Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 40

INDEPENDENT REVISTA
MONTHLY LITERÁRIA
LITERARY INDEPENDENTE
MAGAZINE
MENSAL

ADELAIDE FOUNDERS / FUNDADORES
Stevan V. Nikolic & Adelaide Franco Nikolic
Independent Monthly Literary Magazine
Revista Literária Independente Mensal EDITOR IN CHIEF / EDITOR-CHEFE
Year V, Number 40, September 2020 Stevan V. Nikolic
Ano V, Número 40, setembro 2020
[email protected]
ISBN-13: 978-1-953510-27-3
MANAGING DIRECTOR / DIRECTORA EXECUTIVA
Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent Adelaide Franco Nikolic
inter-national monthly publication, based in New
York and Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and GRAPHIC & WEB DESIGN
Adelaide Franco Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is Adelaide Books LLC, New York
to publish quality poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork,
and photography, as well as interviews, articles, and CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS IN THIS ISSUE
book reviews, written in English and Portuguese. We
seek to publish outstanding literary fiction, nonfic-tion, Keith Manos, Alan Swyer, Debbie Cutler,
and poetry, and to promote the writers we publish, Angelic Hinojosh, Kevin Auker, Emma
helping both new, emerging, and established authors
reach a wider literary audience. Bennison, Licia Young, Daniel Carpenter,
Parker Sterni, Noah Walker, John Tavares,
A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação David Massey, Kevin Taylor, Mary Daurio,
men-sal internacional e independente, localizada em
Nova Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic Raymond Tatten, Max Johansson, Tara
e Ade-laide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objectivo da Flaherty Guy, William Torphy, Maria Tsirona,
revista é publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e Robert Burns, Frank Emerson, Tracy Mann,
fotografia de qualidade assim como entrevistas, Allen Long, Lynn Dowless, Madlynn Haber,
artigos e críticas literárias, escritas em inglês e por-
tuguês. Pretendemos publicar ficção, não-ficção e Cynthia Warrington, Mark Fleckenstein,
poesia excepcionais assim como promover os Kihyeon Lee, Adelaide Shaw, Daniel King,
escritores que publicamos, ajudan-do os autores novos
e emergentes a atingir uma audiên-cia literária mais Zebulon Huset, Gary Ramsey, Rebecca
vasta. Dempsey, Yessica Klein, Terry Brinkman,
Alex Hand, Gary Beck, Sally Sandler, Boris
(http://adelaidemagazine.org)
Kokotov
Published by: Adelaide Books, New York
244 Fifth Avenue, Suite D27
New York NY, 10001
e-mail: [email protected]
phone: (917) 477 8984
http://adelaidebooks.org

Copyright © 2020 by Adelaide Literary Magazine

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

CONTENTS / CONTEÚDOS SCHOLARSHIP
by Maria Tsirona 90
FICTION
NONFICTION
DON’T TELL SHORT CIRCUIT
by Keith Manos 7 by Robert Burns 97
THE SAD, IRONIC FATE OF SULLIVAN BALLOU
LOYALTY by Frank Emerson 100
by Alan Swyer 16 THE PASSION
by Tracy Mann 109
THE KISS BASEBALLS
by Debbie Cutler 24 by Allen Long 118

THE UNKNOWN MAN POETRY
by Angelic Hinojosh 27 A POEM FOR THE WIND
by Lynn Dowless 123
HOLY SWORD NOTICING WOMEN
by Kevin Auker 30 by Madlynn Haber 127
MASQUERADE
BAD COFFEE by Cynthia Warrington 130
by Alicia Young 32 TRAVEL ADVISORY
by Mark Fleckenstein 135
LONE STAR THE CHILD I WAS
by Dan Carpenter 35 by Kihyeon Lee 138
A NIGHT ALONE
SOMETHING ABOUT JULY by Adelaide Shaw 141
by Parker Sterni 38 THE TOWER
by Daniel King 145
CHUCK’S DINER SUNSHOWER
by Noah Walker 41 by Zebulon Huset 148
DARK MOON, LONELINESS, AND HOPE
FIREBREAK by Gary William Ramsey 152
by John Tavares 44 GOAL POSTED
by Rebecca Dempsey 154
DOJOJI
by David Massey 52 3

MALCOLM AT MIDLIFE
by Kevin Taylor 59

CONJURED
by Mary Daurio 64

TEX MOSTLY
by Raymond Tatten 67

THE BEGINNING
OF AN END
by Max Johansson 75

THE WELFARE CHECK
by Tara Flaherty Guy 77

LIES
by William Torphy 84

Adelaide Literary Magazine

I AM ALWAYS HUNGRY AND INTERVIEW
WANTING TO HAVE SEX
by Yessica Klein 155 EDWARD DANIEL HUNT
Author of PENANCE 173
BLUE FOX SEATS
by Terry Brinkman 159 HANS TRUJILLO
Author of
NEON MARMALADE NEVER PLAY WITH DEATH 178
by Alex Hand 161
HELEN HAGEMANN
POPULATION DENSITY Author of
by Gary Beck 163 The last Asbestos Town 184

A COLUMN OF SMOKE TERRY BOYKIE
by Sally Sandler 165 Author of
The Forthcoming Jilt 188
WOW
by Boris Kokotov 168

4

FICTION



DON’T TELL

by Keith Manos

He stands next to my desk and uses this Mr. Miller – Brad – straightens up. “Cool
pen with green ink to mark my homework. it,” he demands. “Work on numbers six
I’m so used to the red markings that every to ten, gentlemen.” His words silence the
other teacher uses, I have to stare at his cir- classroom. He’s powerful. In control. He
cles and check marks for a minute before I bends, rests his left hand on my desk again,
can decipher what they mean. and taps the point of the pen on my paper.
“You have to find the product . . .”
He’s close. He smells like soap and chalk,
and just below his curled-up shirt sleeves I don’t hear the rest.
his forearms bristle with little hairs. “Here,
Michaela,” he murmurs and makes another I pretend to get a better look at problem
mark: a minus sign. “The two is supposed #3 until our bodies touch just enough so that
to be a negative.” He leans in even closer his left arm grazes my right breast, sending a
when he plants his free hand, his left hand, surge through my body that snags my breath
on my desk. away. It’s the first time we’ve touched like
this. His brown eyes keep moving left and
I try to keep my eyes on his right hand, right over my notebook paper because he
the one holding the weird green pen, like doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how he’s
I’m really focusing on the errors I made with connected to me right now. I want him
my algebra problems – mistakes I made pur- to look at me, but he doesn’t, making me
posely so he would stop and spend more wonder what he’s thinking. Polynomials
time at my desk like he’s doing right now probably. Linear equations. Integers.
to correct them – but I don’t care what the
right answer is. My eyes drift away from Me, Brad . . . Pick me. I’m right here for
the row of jumbled numbers and Xs on my you.
notebook paper.
Brad keeps that left hand planted on the
Brad’s fingernails are clipped, his fin- desktop while he moves his pen across my
gers smooth and hairless, the knuckles un- paper, so I don’t really have to move my body.
bruised and symmetrical. In the front of the Even when I rub a little against his arm, he
classroom by the door, one boy, one of my doesn’t react even though I want him to. I’m
11th grade classmates, is showing something glad I’m wearing my favorite bra today.
on his phone to two other boys, who then
break away laughing. Now he’s pointing at #4. “What’s the x
factor here, Michaela?”

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I re-focus and look at his corrections. I the front of the room, and steps forward to
nod my head just enough so I have to slide check Steve Peplin’s work. He bends over
my hair back behind my ears. I make my Steve’s desk, and I stare for a moment at
voice sound like I’m talking to a doctor. “Pos- his wide back, at the muscles pushing at his
itive four?” I say. Then I look up at him – at shirt.
the faint stubble on his chin, the stiff edges
of the collar of his white shirt, his loose red I get up and stand next to him, feeling
tie – the same look I’ve seen on television his height against me, and judge how he
detectives, the men who grab the jackets would lean down to put his arm around my
of criminals and shove them up against a waist or to hold my hand. What that would
wall and later sip scotch from little glasses. look like. What that would feel like. Another
And Brad could totally do that. He’s also our wave of energy rushes through me, and I
school’s wrestling coach. almost put my hand on his back to get him
to move a little so I can step around him. I
“That’s correct. There you go.” Brad’s chirpy want any excuse to touch him. To see if he
voice makes me feel for a moment like he’s can sense my feelings through my hand.
talking to a puppy. He even lifts his left arm off
the desk to pat my back, his fingers lingering And if he could, would he chastise me for
for a moment on the clasp of my bra, and I feel viewing him that way, a teacher, for God’s
my body surge again and then retreat when sake? What are you thinking, Michaela?
he removes his hand. He points at #4. “You
see, you neglected the negative here.” So instead, I keep my hands at my sides
and go the other direction, purposely
The rest of the class doesn’t notice Brad keeping my eyes away from Shauna, and
and me. Why would they? They’re supposed when I reach the front of the classroom I
to be working on the next problems, but hear Brad tell Steve how to reduce the poly-
most are peering into their laps, their fin- nomial. At the doorway those same boys
gers moving feverishly on their cellphones. murmur behind my back. “Fat tits,” one of
them says, and the others snicker. Brad is
Except for Shauna in the back of the busy and doesn’t hear them.
classroom. I feel her eyes on Brad and me;
they dig angrily into my back. I pretend I don’t hear them either.
Mostly I’m surprised because I’m invisible
“Michaela,” Brad lectures, “you need to to boys at this school. Boys don’t look at
multiply by two here, not divide.” Now he’s girls who shop in the plus-size section. But
pointing at #5, another one I know is wrong. Brad will. Soon. I know it. The three boys
“Try again.” lean in again to look at the one boy’s cell-
phone, their faces showing anticipation and
I peer at the paper where his pen has amusement.
stopped. He’s too close. I could wrap my
arm around his waist. Would he jerk away In the hallway I glance back into the
from me? Music plays in my head. “Dirty room at Brad to see if he’s looking at me,
Little Secret” by the All American Rejects. but he isn’t. He’s helping Dana Phillips now,
It’s our song. Or will be one day. “Okay. But his left hand resting on the back of her chair
can I go to the bathroom?” so that if she leaned back he could touch
her if he wanted. I can tell by the sweep of
He straightens again, nods, points to his his hand he’s putting checkmarks on her
hall pass resting against the chalk-board at

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homework answers. This makes Dana smile Next, I splash water on my forehead and
at her paper and then up at Brad, the same cheeks, and some drops splash onto my
look I remember from her yearbook picture, red Bayview High School t-shirt. Today is the
like she was already starting a career as a final day of Spirit Week. The football team
model. Brad smiles too. I can’t remember – is undefeated. Because the Bulldogs have a
did Brad smile at me that way? game tonight, the players are wearing their
white jerseys with red numerals with their
Brad. sleeves pulled up tight on their upper arms.
They jostle each other and laugh when they
Bradley? walk down the hallways between classes.
Sometimes cheerleaders walk with them.
I like the name Brad, but then there’s
BM. His initials are terrible. I would never I slip my bangs back behind my ears and
tell him that, though. He’s a proud man. A check my face in the mirror. It isn’t a cheer-
tough coach. leader face. My nose isn’t small enough.
My shoulders slope a little. My hair, Shauna,
I hurry down the dim, empty hallway, says, is too short and too mousy – too short,
a stale antiseptic smell still lingering from in fact, for pigtails, which I suspect Brad
the morning, and feel my stomach turning. likes. The girl he picked last year had pigtails.
I don’t have to touch it to know my fore-
head is hot, but I do anyway and the palm Shauna thinks she’s helping me; she’s my
of my hand comes away damp and warm. best friend. I text her back.
This makes me move my sluggish body even
faster. ???

