Adelaide Literary Magazine No.28, September 2019

EULOGY

by James P. Johnson

Being his best friend in school, his family had asked me to deliver Peg-leg Pete’s
— Edward Kowalski’s — eulogy.

We’d first met in Kindergarten in 1952. He “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t
would’ve entered school when he was five, want to.”
but skipped a year and he walked with a
s ff right leg. The other children revealed “But, I will tell you. By the way, I had just
themselves to be excep onally cruel. Al- turned five. Well, one day my dad got more
most instantly, they began calling him, drunk than usual, got ahold of his deer rifle
“Peg-leg Pete.” and started shoo ng. I ran out of the house
toward the neighbor’s, when I felt a sharp
At first, I thought his name was Pete, but pain in my right knee. I realized he shot me!
a er we became friends, I learned that his
real name was Eddie. The following year, “I lay on the grass, pretending I was
we were separated by the fact that he’d dead, because I was afraid he’d shoot me
be going to the parochial school and I’d be again. He went back in the house and con-
star ng the first grade in the same public
school. We wouldn’t be together in school nued shoo ng.”
again un l ninth grade junior high.
As he’s telling me this, I watched the
In the interim, we played at each other’s color drain from his face. Eddie was reliving
houses and watched TV at his house --- my the whole thing! That’s what I was afraid of.
dad didn’t buy a TV, having iden fied it as
only a fad. “Somebody must’ve called the police,
because I was hearing a lot of sirens. An am-
In junior high, even though, it wasn’t as bulance came for me and took me to the
mean-spirited as before, the kids were s ll hospital. The doctor showed me an X-ray of
calling him, Peg-leg Pete. my leg and said that I’d been shot. The bullet
entered behind my knee and sha ered my
I finally summoned up the courage to kneecap. There was nothing more they could
ask him how he got the nickname. do, except fit me with a plas c knee brace.
Then this cop, wearing a suit, came in to
He said, “Ya know, you’re the first kid to talk to me. He told me that my dad killed my
ever ask me that?” mom, the family dog and himself. Remember,
I was only five when he’s telling me all this

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

and I’m trying my best to understand. Then, that he found a good paying job and a tall,
he asks if my parents argued a lot. I said, ‘yes’ willowy blond named Olivia, who was will-
and he said that someone from County Social ing to marry him. He went on to say that
Services will come to talk to me, too.” she was a wannabe movie starlet wai ng to
be discovered and scheduled for a screen
A search for suitable rela ves, with test.
whom Eddie could live, had begun. Find-
ing none who were willing to take him, he I wrote back wishing them luck. There
was sent to a foster home to live with the must be about twenty-thousand young wom-
Kowalski family. The Kowalski’s had two en, in and around Los Angeles who’d love to
teenage children of their own and three ad- play the part of some fresh-faced ingénue.
opted; ranging in age from six to fourteen.
Eventually, they adopted him as well. A er ten years, his marriage failed. In an-
other ten years, his job failed and he moved
He had told me that he was envious of back home, coincidentally in me for our
his friends who played sports. Some kids twenty-year high school class reunion.
had told Eddie that he could play baseball
and use his s ff leg as a bat. While others I was stunned when I saw Eddie walking
told him that he could be a great field-goal with only a slight limp.
kicker. But, by far, the meanest jape of them
all was when the boys told the girls that it “Eddie, what happened to your leg?”
wasn’t his leg that was s ff. Of course, this
sent these pubescent girls into uncontrolla- “I had a knee replacement. Of course,
ble giggle-fits. they had to wait ‘ l I stopped growing. At
least it kept me out of the dra .”
We rode the school bus together; he
on the aisle and I on the window side. Of “Geez, what are you, six-three?”
course, he had to s ck his leg out into the
aisle. The other kids thought he was inten- “No, just six-one.”

onally trying to trip them. While their bul- “Lucky. I think I stopped growing when I
lying tac cs pissed me off, I found it amaz- was twelve.”
ing that he calmly accepted their a empt-
ed provoca ons. We hung out at the reunion, barely
speaking to anyone else, some mes only
I’ve chosen to omit all references to his saying,“hi.” A lot of these former class-
leg, from the eulogy, especially his nick- mates stopped by to stare and then say a
name. Anyway, it was a preposterous impli- few words to Eddie and me. Then returned
ca on that his leg was a wooden prosthesis. to the cliques they’d formed in high school.

When we were about ready to graduate, “Remember when most of these people
none of us great athletes received athle c considered us pariahs, Eddie?”
scholarships. We were envious of him ge ng
an academic scholarship to the University. “Oh, I don’t think you were. You were a
jock and fit-in with them.”
As a newly minted MBA, Eddie set out
for California to find employment … and “I don’t know if ‘fi ng-in’ was that import-
perhaps a wife. He wrote me a le er saying ant then. It means absolutely nothing now.”

“There’s something I don’t understand,”
Eddie said, “you knew I was bullied and you

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and your jock friends didn’t do anything to About a year later, I received a phone call
stop it. You know you could’ve. In fact, no- from one of Eddie’s siblings; he had died
body, the principal, the guidance counselor, suddenly from an aneurism. I offered my
the teachers … nobody stopped it! That’s sincerest condolences and asked if there
why I’ll be in therapy for the rest of my life.” was anything I could do.

I told him how sorry I was. “Yes,” was the answer, “you could do
something … “
We moved toward a poster set on an
easel. On it were high school yearbook pic- I arrived a li le late and stood outside
tures of deceased classmates; a few going the stone cathedral and marveled at the
back to only a couple of years a er grad- mishmash of Roman, Byzan ne and Goth-
ua on, others in more recent years. Of ic architecture. Inside, the vaulted ceiling
course, I recognized all of their seventeen sported beams that I supposed were flying
and eighteen year-old faces. bu resses. The nave was surrounded by
ten-foot statues of saints, all looking down
“Don’t you think it’s sort of curious,” in apparent condescension at us insignifi-
Eddie asked, “that most of them, boys and cant, sinful mortals. I no ced that someone
girls were bullies?” had thought it was a good idea to posi on
them in alphabe cal order. So, Amos stood
“Really? So, what’s your point? Are you next to Andrew. I was thinking about that
saying that you might’ve had something to when the priest signaled me to come up to
do with their deaths?” the pulpit. I began the eulogy by saying that
we all were enriched for knowing Eddie, but
“No, I’m not saying that at all. A couple were diminished by his passing and hoped
of them died in Vietnam, a few from fa- that no one caught me in the obvious pla-
tal illnesses the rest accidently or, suicide. giarism. I men oned how long we’d known
Tell me, how the hell could I manage to kill each other and cked-off the decades. And
them off so selec vely?” the fact that he was stolen from us at such a
young age. I liked the word, stolen, because
“Well, there were some who died un- it was the truth.
der mysterious circumstances, their cases
s ll unsolved. I don’t know. Maybe you had I asked him once if he was trauma zed
some help.” by the events of his early childhood. He
shrugged it off saying that he’d be in thera-
Eddie gave no reply, just laughed and py for the rest of his life.
clapped me on the back.
“Physical therapy?” I asked, stupidly.
In the intervening years since then, Eddie
and I saw each other infrequently. Caught-up “No, but being adopted by the Kowals-
in our own “busy lives” was the o en-used ki’s helped to give me a brighter and posi-
excuse.
ve outlook.”
I’d gone to the thir eth reunion and
found that Eddie wasn’t there. I phoned “We’d have more serious discussions
him and he said that he wasn’t feeling well. about life in general. I’m not saying that
He thought he had the flu. we’d agree on everything, but we always
got along. We will always be friends.”
*

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When I had finished my ten-minute eulogy, the casket and pulled it away, fast. It was a
the mourners were so ly sobbing, but when warm, sunny, summer day, but the casket
the massive pipe organ belted out an ancient felt cold. I shivered. There was an oldwives
dirge, they began wailing inconsolably. tale which says that if you shiver for no rea-
son, a dead person is thinking of you.
At the burial site, a er the priest’s in-
canta ons, I filed by, pu ng my hand on

About the Author:

A er a thirty-five year career in residen al real estate sales, James P. Johnson decided to
re re and devote more me for wri ng fic on. He likes to think of himself as both an avid
reader and a prolific writer. He lives with his wife in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

62

THE PLATE

by Susie Gharib

She had brought nothing with her to that mouthwash in a small bo le in her hand-
shabby shrine, meant to heal but only ag- bag. The diluted blood she spat had become
grava ng her ill feeling. They had commer- a familiar sight. The doctor had warned her
cialized death itself. She thought of florists, that excessive coughing could rupture the
candle shops and toy lands profi ng from blood vessels in her throat. She drove her
the demise of a forsaken child. Even tears Aus n to Rhoda’s school. The annual fees
refused to wet her cheeks that had always were overdue and she had to assume the
glowed red with fury at sen mental scenes father’s role. With considerable difficulty,
in books that she used to peruse in public she managed to convince the school board
libraries, but the me had come for her to of accep ng it in installments. She had
choke over a real tragedy. She had only seen contemplated selling the car, her only gi
him once while alive, at the undertaker’s from Rhoda’s father, who upon hearing of
shop, lying in a small coffin newly made for her pregnancy had le the car keys on the
the next-day funeral. He reminded her of kitchen table with a one-word note, Sorry,
David Copperfield or was it Oliver Twist. She to vanish without a trace.
could not decide which. His eyes looked wea-
ry with living, his sallow cheeks sunken with The boy sat in the middle of a puddle,
the lack of chewing and speech. The whole bespa ered with mud. She bent over him
face was a calligraphy of grief. Glum, that to enable his pallid lips to mumble some-
was what everybody called Mr. Morossen, thing into her head. Be y nodded and
rebuffed her ques ons about the boy and opened her fridge that had miraculously
his whereabouts. When she offered to take moved from her kitchen to the pavement
him home for a bath and a light meal, he dis- opposite her house. It was u erly empty of
couraged the idea, sta ng that there was no food. The boy looked famished. She called
point in making the child grow a ached to a er Rhoda who had gone to church to re-
her since he was not hers. She should report ceive communion bread. The undertaker
him to the authori es and then seek adop- appeared out of nowhere with a soggy bis-
cuit in his wrinkled hand, which the boy re-
on if she was seriously interested in him. luctantly received in his mouth only to spit
He knew that Be y did not have the means it into a crib that instantly grew into a coffin
to feed another mouth, a single mother with filling with blood. Be y screamed and sat
a daughter on whom she doted. in her bed with cold sweat on her troubled
forehead.
She lit a cigare e then incessantly coughed
un l some blood spurted out. She kept her

