Adelaide Literary Magazine No.7, Volume Two, June 2017

Revista Adelaide

Rosemary shoved her away. She was falling in on eyes analyzing her to shreds, roping her down
herself, climbing a Penrose staircase in her head. with logic and disbelief. Dalia was no more than
The higher she ascended, the more steps she had an empty bag of tricks to them. Her ipseity was
to climb. worthless... without Rosemary.

"You stole my life! And I don't even remember But she was enƟrely fed up. Rosemary seemed
how! You found me in the darkness and lured me resolved. Dalia thought perhaps she was growing
in, like an angler fish!" weaker... but it was more likely that Rosemary
was growing stronger, and thus less suscepƟble to
Dalia collected herself. "An apt analogy...I've al- her charms. Their symbioƟc bond would soon
ways been impressed with your mind." deteriorate, and Dalia would be alone again, lost
in the world, unƟl such Ɵme that she could en-
"ENOUGH!" Rosemary was sick to her stomach. snare another troubled youth. Yet all hope was
not lost, not yet, not on that parƟcular Wednes-
But Dalia kept advancing. "You disregarded my day. Dalia sƟll had a firm grip on her.
power, like all the rest, but I knew that something
inside you believed. The sheen of skepƟcism “I can't trust you….and I don’t know why it took
around you was for the sake of the world, to keep me this long to realize that when the truth, my
up appearances, but I could see through it. I could truth, was in my face the whole Ɵme….you’ve
see something pure, something wonderful within been distracƟng me, keeping me dazed and con-
you, and I couldn't resist. I've been lying to myself fused for your own selfish purposes… but no
for so long, lost among these empty, soulless peo- more! I’ve finally thwarted you…your influence
ple, uƩerly devoid of passion or faith. I needed to only goes so far into my soul, but I've retained a
reclaim my truth, and I found it in you. I was modicum of my spirit, I've resisted your allure...
wasƟng away in this circus, we all were... unƟl and now I have the opportunity to deny you, to
you came our way." affirm myself. This Ɵred charade must end! ”

"I can't believe you! You had no right!" Rosemary was very saƟsfied with herself. A surg-
ing sense of relief overcame her. It was pleasant,
Dalia clenched her jaw to keep from crying. Hum- if not unfamiliar. Her body was trying to tell her
bug conƟnued to build the hype. something, reminding her of a truth it knew well.
Alas, it was lost on her.
“We need each other…I saved you.” she reasoned
Out in the ring, Humbug sensed something was
Steam came from Rosemary’s ears. “I don’t even amiss between them, but he didn't sƟr. It hap-
remember who I am! I don’t know how long it's pened preƩy oŌen. Every week, in fact. Nothing
been!” to be concerned about. The show must go on, of
course. He knew that more than either Dalia or
Dalia was sweaƟng her makeup off. She was Rosemary did.
tesƟng the limits of her authority. She understood
fully the breach of privacy she made, the abuse of So they were at an impasse. Rosemary didn't
innocence…but she couldn’t give up….they had know how lost she was, but she knew she was
been through this many Ɵmes before….but this lost. She was unsure about everything, like a cor-
Ɵme was parƟcularly trying…. nered animal. She didn't know what to expect,
but she certainly could not have expected what
It doesn’t maƩer how you got here. It only Dalia said next:
maƩers that you’re here now. Trust whatever
brought you here….trust me.” she pleaded "Rosie, you have a choice, just like last Wednes-
day... you can come with me and we can do what
"Ready or not, here she comes, Dalia the Electric we were born to do, or you can go, I leave it to
Lady!" you... I won't stop you... we both know where you
belong. No maƩer how many Ɵmes this happens,
The lights in the ring shut off and Humbug's voice it is fated to happen again. I can't let you go,
echoed throughout. Dalia closed her eyes, envi- dear... you complete me. And soon you'll find that
sioning hundreds of awed, vapid faces in the au- I do the same for you... now... now I have to go
dience, all anƟcipaƟng her arrival. But what could
she do? Without her ward, she was worthless.
She would lose herself to the crowd, their evil