I’m glad the restroom is empty. I barge When I return to Brad’s room, I walk
into a stall and, kneeling quickly, I throw briskly by the boys who sit near the door.
up, heaving for almost a minute until little I give Shauna a whatever look where she’s
brown bits of my morning cereal bob on top sitting in the back of the classroom. She
of the toilet water. When I finish, I flush im- slowly shakes her head at me. I’m used to
mediately and listen for the door opening that from her. At the bell, Shauna starts
and any footsteps. Thankfully, I’m still stacking her books on her desktop.
alone, and although the urge to vomit has
passed, I stay there in the coffin-like stall Brad, too, is stacking papers, our home-
and wait until I know I’m breathing. It’s like work, into a yellow plastic tray at his desk.
I’m discovering my lungs again, and when The tray says Period 4 on it. Picture frames
my breaths finally have a steady rhythm, I of his family – I peek at them every time I
open the door and step to the sink, its white enter his classroom – stand like little sen-
porcelain already stained by some girl’s tries on either side of his wooden desk. I
makeup. notice with disappointment that he already
retrieved my paper off my desk. I can’t hand
I have my purse. I have my phone. it to him personally.
Shauna texts me.
Next period, at lunch, Shauna plops
U r crazy you think hes gonna pick u. down on a chair across from me, her thick-
waisted body jostling the chair, and leans
Her accusation makes my face grow hot her scrunched up face towards me across
again. I cup some water in my palm and the Formica table, her eyes squinting like
then swish it around my mouth and spit.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

she’s trying to focus them. “You are crazy, isn’t going to pick you.” She studies me for
Mac. He doesn’t like you that way.” a moment. “He likes those athletic kind of
girls.”
I look around the cafeteria, the foot-
ball players tipping sports drinks at their I review in my head the girls Brad has se-
mouths, other kids copying homework as- lected before. “Hanna Greshem was kinda
signments, freshmen at the next table over fat,” I remind her. Hanna graduated two
trying to steal chicken nuggets from each years ago and now attends a small college
other’s little cardboard baskets. I pretend in Indiana on a track scholarship. Discus, I
I’m looking for the boy she’s talking about. I think. She had mousy hair, too.
stretch my neck. “Who?”
“Like I said, you are messed up,” Shauna
“Don’t play me, Michaela.” Shauna stabs declares and then stomps away to return
a plastic fork into one of her own chicken her tray.
nuggets and sticks the speared piece into
her mouth. I watch her go. “He’s going to pick me,” I
quietly say to her back. “I know it.”
I put on my question mark face and look
at a table of football players in their white After lunch, the hallway is full of kids
jerseys. Robbie Pugh is #31. “Robbie? I weaving in and out, going to classes they
don’t like Robbie.” don’t like, indifferent to the bell, most of
them hunched over by their book bags. I
Shauna doesn’t wait to finish chewing follow them, faking any urgency to get to
her chicken nugget. “He’s a teacher, Mi- my next class. The rest of the school day is
chaela. He’s bald.” stupid group work in English, coloring an-
ti-drug posters in health, and at the end a
My stomach starts hurting again, and I pep rally for the football team. I love pep
set down on a plastic bag the green grapes rallys. We get out of class.
I was eating, another diet I’m trying. The
bathroom is across the hall from the lunch- For this rally, we crowd into the gym
room about a hundred feet from our table, and watch the cheerleaders do a dance to
but it will probably be crowded now. I peer some hip-hop song, the hems of their red
across at the freshmen boys munching on skirts lifting high enough at times to make
their nuggets and slashing open their bags some boys hoot at them. When they finish
of chips, then past them to the football and amble weirdly off the court with their
players again. fists stuck at their sides, we all clap. Brad
sits on the other side of the gym with some
I pretend to study Robbie Pugh. “Robbie teachers. When the coach introduces the
isn’t bald.” football team, Brad claps for each player
and even pumps his fist when the bar-
Shauna lets out a big breath. “Whatever.” rel-chested coach reminds us all in an overly
She takes a gulp from her milk carton. loud voice that the team in undefeated.

I turn back to Shauna. “Vin Diesel is bald.” After the rally, I watch Brad exit the gym
with Mrs. Spiesman, another math teacher.
“Vin Diesel?” Shauna’s laughter is more She’s older than Brad; she has streaks of
like a cackle as she stands up and slides her gray hair and is heavy in her hips. He says
plastic tray off the table. “You are wacked, something, jerks his thumb behind him, and
Michaela. He doesn’t like you that way. He

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Revista Literária Adelaide

she laughs. School is over, and students just now changing color, the puffy, milk-col-
empty the hallways as if toxic waste had ored clouds like hilly islands in the blue sky,
been spilled there. a sky I’d like to paint. I’d walk too if my street
wasn’t so far away. Shauna wouldn’t though,
Shauna and I have to bum a ride home so after school we always beg for a ride.
today, and when I see a senior, Billy Os-
borne, I know from chemistry class, I ask Billy hums a little and then turns on the
him for a ride. Billy sizes me up, like he’s radio. “I was thinking about getting Sirius,”
choosing a tux for prom, and then peers he informs us, his voice like a stock inves-
over my shoulder at Shauna. tor’s, “but I decided it wasn’t worth it. I’m
okay with the stations we got here.”
“Both of you?” he asks.
I nod although I’m not certain he was
“Yeah, both of us,” Shauna demands. soliciting any agreement. Billy keeps pulling
“C’mon, Osborne, help us out. You can tell one hand off the steering wheel to swipe
your friends tomorrow we hit on you.” Bil- his sandy brown hair off his forehead, but
ly’s eyes go wide, and his cheeks get red. he drives carefully. He does full stops at
He pulls out his keys, turns his back to us, stop signs, he looks both ways, he doesn’t
and waves an arm at us as if he’s a sergeant play rap songs on the radio too loud. I push
leading his platoon into the jungle. “My car my finger on the door switch and let the
is over here.” window slide down halfway. Bayview smells
like cut grass. The leaves on the oak trees
Bayview kids who don’t drive are always are turning different shades of red and or-
trying to hitch a ride – the school district has ange. I’d paint them too. I catch Billy looking
no busing and I don’t have a drivers license. at me – at my boobs actually – and when
Mom tried to teach me, but the whole ex- I catch his eyes on me, he pretends he’s
perience made me too nervous. Billy drives checking the side mirror. I want to tell him,
an old Monte Carlo, and when we reach it, it’s not happening. Just because he gave me
Shauna gets in the back and smiles mischie- a ride, I should let him put his hands on me?
vously at me when I sit next to Billy in the
front seat. It’s like Billy and I are a married Billy blushes a little and lets his wispy
couple with our child, Shauna, in the back. hair stay strewn across his forehead, as if he
can conceal the side of his face. He gestures
I privately enjoy my own analogy and his head to Shauna, and then peers at her
turn to Shauna, “Buckle up, honey.” in his rearview mirror. “Where do you live?”

“Very funny,” she responds and looks out “I’m going to Michaela’s,” she tells him.
the window as Billy gets in line behind a “You’re a good dude to do this for us.”
dozen other cars waiting to exit the Bayview
High School parking lot. “Yeah, well . . . no problem. I live out this
way kinda.”
I turn to Billy. “Sycamore Street,” I tell
him. A block away from Sycamore, Billy stops
at a red light. “I got some ganja in the glove
He nods and finally maneuvers his compartment. We could go somewhere and
Monte Carlo out onto the street. Some kids smoke it if you like.” He says this like he’s
are riding their bikes home from school. asking a question.
Others are walking, and why not? This Oc-
tober day is warm and breezy, the leaves

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Now I understand why he was driving Mom and Dad don’t talk. They make
so carefully. “No, Billy,” I tell him, “I don’t accusations. They defend. I linger in the
do that shit, but we appreciate the ride, kitchen just long enough to fill a bowl with
though.” chips and two glasses with Coke. Sunlight
streams in through the windows, but Mom’s
“Hey, wait–” Shauna scoots forward face darkens. “Len, how would I know how
quickly in the back seat. many miles you have on your American
Airlines card?” Her face shows concentra-
I stop her. “I have to get home, Shauna tion and confusion, like she’s examining a
. . . I’m not feeling well.” plate of food she’s never seen before. “I’m
telling you I didn’t make that reservation for
Shauna leans back and exhales loudly. Houston.”
“Oh, shit, Michaela.” Then she goes back to
staring out the window. I slide my backpack off the counter and
onto my shoulder, put the bowl and glasses
“No problem.” Billy shrugs and swipes his on a tray, and head up to my bedroom.
hair again off his forehead. Shauna has already planted herself on my
bed, making me feel like a visitor in my own
When Shauna and I get inside my house, room. I set the tray on the nightstand and
I plop my backpack onto the kitchen counter sit on the rug, which forces me to look up at
and wave at Mom, who, unsmiling, waves Shauna who is already snatching and eating
back to Shauna and me and then turns her one chip after another. “You goin’?” she
back to us to speak into the phone, like asks, each word said separately between
she’s suddenly in private mode. I smell meat crunches.
in a crockpot.
“To the game?”
“What bill?” Mom asks. She turns, and
her eyes stare at the opposite wall, as if Shauna stops chewing. “No, to Brad’s
she could see whom she’s talking to. She’s birthday party. Yes, the game!”
dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that doesn’t fit
her. Dad’s? She must not have gone to work “I don’t know.” I reach for my glass and
today, or she came home early. take a sip. “I have to check with my mom.”

“It’s always money with you, Len.” “Miller will be there.” Shauna says in a
sing song voice. She is anything but subtle
Okay, now I get it. She’s talking to Dad, and likes it when she can feel like she knows
who must be at another business confer- something before anyone else.
ence; he’s gone all the time.
I take another sip before saying, “Shauna,
Shauna gives me the wide-eyed look, as it’s not like that . . . Do you think I’d sit with
in “What the hell is this about?” him?”

I shrug, and Shauna heads up the stairs “Maybe he’ll come with his wife.” Shauna
to my bedroom. is enjoying herself.

Mom goes on. “I didn’t make that res- She’s either trying to hurt me or make a
ervation.” Now her voice is angry. “I never point. I raise my glass but hardly drink from
made a reservation with your credit card . . it because I’m having trouble swallowing.
.What? . . . When? . . . I was here, Len.” My room smells of dust and stale air. “I’m

Typical.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

going,” I tell her almost defiantly. “You wrestling match. His car dark and warm.
coming with me?” His hand reaching for mine. If people saw
us together, what would they say?
Only a moment passes. “I wouldn’t miss
it,” she answers, smiling wryly. I give in. “Don’t tell anyone, Shauna.
Keep this a secret, okay?”
I’m not certain what it is. Shauna has al-
ways been like that: one time wide open and “Mac. You. Are. Crazy.” Shauna gulps
direct, the next time closed up and cryptic. down her Coke and scoots off the bed. “I’ll
Like when we were on the playground meet you later.” She pounds down the
for recess in 5th grade and Libby Morris stairs and out the front door. She lives only
made fun of my new haircut (My mom a block away.
did it), Shauna punched Libby in the chest,
knocking her to the ground, and then stood Two hours later I dress in my most at-
over her ready to hit her again if she got up. tractive clothes: my black yoga pants, a
Sniffling, her eyes never leaving Shauna’s tight cami, an unbuttoned denim shirt. I
angry face, Libby had to scoot away on her even paint my nails and then spray on the
butt. And later, as we got in line to go back perfume my mother gave me for my last
to our classroom, I asked Shauna why she birthday.
did that. “Timing was right,” she said. Ever
since, we’ve been best friends. Mom drops me off at the football game,
and I find Shauna sitting on the edge of the
“What are you girls doing tonight?” Mom senior section, as if daring the seniors to
is suddenly in my doorway, her face still make her leave. No one obviously has told
flushed from her phone conversation. her to move – or they were too scared to –
so I trudge up the aisle and sit with her.
“Football game,” Shauna says cheerfully.
Her voice becomes a mock whisper: “We’re On the field, players run around and
going to check out the boys,” and then she then fall down. The first half is full of whis-
turns to me and winks. “I mean the men.” tles, cheerleaders telling us over and over
to “Go Bayview,” and weird chants from
Mom sticks both hands on her hips the senior student section, but my eyes are
and chuckles. “Well, well, well,” she says. on Brad. He’s sitting below me to the left
“Sounds like an interesting evening.” Then with Mr. Morgan, a biology teacher who’s
her voice drops an octave. “Good luck announced he’s retiring this year. I can see
picking the right one.” Brad’s bald head turn every few minutes
to look at Mr. Morgan when he gestures to
After she leaves and I hear her footsteps the field. When Brad turns for some reason
on the stairwell, I turn to Shauna. “I think to check out the press box announcer, we
I’m going to ask Brad to be a stat for the make eye contact. He smiles briefly, gives
wrestling team.” me a little nod, and then turns back to the
game. For a moment I can’t breathe. The air
“Fuck, Michaela. What’s wrong with the is getting stuck in my lungs.
boys in our school?” Shauna reaches her
hand into the bowl and takes the last of the “Michaela!” Shauna is annoyed. She jos-
chips. tles my shoulder with hers.