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“It’s all right. Just a nightmare. Please available in the fridge, and decided not to
have a sip of water,” said Rhoda, her green visit any shops. She did not feel like seeing
eyes filling with tears. “Let me wipe your anybody.
forehead. You have been screaming. I could
not wake you up.” She stared through the half-curtained
window at where she found the boy dead,
“Why are you so upset?” Rhoda asked curled up like a frozen worm. Be y had
as soon as Be y looked calmer. “Is it the driven early in the morning to have a cig-
boy’s death? You are blaming yourself. You are e before Rhoda was ready for school
do not even know his name. Does he even when the sight of the dead body sent her
have one? I know you were thinking of help- into hysterics. No one figured out what hap-
ing him without going through the system, pened to him. The undertaker was shocked
but he died before you could do anything. at hearing the news. He confessed that he
Please stop blaming yourself. I heard the had allowed the boy to sleep overnight in
neighbors speak of him as the coffin-boy, any coffin of his choice.
yet nobody bothered about him. Some can-
dles, a few teddy bears and his memory will The mother sat in the kitchen staring at
soon fade. He does not even have a mother the fridge, wondering if it was empty as in
to grieve over him.” last night’s dream. Rhoda liked to prepare
her own breakfast and the driver was not
“I’m grieving for him. I wanted to bring in the habit of having one. A cup of black
him home. I know all about abandonment. coffee with a cigare e sufficed un l her
I shouldn’t have listened to Mr. Morossen. lunch hour at work. She wanted to cook
I should have brought him here despite something delicious for Rhoda but instead
all consequences. A boy having a nap in a she lethargically slumped into an armchair
coffin. How could I, Rhoda? Of all the peo- feeling as heavy as the weight of centuries.
ple I!” said Be y, her body convulsing with She meditated over the fridge. She needed
emo on. to pluck her courage before she could open
it. What if the undertaker appeared in the
Rhoda knew that the person before her middle of the kitchen with a soggy biscuit!
was the mother and she could not win any
argument. The driver received her orders She was startled out of her nap by a
with indulging smiles and the father gen- knock on the door. Two police officers were
erously complied with her every financial inves ga ng the death of the boy. A er
need but the mother in Be y was a sea of some rou ne ques ons, they were heading
tenderness that the slightest breeze would towards the door when Be y politely asked
ruffle. if one of them could kindly open the fridge
for her. She quickly added that it needed
In the morning, the driver assumed her repair. The younger one paused and giving
habitual air and gracefully dropped Rhoda the whole kitchen a survey with a pair of
at school but as soon as the daughter van- intelligent eyes approached the fridge but
ished out of her sight, a cloak of sullenness with evident cau on. He pulled the door
enveloped her. She called her boss at work with all his might and the contents ra led
and told him she was feeling rather indis- with unnecessary force. Be y pretended to
posed and unable to a end to customers. be surprised at the ease with which it was
She then pondered over the list of things opened and was effusive in her thanks.

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With the biggest obstacle out of her way, the fridge and then asked Rhoda to fetch
the mother began to prepare dinner for the the milk, busying herself with other things.
evening. When the me came to collect “Poor boy,” said Be y as she handed her
Rhoda, the driver began to think of a con- daughter the warmed glass of milk.
vincing excuse for having not gone to work.
Rhoda always inquired how the driver’s day “We’re leaving in three days,” said Rhoda
had been, and the driver selected episodes with excitement. The mother was making a
that amused the young woman in the back shopping list. “Perhaps I can help you with
seat. They never discussed school or work the rearrangement,” con nued the girl. They
at home, where the driver instantly trans- always rearranged the furniture and changed
formed into the most affec onate mother the posi on of the pictures on the wall to
in the en re world, who saw to every need feel a sense of novelty upon their return.
of her overindulged daughter.
Their holiday was an immense success
Rhoda looked cheerful a er the sleep- un l their visit to the restroom in the sta on
less night and boarded the car with habit- on their way back home. A handsome man
ual pride. She had done well in her assign- that was leaving the Gents viewed Be y with
ments, so she told the eager driver, about apparent surprise and politely nodded as he
whose day she then inquired. The driver cast a quick glance at Rhoda. The mother
had thought of every possible excuse but averted her eyes and hurried through the
failed to find a thing to say, so the moth- door. Rhoda asked if the elegant man was
er intervened, for the first me in the Aus- a customer at work. Be y mumbled some-
thing and said she badly needed to go into
n, and informed Rhoda that a sumptuous the bathroom. She later sat distracted twid-
meal was awai ng her to compensate both dling a piece of paper that the man had in-
of them for the ill-spent night. serted into her pocket on her way out.

At work, Be y kept herself very busy Rhoda slept all the way back home and
and out of gra tude for the one-day, paid forgot all about the elegant stranger as the
leave, she asked for extra du es. The boss, mother expected. In the morning, Be y
who was worried about her health, hav- placed the slip of paper on which was scrib-
ing seen her cough out blood on several bled a phone number, that of Rhoda’s fa-
occasions, seemed very happy with the ther, in a n box, a present from her grand-
transforma on. Be y evinced extra cheer- father, who used to keep tobacco in it. The
fulness, which was her way of masking the anchor on its lid fascinated his grandchild
subterranean disquiet at work in the deep and he readily parted with his dear box.
recesses of her psyche.
When Be y called Rhoda to dinner, the
Excited with the approaching school daughter’s face was beaming with joy, but
holiday, the mother and daughter started as soon as she sat at her usual place, she
planning their ac vi es over the break. could not help but observe a new addi on
Rhoda deliberately kept her mother busy to the table. There was an extra plate with
in the evening. Be y also preferred physi- food served on it.
cal exer on to mental strain. Both dreaded
the night ahead of them but the boy was “Are we expec ng somebody mother?”
not alluded to un l Rhoda requested a asked Rhoda, feeling more surprised at her
warm glass of milk. The mother stared at own strange ques on. Nobody was ever

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invited to dinner. The mother was startled the reason of her dismay to her dearest? It
then evaded the ques on by remarking on was not the angry tone. It was her mother’s
how healthy Rhoda looked with her beau - mental state. Was Be y losing her sanity?
ful suntan. Whose plate was she daily serving at their
exclusive dinner table?
Be y looked as if she had lost her ap-
pe te and sat looking at the empty chair The next day, the same plate stared at
when Rhoda was not looking her way. Rhoda’s face who could not swallow a bite.
When dinner was over, Be y spoke some- The mother felt that she had to act. She
thing in the direc on of the extra plate then cleared her throat, moved her lips inco-
quietly cleared the table. The extra served herently and then begged Rhoda’s pardon,
plate became a habitual feature of their sta ng that things ought to be clarified.
evening meals. Every me Rhoda tried to
ask about the meaning of the addi onal “Rhoda. The plate is for the boy, the
plate, Be y evaded responding to the ques- coffin-boy,” she paused, then resumed in a
lower voice,” he has been asking for these
on with the utmost courtesy. Rhoda gave meals, since our return from the holiday. I
up her queries un l she spo ed her mother cook the things he orders. He talks to me.
mumbling by the opened fridge. It sound- You will think I am mad, but this is the truth.”
ed like pleading with someone to choose
whatever he liked. In order not to embar- The color faded from Rhoda’s cheeks
rass her mother, Rhoda hid and waited for and her lips grew tremulous. She was silent
her to finish talking. She then approached for almost half an hour, their meals grown
the fridge and asked if Be y was on the cold, when she quietly inquired of her
phone. The mother shook her head and mother: “Do you talk to the dead mother?
looked worried. Did Rhoda overhear their Do you see him now at the table? Does he
conversa on? sit with us every evening?”

The next day, Rhoda resolved to probe The mother looked disconsolate and
the new phenomenon, so as soon as she knew that whatever her answer was, Rho-
finished her dinner, she said that she could da was lost to her. She looked at the empty
do with some more stew and stretched her chair, the plate before it, and then at Rho-
hand to pick the addi onal plate before the da’s pale face.
empty chair.
“I have been talking to him for days. His
“Rhoda, leave it. It’s for him,” said the name is George. He is always hungry and it
mother snatching the plate with discourtesy. is enough for him to feed his eyes on the
plate served before the empty chair, where
Rhoda could not believe her ears so she he is si ng right now listening to us. They
rushed to her bedroom in tears. The moth- do not eat like us.”
er came to her senses and knocked gently
on her daughter’s door wai ng for a word “They! Mum, if people listen to this, they
to be admi ed. There was absolute silence. will shut you in. Shall we inquire where he is
She hesitated before knocking again when buried and take him food there? Please do
Rhoda’s voice was faintly heard. The moth- not behave like this. You are the only one I
er sat at the edge of the bed and apologized have in this world. You do not want me to end
for her rudeness. How could Rhoda impart up like the coffin-boy,” said Rhoda sobbing.

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The mother took Rhoda into her arms “He never goes to work with me. He is
and told her that she could not help the always standing by the fridge. I en ce him
things that were happening to her. The with the served plate, to make him sit at
boy even went into her bed. He needed the table. Spirits do not harm us Rhoda. It
warmth. She felt his ice chill the bed un l is the living who do so,” said Be y.
her warmth finally engulfed him and he
gradually yielded to sleep. Rhoda kissed her mother goodnight
and sat in her bed feeling the weight of
“Do you suggest that I see a doctor? the world on her fragile shoulders. She
They will take you away from me. We will feared for her mother. In the morning, Bet-
be estranged. You will end up in a home ty dropped Rhoda at school then drove to
and I in a mental house, and people will al- a nearby hospital. She pondered over the
ways think you are weird because you have ma er for a few minutes then headed to
a mad mother and you might take a er her. work instead. In the a ernoon, she collect-
It will be your lifelong s gma, Rhoda,” said ed Rhoda before going to the local shop
the mother composedly. where they found some neighbors poring
over the local newspaper with unusual
“So what do you want me to do? To see interest. Be y asked if everything was all
you talk to the air and say nothing. Does he right. One neighbor who knew it was she
go to work with you? What if you get caught who reported the death of the boy to the
talking to yourself at work? Your boss will police told her that they had finally found
report you and you will lose your job. Who the iden ty of the coffin-boy. He was an
is going to feed me and him then?” said escapee from an orphanage, and his name
Rhoda looking in the plate’s direc on. was George.

