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Mielikki

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Mielikki 2

Water filter

It’s an unforgettable bond between me and a small kid who I know past many years. Now he is an adult but a tiny memorable gift I gave him is being kept as a treasure. I was just thinking what he could have done with my toy which I gave him many years ago. The story unwinds a whole lot of emotions behind the tiny gift which I gave him. A village amidst the back drop of a hill, with a water body as a source of water to the whole village. A few hundred houses with a landlord to rule the village, this was the scenario of the village. I was born and brought up in the village. Being a member of the family of landlords I was respected by one and all.  It was a moment of pride when I was being considered a royal heiress of some kingdom. But I was very humble and down to earth; I would consider everyone my fellow beings. Either rich or poor every being have their own credibility and they should be respected. I was brought up with these principles by my parents who taught the affectionate binding between human beings.  During my earlier days of childhood as a girl from small town and the daughter of the landlord, I had the opportunity to visit the villagers dwelling. I liked their simplicity and their simple cuisine which they would cook using mud furnace. The aura of the mud pots would enhance the taste of food being prepared. Without being noticed by my older lot of the family I would make a visit to my maid’s house to devour the simple morsel from their platter. These memories are something unforgettable. There were days when I and my brother stayed in our maid’s house for a week as my parents were out of town on an emergency. My housemaid took care of so well that I still remember her cooking in her small thatched hut. Those were the days I enjoyed the most. I was a naughty kid during my school days. One day it so happened that I had a holiday in my school on that day where I did my primary schooling. I was getting bored sitting idle hence I went to my village school and I found a male teacher who had a squeaky voice was teaching the children. I just found him funny because of his voice. I was a prankster then, hence I just imitated his voice and this annoyed the teacher very much. I repeated the same thing three times; I would run away from the scene every time. But finally I was caught red handed. The teacher caught me by my ear and made me teach tables to the school kids. Those were the days which make me smile when remembered. The teacher who had punished me got a transfer to a different village hence a new teacher was appointed to the school. This new teacher was a very friendly and helpful person. Hence he became everyone’s favourite. He had a small family a wife, and a small kid with another one waiting for arrival. A small happy family. He was transferred from a different school, hence the villagers made arrangements for their stay. The teacher became so famous that along with teaching he also put his hand into improvising the village scenario. Along with his interesting in improvising the village he was also a priest to our village temple. A man with versatile personality. A few months passed there was a moment of joy and happiness in his family the arrival of new baby to complete their family. The teacher and his family became very close to our family. Hence they used to visit our place quite often. After a few years the teacher’s younger child grew up from his infancy to a small tiny tot. He would come with his dad to our place. He was a naughty kid and he used to move around the house finding things. With his sweet voice he would call me sister. One day it so happened that the kid visited our house and he was running around. When he was running with a sudden brake, he stopped and started staring into the showcase where I had kept my tiny toys which I used to play in my childhood days. He asked “Akka (sister), what is that”. He was showing me a tiny water filter which stood along with my other little toys. His tiny eyes had chosen the best. A steel water filter which had two containers and tiny tap which would actually filter the dirt. He asked” Akka (sister), is it real, does the water run down if you open the tap?” A series of questions followed. He would visit my house every now and then to play with water filter. He had put his eyes on that tiny toy. Hence one day with his cute smile said, “Akka do you play with that filter” I said,” No, I have grown up isn’t it I don’t play with toys anymore” Then he continued,”Akka , will you give me that toy, so that I can play with it in my house”. I was a bit reluctant, because that toy was my favourite and I couldn’t get departed with it. But I was very fond of that kid hence I sacrificed and gave the tiny filter to the kid. He was so happy that he jumped for joy.  He liked the toy so much that he played with  it and he has kept it like a treasure  He would always remember me for giving my precious toy to him. After a few years I got shifted to my granny’s house for higher studies and the kid grew up to became a young boy. His father got transferred to a different school. But whenever he would visit our place he would always mention about the water filter that I had given to his son as a gift. I was really surprised about the love and affection of the small boy towards a tiny gift I had given him. Today he is a grown up adult with a wife and kids. I heard that he has given the same water filter to his son. The toy is passed on to the next generation. That was the priceless moment of joy.

36cxah

"Empire Apple"

Nostalgia. Jumping on my trampoline in my backyard left me feeling nostalgic. I felt like a child again. No worries. Just jumping and laughing to myself. It sounds sad and even lonely but it really wasn't for the first time in a long time, I felt comfortable being by myself. Moving is a scary thing to do, especially when you have nobody to comfort you physically. Sure, I have my parents but that's it. My brothers are already gone and moved out. I don't have someone who will be there with me and who understands the pain of being the new kid. My friends tell me that I'll be fine but what does that entail? Whilst jumping on my trampoline, I remembered my ex boyfriend. We had our first kiss on this trampoline. It was a dare. A stupid, god-awful dare. I wish our first kiss never happened on my trampoline because now that we've broken up, it brings me incessant and unwanted memories, which I wish I could just forget. Wake up with amnesia, get them fully out of my head. It may sound stupid, trying to forget a high school relationship but I don't care. I wish I could forget him. Instead, I'm really good friends with my ex. I still have our pictures of us together while we were dating. We talk almost every day. We face-time sometimes. It doesn't matter though, he doesn't like me anymore. He's the one who split us up in the first place. He still cares about me, however, I wish he didn't because if he didn't care about me as much as he does, it would be so much easier to get over him. Today, I'm going to see him for the last time before I move. We're going apple picking. This girl that we're both friends with, whom also likes him, would've went but she decided to say that she was sick. She wasn't sick. She told me that she felt that it would be inappropriate of her to disrupt my last time with my ex. I never really liked her but I have to be honest, it was pretty big of her to do that for me. Then again, she will probably try to date him after I move. I got off the trampoline and went into my house to get ready to go apple-picking. Thankfully, they were picking me up to go. His mother insisted that she'd drive us and then she would bring me home. I put on a sweater and jeans. I put on hoop earrings and a pretty necklace that my mother had given me. I straightened my hair because the trampoline kind of destroyed it with the static. My makeup didn't involve doing much-kept it natural. I tried to be cute but not too cute. I didn't want him to think that I was trying too hard. His mother pulled into my driveway and the butterflies flew straight into my stomach. I opened the door to the backseat, where he was sitting. When I realized that I had opened the wrong door, he slid over, as if he knew I was going to do that accidentally. I watched him just laugh and I saw his smile. My ex will never know how charming he truly is. I wish I had told him that more when we were dating. We aren't though, so I should stop regretting the past. They asked me how I was doing with the moving process and I just gave a basic answer, which I will sum up as: "Moving is the easy part but leaving is the hard part," My ex looked at me after I said that and he put his hand onto mine and squeezed it and gave me a smile that told me he was sorry for me and that he'd always be there for me. I just looked at his brown eyes and smiled warmly. His mother stayed behind for the apple-picking part. She wanted us to be normal with each other. So, she decided to stay in the farmer's market until we got back. She insisted that she needed to pick out the right peaches to make her famous peach pie. "I'm sorry for being all sad-sacky," I said with a hesitant laugh. "Don't be sorry, if I were moving I'd be sad too," He said. We went into the granny smith section. It's my favorite apple. My mother hates it because it's too tart for her taste. "Go ahead, pick one," He said to me, while I was trying to analyze which one I fancied the most. "Fine!" I said, picking the brightest one. "Ahh you got the good one," He said, grabbing another one, close-by to where mine was. We joked around for awhile and ate a lot of apples. We even talked like food critics on TV shows and gave a silly report on each apple we consumed. "God, you're beautiful," He said to me while we were laughing about my "criticism" on Empire Apples. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" I asked, genuinely confused by how sweet it was for him to say that and how weird it was. "I said, 'God, you're beautiful,'" He repeated himself. "Wow, I just-I never thought you'd say that to me ever again, but...thank you, I mean that," I said, "really convincing". He looked down at the ground and smiled. I just wanted to kiss him. I wanted to give him my very own goodbye kiss. I just didn't know how to come about doing it. That's when he took me by surprise and kissed me. He grabbed me gently by the waist and put his other hand on my face. The first kiss was quick and almost seemed apologetic. "I'm sorry if that was-" He said and then I cut him off to kiss him again. I could feel his smile through the kiss and needless to say we were both smiling and kissing. It was kind of hard to keep the kiss going while we wanted to laugh from happiness. "I love you," I said. He looked at me and seemed very confused. I couldn't understand why he looked so perplexed. "You do?" He asked me. "Yeah, why?" "I just always thought that you lost feelings first and that's why I broke up with you," He said, backing away a little bit, to give us space. "You told me that you didn't love me anymore and then broke up with me, so now I'm confused," I said. "Well, I love you too," He said with a silly smile but I was kind of upset that he ever thought that I was the one who fell out of love first. I never stopped loving him. "I think about you every day from the moment I wake up to the moment I shut my eyes. I reminisce every memory we've ever shared. I've never deleted a single photo of you. And I've never stopped loving you," I said, beginning to cry. He just looked at me for a solid thirty seconds and then walked closer to me and just gave me a long hug. Then he whispered into my ear and said, "I will always love you, Delilah," I gave him another kiss. We went back to the farmers market and his mother explained to us how to make her famous peach pie. Maybe we will always have love for each other but like it or not, I have to be in Colorado in five days. Maybe he will love me forever and maybe I'll love him forever but that won't stop our path. We might not hold on for each other. We might put our love for each other in the past and try to forget each other's name. Now, I have to hit the dirt road.

tae7e3

Abernathy’s Orchard

Twelve-year-old Mark Reynolds was getting a head start on teenage angst. He was beyond annoyed his mother was forcing him to go apple picking on a Saturday he could have spent playing video games, eating junk food, and texting his friends. Mark hadn’t been out to Wentworth Acres since he was ten. Admittedly, he’d loved going there when he was a kid. Picking apples, riding the hay wagon out to the field beyond the orchard to choose the perfect pumpkin to carve and put on the front step, running around the haybale castle, whooshing down the slides, and eating caramel apples with his friends had been so awesome. But he was twelve. Twelve! Too old for this kind of kid stuff. He huffed out a deep breath and glared at his mom as she drove. He’d be so humiliated if anyone he knew saw him and he would never, ever forgive his mom. He crossed his arms and continued to glare at her as she pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the farm stand and play area. Mark slowly opened the car door and cautiously glanced around to make sure he didn’t see any of his friends, breathing out a sigh of relief when the coast was clear. What was he worried about? His pals were too cool to hang out here. He inhaled deeply as the enticing aroma of cinnamon sugar-coated apple cider donuts filled the crisp, autumn air making his stomach rumble. He’d only eaten three bowls of cereal and a bagel with strawberry cream cheese this morning. He was starving. “Hey mom,” Mark hesitated, shooting her a sidelong glance. “Think we could grab some donuts before we pick apples?” “I was thinking the same thing,” his mom replied with a soft smile. After eating five donuts, he had to leave one of the half dozen for his mom, and drinking nearly half a gallon of apple cider, Mark felt decidedly better. He had to stop himself from smiling as he watched the little kids play and babble with excitement as they showed off their pumpkins and stuffed their faces with caramel apples and donuts. He tried to maintain his distain any time his mom looked his way. She tried to interest him in going over the different types of apples they could pick, but he just wanted to get it over with. Mark tried to stay hidden behind the signs for the various kinds of apples as his mom slowly made her way down the long table. He kept nervously peering around the signs – just in case. She finally decided on granny smith and a variety called baby zestars he thought sounded really good, but he’d never admit it to her. He just shrugged and kicked at the dirt as they made their way out of the farm stand toward the orchard. They picked two bags of baby zestars and followed the signs toward the granny smith apple trees. Mark asked his mom if he could run ahead to get started. He figured she looked happy because she thought he was enjoying their time together, but he just wanted to get done as quickly as possible so he could go home and play his games. She nodded and handed him one of the remaining empty bags. He ran down the path through the trees, thinking only of how much he was missing out on by being forced to pick apples. He came to an abrupt halt next to the “Granny Smiths” sign and groaned. The granny smith apple trees were such a letdown. Since the apples were nearly the same color as the leaves, they just looked like regular old trees. At least red apples showed up against the leaves making it so much easier to find them. Mark grumbled to himself, rolled his eyes, sighed, chose a nearby tree, and began to pick the green apples. As Mark moved on to another tree, a shaft of sunlight filtered through its branches shining on the most beautiful apple he’d ever seen. It was much higher up than he could reach. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching and started to climb the tree, even though he knew it wasn’t allowed. When he reached out to pick that perfect apple, he felt something grab him by the shoulders. His feet swung in midair as he started to panic. He jerked his head up and saw a gnarled face appear in the trunk of the tree above him. Mark started yelling for his mom as he tried to wiggle out of the grasp of the apple tree. He kicked his dangling feet but could not free himself. "Stop yelling young man," said the tree in a deep and resonant voice. "Please calm down and I will explain what has happened." Mark continued to call for help but began to relax as he looked into the tree's warm, brown eyes. After several minutes, Mark got up the courage to ask, "Who are you?” A soft, gentle rumble started deep inside the tree trunk and turned into a reverberating laugh. "My name is Abernathy. I am the keeper of this apple orchard. If I set you on one of my branches, do you promise to listen to what I have to say?" Mark couldn't explain why, but something about Abernathy was very reassuring. "I promise," he replied. Abernathy carefully set Mark down on a big, strong branch and lightly placed another knobby limb behind Mark’s back to hold him steady. "It has been many years since I talked to a human," he began. "In nature, there must be balance; people rarely understand this." "It is my job to help keep the balance between nature and man. In every apple orchard around the world, one tree acts as the keeper,” Abernathy paused and looked directly at Mark. "Each keeper tree has one special apple. In my branches, it is the last apple you tried to pick." Mark gasped. He remembered the perfectly round, juicy green apple he reached out for just before the tree grabbed him. "I don't understand," he said. "Trees can't talk!" Abernathy chuckled. "Humans! Such simple creatures. You see yourselves as the center of the universe. Do you not agree without trees, animals, fruits, vegetables, and all the other amazing things the world has to offer this planet would not be such a wonderful place to live?" "Well yes, I guess I do," Mark answered slowly. "But people need to use the things around them to survive." "It has been thousands of years since your kind only used what was needed,” Abernathy stated sadly. Mark cheeks turned red. "I didn’t mean to offend you," he stammered. “It’s just no one I know has ever talked to a tree before." "Be that as it may, by trying to pick my special apple you are the human I must teach about respecting nature.” Abernathy looked directly into Mark’s hazel eyes. “The more people who learn to respect the rest of the life on the planet, the better it will be for all living things. We must work together to conserve the natural resources around us and to look after one another." "I never really thought much about things like that," Mark sighed. "I just live like everyone else I know." “Please allow me to show you what I mean. I need to wrap one of my branches around your head to do so,” Abernathy paused as Mark tensed up and fear flickered across his face. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt.” Mark nodded and Abernathy very carefully wrapped a slim branch around Mark’s forehead. “Close your eyes,” he murmured. As soon as Mark closed his eyes, he saw a stream of images. People from thousands of years ago, tending to and gathering crops, sharing the fruits and vegetables with one another. Bees pollinating. Rain and sun nurturing. Birds and animals thriving on the bounty of the land. And on and on it went. Then the images changed. Mark saw people throwing away perfectly good food, tons of garbage being bulldozed into the ground. Starving animals desperately looking for sustenance. People with nothing to eat trying to get through the day. Declining populations of bees and birds and animals. Fields decimated by drought. More devastating, sad images followed. Abernathy gently removed the branch from Mark’s head before he spoke. “For many, many years people respected and took care of the land. How quickly you humans have forgotten. How quickly you have begun to destroy the environment, to threaten entire species of plants and animals. There is still time to change your course.” Mark wouldn’t look at Abernathy. He didn’t know what to say. “How often do you throw away food, rather than finishing it?” Abernathy asked. “Do you have any idea what it’s like not to have enough to eat? To go to bed hungry?” “No,” Mark answered in a low voice. “I’ve always had more than enough and – well, I complain sometimes if my mom cooks something I don’t want to eat. Like brussels sprouts." Mark shook his head, then looked up at Abernathy. “I’m only twelve, this seems like something you should be telling an adult. What can I do? I’m just a kid.” "Ah, but now you’re aware of the issues. You have a choice," Abernathy said. "You can help by teaching others what you have learned. You can help by not wasting food and taking care of the environment. Or by offering food to someone who doesn’t have enough to eat." "Oh, I will. You have my word," Mark pledged. Mark's eyes fluttered open. "Are you okay?" his mom asked. "What happened?" Mark moaned. "You fell out of the apple tree," his mom said shakily. "What were you doing climbing a tree?” She ran a hand across her forehead and tried to calm herself down. “Oh honey, I’ve been so worried. You've been unconscious for nearly 10 minutes. An ambulance is on the way!” "But the tree was talking to me," Mark said slowly. "Oh God, we'd better take you to the hospital!" Mark's mom cried. "No mom. I'm okay, really I am," Mark said as he tried to sit up. "I think we picked enough apples. Can we just go home now?" "Not until the paramedics check you out,” his mom said sternly. “If they say you’re okay, we'll go straight home." "Could we stop and drop off some apples at the food bank?" Mark asked. He saw the shock on his mom’s face. "That's a great idea son," she managed to reply. Once the paramedics had examined Mark and given his mom instructions about what do for the next 24 hours in case of a mild concussion, they cleared him to go home. Mark stood and walked over to the bag of apples he'd picked. The perfect green apple sat atop the others in the bag. "Thanks Abernathy! For everything … I won’t forget. I promise," Mark whispered as he gently placed his hand on the tree trunk. He smiled at his mom as he picked up the bag of apples.

fek1xa

Golden Girl

“He was coming back to you.” Bronwyn, the golden girl I had played with while my mother performed her housekeeping duties, spoke quietly as she lay in a crumpled heap, unwashed and apparently unassuming, her face turned to the wall. I had been in the room for ten minutes. The first three of those were spent in silence; I know because I had trained my eyes on the analog clock that spun out the hours with no thought to those who were living and dying in the course of those passing moments. The next seven were filled with Bronwyn’s tears before she spat out that one sentence. I sat down and waited, willing my face to remain blank. She slowly righted herself and continued, “I wanted to keep it a secret. I’m the only one who knew. I could have kept it from you.” Leave it to Bronwyn to grasp at honor after everything that had transpired between us, between her and Jake. She watched me expectantly, reading me, skimming over the less important parts to examine my eyes. She always said my eyes told everything. I immediately closed them, denying her access to my painful thoughts. “What happened?” I asked, forcing my eyelids to open so that I, in turn, could examine her. Bronwyn was much more complicated than I could ever hope to be; I had to watch more than just her eyes. Some of what she told me I already knew--she and Jake had attended the party, the one my mother kept me from with a simple truth: “Seeing them together is too much for you, Katherine. It’s not healthy. I know you’re trying to be strong, but give yourself a break.” Bronwyn painted a picture for me of the night’s progression: she had been drinking, Jake hadn’t. “He hated beer,” she informed me, as if this were an important tidbit I didn’t already know. The fact that she said it in that girlfriend-sort-of-way caused my breath to catch for a moment, but she was so ensconced in her story she didn’t notice. She had forgotten again, momentarily, that Jake had been mine, truly mine, first. She spoke more slowly now: “I slipped on his jacket when it started to get cold, and I felt your necklace, you know, the cross necklace, in the pocket.” I nodded once. “I asked him why he was keeping it, why he was holding onto something from you when he was with me now.” I felt it then, my heart warming, a gloat breaking loose from somewhere deep inside me. I could see it and feel its enormity, like watching a giant piece of paraffin traveling to the top of a lava lamp. He kept the necklace. I swallowed hard. “I told him I was going to throw it in Speckler’s Pond, and I started running.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “He caught up to me. I thought he was coming after me . But he was coming after the necklace. He asked me where it was, and I told him to go to hell, that he’d never see it again anyway.” Bronwyn paused here briefly to study my reaction. “I was pretty drunk at that point, Kat.” This was her oft-used excuse. “I shouldn’t have said those things.” Her eyes were bright, and I knew she was impressed with herself for her honesty. For what she thought would bring her peace--this thoughtful confession. “But he told me then. Told me he still loved you. I had just been a stand in. He knew I’d do things with him, Kat. Things you wouldn’t do. And that was really important to him in the beginning.” I felt my heart heat up again at her condescension. I flashed back to Ms. Ranson’s 2nd grade class, when I was the only one who couldn’t provide my home address. I remembered the haughty angle of Ms. Ranson’s chin as she stared down at me and the sneer that marred her already unremarkable features. I didn’t know what everyone else knew, so, in her mind, I was somehow less than. I couldn’t even find my voice to inform Ms. Ranson that we had just recently moved. “ I did all those things with him, but it didn’t matter. So I jumped in the car to head to the pond.” She looked down at her hands and tilted her head, arranging her body into a picture of innocence.. “I didn’t know he was in front of the car when I hit the gas. I never even looked. I was so hurt. So angry. I just wanted to get out of there. It was all an accident. A horrible accident. Triggered, of course, by my broken heart.” A female Rumpelstiltskin, Bronwyn had gathered the dirty pieces of that night and spun them into a glistening offering--a story that refuted her guilt and cast Jake as the perpetrator. “Did you love him, Bronwyn?” This was the only question that mattered; the only answer that mattered. If she had loved him, I could forgive her because her soul would have been crushed upon hearing that Jake was returning to me. Maybe she would have been too upset to look before she stepped on the gas. After all, I knew what it felt like to lose Jake to my best friend.  If she didn’t love him, then, as I had often suspected, there was a worm-like maliciousness writhing in her soul, some deeply buried, inner rottenness that caused her to decide he would be hers, either in spite of me or because of me. Bronwyn straightened her spine. “Yes. Of course, I did!” Her words filled the empty room, bouncing off the walls and hammering shrilly against my ears. She was counting on them to convince me. But I had seen it--the dead giveaway--when she reached for her hair and ran her hand down the glorious length of it, the gesture I had noticed each time she lied--to her mom, her dad, my mom, me, our mutual friends, teachers, Jake. Everyone, really. And the story she had so carefully crafted, that magnificently spun gold, reverted to dusty straw that littered the ground as I stood and walked away. 

14o913

Freezing Warmth

It had been twenty-four years since she'd last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. From the naked eye, it would be bold to judge the broken-down exterior of the tree. Antiquated and dilapidated, it was a ramshackle treehouse. Yet there was an aura of warmth that seemed to outline the tree, as if someone was calling out to her, pulling her closer. The attraction was magnetic, she couldn't quite repel it. Each step towards the tree seemed to free her of her pain, her misery, her suffering. The tree was the gateway to the future, as well as an iconic symbol of the past. Putting these characteristics together caused her face to flush in confusion. Regardless, she lifted her feet off the ground and painstakingly waddled through the thick grass, towards the treehouse. And then she heard his voice. Crisp and nonchalant, happy-go-lucky. Oh his voice, you could tell that he was grinning as he said her name. "Isobel..." A pang of emotions swept over her. She had too many questions, too many thoughts and too many feelings. She stood there, with the sun shining against her auburn hair. "Isobel," he repeated. "Jackson? JACKSON!" She could faintly make out a figure, leaning effortlessly against the railing of the treehouse. He shifted his weight forward, raised his arms and waved. "Isobel," he repeated. Then came a gust of strong wind that seemed to carry her up the stairs of the treehouse, all the way to him. His smile, oh his smile was the sun, it lit up the world. She hadn't seen the sun ever since his death three years back, but there he was, standing in front of her, lighting up the universe. "I've missed you..." The world seemed blurry, perhaps from the tears, or the presence of sunlight after three whole years... or maybe she was just tired. "I know," he answered easily. Everything was so easy with him: their marriage, their family, their jobs, the world. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Why did you bring me here?" She asked. It was where he had proposed to her, twenty-four years ago. The sunny spot right by the beach, topped off with a gorgeous palm tree that carried a robust treehouse. With the breeze against him, he responded "Iz, I can't leave you." She sighed and nodded. They were supposed to have been in it together for the long run, forever, but alas fate had been a fickle mistress; heartbreaking. A car accident had placed her in a pit of sorrows and darkness, repeatedly drowning alone in the darkness. "Isobel, I can't leave you." He said, again. "I know, Jackson, but you did anyway. You left me and went to the light." She said softly. He stepped closer and took her hand. "Isobel, I can't leave you... but you can leave me. You SHOULD leave me. Fight for it, Isobel. Leave the light." He insisted. Leave the light? LEAVE the light. LEAVE THE LIGHT. How could she leave? She didn’t want to leave. Leaving the light was equivalent to leaving Jackson. How could she… fight? Everything was so easy with Jackson. At that moment, she was at ease. How could she sacrifice her warmth for the cold darkness of life? She couldn’t. She just wanted to be with Jackson again. At peace . He sighed deeply and shook his head. “I know,” He whispered, “It’s tough, really tough. But I’m here, always and forever. Even when you can’t see me or hear me, I’ll always be here.” She didn’t understand it, she couldn’t understand any of it. Was this amnesia of some sort? “Iz, you need to promise me that you’ll leave the light. You’re confused, and that’s all right, but when the time is right, you need to leave the light.” She nodded, it seemed as if that was all she knew how to do. She just wanted to stay with him and to never leave. “Okay,” She whispered. And everything went dark. “Am I dead?” She wondered. She could see the world, but it was fading… With every breath she took, her footsteps grew even lighter. Jackson. Where is Jackson? All she could remember was the warmth of his touch, his longing gaze, as he begged her to leave the light. What did that even mean? She struggled to grasp onto her surroundings. She could faintly make out a bedside lamp, and a pale blue bed sheet. And hell, what was that beeping? The shrill, irritating purr sounded like an alarm of some sort. “She’s going into V-fib! Charge to 300! Clear!” She looked down at the bed, she could see a doctor and three nurses huddled over a woman. She couldn’t recognise who it was, with the forest of tubes that swaddled the woman. She squinted tightly, and closed her eyes. Is that me? And there she was, at the beach, again, standing in front of Jackson. “I’ll see you again, Isobel. This isn’t goodbye, it’s a simple greeting.” She grasped his hand tightly and squeezed it. “See you again, Jackson,” was the last thing she said before being sucked back into oblivion. She tried to open her eyes, but a blinding brightness surrounded her, eating her whole. She squinted slowly. The hum of a machine was working in the background, while she lay on a cold surface. “Metastatic melanoma… stage three,” a voice spoke out. The cold darkness hit her as she made sense of the hospital ward. “Isobel? You’re awake! You gave us quite a scare, ” Oh, she could recognise those pale green scrubs anywhere. She had seen him, whilst she was in the triangle, on the brink of death. She was dying. Alas, life had not surprised her, for it had thrown another cold shock at her. Forty-eight years of life, and that seemed to be all. It didn’t matter, though. Nothing mattered anymore. If it was time to go, then that was it. She had seen Jackson again, she touched him and talked to him, and that was all that mattered.

munkpw

Neighborhood Antics

Panfilo heard the gunshots and ran towards the parking lot. The steady pop of the discharged hand gun sounded like someone trying to unload the whole clip as fast as their finger could move. “I told you we shouldn't come to this ratchet ass club.” Panfilo scolded his high school buddy Patrick. They had both met at the dingy and underfunded school within the city center. Now the area was a target of gentrification, but their were still some businesses along a stretch of highway going into downtown that catered to the lower-income neighborhood holdouts. Earlier that evening, the pair had decided to hit up some of their old haunts after each came home to visit after their respective college graduations. Club DMX was the most hood place they could think of ending their night. Patrick looked side to side as he ran next to his homeboy. Club goers ducked behind the row of cars parked on either side of the street. The parking lot they chose to station the car was across the street from a gentleman's club and was the most well lit space for a few blocks. The sound of ricocheting bullets halted their advance, and they looked at each other hoping the other would suggest what to do next. Patrick began to remind them that hanging out in these spots never led to any good. “You know when the special is a long island and a shot of cheap ass tequila, motherfuckers are gonna act crazy,” Patrick said though he had ordered that same special right when he got through the door. Panfilo was no longer enjoying Patrick's belly aching. “We don't have to run into the crossfire fool, but I wanted to make sure my car wasn't shot up.” Patrick then started to get irate himself. “Then why the hell are we running towards the gunshots?!” “People usually blast a few rounds and then run off. I didn't think we'd get here and a battle would still be raging,” Panfilo replied. Panfilo had taken his philosophy degree very seriously. After years of dealing with what he saw as emotional and irrational Mexicans, he was determined to always rely on logic for every decision. His college friends liked to remind him how emotional he was despite the hot air he preached. Panfilo was also a sucker for an emotional animated feature. Frogs to royalty stories usually made him tear up, his emotion amplified during a well placed musical number. The car was an innocent bystander to what was probably amounted to armed crack heads blasting it out. Gangs had not really ever been a problem in Dallas. Patrick had once lived by what he assumed to be a house where an MS-13 member lived. The polite man and his wife kept to themselves though never left the the house for a long enough stretch for anyone to assume that they went to work. This guy also had a rather noticeable 13 tattooed on his face. Patrick never asked for his name, but figured an “ Hola señor , ” was a good enough level of weekly congeniality on his part. Suburban sprawl in the Dallas area had mostly led to youngsters acting macho largely with a help of a few friends, and if ever anyone called themselves a Blood or Crip, one could assume they were full of shit. * * * Both friends had agreed that enough time had passed after the last exchange of shots, so they crept towards the parking lot. The first shock was seeing the parking lot empty and Panfilo's said in resentment of his bad luck, “I think they towed the cars!” At least the car would be undamaged but that would be another hassel for an already inconvenient night. Across the parking lot, the friends see two people at the end of a desperate wrestling match. It looks like the guy at the bottom received a stabbing motion to his belly, and the one on top quickly bounced up and ran off into an area of warehouses. Patricks was quick to asses the situation in favor of his own skin and looked at Panfilo, “I'm not about to get shot trying to help a crack head! Let's call the cops and hang back.” They went back down to the street where more people had been waiting out the shooting. Patrick was on the phone with the dispatcher, and Panfilo walked around saying loudly that it seemed that the cars were towed. Groans of discontent rippled through the small crowd, which did not encourage anyone from wanting to scope out the carnage left behind. Although the parking lot was decently well lit, the edge of the concrete lot immediately went completely dark. All sides of the lot, except the one touching the street, had been cleared out for construction but any progress had been halted a while back. About a block past the gravel and grass began a row of warehouses where you were sure to find prostitution once the sun went down. Once the police showed up, the crowd learned that in fact their cars had been towed. After combing the lot, the cops said that they had not found a body or seen any blood. They found some bullet shells, but there was no knowing how old they were since that area had seen its share of shootings. Patrick and Panfilo each called a taxi, since there was no getting the car until the morning. Before going their separate ways, Patrick mentioned that they'd probably hear if someone from the neighborhood got shot. * * * Sunday morning seemed ordinary enough. Panfilo had come home around three in the morning, waking everyone in the house with the dog's homecoming bark. A Mexican mother's disappointment for their son's night life never subsided, no matter how old someone became. Panfilo would chuckle when his white friends he met at college would assert how turning eighteen meant that they had to be seen as an adult. Any such declarations of independence to a Mexican mother usually ended with a punch to the gut, and that's if the claim was taken as a joke. When Panfilo lurched towards the kitchen for some morning coffee, all he got was a sinvergüenza! from his mom and a scowl that lasted up until mid-day. Around four in the afternoon, Patrick was walking through the neighborhood and decided to drop in on Panfilo. Neither had heard anything about what went down, but were sure to have seen the stabbing and the following repose that signals resignation to one's fate. Patrick pointed that “if it was a crack head, then that fool probably had the energy to half die and then still take off home.” Panfilo could not deny the will power and audacity of a cracked out junkie. He had once seen a an argument between a group of crack heads where one of the party began yelling to the others that they were ruining their lives smoking on that shit. He then pulled out a canister of bear spray, gave everyone a good coating, and then ran off into the neighborhood while balancing a forty ounce in his left hand. The lesson was always clear – never underestimate a crack head and you'll be better off. The friends chuckled at the night's events and Panfilo found his car. Set back two hundred bucks, the buddies split the cost and began swearing they'd never go to that club again. 

3d1fap

A Few Hours

Jessica pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders. The fabric was warm and soft but it didn’t satisfy her urge to hug her sister. They stood next to each other in the early morning fog, silently watching as a warm glow started to light the sky. The lake soothed Jessica, telling her it would be okay. “My socks are wet.” Olivia broke the silence first. Jessica cracked a small smile and looked down at their feet. The fresh dew that coated the grass had soaked through her socks too. “Mine too.” Jessica felt tears start to form in the corners of her eyes, but she quickly blinked them back. They had promised each other they wouldn’t cry. “Do you want to go back inside?” “No!” Jessica looked at her sister frantic, then back at her feet. “I mean, we can barely see the sun over the lake.” Jessica just needed a little more time, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye quite yet. Olivia nodded and looked back to the sun. The fog surrounding the lake was quickly vanishing as more of the sun appeared over the water. Golden streaks seemed to dance over the surface as small waves moved in the water. The air was so still it felt like breathing too quickly could cause a tornado. Jessica and Olivia stood with their shoulders nearly touching, but not quite. Both of them had their arms crossed and hair pulled back into messy buns. If you didn’t know them, you could mistake them for twins but despite Jessica being half a foot taller, she was the younger of the two. The sun slowly heated the air, but not much. Daylight didn’t provide much reprieve from harsh Vermont weather. As the temperature slowly rose, it felt like the tension did too. Jessica crossed her arms in front of her chest to hide her shaking hands. This day had been marked on the calendar since February. Olivia was so excited when her acceptance letter came in the mail. The whole family danced around the kitchen and their dad made cookies to celebrate. Olivia had not stopped talking about her dream school since, until now. Now she stood silently with her sister, having trouble finding the right words to say. “Don’t forget about the time difference when you call me,” Olivia said without turning her head to face her sister. Jessica heard a small crack in Olivia’s voice. She wanted to turn and see if she was crying, but if she did she would expose the tears filling her own eyes. “It’s three am in California right now.” Jessica joked, but it fell flat. Neither of them was in the mood to laugh. “It’s only a few hours away,” Olivia reassured her. Jessica knew it was more than a few hours, but this was a mantra they have repeated for months to help make the distance feel smaller. The sun has finally risen now. Jessica wasn’t sure how long it’s been fully in the sky or how long she and her sister have been standing here for but she still wasn’t ready to go. Her feet had gone numb from the cold dew and her nose was red. A single tear dropped onto her cheek as she watched the beams of light dance off the waves. “I can’t believe this is the last time we’re doing this,” Jessica said, fully crying now and refusing to turn to Olivia. Olivia was crying herself and could only muster a head nod and a sound of agreement. For years this had been their weekend ritual. It started with Olivia. She and her ex-boyfriend use to watch the sunset every Saturday morning together. After a very messy breakup, Jessica replaced him in the morning ritual. This was their time to talk, gossip, laugh. They loved their Saturday morning sunsets and never missed one, rain or shine. “Jess-” Olivia had to stop to clear her throat. “Jess, promise me you’ll keep doing this? Every Saturday?” Jessica could only nod, by now tears were soaking her cheeks with every blink. “I’m gonna miss you.” “Aw, Jess.” Olivia finally turned to face her sister. Both of their faces were wet from tears and their eyes showed no signs of stopping. Olivia took one step and pulled Jessica into a hug, which Jessica quickly returned. They sobbed into each other’s shoulders as the golden light washed over them. The fog had still not completely cleared but the air did feel lighter. “I’m gonna miss you so much.” They held each other, scared to let go. Hours later, Jessica sat on the damp sand along the lake. This time she was alone. She had swapped her old damp socks for sneakers and her sweater for a hoodie. Olivia’s flight has just taken off at the airport towards California. Jessica repeatedly picks up a handful of sand then lets it fall back down through her fingers. The sun was dimming, giving everything an eerie orange glow. A fog was slowly forming again in the evening air and the fresh smell made Jessica want to start crying all over again. Before Jessica realized the sun was down. The cold sand looked gray in the dull moonlight. It was hard for Jessica to remember that just this morning, this whole lake was bathed in a golden yellow. Now everything was just so colorless. Crickets hummed along to the soothing music of the waves. The moonlight was reflecting off the motion of the water. Beams of light shifted back and forth, only moving to a certain point one way, before being pulled back to where they started. Jessica couldn’t help but feel like the light was stuck. The waves trapped it in an endless dance back and forth, only to end when the sun returned and restored the bright gold. Jessica had no hope for the sun though, she knew it would feel like infinity before the warm rays broke across the water. So for now she sat and watched the trapped moonlight shuffle along the water and waited for the warm embrace of the sun, only a few hours away.

2er8wl

Desmond and Maya

Applications take me back to my time as a student. What I knew then was barely a thread in the tapestry of knowledge I have now, but I excelled at creative reasoning. Lecturers scolded me when I couldn't answer their questions and it was rare for me to be near the top of my class in exams but, at my graduation lunch, I caught the world-renowned Professor Dawson and asked him for a position in his research team. He accepted my request, conditional on me solving a simple problem. Of course, the problem was simple to state but, in its solution, was a vast forest of complexity. I gave myself three months to work on the problem, deciding that I would give up and work a soulless job in the city if I failed, just like the bulk of the other graduates. A little under two months into my challenge, I had an idea. It was like I'd found a great track in the middle of the forest, leading all the way to the other side. There were a few bumps in the road, one or two fallen trees, but I had a complete solution within two weeks. I spent my last few weeks letting the professor think he had me beat, before handing him a short thesis, so impeccably written, that he'd have sooner given up tenure than given up having me on his team. At least I thought it was that good. It took him a week to hand a thesis of equal measure consisting of corrections and criticisms. He did concede, however, that my solution was essentially correct and complete and he admitted that he had not expected me to solve the problem, as it was one no one had solved before. But that was decades ago. Now I prefer to rest in my kingdom of knowledge than to venture blindly into the forest of the unknown. So I teach and I edit and I sit on panels and sign grants and help those below me with their proposals. It's a comfortable life and, for the most part, I'm quite satisfied with it. Anyway, this little chapter of my life wasn't really about me. It was about two applicants, hoping to join the university as undergraduates. Having reached somewhat dizzying heights of prestige in my field, despite relative difficulty in my own years of study, I am remarkably in tune with some of the more challenging students. I enjoy battling their low confidences or creating stimuli for their scattered attentions, I prosper with those who think the wrong way around or who feel like they have a thousand conflicting minds at war in their own heads. These are people who find the world hard and who need a little more but, with the right guidance, give so much more back. Unfortunately, this means I am left to choose from the students who are rejected by the other staff members. I don't mind so much, for people of such intellectual regard, they are remarkably incapable of recognising true intelligence. On this occasion, in fact, I was more than delighted with my choice of pupils, I was far less delighted by the situation surrounding applications. I was in my final academic year teaching at the university. Come August the following calendar year, I was to move on to so-called semiretirement, in which I make the occasional guest lecture and otherwise wander the staff room telling the old stories and feeding the fish. I was to be, in effect, a living memorial to my professional self. So I wanted my final student to have my full attention and to be my best yet. The box of applications could easily have been mistaken for recycling by the time it reached my desk. Pages were torn and crumpled. Some pages bore rings of tea or coffee, one smelled suspiciously like whiskey. Several were hastily stuffed in sideways after other staff members had clearly changed their mind on which students to take. The box was already in protest against order, so I turned it over and watched a storm of potential underlings shower my desk. I spent hours searching through the pages. It was easy to disregard a few applicants, people who were more interested in the university experience than in study, or who wanted wealth in money over wealth in knowledge - there's nothing inherently wrong with these, I just know we wouldn't get on. One of these stood out like a golden tooth, Desmond Griffith. He is the son of the then chancellor of the university. He seemed to believe that this granted him a free position at the university. His grades were the lowest of all applicants and he wrote his cover letter in one long paragraph - the first sentence read "What can I say except I'm awesome." I set his application aside for my own entertainment. A few hours later my picked up Maya Smith. After the golden tooth, she was an unrefined diamond. She had three older brothers who all followed their dad into the family car shop. Being a girl, the best people hoped for her was to marry up. She wrote that, against expectation, this made her happy, because it gave her the freedom not to be a mechanic or salesperson. Instead of a preview of a preordained future, watching her dad pull engines apart and put them back together became engineering lessons, cooking with her mum became chemistry lessons, she was free to write and draw and craft to her heart's content. She intended to join the University’s summer schools. This was the most common route for students, but she went to a state school and state schools can’t afford to send their students. She certainly couldn’t afford to pay her own way - she spent her summers working to pay for the clothes on her back. Her family weren’t well off and hand-me-downs leave an only daughter looking somewhat out of place. Given the cost of living, I imagine she was paying for more than just her clothes. I began to wonder why such a driven individual had made it as far as my desk - surely anyone would be lucky to have her. Then I saw it. Her mother died a year ago. She was left to look after the entire family. The freedom she’d enjoyed had been ebbed away by cooking and cleaning and caring for four grown men. It wrecked her grades. She didn’t have to say it, she was trapped. I suspect she made the application in secret and that university would be her escape. I don’t mean this in judgement of her family, you understand. I doubt that they intended to trap her or would even discourage her from applying. It is the pressure she puts on herself, that her brothers accidentally reinforce by complimenting how well she cares for them, that is trapping her. If she chose not to have dinner ready when they get home, they would struggle not to grumble, and she would cave in with guilt, but if she couldn’t make dinner, because she was at university, then they’d learn to look after themselves and it wouldn’t be her fault. A student like this is a gift. Someone who has suffered is willing to suffer for their work, because they can and because they fear suffering again. I decided there and then that I would pick her. That night brought an end to my plans. The chancellor, Desmond’s father, graced me with a call. “My son is applying to your department,” he said without a word of greeting, “and I understand that you are the last port of call for accepting students.” “Yes, sir.” “I can’t imagine he get as far as you but, in case he does, I won’t tell you how much your department could benefit from my goodwill, or how much it could suffer without it.” He hung up. It was a threat. Accept my son, or your department suffers. My stomach began to grind against itself in anger, disgust, disbelief, resignation and, finally, disappointment. I had always respected myself and now, at the end of my career, commanded the respect of most people I met, and my final act would see that fall apart. I wanted to accept Maya. She deserved it and, as demonstrated on this very night, the world is rigged against her, but I cannot stand against the world on my own. I thought about my colleagues. Some just starting their new lives in my world, others who had helped propel me to where I am and many who are just waiting for their big idea. It may seem like nothing, but the loss of the chancellor’s support would be devastating to them. The lucky ones would get jobs elsewhere, but that would only make things even worse for those who stayed. I had to accept Desmond. The next day I started emailing around. I begged the department to let me take on two students, but they said funding had already been fixed, so I implored the other staff members to take on Maya. They said they felt for her, but a sob story didn’t make up for bad grades. This was the moment when I realised, we were all part of the rigging that pulled against people like Maya. All these academics, good people and more than aware of their actions, chose easy candidates. The chancellor, not a good person if I’m any judge, thought he was doing right by his son. Even me. I would choose to protect my department, out of fear, instead of giving someone the opportunity they have ground themselves to the bone for. So I chose her. If the department can’t look out for her, I won’t look for them. The department no longer exists. At least not as it did then. After the staff numbers fell by half, it seemed like it would fall apart, but I stayed my retirement for a few years. I became head of department and pulled in more favours than I realised I had left. We survived the chancellor’s reign then moved to a larger campus. Maya excelled and, though she hasn’t got her Nobel prize yet, she did have her own big idea, then a dozen more. When I finally retired, I gave her my office. I needed one Desmond Griffith from the admin team to sign off on the office transfer. He tried to say no and I threatened to pull the funding that I had left the university. I offered to see Maya into her new office with a glass of champagne. We reminisced over her years as my student and we watched Desmond himself change the name on the door. I began to laugh. She eyed me curiously. “What’s so funny, professor?” I realised she never knew about Desmond and the chancellor. “Just remembering my own name going up,” I lied. 

hx6hyc

Crescent Lake Summer Camp

Maddy and I sat on the dock and watched as the dark sky filled with golden streaks. The sun slowly crested over the horizon and we could see the giant orange disk growing in size as more of it became visible. The sky changed from shades of amber to orange to rose to violet and then back to amber again, all in a matter of seconds. The sunbeam colors were magnificent and the way the sun shimmered off of the lake was incredible. Soon the heat of the sun would touch our skin and we would be jumping into the lake to cool off, but for now, we sat and enjoyed the quiet sunrise.          It was a chilly morning and for the first time all summer we had to wear a sweater. My best friend Maddy and I had crept out of the cabin on our tippy toes, trying our best not to make the floorboards squeak as we snuck out. It was still dark outside, but we could see enough to not run into anything on our way through the door. We didn’t want to wake up our camp counselor again. We had been at camp for only a week and Maddy and I had already been in trouble more times than we could count. Summer camp wasn’t any fun if you followed all of the rules.          “Come on, Maddy, we better get back to the cabin before they figure out we are gone,” I said, looking at my watch and standing up on the dock.          “Ginny said she and Paige were going to run out of the front door of the cabin at exactly 6:20 so that it looks like the four of us all left together to go to the bathroom,” Maddy told me.          “We had better hurry, we only have a few minutes to get there,” I said, running down the dock.          “It’s about time you got here,” Paige said as Maddy and I ducked into the girl’s bathroom.          “Did anyone see you leave?” Maddy asked.          “I don’t think so, but we made lots of noise once we got out the door, so it sounded like there were more of us leaving,” Ginny said.          “Good morning, Ladies,” said Kelly, our camp counselor.          “Good morning, Kelly,” we all chimed in unison, sounding like innocent little angels.          “Did you enjoy the sunrise?” Kelly asked as she walked past Maddy and me.          “It was…” Maddy started to say but I cut her off with a dirty look.          “I see all and know all,” said Kelly with a wicked laugh.          “Are we in trouble?” I asked, intentionally not making eye contact with Kelly.          “Should you be in trouble, Laney?” Kelly asked me.          “No, yes, but really no,” I answered, trying to rationalize this situation.          “Laney, sneaking off in the dark isn’t safe. There are wild animals out there. The counselors were talking yesterday about a mountain lion sighting on the nature trail at the backside of the lake. I don’t think your parents would be very happy with me if you got attacked by a mountain lion,” Kelly said, trying to stress the seriousness of the situation.          “We are sorry, Kelly,” Maddy said for us.          “If you want to watch the sunrise, then all of us should go out to the dock tomorrow and watch it,” Kelly told us.          “You would do that for us?” I asked, kind of surprised that Kelly would offer such a thing.          “Of course, Laney. I love sunrises, too, and my friends and I used to sneak out to watch them at camp,” Kelly added with a whisper so that only I heard her.          I smiled at Kelly. So far, she was turning out to be the best camp counselor we had ever had, and this was our fourth year at Crescent Lake Summer Camp.          We went back to our cabin and got ready for breakfast. The cafeteria filled up fast and emptied just as fast. Everyone’s day had already been planned out and campers headed off to do crafts, take swimming lessons, and play games.          After lunch, our cabin went on a hike with the boys in Zion. All of the camp cabins were named after National Parks. So far Maddy, Paige, Ginny, and I have been in Yellowstone, Redwood, and Pinnacles and now we were in Shenandoah.          The hike was to the north side of the lake. Once we got there we traded places with two other cabins. We paddled their canoes back across the lake while they hiked back. It was nice not having to hike back on the dusty trail.          We paddled the canoes up onto the shore and carefully climbed out. Maddy and I had tipped the canoe over before and had been soaking wet all day, so we made sure that didn’t happen again. We didn’t like walking around in squishy shoes.          The rest of the day was uneventful and for Maddy and me that was usually rare.          As soon as it got dark we sat around the campfire singing camp songs and listening to stories. It wasn’t long before we were showered and ready for bed. It had been a long day and all of us were tired. I set the alarm on my watch so we could watch the sunrise and fell asleep.          I woke up in the middle of the night to something tickling my arm, which was hanging outside of my sleeping bag. It took a couple of blinks before my eyes focused on the object standing next to my cot.          “AHHHH” I yelled.          “What happened?” Kelly asked.          “SKUNK!” I yelled, scrambling out of my sleeping bag, trying to get away from it.          “How did a skunk get in here?” I heard someone else ask.          “AHHHH!” I yelled again as it sprayed me.          “Laney, what’s wrong? What’s happening?” I heard Maggie ask me, but I was too busy trying to get out of the cabin to answer her.          As I ran out of the cabin I saw lights turning on in the cabins around us, everyone in camp was awake now. Everyone in our cabin was screaming and trying to get away from the skunk without getting sprayed. I had never been face-to-face with a skunk before and I had been more scared of it biting me and giving me rabies than I had been about it spraying me with stinky skunk spray. In fact, skunk spray hadn’t even crossed my mind at the time.          It wasn’t until I stopped at the edge of the lake did I realize how bad I smelt; I was covered in skunk stench. I plopped down on the sand and didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. I just sat there staring at the moon reflecting off of the lake. The End.

ro0vb1

Nana's Perfume

I looked up from my schoolwork, furrowing my brow. There it was again: Nana’s perfume. Where could it be coming from? I haven’t seen my grandmother in months. Not since the coronavirus messed up the world and isolated me from the extended family I seldom saw throughout the year. Nana has worn the same perfume ever since I could remember. I had found a Victoria’s Secret perfume a few years ago that made me smell exactly like her after I had been wearing it for a bit. Now, it just reminded me of bad memories, so I usually forgo putting it on. Which was why I was confused how I was smelling it now. I can’t remember when the exact first time was that I’d smelled her perfume. But now, it reminds me of warm, summer days in the country, feeling as though I could fly across the water of the big lake we always went to. I have distinctive memories of deep cleaning the house before she’d visit, years ago, because we always had cats growing up. She was very allergic to them though, so we had to pull out the beds and vacuum every tuft of hair.  There was another time I remember she had to get on a plane to go back home that left early. I hadn’t had time to say goodbye, and when I woke up she had already gone. I started crying, sat in the bed she’d slept on, and wrapped myself in blankets that smelled so strongly of her that my heart ached. I did that for days until I couldn’t catch her distinctive perfume anymore, no matter how hard I tried. When I was little, I would look forward to her visits somewhat selfishly, because I knew my Nana always brought gifts with her. Small gifts, nothing more than a statue of a cat that she got in Cancún or a little bobble-head butterfly, whose wings stay on but only if you know how to put them on just right. Sometimes she'd bring school pictures of my cousins, and sometimes she brought a promise of going shopping. A novelty as a little kid, and even more so as a teen. I have no memory of going to Cancún with the rest of my family. Sure I have pictures, but that wouldn’t quite be the same as going there and lounging in the deep blue of the ocean where I screamed and cried as a baby when my uncles sat me down in the freezing water. Even then, I knew, Nana’s perfume would have wrapped around everything and everyone like the warmest, coziest hug she could give. Not that it replaced her actual hugs, which were one of the best things in the world. I remember when she would visit, she would sleep in my room, which meant that my younger sister and I were kept up by Nana’s snoring. This wasn’t a bad thing though, because her snoring was one of the funniest things to me and Penny. We often woke her up with our stifled giggles, which made her start laughing too, and then we were all wide awake. She’d invite us over to Penny’s bed, and we’d all laugh more while snuggling under the covers, wrapped in Nana’s warmth and the perfume-y smell that lingered around her, even if she’d just showered. Once we all got out of bed, Nana would set her hair in curlers, and emerge from the room surrounded by a cloud of her perfume. I can’t imagine a time where Nana didn’t wear her staple perfume. I remember it from when she lived in the big, red-bricked house with the circular room. That room was always mine, because the turret on top made me feel like a princess. Despite its size, you could smell her perfume in every room you walked into. When that house became too big for her, she moved closer to my aunt and uncle, into a much smaller house. It’s beautiful, cozy, and the outside is painted blue, her favorite color. As always, with each house she inhabited, her perfume permeated the walls, soaked into the sofa, and any family who visited immediately relaxed. There was something about her calm, thoughtful demeanor, coupled with the perfume, that put anyone and everyone at ease around her presence. Which was why, as I sat in the living room four states away from her, I was both comforted and sad. I wished she really was here, not just the lingering smell of her perfume. But, that smell reminded me of better times: of the time where her Westie, named Bianco, because he was white and she’s Italian, would snort through his food and then chase his adopted brother, Nerino, to try and eat his food. Their little feet would scramble on the floor, nails clicking and tails wagging, as they struggled to get traction on the hardwood, making them look like cartoons. I think of the time when we sat on the couch in the giant Airbnb we had rented for the whole family and just talked while she knit. Everyone else was outside around the fire they’d built, but I am very allergic to mosquito bites, so I decided not to go outside with the rest of my family. I think of the time where I discovered her headband and was delighted to find that it still smelled like her, even years later. I nearly sat down right where I was and cried, I missed her so much. A lot of the smells that someone repeatedly experiences throughout their life are embedded into their memories. These memories are often extremely detailed. For some people, those memories and feelings when they smell something are so ingrained in their mind that they can’t help but feel intense emotions. As for me, the only smell that I can trace as a constant throughout my entire life is the smell of my Nana’s perfume. I always get a wave of nostalgia accompanied by a wave of contentment. Even just smelling her perfume from a distance, I know that everything will turn out okay. 

hkuauf

U.S. Army Issue Brown T-Shirt

“You can’t keep me here.” “Please, Mr. Van de Kamp. Take your seat,” ordered the imperturbable headmaster, black eyes narrowing over his hawkish nose. The boy stood in his office. Out of uniform. Insolent. “You can’t keep me here—” the boy repeated. “I assure you, we can,” the headmaster flatly stated. “Your father—” “My father can eat shit and die.” “Mr. Van de Kamp, such language will not be tolerated here. You are well aware of our Code of Conduct.” “You are well aware of my Code of Con dick ,” said the boy, lewdly grabbing his crotch. “Mr. Van de Kamp! Govern yourself accordingly. Please sit down,” the headmaster said in as controlled and as firm of voice as the situation required. “Have you checked into your dormitory?” “Have you checked into your wife—because I hear she’s pretty hot,” the boy whispered conspiratorially. He winked in a knowing way at the headmaster. “Young man, I never—” “Maybe that’s the problem. The sexual revolution is going on—free love! You are just missing it. Maybe your wife is secretly on the pill, and she is having the time of her life. You’ve got to get with the times,” the boy said, snapping his fingers to make his point. Seeing the headmaster’s nonplussed reaction, the boy leaned over the headmaster’s large walnut desk and patronizingly patted the headmaster’s hand. “Mr. Van de Kamp, I know you and your generation think you know everything. But as of today, September 5, 1967, you are still enrolled at this institution, and your father has signed our in loco parentis agreement, which means that this school— that I —act in the place of your father. This school— and I — are legally responsible for you.” “Then this school— and you —can both eat shit and die.” “Mr. Van de Kamp!” “Sir?” said the boy, wide eyed, respectfully. “You are being intolerable,” the headmaster firmly stated. He’d had his share of incorrigible young men in his life, but this one went beyond the pale. “Sir, yes sir,” the boy gave him a mocking salute. “ There's nothing you can do that can't be done ,” he sang loudly, swinging his feet over the side of the armchair. “Please sit up straight in your chair like a man.” The headmaster’s tone barely contained his growing aggravation. “ Nothing you can sing that can't be sung,” the boy sang quietly. “Mr. Van de Kamp, this is what is going to transpire . . .” the headmaster paused to enumerate a series of commands. “ Transpire .” The boy looked at him oddly. “ Transpire?” “Transpire. Occur. To come about—” “Excuse-me-you-are-going-to-what?” the boy asked. “I’m going to come about—” “You pervert. All you boarding school types are perverts. I’m going to come about . Gross. No wonder your wife hates you.” “Mr. Van de Kamp, you are putting words in my mouth.” “What did you want me to put in your mouth?” The boy leered. He sat back, annoyed at it all. He continued to sing to himself, causally inspecting the books on the headmaster’s bookshelf. Pulling one out. Flipping through it. Dropping it on the floor. “ Nothing you can say, but you can learn how to play the game. It’s easy .” “You are going to go back to your dormitory and dress appropriately for class,” the headmaster said calmly, attempting to control a situation that was quickly spiraling out of control. “You must wear your school jacket and polo shirt when on school premises.” “I’m wearing this ,” yelled the boy, standing up, tearing off his crisp white polo shirt that had been neatly embroidered with the school’s insignia. Underneath, the boy wore a U.S. Army issue brown t-shirt. “Mr. Van de Kamp, you are not wearing school approved clothing.” “Look,” the boy said languidly. “This is how it’s going to go down. I’m dropping out of school next Wednesday when I turn 17.” “Your father—” “My mother—my MOTHER—who is divorcing my father,” continued the boy, “will sign the necessary consent forms. I will head to Fort Dix for eight weeks of basic training. If there are no major SNAFUs, then I will fly to Fort Lewis in Washington state before shipping out to Vietnam. Maybe I’ll visit a prostitute near the base and lose my virginity. Or not. It doesn’t matter.” “Mr. Van de Kamp—” “I’m thinking they’ll assign me to some infantry division, but I’m definitely ground troop material. Chum for the sharks. The Vietnamese call sharks cá mập. I’ve been studying their language, you lỗ đít.” “This is highly irregular. Certainly you cannot mean to—”  “Oh, I mean to. And who knows? By Thanksgiving, I may be in the Tây Ninh Province on Nui Ba Den. They call it the Black Virgin Mountain. Exotic, no?” The boy gave the headmaster a comical grin. “Please, Mr. Van de Kamp,” the headmaster begged. “ Nothing you can make that can't be made. No one you can save that can't be saved ,” the boy continued to sing but his voice cracked on the last word of the lyrics. “It’s all right, son,” said the headmaster quietly. “I’ve been practicing, you know. All summer. I can carry 60 pounds of gear. I know the military alphabet: alpha, beta, charlie. Huh. Charlie.” “Mr. Van de Kamp. Son,” he said again. “Maybe I’ll be a radio operator like—” The boy stopped and looked at the headmaster, terrified. “I—I could be a machine gunner. Or maybe a tunnel rat.” “You could be, Mr. Van de Kamp. You could be whatever you wish.” There was silence. The headmaster watched the boy fiddle with something on his wrist: a stainless steel, half inch wide bracelet. On the bracelet, the headmaster could just make out the name of another Van de Kamp, followed by a rank, service branch, country, and date of loss. “I’m not afraid of going over there,” the boy said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands like a child. “I know the language—I know some of it. I know enough to ask people questions. My mother thinks I could find—it’s just that—” He looked down at his wrist. A few tears made dark droplets on his U.S. Army issue brown t-shirt. “Let’s take the morning off, Mr. Van de Kamp. Start your school day after lunch, what do you say?” “I think I ripped my polo shirt,” he mumbled. Almost an apology. “I’ll inform your teachers that the shirt you’re wearing will be acceptable for today.”

ky0kkz

Don't Tell me God is There

Dear diary, I hate this. I hate my life. For some reason, my dad is desperate to marry an ableist, crazy religious, ignorant piece of shit. She’s not a piece of shit because she’s religious. Hell, my dad still is. I used to be before my diagnosis and mom dying. But he just got married to Rose Weltze, now Rose Carson. She’s a bitch. I hate her. She’s one of those crazy religious fools that thinks autism is a disease, like cancer, and needs to be cured like we’re all sick. I say we because I need validation to believe I’m still autistic sometimes. Rose forced my dad to pull me out of therapy, and despite a diagnosis, she refuses to believe I’m actually autistic. It’s currently the night of Christmas Eve, and I have a feeling she’s got one more thing to use in order to piss me off before my favorite (well, not now) holiday. She’s already forcing us, and her annoying daughters to come to this church with her tomorrow. I hate church. It’s the church that’s a part of my Christian Academy. Somehow, after Mom died, Dad would let me skip Sunday church. It’s bad enough I get the spiritual brainwashing down my throat every day at school, and Wednesday night church. Now Rose is making us all go. “Get down here, Taylor!” My dad called me. I trudged downstairs, awaiting whatever lecture I was about to get. Dad’s been completely different, only caring about me getting along with my new family. These girls will never be my family. “Hey, bitch.” Ella nudged me into the table. Ella and Lucy were like mini reincarnations of the devil himself. If they weren’t making fun of me for “acting white”, then they were making fun of me for being “too skinny” and “looking anorexic”. Yeah, cause it’s not like I get that same shit at school or anything. Oh wait - yes the fuck I do! My dad doesn’t seem to notice, and Rose could care less. Fan - fucking - tastic. “Hey, Taylor, how’s your evening?” Rose strode into the kitchen, smirking. “Fine. You?” Pretend to be nice. Pretend to be nice. “Good. What are you wearing to church tomorrow?” I showed her a picture of this dres my mom got me a few years back, it was a little shorter on me now, but it was blue, and beautiful. Our favorite color was blue. “You’re wearing that? Don’t you think it’s a little…” Her voice trailed off, the judgment in her eyes. “It’s church appropriate. Besides, my mom got it for me.” She looked up, like I just cursed at her. “It makes you look slutty. I got you girls new dresses, you can wear that.” “Whatever.” “Are you excited?” Lucy was trying to look over my shoulder at my phone. “Who are you texting?” “None of your business.” “Taylor…” Rose’s voice startled me. It’s like she’s always looking for something to yell at me about. “I won’t have you behaving inappropriately. I’ve already set up a meeting for you after service, remember?” Meeting? “No, what are you talking about?” I shoved my phone into my pocket. “To cure you, of course. Darell, you didn’t tell her?” She snapped at my dad. “Cured?” I was livid. More livid then when I found out they were engaged. “We’re just trying to help you, dear,” Dad came over to me. “We want you to be happier.” “I’m perfectly happy, at least I was .” I turned to Rose. “For crying out loud, we just want you to be normal!” She screamed. Even my step sisters moved away. “Fuck both of you!” I pushed them away and stormed upstairs. The old version of my dad wouldn’t agree to this. He’d say I’m fine just the way I am, and just try to get me out of my shell. Rose has been trying to get all of us in beauty pageants for an uncomfortable amount of time. As I tried to hold back my tears, I thought of Mom. She was the only one who was actually ok with me being who I am. An emo loving, theatre nerd who likes to keep to herself. I knew how Christians thought about people with autism, but I didn’t think I’d see the day where my own dad would be trying it. I spent the rest of my night watching videos of Christian couples going on about vaccines and trying to “cure” their autistic kids through prayer and other random shit like that. And people wonder why I hate religion so much. “I miss you, Mom,” I looked at her picture, wishing I didn’t have to pretend. I was religious when I was younger, when she was here. Now? I just have to act. Pretend to care so I can get by. But this is too much. The tears streamed down my face as I changed into my pajamas, preferably something short just to spite Rose. How can someone so awful have a name so… pretty? I remember waking up to my parents making breakfast, and then opening presents. We’d spend the day getting ready for my other family to come over. This year? Nothing. I’m ninety percent sure everyone’s just trying to avoid Rose and friends. Do I blame them? Heck no. If I had a say in it, I wouldn’t be here either. I have contemplated living with my cousin Sherry. “At least you can move out for college, you’ve always wanted to get out of here.” She told me over Facetime. “Yeah, in two fucking years.” I groaned. This year would be like none other. Church, no extended family, rehearing the story of Jesus since “that’s what the original holiday is about”. Christmas morning arrived, and I should’ve been excited. I’m not. Who would look forward to their family trying to get them to be healed like you have a fucking disease? If anyone in my family was smart enough to actually research, they’d know autism isn’t a disease. I’m not sick. Sure, my social behaviors are different from neurotypicals, but everyone’s acting like I’m a goddamn demon. We arrived at church in our ugly dresses, watching as crowds filed in. I recognized way too many people from school for my liking. But there was someone who actually didn’t make me want to jump off a bridge there, Tami Samuels. “Hey, Tam!” I hugged her. My step sisters looked like they were about to jump out of their chairs. “Hey, if it isn’t my favorite person!” She giggled. She and I were really the only ones we had at school. We were also the few minorities there. We were both black in a strict, religious town that hates our mere existence. “Are you gonna be ok, today?” She asked. Her purple hair was curled up for the occasion, drawing looks from the incoming audience. The two of us together? “Social misfits who need prayers” or “Girls who need discipline.” By discipline, we can all pretty much guess what they mean. “Yeah, I’m gonna be fine. Like I said, I’m not sick. I don’t need a -” I paused, remembering we’re in a ‘place of worship.’ “Cure. What about you?” She felt the same way about all this religion stuff as I did, maybe even more seeing as her parents have been trying to cure her of her ‘same sex attraction’ for two years now. These people really need a hobby that doesn’t revolve around their kids’ and their personal business. Our lives shouldn’t be a stupid debate. “Yeah, we just gotta play the part, right?” We laughed, taking our seats. Rose came and sat right in between us, thinking our friendship was some kind of sin. True, cause the worship team preying on most of the girls here, and the casual racism is just fine, right? Somehow we’re drawing the line at mental illness and dress choices? Ok then… Dear diary, I don’t even want to talk about church. The pastor kept going about Christmas’ true meaning and healing, and repenting our sins and junk. The entire thing rubbed me the wrong way. I could tell it did to Tami too. After was even worse, when the prayers began. It was so invasive, having everyone talk to me like I was five. I’m fucking sixteen, assholes. I just feel like crying, because no one’s ok with me being me. Their stupid prayers didn’t make me feel any different, but I knew I had to be different to get them off my back. Tami invited me to hang out at the skatepark, so I knew I’d have to sneak out. Apparently her family dinner was getting more awkward by the second. Whatever could give me a reason to live, I guess. The adrenaline of disobeying authority was one of the only things I enjoyed. I guess this is what I have to look forward to every Christmas. Hearing stories that don’t make sense about someone who apparently hates me for being me, and I’m going to hell for it. Yay? And my family hates me too. So every Christmas is going to be church, a crappy dinner with foods I don’t want to eat, and then sneaking out to the park to find something that makes me happy. That doesn’t sound like a holiday to me. That just sounds like any other day here. Merry fucking Christmas.