What’s wrong with them? Everything. “What? I’m watching the game.”
I think of Brad driving me home after a

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“No, you’re not.” a great day to learn something new.” I tear
them up with my hands and then have to
At halftime I tell Shauna I’m going to the sit at Steve Peplin’s desk for a minute, sur-
bathroom and sneak instead into the school. prised at my own exhaustion.
I slip through the band door entrance, into
the lobby, and down the first-floor hallway, I catch my breath in Brad’s quiet room.
which is still brightly lit as if school was in The desks are in orderly rows, the chalk-
session. All the classroom doors are open board still shows equations, and the shades
for the custodians to clean and empty the are all neatly drawn halfway down the win-
trash, but the custodians aren’t there – they dows. The cemetery silence makes my ears
must be on break or outside at the field. I hurt, so I leave his room as soundlessly as
move down the hall until I reach Brad’s I entered and head outside to the foot-
room and step inside. His unlit classroom ball stadium, which glimmers like an alien
has the feel of a tomb. spaceship beneath gray clouds and a black
sky on the other side of the parking lot. The
I stroll the aisles for several minutes, dark air cools my skin.
the same way Brad does when he checks
our homework, but I stop when I get to Suddenly, a roar erupts from the Bay-
my own desk. So many times he’s stood view stands, and I feel drawn for a moment
over me here, one time gently tapping my to rush into the stadium to find out if we
shoulder, another time my hand, and today scored.
his fingers lingering on my bra strap as his
rhythmic teacher’s voice guides me through But I don’t.
an algebra problem.
That’s because Brad is walking toward
I step tentatively to the front of the me, his head down, his eyes on the car keys
classroom and lift one of the framed pic- in his hand. I hide between two SUVs and
tures off Brad’s desk. Brad with his wife let him pass and then fall into step behind
and family – two little girls in plaid jumpers, him. I stay quiet and wait until he nears his
all of them smiling. I imagine them eating car and unlocks it.
dinner or shopping in a toy store or snug-
gling together on the couch. “Brad?”

Holding the picture frame, I examine He turns, startled. Then he scans the
their smiles, all of them obviously happy parking lot, craning his neck left and right,
about a life they’ve stolen from me. My searching I know for witnesses, before set-
heart thumps against my ribs, my mouth tling his gaze on me. His face carefully ex-
goes dry, and each of my legs seems thirty pressionless, Brad sizes me up, just like Billy
pounds heavier, but I smash the frame on did. He opens his car door on the passenger
his desk anyway and use his green pen to side and finally says, “You look like you need
scratch out the faces on the now-exposed a ride, Michaela.” He even winks.
photograph. And I don’t stop. I rip posters
off the walls. One says “Math = No Problem.” My heart pounds with pride.
Another: “One thing you can’t recycle is
wasted time.” And the last one: “Today is I make my face smile and promise myself
not to gloat to Shauna.

I get in his car.

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About the Author

Keith Manos is a veteran English teacher who in 2000 was named Ohio’s High School English
Teacher of the Year by OCTELA and inducted into the National Honor Roll of Outstanding
American Teachers in 2006. He is the author of 10 nonfiction books, including Writing
Smarter (Prentice Hall, 1998). In 2015, Black Rose Writing published his debut novel My Last
Year of Life (in School). Check out his website at www.keithmanos.com

15

LOYALTY

by Alan Swyer

“I don’t know what in hell you expect from well, with Tanner proving to be thoughtful,
me,” Ross Tanner growled as Ackerman en- articulate, and even, as time went on, sur-
tered his Las Vegas office. prisingly personable. Quizzed as to why
Latinos had largely taken over the sport,
“Fifteen minutes of your time, plus a few both in and out of the ring, his answer was
answers.” clear. “After Tyson, the heavyweight division
withered,” he stated, “making the lighter
“C’mon, we both know most of these so- weights the headliners. Julio Cesar Chavez,
called documentaries never see the light of Duran, Oscar, and Tito Trinidad became the
day.” big draws. And since Latino fans flaunt their
origins, waving flags and painting their faces,
“Did you Google me? Or check imdb?” a Mexican vs, say, a Puerto Rican becomes
about pride, not just what’s happening in
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the ring.”

“My films do.” Asked why friends and neighbors in East
LA rooted for Chavez rather than their local
Tanner winced. “And anyway, what do I hero, De la Hoya, when the two fought,
have to do with Latin boxing?” Tanner laughed. “When Oscar went into the
ring against an American – Mosely, Hopkins,
“Asks the matchmaker for Oscar De la Whitaker – or a Puerto Rican like Trinidad,
Hoya, Roberto Duran, Miguel Cotto, Alexis his homies loved him. But against a Mex-
Arguello, Juan Manuel Marquez, and how ican national like Chavez, or Vargas, who
many others?” was considered more Mexican, he became
the pocho – brown on the outside, white on
A half-smile appeared on Tanner’s face. the inside. I can’t tell you how many times
“Somebody knows his shit. So what’s first?” he said he was proudly American, but his
blood was 100% Mexican.”
“Ten minutes to set up the camera and
lights.” When talk turned to what was needed
for a resurgence of the sport, Tanner was
“Why lights?” equally astute. “First and foremost, a more
prominent place in the Olympics. That’s
“To make you look beautiful.” what made a star of Ali when he was Cassius

“I thought you were a filmmaker, not a
magician.”

Though Ackerman had been tempted to
forego the interview, once underway it went

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Clay, then Oscar and Ray Leonard after him.” one dealing with Eastern spirituality in the
Asked what else could help, Tanner did not Western world; by a group of philanthro-
hesitate. “A charismatic American heavy- pists on an experiment in reducing crim-
weight – especially one who’s bilingual. inal recidivism – he felt a need to distance
Talk all you want about best pound-for- himself, if only temporarily, from what he
pound, but the toughest guy in the world termed input. Despite having achieved
– the center of attention when it’s Joe Louis, what’s known in the business as final cut, on
Rocky Marciano, Ali, or Tyson – is a great every project funded by others there were
heavyweight champ.” inevitably ideas, notions, and expectations
from those writing checks, all of which led to
Once the interview was over, and the haggling and squabbling, making producing
crew was packing up, Tanner surprised a film more difficult and less rewarding.
Ackerman with a question. “Can I bring up
something personal?” Having fought at the local Police Athletic
League in his youth, Ackerman viewed the
“Fire away.” changes in boxing as an opportunity to ad-
dress not merely the sport itself, but also
“I write scripts in my spare time.” race, politics, economics, language, culture,
and the immigrant experience.
Having been pestered over the years
by dentists, dermatologists, lawyers, and With many more interviews scheduled,
waiters, not to mention distant relatives Ackerman set off with his crew for New York,
and friends of friends, all of whom had Miami, then Puerto Rico, forgetting about
scripts Certain to be the next great thing, Tanner’s Hollywood dreams. But upon his
Ackerman cringed. return to Los Angeles, within the stack of
bills, letters, and packages that awaited him,
“And?” he asked, trying not to broadcast was a large manila envelope containing not
his dread. one, not two, but three scripts by Ross
Tanner.
“Mind taking a look at two or three?”
Emails and texts soon followed: Did you
“So you did check me out.” get ‘em? Have a chance to take a peek?
Can’t wait to hear your thoughts.
Tanner nodded guiltily. “I really like that
basketball movie that aired on HBO. And Then came calls, which Ackerman ducked
the rock & roll film from way back when.” for several days before at last answering.

“Tell you what,” said Ackerman. “Pick the “Ready to help us get rich?” asked Tanner
script you like best, then send it.” hopefully.

“What if I like a bunch of ‘em?” “First, why three?”

“That’s like rolling up your sleeve and “Be thankful I didn’t send four, five, or all
saying, ‘Wanna buy a watch?’” ten.”

Ackerman’s motivation for making a film “You’ve written ten scripts?”
about boxing was simple. After dealing with
assorted financing entities on documen- “Plus a bunch of treatments.”
taries that were commissioned – by NBC
for the breakthroughs in the treatment of “And your goal is?”
diabetes; by a religious organization for

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“To get movies made.” “Which only helps if they’re going to fi-
nance the movie.”
“But your immediate goal?”
The silence that ensued lasted until Ack-
“To get producers interested,” said Tanner. erman spoke again. “You still breathing?”
“And first and foremost, an agent.”
“I suppose you’ve got the solution,”
“All the more reason to pick one.” Tanner grumbled.

“Instead of showing how prolific I am?” “At least a possibility. Instead of it being a
faceless system that’s after him –”
“Know what ten unmade screenplays
spells?” “Yeah?”

“Tell me.” “Make it one cop who’s obsessed with
bringing him down.”
“Chernobyl. Three Mile Island. Failure.”
“Because?”
“Even if a couple were semi-finalists in
screenwriting competitions?” “You’ve got a cat-and-mouse with cast-
able leads.”
“Not the winners? Choose one, then text
me your answer.” “That’s pretty good.”

After receiving Tanner’s choice – a script “Only pretty good?” Ackerman teased.
about a real-life Mafioso who successfully
feigned insanity to keep from being jailed “Let me think about it,” Tanner re-
while running one of the Five Families of sponded. “But in the meantime, will you
New York – Ackerman dawdled until a rainy read another?”
Saturday afternoon.
“Why?”
The moment he reached the last page
and read FADE OUT, his iPhone rang. “Because you’ve got something I really
prize.”
“So?” asked Tanner.
“Namely?”
“Got a periscope? Or can you see me on
Google Earth?” “Loyalty.”

“Intuition. Hit me with your thoughts.” Before Ackerman could ponder what
that word meant to Tanner, swag started
“The incidents are interesting –” arriving virtually every day: tickets to im-
portant fights, boxing memorabilia, archival
“But?” footage, plus signed photos of the sport’s
finest.
“What if I tell you it’s a dramatization, but
it’s not dramatized?” “Great, huh?” Tanner gloated over the
phone.
“Gimme that in English,” said Tanner.
“Seems like someone wants something,”
“A series of events is not the same as a stated Ackerman.
story.”
“Everyone wants something,” was Tan-
“But they’re true. And I’ve got both in- ner’s reply.
sights and permission from The Boys.”

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Then came a series of invitations: to “I’ve got us a deal!” Tanner exclaimed.
workouts at gyms in LA... to overblown lun-
cheons at which fights were announced and “W-what’s this us stuff,” Ackerman mum-
fighters presented... to pre- and post-fight bled, trying to figure out not just where –
press conferences. Coupled with the intro- but also who – he was.
ductions that Tanner provided to people
both famous and infamous – pugilists past “Want to hear?”
and present, trainers, managers, promoters,
sportswriters, and bloggers, plus gamblers, “What I want is to get some sleep.”
pimps, and assorted hangers-on – Ack-
erman suddenly had insider status within “I’m coming in tomorrow. Lunch at 1 at
an otherwise closed community. Musso’s, then a meeting that’ll launch us.”