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Adelaide Magazine

out there... Humbug needs me... wherever you As she contemplated her relaƟonship with Dalia,
decide to go, whomever you decide you are, just Rosemary heard deep, guƩeral growls just out-
know that you are a part of me... And you can't side the dressing room. Millicent was being led
find yourself—your truth— without this place." back to its cage. The growling became more and
more aggressive as it passed. It was almost as
They stared at each other for what seemed like though Millicent were trying to communicate
an eternity. Then Dalia went to do her duty, to with her. Only Milli had the capacity to sidestep
debase and prostrate herself for the joy of the her neurosis and reach the soŌ underbelly of her
world, leaving Rosemary to stew in thought. She mind. It knew she was in a crisis, and it knew
heard the crowd explode when Dalia entered the what she wanted before Rosemary did... It also
ring. She really had a profound effect on the peo- knew that this wasn't the first Ɵme, nor would it
ple. They loved her, or at least loved who she be the last. It just had to remind her.
pretended to be. If that was enough for them,
then so be it. A crossroads laid before her. Neither path would
lead her back to her former self. That opƟon was
Perhaps what Dalia did was honorable. She pre- long gone. Leaving would only serve to further
served the thin shell of ignorance that protected muddle up her messy brain. Staying would elimi-
the average man from the reality of the world, nate any slight chance she had to be free, what-
from the fact that his reality is constructed upon ever that meant. She would be a slave to confu-
his ignorance. She reinforced his delusions, re- sion, a living, breathing pracƟcal joke. Or perhaps
affirmed his idenƟty, all for a handful of pennies. her staying would be a noble endeavor; the circus
And all at the expense of her essenƟal self. What would fall apart without her, without a true be-
kind of person would Rosemary be if she leŌ her liever. She would be a martyr, of sorts. Only one
to the mob? They didn't appreciate her, they thing was certain: that the show must go on...
couldn't. They refused to see anything beyond with or without her.
themselves.
About the Author:
Rosemary envisioned her frenemy out there,
stone-faced, dying for the amusement of scoun-
drels. It was criminal. She deserved so much
more... but it wasn't her problem... at least, it
didn't have to be.

Harold Barnes was born in Jersey City and is cur-
rently a subsƟtute Paraprofessional for the New
York City Department Of EducaƟon. He briefly
aƩended the University of Notre Dame, majoring
in Physics, then English, but he never graduated.
Nowadays he writes and reads avidly, works, and
takes care of his ailing mother with his sister.

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Revista Adelaide

RELAPSE

By Danielle Garner

“What do we call a god who creates suffering?” shade of almond and my candy Ɵnt of toffee add
asks Professor Tamir. He pauses, creaƟng an un- that desired diversity to the classroom, the one
comfortable silence inside of the classroom—his they never miss the opportunity to brag about in
head roams from student to student—an unsuc- the university pamphlets.
cessful tacƟc he oŌen uses to generate discus-
sion. As his mouth moves to begin speaking again, “Nonexistent,” says the boy with the neon
a voice from the back of the room interrupts him. fiƩed cap again.

“I think,” says a boy wearing a neon fiƩed There is a momentary silence in the room
cap on his head and sinking into his chair, “the before Professor Tamir resumes.
beƩer quesƟon is what do we call a god who al-
lows suffering.” “Anyone else?” he asks with a frivolity in
his dark brown eyes. “Okay, good then,” he adds
His response sounds less like a quesƟon aŌer a few more seconds of silence. He looks
and more like a declaraƟon. The gravity in the down at the podium and conƟnues his lecture
boy’s face, the sobriety in his mouth, the serious- which, judging from the distracted look on every-
ness in his eyes, and the callous strain in his voice one’s faces, no one hears.
introduces an acute hosƟlity into the lecture hall.
I think about chiming in last minute and
“Indifferent,” says a girl to my right, her adding a dissenƟng opinion to the gallery of criƟcs
hands are buried in her bag and suddenly emerge who had just pilloried my faith. But I let Professor
with a piece of gum. Tamir conƟnue instead.

“Incompetent,” says another girl again to When I get to my dorm aŌer class, I immediately
my right with her back leaning against the chair noƟce the moƟonless body bundled underneath
and right leg propped on her seat. She adjusts to my roommate’s comforter.
the other leg and keeps her eyes on Professor
Tamir, who is sƟll standing behind his podium. He “Jess,” I say, looking at my phone to check the
leans back and observes the class with the same Ɵme, “you didn’t go to class?”
fascinaƟon as a person admires a painƟng at a
museum. The bundle doesn’t move.