ddl6li

Caramel latte

As I'm unsuccessfully trying to light up a cigarette, Paul is already yelling at me to sweep the leaves off the terrace when I'm done. ˝Sweep it yourself, I'm not doing the fucking Sisyphean task again.˝ As if this time of year wasn't bad enough by itself with itchy sweaters and ripped stockings, the new assistant manager decided to update the menu so it would be more season appropriate. We had to learn a shitload of new stuff overnight. What's wrong with good old Pumpkin Spice?! As I come back inside, he's telling me something about the dirt on my boots but I'm only half listening. I came home late last night and I had to drag my hungover ass to work. And leave the boots alone, they have been through a lot. I have a feeling we're not gonna get along well with this guy. ˝Dave, what are you up to so early, I'm not serving you booze before noon!˝ Dave has been coming here almost every day since he lost his job three years ago. He can be a bit of a wise ass but he pays his tab and he writes us great reviews on Trip Advisor. ˝Just coffee with milk for me today. My son's coming to town for Halloween, so I have to be decent. We're going as Mike and Sully.˝ Perfect. Even the town drunk is happy about the fucking Halloween. And here is this new arrogant shit, trying to explain to me the importance of diverse flavor selection and a good customer service. ˝That's nice to hear Dave, what kind of latte can I get you: Spiced Vanilla, Vanilla Chai Latte, Campfire S'mores, Nutella, Chocolate Mint, Gingerbread, Cinnamon Maple, Cinnamon Apple, Brownie, Marshmallow Brownie, Chestnut Brownie, Snickerdoodle, Chocolate Chip, Hazelnut Coffee, Lavender honey, Autumn Spiced Hibiscus?˝ ˝Wow, someone's really in a bad mood today.˝ That's the new guy again. I've had enough of him already and it's only nine in the morning. ˝Eh, do you have Pumpkin Spice?˝ Thank you Dave, suck your Snickerdoodle, new guy. ˝How did you convince your ex wife to let him stay with you?˝ ˝Well, he misses the town a little and he loves Halloween.˝ Well, that makes one of us. The thing is I hate Halloween. I hate autumn. I hate the sweater weather, I hate the wind. I hate that everyone gets all calm and cozy and cringey this time of the year. And I absolutely seriously hate Halloween. It's a stupid, made up holiday, invented only because Europe had their own dress up day that actually originated from an old tradition and we just wanted a day to dress up in dumb outfits too. The only thing I hate more than Halloween itself is people asking me why I hate it so much, especially if it's a hubristic, man-bun wearing, Spiced vanilla selling, new assistant manager at Debsie's, asking me about things everyone from around here know not to ask me about. I've tried selling him some bullshit I made up on the spot about how I was never allowed to dress up as Batman when I was a kid, which left me exasperated and frustrated about the way a woman is viewed in the post neoliberal society we grew up in but he is still draining me with questions about a stupid kids' holiday. I hoped he wouldn't understand all the shit I just said and would have left me alone but he's unable to comprehend my apathy for his autumnal drink collection. Luckily, Dave is still here, surprisingly sober and I think he's trying to help me out. ˝Chiefe, do you know why Van Gogh painted so many portraits of himself?˝ Chiefe doesn't seem to care about Van Gogh though. ˝Emma, the autumn is a perfect time to relax a little bit. Just slow down, make yourself a Caramel Latte and dress yourself in a Batman costume tomorrow if you feel like this will set you free. Just not during the work hours of course. Do not slow down during the work hours, we have some flavored lattes to sell!˝ If he doesn't stop talking soon, I might need some Caramel Gin. Does anyone sells hot gin and tonic? That actually wouldn't be such a bad idea. I would suggest it to my new boss if he wasn't such a shithead. ˝Okay, I've been quiet for too long…˝ Seriously, when has Dave been quiet for more than two minutes? ˝Mister are these new flavors even homemade or are they just artificial syrups? Cause they kind of look like the same as every other coffee shop around here has.˝ Shit, the man's got a nerve. I have to remember to put his Pumpkin Spice on the house, he has actually managed to distract the guy. Now he's going to the cellar, to bring him the bottle and prove to him it's all homemade. Nice one, Dave. ˝Thank you for this, Dave.˝ ˝No problem kid. How long has it been since they passed away?˝ ˝Tomorrow evening will be eleven years.˝ ˝Emma, you're a good kid, you know. Take care of yourself. And don't worry about that guy, he doesn't seem the type to stick around here for long.˝ I could tell my new boss why I hate Halloween. I could tell him it has nothing to do with Batman or feminism or neo liberalism or any other -ism. I could tell him about my childhood that pretty much ended on the day of the stupid holiday eleven years ago, as soapy as this sounds. But why would I? What would be the point? People don't care so much. We're all too busy drinking our Caramel lattes. Except maybe Dave. I think Dave cares a little bit about everything. I also think that's why he drinks so much. ˝Hey Dave. Why did Van Gogh paint so many auto portraits then?˝ ˝Oh, he just didn't have enough money to pay for the models to pose for him.˝

rmgxe7

Senior Awakening

Senior Awakening By La Shawn Baker By the time I stepped outside the leaves were on fire bursting with a sea of colors that only resided in a crayon box. The funny thing is my mind distinctively remembers going to sleep in the richness of Spring blossoms. The scents of jasmine, lavender, and roses acts as an ambrosia, their sweet aroma lulling me into the calming embrace of spring. I faintly remember with each breath I would inhale life and exhale a memory of time long forgotten, buried in the recess of my mind. The fog of age hinders my body but,every now and then I can still recall the fluttering of birds nesting in the distance. The smell of a flower, and a woman in a purple and yellow sundress.  I further recall the softness of the spring breeze reminiscing my lover's soothing, gentle touch. With each invisible kiss of the wind I remember her, it, and the way multicolored kites dancing high. The innocent giggles of children rolling on freshly mowed lawns. It was spring then and the small pond under the apple trees capturing the amber rays dancing through green leaves and white blossoms. Those days are now faded like my memories lingering in some part of my cognitive haze. The once brilliant drapery of colors are now fading from green to a fiery orange, red, burgundy, and purples of an early fall that we shared in driving through Vermont and Maine. The late evening sun painted the horizon with soft rose hues. Time seems to be an allusive commodity. I once had it on my side, as a child. I was born in the spring and with each new year I held an anticipation of releasing the cold of winter to the birth of springtime. As a teenager and a young adult I was the master of my universe nothing could stop me. I loved without committing to anything or to anyone. I was “the Master of the now,” yet knowing nothing. By the springtime of my twenty-six year, I found something rare and beautiful. As I recall it now, love seems to always bloom in the spring and for me it was no different. For me it was that purple and yellow dress. The sigh he gave spoke of past longing. His eyes cast a sadness that only he could explain, but he didn’t.  His voice was weak when he spoke again, I guess my memories are calculated by the seasons of time. His weak laughter brought a smile to his aged face. Do you remember the spring? He said it to everyone but no one, “I do.” Spring was for adults my mother would say, as she put away all memories of winter.   As a man in the spring of my thirtieth year my first child was born; subsequently for three or four springs, I brought life into this world. I almost forgot about that. Shaking his head from side to side, he drifted back into his thoughts without words this time. He rocked, pulling the old army blanket up to shelter him from the invisible chill. His voice cracked out of nowhere. You know, my first born was a girl, she looked like her mother, with her big eyes the color of coco and a curly head of red hair. The spring of my thirty second year my lover gave me the first male to carry the family name… my name… shaking his hand at the invisible entity of time.  “Yep” a son, my son. A small tear drifted down his cheek, followed by more, I lost my son you know, he died in the fall of his twentieth year, war, took him… his voice drifted off again, this time. He did not recover as quickly as before. “Did you know he looked more like me?” The spring of my forty-eighth year, I watched the last of my children graduate from college, and me and the love of my life decided to travel the world. It may sound silly, but we loved Paris in the spring, and we fell in love all over again. We did not move as fast so the colors would last. In the fall of her sixty-ninth year, my love was lost to a time. Her once reddish-brown hair was white from time. Her once smooth as silk skin held her story… I laid her to rest.. Somewhere… But it escapes me. His voice lost something, the power it once held was now a whisper. I miss her… his voice trailed off to nothing… Time is slipping now, and the things I once loved left me in a voided cocoon of emptiness. I am here all alone and the things I recall are but passages of my time. My last memory is of the spring of my seventy-fifth year and something in my mind changed. I could hear her calling to me. Whispering my name within the wind one day I followed her voice, letting it wrap me in a memory of forgotten love. That day, the way home seemed longer than usual, even though I walked the same way I did in my twenties, the landmarks of my thirty’s, and the joy of my fifties. The lost of my sixties, and the pain of my seventies  Little by little, with each step, every day I forgot my way.  Until spring forgot me and fall found me and by the time I stepped outside, the leaves of my past were no longer, my memories of what had faded to what I lost. I now live in my fall awakening and my youthful days rest in the recesses of my mind until spring rises once again and the pathways of life are no longer etched on my face and the spring of my youth, is faded to something I can not recall All I know is that my heart lost its last beat in the fall among the fiery orange of the trees, the orangish pink of the sun rise and on the other side of life with my son and wife. 

mxu57w

Little Secrets

I opened the empty metal tube. I put things that were special to me in it. I also put a secret in it. I buried it in the front yard. I never spoke of it again, until now. I am leaving this diary for my beloved daughter, Lana. This is the exact location of the time capsule and the story of the year after I buried it. The day is October 27, 2018. I just buried the time capsule. Inside are my valuables. Just things that helped me that might help you too. I have also hidden inside a secret that I don’t want you to know of until I am gone. I am going to hide this diary and give it to you in my will. I am hoping you will take the time to look at it because it will save your life. It is now November 27, 2018. I will be writing once a month. This month, your father left me. He had found out about my secret. It isn’t anything that will make you hate me- hopefully. I don’t want you to hate me anymore than you already do. You are eleven now, and are old enough to understand that I did something to make your father leave. You hardly talk to me, and you won’t look me in the eyes. I haven’t seen the real you in what feels like forever. December 27, 2018- I didn’t get you any presents for Christmas. I couldn’t afford to. There were no toys that were cheap enough. I am terribly sorry. Ever since your father left, money has been tight. You won’t even let me take you to school anymore. I guess you don’t want to be embarrassed by me. It is like I don’t exist to you anymore. I hate being a terrible mom, but there isn’t anything I can do. January 27, 2018. I found out that your father hates me and sadly he hates you too. Hate is a strong word, and when I say hate I mean they will kill you if they have the chance. So look out. When you get home from school you greet me by throwing your bag in my face. I understand why though, I am a terrible person and an even worse mother. Please talk to me. February 27, 2018. I haven’t seen you lately, you mostly spend the night at your friend’s houses. You are twelve years old now, I still couldn’t get you any presents. I did manage to get a cupcake for you. I lit a candle and asked you to come in. When you did you were delighted! I sang happy birthday and you blew out your candle. We talked for a while and then you went to bed. It made me so happy to see you smile and to hear you talk and laugh. I hope it is the same way forever. March 27, 2018. This month we talked every day. You even let me take you to school. Things were looking up. I even got a job! I work at a diner called Moonlight Diner. I am just a waitress but it is enough to buy the things we don’t need, like toys for you. Whenever you make good grades, I buy you a toy. A small little cheap toy from Walmart, but you seem to love them! I love seeing you smile when you come home with your report card and there are straight A’s. You always walk in holding it above your head in triumph. I am so glad that you are talking to me again. April 27, 2018. I got a new job, at a bank. I work as an accountant. That is what I majored in in college. The other day was bring your kid to work day. I brought you to work on monday morning. When I did I got to show you the vault, and you helped me mail some letters. I had a client come in, it was your father. He saw me and immediately walked outside and didn’t come back in ever again. I am kind of glad though, I did not want to talk to him. He obviously wanted to talk to me. Luckily, you were in the restroom, and didn’t see him. I hope I never see him again. May 27, 2018. It is already summer break. You love coming to the bank with me, and come everyday. I do not know why you find it interesting. I mean, it is just banking. I love my job, although it is not very action packed. It is a lot of math, but you love math so maybe that is why you like coming to work with me everyday. The year has gone by so fast, and it still feels like we are distant. It is probably the secret, but I know you will find it somehow. Most likely in the time capsule, but I won’t be saying anything about what the secret is to you until then. June 27, 2018. The secret is tearing me apart. I swore I wouldn’t tell you other than the time capsule, but I can’t bear the secrecy. I can not tell you, but I need to. Hopefully I can keep the secret, but I do not know if I can. This past month you have been giving me hugs, all the time. It is amazing! I can’t believe that you are opening up so much. It makes me ecstatic! July 27, 2018. You said that you love me for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. When you said it I casually said “I love you too!”, but inside I was screaming! That was a huge milestone! We talked about what happened at school, and what your favorite class was. You even told me that you liked a boy. I got to go to a parent teacher conference with you. All of your teachers said that you were their best student! I was so glad to hear that! August 27, 2018. This month I lost my job. I went back to the diner. I still had enough income to get you a couple of toys when you got straight A’s. You were sad when you couldn’t go to the bank with me anymore. You were glad to be back at school again. I stopped seeing you as much when I lost my job and you went back to school. You still let me drive you to school though. September 27, 2018. This is where I give you the exact coordinates of the time capsule and tell you why it will save your life. The time capsule is 7 feet to the right of the big Oak tree, and 16 feet in front of the rosebush. It will save your life because it holds my and your fathers only secret. I have mine and he has his secret. He is after you and I for my secret, and if he ever tries to hurt you, remind him that you have his secret.

e84hct

Her essence

It was another cold dreary November day. The trees looked dead and lonely from the loss of their leaves and nothing to look forward to until spring. I felt just like them alone and waiting. Waiting to run into that special someone, actually anyone. It had been a long time. Oh yeah since Her. I pushed her out of my mind instantly, I needed to forget. So here I am in the stupid mall again. Shopping for little things trying to forget Her. She violated my brain again. It was over, she had made that clear. So I had to move on and now I was ok with that. But just because I was ok did not mean I was alright with moving on. So in the mall again. What was I looking for again. O yeah socks, I needed socks anything to keep my mind off Her. It was crowded as usual. I was surrounded by other people going about their boring lives. Women dragging kids and silently yelling as if that was any less annoying than actually letting it all out. I was surprised that they did not hurt themselves doing that. I was walking aimlessly to Target way at the end of the mall. I was slowly window shopping, first this side then that side. Seeing everything and yet noticing nothing. I needed some exercise I had been hiding in my apartment too long. My friends had an intervention and told me to get out of my apartment or they would physically remove me. There were six of them so I gave up and now here I am looking for socks. Then about halfway to my destination it hit me like a brick wall. What was that? Oh no, no not that. I had walked past a woman and she was wearing It. A lot of It. It floored me, It had entered my nose and my body froze and instantly I was somewhere else. It was the smell of Navy perfume. She wore it, I loved it. That perfume was intoxicating, it was my Achilles heal. I could not fight it. I could not control it. I half fell, half guided myself onto a bench and just lay there gasping for air. Her memory crushed me just as the dead leaves had crushed under my feet as I had entered the mall. My vision became blurry and then I faded out. Then I was back. Back to a time when she was mine. Back to the first time I had given her that perfume on her birthday five years or so ago. She was so excited. I could still feel her embrace. I had taken Her to our special restaurant on forty first street where we had first met on a blind date. The meal had been excellent. The night had gone perfectly. She was dressed for the occasion in Her little black dress with the pearl necklace She only wore for special occasions. She looked lovely as ever and I had complimented her beauty with roses which brought out the color in her cheeks. Her dark hair fell ever so softly on bare shoulders. She was a vision and she was mine. It was the happiest I had ever been. She had excused herself to go to the ladies room to freshen up before we left for the movie theater to round out the night. She had been waiting for this movie to come out it seemed forever, and it landed perfectly on Her birthday. What luck for me nothing could have gone better. She came back from the ladies room and that was the first time I had smelled that heavenly scent upon Her. It was glorious. She looked at me and somehow felt what I was feeling. The raw attraction that was between us. She moved closer and said softly, provocatively, "Let's skip the movie we can go another time." As She grabbed my tie and slowly led me out the door to the taxi I knew this night would be the one. We would unleash the passion we had for each other in a night of unbridled lust. That perfume from that moment on was Her. She wore it religiously after that. She had worn it to all of our anniversaries, Her birthdays and mine. She knew what it did to me. Every breath of It took me back to the first time. It was like I was holding Her gently in my arms again with Her body pressed against mine and the faintest brush of our lips. Just a whiff of that scent had sent me careening down memory lane and left me wasted upon this bench gasping. People were staring and I could see the pity in their eyes. I bet they thought that poor wretch, look at him he is dying. I was done. I slowly got up and tried to get my bearings. I slumped back twice before I made it off the bench. As my addled brain tried to come back to reality I saw Her everywhere. That scent had taken control of my eyes now. There she was talking to a clerk, no there she was going into that store. No there were three of Her giggling at me and pointing. I looked just like some drunk as I weaved my way back to my car. As I got behind the steering wheel I knew I had to do something I could not drive like this. So I forced it out. I blew my nose hard to get the smell out. I forced myself to remember what she had said when I had proposed marriage. Marriage was not for Her and She had made it plain that She had grown tired of me and was moving on. That did it the pain pushed it out. My broken heart had pushed it out. I was in reality again. No socks today, maybe tomorrow. Just as long as I don't run into another woman wearing Navy I don't think I could survive it.

fqzzba

"I'm so sorry"

To say I’m scared is an understatement. Terrified? No, that doesn’t sound quite right. Maybe horrified? Definitely not horrified. How about mortified? Yeah… that’s the word. I’m absolutely, positively, mortified to see my family. I wish I could just turn around and run down the faded red brick steps directly behind me, jump into my 2005 light blue Prius and drive back to Chicago. But I can’t. I’ve been standing on their porch so long I fear that the snow has frozen my feet in place, making escape challening. I didn’t want to come either, I don’t even know that I would be welcome back after everything I've done. But my sponsor, Sammy, convinced me otherwise. He said it would be good for me, that I have to start somewhere and sometime. And besides, the holidays are all about forgiveness, right? I can hear laughter inside and what sounds like Julia Louis-Dreyfus playing Margo in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation . From what I can make out, she just got blinded from Clark’s massive light’s display – one of my favorite scenes. As I lean to my right and look at the window, trying to catch maybe a glimpse, an inkling of the TV I notice the dingy white draping’s, likely the same ones from when I was a kid, pulled shut, obscuring any view of inside except for the pale-yellow light leaking out through the crack in the middle. Looking up, I can see smoke rising from the chimney. It’s pale and hard to see against the light-polluted December sky, but it’s there. Dad probably has the fire going in the sitting room to warm the stockings hanging on the marble mantle and getting things ready to make smores with my nieces and nephews. I was jealously hoping that my siblings wouldn’t be here tonight, that maybe they all would be with their in-laws, but as I pulled up, I noticed a series of cars, all with I assume their custom license plates: a maroon Honda Odyssey minivan named “Crist6,” likely Jasons; a silver Ford Escalade, “Crist3,” probably Jenni's; and a Black Subaru Outback “Crist4,” which would be Stevie's. My sisters kept their maiden name after getting married, something our parents protested for some reason, but I always admired. The truth is, I have amends to make to all three of my siblings and both my parents. Amends that, while a part of my narcotics anonymous, or NA, program are supposed to help me stay sober and show those I've hurt that I have changed, amends only seem to open up old scars, making them bleed once more. I don’t think it’s helped that I’ve been putting this off for as long as I can. When I made my amends to my friend Ben for stealing and pawning his grandfather’s golden monocle (but in my defense, who just owns a monocle and leaves it laying around) to buy drugs, he threw a fresh coffee in my face and walked away. Which, while burned, both from the hot coffee and his reaction, I can understand. Even though he may never forgive me, and I’m not sure that I would if I was him, I still desperately want his forgiveness. I was told when I started this that the hardest part isn’t always confronting people and making amends, but rather dealing with the fact that even though I’ve changed and I am deeply sorry for my actions, the people who I hurt may never forgive me. That includes my family. My addiction started when I was fourteen, a freshman in high school. I was, and I guess still am, the runt in my family. Jason’s fifteen years older, Jenni thirteen, and Stevie twelve. So, I largely grew up without them around, or when they were, they were just visiting from college, holidays, or to introduce their fiancés to mom and dad. Around the time I started high school, mom and dad were fighting constantly, screaming curses and shouting “how dare you” and "I would never" at each. To be honest, I never knew what they were arguing about, but for some reason I always felt like it was about me. Call me selfish, I know, but they never fought before I came out as gay to them and whenever I approached the topic with either of them, they would deny that it had anything to do with their arguing. I never believed them, though. The night of the Sadie Hawkins dance at my high school, which I neglected to attend, my junior friends from band picked me up and we drove to a party at the local college. We had gone to parties there before, with our parents just thinking that we were seeing some movie for the tenth time, and seemingly none the wiser about it. The first couple parties we attended, I didn’t drink or take anything, instead opting to just be a harmless little wallflower. But the night of the dance, the arguing had progressed to the point the cops came to investigate a "domestic disturbance". Of course, there was nothing for the cops to find other than an older-middle aged couple yelling at each other and a cowering fourteen-year-old boy sitting up the top of the stairs, hugging his legs closed. So when I got to the party, it had reached the point that I just wanted to forget. Forget everything. Forget mom and dad. Forget the almost non-existent Jason, Jenni, and Stevie. Forget myself. I didn’t care what I drank, snorted, or popped. Anything would do, anything to just finally get some peace, and it worked. I don’t remember too much more from that night except waking up to an unfamiliar ceiling decorated with the harshest lights and a gaggle of doctors hovering around my bed. Mom and dad never yelled at or punished me after my overdose. They both refused to talk about it with me. But I noticed their arguing only got worse after that night and remembering the dark, blissful silence, I did whatever I could to return to that point. Eventually, I flunked out of high school, would steal and sell things from around my house. I never discriminated, but jewelry always sold the best. For next eight years, I was in and out of rehab, constantly calling Jason, or Jenni, or Stevie to transfer money or whenever they would visit, I would solicit rides or more money from them. Jason missed the birth of his first child taking me to rehab because mom and dad were too tired to take me again. I managed to steal thousands of dollars from Jenni as she never knew how to say "no" to her little brother. As for Stevie, when she her and her boyfriend visited, I got high and screwed him. Although the last one doesn’t seem like that big of a deal in the long run, I guess they were planning on getting married before that incident. Mom and dad kicked me out after six years, and I lived on the streets after. Eventually it got to the point that I was in and out of the hospital for overdosing at least once or twice a week and that’s where I met Sammy, and he took me to an NA meeting and got me help. That was three years ago and a total of five since I’ve seen my family. And now I’m still here, standing on the faded red bricks that make up their porch, staring at the old oaken door, wanting to knock but can’t bring myself too. I’m, as I determined, mortified. There is a tiny, almost delusional, part of me that they’ll hear me out, hug me crying, expressing their joy that their little brother and son are back in their lives, and we’ll all roast smores and finish National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation as I get to meet my nieces and nephews, and everything will be alright. But the realist knows that is likely not how it’s going to go, and instead, I’ll be turned away. Shunned. Banished. Excommunicated. I slowly raise my arm, clench my gloved hand into a fist and bring it to the door. I lightly rap-tap-tap the door, just enough so I think they can hear. I slowly lower my arm back to my side and stand there, the snow falling around me. I wait for what feels like hours, but is probably only a couple minutes, and there’s no response. Nothing. No shuffling near the door, no loud voices exclaiming that their “Coming!” nothing. I raise my arm to knock again, but then quickly lower it, and turn my feet around, disturbing the fresh snow that slowly cased my boots. I’m halfway down the steps when I hear the door behind me open and what sounds like a little kid, no more than five say “Who’s there?” I turn around and there’s a girl, standing in the doorway in Polar Express pajamas with long, strikingly blond free flowing hair and a finger in her nose. I just stand there, my mouth refusing to work. “Daddy,” she shouts, “There’s a weird man at the door staring at me.” “What’s that pumpkin?” I hear a dismembered voice say as a man comes to the door, dressed in a blue sweater and gray slacks, his blonde hair parted to one side. Jason. “Are a caroler?” Jason asks me. I don’t respond, instead choosing to stare up at him. He looks older, but more or less the same. I guess I look a lot different than the last time he saw me, but being half obscured by snow and poor lamp light can’t help. “Are you okay, man?” Jason says. Suddenly, everything feels too real. I can feel the fear welling up in my stomach about to burst and flood the rest of my body. I back away and swivel around, my head swiveling left and right, trying to remember where I parked my car. I need to get out of here. I need to get back to Chicago. I need to see Sammy, go to a meeting. I need to not face them. I can’t face them. I’m snapped back to reality by a hand my shoulder and Jason’s voice, “Hey, are you alright?” I turn around and look at him, not saying anything as he stares at my face, perplexed. I don’t know what to do or what to say, and I don’t think he does either as he slowly starts to recognize me, as his eyes go wide and his mouth cracks open, emitting no sound. I can hear my legs screaming at me and my muscles urging me to turn back around and run away, but arms didn’t get the memo as I wrap them around his body and start crying into his chest, choking out weak “I’m so sorry!” between sobs and rivers of mucus. I’m not sure how long we stood like that before he wrapped his arms back around me, and I can feel tears falling on my head mixing with the snow, and Jason says, “It’s okay, Arthur. Let’s go inside.”

h5gmok

Letter to Santa

I will always remember Christmas Day a few years ago. I thought it was going to be a normal Christmas. The story really starts on Christmas Eve just before lunchtime. I did always hope it would be a white Christmas but today was just a typical December day, cold, wet and windy but no sign of snow. I stopped by the post box and dropped three late Christmas cards through the slot. I knew they would arrive late. But I would have felt guilty if I hadn’t sent them. As I turned round to head home a sudden gust of wind blew a piece of paper into my face. I unravelled the paper and looked at the writing on it. It was a child’s handwriting. It said, “Dear Santa, I hope you are well. I have been a good boy this year. Please can I have a bicycle for Christmas. I’ve been really sad since Charlie was knocked down by a car. But a bicycle would cheer me up. Love from Timmy Smith (aged 6).” Where had it come from? I looked round to see if there was anybody around who might have dropped it. I went up to a young woman and asked if she had dropped a piece of paper. She shook her head. On the other side of the paper was an address, presumably the address of the little boy who had written the letter. I had a funny feeling. But I couldn’t decide whether it was sadness or curiosity or maybe the bacon sandwich I had for breakfast. So I went home and carried on getting ready for the big day. However, I couldn’t stop thinking about the letter so in the middle of the afternoon I put on my coat and took the dog for a walk, thinking that I would call in on the address and give the letter back to young Timmy Smith. How pleased he would be! Feeling slightly stupid, I knocked on the door of the house and a young woman came to answer it. I guessed that this must be Timmy’s mother. “Hello. Sorry to bother you. I’m looking for a young boy called Timmy Smith.” “There’s no Timmy here. We just moved in about six months ago. Perhaps the family before had children. I don’t know. We didn’t have anything to do with them.” “Do you have a forwarding address for them? “I think they moved to the other side of town. Hang on a moment.” Two minutes later she came back with a post-it note on which was written an address on the other side of town. I was determined to get to the bottom of this. So I dragged the dog to the other side of town, found the right house and knocked on the door. “Hello. I’m looking for a Timmy Smith. Does he live here?” “I’ll just get him,” said the middle-aged woman who had come to the door. Two minutes later a young man of about 18 appeared. He looked like a student, not the angelic young schoolboy I had been imagining. “Oh sorry,” I apologised. “There must be a misunderstanding. I’m looking for a young lad called Timmy Smith. You’re too old.” He looked at me with suspicion. I was feeling fairly embarrassed. Even the dog was a bit embarrassed. “You see, I found a letter to Santa. I thought it was from you. And I thought…” I took the letter from my pocket and handed it over to him. He looked at it carefully, reading it through. Then he chuckled to himself. “I remember this. I wrote it to Santa. But I didn’t send it as dad said I couldn’t have a bicycle after Charlie was knocked down.” “Was Charlie your brother?” “No. He was our cat. He got hit by a car and we had to have him put down. Must be 12 years ago.” "Your cat?" “Anyway I wrote another letter to Santa asking for a Manchester United shirt. That was the letter I posted. I was a big United fan in those days.” So the mystery of the Christmas letter was solved. I had wasted most of the afternoon and was way behind on my present wrapping but at least the mystery was over. On Christmas Day we exchanged gifts as usual in the morning and everyone seemed happy. It felt like things were going according to plan. The turkey was ready on time so we sat down to a huge lunch. Even the dog behaved himself. After lunch I let him out to run about in the back garden. We could hear him barking happily as he ran round letting off steam. One of our traditions was to relax in front of the TV and wait for the Queen to start her annual Christmas message. Just as the programme started the doorbell rang. I couldn’t believe that anybody would call round at this point on Christmas Day. I thought about ignoring it. The doorbell rang again. So I got up and went to answer the door. It opened to reveal a man standing there dressed as Father Christmas. “Who are you?” I asked. “Who do you think I am?” he replied in a slightly grumpy manner. “Well, what do you want?” “One of the reindeers has got a rusty nail in his hoof. I haven’t been able to finish delivering all the presents and I’m running out of time. Can you help me.” I was feeling a bit mischievous so I said to him. “OK. If you really are Santa Claus you will remember what Timmy Smith wanted for Christmas 12 years ago.” “Let me think…” “12 years. Timmy Smith. What did he want?” “Kids round here always want United kit. Costs a bloody fortune. And if you ask me it is always a load of complete crap. I’m a City fan myself.” I looked at him, “Do you take me for a complete idiot.” I said and slammed the door. I settled back in front of the TV…but then out of the window I saw a sleigh flying through the air drawn by five reindeer and a dog that seemed strangely familiar. And then it started to snow.

cnbam8

#My Crush#

* Gazing at the dazzling lights that bring brightness to the dark night* I'd be fair to myself. I come in peace! *YOU* are my friend. Would it be am going off? Here, I have my pen and paper I need answers! On the mirror I see a reflection of me. Behind me is that face. Yes! That face . It's unclear* I can't comprehend. But I feel he is here. I hope he is and not as far as *YOU* the lights above my head. ******* My instinct tells me you are not far but why then can't I reach you, Mr? Why stand behind me and your face unclear? Your image reflect on my mirror right inside my heart. Will it be bad if you come and say hello! Will it hurt if you say am here with you* I fight with my instinct that keeps telling me you are here. You are here, you are here! Those are the words I hear! Is it true? From the start, you come by the door You never knocked You never said hello! You never waited You never peeped You never entered Are you scared too? The word, is it hard to say? I am not scared as not to be hurt by the word* The word is like a two edged sword. *LOVE* It can mend It can mar It can hurt the ones who truly appreciate it's worth. The beauty of it is letting go fear of the unknown and the flashes of the past* Are you shy? You'd think the door is shut? Why? Should I call you a night courier? No! A security agent? No! Why? When I close my eyes only then I see you walking towards my direction. Only then I see you calling me. Only then I feel the breeze of love blowing in through the open windows. Only then I see the petals, the red petals* Only then I see those smiles. Only then I see the big bouquet beautiful and with those colors... Red and pink* Are you far? I could go miles just to see you I could break jars I could fight for your sake Do you feel the same way? Is it bad if you feel same way? The hand you wave when I close my eyes to sleep Are you trying to call out my name? Is not a crime to feel this way? Hey! Say something... I'm not dreaming, Am I? Are you real? A human being or an Alien? Why do I only feel your presence when my eyes are closed. Up above me I gaze to see if I'd get answers. Are you here? Why is it empty here? Your name I'd call Why is there no answer? When I close my eyes at dusk I see the image of you Your hands, the right hand It always wave at me accompanied with those White teeth smiling at me* They sparkle like That which is above me at night And brightens it Why? Why is it that... I call your name and it only echoes; the sound that it produces is like that in an empty room. Are you there? I'd smile at the shadow that gives me the image of you in my head, the colors I see are the ones you'd like to have. At the corner of the house, I saw a bouquet, an envelope with pink and red ribbons tied to the bouquet* 'The night they say it's big, they say it's dangerous, they say it's long why then do you come at night? ******* *YOU* bright lights... tell me what to think. I am lost in thought of him. His name is long yet, my mouth isn't tired of saying those words I know he'd like to hear but pretend they are noises and echoes of hard time and not the soft whispers of sweet melodies that melts the heart ❤️******** I can sing him a million songs I can dance a million dance steps I can write him a story A story and not a history You are my friend I can see you I know your name do you know mine? Speak to me for I know you can see me you can hear me. Do not be loud I know your mouth is invisible but say that which will give answers to my pending questions. Should I tell him I had loved him from afar? Is it bad to widen my mouth as my lips call out his name? The road to his heart how far will it take me? You are there up above my head yet, you give signs, light and brighten the night. The journey to get his love is it as far as reaching you? Dear friend, am sorry I'd have to complain to you. You my inspiration I look up to you when I want answers to my pending questions. I want to wake up and see petals, red* that is the color I want I want to see the reflection of this smiles on the petals. I know he is there why is he not answering? The name I call, is it not his name? Is my direction not his? See the sparkling eyes you got my friend. I want his smiles to be like those sparkles of yours. Tell me my friend, I know he is there... How long will it take me to reach him? I know he is not hiding I think he is busy with something. Should I wait a little longer? Should I write him a story, won't it be thrown into the trash? The bouquet, the envelope wrapped with red and pink ribbons are they for me? They say red* denotes *love* pink* a girl... Am I hallucinating? Speak up! Your brightness will leave soon and my eyes are becoming heavy I want to know, is he close, far or will I ever meet him? The thought of him makes me sit with you looking at you up there I know he is waiting too. I want to go and prepare, my eyes are heavy I know he is waiting. * My pen has done a good job in my journal* Let me go now, he might be waiting at the door of my heart❤️* I call him my muse my crush my smile *inducer* My muse, the source of my inspiration*

l80eb6

Sunny Days

Sunny stared at the photo she didn't remember taking. Who was that stick-thin figure with no hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes, white as a ghost. She gasped, goodness me, it was her! She dredged her brain and tried to think when the photo had been taken. Maybe Ashley took it. She tried to meditate to escape from her thoughts, but all she could do was to go over the past months. Usually she could focus on her young grandson with his cheery smile, blond wavy hair and deep brown eyes, but today she kept reminiscing, with interjections from that morbid voice that never left her for long, It had been her husband Ashley who had found the lump. A two centimetre firm painless nodule just outside the nipple of her left breast. She had visited her GP with trepidation and knew from the look on her face that she too had concerns that it might be cancer. Dr Elliott quickly phoned and booked a mammogram. It showed disordered microcalcification in the lump. The biopsy was just three days later and when Dr Elliott phoned Sunny to come in with her husband, Sunny had her fear confirmed. The 'c' word had always terrorised her, as she had watched her mother and aunt both succumb to breast cancer, and Ashley had had a fright last year with what turned out to be a benign black skin lesion and not the dreaded melanoma. The had both retired. Sunny had been a school teacher and Ashley had worked at the Water Corporation. Their plans for retirement had to be put on hold now. They had already been delayed because of the COVID epidemic, but in March, just four months away, they had intended to go to Japan on an organised tour. Now that seemed in jeopary again. Looking forward couldn't really comfort her. She had always been a 'glass half empty' person and prone to bouts of depression, and her mother seemed to be haunting her from the grave- 'I told you to be careful.' Today she pulled her jacket firmly around her bony shoulders with an involuntary shiver, as she watched the drip. Her mouth was sore with a bitter sort of taste that took away her appetite, but Ashley and her daughter Jenny urged her to drink Ensure and kept tempting her with her former favourite foods. Strangely, she just fancied McDonalds' icecreams. Jake had a strong bond with Sunny as she had minded him after school while Jenny was working and she carried his photograph in her purse. Today she remember Jake had drawn her a picture which she also kept with her. She had laughed when she saw the picture of her in bed with no hair and a grim smile. For Jake's sake she smiled now. She mustn't let her pessimism rub off onto Jake. Thinking about his school assembly two weeks ago lifted her mood and took her mind off the drip as it delivered its healing chemicals into her blood stream. Every day Ashley had driven her to the hospital for radiotherapy. He had surprised her with a new car, a bright red Barina which was an automatic, so her swollen left arm didn't have to handle the gear stick. She was getting used to the pressure garment for her lymphoedema. The veins in her right arm were too thin, and she had a port in her chest wall for the chemotherapy. Her skin still prickled from the 'sunburn' after the radiotherapy, Her thoughts had drifted away from the meditation and she chided herself for letting her mind wander. Focussing on the colours of springtime she ate up the delicious reds and yellows of the bottle brush and wattle. She thought about the candle-like banksias and white and red flowering gums which were starting to appear. The silver gums bowed under the weight of their red gumnuts, the new gums planted along the avenue sprouted new red tips which swayed about in the breeze. Her mind relaxed and her body eased back into a more comfortable position in the bed. A nurse came to check on the drip and Sunny asked her about Elise. Sunny knew Elise had refused chemotherapy for her liver cancer and had opted for surgery, They had met two months ago in the cancer clinic and Sunny was amazed at her cheerful attitude. However the nurse had bad news and Sunny was sorry she had asked. Her eyes filled with tears as her own future seemed bleak after she learned Elise had died. She tried so hard to keep her mind on the colours of spring flowers and the warmth of the soft breeze gently blowing their branches. Unfortunately all she could see now were the brown skeletons of dead Banksias and the browny red carpet where the bottle brush flowers had fall to the ground. The nurse sat with her for a while and diverted the conversation to Jake's assembly, 'Did you go?' 'Yes I did. and Jake's class acted the story of the Buffalo.' Sunny had listened to him practising his part so often that she mouthed the words as he spoke them. They had all dressed up as the animals. When her own children had had assemblies, Sunny's busy work schedule usually prevented her from going.' 'I wish...' said Sunny, and scolded herself. 'I shouldn't says that, it's no use thinking about things I missed out on.' The nurse laughed. '"Should" isn't allowed in our vocabulary, You're doing so well and things have progressed a lot since your mother's experience. Is Ashley coming in today?' 'Yes he's just at Bunnings picking up some sealant for the decking. We had the pool relined and new decking, and a heater for the pool water, so it is ready for me to swim and get fit when I'm finished here.' 'That will be good exercise for you, and right in time for Christmas.' Sunny knew she was correct. Elise had looked forward to Christmas. Sunny went quiet again. We're spending the day with Terry and Louise, and Chantelle, with Jake and Terry's two girls.' The nurse had to move on to another bedside, and Sunny started thinking about Christmas, and the end of chemotherapy. There had been so many past Chrismases full of joy and goodwill, and she allowed herself to think about Japan as well. She let her mind focus on the plans she and Ashley had for their retirement. She sighed and smiled, She could always wear a beanie.

hd5iu3

Coffee drops

Write about a character who smells something familiar and is instantly taken back to the first moment they smelled it. COFFEE DROPS By Dumisani khumalo Caramel brown nuts ground and boiled in the pitcher in the staff room at ten bells tea time break ,had the class prefect Lawrence ringing the bell in a thirty minute niche. The ringing loud timber of a cow bell beat up some fear, shaffling feet fast to the classroom door. Caught out ,you stayed out ,or received some capital punishment. That is the cane , a duster on the knuckles , tip of the fingers,.or a ruler in its place ,with metal edge in it. The headmaster's office meant serious punishment with the belt ,digging a hole in the school grounds,standing aganist the wall and picking up papers.These were lighter and more better than those that meant you could not write at all ,and most students were devising ways to escape them. The cane always came to assembly.That rule of authority. When you came late ,you stayed out of school or struggled to join the lines into class before the register was marked. Some hid in toilets,under cover of trees,or made a fast race up the aisle for the classroom door. Each day those who were absent the previous day were called up and caned in front of the other students,at assembly. Tricks were devised like tucking in your shirt and putting books under your school shorts.The girls too could do the same,by tying the loose arms of their jerseys so they held books in a kind of kilt,then Helter skelter ,jump up and down ,as the cane struck all who queued up. By break time , there was a rush with friends to the fence for popcorn,sweets or commonly available sweet was fudge,a chocolate kind of sweet,and made with milk ,sugar ,and butter,and we made back before allowing time to even play ,worse ,get change. Some students avoided break totally and played in class ,as long as the teacher was out. There was a lot of pulling and sharving at each other when the teacher was not there,sometimes fights. We came to the fence like a troop of baboons , to Indian and black women vendors ,at Lotus primary school,in Madras , Lusaka, Zambia.They sold their goods,and I was often taunted ,at most by girls ,in my classroom. "Aaha dumy dumisani,Aaha dumy dumisani,and it was irritating,and confounding at times ,but we ended up chasing one another ,and a chase in all directions sometimes.It became a game of catch a n the end. The taunts always sounded like a code to say ,the cane is coming to you or some kind of punishment ,or even to share up the sweets or popcorn to stop the blame game. When the bell rang ,I was at the door with my fudge smelting and saliva dripping sweet as the gosling to drink water from our corridor fawcett.I was thinking of finishing it up later,as Mr Patel appeared at the door,in his thick rimmed glasses, meaning I had to hide it. He had just come in from his tea break and a cup of coffee was on the table with some biscuits. When he came into class , silence came and we knew what that meant,and his cup was full,and we entered in a straight line,and when he came to his table ,his cup was half empty,sugar cubes wet or dissolved if not missing,the girls behind me ignominiously taunting again "Aaha dumy dumisani,"!but it not as loud and I had just decided to gobble my fudge down and cleaning off its residues on the edge of my shorts,when Mr Patel asked about his coffee. If some one must have tipped it off and put it up again when he was at the door as we entered,some thick coffee drops at the side sticking thick and streaming down ,made his tobacco and coffee smell come alive.The strong smell of coffee and his tobacco always had us ,but we held in our loathes for manners , as he marked our books by us or at his table. I was the one still standing ,my brown syrupy hands suspiciously evident,and I had no way to vindicate myself,that I had not done it. He pulled me by the ears ,wrenched me forward,another most common kind of punishment at that time,and took me to the front of the class and took up the duster .The school head was in to check on something when he found us still in our confusion. My story was told,and the school head forgot what he had come for ,and the itch to punish someone to give an example bug ,was onto him.and he pulled me by the ear to his office for the cane. I was given five strokes to the buttocks .These I could not escape as when many students would pack some books behind them ,normally in line prepared  at assembly..I had never been beaten like that before,and I could not tell anyone at home about the crime I had committed..It was callous and insensitive,the school walls became my achilees foot. My father had not noticed anything wrong the following morning when he took me to school in his zephyr zodiac ford ,playing that new release from Elvis Presleys, suspicious minds on the car radio. He gave me the usual twenty cent piece coin for sweets ,and at the gate ,I waited until his car was out of sight ,the school gate to close,and made passage back with latecomers josling for a look at those distress calls ,school monitors and prefects made,and the girls watched me ,as I led my way to nearby bus terminal,if it would help until knock off time ,when I made my way home. It was at the bus terminal that I was surprised to see that I was not alone, students from my school loitering and playing .They were watching buses come and go , getting into the water drainage canals and trenches ,running circles and in and out of them,oblivious ,nobody even asking. I felt a little brave as I enquired on their names,and their problems..They all came to tell me different but similar stories ,and their predicaments .Some genuine ones ,like the lack of books,lost book,lack of fees, school uniform,and some ,like the stealing of chalk , writing on the board or wall,to lateness. Strangely ,we played until we got tired,and for four days ,we sometimes slept in the terminal until it got late,when school ended at about 1200. In those few days ,the cat came out of the bag. I did not ask for help on my homework,and my mothers due inspection of my books ,proved something was horribly wrong. She took me to school the following morning ,and got my story,and decided to change schools for me .I was taken to Mumuni Primary School,where a relative would have a watch on me .I joined the grade five class. It does come back to haunt you ,at best when you least expect it. There comes the callous whipping I got and the pain I endured alone, and the shock ,self denial ,I never wanted to have anything to do with the school or my former classmates,anymore,moreso ,the mention of the name lotus again. I never drank coffee nor liked it for no apparent reason, and shut my mind off,even at the shops, coffee shop at the market where my father normally took me for a haircut with my younger brother,and I normally just drank tea .Tea was rare then ,and my last resort was for  a soft drink,at best , something to stop people asking me questions on why this or why not that. My business engagements became difficult and quire in adult life , especially the mention of the word coffee just pulled me aback for a while ,those cigarettes and coffee smells, sometimes whafting into my nostrils, subconsciously.A dreary episode and pointer to my will ,to signal red,I had thrown an important letter in the offices dustbin once because of that coffee,toffee,or toasted, coffee,scent. Imagine capuccino and how it was once touted as the best ever ,but it did not move me.I prefered ice cream instead. One day am sitting at home in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe, before Christmas when a car from Cresta Churchill Hotel came to my gate,from a local supermarket ,which told them I had still more lettuce,I could sell them. I had grown more greens in the garden when Zimbabwe was struck with hyper inflation that hit the roof ,and at one million percent,and eroding salaries .The way out was to use other currencies ,which is still happenin,and I was selling a head at 10 rand's ,so this got me all so excited. The guy came out and we agreed to a deal of one hundred heads ,and I was so excited ,with the festivities in the air ,I was so confident that in the least of five years ,I would be able to afford a merry Christmas for my family. We went to the hotel with some heads ,and while am waiting for payment,this waiter comes in with a cup of coffee .My?!I do not know whether something spun out of my mind ,older as I was , but the waiter also got a little bit surprised and poured the coffee out to the sauce before he could give it to me , not accidentally, but I had caused it, and it's then I realized I needed some kind of therapy or keep facing the consequences .I apologised to the waiter and explained myself ,though it was such an embarrsing exercise,and very uncouth .but so binding,to my memories  .End 1412 words ,

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Flickering Lights

Claire scowled as she bustled down the busy street. It was Christmas Eve, and every store window was alight with candles and cheery decorations. Why people were still out shopping she’d never know. After all, if they’d just go home, she could close up shop and finally be done for the season. Until the after Christmas sales, at least. Grumbling to herself, Claire pulled her scarf closer around her face. She shouldn’t complain so much. The more people spent while out shopping, the more money she made. Owning a shop downtown during Christmas meant extra money her pocket, but the long days were tiring nonetheless. By Christmas Eve all she wanted was to go home to her rather large house and close out the overly bright, festive world. Claire had never put up Christmas decorations. It seemed both tedious and pointless. She simply couldn’t see the point in squandering money on lights that are only used once per year, and then wasting the time putting up decorations only to take them down a month later. Her neighbours didn’t feel the same, though – they put out decorations like their lives depended on it. She’d always loved winter, though. As a child, the idea of Narnia being always winter but never Christmas had sounded delightful, like some sort of paradise just out of reach. Something about Christmas brought out the worst of Claire’s cynicism – perhaps it was the crowds, or maybe the endless line ups. There was an awful lot of money going out for a holiday that claimed to be about spending time with loved ones. Claire shook her head to clear it of the thought; loved ones were as made up as flying reindeer. She pushed through the crowded street, trying to get back to her shop. The light changed, and the mass of shoppers surged forward. Claire jogged to try to catch the crossing, barely making it to the crosswalk in time. A taxi honked at her, its driver gesturing rudely. So much for holiday spirit , Claire thought. As she turned to shout at the taxi, Claire was suddenly struck from behind. The lights on the Christmas tree in the square blurred together as a swarm of good Samaritans descended on her. The world went dark, and the cold, dirty slush of the street enveloped her. Claire opened her eyes, and immediately shut them again. Why was the light so damn bright? Slowly, she peeled one eye open and peeked at the room. A drab beige curtain hung across the doorway, blocking her view of what had to be a hallway. A small window looked out over a parking lot, which was mostly devoid of cars. The whiteboard on the wall said Today’s Nurse Is: Michelle. Next to that was the date – December 25. Taking stock of herself, Claire found she was hooked up to an IV. The bag said it contained morphine. This must be a hospital , Claire thought. The smell of industrial-strength disinfectant and boiled peas confirmed her suspicions. A plastic bag in the corner labelled “Patient Belongings” sat on the chair in the corner. Claire wrapped her shoulders in the thin blanket hanging over the railing on her bed, and swung her legs over the side. She must have pressed some sort of button, because it was only a moment before a young woman in scrubs entered her room, looking concerned. It was Michelle, Today’s Nurse. Claire wasn’t able to process most of what she said. They were words, of course, they just didn’t make any sense. At least Michelle was friendly – she smiled a lot, and she brought Claire a warm blanket and some tea. She also gave Claire strict instructions to stay in bed until the doctor arrived. Claire had thought talking to Michelle was confusing, but it was nothing compared to talking to the doctor. All she understood was “hit by a delivery truck”. He had said something about post-traumatic amnesia, but those words didn’t register as real. Apparently, the hospital staff had searched for someone to contact on Claire’s behalf, but hadn’t found anyone. There was no one listed as next-of-kin on her medical records, and no emergency contact. After reviewing her test results and telling Claire about her prescriptions for the next few weeks, the doctor discharged her from the hospital. Fortunately, she hadn’t broken any bones, and had gotten away with only bruising. She had hit her head quite hard on the pavement when she fell, which the doctor said had caused the memory loss. The sky opened up and began to snow as Claire left the hospital. It was her favourite kind of snow – big, thick snowflakes that stick to whatever they land on. Claire’s jacket had dried out overnight, of course, but it was still covered in mud, as were her boots and scarf. Since she hadn’t driven to the hospital, she had no way to get home. Claire decided to walk until she found a taxi. She strolled happily for several blocks before it hit her – she had no idea where she was going. Claire looked around her, trying to get her bearings before panic set in. There were no buses, and she had only seen one or two cars. There wasn’t anyone around she could ask. It was snowing harder now, and the wind had picked up. Claire couldn’t see her footprints to retrace her steps. The winter she had once loved so much had turned on her, stranding her in the middle of the city. Confused and scared, Claire began to run, in the hopes she could find somewhere that made sense. Claire tripped, and fell to the curb, scraping her knee in the process. Her jeans had ripped, exposing her raw skin to the cold. Coughing and crying, Claire sat in the snow. She huddled against a lamp post, arms wrapped around herself. How did she get here? Eventually, the snow stopped and Claire ran out of tears. As she stopped, gasping, she heard…singing? That couldn’t be right. Wiping sweat and tears from her face, Claire followed the sound, and found a family on the front porch of a large home, singing Christmas songs. The neighborhood looked familiar, but Claire couldn’t quite place it. All the windows were lit up with candles, and each house was adorned with lights. Some houses had wreaths on the front doors, while others had festive and cheery scenes playing out on the lawn. All of them, except for one house. It sat in the dark, quietly brooding. Undisturbed snow covered the driveway and piled up on the windowsills. The house was almost invisible against the brightness of its neighbors. Claire stepped forward, towards the family on the step. She tried to call out to them, but her voice caught in her throat. What would she even say? Do you know who I am?  Or perhaps, how do I get back to where I was, or why am I alone?  In the end it didn’t matter; the parents saw her grubby, disheveled self and hurried their kids away. The glare of the lights shone down on Claire. She stumbled towards them, unsure of what to do next. As she got closer, the front door of the house opened. The light got brighter, and Claire could see a tree inside, covered in decorations. A worried-looking couple stood in the doorway, holding a hot drink and a blanket. They hurried toward Claire, and enveloped her in the blanket, ushering her inside. The warmth of the house hugged her, and finally Claire felt like she had reached somewhere safe. Like the neighborhood, the couple looked oddly familiar, and yet Claire couldn't remember exactly why. As she watched the fireplace, the lights on the tree danced on the edge of her vision. The flickering glow became increasingly demanding, and her memories came trickling back.

29g7ql

10

Mama says I’m still too young to come to the party.  Bethie isn’t too young, though. She’s 10, and she tells me that 10 is when you’re really grown up. You won’t understand ‘til you’re 10, Sadie , she always says. Bethie says that when you’re 10, you have to stop playing with toys, and you have to take baths every day and you have to brush your hair and eat kale salad and use perfume.  Being 10 sounds awful. But Mama says that you have to be 10 to come to the party. It’s a rule, she says. It’s a rule that she can’t break. So I have to wait two whole years, and tonight I have to stay in my room all alone and watch SpongeBob Squarepants while everyone else gets to dress up in fancy costumes and eat fancy cake and drink fancy drinks and listen to fancy music. Last year, Bethie and me tried to sneak down the back staircase to spy, but Mrs. Nelson caught us and sent us back up with a cupcake each and a stern lecture about how important it was that kids our age got enough sleep.  I’m dressed in my comfy jammies when Bethie flings my door open. She’s wearing the glitter witch costume Daddy bought her for Halloween before he left for the airport. Daddy says that he’ll take me to pick out my own Halloween costume when he gets back from San Diego, so I have to wait a whole ‘nother week.  “Don’t I look beautiful?” Bethie spins in circles, and the pink glitter on her skirt twinkles and shines under my bedroom lamp, making her look more like a fairy than the scary witch she thinks she is. “Yeah, I guess.” I turn on the TV. I don’t want her to see how jealous I am, because she’ll tease me for days about it. There’s a commercial for Frozen dolls on. I stare at Elsa’s Ice Palace and try really hard not to pay attention to Bethie. “Mama says that the party’s starting soon. Mama says that everyone’s on their way. Any minute.” I look over at Bethie in her pretty costume and it’s just not fair. I can’t help it. I burst into tears. Bethie stops twirling and sticks a piece of hair into the corner of her mouth. That’s what she does when she’s nervous.  “Aw, Sadie. It’s okay.” She sits down beside me. Some of her skirt glitter flakes off onto my blanket, and that just makes me cry harder. “Sadie, don’t cry. I’m sorry you’re not old enough. I promise I’ll tell you all about it, okay? Every little thing. And I bring you a cupcake. No, two cupcakes. Pinkie swear.” I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. I still don’t want to look at her. “Okay.” Mama opens the door. She is also dressed like a witch, but her costume is much, much better than Bethie’s. Her long skirts make a swooosh swiiiish sound as she comes to sit in between Bethie and me.  “Why are you crying, my sweet girl?” Mama says. “Is it ‘cause you’re sad you’re going to miss the party?” I nod as I bury my face in Mama’s long black hair. It smells like green apples. Mama puts her arm around me and pulls me tight.  “Oh, Sadie. I know it’s hard. I know it’s not fair. But you’ll be old enough someday, I promise. Tonight I need you to be my brave little one.” The doorbell rings downstairs. Bethie jumps up and claps her hands. “Mama! It’s time! They’re here!” She runs through the door without even looking back,  Mama kisses my forehead. “I love you, Sadie. Now go to sleep and dream dreams as sweet as you.” Mama follows Bethie. Her cape flutters a little bit. Now I’m alone. Downstairs, people are arriving. I can hear Mrs. Albertson’s screechy laugh. It always makes me a little scared, but I’ll never tell that to Bethie, because she’d just call me a little baby.  Mrs. Albertson lives down the street in the house with the green door, and she has a really old weiner dog named Blue that she never lets me and Bethie pet. Maybe she’ll let Bethie pet it now that she’s 10 and old enough to go to the party.  The party noises are getting louder. Now the music is on, too, and the music always makes me a little sleepy. I can just picture Bethie down there, laughing with everyone and eating so many cupcakes that her tongue will be bright green tomorrow morning. I bet everyone’s telling her how pretty she looks in her costume, and she’s probably twirling around and telling dumb jokes, and everyone’s probably telling her how funny and smart she is. Just like at the Nicholson’s pool party this summer. Bethie told everyone the cow joke that I told her, and everyone laughed really loud and patted her on the head and Daddy gave her the last slice of watermelon.  It’s no fair! Now I’m really mad. Maybe it would be okay to just peek through the stair railing? I think it would. Very very carefully, I get up and put on my fuzzy blue socks. I’ll just tiptoe over to the landing and be so, so quiet.  I open my door and listen. The sleepy music is still on, but now it sounds like the people are quieter. They’re all talking about something. No wait. They’re all saying the same words all together. It’s probably okay if I go down a few steps. If I stay on the third one from the top, no one can see me. That’s what Bethie says, anyway, every Christmas Eve when we try to spy on Santa.  I crouch down and try to make myself as small as I can. From the third step, I can see a little corner of the living room. It looks like all the people are standing around in a circle. There’s a lot of them, but not as many as I thought there would be. I can smell cinnamon and vanilla and a little bit of smoke, too. It reminds me of when Mama and Daddy and Bethie and I went camping at the state park last year, and Daddy let us hold the marshmallow sticks in the fire. Now the people are saying something else, and I can see Mrs. Nelson lighting one of the skinny white candles that Mama keeps on the mantle and never lets us touch. And she’s handing it to Bethie! Bethie’s in the middle of the circle!  I start to cry again. I don’t want to watch the rest. Not only does Bethie get to dress up and go to the party and eat cupcakes, but she also gets to hold the pretty candle and have everyone say the magic words to her! I go back to my room and sit on the bed. I wrap my blanket around my shoulders like a cape and look out the window. The full moon-Harvest Moon, Mama calls it-shines through the bare tree branches. I watch and wait, because I know that any minute they’re all going to come out onto the back porch, and Mama is going to let Bethie ride on her first broomstick ride across the Harvest Moon, and then Bethie is going to spend all week bragging about how she got to take her first flight and she got to get her special powers and now she’s a real witch like Mama. And I have to wait two whole years. It’s no fair. It’s really no fair. 

fpv03z

My Chaotic Christmas

My day started out just like any other. I talked with my friends, got home, and checked for mail. When I checked the mailbox though I found a letter from my mom. It was a basic, white envelope with a USA stamp on the corner, and both of our names and addresses. She lives in another state and doesn't write to me much so I was pretty surprised to see her name on an envelope. A wide smile spread across my face as I slowly opened it and read it. It was a cute Christmas card, it had Santa on the front with lots of littles elves. There was a small brick house in the background. I opened up the card and inside was Santa delivering presents while the grinch ran away. I saw words on the card which read “dear Blake, our son we would like to welcome you into our house for some festive fun. There will be gifts, ornament exchanges, and lots of good food.” I was very excited as I shut the card and ran inside to show my wife. She was very pleased and we booked plane tickets to go visit the family.     I anxiously awaited the day. I was never good with large crowds but I could deal with it for a Christmas party, right? After a week of waiting it was the day of our flight, but I was still in bed. My alarm had not gone off that morning and I was going to be late! I woke up, and almost screamed when I looked at the time our flight left in an hour ! How would I ever make it? I woke up my wife and we both changed immediately, while rushing to get dressed I grabbed a few granola bars and ran out the door. We both got into the car and sped off.     We arrived at the airport but the rush wasn’t over yet. We ran through security and over to our gate. But by the time we got there our plane had already left. We talked to the airport but they couldn't do anything for us. Since we had tried to get to my moms house a few days early we had just enough time to drive there and make the party. I texted my mom and let her know we would be late due to the missed flight.      We left the airport and loaded everything in our car. Once all of our stuff was secured my wife wanted to get a snack for the road. We went back inside the airport, grabbed some food, then sat in the car and ate. After we ate we left for the party, We spent 2 long, boring days on the road. It was hard to still enjoy ourselves but we did our best.      Finally we arrived and the party seemed to be going, sort of. We walked in and a lot was happening, paramedics were running around, sirens were blaring and I had no clue what was happening. I worriedly looked around hoping, praying that someone would tell me what was happening. Nobody told me anything. That's when I saw it, my cousin laying almost dead on the floor. He was blue, gasping for air, and everyone was trying to help him. Everything seemed to move in slow motion after I saw him. Paramedics were putting masks on him, family members were searching him for an epipen but I already knew nothing could save him. This is when I saw it, an elf standing right infront of me. I know it sounds crazy but I saw him. He appeared for only a brief moment with an epipen. He shoved the epipen into my arms and without a single thought I jabbed it into my cousin.      I watched him regain his strength and it finally clicked in my brain that an elf just saved him. I turned around to thank the elf, but when I did he was gone. Nowhere in sight but the craziest part is when I turned back around to where my cousin was, he wasn't there. Everyone was partying like nothing happened, even my cousin. Out of the corner of my eye I saw an elf run through the front yard so I ran outside too. I got outside and all I saw was a sleigh pulled by reindeer flying away.      I walked back inside in disbelief as I asked everyone what happened. They all said that this was just a normal christmas party. Not a single one remembered what happened to my cousin, or saw the elf. Nothing, not a single thing, I was shocked. I tried checking security cameras but nothing showed up, it just showed a normal party. “ There is no way, I know what I saw. How else could I have saved my cousin?” I said to myself. I was so lost and confused, how on earth did I see this but nobody else did? I searched all over the internet hoping maybe other people had similar or maybe even the same experience but I couldn't find a single thing. I gave up and went back to the party, I had food ,and participated in all the games. When I went upstairs to the room I would be staying in until my flight home I saw the elf sitting on my bed. I could finally get a good look at him. He had curved green shoes with jingle bells on the ends. He wore a green shirt with a red collar on it. His pants were green and appeared to be very soft. Before I could even speak he said “ I know what you saw, and it was real. I'm here to fix Christmas for your family. Just please don't say anything about this and you’ll be okay.” I thought for a moment then nodded my head in agreement. I then remember I'm talking to an elf so I take the opportunity to ask a few questions. He answers them all honestly. He tells me that he has to go now and I allow him to leave knowing I’ll remember him forever.

xs5x5z

honey, this will hurt for a while

Oh honey, this one’s going to hurt for a while. I wish I could tell you it’s not going to, but it is. No, I’m not writing from the future; I just know that this is going to hurt for longer than you’re ready for it to, and I'm giving you a moment to wallow. I know it’s going to hurt because lesser things have hurt you for a long time. Sure, bigger things have hurt too. And you got past them, so you’ll get past this too. Getting past it won’t be painless. It’s going to hurt every time you see her or hear her voice. It’s going to hurt when you spend time together and you can’t hold her like you want to. It’s even going to hurt when you look at other people and try to think about them that way. The hardest part is, she won’t know that it hurts you. She won’t know that her very presence changes the way a room feels, because she never knew. You can’t tell her, either. Oh no, you can never tell her. However long you are friends for, there will always be that unspoken hurt, that thing that keeps you from being as close as you could. Maybe. Maybe it won’t be like that this time. I’m so sorry that these things keep ruining September for you. I know you think August is the sad month, but it’s not August, sweetheart. You were right to anticipate the hurt in August. But it didn’t come ‘til September. But there’s a few things that are going to make it okay. One: you didn’t do anything to ruin things. As far as you know, you didn’t give it away. So you can keep that part of your heart, even if it is a bit bruised. Two: you can still be friends, and friendships can be beautiful and loving, just in a different way, and maybe you’ll come to find that’s all you wanted to begin with. Three: you’re writing, and you know this will continue to help you write. At your core, you’re a writer. She said so herself, didn’t she? You haven’t had a lot of inspiration to go on recently, but here’s some. Just not the kind you wanted. I think you have a lot to learn and understand what it means to be in a relationship with someone. You seem to have these expectations for ownership, and you know that’s not right. But I won’t lecture you too much right now, because it hurts, and oh, it’s going to hurt acutely for the next few days, maybe the next few weeks. And then it’ll hurt in flares, and eventually it’ll dull to the kind of hurt that just tugs at the back of your mind occasionally, when you’re sharing an especially good moment, the kind of moment that makes you say Doesn’t she feel it too? You tend to make big plans in your head, and you base present decisions on what your future might look like with someone. Well, look, dear, you can drop some of those, for now. You can drop the act I know you’ve been putting on. You don’t have to pretend that your shared hobbies are more aligned than they really are. Oh yes, I noticed. None of that was ever going to make her like you. None of that is ever going to change the way anyone feels about you. I know you’ll do it again, but it must be said. I think you’ll find that, although the hurt doesn’t go away, you have fewer and fewer words to express it. There is only so much to say in this case.  You can’t change her mind. There’s no opening. You know all of this for certain, and that certainty will help you get over this one much faster than previous ones. I hope. I had another bright spot for you, but I’ve forgotten already. I’ll remember, you will. We’re one and the same. Oh! I remember. You don’t have to overanalyze everything you do and say anymore. That must be freeing. You already felt it today when you found out. You felt something shift inside you, and you started saying things you wouldn’t before. You don’t have to be so careful. Why is it that you’re so careful? What are you afraid of? It’s late, sweetheart, but I know you’re not tired and you can’t focus on a book, so I’m letting you continue this. You’re expecting to sleep badly, but what we’ve learned today is that your expectations and predictions are often wildly wrong. I know, sitting in that café, you were getting ready to tell her. You sipped the iced lemon mint tea she bought for you and you watched her laugh, and you thought it was finally time. Months of build-up, of anticipation, of stolen glances and overanalyzed words had gotten you here, about to ask your very first girl on a date. And luckily—or unluckily, depending on how you look at it—before you could ask, she said it so casually: I’m straight, unfortunately. I don’t want to fuel your feeling of self-righteous indignity too much, but I will say that we really did have more evidence that pointed to the contrary. She had never mentioned anything, aside from occasionally calling a man attractive, but she had that look about her. You hate to admit that, I know. But she had the look, the vibe. And she was always around, always bringing coffee or word searches for you, always waiting by your car at the end of the day. I know what you’re thinking, and you need to stop. You’re thinking that a year ago you didn’t know you were bi either, and maybe she doesn’t know either, but look: it’s not your job or your place or anything to do with you. A lot of people learn later in life. But a lot of people already have it figured out. I know you wish she hadn’t added that ‘unfortunately,’ because that’s the crack in the window you think you might someday be able to climb through. You have to stop. You have to . You’ll only make it hurt more. I wish I could say that you won’t make this mistake again, but oh, I’m sure you will. We will. It’s bound to happen. You’re going to fall for straight women and gay men, and you’re not going to be able to do anything about it. You can’t shield your heart too much. I can’t really stop you, but don’t jump into anything out of spite. It will only feel spiteful to you, because she doesn’t know, and anyway, she doesn’t deserve spite. She can’t help this anymore than you can. Don’t you wish you’d known sooner, though? So you could have formed a nice, normal friendship without a bunch of complicated feelings ? Well, you’ve finished listening to that sad album you hide inside whenever someone wrongs you, and you know what that means. It’s time for bed. I bet you just can’t wait to go see that band that makes sad albums, with not one, but two friends that you have unresolved feelings for. Like I said, I can’t stop you from doing anything, no matter how much it’s going to hurt.

51eilf

Chu-Chu

CHU-CHU To Iain, and his Uncle Jack I never forgot the moment when I first met Chu-Chu. I was four years old and visiting Uncle Jack and his family with my parents. Or, rather, we were visiting Auntie Maggie and her family – Auntie Maggie was my mother’s sister, and she was married to Uncle Jack. Or whatever. I loved these visits because I loved Uncle Jack. I particularly loved his collection of toy soldiers. Uncle Jack  collected toy soldiers from cereal packets, you know how they would include them as a prize to encourage people to buy more cereal, or rather, to encourage children to push their parents to buy more cereal so that they could get more toy soldiers for their collection. Apparently Uncle Jack managed to eat more cereal than I, because his toy soldier collection was bigger and better than mine. Thus, I was always looking forward to these visits to Auntie Maggie and Uncle Jack’s house, because I wanted to play with his toy soldiers. But this visit turned out to be different. Not because I couldn’t play with the toy soldiers, no, I got full enjoyment out of these as usual. But while I was playing with them and with Matthew, Uncle Jack and Auntie Maggie’s son, Uncle Jack suddenly came out of the kitchen with two wooden steam engines he had made himself, one in each hand. As Uncle Jack stopped before us, I slowly stood up, my eyes transfixed on these steam engines. One of them was bright red and the other one green; Uncle Jack had made them himself.  “Who wants one of them?” he asked, and the next moment I saw Matthew lunging forward and taking the red steam engine. He liked the bright colour. I was very happy with the green one myself; in fact, this was the one I immediately felt a connection with. It had a red stripe painted around the cylinder, but otherwise it was a peaceful green, and I immediately felt the rush of falling in love with it. I held it tight to my chest, grinning; it felt as if Christmas had come early. In fact, it felt as if all the Christmases I had ever had, and was going to have, had come early. It was the best thing that had ever happened to me. The best thing not only because I had just become the happy owner of this magnificent Steam Engine, but because of the way Uncle Jack had made it and its red brother for me and Matthew, and the way he had come out and given them to us, just like that. I called the Steam Engine Chu-Chu, and we became inseparable. I had to have Chu-Chu with me absolutely everywhere. Chu-Chu accompanied me at the breakfast table, though he was not keen on cereal or in fact on any type of food. Still, he had to be with me at lunch also, and at dinner. I played with Chu-Chu all the time, and even while I was playing with my other toys, Chu-Chu was with me and joined in. I brought Chu-Chu with me wherever I went, including to the church. Chu-Chu had a string attached to it and could be trundled behind, so walking with Chu-Chu was a delight. I remember when my parents took me and Chu-Chu to visit Edinburgh and I trundled Chu-Chu through the entire length of Prince’s Street. My kind and patient parents let me do this and never protested or rushed me.  My joy over Chu-Chu was their joy. At night I had happy dreams because I always slept with Chu-Chu. Chu-Chu was my best friend, playmate, confidante and inspiration, always by my side as I was growing up. As a child, I did not have many toys. My parents were not wealthy. Yet, I had everything I needed – material essentials, my parents’ unconditional love, and Chu-Chu. Actually, I used to have another wooden toy, also a favourite of mine: a wooden sword made by a neighbour who would have loved to have sons so that he could make toys for them, but he did not have any – so he made this wooden sword for me, and I had the Sword with me everywhere just like Chu-Chu; even in the church. But, for my utter devastation, one day somebody stole the Sword and I never saw it again. Thankfully I still had Chu-Chu who was a loyal and supportive companion even through my grief about the Sword, and now I loved my Chu-Chu even more. I was in my late teens when I heard from the radio of a car accident in New Seaham where Uncle Jack lived. He had at this stage become divorced from Auntie Maggie; or rather, Auntie Maggie had become divorced from Uncle Jack. Auntie Maggie was a very smart businesswoman who started her ventures by purchasing a children’s clothes' shop which she worked up to a fine franchise. I remember the fixings Uncle Jack made for the shop: a beautiful wooden counter, shelves, and the rest. As the shop began to thrive, Auntie Maggie also started a transportation business which she ran from the back room of the shop. Her descendants are running this transportation business now, and it has become one of the biggest transportation businesses in England. Auntie Maggie was obviously very smart, and her friends were very sophisticated. Auntie Maggie began to feel that Uncle Jack was not good enough for her, and eventually she filed for divorce. So, in Auntie Maggie’s eyes, Uncle Jack was obviously not smart enough. He was very handsome (apparently Auntie Maggie married him for his good looks), and great with his hands. He worked as a joiner in the shafts of the Vane Tempest coal mine. He constructed new tunnels in the mine. The roofs of these tunnels were held up by thick and strong pit props. In fact, my Chu-Chu and Matthew’s red steam engine were made from the offcuts of these props, and these gave them their marvellous sturdiness and great shape. However, the work in these coal mines was very dangerous. The Vane Tempest no longer functions as a coal mine. A museum is built over it, and this museum displays a record that 30 men died from work-related accidents in the mine. Uncle Jack did not die in the mine. Every now and then these coal mine tunnels and piths collapsed, damaging the roads above them. The roads developed cracks and caved in, and driving on them could be very dangerous. One of these road accidents took my Uncle Jack, whose car was flung into a field when the road under it gave in. Apparently Uncle Jack had come out of his car after it had stopped, and walked around until he collapsed and died from his injuries; he was drunk and had been on his way home after having merry time with his friends. He was only in his mid-forties. Many years have passed since. By now my wonderful, kind and loving parents have also passed away, and I miss them very much. My father was a trainspotter. It was he who evoked that passion for steam engines in me. Steam engines were the deal of the day in my earlier childhood, and even though they began to be replaced with diesel engines at about the time when Uncle Jack gave me Chu-Chu, my father and I continued appreciating their magic.  I still do, and Chu-Chu still lives with me, we have stayed true to each other. With the passing of time Chu-Chu became old, bits of it began to want repair, and the paint started chipping off.  Somehow, I didn’t get around to repairing Chu-Chu for a long time, even though I always wanted to do it. Then a fresh young breeze began to blow into my life in the person of my now partner and life companion, Algy. My whole existence acquired a new colour. When Algy shared with me that we are expecting a child, this new colour became even brighter, and now many things had to be fixed to make our home nice for our child. Together with Algy I repaired and re-painted Chu-Chu. It is now a beautiful green again, a lighter tone than before. The stripe around the cylinder is no longer red but gold. The old string had deteriorated but I did not attach a new one yet: no one knew when our child would become interested in Chu-Chu, and they could get stuck in the string if it were there too early. Otherwise, Chu-Chu was like new again, and my own and Algy’s eyes shone as we beheld Chu-Chu and dreamed about the soft little hands which were going to explore, caress and play with it. We so very much hoped that they would… The day came. Another year had passed and our beautiful son, Oscar, had been our love and joy ever since he arrived. He had already learned to walk on his pudgy little feet. I loved watching him play and so did Chu-Chu, who had been waiting for his new playmate in his place in the sitting room. I was four when I got Chu-Chu, would Oscar also wait until he is four? No, Oscar did not wish to wait for this long. One day I saw him discover Chu-Chu. Suddenly his soft little one year-old hands were exploring Chu-Chu just like in my dreams when we were expecting him. Now he was pushing Chu-Chu, and I could see the delight on his face when he realised how many marvellous possibilities Chu-Chu could offer. I was standing quietly observing Oscar and Chu-Chu. A quiet tear made its way down my face, but I felt elated, so very happy to the core… Chu-Chu has become Oscar’s favourite toy just like it has been mine. Interestingly, alongside with Chu-Chu Oscar has another treasured wooden toy just as I did. He does not have a Sword, but he loves his wooden play trolley. We do not take Oscar to the church, so there has not been a possibility to do the church test with Chu-Chu and the Trolley. But, I have every intention to bring Oscar to Edinburgh when he will be a couple of years older. By then I will have attached a new string to Chu-Chu, so that Oscar will be able to trundle it through the whole length of Prince’s Street. By Alex Lynn

qjlw1u

Just the Hot Chocolate, Thanks.

