- " There must be some young people you work
vin Langley who lives downstairs. with who are your friends?

Mrs. Pingington was an older woman who had " No, I don't think so. I mean we all get along fine,
been a widow for longer than Melvin had known but I wouldn't say we are friends.In fact, I don't
her. Even though she was older, she moved in think they care for me at all," he said.
quick sneaky spurts: one moment she would be in
another room the next right behind you with a " Melvin, I am sure that is not true," she said. "
cup of her special tea. She was a small shapeless Maybe you are just shy."
woman though it was hard to tell with the quilted
housecoat draped over her " No, I have always been a loner and to tell you
the truth it has never bothered me until now. But
body, reminding Melvin of the way furniture I guess I am starting to see the benefits of having
would be covered while stored in the attic. She someone to lean on when times get hard."
wore large curlers in her white hair, and round
wire-rimmed glasses covered her pale blue eyes. " Maybe you need to start with some cats," she
said. " Cats are good companions and hardly any
"Come on in, before someone thinks you are a trouble. You could pick one up at the animal shel-
Bible salesman," she said speaking around a filter- ter, that's where I got Bailey and muffins, I can go
less cigarette hanging from the corner of her with you if you like," she added with a smile.
poorly painted red lips. She pointed towards a
worn plaid green love-seat before shuffling off to " I don't think I am ready for that kind of commit-
the kitchen with her fuzzy slippers gliding across ment," he said.
the vinyl floor. She reappeared the way she had
left gliding on fuzzy slippers only this time she " Well suit yourself, maybe one will just find you
carried two matching cups and a glass picture like I said I got Bailey and Muffins at the shelter,
filled with special tea. She carefully poured from but Mr. Whiskers, the gray one rubbing up against
the picture filling the cups to the rim. " Drink up your leg he just found me." as she spoke Mr.
before it turns hard," she said forming a smile Whiskers leaped into Melvin's lap and gave a
around the ash ridden cigarette hanging from her raspy meow.
lip.
When Mrs. Pingington looked away to take a sip

122

from her special tea, Melvin pushed the gray cat "It was only about two months after Mr. Pinging-
from his lap. The truth was he disliked cats and ton had passed, and I was sitting in the park
always found them to be annoying even needy feeling about as lonely as a soul could get, in fact,
the way they always rubbed up against you and I was wondering if I could face another day with
demanded to be petted. " Now dogs, they are no one to talk to, when just out of the blue this
man's best friend," he thought. " I could see my- scraggly gray cat showed up and jumped right up
self having a dog that would be an upgrade from into my lap, just the way he is in yours now. Im-
my fish," his thoughts were broken by the gray mediately I felt I had a new friend. So, I took him
cat now rubbing against his leg again. The special home with me, and he has been here ever since.
tea had caused him to relax and almost forget the For a long while, I couldn't explain it but felt very
reason he had come upstairs, but now he remem- connected with the old gray cat almost as if he
bered and felt an urgency to get on with the con- was trying to communicate with me. Then, one
versation he had come to have with Mrs. Pinging- night when I couldn't sleep I was just flipping
ton. through channels while petting Mr. Whiskers, and
I came across this television show about this pet
" Mrs. Pingington I have a favor to ask you," Mel- psychic and she said that some pets, cats in par-
vin said. ticular, had the ability to communicate with their
owners if that was the person they were sup-
" Well, go ahead son ask away, I won't bite," she posed to be owned by anyway.
said while lighting another cigarette.
Well, I sensed right away that Mr. Whiskers was
Melvin dreaded asking for the favor, not because one of the few that had the gift. So, at night when
he thought she would say no but because he I was petting him I would try to concentrate on
knew that in asking he would be opening up to what he was thinking, and before I knew it I start-
more questions, some he did not want to answer. ed to hear his thoughts, not out loud but tele-
pathically I guess, that is what the lady on televi-
"Well, it looks like I may be leaving for awhile, sion said anyway. At first, it was just the little
maybe for good, and I don't know where I will be things I would hear him saying to me; he would
staying at first, so I was wondering if you might let me know that the tea kettle was boiling or that
keep my goldfish, Trudie?" As he spoke, the gray it was time for the news on television, little things
cat jumped into his lap and began to knead its like that. But it was later, much later, when I dis-
paws on his thighs. Without even thinking about covered that Mr. Whiskers was very wise. You see
how much he despised cats, he began to pet the when Mr. Pingington was alive he took care of all
felines soft fur. the bills and investment stuff when I opened the
file cabinet and tried to make heads and tails of
"Trudie is welcome here and I am sure will get all that investment mumbo jumbo it just made
along fine with the rest of the family," Mrs. Ping- my head spin, but Mr. Whiskers started to give
ington said through a cloud of smoke as she ex- me advice and made things a lot easier. Come to
haled. find out, the old cat is very wise when it comes to
money and knows the Bible about as well as I do."
The room grew silent while Melvin waited for the Mrs. Pingington took another long sip of special
questions to start; instead, Mrs. Pingington began tea and waited for Melvin's reaction.
to tell a story about her cats, the gray one to be
precise. " Mrs. Pingington, I am glad you two found one
another, it seems Mr. Whiskers is great company
"Melvin, did you know that cats are worshiped as for you." Melvin tried to keep a straight face as he
Gods in some cultures while in others they are spoke because part of him thought that the old
seen as instruments of the devil? Yes, they are lady had gone completely mad, but he also felt a
strange little creatures but very in tune with their twinge of jealousy, " at least the old lady has a
surroundings, some more so than others. Mr. friend to talk to, he thought."
Whiskers, the one there in your lap, he is special,
even one of a kind I would say. I will never forget " I tell you what Melvin, let's me and you have
the day I found him or rather the day he found one more cup of tea while you tell me just what
me.

123

kind of trouble you have got yourself into," she " Well, I am just an old woman and no little about
said while filling both cups to the rim. what to do in life, but Mr. Whiskers has some-
thing to say about your situation. If you want I can
Mr. Whiskers gave a raspy meow as if he agreed tell you what he thinks."
with what Mrs. Pingington said.
Melvin gave a nod of agreement and tipped his
Melvin cleared his throat before beginning his half empty cup toward the gray cat who now had
story. " I guess I have always enjoyed gambling," left his lap for the comfort of Mrs. Pingington's.
he said. " I had a twin brother; I don't guess I ever
told you that, most people that live around here " Well, Mr. Whiskers says, and I happen to agree
don't know since I was raised two states over. with him, that once you start running, you can
When we were young we were very competitive never stop. You will always be looking over your
and would bet on the smallest things, who could shoulder afraid of every stranger you meet. He
swim across Ledrick's pond the fastest, or who thinks you need to face up to the man you owe,
could eat the most pickled eggs in on sitting, I and tell him you don't have his money, and may-
won that one and still have his favorite marble he be he will let you pay it out. If he kills you, he
lost to me, even though I threw up later. won't get a dime, and besides, you have a good
job and could pay him a little each week."
When we were older, my brother lost his interest
in gambling, but mine just got stronger. I never " Well, tell Mr. Whiskers I said thanks for the ad-
had much interest in sports, but I would still bet vice, but if you don't mind I will be bringing,
on every game. Then I discovered the horse track Trudie, my fish by tomorrow before I leave." Mel-
and my life changed forever and not for the good. vin kissed Mrs. Pingington on her cheek which
Jimmy, that was my brother's name, he begged seemed rosier than before maybe due to the
me to give it up, he even staged an intervention many cups of tea and said goodbye.
along with my parents, but I wouldn't listen.
Monday morning Melvin called in sick for work.
By the time I was twenty years old, my gambling He really could not explain why he called he had
had gotten so bad that I had stolen a diamond no intention to ever return to his eight by eight
ring from my Mother and sold it to pay my book- cubical again. If he hadn't called in, he wondered
ie. My parents kicked me out of the house, and I how long it would take for his peers to realize he
haven't spoken to them since. That was also the was missing. He smiled as he imagined weeks
year that Jimmy was in a bad car accident, the girl going by before someone asked, " Where is Mel-
he was with she died instantly, my brother died vin?'
two days later in the hospital. I can still remember
standing in the rain at his funeral while the In the afternoon, Melvin methodically packed his
preacher read Psalms 23, and I checked my phone clothes into a suitcase he had bought on sale but
to see if my horse came in. never used. While folding one of his shirts, he
remembered it was his brother who had taught
So you see Mr. Pingington, I have a problem, one him the correct way to fold without getting wrin-
that drove my family away and now has me owing kles. Jimmy had worked at a large retailer while in
a certain man fifty thousand dollars, and this man high school and how to fold correctly may have
is not the kind you want to owe that much mon- been the only thing he learned during that sum-
ey." mer. Melvin's thoughts were interrupted by the
phone ringing, but he decided to let the answer-
" Oh, my! That is a lot of money. Melvin, if I had it ing machine get it. After the beep, he heard a
to give I would offer it to you, but I am afraid even familiar voice, " Mr. Langley, I hope you remem-
with Mr. Whiskers great advice on investments I ber what day this is, and I hope you have my
just barely get by," Mrs. Pingington said. money, all of it. You know the place, eight o'clock
sharp. Let's do this the easy way; I like to keep
Melvin began to speak and planned to tell Mrs. things clean and simple." Melvin continued to
Pingington how he would never take money from pack while pondering the man's words, clean and
her, but he was interrupted by the gray cat giving simple. He wished more than anything things
three raspy meows. could be clean and simple.