An ever-increasing series of get-to- “This is crazy.”
gethers followed: breakfasts, lunches, and
dinners, sometimes with just the two of “Like a fox!” Tanner gloated.
them, others with various Tanner colleagues
or cronies, and a few with Ackerman’s girl- At 1:05 the next afternoon, Ackerman
friend Carla as well. strolled into Hollywood’s oldest restaurant
to find Tanner already seated. “Ready to
What surprised Ackerman was how thank me?”
much fun he was having, except at those
awkward moments when screenwriting “My mind-reading skills are failing. For
crept into the conversation. Though Tanner what?”
always expressed gratitude for constructive
criticism, it became clear that rewriting “You and I are going to make a movie
was unlikely. What Tanner wanted, Ack- about El Chapo.”
erman came to realize, was the same kind
of respect, praise, and autonomy he was af- When Ackerman failed to respond, Tanner
forded – and wielded – in the fight business. beamed. “Great, huh?” he announced.

After a dinner at an Italian restaurant “Why not Attila the Hun? Or Hitler?
in Brentwood, during which Ackerman in-
troduced a star-struck Tanner to Dustin “C’mon –”
Hoffman, the exasperated matchmaker ex-
ploded. “What the fuck is it gonna take for “C’mon, my ass! With most films, what’s
you to help get one of my scripts set up?” the worst that happens if something goes
wrong?” Ackerman asked.
“Think about something you said the first
time we met,” answered Ackerman. “They get panned.”

“What?” “But with this one?”

“I’m a filmmaker, not a magician.” “Tell me.”

The silence that ensued between the “They burn down your house, then kill
two men was ended by a call that woke you and your family.”
Ackerman at 3 AM on a Thursday.
“You’re overreacting.”

“And the cartels are often mistaken for
philanthropists and do-gooders.”

“Just come with me to the meeting. For
me.”

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“Give me one reason why.” “We can supply access,” replied lawyer
#2.
“Loyalty.”
“To?”
An hour-and-a-half later, Ackerman
found himself seated in a quiet booth in the “We start with our client’s daughter in
bar of a Hollywood hotel with Tanner plus Mexico City,” stated attorney #2. “After her,
two Latino attorneys, one from San Diego, we can arrange other people.”
the other from Mexico City, both of whom
remained deliberately nameless. “What if they say no?” Ackerman asked
playfully, eliciting not one iota of mirth.
After a minute of small talk, the San
Diego-based lawyer spoke. “Senor Tanner “No one,” stated the lawyer from Mexico
says your word is as good as your work.” in no uncertain terms, “says no.”

“And we like your work,” added the other “You were fucking great!” Tanner ex-
attorney. claimed as he and Ackerman stepped out
of the hotel. “A total fucking knockout! So
“So when can you start?” asked lawyer when do you want to leave?”
#1.
“Are you nuts?”
“Start on what?”
“B-but –”
“The movie we discussed with Senor
Tanner,” said lawyer #2. “I said I’d got to the meeting. Not that I’d
get in bed with ‘em.”
“But what movie?” asked Ackerman. “Are
we talking first burp to last breath? And se- Tanner was crestfallen. “But this is my
rious access, or just stuff grabbed from the shot at finally getting a movie made.”
internet? There are a million ways to do a
film, and not all are equal.” “Really want to get a movie made?”

The two attorneys exchanged a glance, “More than anything in the world.”
then the one from San Diego spoke. “How
would you see the movie?” “Then let’s do a documentary about your
boss.”
“I assume you want the audience on your
client’s side.” “You think that could be a film?”

Both attorneys nodded. “A graduate of Yale Law School who works
for the Justice Department then outdoes
“Then the best approach,” continued Don King to become the biggest promoter
Ackerman, “is to depict him as a modern in boxing?”
day Robin Hood.”
“Yeah, but –”
That elicited smiles from the three other
men. “And who said, I lied to you yesterday, but
today I’m telling the truth? You’re sitting on
“So I ask again,” said attorney #1, “when a documentary that’s crying, begging, and
can you start?” pleading to get made.”

“Whoa,” replied Ackerman. “Am I just Four days later, Tanner called Ackerman.
supposed to make stuff up?” “So where do we start?”

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“With some pages to show first to your to him. For openers, to focus on the charis-
boss, then to financing entities. Want to matic figure – Ben Albert – who went from
give it a shot?” prosecuting criminals to dominating a realm
replete with dirty dealings and corruption.
“I’m on it,” said Tanner. Next, which became even more important
to him, was to use the sport not just as an
A week of silence was broken by another arena, but also as a metaphor for commerce
call. “The pages –” Tanner said. – or perhaps even capitalism – gone awry.

“What about ‘em?” Suddenly the pages seemed to write
themselves, pouring forth in a way that al-
“I can’t figure out where to start,” said lowed Ackerman to complete a draft in one
Tanner. long, extended, burst of energy.

“Which means?” That night, sleep quickly gave way to
hours spent tossing and turning in bed, with
“Maybe you should do it.” Ackerman mulling over what he had written,
then coming up with changes and additions.
“I’m in post-production on my boxing That was followed by a morning session at
film.” the computer in which alterations were
made, followed by several hours fiddling
“Please? As a favor to me?” with length, grammar, and continuity.

Over Thai food that evening, Ackerman’s Once done, Ackerman let the pages sit
girlfriend voiced her dismay. “It’s not like unread over a weekend, then took a day to
you to want to do two films in a row about edit them, followed by a morning doing ad-
the same subject,” Carla said. ditional trimming and tweaking. Only then
was the document emailed to the match-
“It’s kind of different,” responded Ack- maker.
erman.
“Fan-fucking-tastic!” was Tanner’s almost
“If you don’t mind my asking, different instantaneous response. “Killer, killer, killer!”
how?
“Ready to give ‘em to you-know-who?”
“Aside from being the most powerful asked Ackerman.
boxing promoter since Don King, Ben Al-
bert is a larger than life figure, a character “I was thinking I’d start with his wife and
in every sense of the word. And characters, daughter.”
these days are in short supply.”
“Because?”
“Hey, if you’re comfortable with it –”
“Their blessing would be great.”
“I am,” Ackerman replied, though at times
he wondered just how true that was. “Is that what you do with an idea for a
fight?”
Ackerman was aware that the document
needed to serve not only as a blueprint for “Not the same thing. What’s your objec-
the proposed film, but also two other func- tion?”
tions. First, a means to get the cooperation
of Tanner’s notoriously cantankerous boss. “I’m not accustomed to sneaking in the
Second, as a springboard to get the required side or back door.”
funding. He spent two days searching for the
right way in until an approach finally came

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Trust me on this.” Due to the twelve- to fifteen-hour days
that he was putting in, a lack of communi-
“You’re the one desperate to get a film cation from Tanner was hardly troubling or
going.” even noticeable. One week went by, then
another, then a third before Ackerman’s
“And don’t I know it.” curiosity finally grew. Putting in a call
while driving to the editing room, he was
Working with his film editor to reduce surprised when Tanner answered with a
nearly sixty hours of boxing-related inter- whisper.
views to a manageable length, Ackerman
was far from troubled by another stretch of “Why so hush-hush?” Ackerman asked.
silence from Tanner.
“We’re filming the first interview.”
That respite ended, though, when a call
came at 10 PM on a Thursday. “What do “For?”
you think of Paul Bloom?” Tanner asked.
“The documentary about my boss.”
“He’s made a couple of okay films. Why?”
“Whoa. Who’s we?”
“He wants to get involved in boxing.”
“Paul Bloom and I.”
“And?”
“Without me?”
“I figured if I help him, maybe he’ll help
us.” “Hey, I was the one who came up with it,”
claimed Tanner.
When Ackerman failed to respond,
Tanner spoke again. “Say something.” “That’s not how I remember it.”

“What does he bring to the table?” “I-I don’t know what to say.”

“The more the merrier, right?” “Well, I do,” said Ackerman. “So much for
loyalty.”
Once more Ackerman chose not to reply,
so again Tanner did so. “What if I tell you he “Pissed?” asked Carla as she and Ack-
loves the pages?” erman sat down at their favorite sushi bar.

“So he’s a man of taste and judgment. “I was at first.”
What about the wife and daughter?”
“And now?”
“I think Bloom can be more helpful.”
“I’m actually kind of relieved.”
Though less than convinced, Ackerman
bit his tongue. “Because?”

After reducing the interview footage “Know what they used to say back in
for his boxing film to a coherent length of Jersey?”
three hours, all the while making certain
not to rely too heavily on just the big names “Tell me.”
among those seen on-screen, Ackerman
and his editor set to work on the even more “If a guy fucks you on Tuesday, watch out
difficult task of whittling those three hours for Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.”
down to ninety minutes.
Though he considered taking some
sort of action against Tanner, Ackerman

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ultimately decided that with one boxing plus the Q&A’s he gave at different festivals,
documentary almost finished, his time more doors than ever before were opened.
would be better spent on a film he was of-
fered about a singer-songwriter. Nor was Ackerman the least bit dis-
pleased when he was informed that what
As for losing his insider’s status in the was shot by Paul Bloom was not the film
fight community, the opposite took place. itself, but simply a promo designed to bring
Due to the release of long-awaited film, in funding. Those bucks, as luck would have
coupled with the interviews that followed, it, never materialized.

About the Author

Alan Swyer is an award-winning filmmaker whose recent
documentaries have dealt with Eastern spirituality in
the Western world, the criminal justice system, diabetes,
boxing, and singer Billy Vera. In the realm of music, among
his productions is an album of Ray Charles love songs.
His novel ‘The Beard’ was recently published by Harvard
Square Editions.

23

THE KISS

by Debbie Cutler

Kayla wanted to kiss a man at 12:45 a.m. one that would light up her heart and soul.
under the midnight sun during the finale of It had to happen. It just had to.
the fireworks display in Eagle River, Alaska.
That was her goal. As they walked through the crowds of
parents and kids, Kayla, Susan and Patsy
“It would be sooooooo romantic,” she looked around for males her age. They were
told her girlfriends that evening as she not by the cotton candy, nor by the corn on
dressed in a white skirt and patriotic T-Shirt the cob. Nor by the craft booths, at least not
for the gala celebration at Lion’s Park. She the one she was looking for.
had been going to the event since she was
a child. She loved the bands and cotton “Let’s go to the beer garden,” Kayla said.
candy, and dancing in the grass. She loved She knew it was by the band and they could
the balloons and booths and wares being drink there then go out into the grass and
sold. Now that she was 21, she was going dance on the field, usually used for football
to the beer garden – and celebrating with and soccer.
friends instead of family.
The beer garden was so packed, Kayla
“We’re going to have so much fun,” Kayla and her friends had a hard time finding
said. “I bet I meet the cutest guy. He will three seats together. But they did, way back
have blonde or brown hair, green eyes, be in the back, in the corner. They ordered Co-
tall and sexy.” Her friends Susan and Patsy ronas with lime and bobbed their heads
nodded in agreement. to the music – rock, pop, and country and
even rap.
The park was about a half-mile from
her house. They could walk and avoid the There were plenty of cute guys, but Kayla
crowded lot that overflowed into nearby was shy and wanted them to approach her.
neighborhoods. Even though the “works” She had a habit of holding her head down
didn’t begin until midnight so it would be as guys looked her way. She knew that’s
dusky not daylight and make it easier to see part of why she never found anyone.
the sparks across the sky, the party began at
5. Plenty of time to find her man. Plenty of “Be bolder,” Susan always told her.
time to get to know him. Plenty of time for
him to want to make the move – the kiss “Be a flirt,” added Patsy.
she had been dreaming of since she was 16,
Trouble is, she didn’t know how, and
trying came awkward. Patsy and Susan