I remember going shopping as a kid during the holidays. It was busy, and bustling and there were people all over the place. It was exciting. Everyone would smile at me and ask me about what I wanted for Christmas. I loved it. Every year, when I’d go out with my mom she’d be stressed. She’d wring her hands and pull at her hair as we walked. I would stop and talk with every stranger who would listen. I’d tell them anything they wanted to know, and at the end when we said goodbye, I’d say “buh bye, I love you!” I guess I’d said it one too many times because once, after leaving the shops my mom pulled me close to her and said “don’t tell strangers you love them. Do you hear me? That old man was fuckin’ creepy.” I was shocked. Had he been creepy? All I knew was that he smiled a lot and seemed to like my never-ending curious questions. As we drove away, I placed my hand on my cheek in the backseat and leaned my elbow against the window. I went in and out of daydreams until my mom began explaining to her boyfriend that “all men are pricks and all women are bitches.” I felt like she was wrong, but what did I know? And if all women were bitches, would that mean that someday I’d be one too? This morning I drove up to the store. It's Christmas Eve and I can’t wait until the holidays are over. Everyone’s in a rush, the stores are all crowded, and no one smiles at me anymore. My only goal is to get in and out as quickly as possible because I hate coming here alone. There’s a woman in the middle of the aisle I need to go down and she’s just managing to block the entire path with her shopping cart. I wait a moment behind her to see if she is only going to be there for a moment, but it becomes clear to me that she’s not planning on leaving when she calls her husband over to look at something with her. “Excuse me” I say, and she either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t mind that she’s blocking me out. So, I squeeze my body between her cart and the display table next to me. I move toward the Christmas tag labels and grab a couple options. Then, I head as fast as I can to the self-checkout aisle. Somehow, I'm both resenting and cherishing the feeling of being totally invisible. I walk out with my receipt and decide the stress of shopping is enough to reward myself with a little coffee from the shop next door. As I walk inside, my body warms with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. I wear the scent on me now like a sweater. Somehow, I am the only person here. I walk up to the counter and as I look at the menu trying to decide what I’ll have; a barista appears from the back room and walks over to me smiling. “Hi, how are you today?” something about the way he says it makes me drop my usual defenses. “I am honestly burnt out today, how about you?” he smiles, and the smile reaches all the way up to his eyes. “I’ve been feeling that way myself lately. Missing family, missing the feeling of Christmas as a kid.” I give him a sideways look because it feels as if he’s reading my mind somehow. “Yeah,” I say. “I get that.” He nods. “So, what’ll you be having today?” I think it over for a moment. “Do you have peppermint hot chocolate? I came in wanting a coffee you know but a hot chocolate just sounds …” I trail off. I can’t believe I’m blathering on and on to a stranger. I shake my head like an etch a sketch, feeling a smidge pathetic. Suddenly, I’m remembering all the times my mom told me to button it up and keep quiet over the years. To stop being such a motor mouth and to leave people alone. I realize I’m probably bothering this poor barista who’s only here to do a job. I start folding into myself. “Anyway, just the hot chocolate for today. Thanks.” The barista pauses a moment before smiling that warm, glowing smile that reaches all the way up to his eyes and says, “Of course we have peppermint hot chocolate. I have just the thing, too. It’ll be out in a moment.” I nod my head gratefully and take a seat in the lobby. But, almost as soon as I sit down, he calls my name to tell me my drink is ready. Am I losing my mind? How much time passed by? “We like to put Andie's mints in the hot chocolate to give it a minty flavor. It’s delicious and a great choice.” I feel a little disappointed at this, but his eyes are so hopeful as he hands me the drink that I smile and thank him. “Give it a try and let me know if you like it, if not no worries. We can always make something else!” It’s curious to me that he says “we” because he seems to be the only other person here. I take a sip and close my eyes. The drink is rich and chocolatey. It’s warm but not too hot. It’s creamy and has just the right amount of mint. It takes me a moment to come back to reality. When I do, the barista is still in front of me, looking at me curiously. “How do you feel?” What a strange question! I think for a moment. How do I feel? I feel light. I feel …. like I’m forgetting something. The barista only smiles. “Do you think you’ve forgotten anything important?” Oh shit, I must have said that out loud. “No, no, nothing important. Only, something heavy.” I think back on my morning. I remember waking up and taking the most luxuriously hot shower. I remember snuggling with my dogs until 9am. I remember coming to the grocery store and picking out gift tags for the people I love most in the world. I remember how good it felt to find the perfect parking spot when I got there. I go back further. I remember playing on the playground with my mom as she chased my brother and I around, yelling that she was the tickle monster. I remember laughing so hard it made my stomach sore in the best way. I smile. I remember lying in bed as a kid on Christmas Eve, too excited to sleep. “I can only remember the good things right now.” When I look back up, the barista says, “that’s good, it’s what we strive to do for people. Merry Christmas to you.” “Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too. Hey, what did you…?” Before I can finish my question, he’s gone. I’m sitting in my car with a peppermint hot chocolate. I wonder how I got here. I think, maybe it doesn’t matter how I got here, only that I did. I drive home to wrap gifts and snuggle with my dogs. I remember only the good things right now.

bqmxfy

Match Week

Maddi Weathers tapped her foot on the floor, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. When it was finally her turn, she displayed her name tag, and the Council President handed her an envelope. As Maddi walked away, she traced her fingers over the letters on the front: “ Maddie Weathers ”. By now, she was used to the extra “e”. Pursing her lips, she opened the envelope and unfolded the enclosed paper. “ Jayden Turner ” was written at the top. Maddi furrowed her brows. She didn’t know anyone with the last name “Turner” in Zone 5 ... Jayden must be a Transfer. Keeping that thought in the back of her mind, she started preparing for the rest of Match Week. Maddy was excited that she and Jayden had both chosen to do musical activities on Day Two. She rushed to the music room, clutching her music sheet binder. A tall, lanky boy with a guitar was leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. “Jayden Turner?” The boy pocketed his phone and smiled. “Just call me Turner. You must be Miss Weathers?” “Yes, I’m Maddy. Sorry I’m late!” “No worries,” Jayden said as he opened the door. Once Maddy stepped into the room, she made a beeline for the piano. After smoothing her skirt, she sat down in front of the black and white keys. “Did you bring any music?” Maddy asked. “I brought the songs I wrote, but I’m good with whatever you want.” Swooning internally, Maddy grinned and propped up the music sheet for Jar of Hearts. She looked over her shoulder to Jayden, who gave her a thumbs up and a wink. Maddy blushed and slid her fingers over the keys as she started singing along. The day passed by quickly as they sang and played their instruments together. When it was time to go, Jayden gave Maddy a notebook with blank sheet music. “For you to write down the melodies that float around in your head,” he whispered. Maddy squealed. “Thanks Jayden!” Once her alarm blared, Maddi turned it off and rolled out of bed, excited for Day Three. She spent five minutes on her ponytail because she had to redo it twice to hide loose hairs. After putting on her favorite athletic gear and grabbing her basketball and a bag of Cheez-Its, Maddi jogged down the street, feeling accomplished because she was five minutes ahead of schedule. Upon reaching the basketball court, she was surprised to see Jayden already there, his tall frame making the net look small. “No fair, you already started warming up,” she teased. Jayden laughed. “It takes me 10 minutes, so I figured I’d come early to maximize our time.” “Wow, thanks Jayden!” Maddi gushed. Despite her nervousness, she liked Jayden’s deep, calming voice. Jayden turned out to be more of a point guard than a center. Maddi was impressed by how he carried his lanky form seamlessly across the court. Maddi also appreciated how Jayden would step back to give her decent opportunities to shoot, but still gave her pressure when she was dribbling. The guys she had played with would let her dribble but would laugh as they blocked her shots, saying that “girls can never play basketball with boys”. Jayden was different; he respected her and kept things fair. A few rounds later, they resorted to just shooting and chatting. Maddi learned that Jayden grew up playing basketball with his sibling. After discussing their shared love for team sports, Maddi mustered up the courage to ask the question lingering in her mind: “Have you always been here? I feel like I would remember you if I’ve seen you before.” Jayden paused in the middle of a shot. “No, I’m a Transfer,” he said quietly. Recognizing that Jayden wasn’t very comfortable, Maddi nodded and jogged back to the bench. “Want some Cheez-Its?” Jayden’s face lightened up, and he jogged over. “Sure!” They were quiet after that, just munching on Cheez-Its and smiling at each other. As the sun set, Jayden stood and held out his hand for a high-five. “Great playing,” he said. Maddi jumped up to slap his hand. “You too. That was fun!” When Maddi stepped into her house that night, she saw her sister waiting on the couch. “How did it go? Was he nice to you?” Maddi sighed and rolled her eyes. “Let me take a shower first.” An hour later, they were lounging on the couch, one of them reading a book and the other humming and writing in a music sheet notepad. They kept stealing glances at each other, until Maddi couldn’t stand it anymore and put her book aside. “You go first.” “No, you.” “Ugh, okay fine... I really like Jayden,” Maddi said. “He’s nice and understanding, and I feel like I’ve known him for a long time already. Also, I could stare into his blue eyes forever!” “I like Jayden too! He seems so nice and cool. He also likes singing and playing music!” Maddi nodded and bit her lip, a question fighting to crawl out of her mouth. The couch squeaked as she shifted her legs. “Do you think you want to complete the match?” Maddi asked softly. Maddy replied, “I think so! I’ve never felt this way about someone before.” “Well, it’s our fifth Match Week anyway. People usually take three Match Weeks.” “Yeah, but I couldn’t really see myself spending the rest of my life with those other assignments. I know you didn’t either since you always found something about them to complain about.” “That’s true.” Maddi chuckled, but her smile quickly faltered. “Maddy?” she whispered. “Hmm?” Maddy said as she put her pencil down and looked at Maddi, who was curled up under the couch blanket. “What if I want to complete the match too?” Maddi whispered. A flash of irritation crossed Maddy’s face, followed by a flash of anger across Maddi’s. Trying to ignore the rising jealousy, Maddi took a deep breath and asked, “Should we tell him the secret?” Maddy swiveled her head to see if anyone else had heard, but there was only a photo of their late parents hanging on the wall. Annoyed by Maddy’s silence, Maddi impatiently said, “I’m going to tell him how I feel tomorrow.” Maddy immediately sat up on the couch and glared at Maddi. “That’s not fair! You always get what you want!” “But I said I liked him first!” “That’s not how it works! Also, it’s technically my turn tomorrow.” “That’s not fair either! You were the one who told me to pick up the assignment Day One.” Maddy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Okay fine. Do you have a better idea?” Maddi whispered, “Did you know that Jayden’s actually a Transfer?” Maddy scooted closer to Maddi. “How do you know?” “When I first met him, I suspected that he wasn’t from our zone because I’m pretty sure I would remember him. So I asked him, and he said he’s a Transfer. It didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it, so I didn’t push him. He also has a sibling, but that’s all I know.” “That’s interesting. People become Transfers when they’ve gone through five Match Weeks and still haven’t completed a match, but Jayden doesn’t seem like that type.” Maddi agreed. “What about I meet him tomorrow and ask him about it?” “But what are we going to do about the last day of Match Week?” Maddi stared at the photo of their parents. “Let’s not worry about that right now. Remember when we were younger and argued a lot, our parents told us to treasure each other and be grateful that we have each other?” “Yeah.” “And then we became best friends and promised to take care of each other and protect our secret?” “Yeah. I still can’t believe the Council made the half-half rule restricting families to one male and one female child.” “They just care about getting the numbers right, whatever that means. Anyway, I have a genius idea.” Maddy rolled her eyes. “You always say that. But tell me.” “Honestly, I like Jayden. BUT I don’t think I would feel okay with completing the match with him, knowing that you also like him. You’re my best friend, but I’m tired of having to pretend we’re the same person. Sometimes I dream of being transferred so I can be my own person. I think I’ll be okay with not completing the match with Jayden if I could have my own identity.” She waited for Maddy to say something, but Maddy just looked at her with an unreadable expression, so she continued. “How about I meet with Jayden tomorrow, ask him about being a Transfer, tell him our secret, and mention that I want to be transferred? And then you can complete the match on Day Five?” Maddy closed her eyes. “So you’re saying I can complete the match with Jayden, and you’re going to transfer?” “Basically. But I need to talk to Jayden first. Would you be okay with that?” “I guess that’s the best option we have right now.” That night, Maddi kept tossing and turning in her bed. She was at peace with her decision to tell Jayden their secret and try to get transferred, but she was scared that the Council would find out that their parents secretly raised twins and that they had been sharing an identity for the past 22 years. She was hesitant to leave Maddy, but having her own identity was her dream. With the hope of gaining her own identity lingering in her mind, Maddi fell asleep. Meanwhile, Jayden was lying in his bed, thinking about Maddie. He treasured her appreciation of his interest in songwriting, and sometimes she even reminded him of his brother. Jayden was glad he transferred to Zone 5. He was tired of the girls in Zone 1 making fun of his songwriting. Jayden knew that Maddie was the right match for him, and he hoped to tell her his feelings the next day. The next morning, Maddi stepped out of the house into the cold air. The gray clouds shrouded the sky, allowing only a sliver of sunlight. Maddi took a deep breath, and walked towards Room 8, where she was to meet Jayden for Day Four Quality Time. When Maddi entered Room 8, Jayden had just finished hanging up his coat. “Good morning, Jayden!” “Morning,” Jayden replied back. Wanting to get the whole thing off her chest, Maddi skipped the small talk. “Can I ask you something?” Jayden sat down at one end of the couch and nodded. Maddi settled down on the other end, and bringing her feet up to her chest, asked softly, “Why did you become a Transfer?” Jayden took a deep breath. “Remember how we sang and played music, and you listened to the songs I wrote?” Maddi thought to herself, you must mean my sister , but she nodded and said, “Of course! I like your songs.” Jayden smiled. “Back in Zone 1, we also started doing Match Week. But every girl I was matched with would make fun of my songs and say that I’ll never be able to make it as a songwriter. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect my passion for songwriting. I was tired of those girls not supporting my dream, so I decided to try other zones.” “Wait, you can just transfer to another zone?” “The Council has to interview you and approve the transfer, but generally, they’re okay with people transferring since we also have transfers from other zones.” “That’s interesting,” Maddi said. “Here, you can only get transferred if you’ve participated in five Match Weeks and still don’t complete a match.” “Really? Wow, there are so many rules in Zone 5.” Maddi immediately grasped the opportunity to mention the twin situation. “Speaking of rules, can I tell you something?” “Of course!” he said. “You promise you won’t tell anyone else?” Jayden chuckled and said, “You can trust me, Maddie.” Maddi took a deep breath and said, “You know how there are lots of rules in Zone 5?” Jayden nodded. “One of the rules is that families have to have one son and one daughter. The Council President believes that’s the best way to ensure a healthy population.” “So twins aren’t allowed?” Jayden interrupted. Maddi nodded. “Good thing I’m the only one that transferred here then,” Jayden said. Now Maddi was confused. “What do you mean?” Jayden leaned in and whispered, “I have a twin brother who’s also unmatched. He’s the one I grew up playing basketball with. His name is Jaiden, spelled with an ‘i’ instead of a ‘y’.” “Oh!” Maddi did not expect that, but it made it easier for her to reveal her identity. “Is that all you were going to tell me?” Jayden asked. “I'm also a twin.” Maddi blurted out. Jayden’s eyes widened. “I'm Maddi, spelled with an ‘i’. I have a twin sister named Maddy, spelled with a ‘y’. We go by Maddie, spelled with ‘ie’.” Maddi paused, waiting for that to sink in. Jayden was silent for a moment before scooting back to the other end of the couch. “You’re not mad, are you?” Maddi asked. “I don’t know.” Jayden sighed. “Were you the one who played music with me?” Maddi pursed her lips. “That was my sister.” Jayden closed his eyes, nodding. “But what you said earlier helped me realize that what I’m planning to do is the right thing to do.” “What do you mean?” Jayden asked. “For my whole life, I’ve been unable to live as myself because I’ve had to pretend I’m Maddie with an ‘e’. I can’t stand not being able to be my own person.” “That’s what my brother says sometimes.” Maddi smiled and continued, “I like you, and if I didn’t have to share an identity with someone, I would complete this match. But my sister adores you, and from what you said about finding someone who respects your passion for songwriting, I think you should complete the match with my sister.” Maddi paused to take a breath. “But what would happen to you?” “That’s the thing. I wanted to ask you about transferring, because I want to get transferred so I can have my own identity.” “Oh, I see now. But the only way you can get transferred in Zone 5 is to participate in five Match Weeks without completing a match?” “Yep. And this is my fifth Match Week, so this is my chance to get transferred. But I also hope you complete the match with my sister.” Jayden nodded, and they spent the rest of Quality Time coming up with a plan. When Maddi returned home, she told Maddy, “We have a plan. You just need to hide in the gym’s bathroom until I come find you.” Day Five of Match Week, also known as Completion Day, started with all the participants taking their seats at desks set up in the school gym. The Council passed out a form to everyone. It was almost like it was final exam day. After everyone settled down, the Council President spoke. “Match Week participants, you are very privileged to be in Zone 5, the first zone to conduct Match Week. Our half-half rule has made our zone stable. Families are essential to healthy zones, and they are perfect when the parents are perfect matches for each other. Each of you should have brought your assignment envelope. If you’re completing your match, please return the assignment envelope and head to the auditorium for the Match Ceremony. If you’re not completing your match, please fill out the form so we can better match you next time. And if this is your fifth Match Week and you’re not completing the match, circle “Transfer” on the form and bring it to the Council. This year, Transfers will be sent to Zone 1.” Maddi’s ears perked up. Zone 1 was where Jayden was from! Putting that thought aside, she placed Jayden’s file in the envelope and sealed it. In her pocket was the form with “Transfer” circled. She just hoped that their plan would work. Meanwhile, Maddy had successfully sneaked into the gym’s bathroom. Not long after, she heard a soft voice. “Maddy?” Maddy emerged from the shower stall and ran to hug her sister. “I understand why you want to get transferred, but I’ll miss you so much.” Maddi squeezed Maddy tighter, and a tear dropped from her eye. “I know. Thanks for being my best friend here.” Maddy whispered back, “Thanks for everything.” They broke apart, and Maddi handed Maddy the envelope. “Go complete your match. I’ll go out soon and turn in my Transfer form.” Maddy squeezed Maddi’s hand and went back to the gym. Two minutes later, Maddi left the bathroom with the Transfer form in her hand. As she scanned the desks, her eyes found Jayden’s. Jayden smiled and nodded at her. Maddi nodded back, and gave her form to the Council, who escorted her to the Zone 1 shuttle. An hour later, Maddi stepped off the shuttle into Zone 1. Taking in her surroundings, she felt a sense of peace and freedom. Here, she would finally be able to live as herself. Her thoughts were soon uninterrupted by a deep voice. “Hello, welcome to Zone 1!” Maddi turned around to see a tall, lanky boy smiling at her. She breathed a sigh of relief. No wonder that voice sounded so familiar! This boy had Jayden’s blue eyes and kind smile. Only his hairstyle was different. “Thanks! I’m Maddi Weathers.” “I’m Jaiden Turner, your welcome buddy.” Maddi smiled, happy to end Match Week with her own identity and a certain blue-eyed friend. She took the folder Jaiden handed out to her and traced her fingers over the letters at the top: “ Maddi Weathers .”

wyl4ze

A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE IN PIRTLEVILLE

“This is too good to be true!” George swiped his shirt cuff at the tears streaming down his cheeks as his friends and neighbors stuffed wads of cash into a red Christmas stocking. Arms swarmed and swirled around him, stretching over shoulders, reaching around people, all of them extensions of joyful faces shouting “Merry Christmas George!” and “You da’ Man”.          “I can’t believe it. Shucks folks.” Holding his daughter FooFoo on his hip, George blubbered, “It’s…it’s a Christmas miracle! That’s what it is!”          “Merry Chrishmas George,” his wife Ginger said and raised her gin and tonic. “A toashhh!”          George kissed Ginger on the cheek and made a mental note to talk to her about her drinking. He smiled until the front door opened and an arctic blast of snow and howling wind swept into the room. Hiram Wert, the Nashville bank examiner, glowered at him, his expression as cold and bleak as the wind battering the little town of Pirtleville this Christmas Eve. That afternoon, Wert had snarled “well, well, well” out loud when he discovered a $5,000 shortfall in the credit union’s annual audit. Wert stepped into the crowd which parted like he was Moses walking into the Red Sea. “Look Mr. Wert! We raised the money!” George didn’t need to shout. Except for the clink of ice cubes melting in cocktail tumblers, the room was silent.           “This may be how they do business out here in rural America…,” Wert said, taking in the room and its celebrants. “…but in the big city we have a name for it. Embezzlement.”           “Gee…” is all that George could say because Wert was the kind of man who already knew what you were going to say and didn’t wait around to hear you say it.           “Not everybody has a bunch of friends with cash to burn to help him out when he gets caught with his hand in the cookie jar.”           “I…”           “Stole! Is that the word you’re looking for?” Wert had the personality of a drill sergeant in Genghis Khan’s army. “Your friends’ generosity does not excuse the fact that a felony has been committed. So…” That word slid out of the side of Wert’s mouth like the snarl that begins a dog fight. “What is it bunny rabbit? Cocaine? Painted women? Did you get some farm girl in trouble?”           The crowd fell back even more, but this time away from George.           “Listen big shot.” Wert poked George in the chest with his finger. “This is an old story.”          “I swear,” George said. “I…I didn’t take the money.” “$5,000 just got up and walked away,” Wert said, sweeping his arm over the room as if his sarcasm required theatrical emphasis. “Is that what you’re saying?”   “Uncle Billy lost our deposit…” George said. Uncle Billy was absentminded; everybody knew that. He’d always been that way. George only let the dithering old man work at the credit union because he was Ginger’s favorite uncle. Most of his responsibilities were running simple errands and taking out the trash.          “Well, well, well, if that don’t beat all. Is there no limit to your degradation? Trying to blame it on your half-wit uncle?”         Everyone thought “half-wit” was a rude thing to say although an accurate description of the bumbling old man. George watched Uncle Billy down his fifth whiskey of the evening and briefly wondered if it was not some kind of elder abuse to allow someone that simple minded to drink alcohol. The man needed a caretaker. “Ting-a-ling!”         FooFoo snapped her head toward the bell on the Christmas tree. “Everybody!” she yelled. “An angel has just…” She didn’t get to finish her sentence because everyone was watching Wert who had just pulled handcuffs out of his pocket and shook them loose with a snap of his wrist which accounted for the bell-like sound.          “Here I am on Christmas Eve dealing with your shenanigans.” Wert snapped the handcuffs onto George’s wrists. “Just because I’m divorced and my children won’t talk to me do you think I don’t want to celebrate Christmas Eve? You don’t think I have any Christmas spirit?” In truth, Wert had a lot of Christmas spirits given to him by the financial institutions he had audited over the past two weeks and he planned on drinking them over the holiday in his efficiency apartment in a seedy part of Nashville.          “I’m not going to prison for you Uncle Billy!” George shouted as they passed through the front door. Stumbling down the sidewalk, he screamed: “I’m innocent!” “Save it for the judge miscreant,” Wert snarled.        “I’ll get you Uncle Billy!” George yelled as Wert shoved him into the backseat of his car. “I’ll get even you old fool!”       George closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the car seat. “It’s Christmas.” George was near tears now. “We got the money together; we made it good.”       “You’re forgetting the crime bunny rabbit,” Wert said and started the engine. “But Uncle Billy had the money!” The car began creeping down Maple Street, sliding a little on the packed ice as they rounded the corner onto Elm. “Listen bucko, no one with any common sense would entrust $5,000 to a half-wit.” George saw the logic in this. Would you send a 5-year-old to play on a busy highway? This was going to happen sooner or later. How could he explain this to a jury? “What can I do to fix this?’ he asked. “ Fix it? Are you trying to bribe me now? Think you can get your friends and floosies to come up with a little more graft. Is that it?” “No, no. I didn’t mean that at all…I…” “It’s obvious you used Uncle Billy to steal the money. You and your uncle were in this together, am I right?” Wert hit an icy patch and wrestled the steering wheel into the slide righting the vehicle. “No…no…Everybody saw me hand the envelope with the money in it to Uncle Billy to take to the bank.” “Back at that again?” Wert said. “I understand the bank is owned by your lifetime arch enemy. So…you bank with him? Again, that doesn’t make common sense.” George had never thought about that. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you’ll testify against your partner for his part, we’ll let you plead to a lesser charge and maybe we can go light on you it being Christmas and all.” George said nothing. “I’m thinking you spend the next two Christmases in the big house, meet some new friends, and we let Uncle Billy do the hard time,” Wert said. “He’s an old man, and he won’t miss a bunch of Christmases.”  Uncle Billy would easily testify against him, George thought. That simpleton will tell them whatever they want to hear. I’ve got to protect myself. And he did get us into this mess. “Okay,” George said. “I’ll tell you all about…Uncle Billy.” “That’s the ticket…Save yourself…You’ve got a family to think of.” Wert looked at George over the seat and did not see the patch of packed snow and ice on the sloping roadway leading to the bridge into the town center. “JEEPERS?” Wert screamed as the car slid out from under them and over the curb. They spun two times, glanced off of a Maple tree and crushed a display of elves gathered around a manger scene, gaining in acceleration toward the river as he pumped and jammed the useless brakes. George saw a plastic baby Jesus riding on the car’s hood, looking at him through the front windshield just before the car leapt off the embankment and into the river. The river swallowed the car with a loud swoosh, and water began spurting in streams into the compartment from around the windows and through the vents. There was no light except the moonlight which reached down into the dark water. They were floating down into the deep, and George heard the “glug, glug, glug” of enormous bubbles of air like giant jellyfish rising up from the car and bobbing their way to the surface where they gurgled and belched. This is how he realized that he was upside down in the floor of the back seat. George groped for the front seat and thought he saw Wert unconscious and crumpled in the front corner of the compartment which was already a third of the way filled. “Wert! Wert!” he shouted but got no answer. The water stung and burned him, especially his gloveless hands. Remembering Wert’s key chain, George clawed at the dashboard and eventually found the keys which were under water now. His fingers frozen stiff and numb, George raised his hands above the waterline which was at his neck now and began to poke the handcuff key at what he thought was the lock’s keyhole. He got one of the handcuffs off a wrist but dropped the key before he could unlock the other. The water was entering too fast for him to search for them. George did find Wert’s briefcase with its incriminating findings and drug it behind him as he squirmed out of a back passenger window. He rose up through the liquid ice and burst through the surface, gasping and vomiting water. He beat the water with his arms trying to stay afloat. His coat and clothes, soaked and freezing into ice, threatened to drag him under. George grabbed the floating baby Jesus and used it for a life buoy. Bert the cop found George wrapped in blankets in the kitchen of a nearby house with a mug of hot coffee clasped in both hands. He was sitting on the briefcase concealed beneath the blanket. “Terrible business. Terrible,” Bert said. “And on Christmas Eve too.” “Yes,” George said, “and Wert had just admitted that he misunderstood…the situation and was bringing me back home.” Back at George’s house, their guests were comforting Ginger. Some of them were drunk. When he opened the front door, he saw Ginger dancing in the arms of their milkman, Waldo, to the holiday classic “I’ll Be Home For Christmas”. Her head was on his shoulder. “George!” she shouted and rushed to him. “You’re back!” George smelled the alcohol on her breath and noted that she did not have a coat on or appear to be prepared in any way to follow him downtown. Ginger hiccupped, “Have a drink!” George told the gathering about his ordeal and explained that Wert had finally understood the way things were and was apologizing for trying to arrest him when the car slid and crashed into the river which claimed Wert but rejected George. “Miracles do happen on Christmas! An angel…” FooFoo shouted and looked to the tree again, but no angels were being made apparently because the bell was silent. She’d mistaken the sound of the single handcuff dangling from George’s wrist for a bell. No Divine angels anyway, George thought of Wert. No angels where he’s going. “Merry, Merry Christmas George!” His friends cheered and began slapping him on the back again. “We shull ne”ve forget how you was…were restored to us (hiccup) on Chrishmas Ev’,” Ginger said. “Ever’ Chrishmas we wull have something eshtra special to celerbate and remumber.” “Yes…” George said, but without his customary enthusiasm. “Absolutely…can’t wait.”

ky8vli

Blue Sky

Blue Sky It ended with a short handshake against the backdrop of a bright blue sky. A weeks worth of ridiculously cheesy frolicking down the pier, riding two seater bikes, eating ice creams, holding hands, and committing a few petty crimes, ended in that short exchange of palm sweat. As she walked away, the familiar view of the back of her head gave me a pang of nostalgia - she always liked to walk in front. No, it’s too early to miss her. She messed with you, fucked up your morals, made you do everything you knew that your parents would absolutely disapprove of. Stop missing her I tell myself. Her footsteps faded away. How did this all even start? It’s crazy how you can lead a life of absolutely no excitement, just the most normal and plain life you could imagine, mind-numbingly dull, and suddenly be caught up in a whirlwind without even comprehending how it all started, the inciting incident. But no, this isn’t something I want to forget. I refuse to forget, yet the details are melting together already. Still standing under the beating California sun, with the sounds of the waves crashing firmly in my awareness, I close my eyes… - “That’s my chair.” I looked up from the plastic hotel pool lounge chair I was about to lay my towel on and saw her for the first time. Her hair was wet. She wore a pink and black bikini swimsuit. “Oh, sorry” I said. I backed up. She just pointed. I turned and saw a hair elastic resting on the corner of the chair. “My stuff is here” she said. “Alrighty.” I hate confrontation. I turn and walk to the other side of the pool to look for an empty seat, timidly dodging a fat man in a speedo diving into the deep end. Once I settle down I sit for a minute, not quite sure if I want to actually get in the water. Go to the pool, my parents said. Be with the other kids. I knew they were off doing some boring adult shit, like going to the spa or at a wine tasting. “Kid” they said. They still think of me as a kid, treat me like a kid. I’m no kid though, I’m thirteen. Suddenly, I become aware of the fact this this girl was pouring a mini bottle of minibar alcohol into her coke cup. What I think to myself, staring in disbelief. Her eyes met mine, and I threw my head against the backrest, clasped my hands together, and pretended like I had been asleep the whole time. When the world is dark it opens up limitless possibilities. My best memories have been created in my imagination, since I don’t spend much time living in the real world. Life is better with your eyes closed. “What were you looking at.” I jump up and see her standing behind me. I guess this is what I could label as the inciting incident. She made the first move. “Nothing.” “Sure.” She drops the empty bottle in my lap. I turn my head slowly to look her in the eye, and there is a moment where some connection is made. Why do I suddenly trust this girl? “Do you like chicken?” she says. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The wooden bench was sticky. I am sitting across from her at the picnic table at a small shack of a restaurant. “You know, if you write something down and believe it’s gonna happen, it will” she says. She drops her chicken leg. “What?” “You’re bored, I can tell.” “I am bored most of the time.” I say. She passes me a napkin. “What do you want to happen?” She says. She slides a pen across the table. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “We’re not gonna get caught,” she laughed. I sigh, and give in. Time goes faster sometimes. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I’m running, the sun is bright, I am following her, we are the only people. All the others are just part of the crowd, extras. I don’t even get winded. I didn't know it could be like this. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “It’s good to see you smile.” She says. The smoke clouds my vision. I cough. No hesitations. “I feel new” I say. She laughed like air. “Me too.” I kiss her. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When she smiled, there was just something about her. Indescribable. The way her eyes squinted, the tiny chip on her front tooth. She smiles at me, into me, and reaches out her hand. I take it. We jump. We crash into the water. The footsteps on the pier above us are a faint rumble that are drowned out by her laugh. Her laugh runs circles around my brain, seeps into my every cell, overcomes my every sense. I blink out the salt. Her hair is wet. “You make me feel more at home than I have ever felt, more alive .” "Life can be a dream sometimes." Not much time passes, but a week has gone by. We are standing on the pier. I look into her eyes, and a heaviness wells up from the bottom of my stomach and drips out of my pores. An indescribable combination of sadness, euphoria, and nostalgia. Everything we did, everything we could have done, and everything we will never get to do races with the clouds. We shake hands. “Goodbye” she says. That's all. Everything happens so fast. She turns and walks away. I stare at the back of her head. I miss her already. The sky creeps around me. I close my eyes. I felt the plastic chair against my back. I opened my eyes. The sun stung my retina. My parents aren’t back yet. I unclasped my hands, and sat up. I saw her. She was sitting across the pool with her coke cup, polishing off the last sip, the little bottle on the floor beside her. Her hair was wet. She wore a pink and black bikini swimsuit. The man in the speedo walked past, seeminglly tired from the short swim he just completed. She turns her head away from me. Life really is better with your eyes closed. I wiped my sweaty palms on my t-shirt then got up and walked towards her. This time I know what to do. It began with a handshake...

24geg6

The Ornament

A thin shaft of sunlight dances on the floor around me as I lay there waiting. I roll over to view my surroundings. The skylight far above me lets in just enough of the morning light to bring a magical glow to the room. The cobweb by the door glitters a warning to any flies venturing too close. The cool draft under the door brought the dust in the room to life. Specks of it float through the ray of light, winking as if to remind me that my wait was nearly over. The year has felt long. I have counted the light and dark through the skylight. I know it couldn’t be much longer. Ice crystals had disappeared from the glass as the days grew warmer. Then the first Spring rains came. There was a slight crack in the window. I nearly always got wet. I counted the drops as they slid from the eaves into the tinny drainpipes. Then came the stuffiness of summer.  Birds flittered above the skylight singing to me long after their usual time to go. Fall is beautiful. I can smell the burning leaves and watch smoke drifting through the empty branches. There’s a distinct crackling sound as people move through downed leaves. I hear the children yelling “trick or treat”. It’s all over now. The first snowfall came a while ago. Each flake that slides down the cold glass of the skylight reminds me that my wait was nearly over. Now the skylight is completely covered. Everything in the room is in shadow. When the crystal cobwebs disappeared into darkness and the dust settled, it didn’t scare me. It comforted me knowing these were signs the waiting was over. I relax into my soft tissue bed and wait for the footsteps. I am always pleased with the gentle way they put me away to wait. I am more fragile with each passing year. The people in this house have been very good to me. I am always up front where I can be appreciated. They give me a view of the room where I can watch the children simmering all season long, then bubbling over on the big day. I can watch presents being wrapped then being given a playful shake as people try to guess what is in them. Being hung by a light is the best. I can reflect all the joy I feel for the family. Something was wrong. Snow has covered the skylight, but I can still tell the difference between light and dark. Too many days have passed.  It is colder. The draft under the door is icy. Still no footsteps.  They have never been this late. I couldn’t have counted wrong. I’ve been doing this for years. Maybe I was getting too old. I count three more days. Still no footsteps. Crystals of frost have formed on the inside of the skylight. My enthusiasm has turned cold. The dark shadows on the wall seem to be leering at me like they know why I am still waiting. Then I hear it. The third stair from the top always creaks. I know I am safe. The time has come. I can hear someone on the floorboards outside the door. The smell of sulphur permeates the room as a match lights a candle. Slowly the door opens. Standing in the shadows is a large but familiar figure. As the candle illuminates the room, I notice subtle changes to the scenery. The cobwebs are larger, the dust a little thicker. The room takes on a magical glow as my pleasant memories glitter in the musky atmosphere. The wait is finally over. The figure comes towards me with a hesitancy. I am in a hurry. If possible, I would jump into his arms begging to be taken out of the room. I wait patiently as he fumbles past old boxes, stopping to wipe the cobwebs from his face. Finally, he reaches down and picks me up. He carries me carefully down the stairs. I smile as the third step from the top creaks. The light gets brighter as we descend. The warmth of the house rises around us, reflecting my feelings for this family and this occasion. Hanging beside us in the stairway is the family portrait. I could describe each one of them without looking because I love each one equally. I have watched the children grow up year by year. The man stops and lowers me to a chair where I can see the rest of the room. I know the surroundings well. I think of them all year as I lay in the attic. A slight flickering catches my attention. It shouldn’t be there. I see the calendar on the wall. I’ve been brought down too late. Something is wrong. I turn slightly to my left. In shock, I stare at the pine tree in front of the bay window. There are new lights clipped to every branch blinking monotonously on and off, warning me. I see the rest of the tree covered in plastic decorations, so new that the gum from the price tags hasn’t worn off. They shine cheaply around the room. The warmth of the room means nothing. I feel cold and start to shake. If tears were possible, I would cry. All the memories, the waiting, the anticipation shatter before me. I am old and worn. My features are fading every year. My fragile glass structure won’t last much longer. But I thought they still cared for me. The man, now in a heavy overcoat, scarf, and hat, lifts me into his arms. The rough tweed on his coat catches against my glitter. I feel his soft kid leather gloves against my back. As we pass through the kitchen, I can smell gingerbread men baking in the oven. A cold chill catches my neck. I shudder as he steps out the door onto the crisp snow. I count his footsteps until I hear a final crunch under his winter boot. I hear a clang as he picks up a large round metal lid. The cold steel lines seem to fit with the wintery surroundings. Frightened I feel myself falling away from him, completely alone. I struggle to understand what’s happening. I choke as I land. Strange odors surround me. The smell of rotten tangerine peelings engulfs me. The cardboard beneath me is seeping with week old soup. It’s damp and sticky on my back. I turn and a piece of ham grizzle rubs against me. I want to scream but can’t. This terrible place suddenly starts to get darker. The man is just staring down at me. His hand comes towards me then stops. He shakes his head from side to side then slowly replaces the steel lid. A final clang and it’s all over.

8g3e2h

The Last Family Christmas

   “It’s about time you got here!” Martha exclaimed as she hugged her oldest daughter, Elizabeth. Martha had been baking all morning and was covered in sweat but Elizabeth did not mind, as this was the Christmas tradition. In tow behind Elizabeth was her girlfriend, Ruby. They had been dating for two years and this was the first Christmas they would spend together with her family. Elizabeth was nervous but happy to see her family again. This was only this time of year that they all came together anymore and she missed all the times they used to spend together. Elizabeth and Ruby moved through the kitchen into the living room where her Dad was watching his favorite holiday movie. “Hey, girls! I didn’t hear you come in. Let me help you with those bags and get you settled. Then you can help me convince your Mom to let me break into some of those goodies she’s been working on all morning.” He winked at them as they walked down the hallway to the newly decorated guest bedroom. This was not the house Elizabeth grew up in but it still held memories from the past ten years. Ten years of holidays and surprise visits, family discussions and movie nights. That very living room was the place she came out to her parents as gay and introduced them to Ruby. Elizabeth hugged her Dad and thanked him for helping them with the bags. “We’re just really tired from the drive so we’re going to take a nap before everyone gets here. Is that okay?” Her Dad smiled and said he would wake them up when her brothers arrived. Elizabeth laid in bed and stared at the ceiling for an hour listening to the movie play in the living room before drifting off to sleep.     As Elizabeth sat at the dinner table with her family, she could not help the feeling that came over her. She had these “feelings” before; they were almost like premonitions. She felt like this was the last time they would all be together for a Christmas meal. She did not like the feeling but pushed through to try to figure out why her brain would try to tell her this. Her youngest brother, Alex, and his wife had just announced that they were having a baby in June. Maybe that was it. There would always be a baby in the picture now and her and her brothers and sisters-in-law would not be as close or visit as frequently as they did before. Elizabeth looked at her girlfriend. No one knew yet, but she had already bought an engagement ring and was preparing to propose to Ruby in May at one of their favorite vacation spots. Maybe that was the change. Her family did not approve of her relationship with Ruby and maybe they would cut ties once the marriage finally happened. She knew her family would not be at the wedding, but would they really stop talking to them if they tied the knot? She saw her middle brother, Jeff, staring at her. He raised his eyebrows while passing gravy to their father to question if she was okay. They were two years apart and had developed their own nonverbal communication years ago. Elizabeth gave a weak smile and nodded. She tried to focus on the conversation that was going on between her youngest brother and their mother. Something about how he blamed their childhood dog for a broken family picture. The conversation had everyone at the table laughing except Elizabeth. She knew she should be focusing on the moment but could not shake the nagging feeling that this was the last time she would be surrounded by her entire family. She looked at each face and tried to memorize every moment of the evening.     It was tradition that after the parents go to bed the kids go outside with drinks, sit around the fire pit, and talk until the wee hours of the morning. This year was no different. All six members headed outside with supplies and snacks. “Remember that time I borrowed Elizabeth’s car and drifted into the neighbor’s yard while speeding through the neighborhood?” Alex said. Everyone laughed. “Yeah, and then cleaned off the mud and grass and blamed me for the wheel damage!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “I still can’t believe you waited ten years to tell me that it was you who blew my tire!” Alex laughed and said, “Yeah well I was pretty sure you were going to kill me so I waited until you got rid of the car and had moved on.” Elizabeth smiled at her youngest brother. She could never stay mad at him for long. Jeff spoke up, “Do you think Mom and Dad need help financially? I noticed some things around the house that need repairs that have been there since last year.” Alex shrugged. “You know they’ve never been good with money. Maybe things are tight right now.” Elizabeth spoke up, “Maybe one of us could talk to them, see if they need to borrow some money.” Everyone nodded. Jeff’s wife, Stephanie, spoke next. “If that doesn’t work maybe we can anonymously send out a repair man to fix a few things.” Jeff kissed his wife’s cheek and told her she came up with the best ideas when she was drinking. This got everyone in a carefree mood again as they discussed memories from their past and plans for the future. “I’m serious,” said Alex, “We should all go in together and get a beach house. That way, we can all vacation together.” Elizabeth and Jeff just grinned at their youngest brother. He was always the one to dream big. He was also the one who was afraid of outliving everyone so he was constantly coming up with schemes to get everyone to commit to spending more time together. His last plan had been to purchase land and have all of us live on it together like a commune; at least this idea was a step down. Before they knew it five hours had passed. Alex’s wife, Melissa, was the first to cave. “I can’t keep my eyes open much longer and we’ll be sitting around that Christmas tree in a few hours so I think we should all get some sleep.” Jeff put out the fire as Elizabeth gathered their glasses and bottles. Everyone headed inside for a few hours of sleep.     “Santa Claus caaaaaame!” Martha sang throughout the hallway to wake her sleeping adult children. Elizabeth was already awake, trying to shake the nagging feeling her brain would not drop. One by one, each family member came out of the bedroom and took their spots around the Christmas tree. Martha and John, their father, brought out coffee for everyone and assured them that breakfast was being prepared. Breakfast was a tradition and consisted of biscuits, ham from the night before, eggs, and orange juice. This food combination only happened once a year for her and it always triggered the actual moment Christmas began. The smell of her mother’s homemade biscuits cooking reminded her of mornings from her past where her and her mother would sit at the kitchen table talking while waiting for the delicious morsels to finish baking. Her brothers and father always seemed to know exactly when the biscuits were cool enough to eat because that is when they would magically appear. Elizabeth looked at each family member sitting around the room eating, opening gifts, and laughing. She felt so much love surrounding her but could not shake the feeling that this was going to be the last Christmas like this. She felt a pang in her chest and wanted to ask everyone if things would stay this way. Would they all promise to celebrate Christmas together every year? That no matter how busy and complicated life got they would come together for a couple days to reminisce and plan. That they would always remember each other and the good times they had together. Instead, Elizabeth ducked her head to hide her teary eyes and take a sip of her coffee. She collected herself and tried to join in the merriment. What she did not know-could not know-was that she was correct. This was the last Christmas her whole family would be together. Jeff and Stephanie also got pregnant later the next year. Elizabeth and Ruby would get married and her brothers and sisters-in-in law would refuse to be around them because they did not want their children to be influenced by such a “lifestyle”. Elizabeth’s parents remained in her life of course, but Christmas would never be the same. Nothing would ever be the same again.  

6s0yse

The Mistletoe Thrush

Darlene thought of Christmas and herceyes filled with tears first romance memories some good some bad. The Mistletoe thrush he or she,always remained for the festive season.pecking at the mistletoe over the years. Fresh berries the joy and taste of Christmas. The clinking of glasses, tree lights, globes on trees laughing faces joy. Darlene should show more spirit instead of dwelling on the past. As Danny always said his girlie. The times together bought a tear to her eye hanky at the ready. Danny life and soul of the party. Taken so young, Christmas Hagmany would never be the same. Over the years people, relatives, friends had tried to accomodate Darlene before getting on with their own lives. Why was she so cynical, living off memories. Danny not an attractive man about town he had a gift to excite and love, everyone and life. A bloody fool. He never saw danger. Not happy in the butchers shop , he had to join the fusslers. Mistletoe cap in hand. He was always there for her Mistletoe in hand, in his cap. Darlene always hoped once the army spirit had gone, they would settle down. Alas, it was not to be? A land mine they say just,after leaving her, all those years ago. Not eighteen any more? Menpause , heart ache doom every Christmas. While the Mistletoe thrush brown in colour sang and ate all thw shiny white berries, how fair was that in life. Another year pain heart ache while the crackers got pulled and jokes read out. New romance. Decor so much joy mingled with sadness , while Dannys round brown eyes shone and his blonde hair like silky straw remained in her memorie. She could still close her eyes imagine him. The dark shadows of their last night together stood out holding hands, dark doorways oh, so pretty lights the tree in the square. Lights yonder hanging over the river. A wind blowing stillness crisp foot prints in the snow their last. Blowing that last kiss. The noise of the party their Brian shouting "Sis come on" having to pretend to enjoy the champers and plate of food offered. He was a good kind brother where,as her sister Elaine just tolerated her. Any dislike hidden for the festive season. Disdain after Elaine thinking that Darlene was a burden. Keeping so many memories not moving on. Unless you had been there you would never know, Danny could not be replaced. Like the mistletoe thrush coming back every Christmas. Maybe in recornation her Danny had become a mistletoe thrush. Watching and waiting for her now that was a nice thought flying together two mistletoe birds together. Her eyes felt so, weary soon the strike if midnight people living it up, people going. Another Christmas gone. Elaine thinking a bloody good job when they called a taxi. Her brother waving her off "Have a nice New Year sis". This Christmas supposed to be so different by golly had she tried. Christmas decor in the home her job in town meeting people all part and parcel of the job as a window dresser. People depending on her. Could Elaine be jealouse of her independent streak? Surely her kind dependable brother was enough for Elaine. If she thought Elaine was having affair would she rock the boat "Nah" Darlene was not like that? Twenty five years her brother had been with Elaine. Always liked to show off with her. Shame she could not accomodate Darline more. Well another Christmas. The fire stoked up. Photo albums her,and dear Danny. The light of the street lamps snow, love this was her romance. They would not grow old together . Her dear sweet Danny in his uniform on display had never left left the mantle piece, of the home they had planned to share together. Shut the door and he was all hers. Once a willing suiter had thought Danny was her son? Well she never saw head nor tail of him again. She laughed hiw coyld any one ever replace Danny? She had never seen him angry or bitter. An advantage to have so much together from fourteen to twenty six. Knock, knock , knocking up sticks was the sherry getting to her? Tomorrowctrees full of berries the singing of birds. Snuckey her persion cat refusung to unwind from the bed clothes on her bed. Paw marks on the door it made a home. Brass bands playing o tv imaging Danny amongst them. Poor lad had peoblwms playing a mouth organ. Smiling turning out the light. Cuddling up to Snuckey in bed. She would not let Snuckey kill or harm a mistletoe thrush It bought bad luck. Although it was not from want of trying on Snuckeys part. Brian and Elaine had brought her Snuckey three years ago. Adventures a jumpy kitten, wool balls. Constant a ball of energy. Now a mature cat. Like Darlene Snuckey sensed Dannys presence ever in the home synny daya , Christmas New year. In Snuckeya case caroets if dreams laced with cream. Oh bless the days Danny and Snuckey had entered her life. She was not disabled, just set in her ways ine could say. If they said more Brian would give them a good sharp shuft with his fist. True family spirit and love. Always important that one word. Diffrent kinds of love. Respect, honesty friendship I suppose that formed love you sort of grew into it then before you knew it the magic was there to be treasured. Well, maybe people never had what she had? Some had of course tried ti find love and be happy it just had not worked for them. Hermemories were and would be forever young and viberant. She had not had to watch Danny die, so could still relate to his viger smiling face, the sort of chap who would buy any one a drink.Oh, why could he not have stayed managing his uncles butchers shop. Soon church bells would ring in AnotherChristmas and new year. Mistletoe and wine, Cliff Richard. Now that was really showing hwr,age. A good manicure invthe new year and soft perm or a bob if Darlene felt daring enough to try it out? Was she feeling better,about herself? Would she take up the offer of a drink with tbe new manager in accounts, at work. No party poppers please.

mgyhs7

A Surprise Homecoming

All Nick wanted for Christmas this year was some peace and quiet. After a full year of high stress at his law firm, he knew he was in desperate need of a change of scenery for the holidays or he wouldn’t last through another year. He had started with Sterling and Malone Law Firm two years ago with the intention of becoming partner within five years, rather than the seven to ten years it normally takes for lawyers to rise to the top, especially in a larger firm like Sterling and Malone. Nick had always been a go-getter, from earning top marks in school and earning his place at this law firm through doing well in his internship three years before. But after two years of high intensity, he realized his health and relationships were starting to suffer. He felt like God was telling him to go home for the holidays. Home , Nick thought, as he climbed the stairs to his Manhattan high rise apartment. He hadn’t been to Clarkston, Georgia in five whole years, though it felt more like a lifetime. His mom had passed away seven years ago, right before he had graduated from university. After his mom’s passing, his time in Georgia hadn’t felt the same, and he slowly started skipping the family get-togethers for the holidays. Until this year. He knew his dad was getting older. Just last year, his baby sister had called him about a minor stroke their dad had, but Nick found himself neck deep in a major case and couldn’t find the time to make it back. But now, he felt himself feeling homesick for the Christmas carols sung around the piano, the church potluck on Christmas Eve, even the endless questions his aunts and uncles would pester him with when they had their Christmas meal as a family. He decided he would get the next flight out. Money wasn’t an issue, and he concluded it was time to make things right with his dad before it was too late. He knew he could also use the rest from the hustle and bustle of a New York Christmas. As he started packing, his thoughts drifted back to high school before he left the small town life for the big city. He thought of how his family used to be - close and honest with each other, always having each other’s back. He thought of his girlfriend back then - Natasha - the drive in movies, the Sonic runs after football games, the hiking and off-roading trips they took together. He hadn’t dated much after leaving Clarkston - He was just too busy. Too focused on climbing the corporate ladder. But thinking about it now, he wondered what Natasha was doing with her life and if he would ever see her again. —--------- Natasha scooped another spoonful of jollof and spread it on the plate held out in front of her. Serving at the local soup kitchen was one of Natasha’s favorite traditions at Christmas. She knew a lot of the families who came in were refugees, trying to make a better life for themselves in Clarkston. Yet with the inflation and lack of open jobs this year, many had fallen on hard times. Natasha felt the need to do what she could to help her neighbors. After all, wasn’t Christmas a time for giving? As Natasha started cleaning up, her mind went back to her student’s custody case that had been weighing on her mind for weeks now. One of Natasha’s favorite middle schoolers, Eva, was in the middle of an ugly custody case with her alcoholic dad and her druggie mom. Natasha couldn’t see a favorable ending in sight for sweet Eva, though she prayed for her often. Natasha’s teaching job at Clarkston Middle School was her joy and passion. She loved seeing her students go from little to no English to straight A students. She loved mentoring them and guiding them through their pre-adolescent drama even more. Yet, Natasha always found the students who had the hardest home lives to have a special place in her heart. When Natasha got home, she changed into her pajamas and curled herself up in her favorite chair, wrapping her fleece blanket around her. Her nightly ritual was thinking through her day and thanking God for the blessings He had given her that day. As she pressed play on her instrumental worship playlist, an old face popped into her mind. She hadn’t thought of her old boyfriend Nick in ages. Last she had heard, he was some big shot lawyer in New York, half a world away from their small hometown where they had grown up together. Confused as to why Nick’s face had popped in her mind, she said a short prayer for him and moved her mind to her list of other prayer requests. She wondered though, whether or not she would ever see him again. He had left so suddenly, with the promise of coming back. But after two years of waiting, Natasha had moved on, not just a little heartbroken. When he had come back for his mom’s funeral, Natasha and him had talked like the old times. But he had left again, and hadn’t been back since then. Somehow, Natasha had picked up her disappointment and had led a pretty content life. Now, thinking about him again, she frowned and started getting ready for bed. She didn’t want to think about Nick and what could have been. —------- When Nick arrived in Clarkston, he drove to his old family house. He hadn’t told anyone he was coming as it was such a last minute decision. With Christmas a week away, he wasn’t sure if his sister would be home or out doing some last minute Christmas shopping for his nieces. His brother in law had walked out on his sister two years before, leaving her as a single mother of two adorable girls, Hana and Sarah. She had moved back in with their dad after the separation. Nick knew Christmas had been hard on her since then, what with their dad’s health declining and two daughters to provide for. But she did a wonderful job raising those girls, Nick thought to himself as he drove up the driveway. Nick walked up the front steps and found the key in the same place it always was - under the flower pot next to the window sill. Clarkston was definitely a long way from Manhattan. He opened the door and called out. As no one answered, he went to the living room where his dad was often found sitting on the recliner watching TV. Sure enough, when he rounded the corner, his dad was there, rocking back and forth. “Dad, I’m home,” Nick said as he dropped his duffle on the couch. His dad looked up and scrunched his face. “Nick? Is that you? ‘Bout time you come visit. It’s been - how long?” “Yeah, sorry about that,” Nick said as he sat on the couch. “I’ve been busy. I just closed a case that took a lot of my time.” His dad grunted. “Well, welcome home, son. Your sister should be back soon. She’s out taking Hana and Sarah to get an ice cream. She spoils them too much,” he grunted again. “You can go set your stuff down in your old room. She’ll get dinner ready when she gets home.” His dad turned back to the TV signaling the conversation was over. Nick held back a sigh, and took his stuff upstairs to his old room. Nothing had changed, though he thought maybe his dad would have softened his heart to the idea of his son being a lawyer. His dad had refused to help Nick pay for any of his university or law school, saying lawyers were no good liars and he wouldn’t support one in his own house. Nick, though, felt called to the profession, and knew he could do right for people by fighting for them in the courtroom. He had always had a gift for convincing people to see things his way - Student Council President, Captain of the football team - He had always been a leader among his peers. Yet, despite his efforts, as well as his mom’s encouragement, he couldn’t convince his dad that he would be a lawyer with integrity. Nick sighed as he dropped his bag on his bed. The room was the same as when he left it after high school. Nick sighed again as memories from those days assaulted him once more. He decided to go for a walk to clear his head. He didn’t need to be thinking about Natasha and the life he had promised her before he had tasted another life. He felt bad enough about staying away from his sister after their mom’s passing; he didn’t need to feel the guilt of his naive promises to a high school crush who he had promised to make his wife and come back to work in small town America. No, he thought, as he walked down the sidewalk, Natasha had been more than a crush. He had loved her. But after moving to New York, the night life and scenery of the big city had gotten under his skin. He couldn’t imagine moving back to small town life after tasting what New York had to offer. His competitive nature also played a factor - He wanted to be first in his class and become the best lawyer in his year. But after years of fierce competition and sleepless nights, he was tired. He wondered if it was really worth all the effort and sacrifice he was making. As Nick rounded the corner, he noticed a woman coming out of the local grocery shop. “Natasha?” He asked. Nick stopped and stared. It was her! He couldn’t believe it. What was she doing here? Did she still live here? “Nick…” Natasha stuttered. She was shocked. Nick Collins stood there, handsome as ever, staring at her with wonder. She composed herself. “What are you doing here?” She asked, trying to sound as if her heart hadn’t started beating a mile a minute. “I decided to come home for Christmas. Here let me help you,” he said as he reached for her bags. “Are you visiting too? How long are you here for?” “I live here,” Natasha said as she relinquished hold of her bags, still wondering at his chivalrous gesture. “I moved back after college. I teach at the local middle school as an English teacher.” Opening up to him was as easy as ever, though she would have liked to keep walking and ignore the way he made her feel - even after all these years. “Oh wow,” he answered. “That’s great.” There was a silence as he walked next to her to her car on the other side of the street. Natasha looked at him. He looked the same, though she could see faint dark circles under his eyes. She wondered if he was taking care of himself. In high school, with all the activities he loved doing, she had often been the one to make sure he was doing things to take care of himself. Natasha opened her trunk and Nick plopped the bags in. He turned to her and smiled. Yes, she thought to herself, he was definitely still as handsome as ever, with his wavy dark hair and bright smile. Natasha tried a weak smile and turned to shut the door. “Do you want to get a coffee and catch up?” Nick said as she walked to the driver’s side of the car. Natasha hesitated. Nick had broken her heart, and to go out with him again - She didn’t know if it was all that wise. “Okay…” she relented. She was mature now, after all, and could get a coffee with an old friend surely. She locked her door and turned back to the sidewalk. How hard could it be to smile and laugh as if she was whole and not still reeling from his broken promises all those years ago. __________________ Bumping into Natasha had been a welcome surprise, Nick thought to himself as he walked back to his family’s house. She was still as beautiful as ever - Even more so as she told him about her work at the school and the local soup kitchen where she volunteered. She radiated light and peace, the same as she had in high school. That’s one reason he had been so attracted to her in the first place. She always put others first. They had first met at church in middle school. He, an awkward fourteen year old, and her a radiant girl in whom he was immediately attracted to. His mom wouldn’t allow him or his sister to date until high school, but he knew from that first day that Natasha would be the first girl he would take out. And she had been. They had dated throughout high school. They had been named Most Likely to Get Married by their senior class. And that had been his intention. He had even nearly proposed before getting into university in New York. His young self thought he would go to university and do the long distance thing before he would come back to Clarkston and marry her. But plans had changed and he had moved on. Yet, now, as he laid in his childhood bed, he thought about how his life would have been different if he had kept his promise. Would they have kids by now? Would they be happy? Deep down he knew the answer to that. He knew he wanted kids and a wife to greet him when he came home from work. He knew a quiet life wouldn’t be the end of the world. It might actually be nice, he thought, as he closed his eyes. —------ Two Weeks Later Nick grabbed his suitcase from under the bed and started putting his freshly washed clothes inside. His thoughts were a million miles away as he mindlessly started packing the things he brought for a two week trip home. The time had flown by. He had seen Natasha almost every day, falling back into a comfortable rhythm with her. He had gone with her to the soup kitchen, sat with her at church and laughed with her through the potluck afterward, reminiscing on old times. He had even taken her to the local theater to see The Christmas Carol . It was the best Christmas he’d had in a long time. He and his dad had even begun to talk like they had before his mom’s passing. He could see his dad opening up to the idea of him being a lawyer, something that felt like a Christmas miracle. His dad had always had a soft spot for Natasha, and her spending time with them this Christmas had helped ease the tension between them, as had the pro bono work Nick had gotten to do for one of Natasha’s students. Natasha had opened up about her worries for one of her students, and Nick showed off his element when he gave Eva some legal advice. Natasha had been impressed and grateful and had raved about it to his dad, which had greatly helped his case. The whole two weeks had been better than Nick could have asked for. And now he was supposed to fly back to New York. Back to the busy life of bustling streets, late nights at work, and worst of all - no Natasha. He couldn’t imagine a life without her bright smile and infectious laugh. But he had worked so hard to get where he was at his law firm - Wouldn’t it be foolish to give it all up? Nick wrestled with these thoughts as he packed up his last pieces of clothing. Nick's phone buzzed. He checked the number and saw it was his sister. “Hey sis, what’s up?” Nick asked. “Nick, you have to come right now. Dad’s had a heart attack. I’m taking him to the hospital now.” “What? Okay. I’m on my way,” Nick said, hanging up and trying to find his keys and wallet. He rushed downstairs and called Natasha to update her, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He knew he would need her by his side when he went to see his dad. As he drove to the hospital, he realized he would never not want Natasha in his life. He realized that when this ordeal was over, hopefully with his dad back at home in his favorite chair, he would propose to Natasha. Big city life was nothing compared to being with her. And if she was content in Clarkston, he could be too, as long as he was with her. After working on the case with her, and seeing her reaction to his work, he was motivated to come open his own firm here, in his hometown. He could imagine serving the people of Clarkston, his wife by his side, their kids enjoying the small town life, as he had growing up. He smiled. Yes, Nick thought, he would propose and everything would end how it was supposed to. He started praying for Natasha and his dad and his family - That God would lead him and guide him to His good and perfect will. And finally, Nick felt the peace he had been craving for the past two years. Finally, he felt like he was home. 

kjrcc4

Remember This

If I could do it all over again I would cry. That’s the one thing I didn’t do, was cry. Now before you get excited, nobody died. This isn’t nearly so tragic as that. This, though, was the death of an era, a time in my childhood. I sit here in my bedroom, in a life that’s slowly erasing that little girl. She had thick brown hair, glasses, braces, and an active, creative mind. She wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, but she sure thought she was. She was innocent, but she liked to think that she was some sort of street-smart and savvy. Sometimes she would sneak through the halls of the Smithville Arts Center and try to overhear conversations, though she never did hear anything important. Perhaps she gave up the habit too soon, because maybe if she’d snooped, she’d have had some sort of warning before the end. Unfortunately for her, she never did see it coming. One day, she left and never returned. What an idiot . I say it to myself and close my eyes, and suddenly I’m there. The little girl, little me, is alone in Studio 1-B, sorting dead markers, her younger sister in the connected room sharpening the colored pencils. Emma, come here . I think it, but she hears me. Why? We’re taking a little tour of the building. What a naive little thing. I can’t believe I came with me. Doesn’t she know not to go with strange people? I guess it’s different if I’m her. I take her to the hallway that leads to the bathrooms and show her the mural of the ocean. She shows me the teddy-fish, a fish shaped more like a teddy bear than a real fish, and tells me the story of how she and Maeve found it in the corner and named it. I smile along: of course I know the story. I was there when it happened. We go next door, under the unique arched brick doorway. All the others are closed up, but this one isn’t. Touch the bricks, I tell her. Remember it. She touches it obediently, a little confused. Oh, baby. You’ll be glad someday. Down the hall are Pottery A and B. Mrs. Chamber’s gourd rattles and globe, and her gloves and denim apron, sit in A. Smell the table. Smell her apron. She’s moving soon. Emma looks up at me, her eyes wide. I just nod. Remember this . Matt is in Pottery B. We hover in the hallway until he’s done. Remember him. I stroke the rack of aprons, and Emma does the same. She sits at “her” electric wheel, the one she’d claimed during her beginner’s throwing class. I sit at Sam’s kick wheel facing her. We silently take in the room. Done? She waits a moment, takes in the high windows and the emergency exit, the canvas covered tables and shelves full of pottery, and nods. We go up the stairs. I stop her at each of the framed pictures. The one with the kids on the bus. Remember this . The one of old Walnut Street School, before it got a new life as the Arts Center. This too. Look around the lobby and remember it. Those chairs, the high ceiling, the staircases. Joan at the desk. The brochures in the rack. We can’t stop here, but take a picture in your mind. To the right, into the gallery, Gallery 2-A. The sunlight filters in golden, the mid-summer evening light catching on dust particles. There’s no exhibit right now, just the gold wooden floor and the white walls and the light, the blazing sun from the west-facing windows. Remember this? I nod. Down the hallway now. We skip Gallery 2-B and go straight down the hall past the glass display cases, all the way to the little music room at the end of the hallway, the one with the chalkboard with the staff on half of it. Now up the side steps, the metal ones that make a dull ringing sound with every step. At the top there’s a red-painted metal door to match. I open it into the darkened hallway. We go to the empty ballet studio, Studio 3-C. I make a few soft pirouettes and stop to study myself in the mirror. What does a girl trying to hold on look like? The windows face west and north, the same as my bedroom. We stand looking out into the parking lot and the playground across from it.  She leans up against the window sill. I’m never coming back, am I? I give a small shake of the head. She can interpret it as no questions, not now or as no, you’re not . Either way, she’ll be hurt. We go to the watercolor studio. I don’t tell her what to remember. She’s doing that all on her own now. The wood floor, the closet, the mirrors, the wooden painted folding chairs, the tiger patchwork-tapestry. She looks at me, expectant. Done. Are we done? Go, I tell her. Go wherever else you want to remember. I’m going to look around for a minute. I know she’ll do a good job, and cry while she’s at it. I eventually make it down to the auditorium, which by some miracle isn’t locked. This room is cooler than the others, the high ceiling and eastern windows protecting it from the heat. I wander on the black-and-white checkered floor. We watched Monsters, Inc. on this floor one Halloween. We had guest speakers here. My sister and I danced on that stage, sometimes officially, sometimes when we snuck in. Someday in the future, grown-up little-me will attend a calling hours here, for her band director’s son. She, her boyfriend, and her sister will all walk in. She will be a stranger in a place she’d grown up in, and seeing it populated with her school teachers will knock her off kilter. She will shake her band director’s hand, be hugged by his daughter, and look at his wife, remembering that twelve years ago in a room just down the ramp and across the basement, she taught her the first things she ever knew about pottery. I pace. Why couldn’t we come back? Why can’t I let go? Why couldn’t the new director see the magic she was ruining? One angry tear leads to another, leads to sobs shaking my shoulders as I cry privately into my hands. I run up the steps onto the stage, spread my arms wide, and whisper to the empty room. My voice echoes back to me. Remember this, remember this, remember this . I sit on the stage, my tears out. I know I have to go soon. Soon there will be no place for me here. Just one more walk-through, that will be enough. I open the auditorium door to a plain wall where there used to be students’ artwork. I go down the ramp. The ocean mural by the bathroom is painted over. Beige. Why beige? This is an Arts Center, and the best they could do was beige? I walk faster. The brick archway is closed, covered by drywall. I break out in a soft, shuffling run. Pottery A. No trace of the globe or the beaded-gourd shakers. No denim apron. Pottery B. Sam’s kick wheel has moved out, and in its place sits another electric wheel. The kiln room door hangs open: Matt is gone too, then. He always, and I mean always , closed it. Faster yet, I run up the stairs. There aren’t any photos on the wall.  There’s modern furniture in the lobby and a peppy secretary-type at the front desk. She doesn’t tell me not to run. Joan always did. I pound my way up the steps to the top floor and run along the hallway in the dark. My sister and I always asked Brigette to chase us down this hallway in the dark. I stop. It’s all gone. You can’t hold on to it, dear. You never could . I drag my fingers along the smooth banister as I go down the steps. At the doorway I whisper again to the building. Remember me, I beg it. And then I step out onto the stone steps. The door slams behind me. I turn to the building, this glorious place that houses my summers and my childhood. I remember the windows, the benches, the trees with Matt’s clay bird houses hanging in them. I see in front of me the outdoor camp activities, the messy Jackson Pollock-ing on the sidewalk, the tag games in the yard. My mom, in all her organizational and creative brilliance. Owen, Mauve, Clara, Cameron, Allison, Betty, Hannah, Norah, Lyla, all the others whose names are lost to me… when I catch glimpses of our faces, we’re always smiling. That crying thing? Don’t remember me like that. Remember me like this. I smiled up at the kind building and gave a little twirl. Like that. 