124

At precisely eight o'clock, Melvin stood at the
west end of a long dark alley, his suitcase and
goldfish were both still sitting in his apartment. In
his pocket, he had one hundred and forty-three
dollars, a far cry from fifty thousand the man he
presumed would be waiting at the end of the al-
ley would be expecting. " I hope you are right Mr.
Whiskers," he whispered out loud as he turned
and walked into the darkness.

About the Author:
Wayne Hall is a native of Arkansas who has a pas-
sion for reading and writing short fiction. Wayne's
other interests include beekeeping and long dis-
tance hiking. In 2014 he completed a 2,185-mile
hike along the Appalachian Trail. Though his
writings are fiction, he hopes they capture the
spirit of the small towns and people he met as he
walked from Georgia to Maine.

125

THREE BLACK BIRDS

Jose L Recio

At dawn, Ana, Carolina, and I set to hike on steep the middle, and then me—not quite as tall as Ann
trails from the foot of the Pico de las Espadas on- was but physically in good shape. A little after two
ward to the top of that Aragon Mountain. hours of marching, I began to feel my backpack
heavier on my shoulders and wondered about
Recently graduated from med school, I started to Carolina’s.
work at the emergency room of the county hospi-
tal. Ana worked there too, and the Department “Do you feel tired?” I asked.
Director determined I should join her shift. Soon, I
realized that Ana displayed much endurance at She nodded but uttered no complaints. I realized
work, which I admired. When she shared with me Ana had taught her how to develop stamina. Dur-
her fondness for mountaineering, I thought that ing the excursion, Ana was pending of our safety;
perhaps her physical strength came from her she appeared self-confident and aware of her
practicing that sport. leadership role. Carolina, on the other hand,
needed reassurance now and then.
“Are you interested in mountaineering? She
asked. Halfway up, we stopped to rest. We sat on a flat
rock off the trail, ate a snack from our backpacks,
I had no experience with the sport. Ana passed and drank a sip of water from our canteens. Ana
me a small book about it she had published, noticed the presence of clouds where before the
which I found interesting. sky had been clear.

“I’ll give it a trial,” I said. “It smells like rain,” she said. “We should hurry a
little,” she added.
That’s how I met Carolina. When Ana introduced
me to her, an Art student, I immediately sensed We resumed the walking. A cooler breeze had
she had a sweet nature. made its presence, and a smell of ozone floated in
the air as if a thunderstorm was forthcoming. I
I started dating Carolina. She suggested that we trusted Ana’s guidance. She pulled us faster over
join Ana in her Pyrenean excursions. I couldn’t the last stretch until, at the edge of noon, perspir-
fancy Carolina—a small girl with a pale complex- ing but happy, we crown the apex. The sun ap-
ion— climbing on steep trails, but the idea of ex- peared blurred out among thick clouds, and the
ercising outdoor appealed to me. atmosphere gray and oppressive. I felt difficulty in
breathing, and Carolina claimed she felt dizzy.
The three of us often ventured out together.
Ana’s ability to show how to battle weather and “Listen to a rumbling noise in the distance. It’s the
terrain adversities became apparent. I admired wind,” Ana warned. “We got to be strong!” she
Ana and loved Carolina. Also, I became aware of a added.
strong bond that existed between these two
women. The howling wind seemed to gallop toward us,
whirling among the rocks. Moments later, dense
So today, at dawn, the three of us set off to hike clouds broke, thunder resounded, and a long ser-
on uphill trails, committed to reaching the sum- pent of fire tore through space. Three big black
mit—Ana leading, marking the pace, Carolina in

126

birds in flight just above us were shaken violently; taken over. The Pico de las Espadas had black-
they lost their way, and before the lifeless rem- ened; the sun had gone out of our lives.
nants from one of them had fallen to our feet,
another flash of fire intertwined with Ana’s body, “Ana is dead,” I said. “We must notify the police.”
and she collapsed onto the rocky ground. Imme- I could hardly stand. I grabbed my cellular to
diately, I walked to her side and checked her make the call, but it showed no sign of reception.
pulse. I asked Carolina to let me use hers. With shaking
hands, she passed it to me. No sign of reception
“Very feeble,” I murmured to Carolina. either.

She had crouched down five or six feet away. “Let’s go back to the valley,” I said. “We need
Trembling, she gazed at us as if contemplating an help,” I added.
apparition, as if Ana and I were the inhabitants in
a different world, a world unknown to her. I pro- With a great effort, Carolina took a thin blanket
ceeded to do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, out of her backpack, passed it to me, and pointed
checking and rechecking for Ana’s heartbeat, until toward Ana. I grabbed the blanket, walked back
I realized that her heart had stopped functioning to Ana’s dead body, and covered it. I didn’t touch
forever. anything else.

I moved away from Ana’s dead body and went to We tried to retrace the way we had at dawn
Carolina. She looked as if in a trance: her teeth climbed; now trackless trails, for the wind and the
gnashed, her hands shook, and her eyes opened rain had erased all markings. With Carolina sob-
widely. The windstorm was whirling very strongly bing by my side, I being afraid of losing our route,
around us. Carefully, I pulled her toward me first and overcoming obstacles, we walked down to
and then, down to the ground. She let herself do. the valley and back to the small house the three
We lay immobile, in shock, until a torrential of us had rented the day before. Filled with ap-
rain woke us up from our lethargy. Darkness had prehension, I stepped in first; Carolina followed
me. At that moment, reality hit me hard: We had

127

been three in the house; now, we were only two. also requested that Carolina and I remained
I felt bewildered, uncertain of what to do, what to where we were until the police came to meet
think, what to say to Carolina. with us.

“I love you,” I said, but my words sounded as if After the phone conversation, I lay down and
pronounced at the wrong time. tried to relax, but images of the awful event crept
into my mind. Would the two black birds that lost
“Ana is not longer with us,” she replied in a dis- their friend while on flight survive? Had we lost
tant, ghostly voice, and her words sounded like Ana forever? I fell asleep.
the announcement of the end of a trip, a terminal
station. I have woken up a short while ago—two o’clock in
the morning. For a few moments, I was unsure of
Drained out, I sat down on the couch in the living what had happened until I remembered Caroline
room. Carolina retired to rest in the bedroom. I was resting in the bedroom. We had not talked to
called the police. As I tried to describe what had each other since we came back to the house. I
happened, I had a flashback about a county em- went to check on her. She was awake.
ployee who was taken to the ER the night before.
He was almost dead due to an electric shock he “Yesterday, we lost Ana, our loved one,” she said
had received while he was working on a public with a distant, ghostly voice.
installation. Ana took charge of the case. She ap-
plied the defibrillator to the patient’s chest and I left her resting and returned to the living room,
saved him. “Why couldn’t I save her today?” I where I’m now, sitting on the couch, waiting for
automatically asked the officer on the phone. For the police to arrive, and wondering whether,
an answer, he assured me a rescue helicopter without Ana, Carolina and I will be capable of
would be dispatched to the area right away. He loving each.

About the Author:

Jose L Recio was born and raised in Spain. He
studied medicine in Spain and later left for Cali-
fornia on a Scholarship. He currently lives with his
wife, Deborah, in Los Angeles. While in practice,
he published several papers in specialized jour-
nals. Over the last few years, interest in creative
writing keeps him busy. Having grown to become
bicultural, he writes both in Spanish and English,
and sometimes he translates his texts.

128

THE DOLL FACTORY

Elizabeth Brewer

I once woke to find my reflection unfamiliar. No them seemed to be in better repair, as if they
longer a human as I had previously been, I was an hadn’t been here as long as the rest. Some had
old doll; cracked and broken down. Face crum- near full sets of clothing, brown shaded frocks
bling as my eyes widened, joints creaking in my and petticoats. I apparently was here for a long
shock, the room spun as I tripped on my own time, noting my nakedness with a little embar-
slack strings, broken from their invisible source. rassment, remembering the work clothes I had
worn yesterday and each day before.
Others turned to face me, a well-known
and clockwork-like morning routine broken by my I collected myself, and fearfully looked into
awe. They too, now appeared less than human, the mirror again. My joints were ball and socket
moppet-ish and blood soaked; only yesterday style, held together with the same strings that
they had seemed to be human. We were prepar- held everyone to the humane vision I had previ-
ing for a day at work, a children’s doll factory, or ously perceived. My body was thin and broken,
so I had believed before that morning. my veneer was chipping away. Hair, now appear-
ing to be brown yarn, was cut smartly by my ears;
“Are you alright? You look pretty pale; do different to the long hair and tight bun I normally
you want the nurse?” kept.

One who had been at the mirror next to mine I looked closer at my eyes, solid black glass
turned to me, offering a bloodied hand; knurled bulbs, too-large for my face. My lips were a small
and twisted fingers the first thing I saw. I look up pink circle, the same color as the circles on my
into its face, ceramic and still, rosy cheeks painted cheeks. A crease in my face drew from ear to ear,
on in perfect circles. Its strings hung, near taut, separating my jaw from the rest of my head. This
leading from its arms, legs, and the back of its jaw was evidently also held by the string, as one
head; rising to a point just above all our heads side hung slack; string stuck out where it had
where they seemed to disappear. Yet, despite its once held whole. In my slack-jawed open maw
unanimated features and the reddish-brownish was nothing, there were no teeth, no tongue,
stains, it had a friendly look to it. Evidently, it did merely a new view of where my neck was
not see what I saw. attached to my head.