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always got the guys, never Kayla. They “Where are you from, then?”
would be the ones that twirled their hair
with their fingers, sweet smiles; stare at “Maine. I’m a crab boat captain.”
guys across their room – lock eyes; and
hold their own conversations. They were Patsy and Susan eyed Kayla with a smile.
not afraid to approach a man. They were Patsy gave a sly thumbs up. “Hey, let’s walk
not afraid to be the first to kiss him. They over to the band,” Patsy said. “Fireworks
moved their bodies in ways Kayla couldn’t. start in an hour.”
She was always the awkward third.
As Kayla rose, her head spun dizzily and
She quickly downed her beer and went she walked with a stumble. She gave out a
up for another. Damn it, she though. To- laugh. She’d never been this drunk. It felt
night I’m going to flirt, damn it tonight I’m kinda freeing. It was like walking on clouds.
going to talk, tonight is MY night to get the Heck, she might even make the move if Bill
guy. She glanced at a cute guy in the other didn’t.
corner, then quickly turned her head away.
As they listened to the band, Bill passed
When she got back to the table she was around snuck-in Jack Daniels. Kayla swigged
surprised to find three guys had pulled it in glee. She WAS going to do this.
their table and chairs next to hers and were
talking with Patsy and Susan. “Fireworks begin in five minutes,” an an-
nouncer shouted into a microphone. The
This is Michael, Ed and Bill,” Pasty said. band stopped. People started walking to-
“This is Kayla.” ward the center of the park. Kayla and Bill
and the others joined them.
Kayla set her drink down and said a po-
lite hello. Michael was short and had wavy As Kayla stood there, she could feel her
brown hair that curled against his neck. Ed heart beat in her head and stumble into
was tall, but was missing a front tooth; and motion. Bill put his arm around her and she
Bill, well, Bill was perfect. felt the warmth hatch from his body into
hers. They watched the night sky together
So, they drank beer and talked, Kayla as the fireworks went from white and reds,
shy at first but with each subsequent beer to all colors. They watched together as the
became a little more outgoing. “Bill,” she fi- intensity built – externally and inside Kayla.
nally asked, “Have you lived long in Alaska?” They watched together as she tried to stay
It was the first direct question she asked in steady. They watched together as her stom-
their hours of sitting together. ached soured, bile rose in her throat and
as 12:45 approached, she heaved vomit on
“No, I’m visiting a relative,” he said. “I’m his shoes and then fell to the ground too
here for a week only.” dizzy to stand, people cheering at the sky
around her.
Kayla was a bit setback by the informa-
tion, but continued the conversation.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

About the Author

Debbie Cutler, a writer of 30 years, has been published in dozens of magazines and
newspapers. Her typical genre is memoir (and journalistic pieces), but she is now dabbling in
fiction. The former editor of Alaska magazine and former managing editor of Alaska Business
currently works at the University of Missouri in the geography department. She resides in
Columbia, Missouri.

26

THE UNKNOWN
MAN

by Angelic Hinojosh

Mario awoke obstinately, “Today is the day!” eyes. She wore a pink skirt and a white but-
he declared. Today he will travel down terfly t-shirt and beamed at him with curi-
Main Street to the ice-cream parlor that co- osity. In the opposite corner of him, stood
zily sat in-between the pizza shop and the an older gentleman. The older man wore a
insurance company. Mario will order his fa- black floor-length peacoat, black polished
vorite chocolate malt shake and sit next to shoes, and a flat cap. He held a cane as he
the window and watch. He will watch the stared at Mario with cold gray eyes.
cars pass by unaware of his presence, the
trees sway with each breeze, the birds, and Decidedly, Mario placed his hands into
the children at play in the park across the his pockets to keep them from shaking.
street. Mario’s eyes caught a small bright Looking down at the ground, he noticed
blue hair tie on his nightstand. Emily. Emily the white mosaic floor as he listened to
was very special. As he began to reminisce, soft music that played overhead. There was
her cold pale eyes stood out amongst the a ding as the elevator came to a stop. The
memories. His hands began to shake as he doors slid open, and the two ladies hur-
ran them through his hair. He made his way riedly left the room. However, the older
down the hall to the elevator; tingles ran gentleman remained, silent and unmoving.
through his veins as he pressed the button As the elevator closed, Mario began to shift
for the first floor. He smiled ever so slightly his weight from one foot to the next. Mario
to the three occupants as he made his way looked at the doors, then around the room.
to the back corner. Mario stood there frozen, with his back
pressed against the cold metal, “Who are
The older lady wore her hair in a tight po- you?”
nytail. She wore little to no makeup and no
jewelry except for a simple wedding band. The soft music continued to play; how-
She smiled as she wrapped her arms around ever, Mario’s heartbeat disrupted the calm
the little one who had a black headband atmosphere demanding action. Mario
and bangs that rested just above her brown stared at the gentleman, wondering if his
mind was playing tricks. The man continued

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

to stare at Mario, never moving, never even Mario flinched as he tried hurrying to
blinking. Mario held his breath, afraid to the corner of the elevator, praying help will
move. He felt his heart pound against his come soon.
ribs, his palms sweated, and the elevator
seemed to stand still. Mario needed to get The man took one small step, “Abigail,
help; he forced himself to move. His limbs Age: 11 abducted three years ago in Saint
seemed slow and cumbersome. He pressed Mary’s park, never discovered.” He took
the red button with a ferocity he did not another step, “Emily, Age: 12 abducted
know he held. The elevator came to an one year ago in Saint Mary’s park, never
abrupt stop, and Mario fell to the floor. The discovered.” his last stride had his standing
older man stood tall, smirked as he stepped above Mario “Samantha, Age: 9 abducted
forward, pressing the bottom of his cane six months ago in Saint Mary’s park, never
into Mario’s hand. discovered.”

Mario grimaced, “Damn it, who are you, Mario gaped at the man who stood
and what do you want?” above him.

The unknown man slowly squatted, his “I know where they are hidden.”
face inches away from Mario’s, “I am your
worst nightmare.” Mario covered his face as tears over-
whelmed him, “I loved them. I didn’t want
Mario gagged at the stench of his breath, to hurt them!”
“What the heck did I ever do to you?”
The doors swung open. A maintenance
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he slowly applied more worker, and two police officers now stood
pressure to his cane, “It isn’t nice forgettin-” in the entryway.

“I do not know who the hell you are,” Mario, unaware of the newcomers con-
Mario spat as he removed his hand from tinued to speak, “I will take them to you.
underneath the cane. You can see for yourself they are loved and
well taken care of.”
A loud sigh escaped the stranger’s lips,
“Do you remember Abigail? How about Emily? “They are dead,” said the man.
Maybe Samantha will jog your memory?”
The cops entered the elevator, “Take us
Mario gasped as he stared in horror at to who?
the strange man before him. After a mo-
ment of silence, “How?” Mario’s eyes dilated, “Samantha, Emily,
and Abigail. Just please keep that man away
The man’s eyes now gleamed. from me!” he pointed upward, but no one
was there.
“How?” Mario repeated.
The cops looked around the elevator
A low, menacing laugh erupted inside then at each other, only to refocus back on
the elevator, “I told you, I am your worst Mario.
nightmare.”
Mario felt his heart drop to the pit of
Mario’s body shook, “I loved them. I his stomach as he realized the man disap-
never once hurt them.” peared. He will confess. If he did, he would
be protected from his worst nightmare.
“So, you wouldn’t mind,” he leaned in, “If
I do those things, to you?”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

About the Author

Angelic Hinojosh is currently developing her writing at Full Sail University. She resides in
Ohio and gathers inspiration from the world around her.

29

HOLY SWORD

by Kevin Auker

As the summer sun rained down on the “How did you do that,” He said in disarray.
kingdom of Scarlet, manning his post as
normal was the king’s trusted knight Xavier. The boy crouched all the way to the soil
His job was simple, to not allow anyone to and sprung up like a spring. Soaring though
past through the gates without permission the air the boy looks directly down from the
from the king. Throughout his tenure of 16 knight and yells, “I thought you wanted a
years not a single enemy or skilled adversary good fight.”
made their appearance against the knight.
Xavier’s face peaked a smile for the first
“I’ve been craving for a good fight,” he time in 16 years. “Your right, I did want a
yelled looking at the sky. good fight,” he said with pride “Will you be
the one to give me that fight boy?”
“So, you want a good fight.”
Without a second of hesitation Xavier
The knight adjusted his head to face held his sword in a defensive position above
level to revel a teenage boy standing in his head. The boy began to descend as his
front of him. The boy had a smile perched foot was coming in hot almost as if his entire
on his face. foot was on fire. The boy’s foot connected
with the knight’s sword, sparks flying from
“Who are you boy, revel your name and just this one interaction. Still holding his
reason for being here, if you chose not revel defense, Xavier starts to feel his feet sink
your name and motive, I will quickly dispose into the soil. This boy with a flaming foot
of you boy,” he said. and what seemed to be superhuman abil-
ities, Xavier could not allow this person to
“How scary,” the boy said sarcasticly. survive. He glanced up at the sword to revel
that a giant crack had formed on the blade.
Xavier quickly reached for his sword and
unsheathed his trusty weapon. “Listen boy “It’s no use your weapon is broken,” the
if you value your life revel your name and boy said.
motive.” He didn’t want to murder this boy,
but if he posed any threat to the king, he “Sure, it might be broken, but you can’t
must carry out his job even to the smallest break my spirit,” the knight said with a huge
degree. Xavier closed his eyes and swung grin spread across his face.
his sword at the teen, as the las minute he
opened his eyes. To his surprise the teen “I thank you boy for giving me a good
jumped 10 feet away from the knight. fight,” Xavier said with tears swelling from
his eyes.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

At that moment his sword started to “My name is Nigel, and I am one of the
glow a bright light, blinding Xavier the boy great holy knights, my job was to find
quickly retreated. the Holy Sword, so my job here is done,
thanks I had a lot of fun,” the boy said.
“The Holy Sword,” the boy said. And the same way he appeared was the
same way he departed. Xavier quickly
“Holy Sword?” The knight questioned. drops to the ground, out of breath and
completely drained stamina the knight
“Yes, it seems like it has chosen a host.” still had that smile displayed for the whole
“well, I guess that was my job,” the boy said kingdom to see, his wait for a good fight
while slicking back his long black hair. was now over.

“Why are you here boy?” he said pointing
his sword directly at him.

About the Author
Kevin Auker hails from Pittsburgh Pennsylvania. He is a lover of reading, writing and television.
Follow him on twitter @KevinAuker.

31

BAD COFFEE

by Alicia Young

Kira twirled her index finger repeatedly wall clock that hung to the left of the en-
around the metal utensil submerged in trance. Sarah had arrived two minutes early.
her caramel latte. She despised the waiting Kira evicted the postnasal drip from her
game as much as she despised the bever- throat and entwined her fingers together as
age, but she remained content. It was her she watched Sarah’s petite figure close the
who showed up twenty minutes earlier distance between them. Her smile hadn’t
than she and Sarah scheduled. At her fifth been reciprocated, as expected. Instead,
observation of the time, it read 10:54am. the smile from her guest went straight to
She had six minutes left to prepare as much the servers at the counter with a short wave
of her speech as possible, be it Sarah would and a nod. Kira took note of the server who
give her a chance to speak. nodded back and used that as an ice breaker
to begin the conversation.
“I assure you it was not my attention
to break up your parents’ marriage,” She “Some very lovely people work here.
spoke aloud in a tone only audible to herself. I can see why this is one of your favorite
places, it’s very serene and-”
Thankfully the seating in J. Marie’s
Coffee House was rather spacious. She’d sat “With all due respect, the introduction
at a two-chair table directly in the center to to this conversation should not begin with
be easily visible. She planned to admit to facts you learned by a man I don’t respect.
Sarah how quaint and serene the place was. Nor should you try to appeal to my ‘good
Thinking back on the conversations she’d side’ because you think it’ll make this
had with Sarah’s father Walter, Sarah loved meeting go smoother. You said you had
J. Marie’s place since she was in high school. something you wanted to share, yes?”
Kira refused to indulge in the thought that
there was an ulterior motive for Sarah to “Sarah I’m just trying to warm into it is all.
suggest having coffee there. It was best to I’m not really one to jump right into things.”
honor Sarah’s wishes as it took tooth and
nail for her to agree to the meeting in the “Oh, really? That what you told Walter
first place. too while my mother was waiting up for him
half the night? Or perhaps he was the one
The coffee mug had just left her lips jumping.”
when her eyes caught Sarah’s entrance into
the shop. Her sight was sent to the wooden “Come on, don’t be vile and unfair.”