“Cruel,” says a boy to my right. His hands “Jess,” I repeat, feeling the flare in my voice and
are folded and glasses are pushed high along the rushing over to her bed. I pull the covers off of
curve of his nose. He is the same guy I’ve been her body, which lies listlessly on top of her
trying to silently connect eyes with the enƟre maƩress. Her arms are flung in different direc-
semester, not because I find him irresisƟble, but Ɵons and legs are bent in a posiƟon that looks too
because he is the only other person in the room uncomfortable to sleep in. She slightly moves
whose skin color resembles mine. His smooth her foot, which instantly gives me relief. Then she

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Adelaide Magazine

shiŌs her head and annoyingly wipes the tangled “You too, baby,” she grins before greeƟng the
hair out of her face before turning around on her only other student in line.
stomach and pulling the covers back over her
body. “Hi Ms. Patricia.” I hear a familiar voice and look
over to see the Resident Assistant of my dorm.
I think about moƟvaƟng her to get dressed again, She nods at me before giving her order.
but silently slip out of the room to have breakfast
alone instead. I walk over to the drink staƟon and make my
choice among the medley of colorful beverages
The dining hall feels as empty as it always does at before siƫng down. There are three other people
this Ɵme of morning - in between that rush where in my secƟon, two siƫng together at a table fur-
students are finished with their early classes. The ther away from me and one munching on a break-
resounding sounds of pots and pans, of playful fast burrito in the booth across from me. I can
workers’ chaƩer that takes place more freely in hear doƩed lines of the conversaƟon further
the vacancy of the cafeteria, and of machines just down, and I find myself more intently listening for
awakening, make going to breakfast without Jess the sake of company. But I’m interrupted by a
a liƩle less solitary. I grab a damp plasƟc tray and tray that emphaƟcally drops on my table.
stand in front of one of the staƟons designated
“Hunger Zone” by the banner that hangs over it. “Can I sit here?” asks the Resident Assistant, slid-
ing her tray onto the surface and slightly startling
“Morning baby,” says the worker, as she finishes me.
pulling her latex gloves over her hands.
“Help yourself, Hally,” I say, a slight incivility in my
“Morning Ms. Patricia,” I say with a smile and tone. Hally rakes her fork over the eggs on her
hands in my pockets, observing the pile of eggs plate and begins cuƫng her French toast. She
and bacon through the streaked glass. does this with a type of poise that accompanies
ritual.
“What’ll it be sweetheart?” she asks, holding a
prisƟne white plate in front of her. Her hat is “I’m really glad I caught you. You’re tough to get a
bulging with grey hair that peeks out from the hold of,” says Hally staring at me before biƟng a
sides. forkful of food. I can never get used to the incom-
paƟbility between her dark voice and bright-
“I’ll take the eggs, bacon, and French toast,” I colored hair.
point to each item as she energeƟcally digs the
spoon into the mound of yellow eggs. “Really,” I say, finally digging into my own
lukewarm food.
“Will you be having some syrup with that French
toast?” she asks now scooping a small pile of ba- “Yep,” she says, in between chewing. “I’ve
con onto my plate. been wanƟng to ask you how Jessica’s doing.” She
looks down at her plate and begins forking her
“Please.” food again.

I watch her, intrigued with the stern concentra- “Okay, I guess. I mean you know the an-
Ɵon in her face and joviality in her eyes – a com- swer to that quesƟon as much as I do.”
forƟng incongruity. Ms. Patricia always looks out
of place in the dining hall to me, taking orders “Has she been meeƟng with Dr. Lance?”
from impaƟent college kids who only infrequently The school mental health counselor who, accord-
return her warm smiles. Her thin shape is buried ing to Jessica, avoids the term “psychiatrist” at all
beneath the bulky striped uniform and black costs and makes sure his paƟents don’t call them-
apron that she wears, which makes her look selves “paƟents.”
something like a cartoon chemist with oversized
clothes. “She says she has,” I say observing another
student who sits down two booths away from us,
“Thanks Ms. Patricia, have a good one,” I say a boy in my journalism class who never speaks in
while she hands me my plate. group discussion, despite the professor’s threats
of grading us for parƟcipaƟon.