“N-no, no I think I’m fine, thank you.” I I saw the obvious marks left by blood, speckles on
stammered as I took it’s offered hand gingerly, my face in a horrifying splatter. I too, like all
worried for breaking it with my weight. “What is those in this room, had absorbed this blood into
this? A dream? Hallucination?” my porcelain-esque skin. Fresh and old stains
alike brought the only true color to our off-white
It… or she? All the effigies surrounding surfaces.
me, who presently began to return to their rou-
tine, appeared to have female genitalia; a few Interrupting my personal musings, a loud klaxon-
covered by molding rags that had perhaps once like bell sounded out, though there was no speak-
been clothing, most having lost their scraps some- er or bell in sight. Those who were brushing their
time before. Those with still a few tatters left on teeth, or rather the lacking space where teeth

129

should be, finished and put away their things. I “The boss has you on extra time today, you’ll be
heard a flush and came to the realization we were working at bench 5631 section 7.”
in a communal restroom, wondering how I did
not remember such a simple and obvious fact. All We had reached a doorway, in which stood an-
finished their morning shuffles, grumbles, and other doll holding a clipboard, same in appear-
processes of personal care, and began to file ance to all of us except for the fact that she had
through the doorway. not been stained, and had no strings at all. I
paused in surprise for only a moment, she had
Along with the recollection of the “room-with-a- already begun to give the day’s orders to the next
mirror-in-which-I-saw-a-horrifying-new-version-of in line.
-myself” as actually being a toilet area, I recalled
that the loud ringing in my ears meant that the Walking forward while watching her assign duties,
work day had started; all who were more than I stepped into an immeasurably large room.
three minutes late to their workbench were pe- Then, turning my head to see where I was going,
nalized. my eyes were met with purely terrifying carnage.
I stopped in my tracks as others behind me made
“What a strange dream…” I thought, sure of my- their way around, ignoring my alarm.
self now, as I shuffled into the large and ever
growing group of figures that were headed away Tied down to each of the thousands of benches
from the dorm areas and towards work. I saw no was a human child, boys and girls alike. Eviscer-
reason not to join them, if this were only a dream. ated, each was flayed, their blood, clothes, and
feces spilling onto the chairs and pooling on the
Work, as I remembered it, was the creation of floor. I watched the pool stream down to a large
children’s dolls. Every day, for an amount of time cloth clogged drain, cooling and moving like mo-
I found I couldn’t number, myself and my co- lasses as it lost human temperature.
workers went to our benches and put together
little wooden dollies with hammer and saw and I froze, staring at that lazy and effervescent red
needle. Every night we went back to the dorms river, trembling. Then, I heard the noises. I heard
and slept. We lived at our work. “I must be soft moans, and so many short and quiet sobs,
working too hard.” and the whimpering, oh god those whimpers.
They, each and every child despite their dis-
Together we advanced into a hallway where we gusting state, was somehow still alive. Mixed in
bottle-necked and turned to single file. Up ahead with the hellish sounds of the children, was the
was a long, long, exponentially long wall covered even more terrible cheery chatter of my fellows.
in little wooden placards. As we filed by, each
grabbed one. It was my turn now; I grabbed the Transfixed, I was pushed forward almost gently by
next one and found a number uncountably famil- the growing swarm behind me. I sat heavily, the
iar. It was my number; the one I had pinned to ensanguined chair squelched, muck covered my
my shirt every day. thighs and dripped over the edge of the chair.
Others began to settle down around me, picking
624413-GGb9. up tools, and began to do what they surely saw as
making the toys I had always seen before. I
I watched those in front of me, not knowing what turned my eyes from their broken hands, I could-
to do with the pin now that my normal work n’t bear to watch what they were about to do.
clothes seemed to be missing from tonight’s They did not notice my distress.
dream. To my horror, they each poked the sharp
clasp of the pin into their breasts, near where, The child at my bench… poor sweet thing. Her
since this morning, I could no longer feel my heart arms no longer strained at the ties as they must
beating. have before, her wrists and ankles covered in dry
red welts. Her chest and stomach were open and
I looked down and found a small hole in my aired, blood still flowing from twitching veins. I
chest. Cautiously I pushed the pin into the little cannot describe the gore that was her innards,
hole, careful not to jostle it as I walked forward, spilled unidentifiable onto the bench around her.
and was surprised that I felt no pain. Her heart was plain to see, still beating. She
looked at me.

130

Somehow, she knew that unlike the others, I was curl as they were irreparably changed for the
able to see her for what she really was and not worse. Far, far worse.
some happy delusion. Her eyes were wide and
cloudy, shine lost to immense amounts of pain. What felt like hours passed, but it could only have
There were tear tracks on her face; nearly clean been a few moments. The stringless doll had
rivulets in a mask of blood and dirt. It seemed come back, and behind her stood a tall and dark
she could not cry anymore, had used up all her figure. I brought my eyes up from the slick tiles of
tears. My hands trembled as her lips did, a sigh the floor only when I heard a voice call out:
escaped her little mouth as she closed her eyes “624413-GGb9”.
and shifted her head away from me.
I looked up at the source of the voice. She, was
I pushed away from the table, stumbled into a the boss. But now, oh, now I saw the truth. She
corner and threw up. There was nothing there, too, was different to what I was meant to see.
only dry heaving. What could a doll with no She wore a white cloak, red growing up from the
throat throw up anyways? Turning back, and bottom where the blood she trod in was soaked
looking at the tables around me, I saw so many in up. It was buttoned up in the front, so all that I
all different stages of that diabolical process. could see was her face. What had been a hand-
“This is no dream.” Now numb, I saw, I finally saw some face filled with kind joy was now plainly
the truth. heinous. Pale, pale skin drawn too, too tight over
the skull underneath. No lips covered her black
They were being changed, limbs pulled away at and rotting teeth, no lids covered her sunken
the joints, blood drained, hearts removed, skin eyes; cloudy blue all over. Hair balding, wiry grey
covered with a baked on and shiny fresh coat of strands pulled over a speckled scalp into a tie at
off-white ceramic. No matter boy or girl, each the top of her head, and lead away to the ceiling,
one was given a new appearance as female, and the floor, and directly to the dolls in the room. I
dressed in new frocks and petticoats, all in shades saw each strand that controlled each doll. Not
of brown. Brown yarn was stitched into their thread or string, but hair.
scalps, Cut smartly by their ears. Thread was sewn
onto new limbs, and finally, when that thread was She was watching me. I stood up, careful not to
attached to the back of each new dolls head, they slip in the muck that covered the floor. Slowly I
slept and felt peace. They would never remem- made my way over to the doorway where she
ber this pain, or their previous lives, unless they stood. Along with the stringless doll I first saw,
turned out like me. there were others standing behind her, all staring
with open malice.
But what had happened to me? How? I didn’t
understand. I knew it had something to do with “Are you alright? Would you like to see the
the strings, as unlike all of the others around me, nurse?”
mine were not lifted into the air in marionette
fashion. Why weren’t they? She spoke, and it was a horrible voice, slithering
out between those rotten teeth with a rasp and a
I couldn’t think on it much longer, however, be- rattle. I don’t know why she bothered to ask, she
cause the stringless doll that had stood in the could clearly see that my strings were no longer
doorway and had been directing my colleagues attached to her. I didn’t answer, I didn’t know
noticed my prone form in the corner. She what to say. After a moment, she spoke again. “I
watched me for a moment, then still watching, will take you, I insist.”
turned out of the room and walked off. I was in
far too much shock to think about the connota- What would happen to me now? Surely the
tions, and how much trouble I would be in. I nurse would either terminate me, or I would be
plopped myself down, and watched the room reconnected to the boss and I would go back to
with blank, unblinking eyes. The stream of blood work, not remembering my revelation. I couldn’t
lazily making its way to the nearest drain burned stand the thought, knowing that whatever I
itself into my vision. In my peripheral view, would do next would be horrible, atrocious, dis-
I watched the fingers of the children twitch and gusting.

“Please, give me a moment first.” I said to her.

131

She paused, and nodded. Looking around me, I About the Author:
saw a high, tall window. I got up, walked to it,
and peered out of it; the ground was a dizzying Lizzy Brewer is from a small town in NY, USA. She
distance down. I could see the green, green grass, is a 19 year old college student, turning 20 on
and the trunks of far-off trees, and bright patches June 24th. She loves reading and writing, art, and
of flowers that swelled and bobbed in the wind. I cats. Her childhood dream was to become a pub-
turned away from the window, and trudged back lished author. “Getting my first story published is
to the doorway, knowing what I must do. probably the best birthday gift ever!”

I stopped in front of her, shoulders stiff
and head held high, and asked the most im-
portant question.

“Why?”

She knew surely, that I could see her havoc
and not the world she created around herself.
She answered me this:

“I am so, so lonely.”

I looked at our feet, mine bare and hers
hidden by her cloak. Both stained red by the floor
beneath us that held the evidence of the truth.

I looked up at her once more. I turned and sprint-
ed back towards the tall pane.

I crashed through the glass, shards scrap-
ing at my ceramic body, leaving long gouges.
They blead the blood of innocents, absorbed into
me over the years of doll-making. Plummeting
towards the base of the building, my strings
snapped smartly in the air above me, crumbles of
skin flew from my face with the wind, my jaw
clacked against the side of my head in the flow of
the plummet, my pin came loose and shot away
from my body at frightening speed.

Like an old friend, the ground came up to
meet me. I shattered into a million pieces, my
bones so old they had turned to dust inside of
me. The blood that was not mine, and the dust
that was, both spilled over the ground and was
absorbed into the soft green grass. From whatev-
er she was that made me and held me in that
factory of dolls, I was free.