“Don’t you dare use that word with me.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“I promise you, I had absolutely no inten- her brunette strands before meeting Kira’s
tion of breaking up a marriage.” eyes with her own.

“Yeah I get that. Home-wrecking in secret “No I’m not.”
is much more entertaining.”
“Then, can I ask why you come here?”
“Will you please let me explain? You
agreed to hear me out.” “My father hates it, so I tolerate it,” Sarah
replied with a shrug.
“Fine, go right ahead. I’m listening,” Sarah
replied, one Demin-covered leg crossing “I see,” Kira exhaled, resting her fingers
over the other. The server appeared sec- around the mug handle. Sarah’s stare left
onds later with a lidded travel mug and the window to the right of her and followed
handed it to Sarah. She hadn’t sipped it, the sound of Kira’s foot tapping.
only held it firmly as her copper/colored
irises pierced into Kira’s anxiousness. “You’re not in love with him, are you?”
Sarah asked.
“I didn’t mean to break them up.”
Kira’s downcast gaze was her only re-
“You said that already.” sponse for a moment. The only sounds au-
dible were the chatterings of other customers
“And I mean it. I never came onto him, and the froth machines behind the counter.
never gave him any impression that I wanted
anything more than a professional connec- “I thought I was the only one who thought
tion, especially not a romantic relationship. the coffee was bitter,” Kira said, breaking
I knew he was a married man. Even when the silence between them.
he mentioned things about his marriage
failing and ranting about how unhappy he “Yeah well, so did I.”
was, I kept my distance far from the topic.”
“Yet we still drink it.”
“So what, then? Are you saying my father
seduced you?” “That we do.”

“Well, sort of. It’s a little more compli- The silence fell between them again, and
cated than that.” yet the tension thinned. For a moment, Kira
would bet her life that a hint of a smile was
“You’re the one who wanted to explain,” written on Sarah’s lips. Though she didn’t
Sarah retorted, her posture straightening. know the intent behind it, she accepted and
Kira adjusted her position as well, applied returned it. A server approached them and
more to her right side as she exhaled for ended their brief moment of understanding.
the first time since Sarah’s arrival. Sarah’s
gaze fell to the hardwood, pulling the lip of “Would you ladies like a refill of your latte
her travel mug to her mouth a few seconds and black coffee?” she asked. Both the la-
before she placed it on the table with a gri- dies shook their heads in refusal and with a
mace. Kira narrowed her eyes at the cup nod the server disappeared.
before looking back to Sarah.
“You drink caramel lattes?” Sarah asked.
“You’re not really into the coffee,” Kira
said, nodding in the direction of Sarah’s “Yes.”
travel mug. Sarah raked her fingers through
“Interesting. Walter hates lattes.”

“I know.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine
About the Author
Alicia Young is a strong fighter and supporter of the literary arts,
believing in the freedom of expression and creativity without limits.
Having been published in a short story anthology and published
her own book of poetry, she continues to focus on encouraging
and motivating others to pursue their writing and creative goals.
She is currently obtaining the appropriate skills and attributes
to become a motivational speaker and educator in the field of
creative writing. Alicia is a student at Full Sail University, an active
blogger and spoken word artist who travels and performs locally
throughout the Pittsburgh area. She also records and publishes
readings of her work as well as inspirational encouragement on
her YouTube channel.

34

LONE STAR

by Dan Carpenter

“You’re here with the conference?” the interest grew into intention: that long saun-
clerk asked as he paid for his inspirational tering tightly wrapped figure with its perfect
paperback and his Dentyne. pear-shaped butt demanded this bit of so-
cializing continue, just in case.
“Al-Anon,” he replied, trying to meet her
lowered blue-green eyes and instinctively For 10 minutes, interlaced with chirpy
bumping up his status lest she assume he customer greetings, it did. Then she wel-
was AA and potential bad news. Why the comed a replacement clerk, stepped out
tactic occurred to him, he had only the from behind the counter, and said to him,
faintest idea. conversationally enough but inaudibly to
anyone else, “I’m off for lunch. How would
He scanned the face framed by her you like a cup of the best coffee in Brazos
clipped-back grey-blond hair. Tanned, lined, County, if not all o’Texas?”
even a tad haggard, showing every bit of
her presumable age, marking her, as much Somehow without missing a beat, he
as the cowboy shirt and jeans, as a horse- murmured back “How could I say no?”
woman. She was nearly as tall as he, and
met his nervous smile with an easy grin “I’m parked in back. Climb aboard.”
that could have been spent on a disheveled
teenage son. Sure enough, the bright red F-250 bore
the double rear tires of a horse-hauler. He
“I guess we don’t need introductions,” let her walk ahead a bit, just to take in the
she said, pointing to her name tag (Mar- south view of the cowgirl once more. Subtle,
lene) and his (Sam H., Indianapolis). “You’re serpentine, unself-consciously erect as a
far from home.” runway model. He slid in and rode off from
his appointed sanctuary for self-improve-
“Good buddy of mine invited me down ment, glancing over his shoulder for prying
here. So far, the fellowship and the food eyes. After all these lessons in liberating
have been worth the child-size seats on that oneself from guilt, he was reveling in its
damn airplane.” embrace again.

More chit-chat ensued, and her interest Her home down the highway was a
grew more interesting; but it was not until neatly kept, utilitarian ranch-style affair
she turned away for a moment to check for with a sprawling emerald pasture in back
something in the back room that his own where two coppery quarter horses strolled

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

and munched. The drive there, livened by call it that, was about lovemaking. It was
her ebullient description of the pine woods fights, and hiding bottles, and pouring out
country she’d known for a lifetime, took 15 bottles, and surprise bills, and jail, and hos-
minutes. Within 20, they were in bed. pitals, and about everything else on that
side of the better or worse equation, and
When they had exhausted themselves, there it all went and here I am, going to
he rolled onto his back still clutching her, meetings in the middle of Texas like meet-
touched by the bony delicacy of her back, ings in Indiana. But you don’t need to hear
the wildness that had come to her undone my sad story. I’m sure you have a chapter or
hair. For a man whose failed marriage had two of your own.”
driven him into the arms of a pious support
group for families victimized by alcoholism, “I do, as a matter of fact. Wanna hear?”
this giddy encounter had a feel of one part A quick laugh.
vindication, three parts mockery. Being un-
encumbered could carry such a load. “Yes.” He meant it.

Marlene was first to break the languid “For me,” she sighed, “it was one of the
wordlessness. “Well, then, I suppose you’ll others of the Big Four. Not the booze, the
have to get back to your business,” she said beatings, the gambling. It was the women.
into his chest. Lots of ’em. I put up with it, lied to myself
about it, for years before I decided to be
His reaction stunned him as well as her. alone on my own instead of alone with
him. I came out of it with this place and the
“Really?!” he shot back. “That is your horses. Of course, I came in with them too.”
thought for my proverbial penny?”
Sam found himself blurting consolation.
She raised her face to his. Her counte- “You loved him. You wanted to be a good
nance had softened, as if having shed years. wife.”
Her eyes were wide.
She rose from his arms and spoke across
“I wasn’t being flip with you. I just didn’t him, to the wall and herself: “I guess it was
want you to feel . . .” ego, really. I couldn’t accept not being able
to give him everything he needed from a
“Come on! You’re making me out a kind woman. Not being . . . enough.”
of guy I’m not.”
She bent and lightly kissed him, then
“And what kind of gal are you making me leaped to the floor and pranced to the bath-
out?” room.

He was silent for a long minute. “All I They showered together briskly, then
know,” he said, “is right here. I’m not thinking schlepped about naked like a long-married
about what’s next and I’m sure not putting couple, he retrieving his clothes, she pecking
a label on you.” through a dresser drawer for panties.

It was her turn to keep thoughts to her- “You know something?” he announced
self. She stroked his chest hair absently. Al- as he buckled his jeans.
ready, his blood stirred again. He resisted,
and spoke to the ceiling. “What?”

“You know,” he said, “it’s been a long, “Best coffee in Texas?”
long time since my love life, if you want to

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“Oh damn. You know I’ve got to get back He gripped both her slender hands and
to work. I just told ‘em a couple hours.” held her arms apart and away.

“Well, you should have said see you in “I think you’re guilty as sin.”
the morning. Come to think of it. . . “
She smiled. “You just might be right; I am
She moved into him, threw her arms capable of doing that sort of thing.”
around his neck, and gave her hard features
a girlish pout. “And I’m not about to make a break for
it,” he said.
“Pretty nice Ford I drive, but truck trou-
ble’s still possible.” She dropped his hands and folded hers.

“Better call it in.” “You say that, Sam. Today. You don’t
want to be rescued and you don’t want any
“But how ‘bout you? Don’t you have ransom. They’re out there, we both know
people expecting you?” that, and you say you just want to be here.”

“I had to get away for a while. Get in touch He pulled her against him with a tender-
with my Higher Power, as we say in 12 Steps.” ness nearly chaste, and stared into her eyes.
“Is that enough for you?”
Her fingers began working his belt.
She walked silently away and disap-
“And have you found that Higher Power?” peared down the short hallway to her
she asked. kitchen, from where he presently heard a
faucet open. Her voice came with an echo.
He spoke over her shoulder, distant.
“I’ve got cream and sugar. But if you don’t
“I need,” he said, “to get out of this house.” take it good and black, you’ve wasted a long
trip.”
She jerked away, gaped at him. “Oh!?”
Cups rattling, the only sound. “Sam? You
“I need to see this place. To feel it,” he there, Buddy.”
said. “I want you to take me over it. All of it.
I want to watch you with your horses. Hear He waited with eyes closed, replaying
you talk to them. Let you teach me to ride.” the mental video of her receding figure.
Such a subtle wave to her movement,
She drew his face to hers with both hands splashed with a toss of the ass just sufficient
and shook her head slightly, lips pursed. to show pride of ownership. Ah, the ache of
this.
“Your good folks back there are gonna
arrest me for kidnapping.”

About the Author

Dan Carpenter is a freelance journalist, fiction writer, poet and blogger,
residing in Indianapolis. He has published stories in Fiction, Prism
International, Laurel Review, Sycamore Review and other journals,
along with two books of essays and two collections of poems.