115nir

The Secret Journal of my Normal Life

Wednesday, January 1 st , 1997 8:10 AM - I secretly bought this journal at the local bookstore for $6.95. It is a secret because I want this to be mine and just mine. Grandma gave me some Christmas money and I was so glad that way I could buy a journal. I bought it so I can record my first teenage year. Yes, today is my 13 th birthday and the start of a new year. My goal is to write every day so I can someday look back on what I did during my first year as a teenager. Not that I actually do anything now so I don’t know how interesting it will be. Anytime I say that I am bored my mom quotes Colossians 3:2 – “Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth.” She is also always telling me “For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in God’s sight.” (1 Corinthians 3:19) Sometimes we can talk about things and ask questions, but most of the time she is correcting what I say with Scripture. I think she is mad at Dad again. She is always mad at Dad, but I don’t know why. Maybe it is because we are still living in a crappy apartment. Maybe it is because she’s pregnant again, even though she always says, “God plans our family.” This will be baby number six. Yep, I am the oldest of five right now. We live in a rundown, 3-bedroom apartment. I don’t why I am explaining this. Maybe it is because I have no one else to talk to. I mean, I have some friends, but I only see them once a week at church. My mom says we don’t need a lot of friends because we have each other and that is “socialization enough”. She gets really mad when I tell her I want to hang out with my friends. Her face turns red and she almost screams, “Are we not good enough for you?” I’ve learned lately to just be quiet. It causes less trouble. She doesn’t smack me for it, she just gets really mad and starts acting like I’m being a terrible, rebellious kid. I am a great kid though. I obey, I help out with the kids, I do my schoolwork. I live a boring life. That’s why I read anything I can get my hands on. Sometimes, when everyone is asleep at night, I sneak into the closet and put a towel under the door so I can read in peace and quiet. I hope no one finds out. If Laura finds out and tells Mom I’m going to be so mad. All these thoughts are making me not want to write in here. If Mom finds this and reads it she probably will give me a two-hour sermon. I want to enjoy the day though since it is my birthday. I actually convinced Mom to let me have my friends over for a party. Dad is picking up my cake because Mom can’t drive right now. She gets bad morning sickness every time she gets pregnant. She pretty much stays in bed for three months and she throws up like twelve times a day. Anyway, that is my life right now. I hope this year is better and has something exciting to write about. I’ll write more later. Thursday, January 2, 1997 My Grandma called to tell me happy birthday yesterday. I love my Grandma and wished she lived closer to us. My birthday was pretty good. Dad picked up a cake from the bakery. It was my first bakery cake in a LONG time -since I was like three. Usually Mom makes our cakes, but since she is so sick Dad got me the cake and they put sparkle dust and pink roses on it! Six of my friends came over and they all gave me presents! I was so excited to see them I wasn’t even thinking about presents, but I was thankful for the things they got me. I got a few books, bath salts and soaps, some Starbursts, a calendar, and some craft supplies. None of the girls could stay for pizza at dinner. Their moms said it was a school night, so they had to get home. I don’t know why that matters since we are all homeschooled, but whatever. My friends Meagan said her brother Zach took my “Tatyana” story and kept it in his pocket. Mom thinks it is weird that I write stories about our neighbors. I don’t have anything else to write about so I write what I know and then imagine the rest. She rolls her eyes at me and says I’m being absolutely ridiculous. Oh well.  I wonder if Zach likes me and that’s why he took my story. Mom says it is ridiculous for children and teenagers to date so I won’t be dating anybody until I am 18 years old. That seems forever away, but it is still nice to think that some boy might like me. He’s funny, but I don’t really like him. There is a guy at church that I like, but I’m not writing his name down in here because if my sister finds it then she will tell Mom. I love my sister, but she is always getting into my stuff. I just really need to keep this journal for me. I share EVERYTHING else. Seriously, everything. Have you ever tried sharing a bathroom with four siblings? It is not fun. All four of us girls sleep in one room and I really sometimes wish I was a boy just so I could have my own room like my brother. Anyway, my birthday was nice. I can’t believe I’m 13. Friday, January 3, 1997 When I first started writing, I started in pencil that way I could erase any mistakes. Then when I finished writing for the day I could go back in pen over the pencil. It is fading too long though, so I decided to go ahead and write with a pen. I guess I’ll just have some mistakes. I didn’t do a lot today. We did some school and then Mom yelled at us from the bed and said we needed to clean the house. I’ve been cooking everything for breakfast, lunch and dinner and taking care of Cori my two-year-old baby sister. When I have a minute to myself I read or listen to the Christian radio. Mom thinks me and Laura are obsessed with the radio. She thinks we listen to it too much and our world shouldn’t revolve around the radio. She hasn’t taken it away yet so I still listen, but don’t turn it up too loud. One of my friends, Lindy and I decided to start writing back and forth to each other. We decided it would be fun to be like pen pals. So there’s a little excitement and something to look forward to. We are going to make up names. I like the name Cordelia like Anne Shirley wanted in “Anne of Green Gables”. My Grandma’s brother’s last name was Reynolds so I’m using Reynolds as my made-up last name. I didn’t tell anyone we decided to write to each other. I can give the letter to Dad and have him mail it at the post office when he picks up our mail. We don’t get mail at the apartment anymore because Mom thinks people are breaking into our mailbox and stealing it. I kind of wish I could still walk outside and go down to check the mail with Dad. We can’t go check the mail alone because Mom thinks we’ll get kidnapped. But we can’t do that anymore because they decided to pay for a box at the post office. Dad checks it after work, so we don’t go anywhere. Except we still go to church on Sundays. I hope Mom gets better soon so we can go play with friends. We can play with other friends, but Mom always wants to be there at the house we are going to. Saturday, January 4, 1997 Our friends, the Wells, brought us a meal. I guess someone told them I was cooking every meal. I don’t know or maybe they just know what it is like because they have 10 kids. Anyway, it was really nice of them to bring us food and bread. I’ve been making lots of baked chicken, beans and rice because that’s pretty much all we have. Oh and biscuits because we have Bisquick. I heard Mom getting mad at Dad the other day because he went to go play golf with our cousin and she was mad he was spending money on that but then we only had beans, rice, milk and Bisquick. He said he doesn’t get to do anything else and after working hard all week he needs some kind of fun. She slammed the bathroom door and stayed in there for a long time. Dad left to play golf. I took care of the kids like normal. By the time I help them with their school work and then cook and clean, I feel like I am not doing enough school for myself. I feel stupid. I hate feeling stupid. I read all the time. I’m not happy that Mom is sick, but I have been able to read other things that she thinks I shouldn’t read yet. She has a few shelves of books for “when we are older”, but now that I’m 13 I figured I am older. But I’m not telling her. I started reading a history book that Aunt Jo gave us. It isn’t a Christian history book, but I don’t think Mom looked at it so I’m going to read it before she gets better and finds out. I’m going to read that at night in the closet when everyone is asleep. I’ve only read history books from the 1700s and 1800s, but this one is the 1900s. I’m really tired and Cori is screaming again so I guess I have to go help her. Sunday, January 5 th , 1997 We went to church to the Family Class instead of the regular service. Family Class is where all the dads of each family takes turns teaching. The families all sit together. Mom and Dad both think it is terrible for the kids from the youth group to sit together because they are too disruptive for the service. Dad thinks that families should sit together because they are a family. I wish I could sit with my friends, but I don’t want to cause them to be angry with me and at least Dad is taking us to church. I barely got to say hi to my friends though because Dad thinks church is for worship and not socializing. Sometimes, I get up with Cori and just walk with her in the halls outside that way she doesn’t make too much noise. If Becky takes Grace out and does the same then we get to talk. Sometimes I feel a bit guilty for that in case Dad is right, but I think God understands that I just need to talk to my friends sometimes. I got upset last week because I feel like I’m always being silenced. And again I am not a bad person! I am just known to everyone as “the eldest” or “the firstborn” instead of me. I’m not very happy right now. Somedays I don’t like myself. Meagan told me she finally got Zach to give her back my “Tatyana” story and that she liked it. Mrs. Ashford heard us talking and said, “Oh you two write stories? That’s good. We need good stories.” Maybe someday I’ll have something worth writing about. The “Tatyana” story was one that I wrote about our neighbor and then made the rest up. She is from Russia. I don’t know a lot about Russia, but I think it is super cool that she came all the way over her. I want to travel someday. We haven’t been anywhere except Grandma’s house. She lives about 4 hours away so that isn’t exactly traveling. Monday, January 6, 1997 It snowed about 2 ½ inches! We played in it for a bit when Dad got home at 3:30 PM. It was so nice to get outside! Mom is still sick every day. She doesn’t want us going outside by ourselves, although I doubt anyone would want to kidnap all five of us. That’s a lot of work and somebody is always screaming. Anyway, it was nice to see bright snow. I asked Dad if he could please take me to the bookstore store soon because I got my birthday card and money from Grandma. He said okay and he actually took me today before they closed! I was so excited! I love the bookstore. I feel at home in the middle of all the books on the shelves. I wish I could live above the bookstore in a tiny apartment all by self and then work the day and read all the time! I told Mom and Dad that I couldn’t wait to turn sixteen so that I could get a job and maybe work at the bookstore. Mom said, “Do we not take care of all your needs?” I just got quiet again. She is so grumpy. I mean, I guess I would be grumpy too if I was throwing up all day for a few months. At the bookstore, I found a few novels on the half price shelves and a book about a missionary to India. When we got home, Mom asked what I bought. She doesn’t like fiction and says that it causes “unrealistic, romantic expectations”. Whatever that means! I love reading novels. I get lost in the world. Dad didn’t pay attention to what I bought – I guess since it was from the Christian bookstore he didn’t think anything of it. I told Mom I found a book about the missionary. I left out the part about the novels and managed to sneak those into my room and hide them behind my clothes in the closet. I’m going to read some tonight! One of them is about a gal that becomes a writer and travels the world. The other one is about a woman that gets stuck in a cabin with a mountain man during a blizzard. I have a feeling that Mom would hate both of those, but I am going to have so much fun reading them. Especially since we rarely even get to watch TV. I haven’t been to the movie theatre since Disney’s “Jungle Book” came out when I was six years old. So novels are my movies. Tuesday, January 7 th , 1997 I almost finished the novel about the writer last night! It was so good. Even though it is cold outside, I was sweating a bit in the closet because there are no air vents in there. And I block the air coming in through the closet door because I don’t want the light to wake up the kids. I always put my pillows sideways and cover them with a sheet to make it look like I’m still sleeping in bed. I know Mom is going to scream so loud when she finds out, but I’ll take my chances until then. Anyway, I am going to have to buy more books by this author when I get my Easter money from Grandma. Grandma is the only one who ever gives us money. I sometimes get really upset, even though I don’t say anything, but some of my friends get an allowance just for unloading the dishwasher or cleaning their rooms. I’m cooking three meals a day, doing the dishes and laundry and never get any money from it. We’re too poor to get an allowance. So I wait and look forward to the money Grandma sends and quickly spend it so Mom and Dad won’t borrow it for groceries. They always say they will pay me back, but then the car breaks downs or something bad happens they need the money. Enough about the sad stuff. Anyway, the book was wonderful and I can’t wait to finish it. I’ve also been reading the history book and it is definitely not a Christian homeschool book, but I really like it. If I would have been born in the 1920s, I would have been a suffragette. I am going to have to ask Grandma if her mom or sisters were ever suffragettes. I think Grandma was born in the mid 20s so I know she would have missed some of that. I don’t know of anyone in our family that lived an exciting life. I keep hoping to discover someone else who kept a journal or some exciting, rich relative, but I don’t know anyone yet. My aunt and uncle travel. They have been to Italy and Paris. I love Paris! Someday I will go to Paris and eat food and wear a little black dress. With no sleeves! Mom thinks it is immodest to wear sleeveless things or to not wear tights or pantyhose. When I am older, I’m going to wear short skirts and sleeveless tops. And be the “rebellious” person that I am. Like a suffragette! Well, this makes one week of official secret entries in my journal and the first week of the first of my teenage years. I hope things get more exciting, but right now I will keep writing about the normal life I have and hope it gets better as time goes on.

dzwugu

You may not love it

Adeem had a chequered childhood- a childhood of mons and sobs.Adeem wound leave for school earlier than his other classmates living in the neighborhood.He had no sense of time.He would leave his home, go to his friends and if he would not be ready would look for some other to play with.For Adeem school was not jan institution where he would learn but just a brick-stone structure akin to garden full of love and latitude.He was always at his happiest while at school.He was not a gem of a student.He would only love school for his home was no better. One day Adeem was coming home and he came across a vendor.The vendor had a peculiar voice- some would just pop out on the road to find out the source of this grotesque voice.Some would try to answer his calls in the similar way as his.Adeem went close to the vendor,sized up his way of selling things.The vendor came across as a very innocent man not alert to any theft or pilferage.Adeem was fascinated by a small toy- a toy dog which seemed an oddity in the maze of hundreds of other articles such as sharp knives, scissors,pens,pencils, handkerchiefs etc. For a child of third standard like Adeem a pencil or a pen or for that matter a knife should have been a vivid attraction but he his Herat was in the toy-dog however dusty it was.Adeemcame from behind,followed the vendor for few steps and then stopped.He followed the vendor agian ,till he was hemmed in again by a horde of wen again as if he knew that women always fall for vendors.Now when Adeem felt that the vendor cannot monitor all that goes around ,he grabbed the toy-dog,ensured it is seized upon firmly,open the zip of his bag and put the toy-dog into it.He was all joy now. Adeem was not all that normal at home.He would often find his parents quarrel.His father would often beat his mother.He was no priority for them.His mother would at times go to his school not for any academic check for just to ensure tht Adeem was there no. She would often be at the fields in the morning and Adeem would leave for school as usual.Adeem's father Ashir would not care for him.He had fallen prey to gambling and drinking.He would lose temper on being asked to stop these.Adeem would never bring himself upto him to ask for anything to his father.So his father was not his.One day Adeem father was was reported to have died in an accident.The news of his death didnot create any sort of commotion in the village.It was as of something normally usual or something of workaday importance happened.Adeem's mother Haja wept with Adeem in her lap.She weft for an about an hour.Some women from the neighbourhood visited her, consoled her and some brought some fruits.After some days,Adeem's mother resumed her routines. Adeem would go to the school as usual.Now Adeem would rush back home in the afternoon.His home was now a peaceful stead.He would help his mother in the morning and in the evening.One day Hajra fell ill and died.Adeem wept bitterly and left home.He spent some days with his friends.They consoled him.Their parents consoled him.For him the world had nothing g good in the offing.He had lost everything.He rather hadn't anything. Adeem left his village only to work in a factory in the town.Years passed and passed.He would work through the day and fritter the earnings in the evening.He didn't want to earn to live life the better way.He had just come to town with that school bag with a broken pencil and that stolen toy-dog.The toy-dog was his relic from the past.Years passed and passed. The owner of the factory at which Adeem worked took Adeem to his home.It was perhaps the marriage of the owner's youngest daughter. Since Adeem.was the only worker in the factory to put up inside factory precincts.Adeem took his bag with and left with the owner.The bag had gathered a thick layer of dust.Adeem didn't mind that.He didn't want to part ways with his prized relic.On reaching the owner's home,Adeem was shown way to a room outside the owner's mansion.Adeem want inside the room.He flung his bag on the bed.The toy-dog fell off from it.Adeem was hurled back to past,to the history of thos toy-dog.His eyes welled up.He washed his toy-dog.It lit up in shine.He kept it on the table close to the bottom of his bed.In the morning,Adeem was invited to the grand feast by a servant of his owner.In a strange,Adeem swooped the toy-dog in his hand and followed the servant.Adeem was astonished to find a long and rambling hall filled with guests in glittering costumes.He was shown a room where some fifty to sixty people were eating on a table. He was handed a bowl full of sweet rice.After having finished the feast,Adeem,like other guest in his room, stepped out in the open.The toy-dog was half dangling from his trousers' left pocket.He had taken a step or two,the toy-dog fell off from the pocket with a loud thud.A child happend to run towards it and picked it up.Aleem was happy at seeing a child pick it up.The child sized it up keenly for a while and left it there.The child left saying ' umhhhh too very old not something very good."The child looked back at the toy-dog as Adeem picked it up and pocketed it.For Adeem the toy-dog was a thing with an immeasurable value and for the child the toy-dog was a thing worn-out and rediculously too old to find a place with him.Adeem seemed to be talking to himself.Yes he was saying something to himself.He was perhaps trying to relive his past.The past where the toy-dog lived,the past where his mother lived and the past where his father died.Adeem left the place with a heavy heart.He forgot for some time that he was at his owner's home.He forgot all the railleries around.He now paced up as he left.Adeem felt as if the world had turned upside down.As Adeem was now walking down an alley,the toy-dog fell off from his pocket and broke up into two large pieces.Adeem didn't stoop to pick up the pieces.He left behind his broken toy-dog and moved on.

0tlz0n

Bah Humbug

Bah humbug. It’s cold, wet and snowy. Why do people like this holiday? There’s too many lights, so many Christmas songs on repeat. How many Christmases will Mariah Carey want ”you.” I hope she finally gets that this year so it can stop. It’s so expensive, so many subliminal messages for people to buy the most expensive, trendy things. Christmas Eve in New York is terrible. Christmas is terrible. So many shoppers, so many carols, it’s my least favorite holiday. I just want to get home and sleep. The days are getting longer because of the holidays. When the snow falls and hits the ground, so do I. Traveling home in snow. Public transportation. Christmas Eve. New York. A recipe for disaster. Getting up and heading for the subway, I’m met with so many smiles and season’s greetings, so many well wishers and too many beggars. Due to the fall, I missed the train by 19 seconds, having to wait another 40 minutes for another one. This. This is why the day gets longer. Trains don’t run on schedule, and when they do come, all of the cars are full. I wait by the wall, ignoring the lady attempting to chat it up about the weather or something. Like The Rolling Stones, I imagine painting everything black. I just want to go home and sit in nothingness, lying down until I fall asleep. I’m so tired that I actually sit down on the steps to the subway. 25 minutes is too long in this too cold weather. … He wakes up in the hospital, knowing who he is but not really. He knows his name. Not how he got there, why he was there, or who was coming to get him. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t able to be discharged anyway. He sat down on the steps. The weather was too cold. The train was taking too long. He hadn’t realized his body temperature had dropped, and that he sat in a puddle of water that someone had spilled. He had fallen asleep on the steps, working so much that he could fall asleep anywhere. It’s the small, unexpected things that get you. … I look around the hospital room, looking for some sign of what my life is like. Who’s in it, where do I work, what do I like to do. Did I have someone to send me flowers? Was there a coworker that dropped off some tasks for me to do? Did someone drop a card off wishing me to get well? I check my phone and I have no messages. No missed calls. From the looks of the decorations, and the date and time on my phone, it’s Christmas Eve. Maybe someone, somewhere will be giving me a call. I’m sure I’m missing from a family event. As I’m looking through my messages threads and phone logs, the nurse walks in. She informs me that I have amnesia. She asks me my name, where I live and what today is. My name is Jared Kingsley. Today is Christmas Eve. My address is 4501 Westchester Ave. Two out of three correct. How do I not remember where I live? Whose address did I regurgitate flawlessly? As I sit in the hospital bed wondering what other information I’m remembering incorrectly, a woman walks in. I hope I never forget this moment; she’s divine. Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas” is playing over the hospital speakers, ever so lightly that it seems like a scene is being set for the main characters in a movie. It’s the perfect song for how I feel when I first see her. Maybe this is my wife coming to visit me after hearing the news. She has an angelic glow about her. Her short, curly hair makes it so there’s a curtain of soft looking coils brushing her face, bouncing as she turns her head. She has a warm smile. It melts me. This woman is not my wife, but my angel, the one that found me on the subway steps. She’s coming to check on how I’m doing. There is an eerie presence about her, in the way that one has many secrets. Exposing one could lead to a line of them. She sits in the chair in the corner of the room, staring with egg shaped, brown eyes. They reveal a storm inside, one that comes with much turmoil and loss. She speaks first, with sadness in her voice. She tells me about how she found me, what I looked like, how I felt. I notice then that her fuzzy coat is with my belongings, she must have put it on me when she saw me. I thank her and ask her name. She just keeps talking, as if she can’t hear me. Then I realized she can’t because I’m talking but nothing is coming out. She looks over to me with worry, trying to calm me. Nothing else matters in this moment. I calm down and just look around. I’m at peace. The Christmas lights hanging in the hospital are cheery and bright, the presents on display are wrapped beautifully, and everyone looks like they have a bit of holiday cheer. I fall asleep listening to Christmas carols over the speakers of the hospital. … When I wake, the delightful woman in my room is gone. I’m sure I didn’t imagine her because her coat is still with my belongings. I wasn’t able to talk to her but I hope she knows how thankful I am for her being there to find me on the steps and coming to check on me. It’s Christmas Day. I’m being released from the hospital. My name is Jared Kingsley. Today is Christmas Day. I’m not sure what home I’m going to, but it will feel good to get out of here. I sign my release paperwork, minimal injury has occurred, although the damage should have been greater. I’m just fortunate that it wasn’t. Walking out the doors, I feel the rush of cold air, I hear the sounds of children’s laughter from the pediatric section of the hospital, as they open their presents you can hear the smile in their voices. I’ve come to realize I’m being released and I have no idea what family I have or who I belong to. I check my phone again and still no messages. No calls. At this point, who’s to say I have family? From the looks of my email, I was a workaholic, steadfast on being in the hustle and bustle of business. I take this opportunity to go across to the shopping center and find whatever stores are open that have toys. Hardly any. Then at the last desperate moment, I see a craft store. I run back to the hospital and kindly ask one of the nurses on lunch to assist me, as I do not know what crafts can be done with children. We find yarn, scissors, construction paper and a few other things. I thank her for her time and carry all of the bags back over to the hospital. I ask the staff if I can sit with the children and their parents and make crafts with them. They happily allow it. Although my holiday started with a fall, and ended with amnesia, I’m lucky. That woman. The woman who saved me helped me see through her gestures that there is a meaning to kindness, there is hope. And after all, maybe I’ll see this mystery woman around somewhere. When I do, I’ll be able to tell her that all I want for Christmas is…you. 

5o1w0g

Charlie and Claire, BFF

Charlie and Claire, BFF “My mom, Claire, asked me to read this to her special friends on this dark and special day. Knowing her, as you must, you can expect some embarrassing revelations. Here is her letter.” “Running wildly with our puppies, we two six-year-old strangers collided hard in the park. From giddy smiles under blue skies, my world became a swirl of white cloud-green grass-brown dirt and screaming moms. That’s how I met Charlie, my instant and lasting friend. “‘Are you hurt, Claire?’ mom asked. With few scrapes and no tears, I wasn’t, yet was still oddly comforted by mom crushing me against her soft chest as Charlie’s mom silenced him against her. He wasn’t hurt, so why was he such a crybaby? Huh, boys! “Our moms looked us over and rattled apologies at each other — we didn’t know what that was — and also became instant friends. Charlie and I had frequent play dates — we quickly figured out what a play date meant. Those were good years. “Play dates became sleep-overs and that meant we often bathe together and thought nothing of our natural curiosity about our slight body differences. Our moms never made us feel that our bodies were shameful. They undressed to bathe us and sometimes joined us in the big, square tub. We all stayed naked all night. Within a month, my mom and I moved into Charlie’s two bedroom home from our apartment. I didn’t know what ‘evicted’ meant then. “Our moms shared one bed in one room; Charlie and I shared a bed in the other room. We found the comfort of soulmates in each other, even if we didn’t know it. Moms always found fun indoor games for us to play as a family as well as light outdoor sports. They always played with, and guided, us. We all played naked in our back yard, but Charlie and I also played naked in the front. We found that curious, but accepted our normality. “One bath night, Charlie asked, ‘What happened to your peanut?’ and felt where it was missing, I wondered too. I’d barely noticed his peanut and tiny acorns until he asked about them. “When I reached out to touch them, he hollered, ‘No! You already broke yours off. And our moms broke theirs too.’ We ran from the tub to ask our moms and found them kissing on the sofa. Good thing they were naked; Charlie ran to them and pushed both their legs apart, quickly confirmed the missing parts, and asked, ‘Mom, do all girls get hairy and break off their peanuts and acorns like this?’ He held up his boy bits for them, but they just smiled at his innocence and otherwise ignored him. “They didn’t object to his touching them as he looked for their missing bits, but that day was the first time they seemed embarrassed. They explained the medical and common names for our genital parts and asked us to use the proper names. When they told us that we should not run naked outside any longer because polite society frowned on that and they could be arrested, we were totally confused. Since we were entering first grade in school that year — we were home schooled until then — they told us to keep our home life private — that meant no revealing secrets to new friends or adults. Why would they care? Isn’t everyone born naked? My mom said so. “Those were questions of an innocent. How I miss those days of simple peace. “Though long past nursing, they let either of us suckle either of them for several years. At first, they claimed that was better than sucking thumbs and would save us much pain later when we’d need dental work. We all took comfort in that loving closeness. “Most of the world outside home wore clothes all the time. Mom let us see on TV where some villagers didn’t, but visitors did. That was confusing. We adapted to the rules we saw and were soon also embarrassed by anyone else catching us exposed. Yet, we four remained comfortable naked folk at home and often in the back yard. “By the time we were twelve, we were used to seeing some changes in our bodies. Seeing the three hairs on Charlie’s chin appear surprised me. Watching hair cover his penis and scrotum startled me. I’d never seen a naked male adult, and Charlie was getting there. Our moms had trimmed their pubic hair, so my own growth was not a surprise. When I started growing boobs, we felt and compared each others’ chest in all innocence. “We admired and combed each other’s hair until I panicked when I thought I was becoming an ape with dense hair under my arms and surrounding my labia. Mom said that was OK and showed me and Charlie how to trim or remove it. She pointed out Charlie’s darkening and thickening patches were like mine, except for his face growing some too. He would need to start shaving it soon. Meantime, she plucked the three thick chin hairs off his chin. ‘If it hurts that much, I may never shave,’ he whimpered. Huh, boys! Yet, he was proud of his general body hair. “When his mom died of cancer, Charlie was inconsolable. We were sixteen then, but could not tell our friends how much she meant to both of us. With a huge painful hole in three hearts, I became the nurturer. Though we still slept together for comfort — no, we weren’t fornicating — we joined my mom in her bed for three months. That was another secret we kept since we understood that most people would not understand how we could all sleep naked together and not have sex. “That finally changed on our eighteenth birthdays when mom said it was OK and she would help us understand the physics of sex and the chemistry of love. She said it was obvious to her that we loved each other even before we knew what that meant. Despite taking liberties with each other, relieving ourselves and each other in many ways since we were fourteen, she was happy that we had not had intercourse until that legal age. We didn’t have sex even then, we made love and expressed our deep love for each other. Charles was a remarkable, caring, funny man from childhood. “When mom got sick, we decided to get married quickly so she could still see us wed and participate. Naturally, we had the small ceremony nude — minister, witnesses, and the few guests wore minimal adornment. Our private reception was also nude in recognition of what our moms taught us, and we shared that with a limited number of special friends — ‘we are all born naked, and there’s no shame in our bodies.’ Mom was nonstop smiles all day. We continued to live together. Mom passed that same year. “Charlie and I had a good life and three great children. We taught them what our moms taught us about our bodies and finding joy in life despite the naysayers. That doesn’t end today, my naked friends, though we four survivors tearfully lay Charlie to rest.” “Mamma Claire, asked us to save her eulogy to dad and read it again at her viewing or interment. I agreed that it suits both of them. As you asked, mom, we are all nude and are putting you to rest naked with dad. Thanks to you both for a lifetime of love.”

pqc2ui

The Year Christmas Died

The Year Christmas Died Scene One (Lights up) (As scene opens, Ron is sitting at his desk, tie undone, collar open, coat thrown across the back of his chair. He is working busily at his computer, and it is apparent he is very frustrated with his progress, or rather, lack thereof. There are stacks of manuals & reports on the desk, along with the refuse of a fast-food meal and a coffee mug. He sits back and groans in angry frustration, and reaches to hit intercom button on the phone.) Ron: Sharon, please come here. Sharon: (offstage) Coming, sir. (Sharon enters) Ron: Sharon, I need the Thompson file, and the latest set of sales reports, please. Sharon: Right away, sir. Ron: (hands her several papers) And can you please get these letters out for me? I would do it, but I’ve got to focus on this report. Sharon: (glancing at her watch) Yes, sir. Ron: (noticing her action) You do have time to work, do you not? Sharon: Well, sir, it is getting close to noon. Ron:  And is there a problem with that? Sharon: You did say that we could leave at noon today, sir. Ron: That doesn’t necessarily require that you leave at noon. Sharon: I know, but I really was hoping to. I have a number of things to do to be ready for Christmas Eve for the kids. Ron: Can’t your husband help you with some of those things? Sharon: (hesitates) No, sir. He’s…not available. Ron: Not available? Sharon: No sir…you see, we’ve been separated. Ron: Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. Sharon: That’s OK. I haven’t talked much about it. It just happened three weeks ago. Ron: (softening a little) Are you doing OK? Sharon: (taking a deep breath) Yes, sir, I’m OK. I’m just trying to get through one day at a time. Ron: Not meaning to pry, but…he wasn’t abusive, or tried to hurt you, or… Sharon: No, no, nothing like that, he just…well, he’s an alcoholic, and spent all his time and money at the bar. I just finally got tired of trying to cover for him. I…need to get on with my life, especially since he obviously doesn’t want to change. Ron: Well, Sharon, then I won’t hold you up any longer. Just lay out the files I asked for on your desk, drop those letters in the mail, and take the rest of the day. And Merry Christmas to you and your children. Sharon: (smiling) Thank you very much, sir. And Merry Christmas to you, too. (Sharon leaves. Ron tries to go back to his computer, as offstage we hear the voices of John and Donna Turner, “…I’m tired of you never coming home. I’m tired of trying to cook dinner and keep the house up, while you hang out at the bar…I’m entitled to a little R&R…you call drinking with your buddies R&R?...”. Ron is distracted by the memory, but shrugs it off, and continues working. There is a knock, and his partner, Bob Smith, enters.) Bob: Hey, Ron, how’s the report going? Ron: (sitting back from the computer) It’s coming along, Bob. Bob: I just came by to say I’m outta here ‘til Monday. Ron: So, ready for Christmas, are you? Bob: (laughs) Yeah, I’m ready, and I didn’t have to lift a finger to do it, either. Ron: Oh, so Susan did the shopping for you again, huh? Bob: Yeah. I just gave her my credit card and my wife’s shopping list, and told her to go for it. Ron: So, what is Alice getting? Bob: Oh, the usual. Some piece of jewelry Susan picked out. Ron: And what is Susan getting? Bob: (with a wink) Well, I told her to get whatever she thought she was worth. She has earned a nice bonus this year. I think she bought herself a set of diamond earrings and matching necklace. (pauses, as if thinking to himself) You know, there was a time Alice and I had the same thing going on, but, you know, kids and work just got in the way. Ron:  Yeah, it gets that way sometimes. Bob: So, how are you and June doing? Ron: We’re OK. Bob: Just OK? Ron: Well, she wants me home early tonight, but with this report to do, I’m not really sure when I’ll be home. Bob: You know you do this every year. Why don’t you give yourself a break this Christmas Eve? Ron: Because this is the only time I get a chance to do the report, and the board meeting is first thing Monday. It’s just one of the drawbacks to being head of the company—having to spend the time doing the things necessary to keep it running. Bob: Well, sometimes it looks more like you’re avoiding things instead. Ron: And what am I avoiding, exactly? Bob: (leans toward Ron) Christmas Eve! Ron: (taken back; stumbles for an answer) I’m not avoiding anything—especially Christmas Eve! Bob: (shrugs) Whatever you say, Ron. I’m just saying what it looks like from my standpoint, that’s all. Ron: (angrily) Well, you’re wrong! Bob: (distant now, obviously hurt by Ron’s words) Merry Christmas, Ron. (he turns and begins to walk out.) Ron: (with no real emotion) Yeah, you too, and tell Alice and the kids Merry Christmas from me, too. Bob: (as he is out the door) Whatever. (Bob leaves. Ron sits as if in deep thought. We hear John Turner’s voice again, “…So what if I talk to someone else…all I hear from you is nag, nag, nag…maybe that’s why I  don’t come home…there’s nothing good here anymore…”. Ron shakes his head, as if to try to clear the memory again, and turns back to his computer. The lights dim for a moment, the sound of a ticking clock is heard, and the lights come back up. Ron is still typing, but we hear Donna, “…is that so?...nothing to come home to?...I can arrange for you to never come home to me again…”. Again, Ron shakes his head, trying to clear his mind, and keeps working. The lights dim one more time, and again we hear the ticking. Lights come back up, Ron typing, and we hear Young Ron’s voice crying “Mom, don’t go! Daddy, come back! It’s Christmas Eve!...” Ron holds his head in his hands, and as the sound of Young Ron’s voice dies out, the phone rings. Ron glances at the caller ID, rolls his eyes, and picks up the phone.) Ron: (in a very professional voice) Hello, Turner, Smith and Jones, Inc., Ron Turner speaking. (As he speaks, spotlight on June, on opposite side of stage, holding phone to her ear.) June: As if you didn’t already know who’s calling. Ron: Now, June, you know good and well that I’ve always told my employees to answer professionally, even when they know who it is, so I have to set the example. June: And who else is there to hear you at this time of night? Ron: You might be surprised. June: Yeah, right. Your secretary told me this morning when I called, that the office was closing at noon. She sure sounded too excited to stick around. And I’m sure everyone else was ready to leave too. Except you. Ron: Look, I told you I have to have this report ready for the board meeting next Monday morning. June: But why do you have to pick today to work on it? Ron: Precisely because I let everyone else go early. I knew I could concentrate better with everyone gone. June: Well, have you finished yet? Ron: Not quite, I still have a few more things… June: It’s after 11:00 pm! Ron: Just a few more minutes… June: (angrily, in total frustration) Honey, listen to yourself! It’s 11:30 at night, and it’s Christmas Eve ! I need you here ! I can’t set up Tommy’s train set without you! It was all I could do just to get him in bed, he’s so excited. And he kept asking me all night, “When’s Daddy coming? I want to wait up for Daddy!” Why can’t you be here on time this one night of the year? Why do we have to have this argument every Christmas Eve? Ron: (also angrily) Look, honey, I’m doing the best I can, but I have to keep this company running, or there won’t be money to buy Christmas train sets with!           Will you please leave me alone to finish this report? Please ! June: (pause, then a sigh) Leave you alone, huh? Well, if that’s what you want. I’ve about had my fill of being married to Mr. Scrooge, anyway. Maybe you might just get your wish soon. Ron: Honey, wait, that’s not what I meant. I just… (June hangs up. Lights out on her.) (Ron slams the receiver down, and covers his face.) (Lights fade to black) Scene Two (Lights up) (Young Ron is sitting on the floor in front of an easy chair, playing with several small toys. There is a small Christmas tree on an end table next to the chair. He looks up as John enters.) John Turner: Hi, son. How’s it going? Young Ron: (with great excitement) Hi, Dad! It’s great! I’m going to try to stay up and see Santa Claus this year! John: (teasingly) Oh, you are, huh? You know that’s not going to work. He won’t come if you’re awake. You know that song “…he sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake…” You’d better get to bed so he can come. Young Ron: But, Dad... John: (gently, but firmly) Come on, Ronnie, off to bed now, OK? Young Ron: (with resignation) Alright, Dad. (Young Ron starts to pick up his toys. Donna Turner enters.) Donna: (to John) You’re late again, I see. John: Now, Donna, don’t start with me. Donna: And why not? Oh, that’s right, I’d forgotten! It never does any good to say anything, anyway, does it? You never listen to a word I say! John: Now wait just a minute… Donna: No, you wait just a minute! I’m tired of you never coming home. I’m tired of trying to make dinner and keep up the house, while you hang out at the bar all night! John: I work hard. I’m entitled to a little R&R now and then. Donna: R&R! You call drinking with your buddies R&R? John: Yes, it helps me find an outlet for all the stress I put up with on the job! Donna: And does that outlet include anything else? John: What are you implying? Donna: What do you think I’m implying? John: I promise you, all I do is have a few drinks with the guys! Donna: Then explain this. (She hands him a small slip of paper.) Donna: I found it in the pocket of the shirt you wore yesterday. It’s a phone number for “Julie”. Who’s Julie? John: (stalling) I don’t know. Donna: What do you mean you don’t know? John: I mean, I don’t know any Julie, and I don’t know how that got into my pocket. Donna: You don’t know? John, this didn’t just appear out of thin air! Someone put it in your shirt pocket! If you didn’t do it, then someone else did. And that someone had to be awfully close to you to do it! John: (explodes with anger) So what? So what if I did talk to someone else? What do you expect? All I ever hear from you is nag, nag, nag. You never have anything good to say to me anymore. Nothing I do is ever good enough. You know what? Maybe that’s why I drink! Maybe that’s why I don’t come straight home at night! There’s nothing good here to come home to anymore! Donna: (just as angry) Is that so? Nothing good here? Nothing to come home to? OK, we’ll see about that. I can arrange for you to never have to come home to me again! John: That’s just fine with me! Donna: Fine! Then I’m getting my stuff out of here right now. I’m leaving! (Donna storms out the same direction she entered) John: (calling after her) Good riddance! (John turns and leaves in opposite direction from Donna. Young Ron has been sitting on the floor during the argument, watching his parents with growing fear. Now he gets up on his knees. He is starting to cry.) Young Ron: Mom! Mom! Don’t go! Please! It’s Christmas Eve! (No answer. He calls again) Young Ron: Dad! Daddy!! Come back! (There is no answer from either parent. Young Ron crumples to the floor, crying hard.) (Blackout) Scene Three (Lights up) (Tommy is lying in his bed, asleep. Ron quietly enters, and stands at the foot of the bed,  momentarily taking in the sight of his sleeping child. Tommy stirs, and then opens his eyes and sees his dad. He quickly sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.) Tommy: Hey, Dad! Glad you’re home! What took you so long? I wanted to wait up, but Mom wouldn’t let me. Ron: Oh, I got busy with something at work, and I forgot how late it was. Tommy: But Dad, it’s Christmas Eve! Why do you have to work on Christmas Eve? Don’t you like Christmas? (Ron sits on the edge of Tommy’s bed. He is obviously touched by his son’s question.  During the following conversation, June enters, but stands back to listen.) Ron: Well, Tommy, sometimes Christmas is not a happy time for some people. Tommy: Why not, Dad? It’s Jesus’ birthday! And everybody buys presents for everybody else! How can it be a sad time? Ron: Because sometimes bad things happen at Christmas, or maybe sad things happen, and so when it’s Christmas again, people think about the sad or bad things instead. Tommy: Did something like that happen to you? Ron: (hangs his head, hesitates) Yes, Tommy, it did. Tommy: What happened, Dad? Ron: Remember how I told you that Granddaddy Turner and Grandmamma Bryson are my mom and dad, but they don’t live together? Tommy: Yeah, you told me they got a divorce when you were a boy. Ron: Yes, but what I’ve never told you is that Grandmamma Bryson left Granddaddy and me on Christmas Eve. Tommy: (eyes widen) Wow, Dad, that must have really been sad for you. Ron: Yes, it really scared me. Tommy: No wonder you always look so sad at Christmas. Ron: Yeah, I guess I’ve let myself think about the sad things, and I’ve forgotten how to be happy at Christmas. (Ron lays a hand on Tommy’s shoulder) But I’ve decided something tonight, Tommy. I’ve decided I want to change how I think about Christmas. I’ve been sad long enough. I can’t change what my parents did, but I can learn to focus on the good things instead of the bad. I want to be excited about Christmas again. Will you help me? Tommy: (with a big smile) Yes, Dad, I’ll help! (hugs Ron) (June slips forward and lays her hand on Ron’s shoulder.) June: You’ve never told me your parents’ split up happened on Christmas Eve. Ron: I’m sorry. I guess I just tried to ignore it. I guess I thought that not talking about it would make the memory go away. June: Well, now that I know, it does explain a lot of things. Ron: I’m sorry, June. I’m sorry for how I’ve acted. I apologize to both of you. June: (smiles) I’m sorry, too, honey. I love you. Ron: I love you, too. Tommy: Oh, no, are you two gonna get all mushy? Ron: (teasingly) And do you have a problem with that, son? Tommy: (laughs) Well, just don’t get too mushy, OK? Ron: Hey, by the way, I thought I saw something flying away from the house when I came in. I wonder who that was? Tommy: Santa Claus! I hope he left my train set! Can I go see? Ron: Yes, go ahead, son! (Tommy gets up and runs out. Ron takes June’s hand and they begin following him.) June: (with a smile) Merry Christmas, Mr. Scrooge! Ron: (smiling back) And God bless us, every one! (Lights fade to black)

27sjlj

Moving to Manitoba

There was nobody in the streets and it felt like I had the whole town to myself. There was at least half a meter of snow on the ground which made it seem even more deserted. I slowly walked with my hands shoved into my pockets to protect them from the cold brittle air. I looked up and down at the trees, then at my feet, then at the sky. Not a blade of grass in sight. Not looking where I was going, a low lying branch hit me and flung a clump of snow into my face. It was cold. "Dang it." I said out loud to myself as my face was already starting to go numb. I heard what sounded like a hyena cackling. I believe it to be the sound of my sister's laugh but I still turned around to see who it was anyway, only I couldn't see because I still had snow on my face. I brushed it off with my sleeve so then my face felt all weird and tingly, and my sleeve was wet and cold. There were my sisters, Lucille and Demitri Brightheart looking through the big front window of our two story, red brick house. Demetri was trying to contain herself from behind her camera which I noticed was recording. Whereas Lucille (Lucy), had tears streaming down her face from laughing at my stupidity, one of her favourite hobbies. She's always been a bit dramatic, I mean, she is a theatre kid. I gave them an unimpressed look. Demitri turned off her small red digital camera and put it in her pocket, before the both of them walked away from the window. She was probably recording me stumbling around like an idiot. Demi likes to practice her photography on our family with her little baby camera. That thing is a million years old, I'm surprised it still works. "Percy get in here right now!" My mom screamed through the open window. She was especially stressed because we were moving to a new city and my parents were making their first trip to our new house. As I walked through the door, my father was carrying boxes from the hallway, out to the car and my mother was having a sit down conversation with Lucy and Demitri. She motioned for me to come over and sit on the couch with them. Everything in our house was packed up except for the furniture… and my room. There was a couple bananas, out on the counter, three water glasses for each of us, and the flat screen television and remote (which is sadly staying) "Percy, as you know Demi and Lucy will be taking care of you today." My mom started. She likes to give us very clear instructions so that we 'don't burn down the house.' "I left a box of macaroni in the pantry for you to make tonight for dinner. We should be home by then but just in case…" my mother stood up to slip on her fancy beige business coat, with the oversized black buttons. My father was waiting for her at the door, looking somewhat impatient. "Okay mommy has to go now, so kids, pack up your rooms because we are getting the moving truck first thing tomorrow morning. And I mean it, we can't afford to be late because I want everything in the house before dinner tomorrow so we can go out and explore the area a bit. Okay?" I nodded my head while reaching for the TV remote. She scurried out the door and shut it loudly behind her. Lucy snatched the remote right out of my hands and shut off the tv on me! "Hey!" I said in great annoyance. "You literally haven't touched the boxes in your disgusting room. Get off your butt and start packing!" Demanded Lucy. As I refused to move, she took the yellow hair tie off her wrist and flung it at my face. "Ow!" I screamed. "Get up! You too Demi!" She took another hair tie off her wrist, this time it was an orange one, and twisted her long straight brown hair into a ponytail. Lucy can be like a mini mom, she looks exactly like her but prettier. She got copper coloured highlights in her hair which goes nicely with her bright green eyes. She thoroughly enjoys nagging me and Demitri, which drives Demetri up the wall because they're twins, meaning they are both 15 and should be treated like they are both 15. Demetri is pretty too but different than Lucy. Demi cut her hair short, and let's it go a bit curly instead of straightening it. She has a rounder face, like Dad and me, and gold rimmed glasses that magnify her eyes which gives her a mousey kind of look. I guess my sisters resemble a little bit but you wouldn't know that they are twins unless somebody told you. Lucy waits for us to go up the stairs, then follows behind us so now there's no escaping. My room was a mess. It was painted a seasick kind of green, which just looks like someone vomited all over my walls. It was an okay size I guess but the amount of crap I had lying around made it look tiny. My cabinet was already cleared off because I was making some serious plans to move the flat screen tv into my room, but unfortunately that plan wasn't approved by the rest of the family. I started with my clothes. I threw them all in a duffle bag and there you go! My parents already took the sheets of my bed so the night before, I threw on five layers of socks and a random towel that I found under my cabinet, so I didn't freeze to death. My room didn't take too long to pack up because as I said before, it wasn't that big and it didn't have the capacity to hold much either. I heard some commotion going on in the other room so I went to see what was going on. "What are you guys-" "Demi has a boyfriend!" Blurted out Lucy. She has a terrible habit of interrupting people. "No I don't," She protested. "Ethan just gave me his sweater…" I didn't want to get involved in whatever the heck was going on in there so I just left the girls to do their thing while I said goodbye to the TV. A couple hours had passed, By this time I had been fully absorbed by the couch. Lucy and Demitri were still upstairs and I was getting hungry so I got out the macaroni which was left for us. I heard a screech from upstairs which made me drop the cheese packet. Before I went upstairs to investigate, I ripped open the cheese packet and poured a bit in my mouth. I mounted the stairs and opened the door to my sisters' bedroom. "This is going a bit too far…" "Oh my gosh, it's fine." Lucy doesn't take her eyes off the screen, too focused on her task. Demi reaches to grab her phone from Lucy's hands "Lucy, give it! It's not fun anymore!" Said Demi, sounding somewhat in distress. "Percy! Go away!" "Percy, stay! I need your opinion." Lucy gets up off the bed and stands on an acacia swivel chair, overlooking the room. She motioned for me to sit down. "Okay, how does this sound?" Demi buries her face in her hands out of premature embarrassment. Lucy starts reading the message she had written, out loud. "'Hi Ethan, this is Demetri Brightheart. It was really sweet of you to give me your sweater the other day," At this, Demitri jumps up and once again attempts to grab her phone back. Lucy continues reading, effortlessly dodging Demitri. "and I think you are really cute. Do you want to get lunch sometime?' Any objections?" "Lucy!! Give it!" "Okay… sending in three, two, one." "N-n-n-no! He doesn't even like me Lucy!!" "Oh shut up-" "Ethan loves you! He gave me his number, to give to you. I'm nothing more than a messenger to him." She blurted out. "He never gave me his sweater either, I stole it…" "Are you kidding me?? There you go! You just ruined everything! you never listen to me!! I'm not stupid you know. I give you advice but you don't listen and you refuse to take chances with people because you are too damn scared of an imaginary issue!!" "Well it's not easy living with someone who has guys falling for her left and right. I can't even get this guy to talk to me! Can you blame me for flashing your name around just to get people to look at me!?" Demi looked taken aback. And there was a very strong tension so I started to leave as I felt I shouldn't be there, but I was stopped before I put one foot out of the door. "No! Percy. You are staying here. I need a witness when I explain to Mom and Dad that Demitri is being a little jerk!" Lucy is scary when she's mad so I obeyed and awkwardly sat back down on the bed. "You're right. My issues are imaginary and I ruin everything. I really appreciate you trying to help but not really because I never asked for it. This year, I have missed a month of school. I would sit in our bedroom and cry every morning before Mom would come in and force me out. And you never asked once if I was okay. You only made jokes about my absence at school because you just don't know when to quit." I noticed Demi starting to tear up. She wiped her eyes on her denim jacket which is decorated with pins and buttons of her favourite TV shows and quotes. "Well that just proves that you can't do anything by yourself. You can't get a boyfriend by without me, you can't make friends without me, You couldn't even get out of bed by yourself." Yes, Demi's mental health issues were a lot worse a couple months ago but we knew what was going on. She had major anxiety attacks but it's hard to comprehend what's going on in someone else's mind. Sometimes both of them are too immature to understand each other's issues. The big move has had something to do with the recent tension between them. Lucy has had to leave all her friends behind, whereas Demi is moving back to all her friends. We are moving back to the twins' home town because dad got a new job, which is hours from our current house. This move has taken a toll on all of us. I'm not too worried about our new school because I will make other friends. We grew up here so it's definitely going to hurt to leave but I just want it over with so that everyone can go back to normal. After Lucy's statement crossed the line, and the swearing fit was over, Demi wiped her tears away and started to leave. "Demi, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything I said. I know you were struggling. I'm sorry." Said Lucy who was still crying. "I know. It's alright I guess. Can I have my phone back, please?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. There was an awkward silence and I was just sort of sitting there. Finally, Lucy tosses Demitri her phone and sits down on the chair she was previously standing on. I followed Demi out of the bedroom and downstairs to make a snack. I've learned that the best way to deal with conflict between twins is to talk to them if they need it, or just pretend it never happened. My sister grabbed Ethan's sweater from the couch, on her way to the kitchen. "I'm going out. I'll be back before dinner." She said. "Oh okay. Where are you going?" "I should probably return this." She nods her head towards the sweater she was holding. I gave her a pitiful look. "Are you sure? We can always just put it through the shredder or throw it in the lake or something." She grabbed her wallet and opened the back door but before Demi left, she turned back to look at me and gave me a little smile and said, "It's okay. Might aswell get it over with. New house, fresh start." She awkwardly laughed before disappearing out the door.

udopue

Prince of Articia

I, Holly, my boyfriend of three years, Axel, and my adopted daughter, Kiku were at Axel’s apartment watching a cartoon Christmas Carol movie for a date. Axel and I were in our thirties. Kiku, who was six, out dressed the both of us in her purple unicorn dress. She was also the most active by tending to a doll while Axel and I just cuddled on the couch. I met Axel while I was adopting my daughter. He was a volunteer helping. He wasn’t ever adopted, but he wanted to give back to the facility that took care of him for many years. Just when a character started to sing and Kiku started dancing, there was a knock at the door. “Why does Mrs. Maldonado always need something?” Axel complained as we got up from the couch to answer the door. But instead of Mrs. Maldonado at the door, there was a tall man dressed in black. “Is this the residence of the man called ‘Axel’?” He inquired. “Uhhhh….” Axel and I voiced in our state of confusion. “Confirmation. I’ve found him, and his family.” He spoke in an intercom. He and three others escorted the three of us in a huge limonene where we sat with a lady dressed as if she came from the North Pole. We were in a part of California where it rains in the winter. “Greetings. Everything must be confusing to all of you, so I’m going to explain everything, and answer as many questions that I can.” She greeted and started the explanation. Axel was really the long-lost prince of Articia, and his real name was Prince Quentrell. The country is on a hidden island near Antarctica. When the prince was born, the kingdom was experiencing a rebellion, so King Usunaar and Queen Immianthe made the decision to send their son away for safety. Because the country is now in a time of peace, they sent the royal guards and one of their royal secretaries to find the prince and bring him back home. Kiku and I were collected because they thought that we were already married, and because I had to inform them otherwise, we get to come along, and Axel and I are now officially engaged. My parents, siblings, and friends will be able to attend various parties. “Now, though we have to focus on the Christmas and Royal Family Reunion celebration, but that is tomorrow, and right, right now, you two need to adjust to this new information, and ask me all the questions you need.” She instructed as we were entering the private jet. The jet was like walking into a five-star hotel, and after sitting for the takeoff, each of us were assigned a room for the night. I was curious, so I looked in the wardrobe, and it was filled with four different colors of dresses, and all had multiple sizes from extra small to five-X large. That told me that they didn’t look up nor guess at my clothing size. Waking up was confusing at first, but that quickly became excitement. I got ready and chose a blue dress to wear, and then, went out from the room where I was directed to the large breakfast table. “Everything is so overwhelming.” I breathed. There was a banquet of a variety of breakfast food. “I’m keep on thinking that this dream might end.” Axel or Prince Quentrell stated. “EEeeeewww, yucky milk!!!!” Kiku declared. “Sweaty, you don’t have to eat or drink anything you don’t like.” I assured, as the staff rushed to clear the table of all milks. I began the meal by filling Kiku’s plate with a good portion of what she wanted and placed the cup of apple juice closer to her reach. Then, I filled my plate. Later meals, the servants would know what foods everyone preferred and at first, it was awkward being served. *** I, Axel, had a hard time believing that I was the prince. Kiku seemed to love being an unofficial princess, and Holly seemed worried and kept on looking to me. The most amazing sight was seeing the country, or should I say castle, before we landed. The entire country was an island, but the entire country was inside a huge castle that the king and queen decided to create. A number of villagers weren’t too happy when the royals decided that the entire country should be within a castle, and that is why there was a rebellion. The plane landed on the water, and we were escorted to the throne room. “Presenting Prince Quentrell, his fiancée, and their daughter!” Announced the announcer. We walked down the aisle and bowed to the king and queen. “Rise, Prince Quentrell.” The king ordered, and I rose. They did look like they could’ve been my parents. The one thing that disappointed me was that I didn’t get the sense of familiarity that some people get when finding their parents. The advisor was summoned, the king and his advisor whispered somethings between themselves, and then, the king proclaimed “This man will have to undergo a series of tests before it is properly determined that he is the prince! Now, my queen and this family will follow me to the next room.” We followed him down the hall, and into a private room where he turned around, grabbed me in a huge hug, cried, and repeated, “My son.” The queen had her turn at the reunion hugs, and Holly and Kiku joined them in the crying. “What about the tests?” I queried with confusion. “Just formalities, and entertainment for the press. There is no real doubt that you are our son.” He informed, “There is much to do, but you three need a rest. We will fly your fiancée’s family on a later date for the celebrations. You two will have to have a ceremonial proposal because of traditions, and various other details will have to happen.” *** I, Holly, was overwhelmed by all of the activities; food contests, decoration creating and display contest, snow games, music, concerts, plays, dances, gingerbread houses, gifts, storytellers, candy everywhere, traditional events that I was to understand after one sentence of explanation and a “you’ll do fine” ending, and various other things that sound fun but is energy draining. Kiku got sick a few times during some of the events. My family did come a few days after boxes of my possessions appeared in my room. The boxes I made a habit of sorting out things a few minutes before I went to bed, and there was a place in my room if I wanted something discarded. My family would stay during celebrations but would leave back to their homes after. On the days when there wasn’t a celebration and Axel was busy with royal to-dos, Kiku and I were left to explore the castle country. The good thing about the entire country being in a castle was that the place was warm, and another good thing was that there were modern convinces including multiple elevators. First floor of the castle was the animals of the kingdom, second floor was the shops, restaurants, entertainment centers and businesses, third floor was the residences of the citizens, the main castle for the royals were from the fourth floor to the twelfth floor, and the greenhouse for the crops was on the top floors. The hospital had a door at all of the floors. The second floors had access to the outside. All of the shops had a residence above. The gardens and animals were community owned. The farmers were the majority of the rebels who didn’t like the new arrangements. There were still rebels who were still recovering in the hospital. Luckily, there were days where Axel joined us or sometimes only me. The big annoyance though was that bodyguards and the press would follow us everywhere. On a Wednesday before Christmas, Axel took me to a play at one of their theatres. The play was a romantic play and the last scene all of the actors held up a sign that said “Lady Holly, will you marry Prince Quentrell?” I turned to Axel, and he was on bended knee and has a silk flower brooch. “What is this?” I asked. “It is an engagement brooch. He can’t say anything until he receives your answer.” A bodyguard informed. “Yy..yes.” I stuttered. Axel was about to place in on my left side when another bodyguard whispered to him that it should be on my right. We were then escorted to the engagement party and separated so because we had to sit on opposite sides of a long table. Only people over the age of twenty could attend, so Kiku didn’t see us until after dinnertime that day. *** I, Axel, was overwhelmed with tests, health exams, reexaminations, and everything. My DNA confirmed that I was their son, but there were traditional trials that I had to pass in order to really confirm that I was the rightful heir. Everyone seemed to want me to pass the trials and examinations, so I was allowed to redo them. It was Christmas morning and all I wanted was to spend much needed time with Holly and her family. I must have stayed in bed too long, because there was a knock at the door. “Prince Quentrell? Is everything all right?” The servant who was in charge of my schedule wondered. I would later find a good way to remember everyone’s names, but I am the worst at remembering. “Yeah, just need some time!” I responded. After I got ready, I allowed him in. He and a staff started to prepare breakfast on a portable table. I asked, “What is this?” “The royal family usually have private breakfast at Christmas.” He informed. “Could I request to eat with Holly and Kiku?” I requested. “They will be here as soon.” He answered and left with three others. When Holly and Kiku showed up and their places were ready, the servants allowed us to eat privately. Holly and I had a much needed serious and silly conversation. The next event of the day was opening gifts with the family. The King and Queen even dressed comfortably and explained that the tradition was that everyone would spend quality time with their families. The servants who chose to stay to work explained that they didn’t have other families, and they did join our celebration and get gifts. The gift I planned on giving Holly this year was a ring, so Holly teased that I had to propose to her three times. Kiku had received a huge number of toys and fell asleep playing with the multiple dolls. The best part of the day was that the King and Queen sent a servant to retrieve old baby photos. I recognized myself and retrieved the photos of my childhood. Each year there would be a Santa photo, or an ugly sweater photo taken of each child. Photos, memories and laughter were shared that Christmas, and even though I still was uneasy about being a royal, that day made me feel like I was home. The End. 

gkwdds

Did Jesus Eat Bacon For Christmas?