132

CONNOISSEUR

Tabatha Jenkins

I collect people like books. she chuckled. She demanded that I have dinner
with her. I agreed. I fell in love with her over Chi-
I gather love from each one as if they were a nese food. Her mind was so vast and her emerald
meadow. eyes were electric. That night was the only one
we shared though. When we went back to her
I once knew a woman who would rise at dawn to house, she started to kiss me. I wasn’t even able
wander through her neighbor’s field, picking wild to finish the glass of wine she poured for me
onions. I would find her in the afternoons, cutting when her tongue found its way down my throat. I
her freshly stolen onions and humming to herself. pulled away only to find that her eyes had ignited
I loved her because she would always touch my with anger. I was the wrong person for leading
face in a motherly fashion. She also shared her her on. I was the one going to miss out on a nice
mushrooms with me. I left her after she asked me lay. I didn’t want sex, I wanted companionship. I
to help her break into her neighbor’s house. Ap- slept on a park bench that night.
parently there were better onions stashed in their
pantry. A week of roaming around led me into a flower
shop one day. There was a young man with dirty
I fell in love with a man after that. He knitted blonde hair at the counter. He seemed shy when I
socks in various fashions and colors. He made the first approached him. I reached over and plucked
best spaghetti marinara and never asked me a rose from a sample bouquet on the counter and
about my life. I believe he assigned me one when handed it to him. This produced the sweetest
he first met me at a coffee shop. Lattes tend to be smile that I have ever seen grace a face. His dim-
ordered by sophisticated people who have no- ples were poignant and his cheeks blushed. I
where to go, or at least that’s what I’ve always knew I had to know his name, but he wouldn’t tell
been told. He held my hand whenever we walked me. I asked about his favorite music (folk), his
to the library, and one day he kissed me in the favorite food (apples), even his favorite kind of
self-help section. I had never been kissed before movie (indie). I kept coming back to the flower
and the fact that he did it so blatantly shocked shop for a month after that, slowly getting closer
me. Therefore, I left his house that night without and closer to him. One day, I accompanied him
leaving a note or any kind of explanation. I have- down the street to a bakery during his lunch
n’t ordered a latte since then. break. We each got blueberry muffins and sat
outside on the sidewalk in the sunlight. He leaned
I mainly stuck to women after that. I found that his head on my shoulder and asked me what I
their expressions of love weren’t as aggressive. thought about depression. I knew that it was a
That was until I met the museum curator. She debilitating disease and told him so. He was quiet
wore stilettos and had her dark hair cut into a after that even though I felt a blaring new tension
bob. She discovered me amongst the Egyptian between us. The next day he wasn’t at work.
exhibit and immediately delved into conversa- Three days went by before one of his coworkers
tions of the ancient civilization. The only thing I went to check on him and found him hanging in
knew about them was that they would pull the his closet. It destroyed me. I didn’t want to know
brain out through the nose during mummifica- anyone else after that.
tion. This seemed to humor her, however, since

133

It took a young woman with a guitar that she About the Author:
would play in the park to lighten my dark mind. I
was walking down the path when I saw her sitting Tabatha Jenkins is a recent college graduate of
under a tree. I liked the melody that she was play- the University of Arkansas at Monticello where
ing and asked to sit with her. She sang Bob Dylan she studied English and Creative Writing. She was
and munched on oatmeal cookies, of course shar- a intern staff member for the Foliate Oak Literary
ing with me. I asked her if she ever loved anyone Magazine during part of her time as an undergrad
and she simply told me that she loved the Earth. I and served as the Flash Fiction editor. She also
loved her for her honesty, but also knew that I published her first editorial publication in May of
was pretty small compared to the Earth. I left her 2017. You can learn more about her at her per-
when the sun started to creep below the tree sonal website: http://tabathajenkins.wixsite.com/
line. tabathajenkins.

I don’t have anyone right now. I’m simply wan-
dering the world. I love all of the people that I
have known, but I know that none of them were
meant to be forever. I don’t mean to be picky, or
seem pretentious. I just don’t want to be
squished into a slot that I don’t fit into. I haven’t a
library that has every book I need. And maybe I
never will, and that’s ok. I just hope that one day I
might find someone that needs me as much as I
need them.

134

HIM

Rebekah Coxwell

She had been sure it was him. That bald head. away with the force the laugh was leaving her
The confident way he planted his feet about a body with. Then, once it was gone, she had
foot apart. He knew there was no one that could thrown her arms around him and thrown her lips
throw him off balance, but he still dared someone at his face. He had grabbed her hips and pulled
to try. His back was straight because he knew he her towards him like he was trying to bring her
was attractive enough to pick who he wanted, inside of himself. They had finally pulled apart
despite the pot belly. Then, the slight stoop of his because a car beeped at them. They had contin-
shoulders that deepened with every wife he left ued walking across the street.
behind. She was sure it was the combination of
beauty and burdened man that drew women to As they had passed her, he’d glanced at her
him. The women assumed he was burdened be- and winked. Then, he’d kissed his lady’s shoulder.
cause he was compassionate, so they flocked to As she had watched them walk away, he had
him, offering him their backsides, so they could grabbed the woman’s butt. She had started to
help carry his burden before it made him fall to chuckle and her shoulders shook. Of course, that
his knees. No man deserved that kind of burden— hadn’t been her father. It never was. The wom-
the women would think. He would plop all the an’s chuckle had mocked her from a distance. Ha
weight of his package on them. They’d cry out: ha, you thought he was your father. Jokes on you.
too much. He’d smile: take it for papa bear. They
would smile back, helplessly, and struggle for- It is humid out, but she buttons her coat up
ward as long as they could. He would run ahead, and stuffs her hands in her pocket. It feels right,
looking for another sucker to take his pack, know- somehow. The drizzle coming down seems right
ing the current holder was nearing her end. Inevi- as well. If it was sunny, no clouds in the sky, she
tably, the pack carrier fell to her knees. As her might revert back to her cowardly ways. Go to the
knees hit the concrete, she would curse his name. beach or find a literature magazine interesting
He would kneel beside her and pick up his pack enough to spend a whole day on. But it is grey,
once again. Then, he would walk away, not even humid, and there is enough drizzle coming down
looking back. The next carrier already in his sights. to make it too hard to do anything but walk quick-
Another woman willing to give her dignity to him. ly to her destination.

His arm had been around a thick, white wom- She looks up to the sky. The warm drizzle
an. That was just his type. Curvy enough to have leaves droplets on her glasses. She hates when
huge breasts and thick enough to feel they could- she gets drops of rain on her glasses. Why did she
n’t do any better than to take care of this man. look up? She continues looking up as more and
They had turned to cross the street. He had said more drops fall on her glasses. Should she count
something funny. She had laughed. Her breasts them? She could clean off her glasses and start
and her belly had shaken, violently. She had from one. She laughs to herself. A quiet giggle
grabbed his arm, thrown her head back, and let hidden in her chest. What the hell would he make
the laugh fly from her mouth. She had held of this? Not her absent father, Joseph. What
his arm the whole time so her body wouldn’t fly

135

would he make of her standing in the rain, staring pulls her hair out to its full length. It bounces back
at the sky trying not to think about where he end- almost immediately. She feels the need to explain
ed up? herself.

She looks ahead and starts walking. Black wavy “My hair is natural now. I’m sure you would’ve
hair, perched on black horn rimmed glasses. The been excited about the prospect of seeing my hair
droplets on her glasses give everything a sad qual- in a fro.”
ity, like she’s been walking around crying. He be-
lieved he was dead and there was nothing after Prospect. The word feels too big for her
he closed his eyes. At the end, he preferred noth- mouth. Like it doesn’t belong there, and should
ing over emotional instability, and here she was be spit out as soon as possible. She had always
walking to his grave site looking as though, she felt that way around him, not because he was
has been crying for the last couple minutes. She Vietnamese and she was black. He had just been,
keeps her eyes forward. Keep walking. Keep walk- smarter. It wasn’t the giant glasses he had bought
ing. A laugh, at once, weary and childlike. She as a joke to make him look more Asian.
won’t chicken out this time. She wishes the water
droplets on her glasses would magnify everything It was how he chose not to correct someone
she is looking at. It would make for a more inter- when they said something wrong. How he had
esting walk. Instead, everything is grey. Grey made every school project a joke, somehow. How
sidewalk. Grey sky. Only her memories have col- he had gotten grades, good enough not to upset
or. She sighs heavily and stops walking. Keep his mom, but not good enough so as to bring
walking. You’re almost there. She squeezes her attention to himself. She remembered a month
eyes tight, balls her fists and steps forward. Look before they graduated high school he had said he
straight ahead, you’re almost there. A bright red was going to drop out and get his GED, just be-
and black jacket clinging to his body, making her cause.
jealous. She turns the corner.
“I’m trying not to change, but…”
She has done this before, not with Joseph, with
her grandmother. She had been twelve and her She trails off. It’s impossible to stop change is
grandmother had been dead for four years. It had what she wants to say. Somehow, she feels if she
gone well. Like talking to yourself, except you says it out loud, she’ll realize there is no one
look around and everyone else is doing it too. there. Realize this whole thing is futile. That the
Some crying and others standing, silently, guard- best course of action is to let life keep moving,
ing their dead. instead of running back to the past.

This is different. She isn’t twelve and this isn’t “I loved you.”
her grandmother. She stands awkwardly in front
of the grave stone. She reaches out to touch it, They had both known. She hadn’t said. Some
then changes her mind. She drops her hand, then, days, she wishes she had. Other days, she is glad
takes a step back. He’d hate me if he saw this, but she had not because she knows it wouldn’t have
this isn’t about him. changed anything.