67

A PLACE TO BE

by David Metz

His brother’s grave was in the northwest cor- cut grass. He came here each me he and
ner of the cemetery and a er they’d finished Doug mowed the grounds of St. Paul’s and
loading the equipment, Randy paid his re- the adjoining cemetery because it felt like
spects. That’s how he described it to Doug, the right thing to do. But he always ended
“pay my respects.” Doug stayed with the up staring across the cornfield towards the
pick-up truck, while Randy crossed to the far flat horizon. He didn’t believe in prayer and
corner and stood in front of Ted’s grave. He didn’t know what to say.
didn’t say a prayer or speak to Ted, he just
stared at the gray headstone and its inscrip- He walked back to the truck, where
Doug was si ng sideways in the driver’s
on: Theodore “Ted” Franklin / Lance Corpo- seat, feet propped on the running board,
ral USMC / June 14,1992-May 23, 2012. Ted smoking a cigare e and sipping from a six-
had been laid to rest six years ago, when Ran- teen-ounce bo le of Mountain Dew.
dy was twelve. There was an honor guard—
two Marines—one of whom gave Randy’s “That shit will kill you,” Randy said.
mother a folded flag. A bugler played Taps. A
week before the funeral his mother had tak- “Which?” Doug held up both hands,
en him to the Sears in Chesterton, the next Mountain Dew in one, cigare e in the oth-
town over, and bought him a black suit and er, a smile spreading across his beefy face.

e and a white dress shirt. The sleeves of the “Both.”
suit clung to his arms in the heat and the shirt
collar scratched his neck, but he didn’t com- “Everybody dies.” Doug nodded towards
plain. Nor did he cry. He watched the casket the cemetery. “In case you hadn’t no ced.”
being lowered into the ground and thought
how it would piss Ted off to end up here, less Randy smiled and went around to the
than a mile from where he grew up. Ted had passenger side.
joined the Marines to get out of Millwood,
Illinois and the Marines had sent him back. They cut grass from April to November
for St. Paul’s, two businesses in town, and
Randy looked up from the headstone half a dozen residents. Doug called it lawn
to the fence ten yards away and the corn- maintenance and talked about star ng a
field on the other side. A late a ernoon landscaping business. Randy saved almost
breeze cooled the sweat under his T-shirt every dollar he earned. A landscaping busi-
and filled his nostrils with the smell of fresh ness meant staying in Millwood and he
wanted out as much as Ted had. He was
headed to college in the fall.

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Doug eased his truck onto Main Street “Hi, swee e,” she said, turning from the
and down the hill to the intersec on with kitchen sink. “How was your day?”
Spring. The buildings lining both sides
looked worn—two-story structures of He shrugged. “Same old same old.”
brick, or wood with vinyl siding. Ted used
to say the buildings looked as bored with “And Doug?”
Millwood as he was. He only said it when
he and Randy were alone, never in front of “Same old Doug.”
their parents. As they passed through the
second intersec on, Randy saw his father’s By the me he’d showered and changed
Ford Taurus in an angled parking space in his father had come home. Randy found
front of a vinyl-sided building on the corner. him si ng in the living room in his brown
The wood sign above the door said Franklin leather Barcalounger, sipping his nightly
Insurance / Home, Auto, Life. scotch and watching the news. He smiled
as Randy took a seat on the sofa.
“What’s up tonight, anything?” Doug
asked. “How goes the lawn maintenance busi-
ness?”
“I don’t know, hadn’t thought about it.”
Randy smirked. “You sound like Doug.”
“I’ll probably go by the lake and see if
anything is happening.” “Nothing wrong with a li le entrepre-
neurial spirit.”
Randy nodded. If anything was happening
at the lake it would involve beer, probably “This is Doug we’re talking about.”
weed, the possibility of a hook-up. It would
also involve the same people: high school His father shook his head, went back to
kids, those who had just graduated in June, watching the news. Randy thought if le for
like him and Doug, and older kids–home from ten years and came back on a weeknight at
college for the summer and the ones who 6:00 PM, he’d find his father si ng in the
had never le . Summer nights in Millwood. same chair, sipping scotch, watching the
news.
A er the third intersec on the down-
town gave way to a series of residen al A er the news, they took their places
streets. A three stop-light town, Ted used to around the dining room table, his parents
say. Doug turned right onto Randy’s street on each end, Randy in the middle. There
and pulled up in front of his house, midway was a chair opposite him, Ted’s chair,
down the block. tucked neatly in place. For the first year af-
ter he was killed, his mother set a place for
“Call me if you want to hang out later,” him each evening, as if he were just late for
he said. dinner and would arrive at any moment.
His father said it was an expression of grief,
Randy nodded. Doug pulled away from like laying flowers at the grave. Randy wor-
the curb, then swerved hard right and back ried it was something more serious. But he
le in a looping U-turn, giving Randy a grew accustomed to seeing the placemat
thumbs-up as he went by. and folded napkin, fork, knife and spoon
set opposite him un l one evening the
He called hello to his mother as he passed space was empty, the dark wood shiny and
from the mud room through the kitchen. bare.

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Now his father asked Randy how his day table and took her hand in his. “Mom, I’ll be
had been. fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“Fine.” Randy reached for the bowl of Now his father asked his mother about
new potatoes and ladled several onto his her day and told her about his, leaving Ran-
plate where they se led next to two slices dy to finish his meal in silence. A er dinner,
of ham. he helped clear the table and load the dish-
washer, then called Doug. Predictable.
“Good,” his father said in the deliberate-
ly cheerful tone Randy imagined him using *
with clients. “What did you do?”
“Let’s skip the lake,” Randy said as he got
Randy said he and Doug had taken care into the passenger side of Doug’s truck.
of the church grounds and the cemetery,
mowing and pruning. The words rose out “Seriously? Shit, I procured us a six-
of him begrudgingly, as if the ques on had pack.” By procure Doug meant stole from
invaded some private space. the ready supply his father kept in their
garage refrigerator—from what Randy had
Ted always knew how to talk to their observed, never less than a case, o en
father, how to answer his ques ons with- closer to two.
out betraying the slightest hint of the an-
noyance Randy struggled to suppress. Ted “So? It’ll keep. I’m not up for the lake.”
made everything look easy. If he were there
to ask how he did it, Randy knew Ted would “What do you want to do?” Doug asked.
just shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”
“I don’t know. Go over to Chesterton, or
It’s what he had said when he an- up to Sangamon.”
nounced his inten on to enlist. He did so
over dinner, dropping it into the conver- “Sangamon? Dude, that’s fi y miles.”
sa on as casually as he would plans for a
weekend fishing trip. “Let’s just get on the road.”

“I’ve been talking to a recruiter.” Doug shook his head as he turned onto
Main Street. “You’re fuckin’ weird some-
“What?” Their father had set down his
fork and rested his elbows on the table. mes, Franklin. You know that, don’t you?”

Their mother had stared at Ted. Her old- “Just drive.”
er brother had been dra ed during Viet-
nam and killed three months a er being “Okay. Reach into the back and pop
deployed. Lingering sunlight from the din- open one of those beers for me.”
ing room window fell across her face.
Randy frowned. “Really?”
“There is no dra ,” she’d said. “You don’t
have to do this.” “What? I have a cup holder.”

Ted shrugged and said he had to do They headed east on the state highway,
something. When their mother flinched, a two-lane road running between fields of
absorbing his flippant reply like a slap across corn and soybeans. Randy opened a beer
the face, he slid his chair to her end of the for Doug and got one for himself. He knew
it was weird, but it felt good to be moving,
to watch the fences and u lity poles whiz
by. He popped the tab.

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The week before Ted shipped to Af- was abandoned, ghostly, the doors and win-
ghanistan they had driven to Chesterton dows gaping black against the white facade.
for a movie and dinner a erwards at Ap-
plebee’s. Just the two of them. It was Ted’s “So, when are you leaving for college?
goodbye gi . He’d done something with Soon, right?”
each of them—taken their mother to din-
ner at her favorite restaurant in Sangamon, Randy nodded. “Three weeks.”
risen early on his last Saturday in Millwood
to go fishing with their father. In Applebee’s “Shit.”
people who knew him stopped by their ta-
ble to shake his hand and thank him for his Randy looked at him. “You should have
service. Ted smiled and said he hadn’t done applied somewhere.”
anything yet. When Randy asked him if he
was nervous about going to Afghanistan, “I don’t know.”
Ted laughed and rested his arms on the ta-
ble, looking at Randy across the clu er of “You totally could have go en in some-
empty plates and glasses. where if you’d applied.”

“You’ve got to make your own luck. I Doug shook his head. “College is not my
didn’t see that happening in Millwood.” thing, okay?”

“Yeah, Millwood sucks.” “But Millwood is?”

“Not for everyone,” Ted replied, and when “Kind of. It’s not so bad.”
Randy frowned, added, “just for guys like us.”
“Seriously?” Randy laughed.
Randy wanted to ask him again if he was
nervous, but Ted signaled for the check and “Yeah, dude. Seriously. Not everyone is
the moment passed. as anxious to get out of Dodge as you.”

Now Doug li ed his beer. “Here’s how Randy had known Doug since kinder-
we lost the farm.” It was the same lame garten. They’d been in the same classes,
toast he made every me they drank. Ran- played Li le League and high school base-
dy figured he had heard it from his father ball together, seen each other, Randy real-
who had heard it from his father, although ized when he thought about it, almost ev-
neither one was a farmer. He touched his ery day of their lives since they were five
beer can to Doug’s. years old. Yet he some mes wondered how
they had remained friends.
They slowed to pass through Chester-
ton, a town not much bigger than Millwood A er they pulled onto the interstate,
but with a small outdoor mall including a Doug asked for another beer.
Target, a Home Depot, a Taco Bell, and a
few local stores. Cars surrounded the Ap- Randy handed it to him. “Take it easy.”
plebee’s where he and Ted had eaten din-
ner, light and movement visible through the “Whatever.”
windows under the red awnings. The Sears
where Randy got his suit for Ted’s funeral The fields were further away and nearly
invisible in the dark. In the distance lights
from farmhouses and an occasional gas sta-

on punctuated the blackness.