A bombshell revelation from the man formerly known as Jesus. It took many years, but he has reinvented himself- yet again. Josh, as he is known today, has a worldwide base of followers who call themselves Joshers. Few others can say they have two million followers. Josh the influencer. Josh the activist. Josh the criminal. Josh the great polarizing figure. Exactly who is Josh? ________ Clara Carlyle : Good to see you. Josh Christmas : Thank you for having me. Hey everyone out there. CC : I thought we'd start with you introducing yourself. JC : Of course. Who am I? Well, I am a problem solver and a leader. I can walk on water, feed the hungry and cure the sick. I am the son of God! I know the truth! Someone once compared me with oysters, you either love them or hate them. Do you like oysters? CC : Yes, well people seem to love you. I want to remind our readers that this interview was done with zero conditions in place, nothing is off the table. This time of year, you must be very busy, Josh. Can you tell us a little about your relationship with Christmas? JC : Sure. I recently asked my disciples on Twitter, what does Christmas mean to you ? The top five answers were: a day off from work, gifts/presents, being with family, good food, and snow; mostly commercialism type of answers. CC : I see. And what does Christmas mean to you? JC : Shout out to The Tunic Company, and The Sandal Company. Without them I wouldn't be able to buy the expensive equipment needed to produce new content for my channel, #Miracle. Christmas, nowadays, is all about gifts, it is purely commercial. People don't know the true meaning. Unfortunately, however, back around 300 AD, shortly after Constantine created Christmas, I started living the crucifixion over and over again. Christmas after Christmas. I am sure you can imagine that is not a pleasant experience. It's exhausting actually. Someone in the background: "Josh, please stick to the script." CC : My apologies. Let's change the subject. Have you ever recognized your face in toast or Doritos? JC: Good question! No. I have not experienced that, but I do moderate the Facebook page, "Jesus in toast." CC : I'll admit I am not schooled in the details of Christmas. I thought it celebrated your birth- not death- no? I hate to bring it up again, but what was the crucifixion like? There is an anonymous source claiming that you were on the cross for eight hours before you died. Is that true? JC : Shout out to Ap-Uhl Watch for their amazing product. I have always loved watches. But to answer your question, I don't know how long I was up there. Probably Mathew or Mark, maybe Luke could answer that question. Subscribe to my socials- #Miracle. CC : Right. Nowadays you are an influencer. Tell us about that. JC : It took me a long time to be able to think of myself as an influencer. I didn’t know anybody who did that. I knew content creators who played around with social media, maybe on the weekends, but I didn’t know anybody who was an influencer. It felt like something that was out of my reach. So, I started out in consulting, I think, as a way to scratch that itch. CC : Right. Which came first, the subscribers or the sponsors? Also, I want to touch on your arrest and trial for blasphemy and tax evasion. JC : I really can't comment. I can only say that I had to search deep within my heart and spirit to move to a new plateau in my life. The subscribers came first. CC : There have been scandalous allegations made by your doubters. I have to ask you; do you take part in human trafficking? There have been allegations that you eat spaghetti with pineapple. What other skeletons do you have in the closet? JC : That guy is an asshole. People will oppress each other-- man against man, neighbor against neighbor. The young will rise up against the old, the base against the honorable. Anyone who is too visionary or too innovative is accused of not playing by the rules. I'd hate to lose followers, lose money, lose influence because of lies. LIES. I'd like to quote my old friend Adolf Hitler, "Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it and eventually they will believe it." That stuff really makes me mad! That asshole can rot in Hell. He does NOT want to mess with me. Someone in the background: "Josh, calm down, focus, please stick to the script." CC : Yikes! Suddenly this interview has gotten serious. You know what I have always wondered, how does one turn water into wine? JC : Dude! It's funny that you ask about that because recently on my YouTube channel I tried to replicate the process. First of all, the conditions need to be perfect, you need very clean water. A long, long time ago the water was much cleaner. You can watch it on my YouTube channel, 'M1racles'. Unfortunately, 'miracles' with an I was taken, so I use 'M1racles' with a one instead. CC : Genius. You mentioned oysters earlier. My last question is about The Last Supper. Ironically my friends and I keep a list of foods for our, metaphorical, last supper. What is on your list? What was on your list? Someone in the background: "Josh, please stick to the script- read page 7 for the correct answer." JC : Mary, my mom, used to make something similar to what we call a pot pie today. Instead of chicken, though, she filled it with figs, and dates, sometimes olives. Olives are the one thing that can take me back to living in Judea. Dude, food is a time machine. CC: Absolutely, What else did you have for your Last supper? JC: Gosh it has been so long since I thought about it. Umm, Bacon? I would love bacon at my next Last Supper. Maybe a full breakfast of pancakes, bacon & sausage, scrambled eggs with American cheese and strawberries. Someone in the background: "Wrong answer Josh! Did you prepare at all for this interview?"

j1y8m5

Disconnecting from the real world

I may have slammed the door too hard. I can still hear the loud bang it made after I closed it on my way out of her room. Maybe I overreacted again and the anger got the better of me once more. But I can’t just sit there listening to her reproaches anymore. It’s making me sick. The way she keeps telling me I’m never going to make it, how she belittles me in every possible way. Every day it’s the same old story about me not reaching my true potential because I’m too lazy or `cuz I’m not trying hard enough. It’s making me crazy how little faith mom has in me. So what if I still don’t know what I want to do with my life, where I want to go to college? I’m not even 17 yet! I still have time. She makes me so mad. Mad at her, at myself, at the world. Sometimes all I want to do is- Whoah, how did I get here? I don’t remember entering the park. But it has me speechless. I’m pretty sure the sun wasn’t shining so bright today and yet the park is drowned in light. It’s like all of a sudden all the clouds scattered. Maybe they ran away from my anger. Hah, what a silly thought. If clouds could feel my emotions they wouldn’t even have time to run away. They would just break apart right before my eyes, they wouldn’t be able to contain their tears and then it would rain havoc. I can’t believe I was on the verge of crying myself-again- but I just noticed how brightly the sun shines here and now it’s almost like my anger was put aside to make way for all these rays of sunshine. I’m getting so warm all of a sudden! I feel like burning under my jacket. Better take it off. This pleasant breeze surrounds me and I can almost forget about mom, about everything. Right now it’s just me and this balmy atmosphere, just the awakening nature and me. I can’t believe this is the first time I notice spring is really here. Bye-bye arctic winter and hello blissful spring. All of a sudden the peacefulness of the park hits me at once. It’s like all my senses are spiking up: I can hear the chirping of swallows so clearly. It’s like their song is pumping right in my imaginary headphones. The trees are still naked but I can already imagine cherry flowers beginning to grow. I know there aren’t any cherry trees around here but my imagination has no limits. Already as a small child, I was living in a made-up world where people were kind and problems didn’t exist. Where everything was pink and cherry trees were sprinkled around the globe. I was weaving all these stories about my little rose-colored planet and wishing from all my heart that it could really be like that: no anger, no tears, no moms who are constantly telling me to wake up, to grow up. But the truth is, I am grown up. I can see all the terrible stuff going around. I can see mom tearing herself apart and blaming herself for my lack of skills. How she wishes I were more talented and knew what I wanted to do with my life. I can see how she hates herself for having me live without a father, how she regrets doing what was best for her. But I never needed my dad. I never blamed mom for anything. All she wants from me is to do better than her. To find a well-payed job and a loving husband. But maybe that’s not what I truly want. Maybe I don’t care about money so much like I care about being happy and at peace with myself. Maybe I don’t want to marry and live my life according to a male specimen. I want to be free, to travel the world, to see those cherry trees I long for. Because life is short and I want to enjoy every moment of it. Maybe I am a dreamer. Maybe that’s all I am and mom is right. I’m never going to make it. And no one will ever like me because I’m so stubborn and I don’t take care of myself enough. Well guess what, mom? It’s hard to stand tall when every moment of the day I fill like crumbling inside. It’s hard to be confident when I don’t even dare to lift my gaze from the ground. When I feel so small and insignificant like one of these insects flying around. I’m scared of everything around me but what terrifies me most is the future. That’s why I choose not to think about it too much. Because the truth is I am scared. I’m scared all your worries will come true and I won’t reach anything in life. I’m scared I’m too frail and naive for this world. And maybe I hate myself just as you do. Because I know that deep down you hate me with an enormous force. God, why can’t I stop being like this? It’s such a beautiful day and here I am complaining and being mad like always. Come on, pull yourself together. Inhale, exhale. Breathe in the smell of the snowdrops and relax. This stroll is longer than expected but I feel compelled to this overpowering nature of the park. It’s magical, like a place from my dreams. The only difference is that in my dreams I’m always surrounded by people whereas here I’m walking alone. And this solitude is really ominous. How come it’s so deserted here? It’s like everything is only meant for me to see. Like my own piece of pink heaven. I wish I could bring my bed out here and cover myself in tulips. I actually want you to see this too, mom. You’d like that. Maybe if you see this you’ll understand what I want my world to look like. Why can’t I live here? Why do I have to go back to reality?! I want to climb one of these trees and scream my name out. I want to put my mark on this place. I wish everything was just as tranquil as my park. No-not my park. It’s not mine. I may be alone now but others have surely come through here too. And they will continue to come. It’s not a fantasy place. It is real. And maybe it’s so charming because this day is just so sunlit. Maybe on grey days the ambiance completely changes. But I don’t want to think how the park looks on damp, rainy days, I don’t want to picture shadows. All I want is to enjoy this for a couple more minutes. My phone starts ringing but I am not going to look at who it is. I already know it’s you telling me to come back. You’re going to say you’re sorry for going overboard about my future again. And I know you are. You just can’t help it. You are worried about me. Who doesn’t want a bright future for her daughter? But you are stressing me too much about it. I swear one day I’m going to explode. Ugh, I wish this stupid phone would stop ringing. I don’t want to hear you! All I want to do is continue my stroll in peace for God’ sake, is that too much to ask for? Who knows when there will be another day like this one. Sadly, the light is slowly fading. So even a place as bright as this gets dark sometimes.. Ok I might as well take that call. Ok this is not mom's number... please don’t tell me it’s the hospital again, please, please, she was doing fine when I left. Ok, here goes nothing- No. No, I left her side only for a moment how could this happen? Why are nurses so stupid, why can’t they do anything? You’ve been feeling well this morning, mom... I have to get to you at once. I leave the hospital for one moment and there you go having another cardiac arrest. What is wrong with me?! It’s not normal to think that. It’s all my fault. I know you are sick. God, I am horrible. Why can’t I be more understanding? I’m so so selfish. I make you worry too much. I am the one responsible for your poor health and for the fact that nowadays you are dependent on all these meds. For the fact that the hospital has become more of a home to you than our own house. I feel so sorry for always taking what you say the bad way. You only want me to be happy even if your way of showing this is too extreme sometimes. I should be more patient. Instead, I run off every time and you only get more distressed and agitated. I don’t want to stay in my dream world. I need to be near you, to hear your heartbeat to know you are still alive. Because the reality is, even on such a beautiful day you are still sick. Even if there’s spring out here, in my heart there is still winter, my hopes gradually freezing over. I can’t hide away in my mind forever. Nor can I stay here any longer. You need me next to you. You need to know I will be alright. And I need you to get through this. I don’t care how doctors are telling us your condition is critical. I don’t care that you already wrote your will. I don’t care that grandma is preparing for the worst. You must get better. Because without you even this place would seem dark. Goodbye sunny park, goodbye beautiful weather. When mom will get better I’ll bring her here and I’ll show her my cherry trees and I’ll try to make her see the beauty I see, the beauty that could be. Please mom, I’m coming.

qak86l

Christmas 1982

Christmas 1982 My name is Luke Weyland. I live in Strathfield in Sydney Australia. The following, to the best of my recollection,  is a true story about what happened on Christmas Day in 1982. I was aged 21, back then. When not in college, I would live with my parents in Mosman in Sydney along with two of my three sisters, Michaela and Julia. The rest of the time I lived in Bathurst where I was studying Social Science. My oldest sister, Antonia recently got married to a young doctor named Chris. They lived in neighbouring suburb of Cremorne.  My brother Marcus was also a doctor and lived in a township north of Newcastle called Tanilba Bay. He was staying in the Mosman home for about a week.  Michaela’s fiancé Albert would later arrive, in time for dinner. Christmas Day started with Julia, Michaela and myself making pancakes with plain flour, milk and eggs. My family, along with my brother-in-law than sat around the large oak table consuming our freshly made pancakes which we covered with either fresh lemon juice and brown sugar or dripping with ‘Log Cabin’ syrup which is really Maple flavoured sugar, and drinking Earl Grey Tea from a porcelain mug. I was still wearing the same clothes as the day before. After breaky we exchanged our gifts and then it was time for me to disappear. For I had recently joined a Pentacostal Church in Darlinghurst called Christian Life Centre. For I had become a Born -Again Christian earlier that year. Thus I had a quick shower, and dressed myself in the clothes I had pressed the day before.  I hopped onto my motorcycle, a Yamaha 100CC and rode off to church.   The gauge on my bike said that the tank was full – but I had forgotten that the arrow had started to point to full even when it was totally empty. Usually, services at the church run for between one and a half and two hours, but because it was Christmas, it ran for an hour or so more.  Yet somehow, those three hours seemed to pass us by in no time. Christian Life Centre had its own band, they played we all swayed and sung- well known Christmas carols such as Hark The Herald Angels Sing , The First Noel and Away in the Manger as well as a few composed by the band. I loved the church experience everyone who enters the church is made to feel most welcome. I also attended the local fellowship group that they held regularly on Tuesday evenings close to my home. After the service came Christmas pudding and cordial friendly chats at hugs with my fellow believers. I also examined the religious material at the church’s bookshop – was probably more like a stall than a shop. As I didn’t have the money to buy then but would buy at least one the following week. With that all competed it was time to leave the air-conditioned church and return home. When I left home to go to church the day was perhaps a little warmer than usual. However, by the time I left the air-conditioned church, it was a scorcher. Both the extreme heat and the bright sun’s glare hit me. What a day for leaving my sun-glasses at home! I initially forgot where I had parked the bike hours earlier. I wandered the nearby streets till I eventually found my bike and began my ride back to Mosman. My bike was heating up as I crossed over Sydney Harbour Bridge. I slowed down a little as cars and trucks whizzed past me at over twice my speed and a number came extremely close to knocking me over as they overtook. About a kilometre from North Sydney’s Falcon Street exit my bike started to splutter and jerk, and then it stopped. I tried to start it again but failed. I pushed it up the hill, to the side of the road, terrified that someone would crash into me. I took off the lid to the petrol tank and discovered that it was bone dry. That day Push-Bike was to gain a new meaning, for me at least.   I pushed my Yamaha up Warringah Expressway’s hill. My lips were parched, as the sun burnt my face. Under my leather jacket, boots, gloves and jeans, my whole body, minus under my armpits was swimming with sweat (I remembered to put deodorant there). Never to worry, I knew that I would be reaching the Golden Fleece petrol station very soon. I was looking forward to not only filling the petrol tank, but also to a rest and an ice coffee.  As I reached it, I saw a note on the glass door advising potential customers that the facility would be closed and would be open again on Boxing Day. I slowly coasted the bike down Military Road footpath and passed another closed petrol station. It too was closed. The road then went up again. Every couple hundred metres I would stop, then push on. Fortunately, the third petrol station in Cremorne, was open.   Slightly rested, both bike and body refueled, I rode on to my home in Mosman, No sooner did I enter the kitchen door, I headed to the side room, which was my bedroom and fell straight to sleep.  Four hours later, or maybe more, Antonia woke me to tell me that it is time for dinner. For Dinner we had a roast pork with potatoes, peas and pumpkin. All this was prepared when I was fast asleep as I was recovering from the heat and the bike pushing.  My dad loves the crisp oily skin (I don’t) so I gave him my crackling as well. Though I was a vegetarian back then, I made that night an exception so I did have some ham. For sweets we had first a cake that was made in the shape of a lamb, followed by a thick heavy rather alcoholic pudding with threepences and sixpences inserted and a lavish vanilla custard covering poured over it.    After this, we settled in the lounge room I a rug like pillow. We played Irish Folk Songs, (My mum, though born in Australia, is of Irish heritage) and Polish Wedding Music. (My dad was born in Poland.)  

kmdnxl

Home for Christmas

Specialist Ben Grant tapped his finger against the blue arm rest twice before opening the ticket folder once again. The gate on the ticket still matched, but he seemed to be the only one to notice that they were supposed to be boarding ten minutes ago. He sat back, sat forward again, and bounced his knee. The woman at the counter kept her eyes down. She calmly flipped a piece of paper over. She lifted the P.A. mic to her mouth, lowered it again, and flipped the paper. The red bowtie at her neck tilted slightly, an indication of humanity to her otherwise perfect appearance, all pressed and pristine. Pressure built in Ben’s chest the longer he sat in the plastic chairs. He needed to stand—to move—to do anything but sit. He should have changed out of his uniform, but he had ran from his departing gate to this one where they should have been boarding already. Had they already boarded? Was he waiting for a plane that boarded early, closed the gate, rolled onto the runway, and reopened for the next plane? It wouldn’t be the first time. Ben had the worst plane luck. However, it seemed like so did everyone else. Everyone had a story or two of airports delaying passengers for no apparent reason, gates being disorganized and moved at the last minute without a sufficient way of telling passengers, planes overbooked, some kind of plane malfunction, some weather delay in the arrival airport when that destination was only a layover so they really could take him anywhere and it wouldn’t matter—Chicago has high winds? Just drop me off in Philadelphia, I don’t care, just get me home! Home. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of home. It was so close. He hadn’t touched American soil—breathed in American air—in 364 days. Although the landscape of Afghanistan looked very similar to the fields of his hometown, to the point that if he didn’t close his eyes and feel the difference it was as if he had never left, it wasn’t the sand or the low bushes, or the hot summers or the freezing winters that he longed for. He felt as if an invisible string tugged from deep inside his chest tightening and loosening with every move she made. The woman lifted the mic once more and pressed the button. Ben sat up, ready. “Montgomery Johnson to the front desk, please. Mr. Montgomery Johnson.” Ben sat back again. He should just go up to the counter and double check that he’s in the right place. Would that delay them even longer? Everyone’s schedules waiting on him explaining that no, he’s not Montgomery Johnson; yes, he does have a boarding pass; no, he would not like to check his bag; no, he would not like to give up his seat for someone else with a coupon for discounted tickets and a luxury stay in the airport’s five-star hotel; no, he doesn’t need anything else, he had simply wasted his time and theirs to walk up and talk to them. The blue board flashed as something changed. He scanned his eyes down the arrival and departing flights, their cities coming and going, the times and estimations, the delays and cancellations. His ticket still matched the board, the board still matched the gate, the time still matched his watch, which he changed to this time zone as he ran from the last gate to this one. He checked the clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes passed the time he was supposed to board. A couple cuddled on two chairs diagonal from him. The blue arm rest sticking out between them. An arm wrapped around another, fingers laced, heads on shoulders. One lifted their head, smiled at the other, and they kissed. Ben’s heart dropped to the grey carpet beneath his boots. The string tugged as he felt her pull farther away from him. # Jenna squeezed the steering wheel. Her fingertips, exposed from the knuckle down in her black gloves, felt like sticks of icicles. She should have warmed up the car while she curled her hair. Was she purposefully making herself late? She didn’t actually want to go to her sister’s Christmas party. Her and her husband with their matching sweaters and wine glasses, leaning against a grand piano facing the wide window overlooking the city, it was all too much. Every year they reserved the same penthouse suite and acted like they owned a condo in Manhattan. This was Reno, for heaven’s sake. Okay, that one night did cost them about a grand just for the room, not to mention the caterer and the pianist and their own bar tender. But still. The room looked out onto blinking dollar loan signs and bus stations, and she acted like below in the dark city beheld her empire. Jenna knew that she would spend the whole night, wishing she were home wearing fuzzy socks, nose in a romance novel, drinking tea, and pretending like the holidays didn’t exist. Because they didn’t. Not while he was gone. She didn’t bother getting a tree. She sent him a box of gifts weeks ago: a pack of energy drinks, cigarettes, pop tarts, and a celebrity gossip magazine that she had never seen him think about picking up when he was home. Maybe being 7,333 miles away made you interested in what Britney Spears was up to. A better alternative than acknowledging the fear that in the year since he has been deployed, he had changed. She knew he had to have changed. It had been a year. He had spent every holiday without her, and now, he would spend one more. She hadn’t heard from him in a few days. Sometimes this would happen—the lines were down, they were busy, the military wasn’t allowing anyone to contact home until something had been sorted out—and she spent most of her energy pushing the images that something terrible had happened out of her mind. She would sometimes blink and see a soldier in dress blues standing in her doorway in her mind’s eye and would spill her coffee or slip out of the lane on the freeway. Jenna entered the parking garage and slowly made her way around the layers of parked cars uncaring if she found a spot. Her sister most likely didn’t notice she was late, probably wouldn’t notice or care if she even came. She stopped as a car pulled out of a spot, staring deep into the white reverse light. He is safe , she told herself, taking deep breaths and squeezing the steering wheel tighter, he is safe. She pulled into the spot and shut off the engine. Her head spun and her stomach twisted into knots. Everything was going to be okay, she just needed to calm herself down. # Ben leaned against the window as cold air seeped in. A light on the wing of the plane blinked softly. Other passengers moved around him, finding their seats, storing their bags that were too large for the overhead compartment, searching for headphones, pulling down their bags from their overhead compartment, nervously fiddling with their seatbelts and air. Ben kept his eyes on the dark night wishing everyone would sit quickly and they could get going, finally. His stomach clenched tighter with every second they were not moving. He willed the bags to be thrown under the plane faster, he begged each elder to find their seats quicker, he closed his eyes and pictured the pilot flipping switches, hitting buttons, checking stats, and as if he had telepathic abilities, he told him not to converse with the co-pilot and focus on the task at hand. Static fell through the overhead speaker announcing the pilot about to speak. “Good evening, folks.” Ben ripped his eyes open and sat up. All the other passengers around him, froze. “There has been a slight delay, we will begin take off momentarily.” A groan tumbled through the tops of the seats, despite how slow they all were at sitting down. He closed his eyes again and leaned his head back. As a distraction, he pictured what everyone would be doing right now. It was Christmas Eve. His mother, most likely, was driving around looking at the lights in her neighborhood. His brother was probably laying out cookies for Santa and allowing his kids to open “just one” present and they would beg for just one more. His friends were guaranteed to be out drinking together, tapping their shot glasses on the table for him. The string attached to his heart, loosened, and bounced as Ben felt the plane move. Static came from the speaker above him once again. “Good evening again folks, we have been given the go-head to get into queue. We will take-off in about fifteen minutes. We have significant cloud cover from here to Reno,” more static, “keep the seatbelt sign on for most of the flight.” The plane stopped moving and the string tightened again. # The elevator doors opened to a room full of people. Jenna stretched a fake smile across her mouth as she stepped through the doors. For two breaths Jenna was just a piece of the twinkling lights, the fake holly and mistletoe, the red and green table runners and napkins, before her sister spotted her. Jenna watched her sister’s mouth form the words “excuse me” to the group of people surrounding her, she placed her empty champagne flute on a waiter’s tray, grabbed two full flutes, and moved around the crowd to get to Jenna. “Some party,” Jenna said before her sister could chastise her for being late. “My best one yet,” Beth said with a nod. Jenna pivoted towards the crowd. “Are the parents here?” “No, they’re in the Bahamas. Mom said she was tired of being cold for Christmas, I’m surprised they didn’t tell you.” “Maybe they did.” Beth gave her that pitying look that Jenna hated. She lifted the flute and watched the bubbles of the champagne for a second before she put the glass to her lips and downed the whole thing. She was going to need the boost if she was going to pretend like everyone wasn’t feeling sorry for her that she was alone for Christmas. The elevator door dinged. Jenna turned around and stepped aside. At least she wasn’t the last guest to arrive. She put the empty flute down on the nearest table. The doors opened. Jenna’s hands went weak. Still in his uniform, Ben stood in the elevator. His eyes were already on her as if he knew that she would be standing in this exact spot. He stepped forward and she ran. Tears clouded her vision, but she didn’t care. She didn’t need to see to know where he stood, she had the feel of him memorized. “I’m home,” he said into her neck as she threw her arms around him. “I’m home for Christmas.”

1un4oh

Alloy for Christmas

It was my first time in Shawn’s apartment since he’d moved, and since our hiatus. He frequently referred to himself as “just a street kid from Miami,” so I wasn’t expecting anything elaborate in this apartment. But once I stepped into the living room with sunlight pouring in through the sliding glass doors, felt dwarfed by his flat screen TV, giggled inwardly at the tangle and stacks of tech gadgets, and took in the spaciousness, I knew he’d come a long way. His sofa was basic beige, but covered in microfiber, so it was soft and inviting. He’d never had any aspirations at architecture that I knew of, so a drafting table ringed with neat stacks of papers and journals caught my attention. “Why do you have a drafting table?” I asked, as my eyes wandered taking in the details bit by bit. “Doodling, mostly,” Shawn said, stepping into the kitchen. I followed him. At the end of the short kitchen were folding doors, opened to reveal a washer and dryer. Damn, he’s living the life. Street kid from Miami is doing just fine. It wasn’t envy exactly filling me, but wonder and pride, sadness that I’d missed so much of his upward trajectory during our hiatus. I’d missed so much of him . Five years ago, we’d started out as friends, though he’d made it clear he wanted more, but my feelings for him hadn’t extended beyond a comfortable friendship. A couple years later though, everything inside me aligned in his direction, but he’d found someone else. After being shunted to the periphery for just over a year, I’d reached out to him, only to discover he was single again. So, here we were, trying to find out if the feelings we’d once had for each other could revive and flourish, if our compatibility remained strong, or if we’d grown in different directions. Was this time our time or not? “Would you like tea?” he asked, filling a kettle and turning on the stove burner. “Sure, that sounds nice,” I said, trying not to let him see my eyes bulge with desire at the way his biceps flexed through his black T-shirt. I returned to the living room, nosing around the variety of artifacts evidencing his personality. Piecing Shawn together this way was fun, an exploration of his psyche on display. What did he think was interesting, beautiful, unique, meaningful, important? I had so many questions as I gazed at and fondled his things. What I noticed was his living room lacked a unifying theme. It needed a woman’s touch. My touch, in particular, however presumptuous that sounded. I continued surveying the open space close to the entryway. “Where did you get this cabinet?” I tapped the antique sideboard made of an ashy walnut, admiring its curved two doors. Shawn peered through the break in the wall above the kitchen sink. He looked at the cabinet and shrugged. “My aunt was clearing stuff out of her place and she gave that to me.” My eyes paused and circled around a framed photo of a young, Black girl, resting on his drafting table. “Who’s this?” I asked, picking up the photo, as if holding her photo closer would make her more familiar, bring her as deep into my heart as she was in Shawn’s. His expression softened, melting somewhere into the past. “That’s my mom.” Shawn’s eyes filled with layers of emotion. Nostalgia, pride, grief, a hint of a pained smile. “How old was she in this photo?” I could have dived right into his eyes, but they were swirling with eddies that had no bottom. I would have drowned, so I returned my gaze to the photo. “About fifteen. Not long after I was born.” Shawn came into the living room with two steaming cups that didn’t match. The currents of his emotions swirled around me, threatening to pull me under into a realm of sadness and loss. Fifteen and already a mother, but with precious few years ahead of her. She wouldn’t live to see Shawn graduate from elementary school, much less see how far away from the streets of Miami he’d reach, or how the Marines had toughened him from a scrawny kid. Pure unadulterated love couldn’t be trusted. I knew that in that instant. For love to endure, it had to be alloyed with shared pain. Pure love is like 24 carat gold. It’s rare, shiny, and valuable, but it’s soft as far as metals go. It doesn’t stand up to the rigors of real life. It needs mixing with stronger metals like nickel, copper, zinc, and silver so it can withstand everyday wear. As far as emotions go, pain, loss, grief, despair, and loneliness are the less desirable emotions that must join in love so romance endures future trials. The memory of loneliness makes togetherness more valuable. The memory of grief and loss makes having a person with warm flesh and a throbbing heart in your arms more precious. Despair makes relying on someone more cherished. If I’d ever allowed Shawn a tender place in my heart, he burrowed deeper at that moment. Shawn handed one cup to me with such a look of hopeful expectation that I had to smile. “What kind of tea is this?” I asked, sniffing the steam. He grinned and nodded. “Taste it. Guess.” Intrigued, I sniffed again, blew on the amber liquid and tasted it. I couldn’t quite place the flavors, though I swished the first sip around. “Hmm, citrus?” “And?” Shawn grinned a sly, almost villainous smile. I was certainly entertaining something inside him. “And?” I shook my head cluelessly and took another sip, more slowly to study and unfold the mystery. “Ginger?” “Ugh, no. Try again.” I didn’t like to fail, but I learned in kindergarten that flavors are hard to detect without knowing what they are beforehand. Challenge accepted. I took a third sip. “I taste orange and I’d swear it’s ginger. What’s so special about this tea?” Shawn threw back his head and let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s chocolate-orange.” Then I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he loved me. I fell headlong into the eddies, ready to swim, float, or drown and I didn’t care which. I mean, I knew he loved me before by the way he treated me, but this one thing let romance gush into my heart. “Chocolate-orange tea. You found it?” The year before in September, I’d taken my mother to the Ritz-Carlton spa on Fort Lauderdale beach. Everything about the environment was elegant, understated, and beach-themed. The color scheme was soft teal with a delicate tan and highlighted in ethereal billows of white. While we’d waited for our massage therapists to come call out our names, we nosed around the lounge. They had a tight assortment of teas: common chamomile, boring peppermint and oh-my-what’s-this chocolate-orange. We opted for the exotic chocolate-orange and fell head over heels in love with such a rare, decadent treat. I’d even asked an attendant what brand of tea it was. Paromi. Our services were wonderful, but all we could talk about for months was chocolate-orange tea. I’d searched the internet and found Paromi’s website, but the tea was obscenely expensive. I’d bought a tin anyway, but then after it had arrived, I couldn’t bring myself to drink more than one cup. Because, well, if I didn’t finish the tea, I’d always have it. Of course, the rest eventually went bad. Here I was, in Shawn’s apartment and he’d gone to the trouble to hunt down the most memorable part of my spa day with my mom, bringing the day vibrantly and lovingly back to life. My mind cranked up into overdrive. First, of course, I’d make love to him. Then, with Christmas on the horizon, I’d have to find flawless gifts that would have him grinning like a schoolboy for months to come. So, my mission began taking shape in my head. I put my cup down and threw my arms around his thick, strong neck and planted kisses on his cheek. I thought back to the first time we exchanged “I love yous”, only to be followed by, “But we can’t be together.” I’d leaned over to kiss him and he had held me at arm’s length. I’d wanted to make it impossible to resist me, but we never did kiss. So now – right now – I hungered to know what his lips tasted like. I couldn’t be denied – not again – so I pressed my lips to his mouth, unstoppable as a freight train. The tea lingered, sweet and light. His tongue tasted of summer rain and passion. I could hardly get enough; I’d been pining for this opportunity for over a year. We simmered down and carved out hours to talk, getting reacquainted. Some time later, I remembered I’d promised to make dinner for us, so he drove me to the grocery store where I spent more than a week’s pay to buy premium ingredients for our first home cooked dinner together. By the time I finally took the lasagna out of the oven and we sat to eat, it was already eleven o’clock at night. Shawn excused himself to the bathroom, and I took advantage of the opportunity to slip out of my clothes and into the cool mismatched sheets on his king size bed. He proved his patience with hours of foreplay. I loved him physically. The longer we made love, I loved him spiritually. The kinkier we got, I knew I had no way back to life without Shawn. By one o’clock in the morning, I knew what I had to get him for Christmas, and I settled into a blissful sleep cocooned in his arms. The next morning, Shawn went to work and I drove back home, plotting Christmas along the way. *** When Christmas Day arrived a few weeks later, Shawn and I exchanged gifts, taking turns giving and receiving. I stole glances at him repeatedly; he suspected nothing. Then I pulled out the grand finale gift that I’d wrapped with tender loving care and precision. I had to admit, I’d done a beautiful job with the glossy white and red paper and metallic gold ribbon edged with wire to hold its shape. It was glorious. I edged closer to him as he unwrapped it. “Hurry,” I said, after he’d taken damn near forever to unknot the bow. “Tear that shit open!” “Patience.” I frowned and rolled my eyes. “No. No more patience. I want to see your face when you open that one.” “Won’t you see my face anyway?” he asked, careful not to rip the wrapping paper. He was toying with me now. I took a deep breath, debating whether to strangle him or rip the gift out of the paper myself. “Dammit! Open that up,” I said, gesturing emphatically with tense arms, hands, and fingers. “Fine.” Shawn huffed and tore off the rest of the paper. “I wanted to savor the moment.” “Savor the actual gift, knucklehead.” A smile lifted at the corners of my mouth. This was our moment and it wouldn’t come around again. No one could steal it or even peek in on it. It was all us. “Wait,” he said, pulling his head back in confusion as the contents came into view. “Isn’t this…?” He looked toward his drafting table and back at the framed photo in his hands. “I don’t understand. What did you do?” I giggled and waved my hands in gleeful triumph. “One night when I slept over, I ‘borrowed’ the photo of your mom while you were at work and replaced it with a laser color copy. The photo in your hand is the original.” “But why?” “Look at the frame, babe.” Excitement bubbled inside me so hard I thought I’d levitate. “I took a photo of the cabinet your aunt gave you and did a little research. It’s the style of Queen Anne. I wanted to give you something you’d treasure, so…” I paused to gather my thoughts. I didn’t want to stumble or sound like a babbling idiot. “I took the picture of your mom out of that frame. I was super careful with it, I promise. I had a custom frame made in that same Queen Anne style. Walnut wood., similar carving, the whole nine yards. See, now they match! And that – ” I gestured like I’d pulled a rabbit out of a hat “- is how you tie a room together and make it into a home.” Shawn held the framed photo up into the light and took a good, long look at it, inspecting the frame intensely while his fingers traced the ornate carving. I could have sworn I saw a dewy glistening in his dark eyes, but he bent his head quickly and put his fist to his mouth. He cleared his throat, leaving my heart pounding in slow motion with anticipation. Was he happy? Winning at Christmas meant making him unspeakably happy. Had I succeeded? “This is the best gift anyone’s ever given me. Thank you, Michelle.” “You’re welcome, babe. I love you.” “I love you, too.” His eyes lingered on the picture a good long while, until finally he got up and rested the new photo on his drafting table, giving the replica a double-take. Shawn looked back at me and smiled with a depth that reached back to his childhood. A golden smile with all the pain, agony and ecstasy alloyed so exquisitely into the pure gold that there was no telling where one ended and the other began.

r4ndj7

Who Cooks for You?

Anja slipped into her snow pants, pulled on her boots, and stuffed her arms into her jacket. She threw a hat over her head, grabbed a pair of mittens, and snuck out the back door, quiet as a mouse. “I’m going for a walk,” she said, as the door clicked shut, though she knew no one would hear her over the festivities inside. With snow crunching beneath her feet, and snow pants swishing with each step, she ran to the woods. Once she was safe under the cover of her pines, Anja stopped to catch her breath and zip her jacket. She glanced back toward home, at the small blue house outlined with the bright red and green lights. The glow of the Christmas tree through the big window highlighted the quickly approaching darkness, and Anja thought of the carefully wrapped presents her mother had lovingly placed beneath it. Her heart swelled with a feeling she couldn’t quite name, and her eyes threatened tears. Anja shook her head, and closed her eyes. She wondered if anyone would notice she was gone. She knew that they probably wouldn’t, at least, not until it was time to eat. If anyone realized that she was missing, Anja imagined they would just be glad she wasn’t around to make noise and jump on the furniture. Her family would surely be too busy fussing over her cute-as-button twin sisters, who were always adorable, but even more so in their matching red velvet dresses and sparkly shoes. Anja also had sparkly shoes, but she couldn’t stand the way her feet felt trapped inside them. She refused to put them on, even for one night, and this frustrated her mom. She wasn’t as charming as her little sisters, and she definitely wasn’t as sweet as Aunt Cici’s new baby, born just a few weeks earlier. The grown ups were always fighting for a chance to hold him, even though all he did was eat, sleep, and poop. Grammy had scolded her earlier when she’d leapt from the couch to the ottoman and accidentally knocked over the baby’s bottle. She hadn’t meant to do it, of course. Anja wanted to do the right thing. She always tried to be good. She longed to wear the sparkly shoes and the pretty dress for Christmas, but she just wasn’t able to. She wished she could let her mom braid her hair, so she would look nice for the celebration. She had tried so hard to sit still and stay quiet while the baby napped, but her body just didn’t cooperate. Anja was a kid that needed to move. She needed to be comfortable, and she had lots to say. She liked to climb, and crash, and run, and she couldn’t help it if she was sometimes loud. It was hard, in there, with all the rules and expectations. Inside, somebody was always mad at her. Here in the woods, Anja could be herself, without bothering anyone. The pines welcomed her without judgement. She could run until her legs ached, spin in circles until she fell to the ground, or climb till her fingers touched the tops of the trees. She loved to feel the wind on her face, and didn’t even mind when it bit at her cheeks on chilly nights like this one. Out here, she felt free. Her brain wasn’t all jumbled up, and she could focus. Anja crouched down and scooped up some snow with her hands. She squeezed and patted the snow until it formed a perfect ball. She raised her arm and sent the ball soaring through the air. It splattered across the trunk of a pine tree. Anja grabbed another handful of snow and tossed it, loose, up into the air. Cold, wet, powder sprinkled down on her face, and she quickly brushed it off. The moon peeked through the trees, and the stars twinkled above. Anja thought she heard the faint jingle of sleigh bells, but upon scanning the sky, she saw nothing. She wandered down the trail, high-fiving all the snow covered pine boughs that reached for her as she passed. She balanced across every log and jumped from every tree stump that she met along the way. Anja walked until she came to her fort, wedged between two cedar trees. She’d spent all summer dragging fallen branches to this spot from around the forest. She worked hard throughout the fall to build the shelter, complete with sturdy walls and a roof. As she crawled through the fort’s entrance, she wished she’d remembered to bring a flashlight. Anja sat in her dark fort in silence. For the first time all day, she felt calm. Being in the woods brought her comfort like nothing else could. Inside the fort were some of her favorite treasures. There were pieces of bark in all shapes and sizes, special sticks, magic rocks, acorn caps, clumps of pine needles, and a small pile of pine cones. Anja took off her mittens and held one of the magic rocks in her hand. It felt smooth and cool against her skin. “Who cooks for you?” the sudden call of a barred owl jolted her from her peaceful moment. “Who cooks for you?” the owl hooted again. “My family cooks for me,” Anja whispered in reply. She thought of the ham and mashed potatoes that her family would feast on for dinner. She could almost smell her Grammy’s rolls baking in the oven. Her mouth began to water as she pictured the apple pie her Grandpa had made for dessert. “Who cooks for you?” the owl repeated, and Anja knew it was time to go home. She put the magic rock in her pocket, pulled her mittens over her hands, and crawled out of her fort. She slowly made her way back to the house. Snow crunched beneath her boots, and her snow pants swished, softly, with each step. At the edge of the woods, the little blue house with the red and green lights came into view. Anja ran to the back door. She was about to turned the knob when she stopped. She pulled the magic rock out of her pocket and rubbed it against her cheek. It was smooth, and cold, and reminded her of her fort in the woods. Anja slid the rock back into her pocket before stepping inside. She kicked off her boots, removed her jacket, and climbed out of her snow pants. She hung all of her gear on the hook next to the door. Gripping her magic rock tightly in one hand, she headed for the living room. Grandpa was snoring in the big brown recliner next to the fire place. Anja held her breath and tried to tiptoe past him, but the floor creaked, and Grandpa’s eyes fluttered open. “Anja, my girl. You’re back. It must be almost time for dinner,” Grandpa said. He smiled warmly, ​and Anja’s heart swelled once again with that feeling she couldn’t quite name.

davrb0

On My Way

“What do you mean, cancelled ?” I ask, glaring at the customer service agent behind the desk. “I purchased my ticket four weeks ago. This is unacceptable.” “I understand that, ma’am,” the man says in an infuriatingly monotonous tone. “But I’m afraid all flights scheduled for the next twenty-four hours have been grounded due to poor weather conditions.” “Poor weather conditions!” I throw my hands up in the air, exasperated beyond belief. “ Poor weather conditions !” He blinks. “Ma’am, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a blizzard. One of the worst we’ve had in over twenty years.” He types something into his computer. “There are several rental cars still available if you’d like to take the shuttle to the North Terminal-” “No, I would not like, ” I snap. “And stop calling me ma’am! I’m twenty-seven!” I snatch my now useless boarding pass from his hand and stalk off, leaving him to fend off the next angry ousted passenger in line. All thoughts of a relaxing first-class journey, of my highly anticipated solo vacation in Bora Bora bursts with all the fanfare of a popped balloon as I sit heavily on one of the seats by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Any view of the airplanes beyond it is obscured by the thick, seemingly endless curtain of snow cascading from the darkening sky. A glance at my Rolex tells me it's only just past four o’clock, and yet night is already knocking at the door. Perfect. Navigating to my contacts list, I dial my assistant’s number but the damned line immediately sends me to her voicemail. Even more perfect. I fight the urge to throw my phone across the room, resorting instead to releasing a string of obscenities that would make my mother gasp. “Tough night?” I glance to my left, looking for the source of the voice. I find it in the form of an elderly woman, delicate lines crinkling the corners of milky, clouded eyes. “Are you talking to me?” The older woman smiles slowly but does not deign to respond. “Of course, I’m having a tough night. I’m stuck in an airport on Christmas Eve.” The old woman inclines her head, studying me in an almost feline fashion. “Are you ‘stuck’, dear, or are you simply here?” What the hell does that even mean? “Of course I’m stuck,” I tell her incredulously. I gesture at the airport around us, at all the quietly exhausted people searching for ways out of here. A few doze fitfully across the plastic seats, while others talk in low tones on the phone. “We’re all stuck here, thanks to the snowstorm.” “Not me.” She shakes her head, sparse white hair glinting in the fluorescent light. I stare at her, noting for the first time that she does not have any luggage with her. In fact, the only possession I can see is a small, ratty teddy bear, clutched in her shaking grasp. “So, what? You’re just hanging out in an airport for the fun of it?” She ignores my question. “Why are you leaving?” The question takes me aback. Who is this woman? “Excuse me? That’s none of your business, lady.” I don’t have to explain myself to this stranger. Music melts from the overhead speakers, an infernal crooning that muddles my thoughts and prickles my overwrought nerves. I look down at my phone, busying in an attempt to discourage further conversation. But the old woman is persistent. “Your parents will miss you. You never responded to their invitation.” My phone almost slips from my hand as I parse her words. How does she know that? “Oh, leave her alone,” another voice chimes in, this time from the seat across from me. I look up to see another woman, this one closer to my age, a few years my senior. She’s dressed similarly to me, in a primly cut business suit, her hair pulled back severely. She raises neat brows at the older woman. “Not all of us are chomping at the bit to go home for Christmas.” “Exactly,” I say, triumphant to receive this new woman’s validation. “They don’t need me.” The older woman shakes her head slowly. For some reason, the action causes heat to flush up my neck, though I can't understand why. “Need, want-they are not the same thing. When was the last time you called them?” I open my mouth to retort that it hasn’t been long at all. I called them just the other week. Or was it last month? I’m certain I called my mother for her birthday in September…right? I glance back down at my phone, still open to the call log. Scrolling through the list of names, I see that the majority of my outgoing calls are to my assistant, as well as various business associates, my staff, and the housekeeper. I scroll well past September but find no evidence of a call to my mother. I bristle. “I’m a business owner, a CEO,” I announce aloud, feeling the need to defend myself. “And I did it all before my thirties! I didn’t build my company without sacrifice. My parents just don't understand that. They don't understand any of it.” The older woman smiles sadly, fingers stroking the teddy bear still clutched in her wrinkled hands. “There is nothing I wouldn't give to go back. To spend just one more day with my mother. To hear her say my name, to hold me in her arms. To waltz around in the kitchen with my father one last time.” The words are not wielded as a weapon, nor are they even spoken directly to me, but my heart stutters unexpectedly. I wrestle down the weakness. “Don’t listen to her,” the younger woman says to me, rolling her eyes. “People only weigh you down. They imprison you with their stagnant attitudes and insipid ideas of love and family, and all this other useless crap. You don’t need them.” She leans forward, her eyes locking with mine, something shrewd and glittering in her gaze. “You're doing just fine on your own. Aren't you, Anna?” The music pauses as an overhead announcement plays over the speakers, I try to tune in, to listen to the voice, but everything is slightly fuzzy around the edges, as though the torrents of snow outside have managed to infiltrate my head. Something brushes my leg and I startle, looking down to see a young girl, her hair in two pigtails and a playful grin on her unblemished face as she moves past me to press her hands against the window. She watches as fat, heavy snowflakes patter against the glass in a silent melody, perfectly suspended in time before melting away, into nothing. “Take her, for example,” the woman across from me says, her face devoid of emotion as she watches the young child squeal in delight. “What will she grow up to be?” What a strange question. “How should I know?” “Well, that’s my point. We don’t know. It’ll be her choice.” The woman leans back in her seat, her features wavering as I blink away the spots beginning to obscure my vision. “She can either allow herself to be a nobody, just another girl in a sea of ordinary, unremarkable people, or she can be like us. Judging by the looks of things, she won't equate to much.” I frown. “That’s not fair. She’s only a child.” “So? What does it matter? You were once a child, same as I.” She gestures at the old woman. “And same as her.” I stare at her, uncomprehending. Before I can ask what she means, the little girl turns away from the window, almost colliding with my suitcase. Instinctively, I reach out to steady her. She blinks up at me with big brown eyes, her smile still intact despite her near fall. I release her slowly, my hands oddly cold. The little girl takes a step past me, looking up at the older woman, who had been quietly watching our interaction. Without saying a word, she reaches down and slips the teddy bear into the little girl's waiting hand, closing her fingers around the ratty bear. She beams at the older woman before skipping away, back over to her mother and father, who hoist her up in their arms. She burrows into her father’s chest, the teddy bear nestled in the crook of her arm. My vision becomes even blurrier, everything swimming in nauseating waves. I feel as though I’m treading water, trying to breach a surface that remains forever just out of reach. Trying to pick something to focus on, I look at the old woman, noting her wistful smile. Another announcement sounds through the airport, and again I try to listen, to no avail. When I look back at the old woman, she’s looking straight at me. “Do you recognise her?” Her expression hardens. “It’s not too late,” she whispers. I close my eyes, fighting to stay grounded. “Ma’am?” My gaze slides to the younger woman, but she’s scowling at her phone, paying no attention to me. “Ma’am? Ma’am ?” I gasp, heart beating against the cage of my ribs as my vision finally clears, revealing the same customer service agent from before staring down at me. My senses flood back in, and I blink up at him, as dazed as though I’d just emerged from a dream. My phone is buzzing violently in my hand, the screen lit up with an incoming call. “Are you Anna Fowler?” The agent asks me. I swallow, my throat dry and scratchy as I croak out, “Yes...?” “We’ve been calling you on the speakers for the past ten minutes. Your flight is about to depart.” My brow furrows in confusion. “What? But what about the blizzard?” He gives me an odd look, as though I’d just asked him what year it is-though I’m so discombobulated I’m actually tempted to ask him just that. “What blizzard?” What? I straighten, turning in my seat to look out of the window to see clear skies, painted with wisps of gold and pink as the sun bows, making way for the approaching moon. A thin layer of snow glistens, on the tarmac, on the trees beyond the runway, on the outstretched wings of the waiting planes. There is no sign of the howling snowstorm, no indication of any storm to come. “But-” I turn to the old woman to my left, searching for proof that I didn’t imagine it, but find the seat empty. The younger woman is also gone, as is the little girl with her parents. What? I place a hand on the vacated seat, finding the plastic cold to the touch. There is no trace of anybody having been there at all. “Ma’am,” the agent says again. “This is your last chance to board. Are you coming?” “No.” The word doesn’t so much as come out of my mouth as it does fall out. I don’t even have to think about it. “No, I changed my mind.” “Are you sure? I can't guarantee your ticket will be refunded.” I shake my head firmly. “I don’t care.” I watch as he returns to his post at the desk before shifting my gaze to the phone in my hand, still vibrating. I accept the call. “Hello?” “Anna, is that you?” My assistant’s voice is panicked, and I can hear her frantically shushing the sound of raucous laughter in the background. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see your call earlier. Is everything okay?” “I…I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, Kelsey,” I say to her. “And that I want you to take an additional week off.” Silence stretches between us. Then, “Really? Are you sure?” I nod, even knowing she can’t see it. “Really. Spend time with your family. You deserve it.” Another brief silence. “Thank you.” More laughter ripples from her end of the line. “You deserve it too, Anna.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’ll see you in the New Year.” I hang up, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular for several long moments. Then I stand, gather my things, and head for the exit, shooting off one last message as I flag down a taxi. I’m on my way.

fujuw4

Christmas Lost, Christmas Found

Two Christmases were lost during Covid19, partly due to the virus, mostly due to family disagreements, disdain, disconnectedness, remorse, aching sadness, and addiction. It wasn't that long ago, I remember feeling estranged from family and friends. Corona Virus presented itself as an unwanted guest in 2019, restricting family gatherings and celebrations. My mother, 82 years of age, had contracted Covid, and thankfully survived. Christmas was somewhat depressing since my mother wasn't allowed visitors. Alzheimers didn't allow her to fully understand Covid restrictions and she thought no one wanted to visit her. While trying to adapt to Covid's lifestyle changes, another monster also lingered in my house, my son's addiction. What a convenient time to be an addict. More reasons to isolate and drink. We were trapped in the house of pain together. My husband, in one room, working online; my son in his room, drinking and smoking, while watching Anime. I kept myself busy, cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, taking care of the dogs, anything to distract my mind from my son's drinking and drugging. Ray substituted substances to replace his psych meds. No matter how many times I offered him his prescribed pills, out of seven days, he only took them twice. What was I trying to prove? As much as I tried to convince him to stop, it only got worse. Around 2 o'clock in the afternoon, I would hear him stirring around in his room. "Ray, it's time to take your pills," I said. "I'll take them later," he answered. I knew better than to press the matter. It would only anger him to keep on insisting, and persistence would lead to hostility and violence. I learned to walk on pins and needles when he was in a hangover state of mind. My husband stayed in the bedroom with the door closed, making sure not to get involved. Addiction had taken root in our family for many generations. My husband had also been an alcoholic until 4 years ago, when he finally admitted his addiction and found Alcoholics Annonymous. My brothers were also recovering addicts, and a few uncles died with a bottle at their bedside. This addiction was like a plague. Many nights I lay awake, listening to Ray's labored breathing as he slept without his C-Pap. Intoxication made breathing harder than usual. I woke up my husband, who also had sleep apnea, so that he could help our son put on his mask. "Bob, " I said, trying to wake my husband from his sleep. "Can you go put the mask back on Ray? I can hear his labored breathing through the wall." "Dammit," he said, as he threw the covers off, while removing his own C-Pap mask. I could hear Bob in Ray's bedroom. "Ray, Ray, wake up. You need to put on your mask." Bob returned back to the bed, angry. "That's a bunch of bullshit," he said, as he put his mask back on and rolled over to his side. It wasn't easy living in a house where my husband and son were both reliant on a C-Pap machine. They both also weighed nearly 400 pounds. As much as I tried to cook healthy, it didn't matter. They both ate more than desired. It was a battle, I couldn't win. My son didn't have a healthy, fatherly, role model to rely on, and my constructive criticism was always shot down. Exercise was out of the question. As I tried to go back to sleep, I prayed that Ray would be alive in the morning. After five years of heavy drug use and alcohol abuse, I knew it was a matter of time before Ray's health would be compromised. Feelings of contempt for my husband crept in. I was tired of hearing his excuses for why he couldn't be a better father. "My dad was a piece of shit, who wound up in prison my whole life, that's why I don't know how to be a good father." I argued. "If you spent more time on the computer finding articles about how to be a fatherly role-model, instead of spending hours learning about poker, and watching videos, you would know." Christmas 2020 was soon on its way. My husband decided to get a bottle of Scotch to drink on his days off. He also got my son a bottle of Tequila and a bottle of wine for me. We cooked steaks, watched T.V., and drank together on Christmas Eve. Just, another day for my son to drink, and for my husband to pretend drinking on this special occassion would be alright. Convincing my son not to drink the entire bottle would be a task. I sat in my recliner, drinking a glass of Pinot Grigio, while admiring the artificial Christmas tree that I had decorated. I believed in the true meaning of Christmas. I believed in hope and prayers and faith. My husband, Bob, was an atheist who made fun of Christianity, which of course included me. After 20 years of marriage and arguing about religion, I decided to keep my faith to myself. I wished my husband wouldn't have been so arrogant and cruel about trying to convince me to be an atheist. It also wasn't good for our son to be exposed to such negativity. My husband and son continued watching TV together. I felt so alone as I drank my wine. I tried to shed my inner feelings, but I couldn't. I took my glass with me and went and sat in the backyard with the dogs. I thought about my mother who had Alzheimers and reminisced about friends and family who had died from Covid. I spoke to God, outside, in the backyard. "Please Lord, rescue my son, take away his addiction and guide him to a life of hope and redemption." Unfortunately, Ray began experimenting with drugs when he turned 13. First, it was marijuana, then by the time he reached 18, he was also using other drugs, washed down with alcohol. Drinking and smoking with his friends was the highlight of his life. I didn't want to accept the use of marijuana and alcohol. But, as Ray got older, my husband grew content with him smoking marijuana, until it got Ray in trouble at school. If only my husband would have listened to me when Ray first started using marijuana. "I think it's a bad idea for Ray to smoke weed. Can you please talk to him?" Bob replied, "It's just marijuana, a phase he's going through. I did the same thing. I'd still smoke it if it wasn't for my job. As log as he smokes at home with his friends, it'll be alright." As soon as Ray graduated from high school, he got caught with cocaine and went to jail for one day, until we posted bond. We hired an attorney and he received probation. As soon as probation was over, Ray went right back to drinking and drugging. Once again, I blamed my husband for not caring enough to be a good role model and build a relationship with our son. November 2021, my husband contracted the Delta virus from a fellow employee at work. My husband was hospitalized for a week and treated for the virus and diabetes. One of his co-workers died from the virus during the same week. Although we had our differences, I was beyond worry and concern while my husband was in the hospital, not knowing if he would survive. But, God answers prayers. We spent Christmas alone, the three of us. We had our usual Christmas meal and drink. No Christmas tree this time. October, 2022 was another challenging life event for all of us. Ray, still in his addiction, became ill. His stomach and chest were hurting and he asked me to take him to the hospital to detox. I immediately called our insurance and found a hospital to take him to. He stayed in the hospital for 2 weeks, then went straight to rehab. He stayed in rehab for 30 days, then graduated. At the age of 24, Ray decided to change his life. He joined a gym and works out daily. He has dedicated his life to not using. My husband and I are so proud of him. He has now completed 90 days sober, right before Christmas 2022. Although it's been a long haul, my prayers have been answered. After my husband's bout with Covid, something in him changed. He became more sensitive and loving. We both love our son unendlessly and want him to succed in life, no matter how many obstacles there are to battle. I will always believe in prayers and miracles, one day at a time.

5v2j6w

SEASONAL SHADES

                       SEASONAL SHADES.           A hazy mist of colour the day I met you. The joys of Autumn sunshine the hay being harvested and the fruitfulness of the season. Has we walked arm in arm through the dense woodland towards the park. A popular place for lovers to meet and caress. There is still an abundance of green the trees and shrubs shimmer in the sun. I watch as a playful grey squirrel chases after an acorn. The grass still glistens with early morning dew. I know the reason why you have come is to end our affair. Eva knows about us. The stillness of the air has you put your newspaper down upon the park bench, walking towards me.    Your face is pale, your eyes red. I see that there is hurt there. You don’t have to say any words, has  you retreat and walk away. Blue is how I feel, the time to wave goodbye. A red mist appears before  my eyes. The sun hides behind cotton wool clouds. Walking away I have no intention of returning. The memories will stay, an office romance that could not last? We did no wrong a smile, a brief kiss  on the lips. She met and married you before I came on the scene. You’re smile, blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. Six foot of pure manhood, it was not meant to be you and I.  Walking from the park closing the brown wrought iron gate. I head towards the High Street. Traffic passes by the lights change from red to amber. I will survive and, so will you? Sunshine and rain with the occasional rainbow to light my way. The seasons will change and so will my heart? I’m only nineteen years of age. It will get better time is a healer or so they say.   Oh, October days to bring cheer, I think of the changing of the seasons with nature waving her magic wand. Crispy golden leaves under my feet. Hot chocolate by the fire with horse chestnuts roasting in the grate at the local pub. Trick and treat Halloween masks, Bonfire night an array of colours, waving of sparklers, Guy Fowkes a laugh with friends. I may shed a tear thinking of you? Life is full of lustre and pain so they say?       My friends will jolly up my thoughts. Clinking of crystal glasses so clear and bright with prosecco. Catalogues hues and the latest Wintry fashions orange, lilac, pink and maxi length floral dresses strappy sandals to match the tinsel in mothers living room. Red berries Wintry showers of snow, high boots frosty walks with my dog Bouncer, a peel of Christmas bells to grace the season, the rustle of Christmas paper, candles, trees with shiny baubles in the local park our little tree decorated with love and care by mother and I. A scattering of Christmas cards on the rug, holly, mistletoe. The dawning of another year the office party held at the Grange Hotel will I see you?  Crowds attending the office party, the crisp walk from the train station, icy patterns appear on the trees shrubs. Snow diamonds sparkle bright. Oh, so pretty there is a life away from you? The beauty of the season. I think of the shiny spiders web hanging from our garden shed oh, so delicate like a string of pearls. It will be there to welcome me home. Why do I think like this? There was no future for you and I. I must try to enjoy the season.  Friends rally around telling me that I was so lucky to escape your clutches you took advantage because I was vulnerable. Christmas decorations alight the room everyone seems so kind buying me a drink, before moving on to meet others. A sandy haired little office girl, feeling the tears prick my eyes, why did I come here? Miss Colman finds me in the toilets , trying to jolly me up, telling me that I was not your first office romance. You see your wife holds the purse strings so they say? Your there chatting away with Suzy your wife? Did you ever really cate for me or was it all a lie? Soon the clock will strike midnight. Santa presents revellers leave the hotel. Taxes make there way carrying us home my friend Carrie and I. She chatters non stop in the taxi. Glad that we split the expense, risky getting the train back late. I sigh soon there will a new dawn and a peal of Christmas bells. Tinsel, turkey, snow fights ,children opening presents. Clear fresh air from my bedroom window. everything looks like sugar icing even the iced up cars getting stuck in the lane. Merry Christmas I will survive? A smile comes to my lips, life does go on. I did surprize you knocking that drink down your shirt when you tried to ignore me? At the bar Christmas eve. Even the bartender looked surprised ? Is that all I meant to you? What did you tell dear sweet Suzy a drunken reveller could not hold her drink. , A blackbird sings if he can survive those winter blues so must I. There is church and old Parsons sermon to contend with all part of Christmas spirit. Mother enjoys it a time to natter with her friends later to share sherry and mince pies in the vestry. Well it is all part of tradition. You see mother thinks I am a good catholic lass, If she guessed about you Derek she never said, eyes glisten in the candle light, I am sure that old Parsons thinks that he as touched a nerve with his sermon. Why spoil the magic? Everyone so chatty full of good will . We part company heading back amid the crisp white snow. Soon a new year maybe a change of job beckons, where will I be this time next year, who knows. For now breathing in the fresh crisp morning air welcoming mornings like this to free my thoughts. Soon there will be snow ploughs at the ready.

o4gs4o

Cheated for Christmas

Ted zipped his red suit up and looked in the mirror. If only the guys from high-school could see him now. Thankfully, though, the only people seeing him wouldn't even recognize him like this... not even Diane, who had no idea Ted was dressing as Santa for her holiday work party. He had just gotten the text the night before from his buddy at the company asking if he'd be willing to volunteer and of course he agreed. Almost immediately he'd made up his mind to keep the secret and surprise Diane with a reveal later on in the night. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face when he'd pull down his beard mid-photo to reveal he'd come to celebrate all of her year's hard work with her. She'd already left an hour and a half prior, so the party was wrapping up and it was almost time for Ted's cue. He took one last look at the final product and laughed to himself lightly. 'Well, I guess you either die believing in Santa Claus, or live long enough to see yourself become him.' And with that, he was out the door and making his way down the limestone driveway out front. His Dodge Ram would have to be a sufficient sleigh tonight. All down the highway the radio blared festive tunes and Ted whistled and hummed along, bringing himself into the holiday spirit any good Santa Claus should have. The drive to Diane's firm seemed like mere minutes but as soon as Ted stepped through the foyer and saw Diane, time slowed to a stop. Not just because he had seen her, but because of how he had seen her. Cuddled up under the arm of Drew Sphinx. Her boss. Ted's heart couldn't help but drop to his stomach. Every ounce of excitement to surprise his wife was instantly replaced with so many feelings he couldn't quite place which was strongest. Rage... confusion... maybe even jealousy? But Ted was able to definitively identify one of his emotions: embarrassment. There he was, dressed as St. Nick in the presence of his wife's evident affair; there he'd been, actually, just standing in a shocked stare for about four minutes trying to gather any kind of composure to continue into the main event. Luckily for him, after those four agonizing minutes the buddy who'd invited him here in the first place tapped his shoulder from behind, startling him and breaking him out of his miserable trance. "Justin.", was all he said but it's all he needed to say. "Yeah, bud. Why do you think I asked you of all people to volunteer tonight? Di's been getting real cozy with him lately, and I couldn't let it go on behind your back any longer." Ted nodded, "Yeah, well, I think I kind of preferred it behind my back. Right in front of my face is too painful." Justin shrugged lightly and then attempted at cracking a joke. "I mean, technically, it's in front of Santa's face... not yours." Unfortunately, Ted's face spoke the words 'not now' for him, but Justin understood. Ted really didn't understand, though. He didn't understand why or how Diane could do this to him. Had he not given her enough? Had he not made her happy? Did she actually want the head of her law-firm instead of him? Was she even telling the truth all those times she told him his career in extermination was more than good enough to provide for them? He didn't have much time to go over all of the questions swirling about his mind because as soon as the others had noticed Justin wasn't back from the bathroom yet their eyes all turned to the room's entryway, gazing straight upon the two of them still standing in the foyer. A moment of awkward silence attempted to break out, but Justin swiftly saved it with a quick "Look who I found!" and pat on the back to Ted, prompting the most forced "Ho, ho, ho' the room had ever heard. Diane shrilled with joy as she faced Drew and exclaimed, "Oh, I love Santa!" How ironic. "Well, why don't you go ask him what he's bringing you this year, baby?", Drew flirted back. Baby? Ted's stomach twisted into a tight knot and he grew nauseous. The room was spinning and he just couldn't believe what was happening. The woman he loved had been leading him on in a life full of lies. The woman he laid in bed with every night, was somehow finding the time and indecency to also lay in bed with another man. The betrayal stung deep and the disgust ran rampant within him. How many times had he touched a body that had already been serviced behind his back? How many days did she spend under Drew's arm while also keeping Ted under her thumb? How many cakes had she had and eaten too? There were so many questions, but this was also not an appropriate place for those questions to be asked. The next fifty-three minutes of conversation with random members of the firm were a blurry haze, but one thing that Ted could diagnose as happening was the growth of his rage by the second. Every glimpse of his wife and her boss that he caught destroyed him, and he knew he wouldn't be taking her back after tonight no matter what she had to say. He didn't want to hear it. It was 10:00 pm and he'd come here to surprise her, yet instead he'd gotten the biggest and worst surprise he could have upon walking through that breezeway. And now, Diane was the one doing the walking. Walking up to him, that is, still completely unaware that he was indeed her heartbroken husband. It was her turn for the $3 photo-op with Santa and he grew more and more nauseous the closer to him she got. Her energy didn't feel like anything familiar anymore. Ted had to accept that he didn't know her how he'd thought he did and that things would never be the same, though now he was questioning everything they'd ever been through together anyway. Suddenly nothing about Diane felt genuine and it crushed Ted to feel himself dread her nearing him. They'd slept together just last night, and now they'd never be going to the same home together again. Diane was now standing with only a few inches between them, and she closed the gap further by pulling his red velvet suit into a hug. "Hi, Santa!", she smiled a toothy grin and though an hour ago he'd loved to see her smile he now couldn't help but think there was something grimy about it. Ted didn't even recognize the woman she was presenting herself as in front of him and immediately felt anxiety about how she'd always presumably acted when he wasn't around. He just tried to smile back. "Sooooo...", she trailed off to turn around and look at Drew, who was still sat across the room at the table they'd chosen to enjoy their appetizers, "what are you bringing me this year?" There was a slight smirk on her face, like she halfway expected this Santa to retort back with a naughty answer. Instead, Ted completely stepped out of his comfort zone and shocked himself, as well as the rest of the room, Drew, and most certainly Diane. Ted gathered every ounce of confidence still left inside him, pulled down the itchy white beard, removed his Santa hat, then announced in a boisterous and jolly voice: "Divorce papers."

f1yn5l

The Stuffy Fluffy Buddy Polar Bear Heist

Lucy Carter forces herself to stop trembling by standing stock-still in front of the massive and shiny brass doors of Percy’s Department Store. Her stance is made difficult due to the Christmas passers-by that keep bumping into her and hitting her dirt smudged Percy’s labeled gift bag which she has tightly coiled through her white knuckled hands. Her equally filthy used-to-be white woolen coat is torn away at one sleeve, the coat buttons dangling by threads. Taking a deep breath and tracing her eyebrow with her free hand she moves toward the heavy doors then opens them. Her already large brown eyes widen and grow larger as she takes in the scene in front of her. Percy’s Department Store prides itself on its overachieving spirit, particularly during the holiday season. Every year since its inception in 1896 the small town store transforms into a holiday wonderland at Christmas. Trees in every color are part of the shopping landscape, including an ominous looking black tree hanging from the shoe department ceiling. The store’s staff must always be friendly and proficient, per company policy, but they must ratchet up all that good will during this busiest of prosperous seasons. These faithful employees’ happy continence is displayed through their holiday only themed name tags resembling small snowmen –with their names etched in gold and red. But the main holiday attraction is the towering Santa anchored in the middle of the store’s toy department. Not only is this Santa 40 feet tall, he also sports a massive red velvet bag full of toys slung over his abundant shoulder. Everything a kid could dream of for Christmas is in this bag; scooters, play dragons, pixie dolls, and video games. But the showcase super want of the year for the young crowd is a Stuffy Fluffy Buddy Polar Bear. And this crème de la crème of the season is what is sticking out of the very top of Santa’s red velvet bag. Meanwhile at the returns desk Percy’s employee, Mrs. Flatchett, is silently reciting the Percy’s Department Store Returns Desk Employees’ Pledge found in the Percy’s Department Store Returns Manual: Be nice, be sweet but always, always get their receipt . She concentrates on the first part of this phrase. Nice and sweet can be difficult in this job, but during this hot mess of a season it is nearly impossible. Mrs. Flatchett has been at the return desk for over twenty years. Her first name is Veronica, but in keeping business, well business, she requires that everyone refer to her as Mrs. Flatchett. She sticks to the Percy’s Department Store Returns Manual with the diligence of a boot camp sergeant. Her coworkers know that if they have any return policy questions they can ask Mrs. Flatchett who will in turn say, refer to Section 3 - shoes and sizes – page 23 . Likewise, her features will scrunch into a tight pony tail face if a returns employee doesn’t know the three basic Percy’s Department Store Return Questions: 1.      What item is being returned? 2.      Does the customer have a receipt? - and finally – 3.      Why are you returning this item? This brings us to the one day dreaded by all department store employees: the last shopping day before Christmas.  Without a doubt, the days following Christmas are horrible in the world of return desk employees, but the last day of shopping before Christmas can be equally as exhausting. Shoppers need to replace an item or receive a refund because they are on a deadline. Testimony to that fact are the three long lines stretching toward the counter in the Percy’s Department Store Returns area. Mrs. Flatchett looks up at the next customer in her long line. Now, Mrs. Flatchett has seen every type of customer imaginable in these hated and dreadful queues that lead up to her section, but even she was taken aback by the otherwise nice looking young woman now standing in front of her wearing a ripped and black smudged one hundred percent wool and used-to-be white coat and thrusting an equally grimy tire tracked gift bag at her. Not taking her eyes off the forlorn woman, Mrs. Flatchett slowly removes the contents from the bag then holds her possession at arm’s length. “It’s a polar bear.”  Lucy says this almost inaudibly as she looks around at anything but Mrs. Flatchett. “Are you sure it’s a polar bear? It looks more like a dead raccoon.” Mrs. Flatchett professes. “That’s because… Well, it was a Stuffy Fluffy Buddy Polar Bear. Now, as you can see, I am not at my best. It has been a very long day. So, please - help me!” “I would love to help you, Ms…?” “Carter.” “Ms. Carter, but I have a few company policy questions. The first question being—“ Mrs. Flotchatt straightens her back. “What item is being returned and for the record, as I have pointed out to you, this,” Mrs. Flatchett thrusts the dirty mangled mess at Lucy, “scarcely resembles a polar bear.” “Look, okay. To your point, the bear ran into a slight problem. I was…” “Excuse me one moment. Claire, does this look like a polar bear to you?” Mrs. Flatchett holds the mangled mess up for her coworker. “No, Mrs. Flatchett. It… it looks like…” Claire turns the furry mangled object in her hand. “Hey lady, how long is this going to take? We’ve been standing here for days now!” a man wearing a red flannel shirt in line behind Lucy angrily shouts. A flash of recognition crosses Claire’s face. “Now I know! It looks like a dead raccoon!” Lucy begins to trace her eyebrow with her finger, “If I could explain it will speed this whole thing up. Your company…” “I’m sorry Ms. Carter, but our proficiency expert is very adamant about protocol. We have to move through the questions as they are written. Something about liability, lawsuits, yaddah, yaddah. So, let’s move on, shall we? Question number two. Receipt?” “I had one.” A simultaneous groan from the twenty or so people behind Lucy fills the immediate area of the returns desk. “You had one.” Mrs. Flotchatt says in a flat voice. “Yes. I still do but well, it was run over. Back on Chelsire Street. In the middle of the road. Stuck in the pavement. “ Lucy says in a slow heavy tone as she produces a tire-track smeared and torn piece of paper. “Okay. Question number three. Why are you returning said item?” “Finally. Now I can explain.” # At the intersection of Chelsire and College streets sits Five Star Grill, a popular gastropub. Lucy Carter is sitting at a table facing an empty chair. She looks at her watch for the gazillionth time brandishing herself for depending upon Harry to meet her. As an in-demand real estate agent he rarely has time for lunch with her so she was excited when he said he was free. Sighing into her glass of wine, she stares out the window at the passers-by as she looks for Harry, then glances at her phone again and is slightly startled when a text comes up. Did you get the bear?  The message reads. Yes, I did. Lucy taps into her phone. Lucy breaks into a smug smile as she contemplates Christmas morning and her niece’s complete happiness when she opens her gift. She has finally accomplished something her big sister can be proud of. Her phone pings again. Be there soon. I can wait. Lucy taps into the screen. Harry is a real catch. A fine man, her sister said. Don’t mess this one up.  She has plenty of things to do today, but they will just have to wait. Lucy starts tracing her eyebrow with her finger and again stares out the restaurant window.  A red panel van parks at the curb obstructing her view of the street. She lifts her wine glass to the window as she reads the inscriptive logo on the side of the van “Stuffy Fluffy Buddies.” The driver of the van dashes into the restaurant. He takes his knit cap off and starts rolling it with his fingers as he looks around. He’s in a real hurry-just like everybody else this time of year , Lucy surmises. Her attention is immediately drawn back to the window as the panel van begins to move back into the street as if by itself, then hurtles into the traffic, tires squealing leaving a trail of smoke. # “That’s when things went a little haywire.” Lucy says to Mrs. Flotchatt. The prior line of angry people behind Lucy becomes a crowd encircling her, hanging on her every word. “Then what?” asked the flannel shirt man. “Well, I sat there staring like everyone else in the restaurant. Then, the driver of the van ran outside and stared down the street. He ran back inside and asked for a cell phone. Apparently his phone was still in the van.” Lucy nods at the crowd and the crowd shrugs their shoulders in agreement. “And he hadn’t found his restaurant companion yet. So being a very nice person,” Lucy looks directly at the flannel shirt man. “I offered my phone to him. He grabbed it and before he could dial 911 it started ringing.” “Who was on the other end?” A woman in a jogging suit asks. “Well, let me explain.” # At the restaurant, the van driver says into the phone, “Hello?” Then, “Who the hell is this?” He hands it back to Lucy saying, “I think it’s for you.” He then asks another stunned restaurant customer for their phone. Meanwhile, Lucy grabs her phone back and checks the screen. It’s Harry. But as soon as she reads the name, Harry hangs up. The driver runs back into the restaurant tosses the phone to its owner as he says thanks and runs back out and down the street in the direction of the van. In the confusion, Lucy freezes and narrowly misses getting thrown to the floor by a missile fast woman in a furry gray coat as she runs out the door screaming, “Charlie! Wait, Charlie!” Lucy stares at her phone and then comes out of her daze. She runs out of the restaurant to talk to the woman. “Ma’am, he’s probably running after the van. Although I think he’s a bit too late.” “Charlie’s my son! He was meeting me here. I had my lunch and ordered carry out for him. He’s real busy this time of year delivering those stuffed animals to stores and doesn’t have time to eat except in his van.” As the lady explains both her and Lucy hear a deafening sound. They both look down the street at two vehicles on their sides about two blocks over in the middle of an intersection. One of the vehicles is the Stuffy Fluffy Buddy van, the other is a red sports car. Lucy realizes the red sports car is Harry’s Maserati. # What’s Harry’s Maserati doing in the wreck?” A young metro guy in tight jeans asks. “Well,” Lucy says. “He was on his way to meet me and decided to just call rather than text and he heard a voice on the other end of the line that definitely wasn’t mine ask “ Who the hell is this? ” “Startled, he gassed the pedal taking off in the direction of the restaurant. As he started around the corner a red panel van rounded the same corner and t-boned his Maserati.” Mrs. Flotchatt sighs, “So, Ms. Carter. That is a very interesting story, but, it doesn’t answer question number three. Why are you returning this item?” Now the crowd turns on Mrs. Flotchatt, “Cmon lady, let’er tell the rest of the story,” says flannel shirt man with the crowd around him yelling ‘yahs and c’mon, lady.’   “I am wrapping this up,” Lucy says to Mrs. Flotchatt as she turns to the crowd with a half curtsy, “And giving you the rest of the story.” # Charlie’s mom and Lucy run the two blocks to the car accident. The police arrived earlier along with Charlie. The area was sealed off with caution tape trapping a garbage truck that was apparently making its rounds. The occupants of the garbage truck were standing near the truck yelling that they still had rounds to make. Unscathed, both Harry and the van thief drunk walk out of the wreckage. # Lucy squares her shoulders as she begins, “So, imagine my dismay when Charlie, the van driver, walked over to me, eyed my sack, grabbed it and threw it in the road. Then says ‘I have had it with this company !’ “When Charlie threw the sack its contents fell out,” Lucy snatches the pitiful dirty ball of fluff from off the counter. “This little polar bear aka dead raccoon landed in the street next to the bag.” “About that time, one of the officers cleared the perimeter and motioned the garbage truck out. As the truck backed up I realized what was about to happen so I ran to retrieve the polar bear before the truck ran over it, but Harry stopped me by pulling me back. I could only watch as the front traction tire slowly ground the sack and the polar bear into the street.” A large resounding ‘ahhh’ comes from the crowd. “So, you see, Stuffy Fluffy Buddy is at fault. It was their employee that threw my sack. I only want compensated for what I lost!” Mrs. Flotchatt begins maniacally turning pages in the Percy’s Department Store Returns Manual in a desperate search for guidance. “Did you ever find out why the guy stole the van, lady?” “So. That is a good question. Let me explain.” # As Lucy picks up the sack and the now known as dead raccoon, the thief, in handcuffs and held by two police officers shouts “I just needed a few Stuffy Fluffy Buddy Polar Bears for my kids. They’re so damn hard to get I was desperate. So, I decided to just take the van for a ride, grab the contents and then take the van back.” The man shrugs like that is the most reasonable thought that anyone should have. He then continues, “So, I followed the van until, in what I thought at the time, was my great fortune, it stopped at the curb and the driver got out. To my delight, the keys were in the ignition. So, I took a big chance. I’m sorry. I just wanted to make my kids happy on Christmas morning.” Lucy looks around for Harry. She finds him explaining to the officers that he had an appointment and asking if they could give him a ride due to his misfortunate accident. He didn’t even glance her way when he left in the police car. It was at that moment that Lucy knew she had to get another Stuffy Fluffy Buddy Polar Bear. She couldn’t let her niece and subsequently her sister down. # “So, here I am. I walked straight here. I need this polar bear.” Mrs. Flotchatt asks the one question that wasn’t in the Percy’s Department Store Returns Manual, “How did you get a Fluffy Buddy Polar Bear in the first place? And today? We are completely sold out and waiting for a delivery, which I suppose, your story explains why we haven’t received one yet.” “You weren’t quite sold out. If you can see on my receipt. Right there? On the right side of that tire track?” Lucy points to a torn area of the receipt. “It says Percy’s Department Store and dated with today’s date.” Lucy shrugs as she traces her eyebrow with her fingertip. By now, the crowd was getting upset. They had heard the story from beginning to end and once satisfied with the ending, were ready to get on with their hectic day. Mrs. Flotchatt decided to end this transaction and without much consternation decided to end her returns career. Her recently retired to Hawaii friend had been begging her to join her. Now seemed as good a time as ever. A shipment of Fluffy Stuffy Polar Bears on a wheeled cart came through the returns area. But this time considering the prior incident, armed guards surround the cart. Mrs. Flotchatt, displaying her name tag like a badge to a guard, grabs a plastic wrapped brand new bear and hands it to Lucy. “Okay, Ms. Carter, according to the Percy Department Store Refund Policy Manual, we are not responsible for any mishap incurred by the Stuffy Fluffy Buddy Company, But, I am going to replace your damaged product anyway.” The crowd roars as Lucy clasps Mrs. Floggatt’s hand and shouts, “‘Thank you!’” Lucy tugs at her torn coat and smiles as the crowd begins to form a line again. She then waves at everybody as she leaves. The return clerks begin assisting the customers. That is, all returns clerks but one. After giving the new plastic wrapped polar bear to Lucy, Mrs. Floggatt undoes her red and gold snowman shaped nametag, lays it on the counter, grabs her purse and coat and after doing one last crucial errand walks out the massive brass doors of Percy’s Department Store one last time. Later the store lights dim, the massive brass doors lock, and the store CLOSED sign lights up. The retail employees have gone home leaving only the maintenance crew. One lone member of the crew in charge of picking up and cleaning the toy department begins his rounds. As he stands up after picking up toys strewn all over the floor, he adjusts his back stretching skyward. His eyes follow the tall Santa. As he slowly looks upward, he notices that something isn’t quite right. For, in Santa’s red velvet huge toy bag a scruffy and black smudged animal resembling a dead raccoon leans out of the bag and stares straight at him, a grin on his dirt-encrusted face. 

gs0tro

Accidental

Amy wanted to go on this skiing trip. She really did. So why? Why was she cursed with bad luck? “Amy?” Sandy asked, slowing to a stop in front of the downed black girl, her pink hat askew and lost somewhere beside her. “Y’all alright?” Right. . .she hadn’t moved yet. Mostly because she plowed directly into her crush coming down the mountain. Brian. He had smooth dark skin and a megawatt smile that made Amy’s heart do somersaults and currently. . .currently she was on top of him in a post haste attempt to stop herself from getting injured. “I’m-I’m fine,” she squeaked, moving to stand and help Brian up. “That was some fall,” Brian mumbled, wiping down his coat of snow. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Amy nodded, her face warming as Brian took his scarf off and wrapped it around her instead. “Well,” Sandy started, her brown eyes looking between them with a teasing grin. “We were just about to head back to the cabin,” she continued, turning her attention to the pink-haired girl. Amy nodded again, watching Sandy walk off to rejoin her husband, Sydney. Amy turned towards Brian, suddenly nervous as she spoke, “Do you, uh, want to get a drink?” she asked, fingering his scarf as she buried her cold nose in it. “Sure,” Brian replied, flashing that megawatt smile. He held out his hand for her to take, squeezing it briefly as Amy took it. Maybe going on this trip was worth it. Amy laid awake that night, staring at the ceiling as the wind howled outside. She and Brian did end up getting warm apple cider together and generally talking about life. How Brian’s skating career was finally taking off and how Amy’s job in tech finally gave her some relief with this free trip. Sandy and Sydney tagged along since she had extra tickets and didn’t want them to go to waste. It wasn’t something a group of 20-somethings with jobs did on a regular basis and she might as well invite her friends so they would get a break from work and their children. The trip continued with the ski resort nearly losing power due to a sudden snowstorm and Brian being trapped in Amy’s room. Thankfully, the generator kicked in before things got too dire. “So,” Brian started, leaning into Amy’s space as she wrapped three blankets tighter around herself. “You gonna share?” “Oh. . . oh , I’m sorry, here,” Amy replied, opening her cocoon of blankets to reveal her pink flannel pajamas beneath. Brian swallowed, looking up as the lights flickered before cuddling up beside Amy. She closed the cocoon around them, rubbing Brian’s arms to warm them and feeling muscle underneath his thin shirt. “You should’ve worn something thicker,” she chastised, rubbing his wrists and hands. “Amy,” “And what were you thinking coming to my room this late, anyway?” she asked. “Well, I wanted to see you,” Brian admitted, looking down at Amy. Amy stopped her ministrations of warming Brian up, her breath puffing out as she blushed. “Oh. . .okay. Then you’re forgiven,” she replied once her brain caught up with her. She was in her cabin. Alone. With Brian. “Am I, now?” “Mhm, unless you can make up waking me up in the middle of a snowstorm.” “I can think of a few things. You know that bakery on West Avenue?” he suddenly asked. “Yeah, what about it?” “I can take you there. On a date. Y’know once we get back to New York.” Amy nodded, wrapping her arms around Brian in a hug. He hugged her back, his chill finally leaving him as they cuddled beneath three blankets and a snowstorm. The lights went out eventually, the pair sharing the bed. *** Amy had enough of her boss pushing his work onto her. So, she met Brian at the bakery on West Avenue. Just for a quick break. “Hey!” she said, waving at Brian as she walked into the bakery. She took the seat in front of him, setting her laptop bag down near her feet. “What’s up?” “Not much, just waiting on you,” Brian answered, messing with his to-go cup of macchiato. “How’s work?” “Ugh, I wish it was better,” Amy said, ordering a caramel latte and a creme-filled donut. “My boss keeps asking me to do his work for him so I have a meeting to prep for in,” she checked her watch, “two hours. So I’ve got time to kill. Take you up on that date.” Brian smiled then, reaching for Amy’s hand as her order came. “Thanks. Y’know for accepting and all,” he said, playing with Amy’s fingers. “So, does this mean we’re officially dating, Mr. Jacques?” she asked, teasing. “Of course,” he replied, moving to kiss Amy’s hand. She had the ski resort and crashing into him to thank for this. And Amy had a few ways to show her appreciation to the ski resort that brought them together. By going back and ordering a new generator. Amy stood in front of the mountain where it all happened. She was more cold and learning how to ski the first time she came here. However, this time was different. It had been two years since she and Brian started dating and Sandy had another baby. So, there was at least cause to celebrate and stay indoors during this go-round. “Amy?” Brian asked, kneeling in front of her as she turned, covering her mouth. “Will you marry me?” She smiled then, jumping into Brian’s arms as she screamed, “Yes,” A few months later, they were expecting a wedding. At the very place they got engaged. Amy hummed to herself as she tugged her black and white winter coat on. She rented out the cabin she stayed in last time, thankful no one else had grabbed it while she was busy planning her wedding. She headed out of the cabin, taking in the crisp, fresh air. Today was a great day to be married to a man she had a crush on since high school.