“Joseph.” “Remember when we left school and
walked around the playgrounds in our neighbor-
She stops after saying his name, audibly. She hood. We’d swing and then talk about the drug
hasn’t said it in a while. He is ‘my friend’ or ‘Jo Jo’. deals that probably happened after dark? When I
Never his formal name. Concrete evidence he is had that giant baby phat jacket? You used to
dead, gone, and no longer in need of nicknames. laugh at me because I was cold all the time. I’d
She pulls her hood down. turn to you and say I was anemic and you’d make
a joke about my period. Then, you’d laugh.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I look a bit differ-
ent.” She remembered that laugh. There was noth-
ing big about it. Nothing that stood out, neces-
She turns around in a circle, like he can sarily. It was innocent and weary. His eyes full of
see her. She puts her hands in her thick curls and so many possibilities, tricking you into thinking
you could be anything, too. You would look in his

136

eyes and think he had enough possibilities to These ghosts wouldn’t leave her alone. She
share with you. Enough possibilities to sustain would try to move forward, go on a date, leave
both of you for a lifetime. town, but then she would see a face she was sure
belonged to one of her ghosts, and she would go
“I’d stand there and pout because that’s what right back to her usual. The lure of the past was
I thought you wanted from me.” seductive. Warm, comfortable. It promised her it
would never leave her, so, she would fall back
She had wondered, looking into his eyes, into it. She didn’t want to realize it was a lie, but it
what this beautiful person saw in her. He stood was inevitable. Impossible to ignore. She’d wake
out. A quiet confidence, enough to make even up just as the sun was rising and know she was
teachers look at him, but not enough to make alone. The memories a warm fog that left her
people dislike him. Wavy black hair, she wanted feeling damp and cold, like she had walked in
to reach for, and feared, would reject her. Then, from a rainstorm and climbed into bed with her
his intelligence. It was overwhelming, his beauty. wet clothes still on.
He, was overwhelming.
She would ball herself up in her bed with two
Then, there was her. Her greatest triumph, had comforters, a bed side heater, and every light in
been caring: caring for her family, caring for him, her apartment on. The lights helped with the
caring for her other friends. It was all the same, loneliness, everything else with the damp feeling
except in the times he smiled. under her skin. No matter the weather outside,
that feeling wouldn’t leave her until she climbed
She spent three years trying to keep that smile into her bed and burrowed in. She’d fall asleep
in front of her. When that couldn’t happen, she and dream of a time before her ghosts haunted
settled for being next to him. her. When they had just been people.

Next to him, she started to see the others. The She looks straight ahead and rubs her neck.
girls who would turn towards him, offering them- Maybe this is why she is here. To move on. To
selves, like she had. He didn’t need to say the throw the ghosts off of her back.
words. He would only smile, and she watched as
he heaved the baggage, she wasn’t carrying, on “Anyway, since I’m here, I’ll start with my fa-
them. Then, he would walk forward. His harem ther.”
walking forward with him. All, looking only to
him. Only she saw the others. Her voice sounds bright, false.

By his right side, she felt important, for a while. He would probably distract her, if he was here,
Eventually, she saw her placement was only coin- if he heard this voice. He’d jump up on his feet
cidental. She could have been anyone. With each and start hurdling over grave stones. Running
step, after this realization, her load became heavi- away from the revelation he heard on the tip of
er and heavier. It was harder and harder to look her tongue.
him in his face, his eyes. She stopped looking in
them altogether. She decided to stop loving him. Maybe she would do this tomorrow. Tell him
It was easier than seeing herself as one of his the story of her life through the lens of the men
herd. What she missed, after she stopped looking she loved and hated, including him. She got up
in his eyes, were the possibilities burning out like and stared at the gravestone.
light bulbs at the end of their lives. Some people
have bigger loads to bear, and not enough Giap, Joseph Nguyen
strength to carry them.
Beloved Son
Her eyes tear up. She looks up. Water droplets
start to collect on her glasses, again. Why is she January 13 1991-September 19 2011
here? She should be doing something. Moving
forward. Getting married, having some kids, but He would have been 25. A year younger than
she is here talking to a dead boy who has the herself.
same name as her dead-beat father.
“Tomorrow.”

137

She stands up and looks at the ground. The That morning, even in the damp clothes, his back
ground is the color of coffee grounds. She doesn’t was straight. All familiarity he had worn yester-
want to look at the gravestone anymore. She day, was gone. She feels cold, but not the slightly
feels like a coward. She feels like a ghost. Like he damp cold she is used to. A frigid cold. She turns
is the live one ignoring her, while she follows him the thermostat up, puts a sweater and jogging
around shouting at him until her voice gives out. pants on, and burrows into her bed. Lights for-
gotten.
She wants to reiterate her promise. Tomorrow.
To solidify it, but in the corner of her eye she sees She puts on a scarf, sweater, and jacket on her
him pass by. She turns, watching him slowly and way to work. Which she realizes is too much once
purposefully walk by her -- as if he doesn’t know she gets out of her car.
her. She reaches out her hand to him. She reach-
es out to him as if he is within her reach, despite On the way, back to her car, after work, she
his distance. Her feet will not move, as if they shivers. In the car, she pulls her sweater on, then
know where he is and where he is not. Her mouth her jacket, and finally wraps her scarf around her
refuses the impulses from her brain, as if it too, neck. Despite this, she is colder when she walks
knows she is fooling herself. up to her apartment. She soon forgets this. Sitting
in front of her apartment door, is her stranger. He
He stops. Her hand drops to her side. Then, as stands up, when she stops in front of him. He
if getting permission from her hand, he continues places both of his hands on the sides of her face.
walking. Cigarettes and mulch. She closes her eyes and
breaths it in. His eyes are closed, she knows this,
She can’t look behind her, at the gravestone. but she still kisses him back. She forgot long ago
She knows which reality she prefers. She walks what his kiss felt like. Smelled like. But she imagi-
forward. Then, she runs. When she is within three nes it is this. Hot and against cold lips, smelling of
feet of him, he slows. Within two feet of him, he fresh cigarettes and mulch. She leans into him.
stops. He turns around. She looks up and sees the This kiss.
face she is running after. She brings her hand up
and touches his face. Warm. Brown- green eyes When he is inside of her, she closes her eyes
warm her face in return. He rests his hand on and dreams of Joseph. They orgasm together. Her
hers. His hands are rough and smell like dirt. He eyes flutter open when she feels a drop of rain on
kisses her. her face. He looks away, then flips over on his
side and shakes, silently. She lays on her back
Back at her apartment he touches her softly, next to him. She bites her lip to keep herself from
but doesn’t kiss her again. When he climaxes, his touching him. She turns on her side, and pretends
eyes are closed, so she closes her eyes too. He to sleep. This is not a love story. This is not her
deserves his privacy, she thinks. After, they sleep. lost love come back from the dead. She is alone,
and so is he.
When she wakes up, she looks over and sees a
stranger. He wakes, as if, hearing her realization. When he is done crying and either sleeping or
He sits up and looks at the floor. He grabs his pretending to sleep, she slips out of her bed and
shirt, damp, from the day before, and shakes it goes to the bathroom. She sits on the toilet. Then,
out. Then, he tugs it on. He does the same with thinks better of it and goes over to the tub. She
his jeans. Only after covering his body, does he turns on the water. Then sits on the toilet once
turn to look at her. again. She puts her hands over her eyes, takes a
deep breath, and lets the tears come with the
“I’m not him, but you’re not her, either.” exhale.

She has nothing to say. She only watches as his
back, rod straight, walks away from her, and dis-
appears behind her door. He didn’t even shiver
from the damp clothes, she thinks.

After he leaves, the rod straight back sticks in
her mind. At the grave site, it had been stooped.

138

When she is finished, she turns the water off. On the fifteenth day, she feels him everywhere: In
She gets into the tub. It is hot, but she immediate- the puff of cigarette smoke she breaths in while
ly sits down. She turns her foot in the water and sitting in traffic, in the newly tended flower bed
watches the bottom of it turn pink. She feels his outside of her diner, and in every male customer
presence. He places his hand on her back. She she waits on when she first lays eyes on them. On
moves forward in the tub, giving him room. He the way home, she stops looking.
sits behind her, making the water rise. She settles
between his legs. He wraps his arms around her. That night she lays, like every night. On her
She feels his thighs around her body and imagines back, legs and arms spread, waiting. She sleeps.
this happened with Joseph. She wants to believe
she is reenacting events they did together. She She is in a dark room. She looks down at her
closes her eyes. He kisses the back of her neck, hands and sees they are not her hands; they are
she shivers. His lips are cooler then her body. his, Joseph’s, hands. Then, a feeling. Tugging.
Warm at her crotch. Then warmth spreading
“You looked like her standing there. That’s why throughout her body. She looks down and sees
I stopped. I knew it wasn’t her but, you just herself. Or Joseph in her body? Her face smiles at
looked so much like her, I couldn’t help myself.” her over his dick and she hates herself. She hates
the face taking the penis inside her mouth. She
She says nothing. If she doesn’t acknowledge wants to slap that face. Then, a knock.
that he is a ghost he will go back to being flesh
and blood. She says nothing. He doesn’t say any She wakes up. Startled. Her nakedness for-
more. He only holds her. gotten. Only fear with a dash of contempt stuck in
the back of her throat.
The next morning, she wakes up cold. She rolls
out of bed and grabs her shirt from the night be- She opens the door to the syrup-acid smell of
fore. She pulls it on. The goose bumps on her liquor mixed with the smell of a freshly smoked
breasts and thighs hurt. She opens a drawer and cigarette. Where is the mulch?
pulls out pants, another drawer and pulls out
socks. She pulls them on, and then jumps into He stumbles in. With him comes a chill that
bed. She rolls over and turns on the space heater tickles up her spine and hardens her nipples. He
next to her bed. She rubs her legs to warm herself catches himself, as he falls into her apartment,
up. Then she pulls the covers around herself. All and grabs her in one movement. Instead of falling
of this, before realizing he is gone. on top of her, he holds her as if he has intention-
ally dipped her. She kisses him. They stumble into
It is two weeks before she sees him again. She bed. She helps him take his clothes off.
comes home, every day, expecting to see him
crouched and waiting in front of her apartment. He whispers “, I love you. I forgive you.”
She stops and looks around every time she smells
cigarettes. She thinks, what has his ghost done? Then, she
closes her eyes and dreams of wavy black hair
At night, it is stifling; so humid she throws her and a warm kiss that smells of cigarettes and
comforter on the floor. She reaches over to the mulch. He could never hate her and love her like
other side of the bed to turn off her space heater. this. He could never look at her with such disgust
She strips off all of her clothes and lays on her and touch her body so softly. She is sure. Her
back, arms and legs spread apart. Waiting, for the throat burns, in protest. Her eyes give tears, as
heat to release her, so she can drift to sleep. Most evidence of her lie.
nights, she lays in bed, awake, and missing her
ghost. She opens her eyes, feeling tears that don’t
belong to her. Their eyes meet. She sees his eyes
are grey. How had she seen brown and green? He
refuses to look away from her.