“You really serious about star ng a land-
scaping business?” Randy asked a er a few
minutes.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“Why not? I’ve got a lot of the equip- and teepees, bears and buffalo, and the
ment and some customers. I like working early pioneers with their covered wagons
outside.” and horse-drawn ploughs. Ted thought it
was lame, but Randy stood for long stretch-
Randy nodded. es in front of each window studying the
figures: bare-chested Indian men, Indian
“The world’s a pre y fucked up place women in buckskin shi s, their hair black
right now, in case you hadn’t no ced,” and shoulder length, with headbands and
Doug said. He took a long swallow of beer. feathers. The pioneer women wore long
“We’ve got illegals all over the damn place, co on dresses and white bonnets, the men
ISIS bastards that want to kill us. Why do I dark co on pants and loose, long sleeve
want to get mixed up in all that crap if I can shirts. The bodies were perfectly propor-
make a nice life for myself in Millwood?”
oned, posed at some task, unblinking ex-
“And you think you can make a nice life pressions on the carved faces. Except for
for yourself in Millwood?’ the lifeless eyes, they were like real people,
frozen in me and space.
“Yeah,” Doug nodded. “Yeah I do.” He
glanced at Randy. “You think you can make They drove to the downtown area, the
a nice life somewhere else?” older part of Sangamon, and around the
courthouse square.
Randy shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out.”
He didn’t have a plan beyond leaving for “Abe Lincoln argued cases in that court-
college, not even a half-assed one like house.” Randy pointed to the old sandstone
Doug’s. All he knew was he couldn’t stay building in the center of the square.
in Millwood. At Ted’s funeral, Father Baker,
who had been the parish priest at St. Paul’s Doug snorted.
for as long as Randy could remember, said
the death of such a young man was a great “Don’t be a moron,” Randy said.
test of faith, but we must trust that God
had a purpose and a plan for each of us. “Don’t be a fucking tour guide.”
Randy wanted to believe that but couldn’t.
He was pre y sure Ted would have called Randy li ed his le hand and extended
bullshit too. his middle finger.

As they got closer to Sangamon, farm- “Nice. Real nice. So now that you dragged
houses and fields gave way to strip malls us here, what do you want to do?”
and office parks. Black and white speed limit
signs read 45 and then 35, and a green sign Randy shrugged. “I don’t know, man. I
marking the city limit read “Pop. 103,234.” just felt like driving.”
Ten mes the size of Millwood. Randy had
been to Sangamon with his parents and Ted “You mean riding.” Doug grinned at him,
for special occasions like Mother’s Day or then said the first thing he had to do was
Easter brunch, or to visit the history muse- take a piss.
um. His favorite exhibit was the diorama
with carved figures behind plate glass de- “And maybe get some coffee.”
pic ng Na ve Americans around campfires
Doug nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

They stopped at an IHop and were seat-
ed in a booth. The blonde Formica tabletop
glowed yellow in the overhead light and

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smelled faintly of disinfectant. Besides cof- because some crazy redneck thought they
fee, Doug ordered a short stack. Their wait- were Muslim.”
er was an Asian kid with a sprinkle of acne
on his forehead who nodded the en re “You calling me a crazy redneck?”

me he was wri ng their order. The restau- “I wouldn’t call you crazy.”
rant wasn’t crowded. Two couples who
looked as old as Randy’s parents were seat- “Fuck you.” Doug grinned and sat back,
ed at a table, and three college-aged girls pushing his plate away. He li ed his coffee
were seated at a booth along the adjacent mug and sipped while stealing glances at
wall. Doug li ed his chin in the direc on of the Indian couples. A er a moment he set
the girls and raised his eyebrows. his mug down and leaned across the table.
“Doesn’t it bother you at all?”
“You wish,” Randy said.
“What?”
The waiter brought Doug’s order. Randy
sipped his coffee and glanced at their re- “Just look around. Our waiter is some
flec on in the window: Doug bent over his kind of Chinese guy, the hostess is black,
plate, slicing his fork through the pancakes; one of those couples at the table is black,
Randy’s own face pensive, staring back at I bet all the help in the back are black or
him from out of the dark. Mexican. And then you have the Muslims
or Indians or whatever. I mean, I like peo-
Doug dipped a forkful of pancake into a ple, but I don’t know.”
puddle of syrup. The door of the restaurant
opened and two couples entered, the men “It’s the world.”
wearing turbans and the woman long head
scarves. Doug looked up from his food and Doug nodded. “You’re welcome to it,
watched as the hostess seated them in a college boy. I’ll take Millwood.”
booth next to the college girls.
Randy drove on the way back while
“Damn,” Doug said so ly. Doug went to work on the remaining beers.
He finished one soon a er they were back
“What?” on the interstate and popped open anoth-
er.
Doug screwed his face into a look of dis-
belief. “What do you think?” “Take it easy,” Randy said.

“Seriously? C’mon, man. Chill.” “What? You’re driving, and besides,
those pancakes gave my stomach a nice
“I’m fine. Just not used to ea ng in the coa ng.”
same place as Muslims.”
There was li le traffic on the interstate.
Randy shook his head. “Dude, they’re The road unspooled before the headlights
not Muslims, they’re Indians. From India. in smooth, mesmerizing chunks, and Randy
Sikhs.” shi ed his gaze to stay alert. Doug stared
out the passenger window. They drove in
Doug set his fork on his plate. “They look silence un l Doug chugged the last of his
like Muslims.” beer, crumpled the can and dropped it be-
hind the seats. “Some mes I miss Ted.”
“But they’re not, I’m telling you. There
have been stories about them ge ng shot Randy nodded.

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“Remember that game his senior year Fear se led over Randy like a chill.
when he returned the intercep on for a Through the office window, beyond the
touchdown? Everyone went crazy, cheering green lawn, a white delivery van moved si-
their asses off. That was so cool. Ted was lently down the street in brilliant sunlight.
so cool.” The red sweep hand of the wall clock cked
off the seconds. He walked silently to the
“Yeah, he was.” car with his father, who rested a hand on
his shoulder. Whenever he thought about
Doug folded his arms, leaned against that day, he felt his father’s hand. Solid.
the headrest. “I used to wish he was my Warm. The grip ghtened as they walked,
brother. I got stuck with an older sister who as if his father was trying to contain his own
can be such a pain in the ass. I always want- fear as well as Randy’s.
ed a brother.”
“Dad,” Randy said when they got into
Randy didn’t tell him that being Ted’s the car, “what is it?”
brother wasn’t always as cool as it ap-
peared. Living in Ted’s shadow, being ig- His father shook his head.
nored for long stretches between those
moments when Ted remembered he ex- They drove home in silence, past the
isted and turned his a en on, his effort- cemetery at St. Paul’s where Ted would
less charm, to Randy. Li le things: playing be laid to rest the following week, down
catch, taking him for ice cream, le ng him the hill along Main Street past the stodgy
tag along when he went swimming at the buildings. Randy didn’t recognize the car
community pool, showing him off to his parked in front of their house. A er park-
girlfriends. They were too far apart in age ing the car in the driveway, his father sat
to be really close and Ted died before me for a moment staring out the windshield,
could close the gap. But in those moments hands gripping the steering wheel. He
Ted made Randy feel they shared an un- drew a breath as if to speak when a sob
breakable bond. burst out of him. Randy sat frozen before
star ng to cry himself, as much out of fear
“It’s so fucked up that he got killed,” as grief. He felt his father’s hand on his
Doug said. shoulder and they leaned across the cen-
ter console in an awkward embrace. A er
Randy remembered the May morning a moment they collected themselves and
he was told to gather his books and report went into the house. Randy’s mother met
to the principal’s office. His father, dressed them at the door and hugged him, her
in the tan co on suit he wore each spring, face flushed and streaked with tears, then
his face rigid and pale, stood next to the she collapsed into his father’s arms and
principal. The clock on the wall read 11:17. the three of them made their way to the
sofa. Two Marines were standing in the liv-
“Your dad is here to take you home, Ran- ing room. They offered condolences. They
dy,” said the principal. explained how Ted had died. IED. It was
fucked up.
“Why?”
Glancing at Doug, Randy said, “He wasn’t
His father shook his head once and man- afraid of the world.”
aged a smile that was more of a grimace.
“I’ll explain when we get home.”

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“He was a brave dude, for sure. Marines Doug smirked.
aren’t pussies.”
“Okay, smart-ass, your mom. Whatever.
“I mean he got out of Millwood because You can stay in the truck if you want.” He
he wasn’t afraid of the world.” checked the side mirror before opening his
door.
“What are you saying?” Doug shi ed in
his seat to look at Randy. “Shit,” Doug said as he yanked his door
handle.
Randy shook his head. “Nothing.”
The woman was s ll standing behind
They drove in silence a few minutes, the the car, an old blue Corolla. The rear re
only car on the road. on the driver’s side was flat. The woman
crossed her arms as they approached, step-
“I’m not a bad guy,” Doug said a er a ping back from the highway. She was short
while. “Just because I see things different and slender, with black hair that touched
from you doesn’t make me a racist or some her shoulders. Her dark eyes widened as
shit.” they reached the rear of the car.