37

SOMETHING
ABOUT JULY

by Parker Sterni

There’s something about July here in the the gun on your hip and the bible in your
Wickenburg valley, something about the hands. The wind kissing your face as you
warm desert air it brings in sends the town rode your stallion past stagecoaches push-
folks into a frenzy. Of course, they them- ing faster and farther. Mountain ridge to
selves don’t notice it. You need a drifters mountain ridge never looking back, only
eye to understand when a town this size is looking forward to the next adventure. Un-
on the brink of a full blown communal col- til one day your name caught up to you and
lapse. I’ve seen it happen before, and I’m you ended up like the rest of them. Just a
sure I will see it happen many more times. pretty corpse to look at. They get first to
It usually all starts the same way, The heat, thinking of that, the life and the story of
it drains people. The wrath of the scolding someone who would be remembered for
June sun beats and breaks down the souls centuries after his death. The type of per-
of the young men out working. Constant- son kids talked about and imitated being. A
ly fighting and struggling to keep the town legacy anyone could be proud of. Then they
afloat. They get to thinking, real deep think- think of what brought them to this town.
ing. And it’s not the sort of simple thinking For most of them it’s probably all they’ve
like, how are we going to get the cattle to known. These five streets, one saloon, and
the next field of grass for them to graze on a single poker house. The constant cycle
or which aqueduct route makes the most of the seasons and mundane tasks are all
logical sense for the town. And they sure that they know as everyday life. But there’s
as hell are not thinking about preparations something about July, something about
for the upcoming winter months. No, they July that makes them at least question it.
are thinking deep, going way back in their Question why they are here. Here stuck
tormented heads. Way back to their child- in this untolerable sun that wakes them
hoods. Where they used to dream of riding in the middle of the night with sweat drip-
off to far away lands in search of treasure, ping from their brows. Now this is danger-
adventure, and a sense of freedom. The ous thinking for little towns like these. The
rule-less lands in which the only law was whole ecosystem of the town is composed

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Revista Literária Adelaide

of the work these young men do. They are now. He’ll ask me how to do it. How to just
what you would say is the lifeblood of the pick it all up and walk away. I’ll tell him. He’ll
community. Just like their fathers before see how easy it really is but then I’ll warn
them and their fathers before that, the him. Warn him of life on the road. How it’s
town runs smoothly off of the shoulders a lonely place, full of your own thoughts
of the men in the community. It’s a vicious and constant questioning of things you will
cycle out here in the Arizona sun. But then never find the answers too. But that’s just
again there’s always a sense of hope in July. the road, and it’s a constant freeing place as
well. It frees your soul and challenges the
The boys get to talking, well more com- very meaning of the world that you thought
plaining in the saloon. One of them will puff was true before. You start to look at things
out their chest and boast “ Things ought to differently, you see the weaving webs of
change around here and I’m gonna be the the human race, how it’s all connected. It’s
one to do it.” He won’t do anything worth what the soul truly craves and needs.
importance but they all cheer up and agree.
Except one, he sits in silence studying the July has ended and the sweet August
drink that sits in front of him. He’s the one breeze has nursed the towns wandering
you pay attention too he’s not thinking hearts back into the ebb and flow of ev-
things ought to change around here. He’s eryday life. Except the man at the bar I
thinking i’ve got to do some changing, and spoke about is gone. God knows where he
then get the hell out of here. Now there are headed. West im sure, like I suggested. He
two things that can keep him here and stop would be having a good time out there. Au-
this man from leaving. One, is the love of a gust is a great time to travel. Cool breeze
woman even if it means misery of the soul. blowing on your back easing you onto the
I’ve seen men stay in one place and just next town, the next mountain range, the
ponder life until they are on their deathbeds next adventure. The next town may have
because of a woman. The other thing that what you are in search of, whatever that
can keep this man in town is hope. Hope may be. Secret to happiness? The meaning
that one day a women in town will take no- of life? Love? Fountain of youth? Immortal
tice of him and offer her unwavering love to Legacy? Only god knows, or hell maybe it’s
him. Either way it’s always a woman. Ever the devil. But the wandering gives you hope.
since Eve man has been cursed to it. It’s Or a sense of purpose, a personal quest.
how it is and how it always will be when it Sure as hell beats rotting away in one place
comes to a girl. But this boy, He has no love your whole life.
to hold him here. He has made up his mind
to ride out of this town. Onto a new place, But does it, does this life of travel beat
new people, new experiences, new scenic rotting away at the same bar in the same
views, new adventures, and a new life. town every night. At least if you stay at
the same bar you’ve put down some roots.
I can see it in his eyes, he can see it in Have some loved ones to surround you, a
mine. We share the same stare at our drinks. wife, some kids, a stable job, a sense of
It won’t be long now until he comes over ownership in something. Or is it more noble
to talk to me at my corner stool. I caught to sit here quietly scribbling my thoughts to
him looking at me from his spot across the myself on this dirty whiskey stained paper.
bar just the other day. Yep, it won’t be long A different bar stool every week and a

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

different bed almost nightly. In any case it’s Native Indian in her. I bet she’s the type of
still the same rotting. Is it noble? The wan- girl to have some stories. Type of girl to
dering. Refusing to settle down. I don’t think make a man drop everything just to see
noble is the word for it, maybe stubborn. Ya what it is she is going to do or say next.
thats it. Stubborn, that’s all I am. Oh well at Something to Share, something to show the
least the sasberrella here is pretty good and world. Shit maybe she’s got all the answers
it flows for cheap. to the questions I’m trying to answer. I
might hang around a little, see if that’s the
New girl just got into town today, seems case. Ahh what was her name again ...ah
like the sporty type, deep dark hair like the yes that’s right, July. Mizz July Adenberry.
Utah night sky, and real calming blue eyes. I Yep, there is definitely something about
hear the boys claiming she’s got a bit of July.

About the Author

Parker Sterni’s writing comes from a stream of consciousness.
Delivering what he sees and observes daily to the paper by
the way of the pen. He holds no home and no four walls
have ever coaxed him enough to stay around for long.
Wondering, Observing, and Writing is what he enjoys. That
and a whiskey sour every so often.

40

CHUCK’S DINER

by Noah Walker

The sizzling, smoking sound of the grill “I hope you enjoy.” He gave a little bow and
combined with the crackling of the meat strode away.
as Chuck tossed it over or pressed against
it with a well-practiced hand, accompa- The hooded man bit into the burger mo-
nied by otherwise blissful silence. It all be- ments later and his eyes lit up with an idea.
came more pronounced around 8:00 pm He scarfed down half of the burger and
for Chuck since they closed at 9:00 pm. He waved over Davey. “You’re uh, right! This is
is the cook and owner of Chuck’s Diner, a the best damn burger I’ve ever had. I’d like
quaint little family ran place in a rough part to give my compliments to the chef, if he’s
of town with butcher shop in back. The din- still around?”
er prides itself on one thing: The Chef’s spe-
cial called the Chuckxplosion. Davey grinned. “Of course, sir, I’ll go get
him right away,” he stated. He then stepped
“Order up!” Chuck said with a hint of over to the food-window and yelled into the
gruffness while placing a white plate car- back. “Pa! This man wants to see you! Get
rying a nicely toasted bun sheltering a sa- on out here.”
vory, juicy burger and crispy golden French
fries up on the window. The burly cook soon appeared standing
up straight in the doorway leading to the
“Right away, Dad!” a more high-spirited, kitchen with a plate in hand that he was
young voice responded. It was coming from cleaning. “What does he want to see me
Chuck’s son, Davey, who worked the front. for? We don’t do refunds,” Chuck retorted
He briskly approached the only occupied while setting the plate on a nearby table.
table after grabbing the plate.
“Just go on over, Dad.”
There was a man at the table who wore
a black hoodie, sweatpants, and some “Fine, but he better not be complaining,”
sneakers with a gym bag on the seat beside he grumbled and made his way towards the
him. He was sweating bullets as if he had table. “What can I do ya for?” He eyed the
just gotten back from a nightly run. “About man.
time! This Chuckxplosion of yours better be
good considering how long I waited,” he The man set his gaze on the chef at his
commented in a huff. table. “This is possibly the best burger I’ve
ever had. I really outta…” His voice trailed
“I assure you, sir, our burger is the best in off as his hand slipped into the gym bag.
town.” Davey sat the plate down then said, “Give you some sorta tip, yeah?”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“That’s really kind of you—” Chuck was Davey jumped around from behind the
cut off abruptly. counter to make sure the man didn’t get up,
knocking his gun away.
The man pulled out a shotgun and aimed it
at Chuck, pointing briefly to his son too. “Hah, Chuck took a moment to breathe and
I love family places! How’s this for a tip: if you look around, taking in what just happened
wanna to keep this a family place,” he said before finally stepping over to them. The
while scrambling to a stand. He was shaking burglar was still conscious and struggling
while holding his gun between the two. “I under Davey as Chuck bent down and
suggest you get what I want. Money! Now.” picked up the plate that miraculously didn’t
shatter.
Chuck immediately put his hands up and
gestured for Davey to do the same. “Look, “Let me go! I wasn’t going to hurt no-
we don’t want no trouble. We’re just a fa- body! Just wanted the money, man….” he
ther and son place…. You want money? We explained, groaning in pain.
can give you it.” He shuffled backwards to-
wards the counter with his hands raised. Davey glanced up to Chuck as he con-
tinued to pin the man to the ground. Sud-
“Stay calm, Pa. Just give him what he denly, everything was calm aside from the
wants,” Davey said. He was frozen in fear be- man’s struggling and jabbering to not call
hind the register. the police.

“Good, good. Okay. Now we’re talking.” “Now what would we call the cops for?”
The robber pulled his hood further down Chuck finally spoke up. He leaned down
on his head while keeping Chuck under aim. towards the man who by this point was
looking more scared, as if their abrupt si-
Chuck breathed heavily, trying to think lence weirded even him out. “Looks like the
of anything to escape the situation. Then he special is back on the menu for tomorrow,
remembered the plate. Yes, the plate! Just a boy!” With that, Chuck gave the man a
little further… He gave the robber a nervous small smile and promptly hit him on the
smile as he moved and eyed Davey. head with the plate.

Davey promptly rubbed his head, only to What followed was business as usual.
have the robber turn his attention to him. Davey dragged the body into the back for
Chuck to prepare in the morning. Chuck
“Hey! Dontcha move!” stayed up at the front, making sure every-
thing was clear and ready for lock up. He
This gave the adrenaline-filled Chuck reflected on the night’s alarming events
enough time to grab the plate and throw as it was the first time they’ve been put
it like a frisbee at the crook’s head, luckily in danger. Once Davey returned, Chuck
making a heavy impact. peered over at him and said, “Do you think
we’re the actual bad guys, Son?”
The hooded man let out a loud yelp and
toppled to the grown in shock, dropping his
gun and grasping onto his head. “Ow! What
the hell, man?” he groaned out.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

About the Author

Noah Walker is a writer from Dallas, Georgia. His hobbies include playing video games,
writing short stories, and reading. It helps him stay up to date on the newest stories and
provides inspiration for his own writing. He also has a very fluffy cat named Penelope that
often lays on his lap or arm while he does his writing.

43

FIREBREAK

by John Tavares

When Spirit called the reception desk for weight scale, sphygmomanometer, stetho-
the results of blood tests, Dr. Windier in- scope, and examining table with stirrups.
sisted on a follow-up appointment at the Windier assumed a matter-of-fact expres-
clinic. The locum doctor said she couldn’t sion Spirit saw bored, dull, or jaded pro-
reveal the results of her tests over the tele- fessionals, particularly medical doctors on
phone. She requested her telephone num- television, assume, but then the doctor
ber, but Spirit said she didn’t own her own smiled, as if she bore good news, with her
telephone, and she still lived at her parent’s immaculately shiny grin, and Spirit admired
house, and they were old fashioned, con- her large, straight, flawless teeth. Holding
servative. a clipboard with her laboratory results, she
revealed Spirit was pregnant. Dr. Windier
The doctor pressed her for a telephone plunged into the business of home visits
number, but Spirit was secretive about her from public health nurses, referrals to ob-
body and affairs and worried about her pri- stetricians if the pregnancy became high-
vacy, and felt uncomfortable giving Doctor risk or if there were physical or psycholog-
Windier her parents’ telephone number. ical complications.
The doctor requested she drop by the clinic
for a visit in the afternoon, although she re- The doctor reassured Spirit if worst came
minded her the clinic usually didn’t accept to worst, she could be flown as an emergency
walk-ins. She hiked across town to the clinic, patient by air ambulance to the regional
through the rain, thunder, and even a light- hospital in Thunder Bay, if complications
ening flash, one of many lightning strikes in delivery arrived unannounced and over-
that day, which, she later learned, caused whelmed staff of the small-town hospital.
several forest fires, which eventually threat-
ened buildings and cottages at the town’s Holy, Spirit muttered softly, still in range
edge. of the doctor’s hearing as the petite figure
in the lab coat leaned over the counter to
Dr. Windier summoned her to her tem- write something on her pad, stationary
porary office, which contained a large com- with eye-catching advertisements for a new
fortable leather chair, with a stately desk, brand of birth control pill.
beside the examining room, where the
nurse originally left her, with sterile aseptic Spirit had inadvertently and unexpect-
walls decorated with advertisement posters edly gotten intimate with a few guys that
for birth control and blood pressure pills, a weekend, a fateful time, in retrospect. After

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Revista Literária Adelaide

drinking vodka that night, she couldn’t really “You have to leave town now.” Her father
remember. She certainly couldn’t tell her said he’d arrange for her to move to Thunder
parents what happened while partying at Bay. She would attend a high school in Port
the Pine Island, after the high school gradu- Arthur, a long walk or a bus ride from the
ation, amidst the beer, barbecues, and rock house of her aunt, her father’s sister near
and roll, after most of the graduates left the the waterfront and the harbor on Lake Su-
party and accompanied chaperones home. perior.