9y2guv

A trip to the mall

I always try to get my Christmas shopping done as early in the year as possible. It works perfectly with adults since they often still need that thing they wished for but didn’t get last Christmas. Unfortunately I got a nephew a couple of years ago. Don’t get me wrong, I love my nephew. Like me he likes doing jigsaw puzzles so everytime I come over to visit my sister and her family we do a puzzle together. But the thing with kids is that they are unpredictable and they seldom wish for the same thing one christmas after another. And that’s the problem. Even though I asked my nephew for his Christmas list early in the year so that I could do my shopping in peace and quiet, he started to give me a new list as late as september . So annoying. Last year I couldn’t get my shopping done until october. It was awful. This year however takes the cake. I already bought him a gift, a puzzle he wished for last year but didn’t get. But then, only a few days ago, he informed me that he didn’t want a puzzle anymore. He wants some cards with little figures on them. He uses them to play some kind of game with his friends at school. This would all be alright, except that it’s the end of november and to buy these cards I have to go to a specific store which is only found in our town's shopping mall . I don’t like malls. There’s always too many people that are walking too fast or too slow and either they don’t know where they’re going or they have tunnel vision and just elbows themselves forward. But now here I am, getting shuffled around by the masses. It took me about forty minutes just to find the store and then I had to call my sister several times because there were lika a billion different decks of cards to buy but I couldn’t tell if there was any difference between them. I finally selected one, I have no idea if it is the right one, and then I only had to do one more thing. Get out. But this turned out to be impossible. I walked around for what must have been at least an hour. I think I felt the fresh cold air at one point but as soon as I tried to follow it, it got replaced by the warm, humid, shopping mall-air. I also consulted several information boards but they all pointed me in different directions. At this point there was no way around it. I was stuck at the mall. I sighed and turned away from the information board that showed a map over all the stores and floores and faced the crowd again. Maybe if I just take a step out in the sea of people I should eventually get herded to the exit. But the thought of having to get out there again, getting shoved and having people walking so closely that it would be easier for me to carry them, did not attract me. The best way to get out would be to wait until the mall was about to close. Then, hopefully, a guard would see me and be able to escort me out. I figured this was my best option and took aim at a bench only a few steps away. I sat down and closed my eyes and wished I had not forgotten my headphones at home. “Can I sit here?” I looked up and a small child stood in front of me. I nodded absentmindedly and moved over to make room for her on the bench. The girl climbed up next to me. She was too small to reach the floor with her feet and started violently swinging her legs back and forth. To my annoyance it made the whole bench move. But then suddenly she stopped and pointed at the ridiculously big and colourful bag between my feet. “What’s in your bag?” she asked. “It’s just something for my nephew.” I replied. “But what’s in it?” she persisted. “Some cards of dinosaurs or something. I’m not quite sure.” I mumbled. “Oh, you mean pokémon cards?” “Yes, I think that’s what they’re called.” “I wished for some pokémon cards as well.” she continued. “I hope I get some but mum says I already have plenty, but I think my grandpa’s going to get me some anyway. I’m teaching him how to play, he’s getting pretty good actually.” “That sounds nice.” The girl started swinging her legs again while looking at all the people rushing around in front of us. It’s actually quite meditative watching everyone else walk around, as long as you don’t have to go out into the chaos yourself. “Where’s your parents by the way?” I asked after a while. “I’m not sure.” The little girl started looking around as if she expected them to jump up from behind the bench. “Mum said something about needing to get something for my grandmother and my dad... I think he went to the bookstore. I don’t think he actually needed a new book, he just likes going there.” She rolled her eyes at this which made me think that she usually has to go with her dad to the bookstore. “I’m guessing you’re not a big fan of books?” I asked. “I mean, I like to read. But dad only reads boring books with no pictures and there’s never any dragons in them.” “I see.” Books without dragons are usually pretty boring. “And then my mum took my brother’s hand and my dad took the stroller with my little sister in it and then they just kind of left. But they said they would meet up here so I thought it would be best for me to just wait here until they came back.” “That’s clever of you.” I said and the little girl smiled at me. “I know.” she beamed. Then she picked up a hair tie from her pocket and started playing with it. “Do you play a lot of games with your grandpa?” I asked after a little while. “Well..” the girl seemed to think hard. “We mostly just play regular card games. And cluedo, he loves cluedo. But lately we only play pokémon. I’m trying to teach him everything but it’s hard, he doesn't always remember the things I teach him.” “It can be hard to learn new things.” “Yes, it is. I think the math at school is hard, I never get the right answer. Dad says I have to study harder but I rather just play cards with grandpa.” “I get that.” “Do you play pokémon with your nephew?” “No. I hadn’t even heard of it until he told me he wanted them for christmas. We usually do puzzles together. I actually bought him one, but he doesn't want it anymore. He wanted these cards instead, so he can play with his friends.” I looked down at the bag and the little deck of cards lying at the bottom of it. “I bet he still wants to do puzzles with you.” “You think?” I asked and smiled at the girl. “Of course. But maybe he also wants to try something new. When I first told my grandpa I started playing pokémon he just sighed and didn’t even want to try to learn it. It made me kind of sad because I think it’s so much fun. But now we play all the time, he even watches the tv-series with me sometimes.” “There’s a tv-series you have to watch as well?” I said and rolled my eyes dramatically. “You don’t have to.” the girl laughed. We kept talking until her parents came back. Both looked really embarrassed that none of them had checked where she was. They hugged her alot and told her how sorry they were but she reassured them that they had not needed to worry. Her parents thanked me for looking after her and I said that it had been my pleasure. Before they left the girl turned to me and said: “It doesn't matter what you give your nephew. He will always want to spend time with you.” “You’re absolutely right.” I said and smiled. We waved towards one another as she and her family walked away through the crowd. I stayed at the mall almost until closing time. Then I figured there were so few people left that I should be able to find the exit without being swept away by a herd of people. As I finally walked out into the fresh, evening air again I couldn’t help but think that maybe shopping malls aren’t that bad after all.

kmfqfu

Twas the Week Before Christmas

Twas the Week Before Christmas Ah, at last, the Christmas cards are finally sealed and ready for mailing. All they need now are some holiday stamps from the post office. “Did you get the stamps I asked you to pick up?” my wife called down from upstairs. “Running out now,” I replied, as I threw on my jacket and scarf. “Better hurry. I was hoping to get those cards to everyone before Christmas.” “Not to worry.” I dashed out the door and headed for the car. After a short drive, I pulled into a crowded parking lot in front of the post office. A cold wind cut through the air as I bounded from the car to the front door. What’s this? A green sign taped to the front glass of the door caught my eye: DEAR CUSTOMERS. WE ARE OUT OF CHRISTMAS STAMPS. HOWEVER, IF YOU USE THE SELF-SERVICE MACHINES, YOU STILL MIGHT FIND SOME CHRISTMAS STAMPS AVAILABLE THERE. I thanked a kind gentleman who was leaving through the adjacent door and held it open for me. “You may not want to thank me after you see the line in there.” Sure enough, as I entered the lobby, a line of about twenty people extended out from two customer service windows, each with a post office clerk standing behind it. In between them was a customer service window that remained noticeably unattended. Was there a clerk working that station? Was he or she on a coffee break? Was that person coming back anytime soon? Reminding myself of what the sign on the door had said, I turned my attention to the two self-service machines standing up against the back wall of the lobby. As I approached, a man suddenly finished a transaction at one of the machines. Looking around to see that no one else was waiting to use it, I stepped forward and began reading the instructions. Now normally, I would probably prefer not to use a machine like this. But under the circumstances, I felt I had no choice. It seemed simple enough. I began pressing the screen as it directed me through a series of promptings. Did I want stamps? Yes. Choose from the following values of stamps depending on the weight of the letter or parcel you are mailing. Does your letter or parcel weigh 3.5 ounces or less? Yes, I think so. Press here for 60 cent stamps. Done. How many stamps would you like to purchase? 50. Press here to complete your transaction. I hesitated. I couldn’t help but wonder why the machine hadn’t given me an opportunity to see what Christmas stamps I might like to choose from? I turned my head and noticed that a line had suddenly formed behind me. “All right!” exclaimed the woman at the machine next to me. “Got my Christmas stamps! They aren’t the Madonna and Christ child I was hoping for, but I’ll take them.” She held them up for all to see––a collection of stamps each with what looked like one of Santa’s elves holding a wrapped present with a bow on top. I turned again and noticed the man behind me looking at his watch, sending me a clear signal that it was time for me to finish. I inserted my debit card into the machine. Well––I guess elves are better than no Christmas stamps at all. As the machine produced my receipt, I could hear something beginning to collect at the bottom of the distribution bin. I reached my hand down into the bin and began extracting peel-away label strips, each with a QR code and the words U.S. POSTAGE $.60. “What is this?” I gestured toward the man behind me. “These aren’t Christmas stamps!” “That’s too bad, my friend. The machine must have run out.” After stewing a bit, I reluctantly collected all fifty of my postage labels and decided I needed to talk with someone at one of the service windows. Unfortunately, of course, that would involve waiting in the line I had hoped to avoid. Again, I guess I had no choice. Several minutes went by as I slowly made my way closer to the front. I could overhear an elderly woman at one of the windows discussing what a nice Thanksgiving she had with her grandchildren and how worried she was that the packages she was sending would not reach them by Christmas. The clerk went on to discuss with her the various types of postage she might consider paying for, along with tracking options and insurance coverages. She asked the clerk several times if he could repeat some of the options he had mentioned. “At this rate, she’ll be lucky if they get there by New Year’s,” whispered the man standing in front of me. “Don’t worry. My poor ninety-three-year-old mother at home sent me to get her some stamps. That’s all I need. I promise I won’t take nearly as long.” “No problem at all,” I said with a laugh. “I guess we’ve waited this long. Just tell me you’re not hoping to get Christmas stamps.” “Fortunately, mom wasn’t specific, so I’m happy to get whatever they have.” Suddenly, the woman at the counter was finished and the man moved ahead to take her place. “Have a Merry Christmas,” he said. “The same to you.” I paused a moment. I looked down at my fifty postage strips with the QR code emblazoned on them. It reminded me of the Peanuts Christmas special when Charlie Brown was sent out to get a tree for the Christmas pageant and came back with the scrawniest tree on the lot. But in the end, they patched it up with some ornaments borrowed from Snoopy’s prize winning doghouse and it looked just fine. “Sir, you’re next.” I glanced up at the clerk. Here was my opportunity to vent my frustrations about how I had spent the better part of that morning waiting in line and still not getting the Christmas stamps the sign on the door had promised me. “No thanks––I’m good.” I looked at him with a smile. “Have a Merry Christmas!” “Thank you, sir. Same to you.” I moved to the back of the post office in front of a wall of mailboxes where I found a table. From there, I began the long process of separating each of the postage strips, licking them, and carefully placing each one along the upper right side of all fifty of the envelopes. It suddenly occurred to me that alongside the QR codes of each of the postage strips was a vertical red line that actually matched very nicely with the rectangular red frame that encircled the addresses on each of the envelopes. Very Christmassy, I thought! After placing the postage strips on each of the envelopes, I happily carried them across the lobby and inserted them into the outgoing mail slot of the post office and finally made my way home. “Where have you been,” my wife called down from upstairs as I closed the front door behind me. “I was beginning to worry about you.” “Just spending a couple of hours with some new friends at the post office.” “New friends?” “Yeah, just some nice people who reminded me of what the season is truly about.” “That’s nice, honey. But I should tell you, we received some more Christmas cards in the mail today from some people we didn’t have on our list. I would like to send some more cards out. You wouldn’t mind running out again and getting some more stamps would you, dear? … honey?”

ph42ge

Family for a Day

A fire crackled in the stone fireplace of the festive living room, the silver tree ornaments mirroring the flickering yellow flames. A picture-perfect Yule, straight out of a Hallmark movie. Except that it was September, and this was definitely not a typical living room. To my right, on a Christmas-red sofa, sat a middle-aged man and woman. The woman’s rosy cheeks gave her the appearance of having just come in out of the cold. She looked fit—a regular runner, I’d say. Her hair style was neck-length and utilitarian, and her jeans and shirt were plain but expensive. Her eyes were narrowed, like she was expecting trouble. I was pretty sure the guy beside her did not share her dedication to fitness. His paunch was beginning to spill over onto his lap, concealing the waist that had to be under there somewhere. He wore a baseball cap, which I suspect covered a receding hairline, and sported a baggy T-shirt bearing an “I heart my gun” slogan. On the two armchairs to my left sat a guy and girl in their twenties. I’m pretty good at reading people, and the guy was definitely military. He sat erect, and—in contrast to the older man—his flat abs were clearly visible. He looked nervous, casting anxious glances around the room. The bored-looking girl with pink hair beside him was harder to read. Didn't look more than 15, but I knew she had to be in her early twenties at least. A man in a suit walked in, smiled at all of us and took the remaining seat in the room, beside the Christmas tree. “Hi there, folks,” he began. “I’m Chaz Belvedere, host of “Family for a Day.” As you have already been told, this is a new reality TV show in which a group of strangers become a family. I want you all to act like it’s Christmas Day, as this episode—the pilot—will air during the 2012 holiday season. Right now, I’m going to introduce everyone, and then you can get started. “On the couch, we have Lou, a 53-year-old long-haul truck driver, also known as “Dad.” Beside him is “Mum” Kerri, a 51-year-old women's studies professor. Now, Mum and Dad, let’s meet your “kids”—Shawna, age 25, a hairdresser, and Matt, 28, who spent several years in the military." Then Belvedere turned his eyes to me. “And now I’d like to introduce you all to Brent. He’s a therapist and he’s here to provide expert advice on how you can improve your social skills. You’ve all told us there are issues you need help with when it comes to dealing with others—especially family. Brent’s going to guide you through your interactions today and give you some tips as you go along. He’ll also guide you through your day as a Christmas family. “And now it’s time for me to step back. Merry Christmas to you, family!” said Belvedere as he exited the living room. I was on. I donned my best smile and announced that the family would begin—as any family would on Christmas morning—by opening their presents. Each participant had been given some cash and the name of another “family” member, and had purchased a gift for that person, having nothing to go on but a name. Lou was first up to present his gift; not surprisingly, he had Mum/Kerri. He grunted as he hoisted himself out of the comfortable chair and made his way to the tree. Fumbling around for a minute, he spied the gift he’d bought and clumsily wrapped, scooped it up and presented it to Kerri. She raised her eyebrows. “Super wrapping job,” she deadpanned. Though obviously peeved, Lou decided to be charitable. “I’m a trucker. I don’t do a lot of wrapping, but I really did put some thought into this gift. Got something I figured you’d really like.” Kerri frowned and pulled off the sparkly wrapping, uncovering a small box. Inside was a silver cigarette lighter. “If you look close, you’ll see your name’s engraved on it,” Lou grinned. “See? K-e-r-r-i.” Kerri narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, it’s great, “husband.” Except that I don’t smoke. What am I supposed to do with it? And why would you assume I’m a smoker?” Lou’s smile evaporated. “Hey, look; cut me some slack, lady! I don’t know anything about you. All I had to go by was what my girlfriend likes.” Time to step in before “Mum,” who obviously looked down her nose at “Dad,” could deliver a scathing comeback. “I think this is where we can benefit from that clichéd but true statement that it’s the thought that counts. Now, Kerri, how about you? I believe you have something for Lou?” Without speaking, Kerri pulled out a neatly wrapped box and handed it to her TV husband. “Man, I love opening presents!” said Lou as he tore off the paper like a six-year-old. Kerri’s disapproving frown deepened. “It’s a book!” he said, obviously bewildered. He held it away from himself as though it smelled bad. “It’s called…Inter…Intersec—” Kerri could bear it no longer. “ Intersectionality and You, ” she blurted. “But I’ll be the first to admit that I made a poor choice. I wrongly assumed you’d be literate.” “And I assumed you wouldn’t be an ignorant sow,” Lou shot back. It was promising to be a great day. “Why don’t we see what the kids got each other?” I suggested, turning my eyes to the "daughter." “How about you, Shawna?” The expressionless young woman presented her gift to her “brother.” “Merry Christmas,” she intoned, holding out a gift bag to him. Matt pulled out a plastic box filled with various hair care products and held it aloft. “They’re specially for men,” Shawna explained. “We carry this kit in my salon; they’re the best—” It finally dawned on her that her TV brother was bald. “Oh,” she said simply. Matt put the kit back in the bag. “Thanks anyway, Sis. Like Brent said, it’s the thought that counts. And now I guess it’s my turn.” He fished a sizeable gift bag from under the tree and offered it to Shawna. It was chocolates—a huge box of them. Shawna sat holding the box and staring at it. “Well, this is awkward. I’m diabetic,” she said. “Man, I love chocolate, though. But no, I can’t.” She thrust the box back at him. “Dang.” “Well, that all went swimmingly,” said Kerri. “What’s with you, anyway, Miss Congeniality?” growled Lou. “Ah, so you are capable of multisyllabic speech!” I redirected the conversation. “I think it’s time for us to get to know one another a little better,” I said, turning to the “kids.” “Matt, you’re an army man, right? Where are you stationed?” I asked. The young man suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “We weren’t supposed to talk about this,” he whispered, obviously hoping only I would hear him. But someone else heard him just fine. “What’s that?” said Lou. “What weren’t we s’posed to talk about, Son? We’re family—least for today!” “Matt,” I said. “I’m so sorry; I guess I didn’t get that memo. But maybe Lou’s right. Maybe it’d be a good idea to share. Remember, I’m here to help.” He hung his head, obviously ashamed. “Dishonorable discharge,” he mumbled. “What for?” demanded Lou. “Look, I don’t wanna talk about it. Can we just leave it alone?” Matt looked at me, eyes pleading. But Lou wasn’t about to let it go. “I got a right to know why you disrespected my country!” “I served ‘your’ country for eight years and then did one dumb thing. I regret it and I’m sorry, okay?” At this point, the ever-sensitive Kerri decided to jump in. “What kind of honour is there in serving in a sexist organization like the military, anyway?” “What would you know?” yelled Lou. “You don’t even care about the boys who’ve died so you could empower women or whatever it is you do up there in your ivory tower!” “See?” Kerri was right in Lou’s face now, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Boys! The boys who died?! What about the women who’ve been killed in the line of duty?” “Hey, guys!” I yelled over the din. “Remember, you’re supposed to be a family, together for Christmas. Why don’t we start prepping for dinner?” I got up and moved towards the kitchen area. “We’ve got a nice big kitchen with plenty of space for everyone. For the sake of time, our crew’s already got the turkey cooking in the oven, so all we need to do is get the veggies and salad ready. Matt, how about sitting over here at the table and peeling some potatoes?” Once everyone was set up with a task, it was time to get the group talking again. “Shawna, what do you like best about hairdressing?” I asked. The young woman put down the vegetable peeler and the carrot she was working on and thought for a moment. “Mmm…colouring, I guess. And trying new cuts.” “And what would you say is the worst thing about the job?” I asked. “Talking to people,” she answered immediately. “I’m not very good at making conversation.” “Well then, why on earth would you choose hairdressing?” laughed Kerri. Hitherto quiet Shawna did not miss a beat. “I’ll tell you one thing, “Mum”! You’d be a lot happier paying me to do your hair than whatever butcher gave you that cut!” “Ha ha, good one, kid!” Lou chortled. “Those who can, do, and those who can’t, apparently become hairstylists,” quipped Kerri. “For your information, I did two years of university. I was top of my class,” said Shawna. Kerri asked the obvious question. “If you were such a brilliant student, why did you stop after two years?” Shawna kept her head down and vigorously chopped a carrot. “Well?” Kerri said. “Could it be that you were exaggerating just a tad?” I intervened. “Listen, Karen—” Everyone laughed. Kerri turned bright red. I apologized profusely. “Kerri, I’m so sorry! It was a slip of the tongue. I truly did not mean to insult you!” Kerri glowered at me as she prepared the salad, but thankfully, said nothing. “Matt, what are you doing now?” I asked, before Kerri could think of another mean thing to say. “Looking for work,” he said. “But it's been tough. You know, with my history. Nobody wants to give me a chance. But I paid my debt. Just doesn’t seem fair to me.” “Aw, boohoo! Suck it up, princess. You made your bed,” said Lou. “I was in Rwanda in the 90s. Saw things no human should ever see or experience. But I stuck it out like a man should. What happened, anyway? Guard duty get a little too intense?” Matt slumped in his chair, like the energy had suddenly drained from his body. He seemed to be taking a moment to get his strength back. “My twin brother, Mike, and I joined the Forces together. We loved serving in the military. But we always got different postings till my last one, when we were both posted to Afghanistan. We’d both done tours there before, but separately. One day, when we’d been in the country about a month, Mike led a foot patrol I was on. I was close enough to hear a “click” and to see his face as he turned around, just before the IED exploded and blew off his arms and legs. “I felt nothing after his death. Came back home, got counselling and returned to duty—a desk job. Worked for a few months, then one day, I snapped. Stole some money, bought a plane ticket to Mexico and just took off. I was picked up and extradited in pretty short order.” Lou walked over and put his hand on Matt’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Son,” he whispered. “And I’m sorry for what I said. Truth be told, I’ve never been the same since Rwanda. Still suffer from PTSD.” “My mother was sick.” We all turned to see where the voice was coming from. It was Shawna. Tears were running down her cheeks as she looked at Kerri. “You asked me why I didn’t finish university. I went home to look after my mum. She died a couple of months later, and I just couldn’t concentrate on school after that. So I went back to hairdressing. I’m saving up so I can go back and finish, but hairdressers don’t make that much.” Kerri was uncharacteristically silent. She’d stopped slicing tomatoes and her hands were shaking. She exhaled. “Look, I hate being a jerk. But I don’t know how to stop. Things have happened in my life that have put me on the offensive, and it’s become a habit.” “Hurt the other guy before he can hurt you,” said Lou. Kerri raised her head and smiled sadly. “Yeah, something like that.” She looked at me. “I was hoping you’d help me be—nicer.” Matt stood and walked over to me, realization finally having dawned. “But you had no intention of helping her, or any of us, did you, Brent? If that's even your name!” Shawna nodded. “It’s true. You’ve actually done the opposite.” She addressed the rest of the group. “Did you notice how everything he’s said has actually stirred things up?” “That’s right!” said Lou. “Claiming not to know he wasn’t supposed to talk about Matt’s situation.” “Asking provocative questions of each of us!” said Kerri. “And calling me ‘Karen.’” Now I was the one in the hot seat. “Guilty,” I confessed. “My name really is Brent, but I’m no therapist. I’m an actor, and yes, my job was to ‘stir the pot,’ as Chaz put it, to keep things interesting for the viewers.” “You mean keeping us at each others’ throats to make us look like a dysfunctional bunch of losers!” said Kerri. “Well, you certainly did that and then some! I imagine you’ll get an award for your fine performance.” “Afraid not,” I said. “More likely my pink slip. We are definitely off script here, and I am pretty sure I’ve just burned a huge bridge. But I don’t regret that; I never should’ve taken this job. I thought you'd just be a bunch of jerks, like a lot of the people I've seen on reality TV. But you're real people with real pain, just trying to figure things out like everybody else. If anyone’s a jerk, it’s me.” “Well, I won’t argue with you there,” said Lou. “But I think this 'dysfunctional' family could use another member. You'll fit right in! What do the rest of you think?” Matt slapped me on the back as the others accepted me as part of the family. “But who will I be?” I asked. “The long-lost older brother, maybe?” Shawna smiled. “How about the weird uncle?” We all laughed as we set the table and prepared to carve the Christmas turkey. Oh, and if you don’t remember ever seeing this reality show on TV, that’s because it didn’t get picked up by the network after all. In one executive’s words, "it was just too unrealistic.”

i2s1ln

THE CHRISTMAS ENVELOPE

Now that Jenny's retired, and living on a fixed income, she can't shop for the holidays, like she used to. So, after much thought, she came up with a solution. "Why not write a special poem for each grandchild." Although it's been years, since she's written one, there was a time, when Jenny performed her own poems, at local fairs and schools. Not that she was an Emily Dickinson or Maya Angelo, but her poetry was well received, by the audience. And Jenny's husband, always encouraged her to keep writing. He would say, "you're writing is so good," and she always responded, "No it isn't, I just do it for fun." Tears welled up in Jenny's eyes. She missed him so much. Especially this time of year. He was her main support, and probably just a little bit prejudice. But Jenny knew all too well, that in life, circumstances change, and sets you on another path. "She wiped her tears away and grabbed her coat and pocketbook and headed to the corner drugstore, before they close. On entering the store, she walked directly to the card aisle. She had to find the perfect stationary for her project. Then she saw it. It was tucked way back in the corner, with only the edge of the paper showing. It was decorated with green leaves and tiny Christmas trees. Smiling, Jenny took it from its holder, and searched for red and green ribbon with bows to match. After paying for her purchase, Jenny hurried home, anxious to begin her task. Once home, she walked into the kitchen, placed the bag on the table, then reached for the tea kettle. She opened the cookie jar, and took a few out, to have with her tea. While the tea was brewing, Jenny pulled the items out of the bag, and just stared at them. "What was she thinking," she shouted into the empty room. Her grandchildren wanted toys, computer games, not a poem on a piece of stationary. It's not that their spoiled, but like any child, they probably wanted the most popular toys and games, that were advertised on TV. Jenny jumped, when the whistle of the tea kettle filled the room. She poured the tea into her favorite Christmas cup, then took a sip to make sure it was sweet enough. She looked around the kitchen, that was bright and cheerful, when her eyes rested on the photo of her three grandchildren. It was their school picture. Jamie's little girl Gracie, was seven, and Daniel's twin boys, Davey and Rickie, were nine. Then she looked at the clock. It was close to her bedtime. She washed her teacup, and put the items back into the bag, and went upstairs to get ready for bed. Yawning, she undressed quickly, and slid underneath the covers, and fell right to sleep. The next morning, Jenny felt refreshed and ready to go. She drank her tea, and had some toast and eggs, and a glass of orange juice. She searched for her favorite pen, and once found, opened the bag and took the stationary, ribbon and bows out. Jenny pulled out one sheet. "The first poem will be for Gracie, since she is the youngest." Jenny stared at the blank paper, for a long time. She was just about to give up, when a tiny voice whispered, "just write." Gracie my beautiful granddaughter you are wise beyond your seven years you are my heart you are the light, that brightens up the dark and whenever you visit, you bring me such joy and when you leave, I feel so empty but always know I love you so for you will always be a part of me. She folded the paper, then placed it in the envelope, with Gracie's name on the front. Then took a red ribbon and bow, and decorated the envelope. Jenny got up and stretched her legs. She looked at the clock and realized it was lunchtime. After she ate a tuna fish sandwich and had some tea, it was time to write a poem for the twins. She knew it would be more difficult, since they were nine. Jenny will write the first one to Davey. He was the quiet one, the complete opposite of his brother. You would never think they were identical twins. Taking another piece of stationary, Jenny began the process. "What can I say about Davey," she whispered out loud. Davey, my handsome grandson you are my thinker You are on a pathway to many discoveries in a world that is full of questions, and I know, you won't be satisfied until they are all answered and though you are only nine, you have a wonderful, curious mind You make me so proud You make me happy and always know, that I love you Jenny read and re-read this poem, and hoped that Davey will understand what she was saying. She folded the paper, wrote Davey's name on the envelope and decorated it with a green ribbon and red bow. Jenny got up to stretch her legs and arms, and noticed it was dark outside. She looked at the clock and realized it was 7pm. Opening the refrigerator, there was nothing interesting to eat. Jenny went to the storage room, and grabbed a can of soup and some crackers. Once she finished eating, it was back to writing her last poem for her grandson Rickie. Rickie, my handsome grandson you are the adventurer and an explorer of the unknown and even though your nine I know whatever you do you will achieve your goal because whatever road you take you'll make it your own you give me joy you make me proud and always know, that I love you Tears streamed down Jenny's face. She never realized how emotional she would get, writing poems for her grandchildren. They were the loves of her life. Jenny folded the paper, and wrote Rickie's name. then decorated the envelope with a red ribbon and a green bow. Christmas day finally arrived. Jenny gathered up the envelopes and placed them under the Christmas tree. When her family arrived, all three kids ran into the living room. Jenny knew they expected presents to greet them, but instead, saw three envelopes, addressed to each one of them. "Gracie, Davey and Rickie, I have something to tell you." Jenny then explained about her situation, and handed them their Christmas envelope. Davey and Rickie read theirs, but Gracie needed help, so Jenny read it to her. The look on their faces were priceless. They all ran over to Jenny and gave her the biggest hugs ever. They said it was the best Christmas gift she ever gave them. The End .

tt26vl

The flame of holiday

I hate holidays. The only joy comes from the snowy view outside and the empty road. Behind the wheel, I relax as thoughts gather. My hand instinctively reaches for the glove compartment where cigarettes used to lie. My gaze slides over the passenger seat, holding expensive gift wine I won't even taste. I don't want to tempt myself; alcoholism begins with a sip. They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions; let them stay there. I take a mint-flavored gum; menthol envelops my throat, and my ego takes pride in itself. The journey is not short; windows are already frosted, like my underwear. Provincial habits dictate welcoming the new year in something new, even if it's just underwear. Armed not only with new underwear but also a new image, I spent two hours in the store to look stylish but not extravagant. Fresh manicure pleases the eye, new perfume, and a bold makeup. My ace up my sleeve is a new guy on the cover of a magazine, Mr. December. In general, I'm on a mission to come, see, and conquer. I don't need to prove anything anymore; as my psychologist says, I've finally become an adult, self-sufficient individual, and I don't care about their opinions. It annoys me that I've become the one who says, 'my psychologist says...' Zen... I'm a calm and balanced person. Deep breath and slow exhale... one, two, three, four, five... Peace. I park my rented beauty, remembering to return it before flying back home. Snow crunches underfoot; the tastelessly decorated house stands, envied by neighbors. I stand on the porch, preparing to ring the bell... Im taking a deep breath and count... one, two, three, four, five... Peace. My mother opens the door with her cold face and thin lips: 'Oh, there you are. Come in. Is this what you came on?' Her words shrink me, but I hold my ground, smiling in response. She scrutinizes the wine for a long time; she knows it's expensive but can't muster a 'thank you' and goes to the kitchen. I don't plan to stay overnight, only small talk, dinner, and a quick return. I enter the living room by the fireplace; Grandpa sits there. It feels like he never leaves his chair, getting food delivered every two hours." Eternity in the armchair by the TV with food – I don't know how that chair hasn't broken yet. But at least he smiles when he sees me. Grandma rushes out of the kitchen, learning the price of the wine, scolding me for spending so much. Another grandma, from my father's side, joins in, yelling at her for yelling at me. I'm home. Aunt crawls out of the bedroom on the second floor: 'Why are you all shouting so early? Finally, you've arrived, now it's clear what all the fuss is about. Saw your little car from the window; did you spend your whole salary renting it?' Deep breath, i am trying to stay calm... one, two, three, four, five... Peace. I smile and say that it didn't cost much. Everything's in place except for my little sister. She arrived in the city before me but asked me to cover for her delay with relatives. Met her ex on the way and partied at his place again, forgetting how she had an abortion for him. Despite her husband waiting at home, the wedding was just two months ago. Teresa is setting the table; she's been with our family since my childhood – my oasis of calm and understanding. I wish all of this would end soon, and I could peacefully lie in my bathtub and cry. Mother decides we shouldn't wait for Magdalena and invites us to the table, as if we were royalty. And then, with a crash, the door opens, and we hear, 'Oh, crap' as our 'little Magdalena' storms in. She brushes the snow off her fur coat, revealing a tight dress underneath that emphasizes all her curves. Mother presses her lips in displeasure at her words, and Aunt hisses at the sight of her figure. To the delight of the person in the armchair, the table is overflowing with food. We haven't seen each other in a hundred years; statues with thin lips are very interested in knowing what's happening in our lives, but she won't ask, of course. She starts with, 'If you visited more often or at least called, you would know that Grandpa recently had a heart attack.' How did it happen? Why didn't you call? ...we shout in unison... Grandpa continues to chew... 'Do you care about anything other than your career?' asks the marble face, raising an eyebrow. I don't dignify her with an answer. The snake begins to hiss... it seems you've gained weight! So, you're still not married? ... I should have said I have a new boyfriend, but instead, I said I go to the gym every day. How's your 'sweet December'? Saw him on the magazine cover yesterday. My sweet sister threw me a lifeline in this sea of bitterness. Yes, he's lucky; a friend works at the magazine and invited him for a photoshoot. I replied. My sister continued to praise my new passion, while Aunt just hissed and puffed up like a pufferfish. The marble face remained silent, diligently cutting her salad on her plate." What you're piling on her, the child has just recovered from that incident, things are just settling down, and now you're adding fuel to the fire. This old lady opened her foul mouth, I thought. I wanted to disappear. I've worked through this story with my psychologist; let's not go there," I replied. "They're all charlatans. You're wasting your money on them. Give birth to another, and everything will be fine," said the second old lady. "Therapy helped me; you should try it too," I countered. The marble face smirked. "After such a thing, I would hang myself," hissed the snake. "And no psychologists could help me." "No one would cry if you hung yourself," said the old lady with a smile. "I'll dance on your grave," the snake hissed with a smile. After exchanging pleasantries, they looked at me with pity. With a mouthful, Grandpa mumbled, "Some people just aren't meant to be parents." I was ready to burst with anger... Deep breath and slow exhale... one, two, three, four, five... I dropped my glass on the plate. "How's your ex doing? Still a handsome fellow?" asked my sister. "I saw him recently; he was with a girl much younger than you," the old lady chattered. "Who's better, her ex or your new husband?" asked the marble face of my sister, and my heart stopped. I dropped into my chair, spilling cherry juice to the bottom, and continued my speech. "Dear mother, you're silent. Admit right now that you brought Dad to a heart attack; no heart can withstand so much food and cholesterol. Pride prevents you from admitting that you drove him to gluttony, and due to your weakness, he never once protected me from you." My beloved grandmothers, one of whom grabbed all the wealth my father earned and sits on it like Cerberus, the other realizing all of this is about to burst from anger. Father left all of it to me in the will, but it magically disappeared. Aunt, in her youth, the first beauty, couldn't accept fading beauty and is ready to devour me out of envy. My favorite sister, our little Magdalena, everyone knows about your promiscuity, but I couldn't even imagine that you could cause me such pain. You knew how much I loved my husband and son, but after the accident, I lost my little one, and I couldn't forget him. In my husband's eyes, I saw the blue eyes of my baby boy, and the family fell apart. Instead of supporting me, helping me get through my grief, you blamed me for everything because I was behind the wheel. And now it's time for you to go home to hell. They began to collapse onto the table; the wine suited their taste. They got what they deserved. And now the fire will consume their sinful bodies. The moon had risen outside, and the frost nipped at my nose. Teresa overturned the festive candles, poured oil onto my festive gift to herself, and left through the back door. I waited for her in the car; she sat in the front seat, humming "Jingle bells, jingle bells". At that moment, I laughed for the first time in a long while. P.S. An African proverb says, if the village doesn't give warmth to a child, they will burn it to the ground to warm themselves. I can describe myself as someone who never misses deadlines. Working with me, you can be confident that you will receive high-quality material within the specified timeframe. I write at night because I believe that the author is most sincere with oneself and readers not during the brightly shining sun.

7qa2bo

New year new me?

Skip Christmas Eve 2023 : On paper, 2022 had been a great year. Margaret had worked as an intern at at a small investment bank on Fifth Avenue. She had married a handsome, successful man, and was whisked away on an incredible honeymoon to Australia and New Zealand. Sure, there had been some setbacks that year. Her PhD project wasn’t moving as fast as she had hoped; in fact, her thesis committee hated her project. She had lost 20 grand in savings from her wedding and travel escapades. But those could be recovered, right? She had unconditional love from a husband, two precious cats, and an apartment in Manhattan. What more could a person ask for? Lucky for her, Margaret could always count on her family to make her feel more worthless than a doormat. Cue Christmas Eve at her her wealthy uncle’e new Greenwich house. That particular night, the temperature was below freezing and felt like the arctic with the stinging winds. The house was impossible to find, and once they finally arrived, the atmosphere of the party was full of cranky relatives and horrible iridescent lighting. She knew the bad lighting would only emphasize the exhaustion on her face. The uncle who owned the house was married to a powerhouse of a federal judge. Margaret loves her aunt for her generosity and her fierce love for family, but the one thing she wasn’t too fond of is her painful lack of emotional awareness. Margaret’s aunt referred to the Greenwich house as “his house,” (referring to her uncle). As they sat down for dinner in “his living room,” the first question of the meal was not asked, but rather fired directly at Margaret. “So tell me, when will you be done with this PhD?,” her aunt commanded. This is a taboo question in the book of PhD etiquette. The interrogation lasted for the entirety of dinner, with no remorse, no breaks, and no mercy. Margaret’s face turned from the light blue haze of the lights to a dark purpleish blue with a gleam of sweat. She spent the entirety of Christmas Eve dinner sweating, feeling increasingly self conscious and moronic, and growing a grudge against her family. Restart therapy: Earlier that day, Margaret had left work as soon as she could to get ready for the evening. She had gotten dressed up in a chic outfit that her grandmother bought for her as an early Christmas gift - a caramel half zip sweater with pleather stripes down the sleeves and beautiful suede pants. Her English (step) grandmother really had an incredible eye for fashion, and the outfit was perfect for a low key celebration on a frigid Christmas Eve. As she started to put on her makeup, her heart began to sink. She wasn’t the young and tight skinned girl that she was a few years ago. She looked tired - her eyelids had started to droop, and this particular evening, her eyebrows looked especially uneven with one sinking lower than the other. Her neck was starting to sag. As the youngest in the family (at least of her generation), she felt pressure to be spritely and youthful. So, she tried her best to put on makeup and feel good about herself. She had cut a few strands of her hair to try to make it look a bit more voluminous. The year had been good, but it had been hard. Sometimes she wondered if she brought stress on to herself, or if it was thrust upon her. Maybe both? Either way, the whole year had felt a bit out of control. She had been going to therapy up until her internship started, when she felt like she had reached a good place to take a pause. Her therapist wasn’t helping much at that point anyways. That may have been her biggest mistake of the year. Or, was it accepting the internship in the first place? Or, maybe it was that she hadn’t fought hard enough to wait until she was less stressed to go on the honeymoon. It was hard to choose. Anyways, the last thing she wanted to hear on that Christmas Eve was, “darling, you look tired. Have you been spending a lot of time at work?” Margaret knew her grandmother asked out of care, but that evening, the comment hurt. Stay healthy?: Prior to the holidays, there had been some family drama. The drama had actually been going on for a couple of years by then. Her family was strictly divided into antivaxxers and vaxxers-or-I-don’t-know-you. Two summers prior, her antivax brother showed up at his aunt and uncle’s vacation house, both of whom did not know that he was not vaccinated. When they found out, they banished him from their property and sent home with his tail between his legs. That was two years ago, and this year her brother still wouldn’t show up at Christmas because he was still upset with his aunt. In any case, Margaret had three Christmases this year, because her brother hosted a second Christmas Eve at his house so that he didn’t have to see his aunt and uncle. The family played Cards Against Humanity with Margaret’s 85 year old grandmother and religious aunt. that evening. She couldn’t stomach the crudeness of hearing her mother talk about “porn stars,” and how horrifying it was that nearly the entire family mixed up Willie Mays and Billy Mays, so she stayed in the kitchen with her brother and father, instead listening to small talk about golf and retirement. Margaret saw that her grandfather was beginning to look tired, so she told her dad that they should leave to bring the grandparents home soon. Well, Margaret was right - her grandfather was definitely tired. The following morning, Christmas morning, she watched him get carried down the stairs on a gurney and brought to the hospital. Both of her grandparents had Covid and her grandfather had Covid and pneumonia. A day later, her mom got Covid. And the next day, Margaret got Covid. Such a fun time. Find…happiness? Somehow, her husband never caught Covid. Still testing negative, he went on his merry way to fly back to Australia for a coworkers wedding and another three week long adventure. Margaret was left in quarantine to pass New Year’s Eve alone with her cats. Margaret’s PhD project felt hopeless, but she still spent her week in isolation trying to find a way to salvage it. She scheduled therapy. She cleaned out her closet. She tried to learn more about computational biology. She did the things that one does in the new year in quarantine (except write thank you cards to her wedding guests, which had became the most motivating form of procrastination). Finally, she was allowed to return to work. She didn’t want to go to work, but she was excited to be around people again. The night after her first day back, Margaret’s dad called her out of the blue and left a voicemail. I hope it’s not an emergency, she thought. He was just checking in, which was unusual. Margaret didn’t feel like talking, especially to her parents, who never made any effort to get on the same page as her emotionally. She gave brief one sentence responses. Her laconic father tried painfully to keep the conversation going, but Margaret was in no mood to take over and drive the conversation. When he finally seemed to get the hint, her mom interjected from the background, “are you happy sweetie?” She asked this question not actually wanting to know if Margaret was happy, but rather, “have I failed as a parent?” “That is a loaded question,” Margaret responded. “Goodnight,” she said.  

leepsh

All I Want For Christmas is Fair Labor Practices

“I told you, Billy, I’m out of the game. Have been for a long time.” Gustmas Tinseltrolley took a long, slow sip of his hot cocoa as Billy “The Jingle” Bellringer stood in the living room of his cozy log cabin, deep in the Canadian Rockies. He knew the second the broad-shouldered elf had knocked on his door that, at the least, trouble was afoot. At the most? All of Christmas could be on the line. “The Big Guy needs you, Gus. The kids need you. You were the best gift wrapper the North had since tissue paper was invented. Besides, Claus said that he’s heard the message and negotiations can be continued after the holiday season. The strikers are being unreasonable.” Billy had a habit of speaking with his hands. He was the king of holding a conversation while having a second, smaller conversation going on with his emphatic arm waving or expressive finger wagging. At the moment, his hands were shoved in his pockets, noticeably mute. Gus wondered if it had been a mistake on Santa’s part to send him. Or perhaps– if he was the best Santa had left. “I ain’t no scab, Billy. If the strike isn’t over, then the Big Man isn’t done listening.” He held his mug gingerly in his gnarled hands, letting the warmth seep into him, strengthen him. “So what, millions of kids are going to see their naked presents under the tree as soon as they walk up on Christmas morning? No surprises, no sense of tradition, no order? It’ll be chaos, Gus! Chaos!” There was a quaver in his voice that could have been mistaken for passion, but Gus more accurately registered it as fear. When his face remained blank, Billy pressed on. “Have you ever seen a Christmas morning for a family of 7 before? Hm? Well, I have. Without the individual wrapping paper for each kid or a cheery little nametag with holly on it? Things get tossed around, Gus. Even thrown.” His voice turned dark. “You ever see a toy get broken before a little kid gets to play with it even once?” He shook his head, looking nauseous at the thought of it. Gus grit his teeth. Not even the exiles on the Peninsula of Poorly Thought Through Toys interacted with those lost souls, the broken toys whose hopes had been forever dashed by an overworked delivery man or an overeager family dog. “I’m just a retired wrapper. I’m past my prime. These old fingers won’t be much use to Nickie.” He sat his mug down and splayed his fingers for Billy to see. “You?!” He scoffed. “You won the Tannenbaum Tinker award five years in a row! You’ve won 21 Holly Jolly Giftsmas Medals of Honor.” “22, actually,” Gus murmured. His gaze scanned the garland that lined his living room and his eyes lingered on the silver medals that he’d so carefully placed upon it. They seemed to glint and twinkle in the roaring fire’s light. He sighed heavily, feeling the weight of all those awards and all those years bearing down on him. “You know, we used to call you The Nutcracker.” Billy took a few steps toward the fire, turning his back on Gus. “That was a different time.” “No kidding.” It was Billy’s turn to sigh. “Well, for what it’s worth, I hope you’ll rethink your answer, Tinseltrolley. Or else the next time I show up at your door, it might be under less… festive circumstances.” He rested his elbow on the mantle, staring into the fire. “For what it’s worth, I hope the next time we meet is under different circumstances too.” There was no malice in his voice. A lengthy beat of silence passed between them. Then, without another word, Billy walked out. The door slammed shut, shooting a frigid winter breeze through the living room. The cold air swept past the garlands and seeped into the cracks of the hardwood floor. It seemed to leech Christmas spirit from the air. The twinkling lights shuddered, the roaring fire mewed. Gus sighed and didn’t stir for a long while. Eventually, he removed the emerald and crimson knit blanket that was laying across his lap and set it aside on the couch. He folded it gently, as it was the one he’d received from Berry May Mistle when he’d retired. He was sure he still had the ribbon that was tied around it when she’d laid it in his arms. Double-faced satin. 2.25-inch width. Finished with a bow on top, Flower Style. He inhaled slowly and rose from the couch, bones creaking as he did so. Gus walked closer to his Christmas tree, his arms held behind him as he surveyed the crystalline ornaments and strands of tinsel that embraced the fir. The bow at the top of the tree was his signature, The 12-strand Turtledove. He thought about the last present he’d ever used that bow on. ~ It was 1994. The previous winter had been harsh, and the Christmas spirit had been more vital than ever. The licensing contract for the Power Rangers™ action figures had gone through at the last minute, and elves were working overtime to try and meet demand. And he was right there the whole time. He was in the trenches, working beside the toymakers and the gift wrappers. Elves went home with the smell of plastic on them like cologne, he went home to Mrs. Claus with multicolored paint under his nails. It was a different era. Just before he left for the big trip, he gathered everyone up. With his sleigh behind him and sack stuffed to the brim with dolls, action figures, stuffed animals, and gaming systems, he took a moment to look out over the crowd. He shared his feelings of admiration and promised that the effort shown wouldn’t go unrewarded. He informed the elves that bonus checks would be under their trees tonight and they’d all receive two weeks of vacation with pay. Gus remembered how easily Kringle could make people feel respected, like the work they did made a difference. Gus would deny it to anyone who asked, but that night, in the crowd, his eyes had been silver with tears as soaring pride overwhelmed him. With one final bellowing laugh, Santa Claus sprang to his sleigh, reins in hand, and promised he’d be back soon for the after-party. He never returned to the North Pole. We waited at the company party until the early morning light, until even the talking snowmen had gone home to sleep. There was only one gift left under that tree: a gift to Mr. Kringle from his loyal elves. The present that Gus had wrapped so carefully, with a 12-strand Turtledove perched on top, sat under the tree, cold and solemn as a grave. It would never be opened.  After that, there was a new Santa in town and everything started to change. The Old Mrs. Claus disappeared, her closet still full of red velvet dresses with white faux fur trim. Dasher and Dancer refused to fly for 6 months. The milk and cookie demand dropped for the first time in over a hundred years. The new Big Man said he didn’t care so much for the “corporate mentality”, despite his background in sales. He said he wanted the team to feel more like a family and told everyone to just call him Nick. He canceled ‘unnecessary’ meetings left and right, and that valuable face-to-face time that so many elves had treasured for years was suddenly gone. He had blinked in astonishment when he learned that the majority of elfkind didn’t have their own emails. He said the North Pole was falling behind the times. (Firstly, it was only 1996. And secondly, imagine trying to teach a master craftsman of 400 years how to turn on a computer. Frightful.) Now, Gus hadn’t minded fewer meetings here and there, especially the ones explaining retirement benefits and 401Ks. But that winter, there had been a rise in cases of Sparklelung as the once mandatory glitter safety meetings had been streamlined into pamphlets no one had read and posters that were no bigger than a Christmas Card. The Big Man had taken several vacations during his first year on the job. He was hardly seen by anyone until Thanksgiving. We were lost for those long summer months, without the direction or authority to begin work on next Christmas’ toys. The new boss had no talent for project management, no passion for the art of scheduling. Weekly scrums were nothing more than a bandage on a gaping wound. All of December had been a crunch, with elves working round the clock to meet the deadline. It was worse than walking on broken ornaments and he’d rather give up candy canes than go through that again. Gus didn’t think a family should make you feel that way. Gus retired in 1996. ~ He took a deep breath and let the scents of peppermint and pine fill his lungs. He took a long pour of eggnog and threw it back, not even bothering to savor it. Then he washed his glass and put it away. He packed his suitcase full of colorful sweaters and his favorite suspenders. He unplugged the strands of lights around his house diligently, one after another. After dousing the fire and locking the front door, he took one final look inside at the noble tree standing guard in the dark before he turned on his heel and headed North. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to be home for Christmas. ~ “They even took away our dental insurance!” Cries of outrage flooded the already too-hot room as the 12 leaders of the Anti-Scrooge Movement had gathered at the request of Gustmas Tinseltrolley. “No dental? For Christmas elves?! We can only take so much disrespect!” Vehement shouts of agreement rang out, and the room devolved into chaotic noise again. Gus agreed, things were bad. With the current inflation rate, elves were working longer hours for less pay, and most couldn’t keep their stockings filled. The strike had slowed things down, to be sure, but the Big Man had found those few elves who couldn’t afford not to work and production was continuing along, albeit severely delayed. No one truly believed him when he told the strikers that Christmas would still be happening with or without them, but he had refused to hear their demands any longer. Negotiations were off the table and Christmas was coming, fast. “How much longer can we really keep this up though?” Burl McMistletoe spoke up. His quiet dissent brought the room to an uneasy lull. “Some of us got mouths to feed.” He tightened his grip on the pointy felt hat in his hands. Gus knew the boy’s father, Bing McMistletoe, and had even worked with him during the Great Clear Tape shortage of 1973. The elf had been a wonder with polystyrene cement and all adhesive-related handiwork. He rose from his chair and walked over to Burl, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You have kids?” “Just one. Bublé.” “Good name.” “He’s a good kid. And he’s a wonder with a glue gun already.” “You got a picture?” Burl nodded and pulled a photo from his wallet. Bublé was missing several baby teeth and was wearing a hat much too large for him as he grinned at the camera, holding a perfect macaroni nutcracker in one hand and a glue gun in the other. Gus took the picture from Burl and crossed to the front of the room, all eyes on him. He pinned the picture to the corkboard they’d been strategizing on. He took down the other papers, the lists of elves who had joined their cause, copies of the letters of petitions they had sent, and the calendar with December 24th circled in red. He turned around to face the others. “Anyone else have kids?” A few raised their hands and produced photos that Gus pinned next to Bublé. “Bud, what about that vacation you’ve been saving up for?” “I’m surprised you remembered, Gus.” A small smile crept across Bud’s face. He produced a postcard of a beach in the Caribbean that he had always dreamed of visiting, and the crinkled cardstock joined the children on the corkboard. Slowly but surely, the others brought pictures of their own or small reminders that they carried of dreams long held. Lou pinned up the lucky guitar pick he kept on a string. Carol printed and posted the listing of her dream home. Max Snowfield even drew a wonky-looking pet reindeer on a spare piece of paper and sheepishly attached it to the board. When everyone added their contribution, they stepped back to admire their work. “This is what we’re fighting for,” Gus said, his throat tight. “Not just the pay, not just the respect, but the time to spend with our children, on our hobbies, our dreams. Just because we live for hundreds of years doesn’t mean life isn’t still horribly short. We have to see this through, for the dreams they can't take away.” Refocused, Gus rolled up his sleeves and was about to prepare for a long night and refill his hot chocolate when his eyes alighted on the guitar pick on the board. His brow creased in thought. “Hey Lou, do you have access to a recording studio, by any chance?” “My brother’s got a little booth at his place, why?” “I have a very strange idea.” He pulled his budget flip phone from his pocket and scrolled to find a number. “Lou and Carol, you’re with me. Bud, Max, I need you to keep pressing the stable elves. Annabelle, call your buddy on the Sack Pack Squad. We’ll need all the backup we can get.” The other elves exchanged a look as Gus dialed the number and tapped his foot absentmindedly. “Hey Dolly, you remember that favor you owe me? I was wondering if I might cash it in.” ~ The golden, dulcet tones of Dolly Parton’s voice rang out from an MP3 file on the device that Gus placed on Santa’s desk. A country remix of the 12 Days of Christmas began to play, as Dolly vamped to the instrumentals. “Hey y’all, It’s Dolly Parton and I wanted to give a big shout-out to my friend Gus up there at the North Pole! Happy Holidays from your home to mine and may your Christmas be a hoot and a holler!” Santa looked up at Gus from under his bushy white eyebrows. “What is this?” he questioned as he gestured to the gathering of elves before him. “Don’t you people know I’m busy this time of year?” “I think you’ll want to listen to this.” Gus crossed his arms as the song entered into the first verse. ‘On the first day of Christmas, Santa kept from me-’ A list of demands delivered in musical form with ultimatums sung by the ethereal ‘9 to 5’ singer herself played for the entire 3 minutes and 52 seconds with no more interruptions from the man in the red suit. Santa sunk further in his chair, his fingers steepling. He steamed like a homemade gingerbread latte, each furious breath wiggling the hairs of his mustache. “How could you release this so close to Christmas? Do you have ANY idea what this will do to the holiday spirit?!” He pounded his fist on the desk. “Oh, we haven’t released it yet. And we might never release it, if you sign this agreement right here, right now.” Gus gestured to the stack of paper that Lou slid to Santa. “Dolly sends her love, by the way.” “Of course she does, she’s a treasure,” Santa muttered as he flicked through the papers, his face turning redder than a cherry. “You’ll find that if you don’t sign this, this song will trend on Tiktok faster than the ‘It’s Corn’ kid.” Gus went on. “And you might have a hard time saddling the reindeer this year, I’m afraid the stable crew decided to join our little strike. Be sure to keep those pens clean, I hear Blitzen had a couple of extra treats before the crew walked out.” “You can’t be serious.” “Do I need to play the song again?” Gus stared down the blue-eyed man and resisted the urge to grin. ~ Burl McMistletoe held his glass of eggnog high as he addressed the crowd of elves, their faces glowing with mirth. "All my life, I’ll never forget the year that Christmas was saved not by reindeer with red noses, not by voices singing loud for all to hear, but by the power of collective bargaining and Dolly Parton!” A raucous cheer went up, the clamor shaking the ornaments on the tree. Gus’ face was beginning to grow sore after all the smiling he had done that evening. He walked away from the bustle of celebrating elves, in need of a moment of cool air. He stood on the doorstep, shutting it behind him quietly. Fluffy snow was falling softly, and Gus felt the whisper of flakes on his cheek like the embrace of an old friend. Gus stood outside long enough for snow to collect on his shoulders. Minutes later, he saw the familiar broad silhouette of Billy Bellringer standing across the street. He raised his glass of eggnog to him. Billy raised his hand in greeting. Eventually, he even smiled. Then he shook his head and walked away, leaving footsteps in the fresh snow. “Merry Christmas to you too, Billy.” 