“Say it.”

139

She has no idea what reprieve he is looking for. Afterward, she crawls under the covers and goes
What words she can put together to relieve him. to sleep.
So she speaks to her ghost. She speaks the guilt
she has held for refusing to look him in the eye. Celia Abel, breathes in the smell of mulch. A
distant memory comes forward. Then she ex-
“I’m sorry.” hales. The memory fades. With her eyes closed,
she can feel the sun warming her back. Celia
He laughs. opens her eyes and digs her fingers into the dark
soil. It’s damp and cool. Her stranger sitting,
“No. The thing you used to say when I was waiting in front of her door. Celia feels balanced
drunk and sad.” out here. The warm sun and the cool soil comple-
ment each other. They make her feel whole. She
This isn’t her ghost. She is in bed with the body places the chrysanthemum plant in the dirt and
her ghost inhabited. She is in bed with a stranger. then covers its roots with soil. Once she plants
The bedroom is humid. Stifling. Where is her cool the flowers, she will cover the soil with mulch.
breeze? The chill in the air? She is suffocating. Warm lips on cool lips. The smell of cigarettes.

He rolls off of her and sits by the side of the Celia stands up and pulls a pack from her
bed. He pulls his shirt on. Then he picks up his apron. She waves the pack at her new boss. He
pants and puts them on as well. nods, giving her permission. She walks past the
store her company is landscaping, past a couple
When had he gotten so lean, she thinks. This of other stores, to the corner of the street. She
stranger looks nothing like her ghost. pulls a cigarette out of the pack and inhales. Arms
around her, sitting in hot water. Cold lips brushing
In the dark, he stands straight. Eyes looking the back of her neck.
above her head. His hands, in either arm pit, as if
showing his hands to her is too intimate. The Looking around Celia wonders if this is what
street lamp outside of her window glows bright. change is? A new job? A new apartment? Is this
She wonders if the man in front of her is in fact an what she was waiting for? She watches the peo-
apparition. ple across the street. A couple holding hands. The
woman looks up at the man and smiles. Sensing
He refuses to look at her. “I won’t be back.” this, he looks down and smiles back. A mother
squatting in front of a carriage, trying to soothe
He strides towards and out of the door. her screaming child. A man yelling at either his
brother or lover. Where did she fit in? Was some-
She wonders why he no longer smells like one watching her stand here, in her bright green
mulch. She opens her window, hoping a breeze apron, smoking?
will come through it, and relieve her. When it
doesn’t, she lays down on the bed. Arms and legs Celia looks across the street, into a smoothie
spread. This time she spreads her fingers. Futile. place. A bored young woman stands behind a
The heat still lays on her, in her, and he isn’t com- register reading the names of customers. A young
ing back. professional steps up to take his cup. A familiar
face. He takes the cup from the woman at the
She rolls over and out of bed. She turns the register. He smiles. Had she ever seen him smile?
thermostat down to 40 degrees. Then she lays Had he ever smiled at her? Her stranger looks
back on her bed, waiting until she is cool enough. content. His smile playful, boyish. He turns away
Her skin raises in protest. Her nipples harden and after paying and gives the cup to a woman stand-
goosebumps multiply across the front of her ing to the side of the counter. He picks up her
body. Her sex throbs. She reaches down and hand and kisses it. They smile at each other. A
brushes herself. Her nipples stiffen. The goose- message: you make me whole. He leans down
bumps around her areola rise. She reaches down and kisses her.
and brushes her sex again. The pleasure causing
her pelvis to lift up in protest at such indulgence. She can’t tell if it’s a long kiss or whether she is
She sticks a finger inside herself, and brings her
other hand down to continue stroking her sex.
When she orgasms, she calls out, yes, to no one.
She sighs, sated, and there is no one there.

140

seeing it in slow motion. She wonders if he has
always been that tall? Is that why he always
looked so rigid? She watches the couple walk out
of the smoothie place. He glances in her direction.
His smile hesitates. It seems as if it will fall. She
doesn’t move. She doesn’t look away. He looks
away and laughs. His companion, laughs along
with her joke. Or maybe at her. Ha ha, you are the
joke. She watches them walk away. His back
seems, human. He smiles at her? He even smiles
at the smoothie girl? Who is he? Where is the
cold rigidity of his back? The resolve. She feels
warm, then hot, and then stifling. It comes at her
like a slow, intentional, wave.

A tear hits the sidewalk. A tear hits her up-
turned hand. She looks up as the rain starts pour-
ing. Sudden. Cool. She takes a deep breath in. She
lets it out. The raindrops fall so fast she is unable
to count how many hit her glasses.

Author about herself: Rebekah Coxwell

I am a Black American woman, wife, and mother. My maternal grandfather was an immigrant. To this
day, I do not know the name he was given by his mother. Only the name he chose. He was a strong man.
Compassionate and loving, but secretive. He was in the air force when it was segregated, and somehow
managed to reach lieutenant status. After twenty-five years of abuse in the air force he became a cor-
rections officer and spent another twenty-five years doing this. He spent the last twenty years caring for
my four siblings, his daughter, his son, and I. He would constantly tell me “get your Master’s, then get
your Doctorate, I know you can do it.” Meaning He wished any of his four kids had done that. Only after
he had been dead for six years did I find out he had a doctorate in Metaphysics. My grandfather spent
his life pushing himself to be quite literally the best he could be. I spent twenty years half listening to his
stories, thinking how ridiculous and fantastic my grandfather was. Now in his memory I am working day
by day to live up to even half of what he was. I hope, one day I do.

141

mèi mei n. Chin.

YOUNGER SISTER

Colin Wolcott

I'm at Lucky’s Lounge tonight. My sister asked me get a few glances as I stand on the edge of the
to come. Actually, I'm still in the parking lot. And room, trying to get a sense of the layout and
I've been in the parking lot, sitting in my car (a searching for Naomi. In the periphery of my sight,
Lexus), for nearly 10 minutes. This neighborhood, I can tell that one of those glances, from a derelict
this establishment, is a little, ah … out of my -looking man at the bar, lingers a bit long. Lust?
“comfort zone.” When I pulled into this place Anger? Curiosity? I disregard his stare (I doubt
there were two men and a woman standing out we’re even the same species) as I scan the estab-
front, eyeing me as I parked. They were taking lishment.
turns smoking an item passed back and forth be-
tween them, so it seems unlikely to be a ciga- A rectangular bar occupies the center of the
rette, meaning it's probably, what, marijuana? Lounge, with a row of booths against the far wall.
Something worse? In this part of town, who One of them holds a lone woman with dark hair,
knows? Meth, maybe? Is that how meth is hunched over the table, tracing the rim of a rocks
smoked? I'm not getting out of this car until they glass in front of her with a finger. Circling around
leave. Hopefully that means exiting the premises the room, I approach her seat from behind, and
altogether as opposed to heading inside. I'm not as I near, I try to draw out a convincing smile. I
having this car keyed, or the tires slashed, simply think about the vacation Mitchell and I have
because someone else is poor, or high, or pissy booked to Corsica this summer, and I don’t have
about their rotting teeth, and wants to take it out to fake smiling about that.
on someone who isn’t. I wasn’t tremendously
eager to be here in the first place, so take your Naomi doesn’t even notice when I stop at
time, finish your smoke; I can wait. her table. She keeps fingering the glass and star-
ing at the melting ice like it’s some sort of gin-
It's somewhere around the 15-minute soaked crystal ball. Jesus, she looks like the other
mark before I grab my purse (I’m not letting it out mouth-breathers inhabiting this place.
of my sight) and walk toward the front of the
Lounge. The smoking trio finished getting high, or “Naomi?”
whatever, a few minutes ago, but stuck around to
chat before going in. I have to lean my body back She starts, then smiles. “Cara!” As we em-
to pull open the heavy door, and inside it's dim, brace I feel a twinge of anxiety shoot through me;
and noisy, and humid, and I can just feel myself our meetings often begin cordially, but seldom
getting dirty. I can't imagine why Naomi wanted end that way. I take the bench opposite her.
to meet here, unless it was for the express pur- There are crumbs on the blue vinyl cushion.
pose of making me uncomfortable. Which seems
like something she might do. Naomi seems a little anxious. She
smoothes non-existent strands of hair away from
The only luck visible inside Lucky’s is the her face, and I can see she’s got streaks of magen-
hard kind, but what I can see is neon, mirrors, and ta running through it now. That’s new. It’s trashy;
dark wood which probably gets “wiped down” at low-class. A waitress comes by wearing a shorts
the end of each shift, but never actually cleaned. and t-shirt ensemble which suggests she’s no
stranger to getting slapped around by her boy-
friends, and Naomi addresses her as “Aurea.”