The party took place amidst an outdoor Spirit wondered why she didn’t simply
campground, beside the rundown cabins, have an abortion.
amidst sleeping bags, tents, and bonfires in
the parties at the secluded island in the bay “For Christ’s sake,” her father replied,
of Pelican Lake near Beaverbrook, after the “you’re Catholic.”
Queen Elizabeth District High School gradu-
ation ceremony, which saw the last class of “We don’t even go to church,” Spirit re-
grade thirteen students, since the province plied.
of Ontario mandated phasing out that un-
lucky number. “It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “Your
mother would have a fit. And don’t talk to
After midnight, Spirit hiked the trail, me about getting hitched.”
climbing over rocks, broken beer bottle glass,
stubbed cigarettes, abandoned soaked swim- “I didn’t talk about marriage.”
wear and damp undergarments to a tent.
She took Nick by the hand and guided him to Realizing she erred in discussing preg-
her tent. Nick insisted on bringing along his nancy, abortion, or marriage with her fa-
camcorder and ended up being trailed by his ther, she decided she might even attempt
friends. The tumble and frolic in the sleeping to obtain an abortion secretly, without her
bag turned into a party, which extended into parents’ permission.
the early morning hours. When he wasn’t
participating, Nick documented and re- “Good. There’s no way my daughter is
corded the action with his video camera. getting married to an Arab in a town like
Beaverbrook. You have to leave town now.”
Spirit lived with her parents in two large
mobile homes joined in the middle, through “Nick isn’t an Arab; he’s Greek.”
her father’s mechanical ingenuity and re-
sourcefulness, and experience moonlighting “Same thing, Arab, Greek, especially in
as a self-taught welder and plumber. As she this town.”
became consumed by strange cravings, par-
ticularly for ice cream, in the middle of the “No, it isn’t,” Spirit replied, her anger
night, Spirit gained a healthy twenty pounds growing.
over nine weeks and thought she needed to
explain. Eventually she told her parents she “In fact, if I saw him in an airport, I’d call
was pregnant. security or the police. He looks exactly like
the type who’d strap a belt of explosives to
When her father discovered she was his chest, then board a plane, and blow it
pregnant, he announced matter-of-factly, up in midair.”

Spirit felt ready to explode with rage, but
she realized her father thrived on people
expressing anger towards him, since he
retaliated in kind, repaying the principal

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

with interest thrice over with pleasure. Es- and homemade wine. She put the baby on
pecially, she realized the futility of arguing its stomach and smothered its head with
with her father, whom she considered a a pillow until the tiny figure, wriggling its
redneck, about Nick. She figured her father pudgy limbs, stopped struggling, and grew
assumed her friend was the father, but they limp.
argued and fought a few months ago, and
she hadn’t seen him since the night of the Then she went to the washroom, and
party. a sensation of bloating and nausea over-
whelmed her before she coughed and
So, Nick did provide Spirit with a scape- hacked and vomited forcefully. She regur-
goat, an acceptable guilty party for her fa- gitated a vomitus composed of sedatives,
ther Nick—a convenient excuse and alibi for barely digested, blended with a partially di-
her pregnancy. gested blueberry muffin and strong whiskey.
Her smelly vomit and bile hurtled through
“We just can’t have you walking around the washroom and splattered against the
town with a swollen belly,” her father said. toilet, mirror, sink, and shower curtain. She
“You have to leave town now.” vomited again and, gasping, collapsed on
the toilet.
Within a few months, Spirit moved to
Thunder Bay and lived with her uncle and Allison held the fine print of the Norton
aunt. They sublet her the basement of their anthology to the light of the Coleman lan-
heritage house on Algoma Street, which had, tern in her tent, as her fellow fire fighter lis-
in previous incarnations, been a bakery and tened to music on his Sony Discman. Then
then a funeral home. Spirit went to work at Nick changed compact discs and asked her
a deli, baking bread, carving smoked sand- when was the last time she saw Spirit.
wich meats and imported cheeses, serving
gourmet muffins, croissants, and flavored “I tried to persuade Spirit to join me
coffee for breakfast, making deli and sub- forest fire fighting last summer. She thought
marine sandwiches for lunch. I was crazy. She said if I went firefighting the
guys would take advantage of me.”
The baby was born with little fuss or
fanfare. Then, on a weekend, her uncle and “Spirit is white trash.”
aunt left her alone to mind the house and
babysit her son while they visited a casino “Don’t say that; Spirit is a lost soul. She’s
and hotel resort on a Native American In- old fashioned, or her expectations and at-
dian reservation in Northern Minnesota. titude—they’re from an earlier time. She
Spirit found her aunt’s tranquilizers in a still thinks women are house wives—get
cluttered medicine cabinet and downed married and stay at home and take care of
the yellow tablets, five milligrams of Valium, the babies. She expects a man to provide for
gulping several glasses of her uncle’s home- her; it’s the way she was brought up or was
made wine. taught to think.”

Sitting in a chair beside the bed, Spirit “You don’t know Spirit. Do you know
started to feel a floating sensation as she where Spirit is?”
momentarily grew free of anxiety and inhi-
bitions. She stared at the carpet floor and “I haven’t talked to Spirit for over a year.”
then finished gulping the bottle of diazepam
“Spirit got pregnant—so much for old
fashioned—and moved to Thunder Bay.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

She got gangbanged at the graduation party adult X-rated section. Think about it: they
after all the goody two shoes took their di- have porn movies in Beaverbrook. Isn’t that
plomas and pop and chips and got driven the end of the world.”
home by their parents. I don’t know why
she was at the party; she was supposed to “I don’t watch television or movies; it’s a
graduate last summer.” waste of time.”

“Gangbanged? What are you talking “Books will save the world, eh? I don’t
about?” care. Anyway, Spirit definitely has problems.”

“She got drunk and then her party “She said she has bipolar disorder, as in
drinking buddies started fucking her.” manic-depressive illness.”

“You mean they raped her.” “Bipolar disorder, my eye. I don’t know
why you’re friends with her.”
“She wanted to get shagged. She was
saying things, like yeah, give it to me, cum “We grew up on the same street together
on my face. I don’t know.” in town. In Sacred Heart, we walked home
and to school together. We played together
“You mean they raped her.” in the schoolyard and neighborhood. When
I went on summer holidays, she took over
“No way. She was egging them on, unbut- my paper route. We were practically insepa-
toning their pants, unbuckling their belts, rable, almost best friends. Then my parents
stripping.” built a house on the lake, and we lost touch.
I read some psychology books last semester
“Because she was drunk, you said. If she for independent study, and the most fasci-
was drunk, she can’t give consent.” nating part was mental disorders. When I
read about bipolar disorder—the descrip-
“They were drunk, too— tions and symptoms sounded exactly like
Spirit in her senior year at high school.”
drunker than zombies. They were all
acting like zombies, except instead of brains, Nick held the wrapped condom up to
they wanted private parts. They were shit- his face, but, while Allison noticed the pro-
faced—it was a pathetic scene, but they phylactic in shiny steel foil, she refused to
looked like they were having a riot. It made acknowledge its presence.
me vomit, literally.”
“How do you get a name like Spirit?”
“I don’t think that is a defense, not legally,
anyway.” “It’s native.”

“So now you’re a lawyer. Anyway, those “She half-Italian—she’s not even a full-
guys watch too much porn or something— blooded. Dad says Spirit’s father was a half-
her included. She sounds like she wants to breed hippie, into peace and love, planting
be a porn star, Christy Canyon, Nina Hartley, trees in the spring, fighting forest fires in
or someone like her.” the summer.” Nick’s father told him Spirit’s
father, in his twenties, backpacked across
“Where does she get porn in Beaver- Europe during the winter and hitchhiked
brook?” to the States for rock concerts and music
festivals, or demonstrations to protect the
“Don’t you ever drop by the video store,
even for an ice cream cone? Look in the

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

environment. He smoked pot and had a rep- until later than night and listen to music
utation as a drug runner, apparently smug- in his bedroom, he told her she needed to
gling cocaine. “Then he inherited this gas leave the house because his parents would
bar and convenience store and turned into return soon, even though he knew they
this right-wing nut.” sometimes went dancing and drinking at a
bar, which had country and western nights
Nick remembered the time Spirit visited every weekend, in Dryden and didn’t drive
his house, creeping through the back door, home until after midnight or even the next
to ask him if she could borrow his Rolling day, if they decided to stay in a hotel over-
Stones compact discs so she could record night.
their music on blank cassette tapes for play-
back on her portable stereo, which had a Nick gave her a shoebox with worn cas-
duel cassette player/recorder, a compact sette tapes, which his George, his father,
disc player, and an AM/FM radio, at home. copied from his Rolling Stones vinyl records,
George and Sophia, Nick’s parents, drove to and which he took from his basement bed-
Dryden that Saturday to shop at the furni- room. He led her to the back door, but she
ture and appliance store and Safeway and insisted on staying, and he grew firm and
Canadian Tire and eat dinner at the A&W pushed her out the porch, saying, “You
restaurant, so, alone, he invited her inside don’t understand: My mother doesn’t like
the house. Nick showed her his music col- Indians, and my parents will be home soon,
lection, neatly organized on bookshelves, and, if they see you here they will have a fit.”
made from plywood and brick, inside his
bedroom. Spirit grew annoyed at being manhan-
dled by him and being made a scapegoat
On a whim, he asked her if she wanted for his mother’s prejudices. She complained,
to get naked and have fun. The moment she saying she should go to the police and say
started stripping off her clothes he felt the he raped her.
onset of a panic attack. Then she started
taking off his clothes, and his fear turned Allison heaved and jiggled her hips,
to excitement, but he started trembling un- thrusting her pelvis so Nick was deeper in-
controllably and fumbled. side her. She wanted him to come quickly so
he would get off her, and she could escape
He directed his penis towards her mouth, the stifling tent and jump in the lake and
but she gripped his penis and steered it wash and rinse off his sweat, semen, grime,
down to her midsection. She wanted to and the charcoal they wore like masks and
have intercourse, but he was so aroused he tattoos from working around forest fires.
came while he tried to slip on a condom, he She could feel his heartbeat and trembling
took from his father’s shaving kit. like a cat, as he clutched her, and she scis-
sored her legs around him. Then he finally
Afterwards, he wished she would leave grew hard, but he came prematurely inside
immediately, but she lounged and laid back of her, the mere tickle of flesh triggering
on his bed and made herself comfortable, the heights of pleasure and, fortunately, he
so he made a bag of microwave popcorn, wore a condom.
seasoned it with the packet of sour cream
and onion flavor, and shared a bowl with Meanwhile, she could see in her mind
her. When she asked him if she could stay the fragment of an idea for a story for the

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