“Did you say you’re a dumb shit?” “Do you need help?” Randy asked.
Standing on the side of the highway in the
“Bite me.” middle of the pitch-black countryside illu-
minated solely by the headlights of Doug’s
She came into view suddenly, emerging truck, he suddenly felt foolish. They’d prob-
out of the dark—a woman standing behind ably scared the hell out of her. The wom-
a car, leaning over to look at the rear re an’s eyes shi ed from Randy to Doug and
on the driver’s side. Randy pressed the back to Randy. She didn’t speak.
brake, slowing the truck as they went by.
The woman snapped backwards, shielding “It’s okay.” Randy smiled. “We just want
her eyes with one hand while grasping the to help.” From behind him Doug asked if
trunk of the car with the other. she had called anyone. When she looked
puzzled he held his hand to his ear, panto-
“Jesus,” Randy said. He looked in the miming a phone, and said, “911?”
rear-view mirror, con nuing to slow down.
The woman shook her head. “No.” Her
“You could have hit her.” voice was small and had a Spanish accent.
Randy asked the woman if she needed
“We should stop.” help, poin ng to the re. From behind him,
he heard Doug exhale. The woman nodded.
“Why?” Doug asked. “She’s probably Randy turned back to Doug who shot him
called a tow.” a quizzical, furrowed-brow look and whis-
pered, “You know why she hasn’t called for
Randy pulled onto the shoulder and help don’t you?”
started to back the truck up, slowing when
it was about ten feet in front of the car, Randy shrugged. “It doesn’t ma er. We
then cu ng onto the highway and pulling can’t leave her.”
in behind. He turned on the flashers and
looked at Doug. “Then we wait with her un- Doug exhaled a second me. “Shit.” He
went back to the truck to retrieve a flash-
l the tow truck comes. It’s a woman alone
at night on the highway. What if it was your
sister?”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

light, walking wide and veering a li le and drove him against the side of the truck.
onto the highway. Randy called to him to The car sped past without slowing, its horn
be careful, then gestured to the woman to screaming angrily into the night air.
open the trunk.
“What the fuck!” Doug gripped Randy
It took them twenty minutes to change by the shoulders, looking at the taillights of
the re. The jack in the trunk of the Corolla the speeding car as they were swallowed
was rusty but func onal. Randy worked it by darkness.
un l the flat re was a few inches above the
pavement, then held the flashlight while “Jesus.” Randy leaned against the truck.
Doug removed the lug nuts. There was no It was that easy. That sudden. He looked at
hubcap, the nuts were also a li le rusty, Doug and shook his head. “Damn.”
and Doug fumbled a few mes ge ng the
socket in place. But once secured he pow- Randy drove the rest of the way while
ered them loose with sustained, red-faced Doug polished off the last beer.
tugs, mu ering curses. As each one came
off, Randy nodded approval at Doug, who “I could have been killed.”
mumbled “Fuck you,” and “I can’t believe
you got me into this,” but smiled when he “I know.”
pulled the re off. A couple of cars went by,
one in the le lane, the other in the right, “Shit.” Doug leaned against the window.
sending a backdra that li ed Randy’s
shir ail from the back of his jeans and rip- They exited the interstate onto the state
pled through his hair. highway, riding in silence through Chester-
ton, where only the yellow-orange parking
The spare went on quickly. Doug ght- lot lights were on as they passed the mall.
ened the lug nuts while Randy put the old Doug had slumped against the window,
mouth slightly agape, empty beer can held
re and the jack back in the trunk. Doug loosely in his lap. Randy glanced at him,
stood and handed the lug wrench to Randy, shook his head, and con nued towards
before arching his back in an exaggerated Millwood. When he reached Doug’s house,
stretch. he woke him. Doug sat up, rubbed his eyes,
allowing the beer can to tumble onto the
“I could use a beer,” he said. He grinned floor.
at Randy then looked at the woman, who
was standing at the rear of the car on the “I’ll drop the truck by tomorrow, okay?”
passenger side. She offered a mid smile.
“Gracias.” Doug nodded. He pulled the handle
and let the door swing open. Randy asked
“You’re welcome.” Doug held her gaze as if he was all right and Doug nodded again,
he stepped backwards. He made a sweeping then pivoted and eased himself out of the
bow and spun around, the momentum car- truck. He turned and stood for a moment,
rying him onto the highway just as he was one hand on the top of the door, a slow grin
lit up by the high beams of an oncoming car. spreading across his face.
The light froze him. Randy bolted forward,
shou ng to him. Doug stumbled back a step “See what you’re going to miss?”
and lurched sideways as Randy reached him
He pushed the door shut, slapped the
window and walked unsteadily towards the
house.

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Two weeks later he and Doug cut the “Chill, I’m just kidding.” He stubbed his
lawn at St. Paul’s and the cemetery for cigare e on the tailgate and flicked it onto
the last me before Randy le for college. the gravel drive.
Doug drove the riding mower up and
down the big expanses of yard and in the Randy screwed the cap back onto his
rows between the graves, head bouncing water bo le and slid off the tailgate. “I’m
to the hard rock coursing through his ear going to pay my respects.”
buds, while Randy used a push mower to
trim around the graves and the buildings The sun threw light and shadow across
and along the fence. It was late a ernoon the cornfield and sparkled off tombstones
when they finished and sat on the tail- as Randy walked down the row of graves
gate of the truck, Doug with a cigare e un l he reached Ted’s. He was leaving in
and Mountain Dew, Randy with a bo le two days and felt like he should say some-
of water. thing. It was stupid of course, he wasn’t
going away forever, and it wasn’t like Ted
“I’m going to be screwed without you could hear him. S ll, as he’d been mowing
to do the trim,” Doug said. “I fucking hate it struck him that today marked an ending.
doing trim.” He looked at the headstone, at his broth-
er’s name, but no words came to mind.
“Sorry.” He inhaled the sweet smell of the newly
mown grass and looked across the cornfield
“Might have to hire me a Mexican.” spread before him like a vast green ocean.
Doug grinned and took a swig of Mountain He knew what Ted would say: “It’s not a big
Dew. deal.”

“Not funny, dude.” Yes, it is, Randy thought. It is.

About the Author:

David Metz is a writer and member of the Writer’s Center in Bethesda, MD. His stories
have appeared in “Bull”, “The MacGuffin”, “New Plains Review” and “Downstate Story.” He
was born and raised in Illinois and graduated from Illinois State University. A er college, he
did a s nt in the U.S. Army in Germany before moving to the Washington, DC area, where
he earned a law degree, made a living and helped raise a family. He lives with his wife in
Damascus, MD. They have two grown daughters.

77

HONY

by Monika R. Martyn

No ma er how o en I’ve tried to pinpoint sparklers and shaped candles; piped icing
it, it is never a single, definable trigger that rippling in unnatural shades of blue.
unhooks the memory. Some mes it’s the
strum of a guitar, something vintage, or the Hony and I were cousins once removed
musty smell of a wet dog that will wedge by another gene c pool all together. Not
the memory free. But this morning that un- that it ma ered to me, but half of her roots
tamable trigger woke me, wai ng before I were black, all of mine as Irish as a red-clad
could roll out of bed. leprechaun chewing a three-leaf shamrock.
It was also the reason I was there. Fam-
Even a er I smoked my tenth cigare e ily and obliga on, a telltale of the sort of
and drained a pot of coffee, she s ll roamed, person festering within me. I allowed the
like a wild pony, on the arid steppes of my weight to crush me—sixteen going on fi y.
mind. I lit another and promised myself:
last one. When I pulled up on my motorcycle, the
brevity of what I signed up for dawned on
Did Hony ever grasp the string and hang me, though it was just mid-a ernoon. Life
on; to rise high into the blue on that fragile was already clouding Hony’s cornflower
Lu ballon? blue eyes. Despair does that, and at six-
teen, I shouldn’t have recognized the fallen
That one day. hope when it looked me in the eye.

The year I met Hony was unremarkable. With the wind in my face, I rode from
A wet spring soaked the gullies, I remem- Prince Albert along the Saskatchewan River
ber because the farmers complained about and I couldn’t fault the scenery. I witnessed
the plan ng. Then, the rush of summer a blue horizon suffoca ng under cot-
parched the fields to nder, and the farm- ton-cloud forma ons when the sun set high
ers complained about the harvest. I was six- on the midday. On the way, I sang brown
teen on that sweltering day in August, and eyed girl at full lung, and probably com-
Hony, turned twelve, two days a er the pletely off key, but I knew all the lyrics. The
storm broke the heat. sights moving me along the prairies never
bored me. Having grown up on the plains,
I learned later, Hony never had a cake. I learned early to see their serene beauty.
What parents deny a child a cake? My I saw it in the cackling crows perched on a
shoulders s ll shrug with disgust. And the bale of straw; on the spider webs glistening
fun of spraying spit all over the sugary icing with dew, sparkling like morning diamonds
to blow out the candles. Mine always had