142

They don’t have a wine list and my only choices an inflection point somewhere between enough
are “a white and a red.” I don’t even try to hide and too much of a good thing. She’s always ap-
my eye roll and take a chance on the red. Naomi peared to enjoy—to take a certain pride in—her
asks for another glass of gin. suffering (Mother would point out she was born
in the Year of the Ox). She seems content to
We small-talk for a bit: Yes, you look good too spend life slowly swirling around the drain. Is it
(you don’t). It has been a while, over three possible she doesn’t realize things could be other-
months, I think. No; no trouble finding the place. wise, that they could be better, that the Lexus in
Mitchell is doing great, he got the go-ahead to the parking lot could be hers if she only chose
hire another employee for his unit—-yes, another differently?
one, I know, that’s three in the past year. I talked
to Father and Mother last week; they’re well, Naomi tells me she’s a lesbian. No preamble, no
they asked about you. foreplay, only the statement. I don’t know what
to say. I have no idea why she’s telling me this
Our drinks appear and I don’t even have to and I don’t understand what it has to do with me.
hold my stemware to the dusky light to know it I do think the gays often find that coming out to
hasn’t been properly cleaned. Still, I can tell it’s certain family members can be difficult, and can
not a tragedy when I take my first sip. I’m having generate hostility. It makes sense to have the
trouble identifying the grape and guess that it’s more amenable individuals already “on board” as
probably a blend (thank God no one will see me it were, to provide support when things turn neg-
drinking this), but don’t want to appear uncom- ative. Certainly our parents, having been born and
fortable with the wine so I control my expression raised in China, are not likely to be pleased by this
as I swallow. Naomi lays into the glass of gin like decision. Especially not at her age; she’s nearing
she’s trying to prove something, and I want to 30. Fifteen years ago this might have been forgiv-
wince just watching her do it. en as “youthful indiscretion,” or the impetuous-
ness of a morose child, but those excuses won’t
There’s a bit of silence, so I ask her why work anymore.
she chose this place to meet. I’m surprised when
she says she works here now. It’s a step down I peer down at the wine, running my fin-
from the Macy’s she was at the last time I asked, gers up and down the stem, considering. Across
but she defends the switch. She makes more the table, I can feel Naomi watching me, waiting
here, she says. The hours are better, she says. for my reaction. I pick up the glass, take a meas-
These people are her friends, she says. ured sip, and look up at my sister.

Roots showing, holes in the socks, calluses “Ok,” I say.
on the hands; they’re good salt (scum)-of-the-
earth types, clearly. She stares at me. She wants more (who’s
being baited now?); a gesture of acceptance or an
Naomi swivels and catches Aurea’s eye offer to help. But I’ve made real efforts to iron
across the room. “I’m having another,” she says this kind of messiness out of my life. I’ve gone to
(continuing a string of first-rate life decisions), lengths. And I don’t want any more of it. I have a
“you?” husband who is successful, a 4100 square-foot
house, my children are in private school, and our
I purse my lips slightly, “No, thank you, not parents are proud of me. My life is like a sheet on
right now.” a bed which I’ve smoothed and smoothed. It’s
creaseless and even; an unbroken plane of pure
When the next glass of gin arrives, my sis- white. And I want it to stay that way.
ter again assaults it. Some of the other Chinese
people I know can’t drink. For all intents and pur- My sister seems thrown off track. As if
poses, they’re allergic to alcohol. I think we’re she’s failed to gain whatever momentum she
fortunate this doesn’t run in our family, although thought she was going to get with that declara-
it’s certainly not something to be celebrated or tion. She sits up and leans over the table, staring
tested. But Naomi has always seemed to want to down into her glass. The cubes have melted a bit,
wallow in the negatives and unpleasantness of and there’s a layer of diluted alcohol collected at
life. She’s never been able to understand there’s

143

the bottom which she doesn’t let go to waste. She “But I don’t see how my confidence will help,” I
says I’m the first member of the family she’s told. say. “You’ll still be hiding from the rest of the
I think she intends it as a privilege. She asks if it family. It will still be a secret, even if one other
bothers me that she’s like this. If I’m OK with it. person is aware. I don’t want to be your sole sup-
port in this. I’m not interested in that responsibil-
I tell her it doesn’t bother me, but I’m not ity. The rest of the family, including Father and
sure why it matters, and I don’t see how it chang- Mother, will have to be told if you want to be free
es anything. of whatever burden you’ve imposed upon your-
self.”
Naomi says that it doesn’t have to change
anything, but she wanted me to know. She asks “You’re the only one I need to tell, Cara.”
me not to tell Father or Mother—she doesn’t
think they’ll take it well (surely you don’t think, “Why is that, Naomi? What is it you expect
after everything else, this is the thing which will me to do?”
make you a disappointment?).
She gazes out across the dim room, her
I nod. lips are pressed thin. “Life hasn’t been easy for
me,” she says.
“Cara,” she says, “I’ve been living with this
for a long time. Since we were children. It hasn’t I lean over the table and point a finger toward
been easy.” her. “You made it hard,” I tell her. “Being this way
makes it harder.”
“Ok,” I say.
“I don’t have much choice,” she says.
She sighs and slouches back into her seat.
She tells me I’m like a rock. Like a statue. I re- “Don’t you?”
member the carved marble and alabaster in the
Louvre. Perfect bodies draped in flowing stone, Naomi smiles at me, but her eyes are nar-
unblemished and timeless. I don’t imagine she row. “Come on, Cara,” she says. “You know better
intends it as a compliment, but the comparison is than that.”
favorable.
I see the waitress heading toward our
She calls for another drink and looks at me. booth with a tray of drinks in her hand, and settle
myself (it’s important to appear composed). She
“Please,” I say. sets the two glasses onto the table and I give her
a nod and a tight smile. I take a sip and fold my
“Another round,” she says. hands back into my lap; my sister’s stubbornness
agitates me, but I won’t let her goad me into an-
We don’t speak for a while. Naomi rattles other yelling match. Especially not over this fool-
the icy cores in her glass and slurps up every last ishness.
bit of gin. I pick at a divot in the table until I real-
ize I don’t want to chip my polish, then take a I tell my sister that she insists on being this
moment to more closely inspect the Lounge. It’s way. She insists on taking the hard road, she in-
lightly patronized. The music is louder than is nec- sists on being unhappy, and that these are her
essary, and they’re playing the kind of classic rock choices. I gesture at the room around us and tell
that is country-influenced, and proud of it. her that I don’t remember at what point she de-
cided to begin steeping herself in negativity and
“Naomi,” I ask, “why are you telling me this? Why failure, but it’s gone on much too long.
now?”
“It’s far past time for you to grow up,” I
Her eyes are unfocused and staring down say. “So you’re a lesbian. Fine. Father and Mother
into the middle of the table. In a soft voice she won’t approve, I don’t think your chances are
tells me she wants to make some changes in her good with anyone else in the family either, but
life. She says there are issues she’s ignored for this doesn’t affect me. If you’re looking to try to
years and she needs to begin addressing them. make me your accomplice, to make me offer
Hidden things which have taken a toll and that solidarity and support in front of them, you’re
she doesn’t want to conceal anymore.

144

mistaken. This isn’t my problem. I’m …” I take a “Both.”
moment to breathe, and adjust my voice down to
its original pitch. “I’ve tolerated far too much grief “I’m sorry because I’m really not trying to
out of you over the years to be interested in tak- hurt you.” She gazes down at the table and picks
ing part in another one of your self-involved dra- at some small speck crusted there. “I … I love you
mas.” Cara. And I mean that in a sister way now. It’s
been hard between us, and I get that I’m a big
Naomi takes all of this without interrupting reason for the problems. But I wanted you to un-
me, staring straight across the table. “It is hard. derstand why it’s so difficult for me to be around
But I didn’t make it that way,” she says. “You you sometimes.”
know what can depress someone? You know
what can cause them to spiral? When they realize Naomi tucks her hair behind her ear and
the first person they’re attracted to is their own glances up at me. She hints a smile. “And it
sister.” doesn’t make sense why I feel this way about
you,” she says. “I realize it’s not right, but that
“Cara,” she tells me, “this has everything doesn’t change anything. It’s been this way since
to do with you.” we were kids.” She looks away again. “I really was
aware of it—The first time I remember feeling it
I feel as if my head has detached from my was when we were taking riding lessons. At the
body and is floating there in the booth like a bal- stable. I saw you kissing that girl Anna Kline in one
loon, tethered to the dirty cushion below and of the stalls. You were—”
swaying slightly. I excuse myself to the lavatory.
“She was kissing me. I was not kissing her.”
Walking to the rear of the establishment, my
mind clears a bit and I feel more integrated. The Naomi shakes her head. “That’s not what I
washroom smells strongly of bleach and faintly of saw, Cara.”
mildew and the tissue is thin. I scrub my hands for
more than a minute, bent over the sink and star- I raise my palm. “We were grooming one
ing at myself in the scratched mirror, before I of the horses, and talking. Then she just put her
realize I’m procrastinating and turn off the water. hand on me and kissed me. I had no idea what
Heading back, I barely notice any of the other was going on.”
patrons, and although I’ve practiced a confident
stride so many times it should appear flawless, “You didn’t stop her.”
every step I take feels as if it’s the wrong length.
At the booth, it’s all I can do to meet Naomi’s “Naomi,” I say, “I was terrified. I didn’t
eyes and acknowledge her as I slide back into the know about that kind of thing. I was probably not
detritus. even 15.”