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Revista Adelaide

“Today marks a month since her last incident. Did Cool weather always feels out of place in South
you know that?” she says. Florida. The friendly breezes that refuse to carry
so much as a trace of humidity in the beginning of
“I do.” the year always tell the story of a dramaƟc shiŌ in
nature in some other area of the country.
She stares at me blankly while suspending
a forkful of food in the air. Her eyebrows are Growing up in this region, I could never resist the
raised and eyes are cynical. The freckles scaƩered belief that this recurring shiŌ signaled a momen-
across her face collecƟvely contort with her ex- tous change in my life – that it was God’s way of
pression. foreshadowing the beginning of a new season. His
habit of introducing something new into the air,
I stop chewing and drop my fork on my something that I could only detect by the mere
plate, which creates a sound cacophonous and fact that it lie outside the paƩern of the ordinary,
loud enough to make the two people further even if it was just weather. This feeling would
down from us go quiet. always leave me as the mornings grew warmer
and the days grew longer, unƟl I would find my-
She rapidly blinks her eyes, trying her best self in summer for the remainder of the year.
not to roll them at me and conƟnues eaƟng her
food in silence. The kid in the booth across is leav- But as I walk along the sun-touched pathways
ing and conƟnues to stare at his phone while aŌer my last class of the day, and as my feet
gathering his belongings, and the two a ways shovel liƩered leaves along the cracks of con-
down from me are talking and gesƟculaƟng over crete, I meet this feeling once again. The sensa-
half-empty plates. Hally takes a sip of her drink Ɵon in the air, the balm of nature, or, the residual
and coldly glances at me. She says a strained and trace of a true winter elsewhere, invades my
hosƟle goodbye before leaving her tray on the world and – judging from the eager habit of na-
table. I stay for only a few minutes more and talk Ɵves wearing winter boots and the fleet of stu-
with the friendly dining hall worker who always dents flocking to our campus’s local coffee shop –
insists on wiping my table without giving me a this sensaƟon has been anxiously anƟcipated.
chance to get up from my seat. Then I leave, de-
ciding to check on Jessica one more Ɵme before I push open the glass doors to the student
going to my next class. When I get to our room, acƟviƟes center and sit down at one of the couch-
her bed is empty and shower things are gone. I es scaƩered across the first floor. The conversa-
think about the Ɵmes over the school year when Ɵon from my early morning class sƟll lingers in my
I’ve wandered the showers, my hands trembling mind, and I open my laptop to the thought of
against the white Ɵled walls and my voice echoing Professor Tamir’s quesƟon.
in the hollow spaces of the nearly-empty bath-
rooms. I think about the Ɵmes I’ve called for Jessi- But a loud outburst of collecƟve laughter
ca and prayed that I’d get a response from behind interrupts my thoughts, and a group of students
the closed shower curtains that hid ominous beds coming down the stairs catch my aƩenƟon. I see
of steam. I think about the one Ɵme where she my friend Georgia, the girl who’s changed majors
didn’t respond immediately, and the panic that three Ɵmes; and Jason, the guy who has trouble
shot through my chest and instantly pervaded my making guy friends; and Karen, the girl who’s do-
enƟre body as I manically tore curtains back. I ing a terrible job of hiding the fact from all of us
think about the Ɵme I disrupted two other peo- that she’s crossing; and then there’s Jessica. She
ple’s showers before hearing her faint response. has a wide smile on her face and is enthusiasƟcal-
Hally issued me a stern warning aŌer that inci- ly emphasizing her words with the energeƟc
dent – my first strike out of a three-strike system. bounce of her ponytail. Georgia waves at me, and
But the solitude, the slippery walls, and the razor Jason yells my name for the enƟre acƟviƟes cen-
blade in Jessica’s shower tote, make the dorm ter to hear before Jessica shushes him.
bathrooms a seƫng for my nightmare – where
my imaginaƟon is always animaƟng my worry. I “Grace!” says Jess, “Glad we caught you.
think about double-checking the showers to make We were about to head to the dining hall, and I
sure she’s okay, but realize that I’m already late was just about to text you.”
for class.

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