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on fences stretching for miles. It defined snot-green paint raw, down to the wooden
the epic prairie tranquility reflected in bones in some places and had taken a few
barbed wire braided ornamented with balls roof shingles along with it. I don’t imagine
of tumbleweed. it was ever pre y enough to inspire anyone
to write a weeping poem over unless they
The meandering river didn’t leave me liked that it was square.
breathless though. I watched as the rip-
ples in the current shi ed from steel blues It was fenced, which made me laugh. It
to wet greys and brought me to Code e. trapped the topsoil, si ed into a powder,
Even in 1968, the town sold out to ghosts. and the tumbleweeds, which had escaped
As soon as I rode along the outskirts, I real- the barbed wire, hankering to be set free.
ized my mistake. I shouldn’t have offered to And there she stood with a big grin on her
babysit a black girl whom I had never met. mouth; the woman who owned this heap.
Sunny and Harold. The Harold parts—my
I heard men on of her. Mostly in whis- ancestors needed to be forgiven for. Sun-
pers; she’s born a sin. Which boggled me. ny might have been pre y once, hence the
How can a girl of twelve be blamed in her man who knocked her up.
crea on? Be blamed for which side of the
fence she ski ered into the world on. I’d I’d never met her, but Harold I remem-
hate anyone to think that I’m so because ber. She offered me a cold, stubby beer. I
I’m not. But if there’s one thing I can’t was sixteen and not going to refuse.
abide: it’s injus ce founded on the wobbly
rocks of ignorance. In listening to the whis- ‘You must be Billy.’ She had already
pers that her father had blown through made her mind.
town and knocked some woman up, I took
my stance. They le out he was too selfish I shook her hand, took a swig, and said,
to care about what seeds he planted, and ‘Yup.’ We stood there on the strip of dirt
the blame was never Hony’s. that was no man’s land and yup was all I
had to say.
That was how I carved the world when
I was sixteen. Although I’ve made my own ‘Harold be home soon.’ Sunny said kick-
blunders since, which stain me just as ing the dust on the other side of the fence.
guilty. Asshole. That was my verdict. But
since my mother hated cuss words, she I drained the bo le and nodded.
knocked them from my mouth, with a quick
cuff finding the tender spot where the skull ‘My bike okay parked here?” I asked.
meets spine.
I couldn’t imagine parking in the yard.
I parked my bike, balancing it on the One might have thought they planted gar-
kickstand on the uneven sidewalk, and be- bage in the yard, the way others plant pan-
fore I could pull the helmet and shades off sies and petunias, and it grew in profusion.
my head, the porch door slammed. If the The envy of any gardener.
house wanted to look a ramshackle best:
hallelujah—it had done a fine job. There Harold hoarded res. Dragging them
was nothing pre y or redeemable about home, leaving them where they ro ed.
it. The Saskatchewan winds sanded the They were bald: though hairy with wires
s cking out. While wai ng in the awkward
silence with Sunny, I saw them peek from
behind the slabs of wood next to the house.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Two grimy faces playing hide and seek. come out like liquid from a honeycomb.
Those must be the boys—Harold minis. Her skin shimmered in the sun and for a
moment it was hard to tell if it was really
Sunny cupped her mouth without warn- such a rich colour, or if the sun played tricks
ing and hollered as if she were out on the with my eyes.
vast sea and Hony a million miles away. The
boys snickered, forming some devious plan. ‘Hi.’ She mumbled, her hand extended;
But how bad could they be? They were only her eyes anchoring someplace on my boots.
eight and nine.
‘Hey, Hony. Nice to meet you.’
While Sunny looked for Hony behind the
stack of res, and the shed leaning into the She kicked the dirt with her barefoot
breath of the westerly wind, I unstrapped and then stole a look upward. The icy
my duffle bag. I had brought gi s for the cornflower blue of her eyes reminded me
kids because my mother insisted. She didn’t of a wolf standing among winter trees on
care for Harold, disliked Sunny for her dope a snow-crusted copse. But I couldn’t stop
smoking, but what did that have to do with staring at her hair. Even in the so breeze
the kids? A dog barked on the other side of of the a ernoon it rustled. In that instant,
the house. A yelp that it really couldn’t be I understood the reason teachers tortured
bothered, but maybe it should. us with Greek mythology. Medusa stood
before me.
It’s when the first pebble nearly hit me
on the head, ‘Cut it out or else.’ I already fig- ‘What are you doing over there?’ I point-
ured Sunny was powerless against the boys. ed to where she had crawled out of.
They ran along the dirt packed trail follow-
ing the bean-snapping caragana shrubs and ‘Nothing.’
vanished—I guessed to regroup. I scanned
the yard for a safe place to pop my tent. I ‘Wanna show me?’
found none.
Sunny had already le us, whatever
Without warning, I saw it rise like a she had going on in the house was more
moon: the mop. A nest of corkscrew curls important than the first mee ng between
bobbing toward me. She seemed to emerge cousins. I hadn’t yet no ced Hony’s dress
out of the dirt, but I realized it was a fault in un l I followed her, two steps behind, and
the way the land lay. That the ice-age had saw the stains, the torn hem, I had no idea
cut their yard into two. Sort of like where bu ons could break. I hadn’t yet no ced
you’d expect to find the end of the world that her legs were poker straight either
and hell on the other. and painted in a uniform shade of honey. A
so fuzz, like that on a golden peach, made
Having lived in Prince Albert all my life, them shimmer.
hair like hers was a novelty. My family wore
a crown of dark hair, cursed with co on The gully she’d been digging in ran
candy thickness. Balding would have been through the yard and was dry; hadn’t seen
a blessing. water since Noah. But deep in the dirt,
about three feet down, a blue bo le stuck
It wasn’t hard to see, they were too lazy out from a most recent layer of sediment.
to pick a name for Hony. She must have She’d been picking away at the hard dirt try-
ing to rescue the neck and shoulders. The
blue mirrored her eyes. I jumped into the

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gulch a er her and picked at the dirt with and crushed cans. We found a rusted chis-
the hardest twig I could find. I’m no geolo- el wedged into the vice mounted to the
gist, but some me a er Noah, the world, a bench. Armed, we made off on our excava-
few thousand years back, must have been
covered in a cement age. on excursion. Hony s ll hadn’t said much,
but I could tell we were going to get along.
‘Does your dad have a hammer and a
chisel?’ I asked. Back at the gully, we saw the damage a
few minutes makes. Satan and Lucifer had
She ran ahead, and I followed. Her nest smashed the bo le to smithereens. Shards
of corkscrew curls bounced, and I no ced bleed into the sand, and the piece s ll stuck
that her arms were just like her legs. Pok- oozed something wet. Hony bit into her lip,
er straight and long, hardly interrupted by den ng the flesh with her teeth. What she
knobby knees or elbows. They were paint- held back, I cannot say.
ed in the same colour; maybe a shade of
richer, more fluid amber. ‘I brought you something.’ I offered as a
concession. Damn the boys.
It’s when I saw the boys on my bike. The
dirty urchins were wrenching on the knobs ‘Hony did you feed the dog?’ Sunny hol-
and jerking the handlebars going: vroom, lered out the window.
vroom.
I should have been se ng up my tent;
‘Get off! You monkeys.’ finding a place for it would be a challenge.
It couldn’t be too far from the house, but
‘Who’s gonna make us?” The smaller I couldn’t see where in the front yard just
one said with his chin ju ng out. yet. I set my hope on the backyard, where
Hony was leading me, I expected grass or at
‘Get the’ I clamped hard on my teeth, the very least weeds.
‘off.’ I grabbed an ear each and yanked.
No grass but a tree. It surprised me that
They snarled and flicked their dirt it hadn’t uprooted and gone by the way of
rimmed finger, which I swore I’d break off, the dodo. A chained mongrel barked, and
and they ran. I decided then I didn’t care my first ins nct to shoot it reared. But Hony
what their Chris an names were. Lucifer seemed to have an affec on for the dog.
and Satan are what I christened them. In- From its black coat and girth, it might have
terchangeable but irreversible. known a labrador at some me in its family
pool.
Harold’s garage was a sty. I had expect-
ed it, though the shock that someone could I had arrived ten minutes ago and al-
let it get so bad that a fire would be mercy ready longed to shoot the dog, murder the
on the tools, benches, and vehicle parts he mother, and skin the brothers. This was
had stored, made me gape. The jars and not going to go well. But at least they’d be
cans of mystery liquids would make a love- leaving soon, and then Hony and I might
ly boom in a night sky, and it would hardly have fun. Men in my family don’t coddle,
take anything more than the careless flick but then the men in my family weren’t such
of a match. Hony found a hammer. brutes as to subject one of their own to
such misery. That they were leaving Hony
‘What’s a chisel?’ She asked picking up behind, like some soot princess cursed by
wrenches and screwdrivers, rusty nails,

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

a hex, boggled my mind. And if I hadn’t Hony opened her gi s slowly. Looked
offered, what had they planned to do? I at them, folded them, and set them aside.
guessed it wasn’t Disney. She nibbled on a few pieces of candy corn.
They made her smile. My mother, in her
Sunny was busy loading laundry baskets wisdom, had picked out three girly tees,
into the van. Baskets of clothing and bed- frilly socks, and undies with the names of
ding. Baskets of food. Baskets of boy toys. the weekdays printed on them. It’s when I
Hony pe ed the dog and watched. I liked learned Hony only had three dresses. The
dogs, but I couldn’t find it in my heart to tees would be useless because she didn’t
pet it. Fleas picnicked in its fur and the urge have pants, skirts, or shorts. All that came
to shoot it buzzed like the flies around its out in between sideways glances at me and
eyes. the floor.

Hony ran off with an ice cream buck- ‘Should we make supper?’ I asked think-
et that doubled as a dog bowl and came ing as a decent human would. Not that I
back with it filled. A cheap kibble that the expected much, and Hony’s parents didn’t
poor dog took one swipe over, but decided disappoint. They failed my expecta ons
against. en rely. They had generously stocked the
fridge with a jug of orange Tang, a pack-
Like thunder, we heard the throaty age of Oscar Meyer Weiners, a half loaf of
cough of a muffled muscle car. Harold rolled green—near mushroom growing bread,
in. Surprise came at me like Christmas to a two boxes of Kra dinner, and a few slices
kid. The Mustang tugged on the strings ed of cheese, sca ered in the deli drawer.
to selfish cruelty. How could he drive an ex-
pensive car when the kids, even Satan and I wasn’t rich. I was only sixteen. I had had
Lucifer, went without? He pumped my arm; summer and a erschool jobs and my par-
a grin that reminded me of pictures from ents gave me a decent allowance for doing
the dental office. The before, and not the my chores. With a jolt, I remembered the
a er, snapshot which scared most of hu- wad of bills in my pocket, and mother had
manity into brushing. My tongue protec- slipped me an extra twenty before I le . ‘If
you don’t need it, buy the kids something.’
vely brushed my teeth. A premoni on.

They’d be gone for a week. ‘Be home Hony led the way to the small store.
next Sunday. Latest by nine.’ With that, they They were within ten minutes of closing for
were off. Hony and I watched them pull out the night, but we managed to get some-
and then double back as they picked up the thing decent to eat. Ham, le uce, and to-
highway going to Winnipeg. mato sandwiches on squishy, doughy Kaiser
buns. Hony ate two of them. I even bought
‘Want your presents yet?’ I asked, taking scrap meat for the dog and decided we’d go
her mind off being le behind. to Nipawin in the morning.

‘Sure.’ That night, I made Hony have a bath.
She said it wasn’t bath night and instead
My mother was a saint when it came suggested she’d wash her feet in the sink. In
to guessing what kids want. The boys were hindsight, watching Hony unhinge her long
missing out on a whole ba alion of plas c
soldiers, Tonka trucks, new Spiderman and
Superman T-shirts, and a bag of hard candies.

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legs into the basin would have been easier stole sideways glances while she washed
since they didn’t have a shower or working unashamedly behind her ears, the flatness
bathtub. A bath meant hauling a galvanized of her torso, the region between her legs.
tub out from the closet and filling it via a She wasn’t aware of me stealing.
hose connected to the kitchen faucet and
wai ng un l enough water trickled out to ‘Don’t forget your hair.’ I suggested, fac-
have even a decent sitz bath. I reminded ing away.
myself: what doesn’t kill you will make you
stronger. ‘You’ll have to do it for me. The vinegar
is under the kitchen sink.’
By the me Hony stepped into the tub,
I had been at the house for five hours and ‘The vinegar?’ I thought I heard wrong.
had nearly reached my breaking point. I
considered strapping Hony to the bike, or She giggled a li le. ‘I can’t use shampoo.’
ge ng on the bus with her and heading
home. A place that un l then I had real- Hearing that made me angry. Who de-
ly not had that much affec on for either. nied a girl shampoo? ‘You can use some of
There’s nothing luxurious about the bunga- mine.’
low I grew up in. Except that it had three
bedrooms, a clean kitchen and shiny, blue ‘No I can’t.’
plas c les in the bathroom, and a working
shower. Not to brag, but the orange shag The cruelty, I thought, they had con-
my mother raked once a week and vacu- vinced her that she wasn’t worthy. I watched
umed every Saturday at precisely eight a.m her scoop cups of water over her body to
made our house a home. rinse the soap.