We sit across from each other for a bit, Naomi slouches down and swirls the chilled rem-
and this time I’m the one heading for the bottom nants in her glass. “You didn’t look terrified, Cara.
of my glass while she watches me. My seat You didn’t look uncomfortable at all.”
doesn’t feel comfortable, and I shift in a fruitless
search to find a tolerable spot. I study the ceiling above me. There’s a sub-
stantially-sized Earl Grey-colored stain sprawling
“I’m sorry, Cara,” she says. across the tiles. (what should I tell her?)

“About what?” “Why were you spying on me?” I ask.

She shrugs. “About being the way I am. “I wasn’t spying. I had to groom my horse
And, of course, for telling you about it. I know it’s too, and when I came to the barn, I saw you from
selfish and it makes things more complicated for the door. You didn’t pull away.” Naomi drains the
you.” remaining liquid and pushes the glass away from
her. “It made me mad,” she says. “It took me a
“Why?” long time to finally … figure out? Admit why, I
guess? But I was jealous, Cara. I was jealous of
Naomi purses her lips and pauses. “Why her.”
am I sorry? Or why am I the way that I am?”

145

I plant my elbows and lean across the table, scru- With my arm around her, I tell her it’s all right. I
tinizing my sister’s face. “Is this actually true, Nao- tell her that she’s not disgusting; that she’s not
mi? What are the chances you’re fabricating horrible. After a few minutes of this, she calms
this?” I ask. down and lays her head on my shoulder. I pull her
hair away from her face and ask her if another
She won’t meet my eyes. “I don’t know drink would help.
why it’s you—I mean, it shouldn’t be. But I love
that you’re beautiful, and strong, and confident, She chuckles and gestures at the mess
and …” She glances up at me before continuing to she’s made of herself. “No,” she says, “too many
examine her hands. “It’s because you’re you, inhibitions is obviously not the problem.”
Cara.”
We sit for a while and talk. It’s more com-
(those statements are all true) fortable now; there’s less tension. A good cry can
do that. We talk about Naomi’s feelings for me.
I shake my head slowly. “This is not a good About issues between us, and how they may
thing,” I say. “This is not healthy. For either of us.” change in the aftermath of what she’s confessed
tonight. She’s worried the rest of the family will
Naomi wipes her face with her hands and catch on, but I insist that they’ll never hear it from
lets out a loud breath. “You know, I always me, and they’ll probably be thrilled if we can
thought it would go away. When I was younger, I simply manage to get along.
could hardly stand for us to be alone in the same
room.” The pitch of her voice wavers as she I call for the check and pay while Naomi heads to
speaks. “I knew I couldn’t have you, so I didn’t the back to clean herself up. In those few
want to be around you, and when I had to be minutes, I try to let a little of the evening sink in
around you, I was afraid of getting too close. I and figure out how this will affect us. Granted, a
thought something might slip. Living in the same romantic attraction for one’s sibling is taboo, but
house, I had to keep it locked down all the time. I it isn’t like we’re brother and sister. Certainly the
kept a lot of stuff locked down, to be on the safe situation would be far worse somehow if the pos-
side. I figured I’d get over you after I had a few sibility of a troglodytic child were present. And it’s
girlfriends.” She gives me a faint tight-lipped not as if Naomi and I will ever have that sort of
smile. “But I haven’t. Still. Clearly.” relationship, but the appeal is understandable.
I’m sure many of my qualities men find attractive
Naomi is staring into her lap, hunched forward make me desirable to women as well. Which isn’t
like she’s folding in on herself. She resembles a really surprising. It’s probably lucky I’ve never run
dead, curling leaf; her tremulous shoulders and into similar situations with any of the female
halting breath like a rustling wind. roommates I’ve had. That whole thing with Anna
Kline could easily have been more than a one-
She sniffs and looks up at me. Her cheeks time experience, and those would have been
are streaked. “So I have no idea what else to do wrinkles which might have been difficult to get rid
now, Cara,” she says. “I don’t call, we don’t see of.
each other for months, and then I’m still thinking
about you. It’s awful, and I understand it’s wrong. With this new honesty between Naomi
But maybe I need to hear you tell me that it’s and me, we’ll hopefully find ourselves in fewer of
horrible and you’re disgusted. Maybe if you tell the vehement disagreements which have plagued
me it’ll never happen, I can get past it. Maybe if I us over the years. And in fact, given how she
hear you say it, I’ll finally believe it.” She lets out feels, I suspect, if I pose my requests properly, I
an uneven breath and whispers, “Or maybe we will find my sister very amenable to giving me my
just shouldn’t see each other at all anymore.” way in the future.

I lean across the table and take my sister’s That’s something to look forward to: an-
hand. I give her a little squeeze and a smile that I other crease smoothed.
hope seems supportive.
Naomi walks me out. She’s going to wait
“Cara,” she says, “I’m so sorry.” She can’t until Aurea is done with her shift, then the two of
even get the words out before she starts sobbing. them are heading to some other bar. Out under
I stand up and slide into her side of the booth.

146

the yellow sodium lamps of the parking lot, things
are again uncomfortable. Because we so rarely
part each other’s company on good terms, the
protocols here are not well-defined. I put my
arms around her and don’t release the hug until
I’ve counted ten seconds

“Goodbye, Cara,” she says. “Thanks for
coming tonight.”

“I’ll admit,” I say, “I wasn’t so sure about
this when I pulled up, but I’m glad I came. It was a
productive evening.”

Naomi smiles. “Hope to see you soon.”

About the Author:
Colin Wolcott lives in sunny Beaverton, Oregon
where (he may or may not be lying by telling you)
it actually doesn't rain all that much. He spends
most days juggling work, writing classes at the
local Community College, and beanbags. In his
free time, he enjoys writing and reading things he
finds interesting.

147

THINE ENEMY

Caleb Dudley

Men talked nonchalantly around Frederick. Sim- obstacles to the oncoming assault. As his heart
mons was currently displaying a photograph of shuddered with each blast, Frederick couldn’t
his girlfriend back in Suffolk to an uninterested help but wonder if the sound was Mars himself,
Beasley. Richards was unleashing a torrent of savagely beating the drum of war. The men were
curses, having clumsily dropped his last cigarette silent. Any attempt at communication required
into the fetid water at his feet. Elliott, attempting strenuous yelling, so they remained quiet. There
to maintain his most serious glare and failing, was a pause, and before their ears could even
impersonated an irate Lieutenant Cross scolding recover from ringing the guns resumed firing.
Fry for having mud on his rifle stock. Fry played The target had changed from no man’s land, now
along, giving a series of exaggerated apologies a plain of craters and smoking debris, to the Ger-
before bursting into laughter with Elliott. The man trenches beyond. Hundreds of thrumming
ludicrous idea of preserving a state of cleanliness shells descended upon the enemy, their large
in such an environment seemed the perfect cari- brass casings piling into mountains at the feet of
cature of the fastidious officer. They were sur- the gunnery crews. The thunderous drumbeat
rounded by thousands of sweaty and grimy men, continued on, drowning out the screams of the
all tightly packed together in trenches hewn from dying.
the ground. The earth, as if eager to perform its
duties as undertaker, wrenched at legs and feet Suddenly, all was eerily calm as the last reverber-
with a viscous mud that clung to everything. A ation echoed off into the distance. The endless
foul, stagnant water pooled around ankles, cacophony had relegated Frederick into an almost
threatening to dissolve anything organic. Indeed, trancelike state, causing his eyes to lose focus and
what could remain unaffected? The war touched mind to drift. This stupor was destroyed by a
all, and no creation was exempt. Rapidly, the single, terrible event: the blowing of dozens of
chatter died down, only to be replaced with a shrieking whistles. The men snapped to atten-
nervous tension as they all waited for what would tion, pupils dilating and hearts pounding. It was
come next. Behind the front lines, Hell let loose all about to begin; the charge was about to begin.
its savage roar. With a tremendous cry, they pulled themselves
up the few feet it took to climb out of the trench-
Thunder was made manifest. Frederick’s very es and ran out into the open.
bones seemed to liquefy and the earth screamed
in agony as dozens of artilleries fired in concert For the first dozen feet, it almost seemed as if the
on no man’s land. For a split second the area in artillery barrage had done its work in obliterating
front of the trench was blissfully quiet, and then the enemy line. This was soon rectified. The air
the bellowing rumble resumed as shells found was filled the rhythmic cracking of hundreds of
their targets. Huge geysers of dark earth erupted, bullets being fired at the same time. Men jerked
explosions ripping apart barbed wire and skele- as the hot lead effortlessly passed through their
tonized trees. The bombardment was unre- bodies, spewing blood from holes that hadn’t
lenting, its staccato detonations continuing been there a moment before. Many attempted
for many minutes in an attempt to clear any to dive for cover, but the landscape near
their own trench was terrifyingly featureless and

148