9wv9wh

Bringing Home Christmas

There is a tradition in Ireland called ͞bringing home Christmas. Da used to tell us about it, how the day before Christmas his Ma and Da went to town for all the ingredients for the Christmas feast. The Christmas goose was hung from the rafters waiting to be roasted on Christmas Day. The brothers and sisters all collected greens from the woods. By sunset on Christmas Eve, there would be holly hanging along the hearth and over the doors. Then a big white candle would be set into a turnip and lit and put in the window to welcome travelers, letting everyone know that at this house, there was indeed room for anyone. On Christmas morning, there might even be a gift left at the foot of each bed. Our Christmas was quite different. Ma spent weeks preparing the feast for Christmas Day. Biscuits, breads, scones, pies and Christmas pudding were all prepared in advance. In keeping with our American tradition, we had finally added a Christmas tree that was decorated well before the holiday with colored lights, glass ornaments, sparkling ͞icicles͟ and an angel on the top. The candles in our windows were arcs of electric lights. The radio played Christmas songs, not just the carols we all learned in school, but other songs about Ma kissing Santy Claus, or getting front teeth for a Christmas gift, or being jolly and dancing around the Christmas tree. And, of course, Sanity Claus came down the stovepipe and out the oven door, and left us gifts under the tree. Essentially, it took us weeks to bring home Christmas! The year I turned seven, I spent two weeks just before Christmas living with the Sisters of Saint Joseph, in the convent next to St. Patrick’s School. Ma was expecting another baby, and one day we woke to a different kind of scurrying in the kitchen. Our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Martone, was making our breakfast, with Michael balanced on one hip and Annie crying on the kitchen floor. We stared, wide-eyed, at the kitchen table. There was no oatmeal, no brown bread, no tea. Instead, there was a bowl of fresh fruit and enough biscuits for the entire neighborhood, and cups of coffee with bumpy brownish lumps of sugar and thick double cream. Mrs. Martone tucked a strand of frizzy gray hair into her headscarf, and smiled with her whole face. ͞“Sit! Eat! You mama have baby! You Papa work!͟“. She put Michael in the high chair and plucked Annie up off the floor to console her, all the while jabbering in her animated melodic Italian and smiling her joyful toothy smile. So, we had our first continental breakfast, and Jimmy and I went off to school excited about our new baby, and only a little pepped up by the biscuits and coffee. That evening we did not see Da. Mrs. Martone was in our kitchen again, getting supper on the table. She told us that Da was at hospital with Ma, and she seemed less animated, a bit more serious. Still, she sat with us and smiled and prodded us with pasta and enormous meatballs and crusty bread and cheese that Jimmy said smelled like old socks. We laughed around the table. We loved Mrs. Martone. She had a warm and generous nature and there was always room for another child on her lap. Still, after a whole day of not having Ma in the kitchen, and not seeing Da at the supper table, we began to grow anxious. Then, during supper the next night, Mrs. Martone told us that Da would be home before we went to sleep. Jimmy and I were allowed to stay up and wait for him. We waited, while she cleared the table, cleaned the dishes and put a plate on the stove for Da. She finally sat down with us to wait. We heard his step on the back stair, and our hearts jumped with joy and relief. But, there was no song and no whistle, and Jimmy and I knew before we saw him that something was wrong. Mrs. Martone rose when Da came into the kitchen, taking his wet coat and mopping the puddles of rain from the back hall. He walked towards us, his head down, his shoulders hunched, and I remember feeling a cold ball of fear growing in my throat. There was no twinkle, no smile. His face was pale and stubbly with whiskers. He sat down with us, and with a weariness that we had never seen before, he told us about Ma and the baby. ͞”Your ma went to hospital to have the baby, and she had to have an operation,͟“ he said. ͞“She’s very sick.͟“ And then, not looking at us, his voice broke as he told us that our new baby brother had been with us for two days, but that he was born very weak, and had gone to heaven to live with the angels. Ma had asked that we remember him when we said our prayers. The pain in Da’s eyes made Jimmy and I cry. Then there was a fear for Ma that crept in like a cold raw wind, and we shuddered. So, there we were, in the middle of the impending Christmas season, and Ma lying in hospital, and Da despondently grief-stricken, when Jimmy suddenly developed a high fever and had to be put to bed. After a day or two the fever persisted and he was covered with pink spots and couldn’t lift his head from the pillow. Da had to call the doctor, who came right away and told us that Jimmy had Scarlet Fever. He was to stay home and in bed for at least two weeks. That is how I came to stay with the Sisters of Saint Joseph. St. Patrick’s School was a long walk from home. Jimmy and I walked the long city blocks together every morning and afternoon. We had been drilled by Ma never to walk alone, always to stay together, and never to talk to a stranger. When Jimmy became sick, I had no big brother to walk back and forth to school with me. Da had to work, and Mrs. Martone would look after Annie and Michael and tend to Jimmy’s needs, but I had to go to school, so there was nothing to be done but for the Sisters to keep me. So, we packed the things I needed in a paper bag, and Da brought me to the convent and gave me a hug and said to be good and promised he would come for me as soon as he could. And there I was, without my family for the first time in my life, and paralyzed with worry for my mother. I remember watching through the rain-spotted window as Da walked away, his head low and his shoulders bent under his invisible burden. The Sisters were kind, and convent life was very quiet. In the morning, there was no bustling about looking for schoolbooks or mittens, no noise at the breakfast table nor scrambling for the last bit of toast. Everything was measured and even, structured and scheduled. My day began by rising early. Sister Alice Leo brought me a basin for washing. My school uniform was clean and pressed, my polished brown oxfords holding my woolen knee socks were neatly placed on the floor and my books lay on the table next to my bed. Washed and in uniform, I sleepily followed the silent line of black habits from my cell to the chapel for morning Mass, and finally to the refectory for breakfast. Since only the nuns were allowed in the refectory, I sat quietly just outside the door at my own little breakfast table, honoring their silence and eating without speaking. After breakfast I was accompanied to school by Sister Catherine, who brought me to the second grade classroom. She came back for me at lunch, and we walked back to the convent together for our midday meal. When school ended for the day, we went back to the convent again, this time for homework with milk and bread and butter. I sat with Sister Veronica, who was old and wrinkled, but who was a whiz at homework, and always had a gold star to stick on my paper. By the time homework was finished it was time for supper, and this time there were voices coming from the refectory as the nuns’ rule of silence was lifted. As I sat at my little table outside the refectory door, the sisters and I chatted back and forth about my day. After supper we went to vespers, and one of my favorite memories is listening to their sweet voices filling the halls with chanted song on the way to chapel. After vespers, I could sit in the parlor with Sister Catherine, who would read me stories to the tune of the ticking grandfather clock. The days took on a peace and quiet as smooth and flawless as the walnut wainscoting in the parlor. I had never experienced such order. It was a far cry from my bustling and clamorous home. There was no squabbling, no laughter, no noise at all. Each night I climbed into crisp white sheets wearing clean flannel my jammies, as the last flutter of the sister’s black habits came at the same time every evening. I was well looked after in body and soul, but I was inconsolably homesick. Every morning I prayed that Ma would come home safe and well, that Jimmy would get over his spotty fever, and that Da would come for me. Every evening I watched out the window, hoping to see him walking up to the convent door. Finally, it was the day before Christmas. Although it was raining, there was an air of excitement at school fueled by the energy of the impending holiday and the school vacation to follow. We were always dismissed at noon that day, and I had hoped that Da would be there to get me, but it was Sister Alice Leo who appeared to take me back to the convent for lunch. We walked in the rain from the school to the convent, where I beheld the metamorphosis of Christmas spirit. Out of paper wrappings scented with cinnamon and vanilla the sisters had set out their nativity set, lovingly placing it in the parlor. There were candles in all the windows, and the air was redolent with the scent of Sister Rosemary’s holiday cooking. They had washed, starched and ironed the special altar linens. Holly and bayberry had been spread throughout the convent, over doorways and holy pictures. The altar in the chapel was covered with red poinsettias, the statues of Mary and Joseph were adorned with golden robes. I thought of the story Da told us about bringing home the Christmas, and wondered if he’d ever seen such splendor. I thought of Ma in hospital, and our poor lost baby brother, and Jimmy’s spotty fever. Most of all I thought of how tired and sad and heavy Da was the last time I saw him. My throat tightened as the tears of disappointment and the yearning for home overwhelmed me. Sister Alice Leo brought me milk and beautiful hand-cut fruit scones, but I was struggling with my tears and could not swallow. There was no homework to do, nothing to keep me busy, and my eyes were fastened on the window. Da did not come that afternoon. He did not come when we settled in for our supper of fish pie with creamed potatoes. He did not come as we answered the call to vespers. As the sisters sang carols, I grew more desolate by the second, and thought the worst thing that could possibly happen in life would be to spend Christmas morning in the convent, without Santa Claus, without Ma’s giant breakfast, without my family, but most especially without Ma’s reassuring presence and Da’s big laugh and merry eyes. I sat alone in the parlor, waiting with dimming hope. Soon it would be time for bed, and Sister Alice Leo would come for me and bring me up to my cell. How could I ever go to sleep knowing that I would wake to a silent Christmas morning in the convent? The street outside was dark and quiet, as Christmas Eve descended and everyone had a home to go to except me. Soon, Sister Alice Leo did come, holding out her hand for me to join her. We went from the parlor to the hall, where the stairs wound their way up to the chambers. There, standing in the hall by the door, was my Da. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest as I ran to him, and he picked me up off the floor and squished me against his woolen coat. I hugged his neck with fierceness, crying and laughing at the same time. We said our goodbyes and our thanks to the Sisters, and the next thing I knew we were off home, him carrying the paper bag with my things and me holding on to him for dear life. Finally, we came up the back stairs to our middle floor tenement, him taking the stairs by twos and then swinging me up alongside him. There were no candles in the windows, no sound of carols from the radio drifting into the hall. Da’s voice, restored with merriment and family contentment, called out, “Mary, I’ve brought home Christmas!͟” and we joyfully burst into the kitchen. There before us, our kitchen table was laden with food from the entire neighborhood: Mrs. Martone’s lasagna, Mrs. Golinski’s galumpkes, Mrs. Chasse’s Buche de Noel, Mrs. Goldstein’s latkes and applesauce, Mrs. Donavan’s seedy bread, and a pile of sausages and pickles from Mr. Murphy’s pub. Around the table sat my family. There was Jimmy smiling spotlessly, and Annie sitting next to him dangling her feet and for once not whining, and Michael in the high chair banging a spoon, and Ma, dear Ma, holding out her arms for me. Still holding on tightly to Da’s hand, I knelt on the floor beside her and put my head in her lap, and the comfort of her hand moving over my hair was the best gift I could ever have had. Somewhere in the night I woke to the sound of the kitchen clock ticking. As I listened to the quiet breathing of Jimmy and Annie and Michael, I could hear my parents talking softly in the muffled tones that had always lulled me to sleep. I was warmly tucked into my own bed, with my family all around me, and I knew that Santa Claus had already come.

c0uaks

Times Have Changed

It’s been almost a year, and I still can’t believe she’s gone. We knew it was coming, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with when it happens. Almost everything is settled; the will was probated, her clothing and kitchen items have been donated, there’s a truck coming to pick up the few furnishings that are left, and the house just went under contract a few days ago. It’s time to clean out the few things that are left and throw them in the trash before the new owners close and move in. I look around the bedroom and sigh. Every time I put something in the garbage, it’s like she’s dying all over again. These were her things, the things that were important to her, and now that the rest of the family has taken the trinkets that they want, all that’s left is the worthless stuff. The part of her life that no one wants or cares about. I sit on the edge of the bed and look around the room. The patchwork bedspread is long gone, now it’s just the mattress that she slept on for all but the last few weeks of her adult life, and the company picking up the donated furniture doesn’t want it, so I’ll have to find a way to dispose of it. There’s a dull spot on the hardwood floor where the rug was, the rug that was the first thing that greeted her feet every morning, and the last thing to say goodnight every evening. I…I take a deep breath and stand. Sitting around pining about it won’t get me anywhere, and I have to get this done. I’ll start here in her bedroom. There were a few things in the top of the closet that needed to go, so I open the glossy wood door and start pulling the boxes down. The second brown cardboard box sounds funny, it makes a clanking sound when I put it on the bed, and I pick it up and shake it. Clank, clank, clank. I return to the closet and take down the third box, which doesn’t make any sound, but my attention is still on that second box. It sounds so familiar, but I can’t place it. I really don’t have time to look through all this stuff, but as I pull more boxes and blankets from the top shelf of the closet, my mind keeps going back to that dusty, familiar sounding box sitting on the mattress. Finally, the shelf is empty, and I use an old dishrag to wipe the dust. Something nags at me, annoying me like a buzzing gnat on the outskirts of my mental reach. I sit on the edge of the bed and pick up the second box and blow the dust off the top. ‘Achoo!’ That was a big mistake, and now my allergies are going to shift into overdrive after a nose full of that dust. I put the box down, pull out my handkerchief from my pants pocket, blow my nose, and then tuck it into my shirt pocket. If this is any indication, I am going to need my hankie close at hand today. I lift the box and set it on my leg, then begin to lift the lid. The contents clank again as the box shifts, and I suddenly know what is inside before I even see the contents. The Christmas of 1969 was a turning point for our family. Dad had finally gotten a stable job with the railroad earning decent money, and mom was able to get us kids some real toys to open on Christmas morning. The only drawback was that dad was at the bottom of the seniority list, and he was always working holidays so the senior employees could take the time off. But he promised it would only be for a few years until he had enough seniority to pull rank at the holidays. He didn’t know that he wouldn’t live long enough to fulfill that promise. I was only old enough to remember two of the prior six Christmas mornings, but I remembered that we didn’t get much. I have a vivid image of seeing the pain in her face each time we went to the tree and only had one present each. She never knew how important each of those presents were, but despite that, us kids were just happy to be there with her and him. As a kid we never understood how much they grieved over just scraping by, or how proud they were when dad got the new job. But this year, each of us had five gifts each under the tree! The pile of presents left by Santa seemed enormous. She sat cross-legged next to the tree, her knees poking out from under her robe on Christmas morning, and we all sat in a row next to her, fidgeting like a deer in a room full of cheetahs. She pulled a present from under the tree and looked at the tag. Dang! It was for my brother, and she snaked her arm around me and handed it to him. She pulled a second present from the tree, looked at the tag, and again passed it by me to my sister. Was I going to be left out? I couldn’t believe that I didn’t have a present in my hands yet! I was itching to get ahold of my gifts and start ripping that colorful paper off them. She took the third gift, looked at it, and… It was mine! I snatched it away, ignoring the slight scowl that crossed her face. As I shredded the wrapping, I heard the contents gently clanking together. I pulled the striped box out of the remnants of the wrapping paper and looked at it for a moment. ‘Dinky Toys Gift Set No. 4’. I quickly removed the cover and the five race cars inside seemed to magically glow from the lights of the Christmas tree. I plucked the first racer from the box, the red number eight, and held it in front of my face. The rest of the room seemed to fade away as I touched one of the gray tires and gently gave it a spin. The figure behind the wheel wore a glossy white racing suit, the gray goggles covering his eyes stared straight ahead at the imaginary race track that had appeared in my mind, and I could feel the wind on my face as I raced down the track.  I felt the steering wheel in my own hands as I looked at the figure’s hands clenching the tiny steering wheel of red racer number eight. I could hear the sound of the engine as it roared past the finish line, the checkered flag flapping as the crowd screamed their approval. The room suddenly rematerialized around me as a dog barked in the distance. I looked at the Dinky Toys Gift Set No. 4 box, now yellowed with age, a brown water stain covering a large portion of the top and one side. She had saved my entire collection of Dinky Toys; the Hornby Train Set, the Pullmore car transporter with four cars, the Lincoln Continental still in the original display case, the urban accessory kit, and even my 370 dragster with the Speedwheels launcher accessory. Some had been Christmas gifts, and others had been acquired by me in various trades with school friends. When I left home, I was too old for them, and I remember telling her to just throw them away or give them to some kid. I can’t believe she actually kept them all these years. It has started to snow by the time I make it home, and the wind catches the door and almost tears it from my grip as I go inside the house. The kitchen is warm and cozy, my wife is standing at the stove stirring a large steaming pot of something that smells absolutely heavenly, and my son is at the table, his thumbs furiously tapping a text message to someone. The box of Dinky Toys, my Dinky Toys, is tucked under my arm, now missing the coating of dust. My wife turns and smiles at me. “What’s that?” I grin at her. “Oh, you’re not going to believe this.” I turn and look at my son as I place the box on the table. “Put that down for a minute.” His face can't hide the frown as he puts his phone down in front of him where he can keep an eye on the screen. Then he sighs and rolls his eyes in my direction. I remove the lid and pull out the Dinky Toys Gift Box Set No 4, place it on the table, and pull the lid off. “Can you believe I found these? I had them when I was a kid, and she must have saved them all these years!” My son cranes his neck to look at the racers. Even though they were faded and worn, in my mind they still glowed with that Christmas light from so many years ago. He picks up the red racer number eight and turns it over in his hand. He gives the gray tire a spin, the same tire that I did so many years ago at Christmas, then touches the head of the figure, the white racing suit now faded to yellow. I look at my wife, who has turned from the stove and is watching. “Can you believe it?” My wife smiles at me, then turns back to the stove. “Yeah, nice dad.” My son puts the racer back in the box and grabs his phone again, his thumbs once more working furiously on the tiny keyboard. I feel my heart sink as I realize that times have changed, and I feel that little boy inside fade away forever.

l565ri

Snowball

It is Christmas Eve, a time when children are excited about presents and slightly bigger meal they will get tomorrow, however, for me, it brings realization that I don't have a home. I would love to say I am a 5 year old girl with eyes that sparkle and hair put in braids with little bows, that sits in silence and plays with doll house. That would be a recipe to get out of here, little and beautiful children always leave first. With my 14 years, I am the oldest one here. This place is my only memory since my mother left me in front of the orphanage door a few weeks after I was born. Also, I am the only Indian boy here. Therefore, I am not only someone who is hitting puberty and will soon become "unbearable teenager" no one wants to live with, I am also the only person of color. I would lie if I said I am not jealous of all the families in Christmas commercials that give me a feeling of home I only know how to miss. Although I do feel special, even for just a moment, when I see Christmas present wrapped beneath our Christmas tree with name Kriyan on it. It will probably be donated candy and fruits divided among 30 of us, however, I feel happy to look forward to it. I sleep along with 14 other children in shared bedroom. The Christmas tree is positioned in the hall where most of the children are in their pajamas, they look through the window in hope to see Santa Claus. I hear someone yelling: "No gift for you Kriyan, you should take a bath first!", other children laugh loudly. I sit on my bed repelent to the words I hear. In hands I hold only possession I ever had, snowball with a family that stands in front of the house, there are mom and dad, a boy and a girl, and a little dog in the boy's hands. I shake it and watch the snow fall down. Maybe, if I wish hard enough, I can get the only thing I ever wished for, my perfect kind of Christmas, inside a family. "What are you wishing for tomorrow?" little girl asks and enters the bedroom. I always forget her name, she is the new one here so she still doesn't understand how inferior my position is. I tell myself not to like her too much, judging by her looks and white skin I could tell this will probably be her only Christmas here. "I wish for nothing", I replied, looking at her standing at the door. "That is such a silly thing to wish", the girl laughed, "I wish for a new coloring book, but I will be happy with anything as long as Santa comes, I even left cookies for him!" I wanted to tell her that Santa Claus isn't real and she should probably hope for nothing more than chocolate, but I couldn't destroy dreams of a 6 year old. Few other kids come into the room, they start to talk with the little girl and imagine what they could get under the tree tomorrow. Soon they go to their beds with a smile on their face and expectation of magical Christmas morning. I lay on my bed too, and look through the window at the ground covered in snow and at the sparkling stars above it. With little Christmas snowball in my hands and a strong wish in my heart, I fall asleep. *** I wake up and immediately feel strange. Something is wrong. I stand up in bed and realize the room is empty, it looks and feels different. None of the other children are here. I try to stand up and I see orange and yellow waves of light around me, I bring my hand up and see the same kind of waves on every side of it. And then, I realize. This is a dream. I stand up, I feel light as a cloud and exit the room. I stand in a hallway I have never seen before. I go through it and enter the spacious living room with the most beautiful Christmas tree I have ever seen. It stands in front of me, tall and decorated with golden and red Christmas ornaments that sparkle next to the fireplace. I hear a noise and turn around. Suddenly, everything is cloudy, it seems like fog came down in the living room in a matter of seconds. I can't see where I stand, but I catch a glimpse of big red clothes with a bag on its back leaving through the front door. Instantly, I stand paralyzed. Was that…a Santa Claus? Again, I hear a noise, I turn back to the tree and see a big gift wrapped in shiny green paper with a note on it. I come closer and realize the note says "Kriyan". With wonder of how it got here, I turn around again only to see the room empty. However, through a slightly open window, I can swear I hear bells. I come closer and, at the top of the window, just seconds before they left my view, I see few reindeer shapes going across the sky. This isn't real, I remind myself. This isn't real. I come to the tree and reach my hand for the gift. But then, all at once, I wake up. *** I lay in my bed and stare at the ceiling. I don't know what time is it, but through the window I can see the morning has come. For a second I forget it is Christmas morning, I stay in bed thinking about my dream, how all Santa Claus stories have gotten into my subconscious. I hear children laughter from the hall and realize I am the only one still in bed. Quickly, I slip out, presents are waiting! I come to the hall where Christmas tree, decorated with ornaments children made from paper, stands in the center. Around it there are children who unwrap their presents, Christmas paper is everywhere and everyone is showing to others what they got. I can see there are many toys among children and realize that donations were better this year. I look beneath the tree only to see all the presents are unwrapped. Someone probably grabbed mine by mistake or maybe on purpose. Little girl comes to me and screams: "Ha-ha! You got nothing, be careful what you wish for!", and runs away with a new coloring book in her hands. Just when I was about to begin the search for my present, I hear a noise outside. I look through the window and I see Ms. Addison, one of our caretakers, talking with some people outside. I can't see them clearly at first, but then I recognize them. It is one of the couples who visited a few weeks ago, they came with their daughter, just like last time. They are heading towards the front door now. I move away from the window and back to the Christmas tree, children are still loud and jumping around with their new gifts, there are candy, dolls and little toy cars everywhere. In a few moments, front door opens. "Merry Christmas!", a couple, a girl and Ms. Addison congratulate as they enter the room. Children turn around and come to them, they show new presents and half eaten cookies they left for Santa. I immediately look at Ms. Addison to catch a smile on her face because I know she is the one who eats them. Surprisingly, on her face I see nothing but confusion. However, I catch her sight and she immediately smiles. "Kriyan, come with us!", she says, pointing to the room where caretakers talk about things they don't want us to hear. Couple with their girl goes in our direction as well. We enter the room. They are standing politely, checking me out. "Kriyan, you remember Ms. and Mrs. Evans from a few weeks back? And their daughter Olivia? ", Ms. Addison asks. "I do", I said, standing still and wondering what have I done wrong. Ms. Addison comes to me with teary eyes and grabs me by the shoulder. "Kriyan, maybe you noticed there is not a Christmas present for you under the tree. That is because your present waits for you in your new home, you are leaving us today." Ms. and Mrs. Evans look at me: "We and Olivia really liked you last time, we were talking about this a lot, you have certain kindness and maturity we admire. We would love to be your new family." I stand still, frozen. I instantly bring my hand up in expectation to see yellow and orange waves and realize this is a dream. There are no waves, this isn't a dream. Suddenly, my face is wet from tears falling down. I look at my new parents and, driven by euphoria, I hug them tightly. "Thank you! It's just what I wanted." *** Fireplace cracks next to the beautiful Christmas tree covered in gold and red. I stand in our living room and, with little dog in my hands, stare at gift under the tree, wrapped in shiny green paper and with a note that says "Kriyan". "Won't you open it?", Olivia comes and asks. I look through the window to try to catch a glimpse of reindeers, but the sky was empty. I see my snowball standing on the window pane, take it in my hands, shake it and watch the snow fall around the family inside. I turn to Olivia and say: "That's okay, I already have my gift.", I look through the window and wink to the sky. 

su47fi

The Red Christmas

Valentina was watching her. Rose could feel Valentina standing over her, boots crunching into the snow as blackness squeezed the air from her lungs and left its cold fingerprints against her neck. Valentina was five feet above Rose as the snow crumbled and she clawed, and then everything stopped. It was the strangest feeling: like the world was fading from her ears and eyes, like she was being pulled from it and dropped in water. Except Rose was dead. That was what happened. Valentina was staring at the spot where she disappeared. Silent. Still. Suddenly Valentina ran. Away from the nine-year-old body, into the restaurant where the family had gathered for Christmas dinner. They flooded out, knotted with blind panic. She watched as they dug through the snow desperately and found Rose buried in the ground, bruised, blue, dead. The last time Valentina saw her body was when they carried it off on a tray to the ER. ~ ~ ~ Valentina never hated Rose. In fact, Valentina could honestly say that when Rose was born, Valentina didn’t hate her. She was the one who stayed up all night through Everly’s thirteen hours of labor. She was the one who called their parents, and she was the one empathizing when they ignored her to talk to the nurse about Everly’s condition. The moment Valentina saw Rose, she loved her. She’d tried to hold her, but her parents had gotten in the way. They’d pushed her into the nurse and cooed over that baby like it was the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen. When this happened, Valentina had to admit she was a little upset. She couldn’t help but think about the day she gave birth. The day nobody, not her parents, not her lovely sister ever deigned to show up. The day she made a whole life. There was no pushing. There was no crowding. There was no passing the baby around. Because in her family’s eyes, nothing related to Valentina mattered. All those feelings she’d repressed for her sister’s big day came surging back, sitting on the bench next to a tearing-up family, stony. So, if you’re wondering why an aunt would ever even think about killing her niece, and if you’re wondering where this all started, then here it is: the day Rose was born. The day Valentina watched as her family kissed the baby’s forehead, stewing in envy and grief. ~ ~ ~ Well. To be fair. That might not really be where it started. Truth be told, Valentina was set up to hate Rose long before she was ever born. While growing up, Everly was allowed to stomp on Valentina in pretty much any way her evil little heart desired. Like the time she hacked out a chunk of Valentina’s hair when she was six (it was the boy next door), or in middle school when she blew up her science fair project (faulty wiring), or in high school when she T-boned her car into their house during Valentina’s sweet sixteen (brakes were bad). The two were adopted sisters—more than that, they were twins. But somehow, Valentina was always the one left behind. Sundays out in the town meant her parents buying Everly whichever kind of ice cream she want, and Valentina a cheap roadside candy. As they grew older, Everly stocked her wardrobe with expensive clothing and diamond jewelry. Valentina's consisted of tired, faded pants and neon polos. Everly was constantly jealous of Valentina. The love of two rotten parents wasn't enough for her. She wanted Valentina's life : her soft, beautiful features, her A-list boyfriends, her evergrowing, constantly belitting popularity. How was it fair that Valentina only owned trash, but no one ever knew because her friends lent her their trendy clothes? How was it fair that she was invited to every party in their small little town, that she aced every class and Ivy Leagues were already scouting her out? It wasn't. At least, not to Everly. And Valentina suffered for that. ~ ~ ~ Or. Maybe it started with Night. Night was Valentina’s only child. The family didn’t know her too well. They knew that Valentina divorced while she was pregnant, and Night had been diagnosed with anxiety from a young age and constantly got sick. At the few family reunions she managed to attend, Valentina’s entire attention fixed on her. She was unbearably breakable for the younger kids, pathetic and pitiful for the older ones, disgusting to the adults. They didn’t outwardly say it—no, outward everyone was nice and polite enough. But Valentina saw it when the adults gave the other kids wrapped skateboards and Nintendos, and Night got housing magazines or phone books. To Valentina, Night was the sweetest child ever made. When she got sick, she wrote thank-you cards to people and asked Valentina to deliver them. The postman, the garbage truck driver, her teachers, her pediatrician, even their dog Cinnamon. And Valentina had the largest collection, each one holding a spot on their fridge. After years of rejection, Valentina finally understood what it meant to have a family. Night was her world. The week of Night’s tenth birthday, she had a fever at 109 degrees and was coughing up blood. Valentina drove her to the hospital with ice packs stocked in the back. The doctors told Valentina that Night’s immune system was just too fragile. She wasn’t going to make it. The grief was worse than anything Valentina ever knew. At the funeral, Valentina sobbed into her own arm, trying to speak to the crowd that had gathered, including all the people Night had sent cards over the years. Her family bowed their heads respectfully, but simply out of respect. It was clear none of them cared. Valentina cursed each of them, her insides writhing in hatred, her eyes brimming in vengeance. ~ ~ ~ Rose was a sweet girl. Truly. She was. She always split her Christmas cookie with Night and gave her some of her presents. Every Christmas eve, she would play the piano and Night would sing, and someone almost always cried. She taught Night how to make a sled and even got her out some days. Sometimes, Valentina felt like Night was the happiest when she was with Rose. Valentina killed Rose. There’s no denying it now. You knew it from the very beginning, but you didn’t exactly know how. The whole family had driven out to a park called Winter Wonderland, and Rose asked Valentina if she wanted to build a snow fort while the family ordered their food. There was a problem in the restaurant—understaffed or something like that—and the two of them dug a hole so deep that when Rose tripped and fell in, she couldn’t climb out. And when a kid launched into their huge pile of snow, and the whole thing collapsed on Rose, an avalanche burying her screams, Valentina felt like a statue. She watched the kid run off, deaf to the screams, she watched the Winter Wonderland sign light up in the dark night sky. God, how she missed Night. And that was all she thought about as the screams subsided. She thought about Night’s face and her school projects and braiding Night’s hair. She thought about how angry she was all the time. She thought about how it wasn’t fair, that her daughter died and nobody ever paid the consequences. Someone deserved to be hurt. Was that Everly? Would it please Valentina when Everly’s screams wrenched into her gut as she found Rose’s body? Lungs not breathing? Heart not beating? World spinning, stars falling, sky swallowing her up into its vastness? Who knew. Maybe it would. ~ ~ ~ Revenge is an awful thing. There’s no knowing who it’ll infest. There’s no predicting the next victim. You just have to watch your back, because it’s there—creeping in the darkest corners, wading in the murkiest waters. Waiting for someone to sink its teeth into. Because wherever it started, whoever you want to blame, the revenge was poison. And it spread like wildfire.

qktisq

The Gift

The Gift                Tandria Minot counted the tips from her twelve- hour waitressing Saturday shift, $10.05. If the tips got any smaller, she’d have to get out a tin cup and a begging sign and parked herself on the corner.  She smiled at the image; one must not lose hope even in the worst circumstances, smile and courtesy were the hallmarks of food service industry. Besides, begging in the street wasn’t an option. Where would she find the time? Mountain Creek restaurant was experiencing its busiest season and she hoped the joy and generosity often exhibited in the holidays would still reward her in the last hour of her shift.   So far, the restaurant was crowded and her last table of ten, gave her a five- dollar tip— fifty cents for each of them she supposed.  She shouldn’t judge, may the family have financial difficulties. Although many shopping bags they carried belied that fact. How was she going to buy her children Christmas gifts this year, repair the roof, and pay the mortgage? Michael had his six-year-old heart set on a train set and twelve-year old Sarah wanted an easy-bake oven with the necessary accessories She heard them whispering wishes to her mother. Coming up with the gift ideas and getting on her hands on those gifts was another thing entirely. Money was still required currency for purchasing gifts, and Tandria had a measly $12.05 of the $89.99 needed.            She had been given a lot of crazy tips in the last month, pennies, notes, poetry, marriage proposals. Tips wrapped in dollar bills which said, “Why don’t get a better job? Since you like taking orders so much, how about servicing me in the bedroom and, “if you hate standing on your feet, how about servicing me on your knees.”  This year, she had hoped for money, not advice or job offers. She was the sole breadwinner. Her husband rested in Islington Cemetery, killed by a drunk driver.             Tandria picked up the bag with the leftover chocolate cake, six slices of pizza for dinner and headed home. She donned her red sweater; the temperature tends to drop in the evenings. Her mother was watching the kids and she had been on her feet from 6:00 a.m. She needed a hot bath and time to soak her feet. Her shift starts at noon Sunday, so that gives her some time with the kids. Outside, the wind whipped her skirt around her legs and she struggled to hold the bag and keep her underwear from exposing. She walked briskly it was after seven and the breeze had picked up. On each side of the road, fall announced its arrival showing off its colors of copper, rust, oranges, pale yellows, and reddish orange leaves creating a mosaic carpet on green lawns. She heard footsteps behind her and walked faster. Don’t be silly, she told herself. It’s only the wind calling to the night.  Her overactive imagination seemed to hear the wind whispered and hyphenated her name, Tan-dr-ia. She began to jog. The steps quickened too.  The wind seemed to stutter now: T-tan-ta.an dr-dri-a. “Stop, please stop, I can’t run any further.” A male voice called after her.            Tandria stopped. A pale man with a rake-like body closed the gap between them. She remembered him from earlier that day. He didn’t leave a tip.  Oh God don’t let this be something weird. “Why are you following me?” Tandria asked. “I forget to give you a tip.” He said.  That was a first. “You could have left it with the manager.” She said.            “It’s a special gift. I didn’t want to give to anyone, but you.” “I understand.” She murmured, to appease him in case he was a stalker or worse. “I’m Luscious Walker.” He said. “This will bring you luck.” He handed her a fifty-cent piece. It was twisted and flat.  It didn’t look lucky to her, just beaten, bruised, and battered. “It looks beaten and battered—like me.”  She said, trying to lighten the situation. “Exactly” He said. She winced, but said nothing.            “Beaten and battered by life, I mean.” He amended. “I get it.” She said. She opened her pocket book, found her wallet and slipped it inside. He seemed satisfied that she had secured it.           “If this is your lucky charm, why are you giving it to me?”            “You need it more than me. Merry Christmas.” “Wait a minute, Luscious. How do you know I need it more than…”? Her voice trailed off. “He had disappeared. No fanfare, no magical trick, no cloud of smoke no poof. She retraced her step but couldn’t find him. The fifty-cent piece proved she hadn’t imagined the incident.  “Lucky me” she muttered as she jogged home. Her mother taught her to accept every gift in the spirit it’s given- with gratitude. Anyway, she could use a little luck this Christmas. #  It was five days before Christmas and Tandria had no idea to how she’s going to pay for the kids’ toys, repair the leaking roof.  Two days before Christmas and she planned on doing everything she can to get a sizeable tip. The roof will have to wait, but thirty dollars in tip would buy the kids their presents. She put her pocket book away to begin her shift, and the fifty-cent piece fell out. She picked it up and rubbed it, thinking about the disappointment on the kids faces when they discovered they had no gifts. How does one not get a lucky coin to work? “Lucky me,” she said aloud and rubbed it vigorously. “Let’s see what you do today, Lady luck.” “Are you alright?” Cheryl her co-worker called to her. “Just psyching myself up to face the day.” She responded. The hours passed quickly, customers were coming and going in droves. She had a table of twenty people, who kept ordering and rejecting their food. She smiled, she ran back and forth, fetching and carrying and for her efforts, she received a $5.00 tip. At fifteen minutes to the end of her shift, she had fifteen dollars and seventy-seven cents—three dollars up from yesterday.   Another customer walked through the door. She recognized him immediately as Tom Marshall with the biggest and fanciest house in the neighborhood. He had moved in only six months ago. He came in regularly, always had a cup of coffee, and a slice of chocolate cake. He was a widower, who talked about his garden and she’d ask after his health and he’d asked after her children. He’d leave a tip now and again, but she didn’t mind that, he was such a pleasant customer. “Hi Tom,” she said. “Your usual?” “Nothing, for me today, I came to say goodbye.”  “You’re leaving?” “Yes, going to live with my daughter.” “I’ll miss you.” She said.  “I’ll miss you too.” He said. “I brought you a Christmas gift. He gave her a thick envelope, it appeared to have a Christmas card and something else. “Please don’t open it now, I have a cab waiting.”  She thanked him and watched him get in a taxi, waving until he was out of sight. #       Tandria reached home to see her mother was helping Sarah in the backseat of a taxi. Sarah’s face was covered in a blanket and Michael clung to her his little face tight and pinched with fear. The left side of Sarah’s face was the size of a large balloon and there was a little dark spot encircled with redness. Tandria’s heart tightened in fear.            “What happened Mamma?” “I took them to the park to park and something bit Sarah. We don’t know what.” “Hang in there, Sarah.” She told her. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” Sarah said. “Is she going to die like Daddy?” Michael asked.” “Hush Michael.” Grandma said.” “The doctor will fix her.” Tandria told him and patted him on the shoulder.  Tandria mind reeled. How will she pay the doctor? They didn’t have health insurance. She opened her pocket book and counted the money in her wallet. It was a paltry sum of $57.05. The taxi fare will cost half that. She re-counted the money as if that would increase it. The lucky fifty-cent piece seemed to mock her. She allowed her mother’s and the children voice to fade in background as she thought about her predicament.  She opened Tom’s envelope which had a beautiful Christmas card of silvery glittering angels, with the usual season’s greetings.  Sarah and Michael were now asleep. It was an hour to the nearest hospital. She needed a distraction from this saturating feeling of failure. She opened the bulky envelope. A check for fifty thousand dollars fell out. Her hands trembled as she reached again in the envelope. There were cash held together by rubber bands. A note on top with a post it read: for immediate expenses . She counted it twice, five thousand dollars.  There was still more: the deed to Tom’s house, a letter was on top. Dear Tandria ,  From the first time I ordered a cup of coffee, you’ve treated me with decency and grace. Even when I didn’t tip, you remained smiling, friendly, and courteous. People say treat people with respect, for you may entertain angels.  You’re the angel that helped me with my loneliness. I came to Mountain Creek to give away some my wealth and I’ve received something more valuable friendship.  Best, Tom She was happy the children were asleep. Her tears would have frightened them. She wished she could tell him in person. “Thank you and that he had restored her faith in humanity and the magic of Christmas.” She couldn’t stop crying. “Stop crying?” Her mother said. “We’ll pay the doctor, somehow.” Tandria handed her mother the note and the bulging envelope.

wap6ta

Christmas Sweater

As I watched the snowfall on the ground, I reflected on some of my previous Christmases. Most were spent with people I barely knew since I'm in foster care. I have been in the system since I was three. Both of my parents died in a car accident, and I didn't have any other family besides them. My whole life has consisted of hopping from family to family. I don't mind, though; I don't need a family. I am perfectly fine on my own, and I have been for the past thirteen years. Last year's Christmas was a disaster. My foster dad slapped me across my face for dropping some swear words in front of their three-year-old son. Two Christmases prior, I had to watch the kids in the family tear into some presents and then complain about how it wasn't the latest iPhone. Hell, I'd be happy if I even had a phone. Yeah, Christmases weren't my forte.I had no doubt that this Christmas wouldn't be anything spectacular. Just another Christmas spent with strangers I have no connection to. Amid my pondering, I heard a knock at my temporary bedroom door. It must be by foster mom Beth. She’s always trying to get to know me, and while it was nice, I'm just not that kind of person. "Good morning Marcy. Would you like to come downstairs and open presents with us?" my foster mother asked. I rolled my eyes, "No, I'm fine up here," I said in the most annoyed tone I could muster to get my point across. I didn't hate my foster mom. She was kinder than most. I just wanted to be left alone. "Oh please, Marcy. You can go back to your room after an hour, and I won't even make you join us for Christmas dinner." She was practically begging at this point. I did feel kinda bad, so if it was only for an hour, I guess I could deal. "Fine, only an hour." I said, void of any emotion. "Thank you so much, Marcy! It really means a lot to me. I'll be downstairs with Jonah. Come join us when you're ready." Ah, Jonah, he was my foster mom's husband. He was a quiet man. He didn't talk to me much, but I never cared. If anything, I appreciated the silence he offered. He and I often sat in comfortable silence. Uncomfortable small talk wasn't necessary for us to enjoy our time together. He never pressured me to open up about my life or the things I've gone through. I gave a deep sigh and begrudgingly made my way to the living room, where I saw the Christmas tree with piles of presents. I took my seat on the couch and curled up with a soft blanket. My foster mom came around and handed me a present. I was surprised by this because I rarely got presents from foster families. Usually, I was nothing but an extra monthly income. I expected them to make me watch while they opened presents. "Here, Marcy…for you." She said in a soft voice. I carefully unwrapped the present. When I opened the box, I pulled out a knit sweater. This may seem like a boring present to an ordinary person, but for me it was amazing. I've never had an article on clothing that was new. My clothes were either thrifted or hand-me-downs, so this meant the world to me. I could feel the tears slide down my cheeks, and I tried to quickly wipe them away. "I knitted this sweater together myself. I hope you like it" My foster mom's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "Yeah…I just, um…thanks for the gift," I said quietly. "Of course, there are also tons of other presents for you under the tree!" My foster dad exclaimed. I was in utter disbelief. I had never had someone who cared about me this much. Sometimes I did receive gifts from my foster families, but never this many. But the fact that this family had gotten me multiple presents made me cry. I had never felt like I mattered much in any of the homes I've been in, but these people thought I mattered tight? Because why would they go out of their way to give me presents? I felt a part of something for the first time in my life. The fact that they had gotten me more presents wanted to make me cry harder, but I tried my best to conceal my emotions. My foster mom began to speak, "I don't know everything that you have gone through, and I can't even begin to fathom it, but I want you to know that you are loved here. You will always have a safe space with us." As the day progressed, I talked to my foster parents for hours. I learned that my foster dad, Jonah, was a lawyer who worked at a small firm. My foster mom Beth, worked for a bank a couple miles down the road. They told me how much they wanted a kid, but Beth couldn't conceive. That's how they got into becoming foster parents. I told them about my previous foster families and how my parents died. We sat on the couch, conversing for what felt like hours and hours. At that moment, everything just seemed at peace. No fighting or yelling like Christmases past, just them and me. For a brief second, I could almost convince myself that this was my family, which felt really good. It was nice to have people care. Finally, my foster got up and asked if I'd join them for dinner. Then, I noticed how early this morning I didn't even want to spend an hour with them. It's funny how things can change within a couple hours. "Sure," I said. "I'd love to." At the end of the night, I watched the snowfall once more. I was wearing my hand-knit sweater and some boots I had also received as a present. While standing in the snow, I came to the simple conclusion that Christmas wasn't so bad if spent with people that care for you.

sjfv39

Moccasins with blue and red beads

Forced by her Mother to wear a dress and rain boots, Nina was miserable.  The line outside the glass doors of the big building was long and full of adults dressed in pants and dresses and nice shoes. Nina, waist high to most of the people standing, focused on their shoes, some red, some blue, mostly white and black. Nina did not understand why anyone would wear the high-heeled, pointy shoes or the sandals with only thin straps holding them on. How could they run in them? And the thick leather shoes some of the men wore looked heavy, they would only slow them down when they were playing a game of tag. She liked the white or blue trainers best. She knew the people wearing them could run fast if they were being chased or wanted to climb a play structure. She did not want to be wearing the black rain boots her Mother put on her this morning.  “Mom, I am hungry!“ Nina cried but got no response. She kicked the wall, liking how her thick socks in her rain boots protected her feet and softened the blow. She did it again and again until her toes finally did hurt. She looked down the long line of legs and pants of people just standing. On this cold day just before Christmas Nina did not understand why she had to be stuck going on this boring trip instead of at the park or riding her bike. She looked at her brother who was being good and holding a fold of their Father’s pants. She narrowed her eyes and quickly nudged her brother with her shoulder. Manny was two years younger, but he would not stop growing and annoyingly was her same height. Outraged, he turned and pushed her one handed, hard. Happy to have this new game she pushed him back. Being a baby, only five, he lost his balance, fell on his butt and cried. Her father leaned down and easily picked him up. She wanted to get picked up too, but she knew she wouldn't. “Nina!” Her Mother said, loud and sharp. “Nina, please don't cause a scene. We are almost inside.” “But he pushed me first!” Nina said, discounting the first nudge. “You are the older sister, now seven years old. You need to act like it and be on your best behavior for your Great-Grandmother.” “I don’t belong to this family.” Nina repeated a phrase she had come upon last week which she found upset her Mother. She had recently recognized she was several shades darker than even her Mother’s brown skin and seemed unrelated entirely to her fair skinned, blue-eyed father and blond, blue-eyed brother. She wanted to be a part of the family, but how could she if she looked so different? “Nina, you are my daughter. I don’t know why you say that-” Her Mother frowned in fake sadness as she knelt down. “Please be good, we will be inside soon.” Nina folded her arms in protest and moved against the wall the line was queued up against. She peeked up at her brother. His blond hair and blue eyes glittered, all smiles in their Fathers’ arms. Fiery rage at the injustice of her being left standing on her own burned through her. She did not understand what was going on. She knew she had a Grandmother alive, her Father’s mother Grandma Sarah, and one dead, her Mother’s mother. She knew enough to look up to heaven, cross herself and say ‘Rest In Peace’ like all the rest of her Mother’s family did when they spoke of Abuela Munez. But who was this Great grandmother? What was a Great Grandmother, a better-than-regular Grandmother? The line started moving and her Mother waved to her. “Come on Nina! All your Tia and Tios will be here soon!” “Can you carry me? My legs hurt Mama.” Nina asked, still mad. “No, you are a big girl and I have this bag. You can walk.” Her Mother said as she walked with her family. Nina, in protest, just stood there, watching her Mother go on. Waiting to see if she would come back for her. She lost sight of her dark hair with the two long thick braids, and then got nervous. Did her Mother really leave her? “Nina!” She heard her name and felt her arm being pulled at the same time. The urgency in her Mother’s voice scared her into submission. Her Mother hadn't been this mad since Nina pulled down the orange blanket with the elaborate patterns hung on their living room wall. Nina did not really understand why the blanket her mother called Ohlone was on the wall, but has since stayed across the room from it. “This is our family's Christmas tradition, don’t you remember?” Her Mother said as she walked toward the front doors of the building. “This is very important to me, and for you. All my family is coming.” “Even Sara and Maria?” Nina asked, hopeful. Sara, nine years old, and Maria ten, were Nina’s cousins and everything they did was cool and fun. This trip would be better if they came. “Yes,” her Mother said, “the whole family.” They were at the door, her Father fumbling with tickets to get inside.  “We have not been in two years now, with the Covid.” Her Father said, still holding her brother. “Nina would have only been five, and too young to remember-” “-I am not too young- I remember!” Nina stomped her foot to emphasize she was not a baby like her brother even if she did not remember. “Ok." Her Mother said. “Now follow close, it is crowded and busy, but we will be inside the room soon.” Nina had a vague recollection of the big building, and a time when she stood around these imposing gray stone walls. Her memories were mixed up with other trips with her cousins and the fun games they invented like hide and seek, or tag. The pant legs were all around her, some tan, some blue-jeaned, and some black like her Mother’s pants. She saw her Mother right ahead of her, her long braids swinging and the large multicolored bag under her arm. Nina began looking through the crowd for Sara and Maria. I wonder what game they will play today. “I hope we play tag.” Nina said to herself. “That is the best game ever.” Nina was good at tag, small and quick she was usually the last one free at recess at he school. She followed the crowd, moving along with the black pant legs next to her not realizing until too late that these pant legs belonged to a stranger. ******* Nina found herself alone and her skin tingled with fear. She was by herself and there was room after room filled with people. Each room had pictures on the walls, while in the middle statues and little tables with more objects crowded the space. Nina began running faster into one room then another looking for her Mother, her Father, anyone familiar. Recognizing a picture she had seen know three times, she stopped, confused at the circling layout of this strange building. A tall man wearing a blue suit carrying a phone walked up to her. He had heavy black leather shoes. “Are you lost, little one? I can help-” Nina wanted nothing to do with the strange man and took off in the opposite direction, dodging through legs and strollers and an old man with a walker. Another man in the same blue suit was at the far end of the crowded room. She saw him looking at her and she started walking backwards. She felt a soft thick rope touch the top of her head and then she backed into something behind her. The small table gave slightly before she stopped herself. A loud voice shouted, “Hey you- don’t touch that!” Nina looked up to see the tall vase above her tilt slowly, it began to fall and she closed her eyes, putting her arms over her head in fear. When nothing happened she opened her eyes and saw a woman’s arms holding the vase and the two men in blue jackets getting closer. “You need to be careful child-” Nina bolted at the sound of the woman’s sharp voice, diving around the man in the blue jacket and into a small room filled with statues. A tall figure in the shape of a man made out of bundled sticks, reached out toward her, threatening.  She left that room quickly, and at a darker hallway ran down it, going all the way to the end and turning the corner. Another room full of more pictures and art on the walls and small tables. But these were familiar somehow, welcoming, although she did not know why. With the room was empty of people however, she was able to relax. Looking through the room she saw a familiar blanket hanging on a wall. It looked just like the orange one at her home, a similar elaborate pattern, the same thick material, but this one was blue. Drawn toward the blanket, she walked by tables with displays of small leather shoes, woven baskets, and beaded jewelry. She had to know. Ducking under the thick rope in front she felt it. The blanket was the same fabric as the one on her wall at home. Thinking of her home she remembered she had lost her family. Did they even care they would never see her again? Her parents had her brother, they liked him better, maybe he was enough for them. Her legs suddenly gave out and she sat down against the wall. Nina felt hot tears rolling down her cheeks. Brown, soft leather shoes with blue and red beads appeared in front of her. The shoes looked fast, good to run in, or climb with. She looked up to see they were being worn by a small, gray haired woman standing in front of her. The woman wore a hand woven blue shirt with brown designs down the arms over a beaded skirt. “Nina, Nina, don't cry.” The woman said. She was old, older than anyone Nina had ever seen, with brown sparkling eyes behind dark-skinned high cheekbones, her skin wrinkled and dry. The woman reached her hand down to Nina’s and then held it. Nina felt the warmth in her soft and gentle hand. “You are going to be OK. Your family will be here soon.” The old woman smiled and Nina felt a comforting warmth flow through her. She saw the long, thick gray braids against her shoulders. Her wrists were full of beaded bracelets and she had colorful bone and beaded earrings in her stretched ears. “Your family loves you very much.” Her hand squeezed Nina’s and then let go. “My name is Na'ura. Thank you for coming to visit me.” “You are my Great Grandmother-” Nina said, her eyes blurry with tears. This was a better-than-regular Grandmother!  Na’ura smiled. “I look forward to seeing how much you have grown when you come next year. Here take this.” Na’ura took off a thin blue and white beaded bracelet and slipped it on Nina’s wrist. “Remember me and come back. I love you.” The old woman leaned forward and brushed her lips against Nina’s forehead and Nina closed her eyes at the soft touch. Moments later Nina heard noises and opened her eyes. Her Mother was sitting in front of her. “Wake up Nina!” Her Mother’s eyes were red. “You scared us so much! We have been looking for you all afternoon. We searched the entire museum!” Nina looked past her Mother for Na’ura but instead saw her Father, her cousins Sara and Maria all looking scared.  “She must have remembered,” Her father said. “because she came right here!” Her brother ran up to her and for once Nina was glad to see his familiar face. “I can’t believe you found this room.” Her Mother gave her a hug. “They make it harder and harder to get to the Native Lands exhibit, making the other displays more prominent. But you did remember our family tradition.” Her Mother’s smile warmed her down to her toes. “Come, let us say hello to Great Grandma.” Her Mother picked her up and turned her around to face the painting above her head. It was a scene of a mountain river, with a man crossing on a horse and pulling another. A young, beautiful dark-skinned woman was riding a horse in the background. Her black hair was in two thick braids and she wore a hand woven blue shirt with brown designs down the arms. She was looking forward, with an orange blanket on the horse, the elaborate pattern as familiar to Nina as her Mother’s face. “Na’ura.” Nina pointed at the woman. “How did you know her name?” Her Mother turned to face Nina. “-You must have told her.”’ Her father said. “I wish they would change the name. ‘Mountain Man and Squaw’ is so disrespectful.” He gestured at the nameplate next to the painting. “Great Grandma said you would find me and I should come back next year.” Nina said softly. “She is more like your great, great, great, Great Grandma, but yes.” Her Mother said, facing the painting. “She is our family, Ohlone like us. People come to this museum and think they are just looking at a painting, but this is our history, our family. We come every Christmas to remember her.”  “I met her, I met her!” Nina looked around at her family gathered around her. “She said to say thank you for always coming.” “Ok, little one.” Her father said, smiling. “Whatever you say. Let’s head out and get some cookies.” “Can I have shoes like Great Grandma, with the red and blue beads?” Nina asked, pointing at the painting. “Those are called moccasins. We’ll see.” Her Mother said smiling as she put Nina down. She paused, and looked at the painting, closely.” “Red and blue beads…?” Nina fingered the thin beaded bracelet on her wrist. ”I will see you next year, Great Grandma Na’ura.”  

paj2cs

The Maple Box

      The maple-wood box had sat on her dresser for as long as she could remember. It was a staple of her bedroom, the sort of thing that she barely noticed on a day-to-day basis, but that would be palpably obvious were it absent. In her adolescence, she had often delved into its contents, hunting through a disorganized mess of colored buttons, scraps of fabric, and thread in search of one that could serve to mend the tear in her favorite shirt, praying the other children at school wouldn’t notice the patch job. As a young adult, the worn, velvet interior had seen the midnight glow of her desk lamp hundreds of times as she frantically altered dresses and shirts and pants newly purchased at the local thrift store. Then had come parenthood. A new house and a new room held the same old desk and the same old box. Minor patches and alterations gave way to patterns and experiments. Tiny shirts with matching pants and dresses that would be passed down for generations to come required more than just a meager collection of buttons, needles, and threads. The box made a near weekly sojourn to her crafting desk two rooms over. She had resisted the urge to empty its contents to the newer, plastic bins that lined her workspace. Instead, she had carried it to and fro, every time, always returning it to its place of honor. Though the box had begun to look progressively shabbier next to the new sewing machine and the lamp with a fancy magnifying glass and the clear, organized craft keepers, she could never quite bring herself to retire it. For it had been the box that had inspired the stockings. The children, one distant Christmas as their parents had been occupied putting up the tree, had wandered into the bedroom and discovered the box. Tipping its contents out onto the floor, they had delightedly examined the buttons that scattered in all directions. Julie had liked the bright red one with the rose. Anton had preferred a rainbow-colored button covered in sparkles. Once she had managed to restrain her temper, the woman had come up with an idea. That night, the simple, store-bought stockings that decorated the mantle each gained their first buttons. Her husband had been puzzled by the idea, but had, after some consideration, selected a simple button with a marbled green pattern as his favorite. The rest had all been along the same vein, everything matching, everything orderly, a testament to his steady personality. She had chosen an antique button with a beautiful silver filigree as her first, followed by a smattering of others with varying, if somewhat similar, designs. There was even a plastic, bone-shaped button that had fallen off some novelty clothing item years ago for the dog. And so the tradition had begun. With each new addition to the family, a new stocking appeared on the mantle, pushing the others aside to make room. And, each year, a new button marked the age of the one whose name decorated the top. The annual button search had become a family tradition in not one, but four families now. Even the youngest babies were given a choice, and it warmed her heart to watch the videos of tiny, grasping hands reaching for multicolored buttons. She had always looked forward to receiving those envelopes, each carrying that year’s contributions to the button mosaic. And, without fail, the week before Christmas, she had retrieved the maple box and begun her work, adding the newest additions to the ever-growing collection. But the years were beginning to wear on her. The fingers, that had once danced so nimbly across even the toughest of fabrics, now trembled with the weight of age as they closed around the box. The thin layer of dust that brushed away at her touch gave tell to the span of time since she had last sought out its contents. It occurred to her that she didn’t do much sewing anymore. She grasped it carefully, with both hands, afraid that she would drop it as she had the coffee pot that morning, and her favorite mug four days ago. In the pocket of her bathrobe, small, plastic finger-guards looked up at her, slipping into view periodically as she walked. Their fierce, vibrant colors were so bright as to be almost jarring. She supposed she couldn’t blame her granddaughter for the additional “gift” that had come with the family’s buttons. The paper-thin skin on her hands bore several small bandages covering cuts that she would carry for weeks. Even the smallest prick seemed to take forever to heal these days. So she would wear these “finger guards.” No point in getting blood on the stockings if she could avoid it. Shuffling steps down the familiar hallway carried her past collage of memories frozen behind freshly-dusted glass. They crept by like a highlight reel of her life. Her slippered feet brought her into the crafting room, now set up for the guests that would be arriving that weekend. Carefully, gently, the box found its way to the table. Equally gently, carefully, she lowered herself into the heavily cushioned seat. A few moments of searching for her glasses found them resting atop the nest of wild, grey hair that topped her head. She laughed to herself. There was not much else to do at this point. Even as she reached forward to open the box, she could feel her hands begin to tremble yet again. Spindly fingers with swollen knuckles pushed open the lid. The eyes, magnified several times by the glasses, peered owlishly down into the convoluted depths as, in her annual tradition, she cursed herself for not organizing better when last she had closed the lid. Pushing aside the haphazard pile of buttons and spools of thread, she sought out the case at the bottom, the one that held her loose needles. She discovered it after only a few moments. The woman had already made to open it before it occurred to her that the finger guards would do less good if she had already pricked herself so, though she wrinkled her nose and her lip curled in faint disgust, she set about slipping the brightly colored caps onto her fingers. It took a few tries to pick up the needle she desired, and each successive attempt only deepened the scowl on her face. Julie had asked if her mother wanted her to do the stockings this year. She had meant it with the best of intentions, but the question had hurt all the same. Even so, the inquiry hadn’t been unwarranted. The stockings, which had been so neatly and uniformly decorated at the beginning, were gradually getting sloppier. Lines and stiches that had been straight in her heyday now wobbled with the quaking of her fingers. Twice she had erred and stiches all the way through the back of the stocking and had to cut the stiches and begin again. The process, which would have taken her perhaps 45 minutes in her younger days, had taken a painful two hours to complete. The effort had left her a bit frustrated, if she was being honest with herself. Anton sending off one of her grandson’s handed down outfits to be mended at a local tailor had hurt her far more than she had expected. Of course, he had never intended for her to know, but little children rarely have filters and they often pick up more than expected. Cody had been so excited to show her the outfit too, and it had warmed her heart to see him in it, as it had to see his father and elder brother in them in their childhoods. Though it had hurt, she knew within her soul that she wouldn’t have been able to salvage the garment. Not now. Maybe years ago. But not now. Still this, this one thing, these stockings, had not been taken from her yet. Pulling out her measuring tape, she carefully began sketch out the lines in an easily erasable marking pencil. Pulling down the magnifying glass, she carefully lifted the fabric scissors, removing the earlier stitching and setting each button aside in a pile with its brethren. Only one she left as it was: her husband’s stocking. His final button, an outlier, standing slightly away from the others in spite of her best efforts at the time, she allowed to remain in its place. Let it be imperfect, as he had allowed himself to be in his later years. That lone stocking now lay on the bed, perfect and waiting to be joined by its family. With every measurement, every heartbeat of squinting at the blurred numbers on the familiar tape measure, every deep breath to steady her hand before making another mark or cutting another stitch, she became more and more sure that this would be it for her. Julie was ready to take up the mantle. Her lithe fingers would know what to do when the time came. But for now, as she had so many, many times before, the elderly woman would do her work. Another measurement, another cut, another mark, another button added to the pile and so the monotony went on until she felt that she was ready. Then her hand reached into the box, seeking out the desired thread. It took her a few tries to thread the needle, but finally, she managed it. Carefully picking up one of the buttons, she laid it down atop the place she had designated. She took a deep breath, and the needle began its descent, one last time. 

gfr8bh

THE LINE

THE LINE By Les Clark Cashier Emeritus, Amanada Forrester (she of the Silver Service recipient at Barnaby, Smythe and Okstein) looked up briefly. She had been scanning an unending sea of bar-coded tags all twisted with themselves from a mountain of children’s clothing high enough to block her vision of the impatient toe-tapping line yet to cross her register’s path.            They’ll never make it on that dancing show.            Moments earlier, the store manager had given her the worst news possible during the Christmas rush. Especially the day before. With so many years reading body language, Forrester knew bad news before it was ever uttered. James Smythe, grandson of a founder, (in actuality, they needed to find a place for him) slow-walked out of his office, the one with the one-way mirror, and with his head down, whispered his tale of woe.            “Carole called out sick. Well, she said her kid has the croup and Mark said his car won’t start. I’m not happy I heard music in the background. So, Amanda...” Smythe cleared his throat as if he was about to announce woman and children first into the lifeboats.            Forrester turned slightly to her left. “What about Celia?” Had Amanda been a dragon, flame would have flickered out with the question. The blond trainee had been known to make frequent visits to the executive offices. Lozenges hadn’t improved her breath.            Smythe coughed again, his eyes shifting like pin ball flippers. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and covered his mouth. “She’s, uh...” and never finished the admission no one wanted to hear.            “So, Amanda, you’re it today,” Smythe croaked before double-timing it back to his office and the three-fingers of a single malt Scotch, rocks, cooling on his credenza. No one from corporate had bothered to inform the family scion and ivy league graduate what constituted the Christmas buying madness.            He’d almost made it back to his cave of solitude when a well-dressed matron shouted an un-matronly demand from further down the ever expanding line.            “Hey you. Yes, you in the tie. Can you open another register?”            She didn’t hear his whimper.            “We’ve had some call-outs,” he mumbled as his door closed like a Venus fly trap behind him. The smooth liquor dulled thoughts of that damnable register Smythe never took the time to learn. Discounts? Coupons? Returns? “I could care less,” he slurred after his second double.            Amanda Forrester, with a quarter century of customer service behind her, stiffened her back, stood erect, raised her palms ready to part the complainers from their attitudes.            They shan’t get the best of me. I am Moses at the River Nile.            “Ladies and uh,” Forrester paused, seeing not a single man in line, “and all you ladies...please be patient. Several employees had mishaps today. I will process you as fast, and as accurately, as possible.            “Process this!” came a muffled comment from a cluster of overfilled carriages.            “And I ain’t no lady,” came a more masculine voice. Forrester couldn’t echo locate the perp but smiled to herself; a customer is a customer and the goods in Smythe’s Exclusives weren’t museum pieces. Especially during the holidays. And right now, Christmas Eve was ticking closer.            The young woman currently at her counter had been patient but the dark side covered her like a cloak. Her perfectly applied lipstick disappeared in a thin red slash. She squinted as if she were lining up a salvo. The only thing missing was wetting her thumb for windage.            Forrester didn’t flinch and didn’t notice a few customers winced at the verbal assault.            “Can! We! Can! The! Chatter? I’ve got to pee.”            Forrester smiled, ran her scan gun over the snow fall of  price tags and announced the total in her usually respectful tone. “That will be, madam, $142.36. Will that be cash, credit or debit?”            “It’ll be nothing. You can keep everything. I’ll never be back. And you folks in line...if you’re smart, you’ll do the same.” She made a precise left face, marching past the blank faces of the unattended registers. The automatic doors slid silently aside. Out in the parking lot, the mouth turned for a final single digit wave.            Forrester whispered, “Happy Holidays.”            The next customer, a twenty-something in tartan blazer and the in-vogue torn jeans, nose ring and ears full of faceted stones, leaned millimeters closer. Forrester braced herself for another off the wall protest.            “That woman was out of line...I think.”            Forrester shook her head. “Honey, I was in the Army for twenty years. You would think soldiers had never been fed before. And complaints? As they say, ‘you ain’t heard nothin’ yet.’”            You don’t mess with a mess sergeant.            Matron-mouth, with several shoppers and minutes ahead of her, had more to say.            “Hey, can you two stop the flirting and let’s get on with it.” Allies on either side shook their heads in agreement.            “What’s your name, miss?” Forrester asked her current customer.            “Maureen. I don’t mind waiting. You should see the bookstore at NU at the start of the school year. Only we complain about book prices.”            “Well, Maureen, you’ve been so patient I’m going to give you my employee discount. It’s only ten percent but I hope it helps.”            Maureen pressed all the right buttons for her debit purchase and scurried out to avoid resentful stares.            The gaggle muttered, “Punk.”            The next three customers dumped their clothes on the counter and walked away with huffy breathing. Matron-mouth was next.            “I want to speak with that pipsqueak who slunk away before. And I want to report you .” She turned to admiring support from her squad of squeaky wheel pushers.            Amanda Forrester sighed her most patient sigh, turned to knock on the revered Smythe polished oak door, her knuckles avoiding the silver plaque of James Magnus Smythe General Manager            “Enter!”            To Forrester’s practiced military ear, it sounded like ‘eeenntrrr.’            “Mister Smythe, a customer is dissatisfied with my performance and would appreciate a word with you.” You drunken boob.            “I’m on a...conference...call.”            Forrester turned to her complainant. “I’m sorry, madam. It will be some time, but Mister Smythe wants you to take his card and perhaps, at your convenience, you could write a brief note with our complementary store pen.”            The two women stared at each other, unclean and unhappy thoughts laser-beamed between them. Where the sun don’t shine , and You just try it , were silently traded barbs.            Finally, Matron-mouth backed down. “Ring these up. I need to get wrapping.”            “Mom, why is that lady so mad?” A nine-year old shopping with her mother, ten back in line, looked for parental opinion.            “Christmas makes people nuts, dear.”            “What would Jesus think about that, mom. Huh?”            The bearded man ahead of them, dressed in a white blouse and skirt, turned to the young girl. “Listen, kid, if Jesus knew people would be so crazy this time of year, he’d pack up his mom and dad and head out of town.”            Back at the lone register, the squad was banging their carts in syncopated rhythm, like convicts running their tin cups along the bars. Forrester thought of an old black and white gangster movie from the thirties.            “Merry Christmas,” she smiled as the last sashayed away.            “You can’t say that lady,” she shouted back at Forrester. “It’s against the law.”            Forrester smiled her most placid smile. “Well then, how about Happy Hannukah?”            The lady flung her arm out. “BAH!” and banged her cart into the sliding doors. Everyone in line looked in amazement out the store window as the shopping cart went careening in an arc into an Amazon truck. A silent movie played out as driver and shopper had unkind words for each other, arms flying like windmills.            As if a film director yelled “Cue the overhead!” down came the warning: “The store will be closing five minutes. Please proceed to check out.” The remaining customers, groaning with anxiety, regretting their last-minute indolence, filed through Forrester’s register, some with smiles and forced greetings---some with grimaces and stony silence.            Forrester cleaned her counter, stacked the hangars, bagged the trash for the night janitor and knocked on Smythe’s door. When there was no answer, Forrester cracked the open his door. Smythe lay slumped and snoring in his overstuffed chair, a precariously tilted glass in his hand. A half empty Scotch bottle lay on its side.            “I’ll see you on Friday, Mister Smythe.” If you’re still employed.            Occasionally, Christmas wishes do come true.            Amanada Forrester set the alarm, locked the doors and was soon on her way home. Have fun talking to the police when you open the doors. I’ll bet you don’t know the code.            “That cross-dresser had good taste,” she said aloud, turning into traffic.            The Friday after Christmas is usually reserved for returns, shopping with stocking stuffer gift cards and looking for markdowns. That Friday at Smythe’s Exclusives would be different. Carol, Mark and Celia avoided Amanda Forrester’s eyes as they opened their registers. They turned as one when a well dressed woman in a tailored blue suit emerged from Smythe’s office. The nameplate was gone. The night janitor would later use it as a coaster.            “I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas. I’m the new store manager. My name is Melissa Barnaby. My grandfather was one of the owners. He would be appalled at the previous occupant. I had a glorious time watching the security videos. Now, let’s have a glorious sales day.”            Forrester thought the word of the day was ‘glorious’ and would use it as often as possible. She didn’t realize, you know the word, how it would be. Customers started filing in. Something seemed familiar---their faces or demeanor? Forrester couldn’t place it immediately.            A young. pre-teen girl came right to her counter.            “Hi. My name is Merrilee. I was in the other day. You know...before Christmas. With my mom. I’m really nervous.”            Forrester was confused. “Well, thank you for coming back but what can I do for you?”            Merrilee looked to her mother for support.            “We didn’t like the way you were treated so we baked you some cookies. I baked them,” she said and handed over a colorful tin decorated with Santa and his reindeer. Right behind the mother and daughter was another familiar face.            “Remember me? Maureen? I felt so bad at the rude behavior the other day I wanted you to have this hat I knitted.”            Forrester, usually emotionally solid, dabbed at her eyes. As she accepted the gift, she knew the open weave red hat was Maureen’s, and not new. “Thank you, Maureen. I’ll wear it home.” A clean shaven man was next, but his voice was familiar. This time he was dressed in a white cable sweater and jeans under a long camel-colored overcoat. “Ditto what everybody’s said,” he boomed as he handed Forrester a bottle of wine in a long gift bag. Cowering behind him was the last person Forrester ever expected to see again. She was carrying a neatly wrapped box with a large red ribbon. She had bought her offering at a high-end jeweler. “Can I say something?” Matron-mouth pleaded. Almost as one, the several gift-givers before her turned and shouted, “You wait your turn.”

pkmgga

Snowfall and Memory

I could feel the chill in the air without even needing to look out the window. The heat was off to save money; god knows I needed to squeeze every last drop out of my energy bills. With my trusty red and black plaid pajama bottoms and thrash metal t-shirt I was ready to spend the entire morning doing absolutely nothing. I paused in the kitchen to look out at the yard. Snow was falling rapidly, the sky overcast and already a blanket of white covering nearly every surface. It reminded me of my school days from insignificant 4th grade to the definitive senior year of high school. Waking up at the godawful hour of 5 am when it was still dark outside so I wouldn't miss the bus, seeing the snowfall illuminated in the street light and filling me with an overwhelming sense of hope: that school would be cancelled and I could have an entire day to myself. There was nothing quite like the despair of learning your school was still open when all logic would dictate it should be a snow day. Now, it was just a curiosity, and a little bit of an annoyance; I'm already thinking of how long it's going to take to dig my car out of the snow and how long it'll take to heat up the windshield before I eventually, relcutantly, go to work. Maybe the boss would tell everyone to stay home; some hopes never change. This close to Christmas got me thinking of the past. Snowfall during the days leading up to Christmas at my old home, the ridiculously large 80's era stereo we owned (it had a cutting edge cd changer!) playing our favorite Christmas tracks like Deck the Halls by the sweet vintage synth of Mannheim Steamroller, or Paul McCartney's Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time. Nothing could top Trans Siberian Orchestra's blisteringly powerful guitar work though. The lights dim, the lights on the tree offering the only source of illumination. It made our old house feel even cozier, like the Christmas Tree was an extra special figurehead. Sometimes for Christmas we'd take the drive over to grandma's house, other times we'd just stay at home. As much as I liked grandma, spending a Christmas at home was always something special. Just me, my brother, and mom - opening a present on Christmas Eve as was tradition, saving the rest for Christmas Day. Hot chocolate or homemade sugar cookies were the order of the day. Staring outside at the snowfall I realized I never could find out what mom's particular recipe for those sugar cookies was; I knew sour cream was somehow involved but that particular knowledge may be lost forever. Here, in the present, rousted out of my reminisce of the past, the weight of what I could never get back suddenly struck me. This wasn't unusual; when you lose someone in your life, certain things trigger memories whether you want them to or not. Neither good nor bad, I suspected it was just part of life. Snowfall meant Christmas, and sometimes Christmas meant dealing with events you never wanted to deal with in your life. Sitting in church as the pastor passionately spoke of the passing of your mom to the congregation, as you sat in your best clothes feeling all manner of sympathetic eyes directly on you. Unable to escape their gaze. Wishing you could just grieve in private. Sometimes, Christmas meant taking your family pets to the animal shelter one by one because you were just a poor college student unable to take them in yourself, having no choice but to surrender them to the state, hoping that they would be adopted by someone else. Sometimes, Christmas meant sitting in your car bawling your eyes out, while still trying to juggle the obligations of the present. I shook my head, bringing myself back to the present. The snow came down in sheets of snowflakes, silent yet rapid, the entire ground a carpet of almost eye-searing white. Snow blindness was a thing, wasn't it? At least the sun wasn't out. Snow seemed to be more enchanting when it was overcast, I couldn't explain why. When it was sunny and snowing, it just felt like a pain in the ass. Mom has been gone for a decade now. More than that, in fact. Brother hasn't said a word to you in years, and probably never will. Maybe that was for the best; it let us discover ourselves without being tethered to one another. I fired up my espresso machine for a quick hit of caffeine; I paid a hundred bucks for the damn thing so I might as well make use of it. For whatever reason, I was still hooked on that damn sugar cookie recipe. Would I ever discover it? It felt like a lost city of gold I was pursuing. If I could make those soft, yet firm shaped cookies of my childhood, then I'd have everything figured out. The toaster prepared my bagel while I sipped espresso while watching the flakes fall. Maybe I should text the boss and tell him the roads were too bad. It wasn't like I missed work a lot. I showed up, did my job, clocked out - rinse and repeat for the past three years. Could throw a blanket over me while I caught up on shows or played some games. Snow falling, always reminded me of the past. Maybe that's just how the human brain was wired. Dreaming of events that we could never repeat, reminding ourselves of what we've lost to time. I knew, intellectually, I couldn't get rid of these memories. It was just part of life. As I stood there, watching the blanket of white grow, I thought of the future instead. Maybe one day, I'd find someone and recreate my own memories. Blast some Mannheim Steamroller while my family and I used old school cookie cutters to make shapes in the cookie dough. One day. I sat on my couch and turned on the tv; maybe it was time for a little snow day after all.