But what about the dog? Of course, I ‘Makes my hair too frizzy.’
could ask one of the neighbours for a rifle
so that I could shoot the damn thing. Or I Even when I walked into the kitchen,
could … no there was nothing for it. And she didn’t blush or duck or try to cover her
what about Harold’s Mustang. I could not nakedness. I found the bo le of vinegar
leave it to the thugs living next door. It among the bleach, the Pine-sol, and the
dawned on me that I was the only one re- disgus ng scouring pads bleeding rust into
sponsible enough, and I hated that. I hated a dish. She told me to mix one cup into the
it because I did not choose to be that way: big bucket.
I just was. I turned on the television, but
there was nothing on, and when I turned ‘Just pour it over my head a bit at a me.’
I saw Hony standing naked in the tub soap- She squished her eyes shut. ‘Then work it
ing up her T-shaped body with a splinter of in.’
Lifebuoy soap we found in a grimey dish.
Even though she wasn’t embarrassed, I
There was nothing girlie about Hony. was, because her simple nakedness aroused
Straight as a board, up and down, no hips me. What did you expect? I was sixteen
or waist forming, no twelve-year-old girl and a boy. I poured and hoped she’d keep
budding breasts. Only extraordinarily long her eyes closed. As I soaked her curls, they
limbs, crowned by that mop. Startled, I straightened with the weight of the mois-
ture into long strands that reached to mid-
back. Another revela on.

‘What happens if you use shampoo?’ I
asked.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

‘Turns my hair into a giant co on ball. ‘No. You can’t bring Hony here.’
And then I can’t comb it.’
If I was ever mad at my mother it was then.
I said, ‘huh’ and wondered what Hony’s
chances in life were without some giant ‘I can call Children’s Aid and explain, but
hand interfering and changing the balance. that’s all we can do.’
She wasn’t pre y in the TV commercial sort
of pre y. Her eyes, even though a remark- ‘We can’t just leave her here.’ I nearly
able blue, were spread too wide, and the ice cried.
that flashed in them might frighten people
into wrong assump ons. Out of all of her ‘Billy. Listen. The best we can do is send
facial features, the blue was the only white her care packages. She has a home and family.’
part she inherited. Her nose was flat, but
at least strategically placed between her ‘Mom. This isn’t a family. This isn’t a
cheeks. Her even, white teeth were hidden home. It’s worse than a dump.’
behind a full set of lips, which she seldom
used to smile. Standing so close to her, was ‘Billy. Don’t make judgments. We’ll talk
hard on me. She’d never be beau ful, but when you come home.’
then she already was.
While I talked, I watched Hony stand
‘Towel.’ She said with her eyes s ll next to the bike. She had reluctantly slipped
squished shut. on Lucifer’s jeans, but even I could tell
a girl’s delight when she put on the pink
I imagined vinegar stung the eyes. The tee with the white ki en on it. I had to do
towel was a close cousin to the rags my fa- something. Anything, and if that meant
ther used in the garage. I also, a dawning giving Hony the best week of her life then
revela on, understood the look my parents I would. I thought I had seen a Stedman’s
shared when they asked if I would look af- store in Nipawin. I would buy Hony a new
ter Hony. We had had an argument, and I ou it for every day of the week, some of
was s ll fragile from the words, about go- those pre y clips girls put into their hair.
ing to university. If I did, I’d have to study
harder. I wasn’t dumb, but a bit lazy. I un- We rode to Nipawin. I sensed Hony and
derstood their plans be er standing in the I had found a common like: the wind in our
kitchen with Hony. This was Harold’s plan. face and the freedom of being on a motor-
Working for menial monies had go en him cycle. Her spindly arms circling me, holding
this far. Harold, from what my mother told
me, was hip once too. ght.

I called my mother in the morning when Inside the store, I learned Hony was
I knew she’d be in the kitchen having her afraid of pre y things. She chose the plain-
ritualis c poached egg on toast. I called est, ugliest clothing she could find. All hung
her from the payphone at the gas sta on, on the clearance rack. I like bargains too,
because I did not want Hony to overhear. but for Hony, that day was not a bargain
Mother listened without comment when special. We bought two pairs of jeans, a
I told her of my first night. But I could tell skirt, three sweaters, a cardigan, two dress-
from the huffs whistling into the receiver, es, and a winter coat, shiny patent leather
she was preparing me. shoes, and a pair of Cougar boots.

Outside, the dilemma struck me. I
hadn’t thought far enough ahead as to how
we’d get it all home. While strapping the

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shopping bags on the bike, Hony waved to ques on she never knew there were op-
a family in an old pickup truck. They offered ons. I saw her shoulder go up, and down,
to take the loot from us. I almost didn’t trust
them. I had spent nearly one-hundred and in that whatever way we all do instead of
twenty dollars. But the doe-eyed mother answering. She stabbed another marshmal-
pulled me aside, thanked me for taking care low and roasted it to a ballooning, gooey
of Hony, and that made me trust her. mess and licked her fingers when she was
done.
At home, Hony laid her clothing neatly
into the bo om drawer of her dresser. She ‘One day I will be.’ She said.
fingered the bu ons and lace collar. I set
to cleaning the kitchen and living room. I I nodded. At least she s ll had hope.
had no traces of respect le for Sunny and She didn’t cry when I packed up and shook
Harold, but worse was holding my wrath her hand to say goodbye. But I did see the
away from Hony. I wanted to punch a hole cornflowers in her eyes drown in extra well
into the panelled wall as Harold had done. water when she blinked.
Somehow, Honey and I made progress, af-
ter a few hours I was no longer afraid of the ‘See ya.’ She watched me ride off.
sofa or kitchen table.
My mother called Child Services. They
That week, we swam in the Saskatch- went for a check-up but since Hony and I
ewan River every day a er I taught Hony had cleaned the house and yard, they said
how to swim in the shallows of the grey, it met their standards. Whatever that s ck
rippling water. We roasted marshmallows might be. Because the Harolds had just
over a small campfire that I built in the returned from Winnipeg, their cupboards
yard. We shampooed the dog twice and by were full of food from a rela ve who had
Friday I could pet the scrawny thing. I even died unexpectedly. Bedding, towels, dish-
learned the mu had a name: Blackie. Not es, and bits of furniture that Harold ed to
original, but what could I expect from Har- an old trailer he borrowed. The worst ver-
old, who named the dog, and le him to rot dict was my fault. Hony had decent cloth-
under a tree. ing and a smile on her face while wearing
them. They checked off her disposi on as
And like so many people do, as I have favourable.
again since, I made promises I would nev-
er keep. I riled at the injus ce beleaguering There was nothing we could do. They
that young girl. I riled against the unfairness had laws for things like that in 1968. I never
that there was nothing I could do, even heard from Hony. Through the gossip vine,
when I called my mother again, pleading to Sunny and Harold cursed us. There was no
call Child Services right away. hiding that because of me, Child Services
knocked on their door. Years later, I learned
One night, while we sat under the prai- Lucifer and Satan had joined a legendary
rie sky I asked Hony the stupidest ques on. biker gang. Their names stuck, and they
were in and out of jail. They already knew
‘Are you happy?’ hell be er than the devil himself.

It wasn’t only stupid, but also cruel, be- Hony ran away from home when she
cause I’m certain that un l I asked her the turned sixteen. I’m surprised she lasted as
long. She never called our house, though I

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

had le her my address and phone num- inches below her panty lines, exposing her
ber, and years later I thought I saw her, or gazelle legs.
at least her hair.
Hony hadn’t grown into any curves. She
It was in Toronto. I stumbled from a was flat in every direc on, strung like Jesus
nightclub, out onto the raw pavement on on a cross. Seeing her took me by surprise.
Spadina and splashed some cookies into a I know—I stared. She glanced down at me,
gu er. I admit, I was no saint and was only her long fingers hooked on the extended el-
there because I had landed a job that made bow of a silver fox. A man who snapped his
me miserable. That year, I turned thirty and fingers at the long, black town car wai ng
learned how deep my love for the prairies at the curb. It too had appeared out of no-
burned within me. I hated the boundary where. A uniformed man opened the back-
walls of North York, though as a city you door, and I watched as Hony slid into the
can’t beat it for the trees and green spaces. so leather seat.

Well—I missed the never-ending prairie Wow—she was stunning. She looked at
blue sky; the place where nothing could me again with her cornflower blue eyes,
sneak up on you. Not even a cloud. and I saw myself reflected within them; the
two of us during that week in Code e. She
The day’s heat s ll wa ed up from the cocked her head. See, she said with a kit-
pavement, and the night was warm against ten smirk, and her finger pressed to shush
my bare arms. I laughed at something only her mouth: my one day has arrived. But it
drunks find funny, and I clamped my mouth wasn’t the eyes that gave her away, or the
shut when I saw her. She appeared like a long limbs shimmering like spilled honey.
beacon in an all gold dress. A small piece It was the hair; those untamable, vinegar,
of a sequined garment that hung just a few corkscrew curls.

About the Author:

Monika R. Martyn is re red, happy, married, and a minimalist. Because of life’s circumstances,
she has the pleasure to travel, experience life in different countries, and devote her me to
wri ng, for pleasure and because she must. She has a few publica ons to her credit and had
successfully completed cer ficates in fic on wri ng, crea vity training, edi ng, and research
methods. She con nually strive to improve as a writer and a human.

86

FALLING UP

by Sandra Gould Ford

I wandered the hillside park scented with I asked, “Why?”
hotdogs, pretzels with mustard, bu ery
grilled corn and co on candy. Peppers and Dale said, “Like I was just saying, Kay:
collard greens, apples, peaches and pears There’s too much baggage. You need to let
filled bushel baskets on that bright August some stuff go.”
evening. A burly, blond farmer in coveralls
called, “Snap beans and zucchini are half What baggage? What stuff?
price.” Men wearing serapes played wood-
en flutes. Calliope music mingled with chil- A shadow crossed me. A woman said,
dren’s shouts and giggles. “Kay? Kay Abbo ? I thought I’d never find
you.”
I bought peanut bu er cookies and a plump
loaf of honey-whole-wheat bread from That honeyed hot sauce voice yanked
a woman and girl wearing e-dye dress- me back to a me when happiness was pic-
es. Breezes tugged my skirt and scarf as nics with cold ham sandwiches and potato
I strolled to the overlook. Below, a moun- salad, when my joys were birthday par es,
tain stream flowed into a larger river where Easter dresses and allowances. At ten – like
people paddled canoes and kayaks. I wished the children scrambling over monkey bars,
that I could float away with them. I want- swooshing down sliding boards and riding
ed to ride the swings like the playground swings – I believed how The Ugly Duckling
children. I wanted to bright sky beyond my fairy tale ended.
toes, not trampled earth. I wanted Dale
Xavier’s phone call to vanish, especially his Nonplussed, I looked up into Genevieve
words, “This isn’t working, Kay.” Bonney’s heart-shaped face, thinking, Find
me?
I wondered, What isn’t working? Not
the wedding I’ve been planning, despite the Genevieve asked, “Where can I buy us
bickering with my bridesmaids? some iced tea or lemonade or –”

I set aside thoughts of telling my parents I stood and blurted, “Nowhere! I mean,
the wedding was off and canceling the brid- nowhere right now. I’ve got to, um –“
al registry, the catering, the banquet hall. I
heard him mumble, “Sorry.” “Maybe tomorrow?” Genevieve flut-
tered her eyelashes.
Sorry?
“Not then, either.” I itched. I needed
to go somewhere and scratch away the
red-headed, pu all ogress who zapped

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

me with rubber bands. The green-eyed, taf- lounge and registra on desk. Chandeliers
fy-colored pygmy harpy arrived in my fourth gli ered. Melodies from a string trio filled
grade class on a freezing, February morning. air scented with flowers and savory food.
While gripping her father’s hand, she’d de- Silver and brass, stained glass, crystal and
clared, “You all need to pronounce my name paper-mâché angels hovered everywhere.
right. It’s zhon-vee-EV. Got it? Zhon-vee-EV.
Repeat that.” Genevieve sat at a round table above a
glass-domed garden. She rose when I ar-
Twenty-four years later, she handed me rived. Her beau fully tailored suit matched
a silver-embossed business card. Genevieve her green eyes. Genevieve’s heels were so
then uncapped a gold and silver fountain high that she almost reached my nose. She
pen. “Let me call you. What’s your phone clasped my hands. “I’m so glad you came,
number?” Kay.”

I answered, with two digits transposed. I nodded.

She beamed. “I’ll phone tonight.” Genevieve sat and cupped her fingers.
Her gold bracelet glinted. Diamond earrings
“Sure. Go a run.” I rushed away and twinkled. She said, “I would have under-
tossed the card. stood if you didn’t come.”

At nine-thirty, Genevieve gushed, “Good She should. Especially a er The Spring
news, Kay. I got reserva ons at Angel’s Display. When I arrived, Genevieve’s father
Wings. You’ll be my guest, won’t you?” was studying my Japanese diorama. The
Popsicle s cks pagoda was fla ened. The
I wondered, How did you find me? I arched bridge over a blue ssue stream was
thought, Absolutely not. I also thought, An- crushed. Paper flowers were gone.
gel’s Wings. I always wanted to … ge ng
reserva ons is like winning the lo ery … re- Mr. Bonney was a square-built man with
views say that the service and food is divine. the reddest hair I’d ever seen. His voice
made me think of a cello. He said, “Even
I’d just seen the chef on television. Dale though there’s been a mishap here, I can
never wanted to wear a jacket and travel see why you got the blue ribbon. You made
that far. He called the place, “preten ous,” something marvelous.” He pa ed my hand.
“eli st” and “a waste of money.” “I’m glad you’re Genevieve’s friend.”

Genevieve said,” Monday is the only I winced. Any second, I expected a pin
evening I could get a reserva on. ” poke. I did sit on gum the next day.

I asked, “What me?” A thousand weeks later, Genevieve said,
“You never le that town?”
Three days later, I took special care with
my eye shadow, lips ck and nail polish. I “I’m not a rolling stone.”
wore my navy suit with cloth bu ons, a faux
silk blouse and genuine-imita on pearls. “Rolling stone.” Genevieve tasted the
Then, I caught the northbound trolley. words.

Angel’s Wings’ windows glowed. Inside A waiter offered drinks. I ordered white
the chalet-style hotel, etched glass sepa- wine. Genevieve chose iced water with
rated the five-table restaurant from the

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Revista Literária Adelaide

lemon and raw sugar. She asked, “Are you brimstone eyes, she asked, “How are your
happy, Kay?” parents?”

Happy? Un l fourth grade, making Hon- I answered, “They’re okay.”
or Roll and splashing through puddles in
galoshes brought joy. Chocolate icing on “I always wished I had a mother like
yellow-ba er icebox cakes and silver dol- yours.”
lars with my birthday cards made me smile.
I loved riding swings and poin ng my toes “Like mine?” A er turning fi y, my
toward the sky. I blinked, coughed and mother mastered thaw-and-bake meals,
asked, “Are you happy?” consignment store bargains and Bingo. My
father read the morning newspaper in the
“Happiness is like success.” Genevieve bathroom. He had gout and weak eyes and
shrugged. “It’s a journey.” loved making French fries with lemon pep-
per.
“Journey.” That word spun like the
chrome wheels on a top-down Corve e. Genevieve said, “That first day in your
While admiring mist green the car, I no ced class, your mother was handing out cup-
gli ering toes and gold sandals res ng on cakes. You could tell she made them her-
the passenger door. The girl with frothy, red self, with those colored sprinkles and gum-
hair and sunglasses on her heart-shaped drops on top.”
face nestled against the handsomest man
I’d ever seen. I stood in shadow gripping a “You didn’t take one.” I remembered
bench as I asked, Why her? Why is every- because Genevieve had crossed her arms
thing so easy for her? when offered and targeted my mother,
then me with glares like heat-seeking mis-
A er ordering dinner, I said, “Speaking siles.
of journeys, what brought your family here,
halfway through the school year? Why did Genevieve said, “To me, those cupcakes
you leave that summer?” showed that your mother cared.”

“Daddy thought moving could help. My “As much as she could. I have two broth-
mother was … difficult. She could be calm ers and two sisters.“
as a garden then erupt like a bomb.” Gene-
vieve gazed at the garden. “Daddy tolerat- “I was an only child, and my mother nev-
ed how she threw dishes and lamps. Then er did anything like that.”
he realized that li le things about me set
her off. Maybe, the way I walked or smiled Ice clinked as the waiter refilled our
or said her name. Who knew why.” Gene- glasses. When he le , Genevieve said, “I
vieve sighed. “My mother was so beau ful. treated you pre y bad in school.”
I wanted her to love me. Later, Daddy said
she wasn’t always that way.” “Is that what this dinner is about? You’re
sorry?” I thought of my ex-fiance’s last
I straightened my napkin and silver- word. Sorry. I s ffened.
ware. I thought of the man with kind eyes
and comfor ng voice. As I tried to picture Genevieve shrugged. “I once heard Dad-
his wife, Genevieve’s twin. with horns and dy tell my mother that ‘sorry’ is just a sound.
The meaning comes from what we do. Noth-
ing I can say could change the past, Kay. I just
wish some things never happened.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

My filet mignon arrived. Genevieve’s “With Gaylen, I wasn’t falling. Life was
marinated tofu, lacy onion rings and spin- rushing up to us.”
ach ravioli looked be er than I expected.
We ate in silence un l Genevieve said, I imagined plunging toward earth and
“Daddy died a month ago. He got hit by a asked, “Where is Gaylen?”
drunk driver.”
“There was a car accident. I know Gay-
My heart hurt. I chocked on the word len fought hard to live, but –“ Genevieve
‘sorry’ and said, “He was a lovely man.” closed her eyes. A er a moment, she said,
“Daddy made me promise to find you. Even
Across the room, people sang, “Happy if he hadn’t, I knew I had to explain things.
Birthday.” When they quieted, Genevieve Do you remember the me you couldn’t
sighed, “Daddy always came to the par- find your coat when you won that big sci-
ent-teacher mee ngs and school programs, ence award?”
like that spring display. He praised your Jap-
anese garden project. Do you remember?” I winced. I’d spent weeks researching,
drawing pictures and making charts. I al-
I mumbled, “Yes.” most missed the school board ceremony
because I couldn’t find my jacket. As I sat
“I smashed it.” beneath the pre y angels and absorbed
Genevieve’s words, I didn’t want any more
“I know.” I grimaced. confessions.

Genevieve said, “You were always be er She said, “You know that my mother
than everyone else.” hated yours.”

“No, I wasn’t. But I tried hard.” While I tried to figure how those wom-
en knew each other, Genevieve added, “My
Genevieve twirled her delicate onion mother thought Daddy was involved with
rings. “Daddy moved me near his mother’s your mother.”
people.”
“My mother? An affair?” I pictured
I nodded. Mom’s home-done hair, orthopedic shoes
and bifocals. I could allow that she might
“That’s where I met Gaylen.” not have been as frumpy twenty years ago,
but a side romance was as likely as her
Silent, I mouthed his name. wearing s le os and push-up bras.

Genevieve said, “I was thirteen. Gaylen Genevieve said, “A er my mother’s fu-
was fi een. For a long me, he was just neral, I asked Daddy about those accusa-
my friend. When he got a motorcycle, he’d
leave pennies with my birth year in the ons. Remember the candy-store lady, the
mailbox. Gaylen taught me to ski and sky- bouffant blonde? That’s who Daddy visited
dive and bungee jump. I loved everything when my mother got … strange.” Genevieve
we did.” She lowered her head. “People pursed her lips. “Anyway, no one knew
shouldn’t say, ‘falling in love.’” where my mother got her no ons. And I be-
lieved her, including things about me.”
I mumbled, “What else can we do?”
Our waiter returned. He grinned and
“Falling sounds painful, doesn’t it?” said, “Ladies, for desert, we have peach

“But you fell out of planes and off moun-
tains.”

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