mistx3

The Other Side of Christmas

Frank Delgado 13600 SW. brightwood St Beaverton OR 97005-1115 503 8963022 [email protected] 1,400 words THE OTHER 07-10-19 by Frank Delgado 1 The Other Side of Christmas By Frank Delgado There is an experience in my life, a unique yet haunting moment, that is so vivid, that it's trapped in time and returns every Christmas. The reason for this fear began in 1959 as a child in Bavaria, Germany, in a farmhouse in the middle of a snowfield on the edge of the Black Forest. It was a time of lights, gifts, food, friends, and family; it was Christmas. I was seven years old. My father was in the 7th Corps of the United State Army and stationed in Regensburg, Germany. He sent for us, my mother, two brothers, and a sister to stay with him in Bavaria during his tour of duty. We stayed off base in a small apartment on a farm of a former German officer and his wife, the Krause. I remember that he had two daughters, one blond, Erika and the younger one Rosita, with dark brown hair. The younger one was an adopted Russian girl. They invited us to celebrate Christmas with their family, deep in the Black Forest on a relative's farm. If I close my eyes, I can see the journey; snow piled high along the road, tall trees, Firs, Junipers, Bavarian Spruce with branches laden with snow. I remember seeing large wooden wagons loaded down with straw or hay pulled by a pair of large muscular brown Oberlander draft horses, dragging, plowing through the snow on a two-lane country road. The horses' heaving, straining their head, nodding up and down as they swung their hooves clopping forward with white vapor rising from their breath. The driver with the horse reins in his hands hunched over, a thick dark coat with the collar up, a scarf wrapped around his neck, a fur cap to protect him from the frigid cold. He looked straight ahead peering in the distance, snowflakes on his beard and eyebrows. The smoke rising from a chimney in the distance from the farm was a novelty I had never noticed, having spent most of my life in southern Texas. As we entered the warm house, we were greeted "Frohe Weihnachfer" by the German families. "Merry Christmas "In Broken English, they had unending questions for my parents about America. The succulent whiff, of Smoked German Sausage, of roasted wild boars, filled the kitchen. The sweet aroma, of Wiener Apfelstrudel (Apple Strudel), served warm with a Vanilla Sauce — the Black Forest chocolate cherry cake amora, filter from the kitchen into the living room. The men's hard belly laughs, as they drank beers in stein mugs, sitting 2 around the dining table and the women animated body gestures, as he spoke in the kitchen, electrified both rooms. The living room walls were adorned with family pictures, heads of mounted game animals, Wild Boars, Elks and Mountain Rams. As I gazed at the photos of family members, I was struck by the long history these pictures showed of relatives in German Uniforms from two World Wars and prior conflicts. I heard the sound of a chain and the opening of a door. I turned around and looked. I saw a beautifully carved birdhouse with figures of birds on its face and a carved figure of girl on a swing moving side to side on her swing below the house on a pendulum, her skirt blue, blouse white, vest blue , apron red, shoes black, and honey golden hair. Out came a bright-colored Cuckoo bird, green, gold and red. It sang out Cuckoo-Cuckoo-Cuckoo-Cuckoo four times; it was four o'clock. Most of us, the children, were in the large living room. The girls dressed in simple long dresses, their blond hair braided down their backs bounce as they ran from place to place. The boys' suspenders held up their baggy pants that were cuff at the ankles. Some of the boys wore the traditional trousers of the region; leather pant called Lederhosen. The clock "Cuckoo "six times and the adults hiss the children who were playing and laughing in German. I understood the general meaning of the words and read into the tone. Some of the phrases sounded like Spanish others like English. We were waved on to a large rug in front of this enormous rock fireplace with a roaring fire. Massive logs were burning, red iridescent glow. I staring at the kids talking in German. One of the men from the kitchen walked over to the living room and stood in front of the children between them and the roaring fireplace. "Unterhaltruhe, Horen Sie, "he said. "Quiet, listen— He's coming. " From outside the door, the sounds of rattling sang out. I noticed kids shifting positions moving back away from the entrance door. I stared at the kids around me, some boys nearby started to cry, shaking their head saying "Nein, Nein, Kumpus , Nein,” tears streaming down their cheeks. A large bang, bang, bang on the door startles me, my heart raced. I was frozen, afraid to scream, unable to move. It was hard to breathe. The front door exploded open; a howling arctic wind entered sending chills in the room. My head jerked back from the force outside the door, it was pitch 3 black. Something large moved towards us from outside. As it moved closer, I saw an immense hairy figure trying to keep its balance stagger. It came into the light, and I saw it, drop my mouth open and gasped for air. A barrel-chested mountain of a man dressed in red with a long blond beard; red cheeks burned by the cold; blue piercing eyes; a stern look on his face with a black sack over his shoulders. He entered the room. He scowled, his voice hoarse with an edge of indignation grinding out his words. "Haben sie gewesen gut ?" he asked. "Have we been good?" I swallowed. There was dead silence. The man laid down his large cloth bag, — opened it, — pulled out a scroll, then raised at eye level. I felt his burning stare; he read, "Franz... " That's my name? I said in a panic. He called my name — Frank! My mind went blank — I couldn't think, I froze, swallow hard, my throat dry. I held my breath. "...Hoffman, "he said. I took a breath and started breathing again. "Franz Hoffman, hergekommen schnell !" he said. "Come here Quick! " A boy, trembling , stood up and marched toward him, trying to hide his tears, head held high, stared in the distances. Krampus grab him by the shoulder and lifted him. The boy started kicking, screaming, crying out "Mutter, Mutter, Nein , nein, Hilfe, Hilfe." He put him in the sack. He picks up the scroll, looked at the name, and pause looking out at us. "Hilda Steinhaus, hergekommen schnell !" He said. "Come here, Quick! " I was afraid to look behind me. I heard a gasp, a girls sobbing then steps striking the wooden floor moving forward. Hilda Steinhaus dress brushes my ear as she passes me. I saw her white stockings, brown sack dress, black shoes, and the back of her head. Her blond hair braided in twin ponytails. She was about my age seven. Krampus grab her by the shoulder, and she struggled crying , "Nein, nein Hilfe, hilfe, vater, vater,Hilfe” and put her in the sack, sobbing. Franz and Hilda were screaming" Nien, ~nien, ~nien.“ I just stared, my mind blank. The other kids in the living room were crying. 4 He lifts the sack, threw it over his shoulder and out he went into the black night. The door slammed behind him. I had to remember to breathe. There was a surreal silence. The silence was broken moments later by the sounds of the bells singing outside the door. In came a festive Saint Nicolas. "Frohe Weihnachfer, Frohe Weihnachfer , "he said. "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas” Saint Nicolas eyes danced with joy, a deep, hearty belly laugh with a large bag full of gifts for the kids. He called names, and the kids ran to get their gifts. My present was small, but it was better than going into the sack. To this day, I still wonder fifty-five years later what happened to those kids. So this Christmas I have to asks ""Haben sie gewesen gut ?" " 5 

ksb3mv

The Smile

She reached for the remote control and turned the tv off after watching “Songs of Praise” which her son recommended for her. It was not that she was particularly religious but the program was usually set in an interesting place and today it came from Inverness in Scotland where she had been on a trip around Europe. It must be over 30 years ago now. It was just after her husband had passed on and her daughter in law was going back to see her father in Sweden. She decided to come with them as she feared the thought of being left alone and there was nothing really stopping her, except for the fear of flying. She had retired from working at the nursing home and there was a bit of money saved. They flew to Singapore where they stopped at a hotel for a couple of days before Elizabeth got on the plane to Stockholm and James and her continued on to Paris. There was a bus tour waiting to take them around Europe for 10 days before they were to fly to Sweden and unite with Elizabeth and her father. James had arranged it all and she remembered how exited she was when they finally landed in Paris. She was seeing the sights she had dreamed about and seen in movies and when they finally came to Inverness it was a dream come true. Her grandfather came from Inverness and she always wanted to see the landscape her mother had told her so much about. She was not disappointed. It was beautiful with its soft light, deep green hills and the little town rapped in history. It was like stepping into another time and it all came back to her now as she had watched the program. She remembered how cold and damp it was even though it was in the middle of summer and she remembered the haunting mist coming in over the dark waters of Loch Ness. The sun was shining outside the window and she looked out over the little garden James and Elizabeth had made for her. She called it her garden but it really was only a few pot plants in front of the green corrugated fence that separated her from the world outside. There were palms, geraniums, the daphne that she thought would never flower but now looked beautiful in full pink blossom, the mini sunflowers and the big umbrella tree. Then there was the hanging basket with the marigolds and orange nasturtiums. The colored lights would light up at night and it always looked so nice and comforting through the thin blind. She could watch it while she was laying it bed. She loved her garden; it gave her an interest and it was something that changed and grew with the seasons. “The kids” as she called her son and daughter in law, often changed the plants and put new flowering pots where the old ones had died. The staff liked it as well and some of them even volunteered to go out and water on the very hot days. It was a bit early to send off the Christmas cards but she had written most of them. They were on the table ready for Elizabeth to take to the post. There were only 18 cards this year, three less than last year. Every year they became less as her friends and family passed on. She used to say she had outlived them all and that there would be nobody left to come to her funeral. There were a couple of blank cards left in her draw just in case she received a card from somebody she had not written to. Then she would hurry to send it off before they realized she had forgotten them. She never really did forget anybody but…you know, just in case. Today was Sunday and James and Elizabeth were bringing her lunch as they usually did on a Sunday. She looked forward to eating something different than what they served up at the nursing home. The food here was not very nice and it did not help being a vegetarian as they never knew what to cook for her. The spring rolls she had yesterday were too hard to chew so she had to send them back to the kitchen and ask for a cheese sandwich. She had been eating a lot of sandwiches since she came here five years ago and a lot of soup. Today she knew she was going to get a nice meal, perhaps a prawn curry. The kids would bring their dog Toby and Elizabeth usually sat with it on the bed where it eventually fell asleep but always with an eye open in case somebody walked in and wanted to say hello. The staff made a fuss of Toby and she liked the idea of how they let visitors bring their animals with them. It made the place more homely. The days were long, she looked forward to “the kids” visits and Mondays when The Woman’s Weekly came in the mail and she could do the crossword. She watched daytime series on tv and read the books Elizabeth brought from the library. Romance books, she liked a bit of spice. Sometimes the staff dropped in for a chat and she liked that. She got along with most of them and they enjoyed hearing her nursing stories, anything to break the monotony of the day. She could tell them stories of the old days when she would light a piece of rosemary and take with her through a ward where somebody had just died. Something to cover the bad odor. She knew how to put the staff in their place and was not scared of telling them off when they didn’t do their job correctly. It was the new staff that worried her or the ones coming from an agency. They never knew how to lift her properly and she always had to explain how to shower her and how to get her back onto the bed or the chair. Some of them did not understand English very well and that also made it hard but she was determined to get on top of things and not let anything get her down. She liked hearing the stories of their homelands and families and she felt she got to know them as real people. They became more than carers; they became her friends. She even got an invitation to a wedding, not that she thought she could make it but it was the thought that counted. The staff told her the majority of the people who got into the nursing home went downhill after a few months but she only got better and better. That was true, she was going to celebrate her 100 th birthday in February and she really did not feel ready to go just yet. James and Ellizabeth finally arrived with little Toby and they brought a prawn curry in the plate takeaway dish. She loved the flavor; she had always liked hot food and although her appetite was not very big these days, she still managed to eat it all and even tasted a spoonful of the rice. They chatted about the usual things and she loved hearing news from their everyday life. She looked at James who never said very much and she knew he really did not like visiting the nursing home. He never smiled much either and she told him so. He said he did not like smiling anymore because he did not like showing his front teeth. “They can’t be that bad” she thought and asked him to show her. He grinned and revealed how the two front teeth had been grinded down in his sleep through the years. They were jagged and worn and only half the size of normal teeth. She thought it was terrible and told him to see the dentist. He said he had already been but it would cost a fortune to have them repaired. “I have got some money”, she said. “And I have nothing to spend it on, so have it done. I would love to see you smile before I die. I will pay for it; it is all I want for Christmas”. The weeks passed and it was getting closer to Christmas. They sang carols in the common room and they had dressed the big tree. It only made her sad and she thought of Christmas at home and on the farm as a little girl. This was just the waiting room; deaths bus stop and they could not take that feeling away no matter how they decorated or hard they tried. She did not want to come out to the table on Christmas Day, she would have her meal in her room with her son and daughter in law. They usually brought a crayfish and a prawn cocktail. She looked forward to that and the feeling of being extra spoiled was also nice. It was Sunday again and they sat together in her room as usual. Elizabeth asked if there was anything special she would like for Christmas. She said she could not think of anything but would let her know if she came up with something. Elizabeth thought of all the usual things, hand lotion, perfume, a book, some plants for the garden, a new blouse and it all seemed so irrelevant, somehow meaningless. Time it seems, takes everything away eventually. Then she thought of that Sunday a few weeks ago and she instantly knew what to get her. Christmas Day brought warmth and sunshine. The crayfish tasted beautiful and was so big that she could only eat half of it and decided to save the other half to the evening. She ate a few prawns and left the brandy snaps with raspberries until after she had opened the parcels. She was just about to unwrap one of them when James leaned over to her. “Happy Christmas Mum!”. He smiled and his front teeth looked white and perfect and she felt the joy springing through her body. She began to laugh, he laughed along with her and the room suddenly seemed full of light. “Thank you! It’s just what I wanted!” Later that evening as she sat quietly in her recliner chair the smile remained on her face, on this her very last Christmas day.

vudtme

A Limited Edition Christmas

           A warm tropical breeze caresses my skin while I lounge on the beach, sipping a pineapple-mango slushy. And I must say, the view in front of me has my temperature rising. A dozen guys glisten in the summer sun, showing off their muscle bound physiques playing beach volleyball. I peer over my sunglasses and am delighted to find all of them bear a striking resemblance to Chris Hemsworth.            How can that be? I wonder as the volleyball lands beside me with a resounding thud. One of the Chris’s swaggers over in slow motion. He rests a hand on my lounge chair and leans down, bringing his face super close to mine. His ocean blue eyes settle on my brown ones and then my, oh my, his mouth opens. It’s all but impossible to breathe as his lips part. “Have a holly, jolly Christmas, it’s the best time of the year…” My eyes grow wide, and lust turns into confusion as the jingle blares out of his open mouth.            “Stupid cell phone,” I grumble and fumble for the infernal gadget. Three AM lights up the screen. With the dream wrecking device silenced, I slide my feet into my Rudolph slippers and pad toward the bathroom. Bloodshot eyes and a flaxen-haired birds nest peer back at me from the mirror. “Maybe I should call and quit,’ I say to my disheveled reflection. As tempting as the idea is, I replace my flannel nightgown with a pair of jeans and a Christmas sweatshirt.            Car keys in hand, I open the front door to find it had snowed while I was ‘off in the tropics’. While the truck warms up, I scrape the ice off of the windows, and then slide behind the wheel, ready to fight the elements to get to work. Making the turn onto King Street, I can’t help but compare today to the same time last year. On that Black Friday morning, I was up an hour earlier than necessary, too excited to sleep. I belted out Dashing Through the Snow as I barreled toward what would become the most stressful day of my life to date.            Donning a Santa hat, I had jumped out of my truck and gleefully made my way through the crowd standing in front of the building. I held up my nametag so that the security guard on the other side would let me in. In hindsight, I realize I’d been played.            The first clue had been Mr. Banks telling me during my interview that he didn’t normally hire sixteen-year-olds so close to the holiday season, but he felt I was mature enough to handle the job. The second one came in the form of disgruntled rumblings from the other employees as the manager gave what I thought was a very motivational speech on letting our holiday spirit shine as we assisted each and every customer. Too bad I had been too naïve to heed those warning signs.            Flash forward to now. I park my truck in the same spot and take one step toward the store, only to have my feet fly out from under me. At least the three inches of snow on the ground buffers my butt from the cold, hard pavement. Not bothering with the excuse me’s, pardon me’s or any other form of civility, I elbow my way through the already cranky shoppers. This time, my eyes plead with Mel, the security guard to refuse my admittance. He ignores my silent plea and holds the door open just far enough for me to slip inside.            “No Santa hat this year, Chelsea?” he chuckles.            With the free-for-all beginning in fifteen minutes, Mr. Banks invites all of us to the front of the store to go over what he’s calling our Black Friday action plan. “Listen up, we’re about to be bombarded by them .” He eyes the crowd pressed against the glass and then refocuses his attention on us. “Remember to be courteous. But under no circumstances are you to offer rain checks or substitutions for any sale items. Especially the limited edition Ragamuffin dolls. When things are gone, they’re gone. Do you got that, Chelsea?” The group shakes their heads in unison.            “Yes, Mr. Banks,” I reply with an audible sigh.            Last year we had run out of five dollar coffee pots in less than twenty minutes, and I let Mrs. Griffin, my eighty-seven-year-old neighbor buy a Plax coffee maker for the discounted price. That landed me a trip to the bosses office, where he proceeded to give me a lecture on how to convince the customer that it’s to their advantage to buy the better quality item at a considerably higher price. He finished by reminding me that we’re in the business of making money, after all.            “Alrighty, then. Let the madness begin,” our fearless leader announces and then sends us to our battle stations. I had hoped to cover the jewelry counter, but for whatever reason, I’m stuck with the toy department—aka ground zero.            The Christmas music wafts through the overhead speakers and an air horn sounds, alerting us that Black Friday has officially begun. I tilt my head from side to side and the words “I can do this,” slip out of my mouth, hoping to psych myself up for the onslaught of needy shoppers.            Several minutes pass and it’s a whirlwind of joyous activity as shopping carts careen past, arms shoot out to grab anything within reach and victorious shouts arise from those who are lucky enough to get their desired treasure of choice in their clutches. Things are going so well here at ground zero, I give myself a virtual pat on the back. All I’ve had to do is help an elderly woman locate the Laser Ninja Swords in the Nerf isle.            So, when a tall, dark-haired guy stops in front of me, I offer up a confident, “May I help you?”            “I need this doll.” He holds up our flyer and points to the words LIMITED EDITION RAGAMUFFIN DOLLS.            “Right this way.” I stroll to aisle four and hand him one of the four sought-after dolls from the shelf. His expression isn’t one of joyful glee. Rather than a thank you, he sidesteps me and peruses the other three dolls we have left.            “None of these are this one,” he says and holds the ad so close to my face it’s nothing but a pixilated blur.            My eyes drift from the crumpled piece of paper to the toy still clutched in my hand. “It is, see?” I point to the script on top of the box, then proceed to read it one letter at a time. I sound a tad condescending, but he deserves it for being super annoying.            “None of these have a green holiday dress.” His voice is flat. I clear my throat, force down my irritation, and with a tight smile let him know all we have is what’s here on the shelf. Why should it matter what dress she’s wearing? At least he’ll have the stupid doll. He will not be deterred. “Could you at least check in the back?”            Deep breaths, Chels. Deep breaths. “Sure thing.”            Risking life and limb, I wrangle my way through the crowded aisle and into the back room. Once there, I get a Diet Dew out of the vending machine and take a swig, enjoying the solitude. Once a reasonable amount of time has passed, I return to the sales floor, apologize and let him know there are no dolls in the stockroom. His jaw tenses, his body stiffens, his gray eyes narrow and his full lips are now a thin slit. All this equates to one mighty disgruntled customer.            “I understand you would like the doll pictured in our ad, but here’s the next best thing.” I hold out the proverbial olive branch. A Ragamuffin holiday accessory set containing red tights, a pair of gold glittery shoes and the best part, the coveted green dress. You’d think this would make him happy, right? Nope, not in the least.            “That doesn’t do me any good without the doll, now does it?” he retorts, his arms folded across his chest. It takes me a second to absorb the fact that there’s no box in his hands and the Ragamuffin shelf is now empty.            “Where’s the one I gave you?” I cross my arms, mimicking his stance while the theme song from the Good, the Bad and the Ugly plays in my head. “I put it back.”            “ You what ?” I’m seeing red. “Of all the stupid things—” I remind myself I need to regain control of the situation, or I’ll be in Mr. Banks office again this year. I shove my hand in my back pocket and pull out ten dollars. “Here, buy the dress now and get the doll somewhere else.” Problem solved—at least for me anyway.            He remains motionless while his eyes move from my outstretched hand up to my face. “I’m not going anywhere until you sell me that doll.”            It’s all but impossible not to walk away. “I gave you one. It’s not my fault you were dumb enough to put it back on the shelf, sir.”            The guy doesn’t respond, he just continues to stare at me.            My eyes scan the empty shelves in the hopes one might have been discarded by someone who had changed their mind. That’s when I spot it . One of the limited addition Ragamuffin dolls nestled atop a purple sweater in an unmanned shopping cart less than five-feet away from me. Shoving unsuspecting customers out of my way, I lunge for the basket as angels sing a round of Hallelujah’s and my hands make contact with their intended target.            “What in the Sam Hill do you think you’re doing?” A woman shouts, her ear piercing shriek reverberating through the aisle. She lunges forward and tries to get the Ragamuffin away from me and a tug of war ensues.. “Let—go,” I growl through clenched teeth. My plea just makes her yank that much harder. “Stop!” A deep voice booms from behind me. Mr. Banks joins us, his pudgy face beet red. Like children caught with our hands in the proverbial cookie jar, she lets go and I hand him the doll. “What’s going on here, Chelsea?” he asks, his beady brown eyes boring down on me. The furthest I get is, “Things were going great until—” and then the woman starts her tirade, shouting and waving a finger, saying I stole the doll right out of her shopping cart. Which I must admit is true. Now the guy that put me in this predicament adds his two cents, letting my boss know what an incompetent employee I am. After my manic behavior, I would have to agree. The woman flashes me a smug smirk when Mr. Banks hands her the doll and a fifty dollar gift card, followed by an apology for my inappropriate behavior. Next, he appeases the young man by checking with Adam in receiving. As luck would have it, within the last five minutes a shipment of Ragamuffin dolls came in and he brings one out to the sales floor. As for me, I spend the rest of my shift in my bosses office, listening to a lecture on how to provide excellent guest service and a multitude of ways to diffuse confrontational situations. Oh, how I detest Black Friday. Quitting time finally arrives and I head for the exit, ready to stop at McDonald’s for a McRib and large fries. Nothing better than gorging myself to make me feel better. I’m halfway to my truck and I stop dead in my tracks. The bane of my existence, Mr. I need this doll is walking toward me with a hand behind his back. Panicked, I’m not sure if I should scream for help or make a run for it and go back inside the store. “Chelsea is it?” he says and flashes me the dreamiest smile I’ve ever seen. “Yeah…” I take a tentative step backward just to be on the safe side as every murder show I’ve ever watched runs through my head. What if he’s planning on taking me out because of my poor customer service?  “What do you want?” He lets out a soft chuckle and shakes his head. “I’m Charlie, by the way. I owe you an apology. I sort of got a little carried away in there…” “ Ya think ?” slips out of my mouth as I notice how incredibly blue his eyes are. “It’s just—that doll is all my little sister wants for Christmas and I’ve been trying to get one for weeks…I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you.” Great. He’s playing the little sister card. Smart move, Charlie, I think as I realize how good looking he is when he isn’t being a demanding jerk. “I brought a peace offering.” His left hand makes an appearance from behind his back and offers me a cup. “It’s a peppermint milkshake.” It’s my turn to smile. “That’s my favorite.” I take the shake and let him know I accept his apology. We say our goodbyes and it isn’t until I’m in my truck that I notice a message scrawled on the side of the cup—Maybe we could go out sometime, Charlie. Call me if you’d like. 555-578-8642. “Maybe Black Friday isn’t so bad after all,” I say and take a sip of my shake, then proceed to dial that number. Merry Christmas!

yu2s80

The Ghost of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come

Dev looked down from the stage into the wings at the stage manager, Alicia. He knew that as an actor, he was supposed to keep his attention focused on the scene happening before him onstage, but he was only a partygoer. “Being a true actor means being present in the scene” or the Stanislavski method or whatever the director had gone on about on the first day of rehearsal. It wasn’t that he hadn’t paid attention, it was just that this was his first time in a play. He worked at a copy center, for goodness sake. He didn’t know who Stanislavski was and was afraid to ask. He had decided to audition for the show spontaneously. One day, the director’s son Alan came in needing to make copies of the audition flyer. Dev had asked a few polite questions and the man had said the playhouse was always looking for help, onstage and off. He’d said that auditions would start in about two hours. Dev smiled and said maybe he’d check it out. “No, really, please come,” Alan said. Dev had always been a sucker for the low, conspiratorial tone of voice Alan used. Like it was a secret they were both in on. And his smile, well, it was enough to convince him. So he auditioned and it went well. He was cast. He quickly realized that Alan had only been doing his father a favor and wasn’t really involved with the show, but Dev had so much fun that he didn’t regret his choice for a second. He loved playing Christmas Future and he even loved being part of the ensemble. He’d never had much of a singing voice, but he could get by well enough just matching whatever the person next to him was doing. For a non-musical where the characters just sang Christmas carols occasionally, it worked perfectly. The production was exciting as well. Alan’s dad had done a fine job. It was true to Dickens, but it didn’t feel stale. Dev had always been fond of “A Christmas Carol,” ever since he saw the Muppet version as a toddler. His first crush had been on Scrooge’s nephew Fred. His second on the Ghost of Christmas Past. He had been a child, after all. He had even once bored his entire elementary school singing Belle’s melancholic song “When Love Is Gone.” That was the last time he’d sung on a stage until this year. And he’d added dancing this time. The choreographer was a wonderful woman. She’d studied dance in New York but was too short to live her dream and become a Rockette. When she met her husband, she decided to come back to Iowa to start her family. She started choreographing for the playhouse and had never stopped. Dev could listen to her stories for hours. But then again, he was enchanted by everyone working on the production. The stage crew had walked him through some of the specifics of being in a show that he was too afraid to ask the other actors. They’d even calmed him down with his opening night jitters. Jitters that had left him once the curtain came up. He was glad he’d gotten over his nerves because his big scene was still coming. No one paid him the least bit of attention in the party scene. His sole line in the scene—“A dog?”—had long passed. And he wanted to make sure he didn’t miss his cue. He had to leave the party first so he could do a quick costume change and go below the stage to rise up and play the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Alicia nodded at him and he walked briskly offstage, tearing into a run once he was past the sightline of the audience. He tore off his pants, leaving them strewn on the side of backstage. Alicia was tasked with picking up his clothes after he dropped them so the backstage wasn’t hazarded by his discarded party costume. He had to go from onstage to under it in less than a minute, all while changing clothes. His shirt, he’d found, came off faster if he lifted it over his head rather than undoing all the buttons. Time was of the essence. The scene going on above him was written solely for this costume change. He saw the assistant stage manager next to the lift that would take him back onstage. And, with a pang of horror, he saw that her hands were painfully empty. “Where is my costume?” he whispered, terrified he already knew the answer. “Gina has it,” she said, as if it were helpful. “Where is Gina?” He was starting to sweat. “Damn, I don’t know.” She spoke into her headset, “Where is Gina? She has Dev’s costume.” She looked at Dev, her face falling. “She forgot. She can’t get here in time, you have to go up without it.” “Excuse me?” Dev asked, panicked. “I can’t play the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come in my underwear! I don’t think it would make Dickens proud!” “The only conversation you and I have ever had was about you wanting to make sure we had a different take on ‘A Christmas Carol’!” she hissed quickly. “You have got to be kidding me.” “Time to go!” she said, trying to push him onto the lift. She wasn’t very strong and he was very determined. “Absolutely not,” Dev said, crossing his arms to show he meant business. “I refuse. I can’t!” “Your funeral, sweetheart.” She sent up the lift without him. As the lift went up, Dev’s heart sank. Alan found him after the show. Dev knew he’d be there. Everyone said he always came to opening night. “You did great, Dev. I’m glad you decided to audition.” “It was an unmitigated disaster!” Dev was inconsolable. He’d ruined the show and this town actually listened to their local theatre critic, who Dev knew was there tonight too. Alan gave a somber smile. “It’s okay. Dickens did not rise up to smite you.” “Not yet,” Dev muttered. Just then, he saw the director walking with the critic. He turned to all but bury his face in the wall. “Absolutely brilliant,” he heard the critic say, “to have the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come played by a single spotlight.” Dev turned, gobsmacked. His eyes met Alan’s and they both burst into fits of giggles.

0ymp4r

Step in time

Christmas is a magical time as we all know. Every year its events are set in history, and the magic is always there for us to rejoice in. However, what is forgotten is that one year, in houses all over the world, things were oh so different. That year, which was hundreds of years before you and I or even our grandparents were born, a new unbelievable event happened. Now if you promise to go to sleep, I will tell you the version that my father told me. It was Christmas Eve and, as you can imagine, Santa, all the reindeer and lots of elves pixies and fairies were hard at work. They all had their jobs to do which they had been responsible for since time began. It was a happy time with songs, jokes and laughter filling the air. What some people do not know is that elves pixie’s and fairies   are just like Santa. They want to see us happy. The sleigh had been washed and polished, and then very carefully loaded with sacks and parcels. There were beautiful paper ribbons and carefully tied on labels. Some parcels sang to you while others played a merry tune. The gang of helpers could not help but dance along. YES, even Santa! The dragons watched the party from the trees; unfortunately, there was so much going on they were so big they would get in the way. Also, if someone stood on their tails, they may shout, and the flames from their mouths might start a fire! As the temperature dropped and it got dark the gang all knew their work was done. All that was left was for everyone to enjoy the rest of the special day while Santa got dressed and his reindeer had a much-deserved rest. Jorgetta, one of the dragons, had never seen the sleigh set off before, and promised herself she would enjoy every second. She worked out that Santa would set off in around one- hour so she made herself comfortable and lost herself in the magic that was to come. She could almost hear the screams of delight and the excited voices as the little children woke up. In truth she would have given nearly anything to be one of them. Oh, she had heard all about it from the elves. They often visited the houses just to check everything was going to plan. The elves could just blend into the trees or watch from the roof. None of them were ever seen. It was not just Christmas magic happened.  I mean, how do you think everyone gets exactly what they want. Christmas is not planned in just one week, it takes months to get it right. Much later than she planned, the excited dragon checked the time. “Holy carrot juice!” she shouted. “Santa should be gone by now”. She looked through the window and let out a burst of flame in shock. Silly old Santa had eaten and drunk so much for his supper he was fast asleep. In fact he was snoring so loud Jorgetta could hear him through the window. She must get help! She flew as fast as her young wings could carry her, over the trees and through the night sky. She had to find a senior dragon. Some of them would not listen to what she had to say. She had to get it right. She flew higher and higher trying to get a better view. Dragons travel so fast she soon covered a great distance. All the time though, she was thinking about the time they were losing, time they could be helping Santa. Eventually she found the senior Dragon and Jorgetta swooped down. The senior dragon breathed fire at anything that got in his way. As Jorgetta landed on the tree, the senior dragon, known as the Elder, turned and looked at her. “Why are you here at this time? Why are you not having fun? Surely you realise you need a pass to see me?” “Sorry, your Highness but I am desperate, and we need to move fast.  I am so worried”, Jorgetta explained. The look on the Elder’s face grew more serious by the second. This was history and tradition. It could not be changed. Christmas must be obeyed. The two dragons were soon soaring quicker than ever before. The snow and the land below were not even noticed. Time and flight became all that mattered. “Come on, little dragon,” urged the Elder, “we have no time”. On arrival a large collection of Santa’s helpers had gathered, all with worried faces. “What are we to do, your Highness?” they all asked at once. “We can’t let all the people down on this special night”. One of the elves jumped down from a tree. “I have been inside Santa’s house, and it looks like he has slipped and banged his head. I am sorry to say that he is still sleeping and there is not a chance of him driving tonight. He would crash and injure the reindeer.” “Yes, I see”, replied the Elder “The problem is, only Santa can drive the reindeer, only he knows the password. And it is so so late…”. “I have never done this before, and there are no guarantees, but I need to turn time back three hours. Only then have we a chance.” “I need eight of the fittest, strongest, bravest dragons. And you young dragon…” he turned to Jorgetta, “I need you to come as well.  I need your common sense. If it were not for you, the world as people know it would change overnight. We also need around thirty little helpers; it will be extremely hard work so you must all be sure you can manage.” , He checked his watch. “Yes”, he said,” it looks like the three hours have been taken off. I hope and pray it’s long enough”. “Your highness,” Jorgetta interrupted, “we have no map…although…” Wait!”, exclaimed the young dragon. “I understand only Santa can steer reindeer but, could Rudolph fly free without being steered? The rest of the gathering burst out laughing at this point. They thought it was a silly idea. The Elder held up his hand. “QUIET!”, he demanded. “You all mock, but not one of you speaks. It must be done. It is dangerous but then tonight could be the end of us all. I want the dragons saddled up and the sleigh tied securely in ten minutes. Now, as for the helpers, we need them to build us a strong vehicle to drive in. One that runs on water. Now, quickly to work, GO! GO!” It was amazing to watch, Wood was broken into the right size by hand. Special permanent glue that was, oh so strong, was used. They had a special team to fit the engine , and, guess what? If they used hot water it went much quicker! All set to go, the Elder gave clear instructions as to what they were to do. Rudolph would guide the way, while the dragons followed pulling the massive weight of the parcels. Jorgetta was to fly behind catching any parcels or labels that fell off. The other helpers must be split into two teams one side handing out the right parcels and the other team delivering. There were sixty helpers all in all; would that be enough? Who knows? Rudolph was key in all this. He had so many years of practice, they needed his experience. He could tell them all where they were, what to do and where to go. This creature with his nose so bright was finally top of the reindeer tree. Jorgetta was having the best time ever; it was so much fun and so exciting. Rocking horses had been magically transferred through doors, bikes had been left in garages, dolls in pushchairs squeezed through open windows and footballs bounced down chimneys then placed neatly under trees. It seemed like the harder they worked the more there was to do. The sleigh just getting fuller and fuller. All the time they were watching for lights left on or excited voices whispering. Sorry, the helpers thought, if you’re awake then you will have to wait for next year. Even the grown ups were fast asleep. Luckily, if anyone did start waking, the fairies just sprinkled sleep dust. This night was about the sleeping children. Any teddy bears or soft toys that had fallen out of bed were duly replaced. The only problem the helpers had was with the dogs, growling and barking everywhere. Why did humans put up with it? They mentioned it to Rudolph and of course he knew what to do. He produced a bag of biscuits and assured them this worked every time…of course he was right. Rudolph and Jorgetta had built a good understanding. Rudolph laughed for ever when he heard the story of how Santa had been found and how Jorgetta had to act so quickly. Rudolph told his new friend all his adventures in years past. How they so nearly get seen every year, of presents falling into trees, and the favourite one was when Santa got stuck up the chimney. Oh, how they laughed at that. They both stood looking at the wonder of the Christmas tree lights against the dark night sky, as well as the deathly quiet that would be soon broken by excited playful voices. Rudolph explained that tonight was the one night of the year when all the clocks got put back two hours. They always needed the extra time. Jorgetta told him how the Senior Dragon had altered time by three hours because of the late start. Well smiled Rudolph the children will certainly have the energy to play with their new toys. “Here, watch this,” he urged. He took a box of cigars and dropped it perfectly into a policeman’s passenger seat as he drove. Don’t worry he can’t see us smiled Rudolph. He gave his friend a turkey. “Give that to the old man watching from the window. It’s all part of the night you see, in truth anything can happen. It never gets challenged”, Rudolph explained. As Jorgetta looked behind she could see the massive trail leading back to where they had been. Surely people could see that from their windows. “Don’t worry”, Rudolph told his worried friend,” no one can see it.” And even if they did, what exactly would they say without appearing stark raving bonkers. Rudolph suddenly started to laugh. “Can you imagine?”, he said. “If someone woke up tonight and saw us, what they would tell their school friends? My guess is they would just keep incredibly quiet. Now that would make Santa laugh”. The other helpers were still running to it. They had never worked so hard making all the parcels look so tidy under the tree, none of the paper was torn, and the labels were perfect. And all without one of the songs they longed to sing. All the rooms left exactly as they found them. They could not even pinch a chocolate. The pixies really enjoyed a sit on the rocking horse and a couple made a note to come back and have a proper go later. As their work for the night ended the helpers noticed lights were coming on and voices were starting to be heard. It gets blooming earlier every year Rudolph observed. I reckon we have around an hour more work to do. Rudolph expertly guided the sleigh into the best parking.  He gave Jorgetta a bag of toys. “Look, leave these by the doors ready for the helpers just to take in. It will save them walking back and forth.” This seemed to help and soon things were going to plan. The fairies were told they needed more sleep dust, and everybody was running from job to job. “Hurry up you lot!” Rudolph urged, “remember we have a massive Christmas of our own to get home to. If you’re not careful I will pinch your mince pie.” “Looks like you already did!”, answered a naughty elf. Because of her extra help in making people’s day special, Jorgetta delivered the last parcels. As she crept upstairs into Tim’s room the little boy’s eyes opened. His face was one of joy and confusion. Why was there a dragon in his room? And why was it carrying a sack of toys? The friendly dragon whispered to Tim, Look, you’re dreaming, go back to sleep and I promise you will get a surprise present. Jorgetta was true to her word. And Tim put it down to the magic of Christmas! So do you see. It is too easy to confuse tradition with history. In Tim’s eyes and the eyes of millions and millions of people over the world, History was changed that night whilst tradition continued.

yvthzd

The Frozen Lake

Livi gazed upon the calm, fast-falling, snow. It had begun an hour before and with each passing minute, the usually graceful flakes fell more intensely. Livi thought to herself that it resembled the Blizzard of 1978, a topic that she had mastered because of her "snow obsession". She loved snow. Especially when it caused a White Christmas, like Livi was confident it would this year. Today held the place of December 23, which meant that there were hardly 2 days until that awaited day came. And if the forecast was correct this time, she would get her wish. Livi resided on a small farm with her mother and younger sister, Maci. Maci was only 4 years old, 5 years younger than her sister. She loved snow as much, that's for sure. They would go out together in the white ambience and play for hours, until their fingers were so cold, they were unmovable. It was a tradition, and nothing could prevent the sisters from taking part in it. Livi could hear Maci singing, loudly, happily, and very off-key. "I LOVE SNOW! I LOVE SNOW! I LOVE SNOW!" The lyrics were more drawn out with each verse. Livi giggled at her sister but quickly stifled her laugh as Maci pranced into the room, continuing her song. "Hi Liviiiiiiii!" Is it snowing lots and lots yet?" She skipped over to the window seat where Livi was perched and climbed up to sit by her. "No more than it was last time you asked," Livi replied, amused. "Which was 5 minutes ago. She finished. Her sister had bounded excitedly into the room every 5 minutes since it began snowing to check on its progress. "Oh." Maci said, disappointed. "I'll check back soon, Livi." "I know you will" Livi responded playfully. She watched her sister leave the room fondly. After watching the snow for another minute, Livi stood and stretched, and, realizing that she was very hungry, wandered into the kitchen. The kitchen was quite small, as was the entire house. But the family found it comfortable this way, and did not complain about the size. Livi found her mother sitting at the kitchen table, lost in a stack of papers. "Mom?" Livi questioned. Her mother looked up from her work and displayed a weary, but kind smile. "What is it, honey?" She stood and sifted through the papers, searching for something. "Can I have a snack?" Livi wondered timidly. She was not the least bit scared of her mother, but did not want to aggravate her, for Mrs. Wagner was very busy. "Sure, honey. There should be something in the fridge you can have." Mrs. Wagner replied, still searching through the papers. "Okay." Livi turned towards the refrigerator, then turned back to her mom. "What are you looking for, Mom?" "Oh, just my phone. I keep misplacing it." Mrs. Wagner stood and sighed. Opening her purse to continue the search there, she looked up at Livi and saw the concerned look on her daughter's face. Livi bent down to assist her mother's search. She looked all around the workspace where her mother had been sitting. Then she saw the phone in a surprising place. "Mom!" Livi caught her mother's attention. Your phone is in your pocket!" Mrs. Wagner looked at Livi, surprised. She reached into her pocket and, sure enough, pulled out the missing phone! "Well, it is, isn't it?" She declared, staring at it with a baffled look on her fatigued face. "Its been here all along and I didn't even notice it!" Mrs. Wagner stood and thanked Livi. Just then, Maci bounded into the room with a big grin on her cheery face. "Hi Mommy, hi Livi!" She exclaimed with delight. "Guess what?" Maci spun around gaily. Livi shared an amused glance with her mother and then asked Maci, "What?" Maci spun even faster, her arms stretched out to catch the air rushing by, then stopped and shouted, "The pond is FINALLY frozen!!!" Livi rushed to the window seat and looked out over the farm. She saw the lake and sure enough, it was frozen solid! "Mom, come here!" Livi shouted. Maci, followed by Mrs. Wagner ran to the window and gaped at the wintry landscape. Livi and Maci had been anticipating the day when the lake froze for nearly 2 years now. It hadn't been this cold in what seemed like forever and the sisters were very enthusiastic to go out and play. "Can we go, can we go?" Maci begged eagerly. "Alright." Their mother relented. "But don't forget to bundle up! It's cold out there!" The girls hurried to put their coats, hats, gloves, scarves, and rubber boots on. Before Mrs. Wagner could protest, they were scrambling happily down the snowy hill towards the lake. When they got to the lake, they waited for their mother. Maci and Livi knew that she would be there soon, for they were not allowed to go by themselves. Soon they saw her, struggling down the snow-covered hill. "Come on, Mommy!" Maci called impatiently. Mrs. Wagner hastened over to the girls and took Maci's hand. "Alright. I'm here," she said, smiling. The three headed towards the lake, Maci leading impatiently. When they arrived, Maci pulled away from her mother and scampered to the ice. "Wait, Maci! Let me test the ice!" Mrs. Wagner quickly went over to the icy water and put one foot onto the surface. She pressed harder and harder, until satisfied that it was safe. "Alright, it's safe!" She decided. Maci ran eagerly up to the edge, reached her hand out to her mother, and stepped onto the ice. "Yayyy!" Maci shouted happily. "Come on, Livi!"Livi stepped closer to the ice, then hesitated. "It's alright, Livi. It's safe. Just stay on the edge," Mrs. Wagner reassured her daughter. Livi took a deep breath and stepped forward. She lifted one foot slowly and placed it tentatively onto the surface of the lake. Stepping fully onto the ice, Livi smiled, no longer afraid. Here was the frozen lake. Her frozen lake.

l91g4z

Five Gold Rings

I find it amusing that, in this moment, I am an American girl in an English-style tea house owned by a Japanese woman listening to a Colombian man explain to me about French hens. For Adán Vargas, liking birds is practically a personality trait, but I can see why people put up with it, because his other personality traits are so pleasant. Right now, though, it’s difficult to pay attention to anything other than the thin band of gold encircling my fourth finger. So while Adán gushes on, my hands are in my pockets, busy twisting and turning that seamless cage, and my mind is busy pondering its circular infinity. It fits perfectly, but it is still somehow cutting off my circulation. The fourth finger, I think, is the weakest. It can’t move by itself, physically bound to the stronger digits, and unlike pinky or thumb, it is not at all unique. Its significance is limited to the ring it holds. “Something’s wrong,” Adán declares, leaning across the counter. “Hmm?” “Come on, Eve. You usually at least pretend to be interested.” “I do?” “Well, no,” he admits. “But you do usually at least drink your tea. Don’t you like the pear and ginger?” I take my hands out of my pockets, slipping off the ring, and cradle the warmth of the cup. This is a Korean variety of tea. Yet another country contributing to this moment. “Hey, did I tell you Masako’s looking for a new part-time employee?” Adán points to a gold flyer on the bulletin board, Help Wanted in elegant cursive font. “Yeah, this place can’t run on just the two of us anymore. Things are changing.” A twinge of sadness prickles through me. Not sadness. Jealousy. I take a slow sip of my now lukewarm tea. Adán hunches over, focusing on something behind the cash register. “Have you ever been to Seoul?” I ask after a while. “No. Nowhere in Korea. So far only Hong Kong, Japan, and Taiwan.” “I’ve never been anywhere in Asia.” Or anywhere abroad without him . “Okay,” Adán says, still partly preoccupied. I briefly fantasize about packing my bags and heading straight to the airport. Taking the longest, farthest flight. Never looking back. “Ta-da!” He opens his palms to reveal an origami ring, expertly folded from another gold Help Wanted flyer. “Pinkies up?” he says, offering it to me. I hesitate. “Adán, I . . . " “I know you don’t need the job. But you spend so much time here, and, well . . . I don’t want the new hire to be someone I can’t stand. Just think about it, okay?” Just think about it. My eyes roam over Masako's decor, tinsel and holly adorning each rustic mantelpiece. The reason I love it here is that it does feel like an entirely different place sometimes, one far away from this city and this life. As a child, one of our family relics brought out at Christmastime were the angel chimes, spinning golden cherubs propelled by the heat of the candles below. If you squinted into the hazy light for long enough, you could trick your eyes into seeing the angels spin in the opposite direction. The illusion only lasted a moment, but I always marveled at how my brain could be convinced of the exact opposite reality. Sometimes, as I sit here and drink in the surroundings along with my tea, I can pretend I am the kind of person who comes here for something other than an escape. I am a British diplomat seeking a reminder of home, or a writer feverishly composing poems, or, on the rarest of occasions, a cottagecore lesbian in search of new love. Adán’s suggestion offers new dimension to these daydreams. I imagine it, a world of tea and scones and origami paper. Independence. Usefulness. A friend who doesn’t know me through a man who is only ostensibly mine. How would I explain to him a part-time job of this nature? How could I ever balance it with being a fiancé, a bride, a wife? These concerns rise up, but they vanish again as I blur my present and future vision just enough so that working here momentarily appears to be a possibility.   I slide the paper ring onto my little finger. As I lift the teacup to my lips, they are smiling. Six p.m. Three hours until I’m meeting him for dinner. I perch on the side of the mall fountain, insulated by the crush of last-last-minute shoppers frantically plundering Target or Macy’s. My heart races as I open my text messages. Amidst the chaos of strangers, it feels safe to do so. I find Ada's contact, rereading the words she sent to make sure they are real, and not the product of some new fantasy. I savor them. First, from just a few weeks ago: I’m in town again for Christmas. Nutcracker. Same apartment as before <3. Ever since I saw the text, I’ve thought about her every day, more so than usual. But every day, he ’s been a constant presence, taking care to spend more time with me than ever before. It’s obvious now that it was an investment. And like everything else, it paid off. For the dozenth time, I ask myself how different things would be if I had seen Ada’s second message before he took me out to the roof this morning, watching me watch the sunrise, descending to one knee and speaking grandly of things I have only ever found in someone else's bed. When you freeze as absolutely as I did this morning, it is impossible to make the hard choice. You say yes. He was so apologetic when the work emergency came up. Either way, I would have been alone today. If anything, his promise to spend all of tomorrow together agitates me more. My fingers graze the screen, tracing over the text that came in this morning, 8:52 a.m. on December 24th. If I had only seen it earlier . . . Does it matter? I am seeing it now.    Free from 7 on. Would love to see you if you don’t have plans. What do you say? It’s Christmas Eve, Eve. What do I say? “Fancy running into you here.” Startled, I look up to see a skinny boy wearing a cheap beanie, expensive sunglasses, and an oily grin. Addison Anderson, family friend and entitled cockroach. The last person I want to talk to right now. Well. Second-to-last. He plops down beside me on the fountain ledge. “‘Almost seems like fate, that we should find each other in of all this tourist trash.” “Addison. You’re eighteen. Please stop flirting.” “Nineteen.” “Whatever. I have a boyfrien-” This statement catches in my throat, and I cough to disguise it. At this rate, the word fiancé would probably cause me to choke and die. Addison cocks an eyebrow. “I don’t mind a little competition. You haven’t even heard my proposal yet.” “Pr-proposal?” Another hoarse stutter. God, if I can’t find my voice around fucking Addison Anderson, how pathetic am I? “Well, more of a performance, really. You know I collect rare coins, right?” I ignore him, rubbing my eyes, and then recoil as he makes a grabbing gesture near my ear. He opens his palm to reveal a dingy gold coin with a large hole in it. “Indian pice . Cool, right? And there’s more where that came from. Enough to take you out on the town for a nice dinner. Maybe order a fine wine.” “Yeah, hard pass,” I mumble. “Again, I have a boyfriend. And you’re nineteen.” “I have my ways. Magic, remember? So what do you say?” What do I say? This time, it's easy. “That I would rather suck every penny in this fountain.” “Kinky.” My patience snaps, and I turn on him. “How many ways do I need to say get lost to get it through your thick virgin skull?” He looks stunned. “Whoa. I thought we were friends, Eve.” “Friends?” I say, with an unintentionally bitter laugh. God, I love how mean it sounds. Guys like him deserve to get hurt every once in a while. I watch it barrage him, face flushing, fists clenching. He stands. “Some lucky coin,” he huffs, and chucks it to the floor. I watch it clatter against the marble and roll to a stop at my feet. “Addison,” I hiss through my teeth. “Fuck. Off.” “Bitch,” he mutters, and flees. I flip him off. As soon he’s out of sight, I peel off my glove, pluck up the coin, and slip it around my middle finger. I deserve all the victory tokens I can get. She asked me to run away with her once. Back in March, the day before her ballet closed and she left town. I remember her propped on a graceful elbow, staring out the window to the street below. I recall wrapping my limbs around her from behind and burying my face in her neck. One of the many things I loved about Ada Perona: how we fit together. My arms fit around her waist, my tongue fit in her mouth, our legs interlocked perfectly. We became each other’s negative space. In some ways, the ecstasy of it all added to my justification. What I was doing with her was so completely different from what I did with him . They barely existed in the same universe. Even now, there is no real guilt, only curiosity at my own guiltlessness. My only regret is not going with her when I had the chance, unwilling to uproot and to expose myself and to risk my own survival. What a coward I was. “Come back to Boston with me,” she had said. I had stuttered and stammered and shut down. When you freeze as absolutely as I did then, it is impossible to make the hard choice. You say no. “Can’t you see it?” she had persisted. “You could travel with me, to shows. You’ve always wanted to see other cities.” I could see it, and that was what scared me. The thinking got to me, worries whirring inside of me like a broken record, and thoroughly immobilizing me, just like this morning when he got on one knee. Maybe that’s why I refuse to think now. As I shove clothes and possessions into the unfashionable hiking backpack I’ve never used, I strike down every fear that rises up by mentally chanting Ada or Yes or Fuck off . Now that I’ve started saying it it is addictive, not to mention powerful ammunition against my own thoughts. I decide to pack the engagement ring too, as a trophy. Maybe I’ll sell it, or destroy it. I slam the door on my way out. What happens next happens as if in a dream. First, one of ecstasy, as I march, no, float, no, soar down the hallway. I clutch a gold key ring, saved from spring, twirling it around my index finger. I slide the key into the lock. The room is dark, seemingly empty. She isn’t home? She did say seven, didn’t she? I’m reaching for my phone to check, but then I hear the rustle of sheets, and see the silhouettes. Both of them. “What’s going on?” says a soft voice I do not know, and then, “Get out! Do not disturb!” says a melodic voice I do. She does not recognize me. She takes me for a cleaning lady. It’s been mere hours since she invited me here, and she has already forgotten me. Not forgotten. Replaced. I close the door before they can see my chest combust. Before the entire room is stained by the raw and bloody shrapnel of betrayal. Because that’s what this is. When my boyfriend lets me down, it is a normal day. For her to let me down is the end of normality as I know it. I make my emergency exit, sprinting down hallways, stairs, sidewalks, gasping for air as blood pounds and tears pour. Soon, my run collapses into a jerky gallop, then a stuttering walk. I don’t care, as long as I am moving away. Inevitably, my breath evens. I almost don’t want it to, because spur-of-the-moment pain blurs reality, reality I am desperate to escape. But my breath slows, and my sobs turn to liquidy blinks. And I walk and walk and walk. I can’t go back to our house. I made a decision, I jumped, and now there is nowhere to land. Who else can I turn to? My “friends” are all his friends first. Instinctively, I think of Adán--but no, he’s barely an acquaintance, I can hardly show up in this state on Christmas Eve. It occurs to me I don’t even remotely know where he lives. I have no one and nowhere. I really pinned the entirety of my hopes on Ada, on a three-month fling of the past. The highway roars beside me, and still I walk, stumbling through ditches and cornfields and the darkness that surrounds me. At the first rest stop I come to, my body gives way, and I collapse onto a concrete picnic bench. But immediately the panic sets in, undercutting my exhaustion and reminding me that I could be, should be traveling further still. So, as a final resort, I drag myself to the nearest street lamp and stick out my thumb.    She pulls up in a Prius, leans out the window, and at first I think her a hallucination. It’s been years, and her black hair is much straighter and cut in a sharp asymmetrical bob. But those high cheekbones, pale skin punctuated with moles as if blots from an ink pen, and most of all her eyes that stare right into yours. Unabashed. Unashamed. I wish I knew the feeling. “Magpie,” I say. Her eyes widen. “No way. Eve? And here I thought you were just some nicely dressed rando I could give some jewelry to." "Um, what?" "Never mind. I gotta say, I never pegged you as a hitchhiker. You on your way somewhere?” “Just . . . away,” I manage. Magpie whistles. “I feel that. New place, new start. Well, hey, given you're not a stranger, climb aboard.” I gratefully lug my backpack into the passenger seat. “Wait. I need to get rid of something.” “Me too, actually.” She gestures to a trash bag in the backseat. “But I have my own methods.” I rifle through my belongings until I find them all, and arrange them for disposal. Origami ring on my pinky, grimy gold coin on my middle finger, keychain and key to Ada’s apartment on my index finger. Finally, ornately crafted engagement ring on my ring finger. “Hold up.” Magpie turns and fishes in the black garbage bag, before procuring a ring of her own. A simple gold band in a fancy case that must have cost a pretty penny. “I won’t ask if you won’t,” she says, and without another word, slips it onto my thumb. I clench my hand into a fist. “Now drive,” I say, and she steps on it. I roll the window down, and Magpie follows suit. We are buffeted by frigid air. We scream. And just as our exhilaration reaches a fever pitch, I tear off all five rings and throw them out the window with all of my strength. “Are you, like, on something?” It’s been a couple hours, and my fatigue is setting in. I don’t intend to ask the question. It just pops out. “Just the boring stuff, unfortunately,” says Magpie. “Sorry?” “Prescription. Don’t you remember how everyone used to call me Adderall in high school?” I shake my head. “Huh. Well, by senior year I was already Magpie ‘cause I’d started lifting.” I remain confused. “Started lifting . . . weights?” She laughs out loud at that. “You are too much. Shoplifting, Eve. Stealing. You can’t control whether your reputation is destroyed, but you can control why. Play the stereotypes and be the one that works for you, not the one that keeps everyone else quiet and comfortable.” “Magpie, I really don’t want to get arrested,” I say. “I told you, I’m giving away the haul,” she says emphatically. “All of it, to friends or strangers, whatever seems right. I’m starting over. Honest.” “Nothing shady?” I say, half hating myself for jumping into another situation where someone’s word is all I have to rely on. “You swear? Even with this car, and everything?” “I’ve had this car since sixteen, thank you very much. Legally ,” she adds, seeing my hesitance. “Christ, do you need to see some ID, officer?” She fumbles for her driver’s license and shoves it in my face, keeping her eyes on the road. I glance at it, taking in her shaved head and confrontational eyes, and the name printed above it: Magdalinski, Adelina . Magpie says, “Aren’t these questions you should’ve been asking before you hitched a ride?” “Yeah,” I sigh. “I guess I just needed to get out of there as fast as possible.” Her fingers drum on the steering wheel. “So, what did make you decide to skip town? Last I heard you were dating that bigshot business guy . . . what was it, Adam Something-ton?” I go to speak but just make a strangled sound of assent. “Kinda ironic, no?” Magpie continues. “I mean, Adam and E--” “Don’t!” I practically yell. She side-eyes me sympathetically. “Probably heard that a hundred times, huh?” A hundred million. At least. “So what happened between you two?” “I don’t want to talk about it. Him. Ever.” A long pause ensues. “I’m gay,” I say. Magpie clicks her tongue. “Cool.” Raindrops on the passenger window blur with artificial light from outside. With my eyes half-closed it almost seems as though the car is standing still, and the streetlamps are the ones moving backwards in retreat. But I won’t be tricked. We will keep moving forward until the past is the illusion, far enough away to be practically out of sight.

uqii55

My Best Friend Gave to Me...

      Oh no.        I can feel it settling in. My head starts pounding as millions of negative thoughts flow through my head like trout in a river. My breathing grows increasingly harder as I try to focus on inhaling through the nose, exhaling through the mouth. My hands are shaking with the ferocity of a city-destroying earthquake. A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead.        I fall to my bed as my limbs take on too much weight. My bones replaced by steel bars and my muscles are just concrete poured under my skin. My hair falls into my eyes but I have no time to think about it.        In through the nose , I tell myself in my head. My inhalations sound like air exiting a balloon- which is how my self-confidence feels too. Out through the mouth . In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the…        I come back after an indeterminant amount of time. I’m more tranquil now, but uneasy. Little spots of tears dot the lower lids of my eyes. I have to throw up but I am too heavy to lift myself off the mattress.        I instead slide to the floor and crawl to the bathroom, hanging my head over the edge of the toilet and spill my dinner into the bowl. I curl up into a ball on the cold bathroom floor. The dull hum of the lights annoys me, but who cares anyway?  ----        “It happened again last night, didn’t it?” my friend, Andrea asks me. Andrea is usually the type to yell at me and call me stupid- has since we met my junior year of high school. In other words, Andrea is my best friend. She is worried about me lately. “Neil, I’m worried about you. These panic attacks have been happening way more frequent.”        “I am fine,” I say in an exasperated way. I hate people worrying about me, “I just had too much to drink last night. Getting into the Christmas cheer,” I try to laugh it off.        Andrea eyes the empty bottles of bourbon on my kitchen countertop with judgment in her eyes, “Yeah, I don’t doubt you had too much to drink, but I also have known you long enough to tell when you have had a bad experience with your mind.”        “Do you want a drink or not?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.        “Vodka and cranberry, but I have to run to my car for something really quick.”        I pour Andrea a vodka cranberry- more cranberry since she has to drive later- and myself a bourbon on ice. I take a sip of the whiskey as she comes in carrying something under a festive cloth containing Christmas trees and snowmen. I hear rustling under it. My blood goes cold and my heartbeat increases as I imagine a big tarantula under there.        “Merry Christmas, dumbass,” Andrea says while lifting the cloth to reveal a circular cage. I take a step back, ready to scream in anticipation of a massive spider being in my apartment. “I got you yourself. Oh and put these in your freezer.”        I look past the little bars of the cage and see a tiny elf owl perched on a little bird stool. The cold box she hands me are frozen mice.        “I am not an owl,” I say.        “Shut the fuck up, Neil!” Andrea shouts, “You are totally an owl.”        “Am not,” I counter. Andrea’s pale face reddens a bit from snapping at me. Her green eyes are watering with tears of comedy.        “You look just like an owl! Everyone agrees.”        We argue back and forth (mostly about if I do or do not look like an owl and the fact that there are now dead mice in my freezer) until Andrea says she needs to leave. “Take care of Neil Junior,” she nods toward the owl, “I’ll come by tomorrow.”        “You named him after me?” I ask angrily.        “He looks just like you,” she yells at me from her car, “Read the manual.”        I go back inside and thumb through Your Owl and You , it tells me how, when, and what to feed him as well as indicating what to do to keep “Neil Jr.” healthy and happy. What am I supposed to do with a fucking owl?        My phone dings. It’s a message from Andrea, “He will help you with your moods too.”        I take a long look into the owl’s eyes. He gives me a look that either says “I love you,” or “I cannot wait for your demise.” I then go to the bathroom and turn on the light. I don’t look like an owl,  my mind speaks inside. ---        The little bird in the cage starts shrieking and clawing at the cage. It interrupts my immersion into an exciting scene of the book I am reading.        “What?” I yell, “What do you want?” The book tells me that Neil Jr. is hungry.        I go to the freezer and open the box. I gag violently. How the hell am I supposed to pick one of these slimy looking mice in ice up?        The owl squeaks either in anger or excitation of what is coming. Maybe he is laughing at me as I wretch while trying to pick up the mouse, finally deciding on holding the extreme end of the tail. It sways back and forth like a pendulum between my fingers. Neil Jr. consumes it voraciously when I finally get the poor rodent inside the cage.        The book tells me I should spend some time petting Neil Jr. so that he gets comfortable with me. I hold my hand into the cage to allow the elf owl to perch himself on my wrist. We walk over to the couch and I lightly pat his feathers. They are a lot softer than I imagined.        The manual prefaces with an introduction on how owls have traditionally represented wisdom. They used to be seen as wise, old leaders of knowledge and power. He starts coughing.            Panic erupts in my chest as I begin to think that this bird is going to die in my arms just hours after receiving him. The owl is gagging to my fear before he stops. A slimy ooze of bone and other mouse tissue falls into my lap. I almost vomit from my new pet gagging an owl pellet out onto me.            I start to feel the first impressions of another episode coming on. Hands growing clammy, airway tightening. Heart drumming like a college marching band.        Neil Jr. looks up to my face. I can see my reflection in those expressive eyes. He nuzzles his head into me. It has the effect of water being thrown onto a fire. My panic is replaced by tranquility and happiness, as well as adoration of the cute owl.        Though I’d never admit it to Andrea out loud, my owl Christmas gift really did make me happier.

g2qh4o

Grace

"Are you coming tonight?" Sarah asks. The voice message plays in my mind. Should I go tonight? Probably not. I really don't want to go to Sarah's Christmas party. Everyone will be there. Family, friends, neighbours, random people she met on the street- they'll all be there tonight. "Which is why you should go!" Sadie groans, cutting my rant off. "No, it's why I shouldn't go." I'm right, of course. "Wrong, it's why you should. It's a great way for you to come out." "Come out??" I say incredulous, "Sadie, are you out of your mind?" "You've been avoiding Sarah for years! Don't you think it's time to tell her?" Right. Tell her that I'm a girl. Telling my sister that her brother is dead. "And what on earth am I going to say to her? 'Hey Sarah! I know you don't think you know me, but I'm your sister! Brandon no longer exists!' It sounds stupid just saying it out loud to you!" "That's because I'm not Sarah," Sadie says, rolling her eyes. "And it's not only her, you and your parents haven't spoken in three years!" My heart sinks. They kicked me out at seventeen when they caught me in bed with a boy. I told them we weren't even doing anything wrong, we were just chilling. Sarah was there for the occurrence too. She was home for summer break, and after that, she gave me a room in her apartment. She believed me. "For a reason , Sadie." Sadie sighs. "What else can I say to make you go?" "Nothing," I mutter, "my mind's made up." I feel horrible for skipping the Christmas party again. For the fourth time this year. "Not even when I say that they've got three years worth of presents for you?" Sadie says desperately. I scoff. My parents wouldn't get a present for their daughter they kicked out three years ago. "Why can't I just meet Sarah some other time?" "Because that's what you always say." That's true. I always make plans and cancel them last minute. "But it's different this time, I'm trans!" Sadie looks ready to slap me. "For the love of God!" "God didn't help me when I was on the streets!" "I'll go with you then," Sadie says, putting on a fake smile. It looks painful. "If it doesn't work out, we'll come home." "Fine," I say, only because Sadie is terrifying when she's mad and I can't have her ripping up my closet. "Great!" Sadie says, hopping out of the covers. "Get ready, we leave in five." --- "This is the worst idea you've ever had." I glare at the house I used to call home. The fairy lights hang around the porch and I can see the silhouettes of the people inside. They clump together like weeds, drinking and laughing. "C'mon, it's not the worst idea I've ever had. Remember when I put three thousand wasps in that bastard's locker?" "It wasn't her locker," I remind Sadie. " It was mine. " "Yes, yes. See, my point is, everything will be fine compared to when three thousand bees chased you down the hallway." "Where'd you even manage to get so many?" "I found a beehive growing in the walls of my room. Thought it'd be a good idea to get back at that bastard." "Lucky it went according to plan." "Sarcasm isn't your tone- look out, Sarah's coming." "Okay, great!" I hiss. "I'm leaving." "Not so fa- hey! Sarah! How are you?" Sadie beams and hugs my sister. "Shall I take the present up?" "No, I will," Sarah says, smiling. "Oh! You brought a guest!" I smile weakly. She doesn't even recognize me. "Hi," I say awkwardly. "I should go. Have fun Sadie!" Behind Sarah, Sadie points the middle finger at me. "No, stay, please. You can't be alone at Christmas!" Deaf to my protests, Sarah drags me inside. Sadie follows suit, and gives me a little smirk. "Look!" I exclaim, pointing both my middle fingers up. "I have two!" "You're such an asshole," Sadie says, before marching off towards the kitchen. "So," Sarah says, turning to me. "What's your name?" She really doesn't recognize me then. It stings a little, but maybe it's for the better. "Grace," I say, returning Sarah's smile. The doorbell rings, and I see my mother heading towards the door. "No, I'll get it," Sarah says, rushing to the entrance. "Sarah, honey, you've been getting all the guests. Maybe you should rest a little bit." "I insist," she says, hand on the doorknob. I see my childhood friends standing in the doorway, all smiling and wishing Sarah a happy Christmas. Maybe it's my imagination, but for a second I saw Sarah's smile falter and fade. As the guests settle in, Sarah turns back to me. "So, where are you from?" "Here, actually," I say. "Born and raised." Sarah raises her eyebrows. "You look a little familiar." My heart races. I don't know what to say to her, so I just shake my head. "Maybe you've seen me here and there, it's a pretty small town." "True, I must've seen you at the coffeehouse at times," she says, and I sigh in relief. "You know, I expected my brother to turn up," Sarah says, her eyes watering up. "I'm really sorry," I say, not knowing how to tell her that her brother is here, but isn't really a boy anymore. "It's alright. I mean, I do get it. My parents judged him way to quickly. They don't want Brandon here, but I still do." "They don't want him here?" I say, a little too quickly. "No, I don't think they do. Three years doesn't really change much about how they think. Although I wish it did." "Brandon will never be welcome here," my father says, appearing out of nowhere. "Sarah, I thought we talked about this," my mother says, frowning. "He's filth, he'll always be filth." "How could you?" Sarah cries, tears spilling down her face. "To your own child? At Christmas no less?" "He's no a child of mine," my mother says, my father nodding. Sarah bursts into tears and runs out. My mother makes an action to follow her, but my father puts a hand on her shoulder and says, "she'll have to learn that fags will not be allowed in this household." I turn myself away from the conversation, sickened. I rush out to the back to find Sarah. "Sarah!" I call out. I look around for another five minutes before I realize where she is. We had a treehouse. We used to play in it all the time. It was concealed with leaves, and we used it as our hideout. Not even our parents knew it was there, let alone guests and strangers. "Sarah?" "Who's there?" The lightbulb flickers on and Sarah looks at me in shock. "How did you find me?" I feel my eyes start to sting and wetness on my cheeks. I watch as she comes to the realization that I've been dreading. "Brandon?"

od2j3s

Paris, Missouri

“Freakin’ Kansas City,” Becky grumbled from across the aisle as the bus pulled off the snowy interstate. “Most boring city on earth!” “I’ve always wanted to see it, myself,” Kate replied with a smile, though after all these weeks she wondered why she bothered when her fellow dancer was in one of her moods. “You would say that,” Becky said. “What do you know about Kansas City anyway, Miss East Coast? You probably think it’s in Kansas, don’t you?” “Part of it is, although the bigger part is in Missouri. In fact, it’s the biggest city in Missouri.” Kate didn’t bother hiding her triumphant smirk. “Listen to you! But don’t expect me to believe you wouldn’t be back in New Jersey for the holidays.” “I’m from New Hampshire, Becky.” “Same difference. All the states out there are so small anyway. People from the East Coast don’t know anything about the real America. Like how we’d all rather be back with our families instead of putting on this damn play for the nine millionth time.” “Becky, wouldja can it?!” snapped Don, the lead actor. “All those kids love the show we’re putting on, and you knew when you took the job it would take us up to Christmas Eve.” “And you’re getting paid well for it, aren’t you?” Kate reminded her. “I’m off to Hawai’i on the twenty-sixth. Worth every bit of sacrifice until then!” “You mean you’re not going back to New Jersey for the holiday?” Kate didn’t bother correcting her again. “No. I’m not going to New Jersey for Christmas.” “God, you’re even more selfish than I thought!” Becky said. “What do you think your parents think about you staying away by choice?” “Bec!” Don snapped. “She didn’t say she wasn’t going home, she said she was going to Hawai’i the day after Christmas and she wasn’t going to New Jersey, which she just got done telling you isn’t where she’s from!” “Thank you, Don.” Kate turned and looked out the window at the snowy suburban landscape. No need for him or especially Becky to know she really wouldn’t be going home. She’d already made that mistake a few times and been regaled with pitiful looks about spending Christmas in a hotel room. No use in trying to convince anyone that to her, a hotel room was heaven compared to the alternative. Indeed, Kate mused as she found herself reluctantly drawn down memory lane, that very thought as a little girl was quite possibly what had started her down the path that had led to being on the road now. Was it fifth grade? Maybe sixth, she couldn’t recall for sure. What she did recall was a magically happy day at school, starting with a geography bee that she’d won for the girls’ team as usual and ending with the Christmas party after lunch, and she’d been aglow with the Christmas spirit in the back seat of Jimmy McKean’s mother’s car on the way home. Jimmy’s mother’s car. An Audi, back when her parents had a Chevy. She’d made the mistake of saying out loud how she’d liked that car once, and Mom’s reaction had made damn sure she’d never said it again. Why, oh why, hadn’t that been on Kate’s mind that afternoon when Jimmy’s mother dropped her off outside her house? “You know the drill, all!” said Molly, the director, on the bus intercom. “Half an hour to shower and change clothes, and get back here with your costumes. You make us late…” “YOU PAY,” the cast grumbled in ragged harmony. Kate noticed, not for the first time, the response had a lot less gusto now than the first few nights of the tour. James, the road manager, stood in the hotel doorway with the cast’s room keys. “Thank you,” Kate said when her turn came, having noted that Becky had said nothing. She did her best to tune out the petty bickering among the others as they made their way down the festively decorated hall to their rooms. But it was no use, that long ago day after school was on her mind for the time being. Kate didn’t remember what crummy comment her brother Max had made as soon as she was in the door. She didn’t remember it, but she did know he’d been rude and disrespectful, for that had happened nearly every time she’d come home from school or anywhere else. She did remember she’d made the mistake of responding exactly the way Mom always responded to either of them when they were rude: “Shut up.” That was it – two lousy words, and two of their mother’s favorite words at that – and the next thing she recalled was lying on her bed in tears with Mom’s harangue ringing in her ears. “We are a civilized family…We don’t talk like that at Christmas…You little Scrooge!” And Max off to the side having the most self-satisfied little grin all the while, his rude comment to her having once again gone utterly condoned. Kate slid the keycard into the slot and opened the door to room 108. It was like all the other hotel room’s she’d seen for the past few weeks: clean, neat, plain, anonymous. They’d all been private and empty but for herself, but she’d never given that any real thought before. Now she did. “That little bitch! Doesn’t she remember what it’s like to be Max’s age?” Kate had been safe in her own room when that had floated up from the living room. Her own room with all her toys and books and her beloved map of Europe on the wall, where she recalled gazing longingly at France through tear-stained eyes. This room had none of those comforts, but it was fifteen hundred miles from Mom. Kate smiled as she reminded herself of that, and stole five minutes of relaxing on the bed before she undressed for the pre-show shower. Thanks to her sojourn on the bed, there was just enough time after the shower to dump her suitcase out on the bed and get a change of clothes on. She collected her costume bag from the closet on her way out the door. Some shows, she did her makeup on her own before running for the bus. Today was not one of those days, and she was relieved to see Becky hadn’t done hers either. “Too tired to do yourself up this time?” Becky asked as Kate sank into her usual seat. “Much,” Kate said. “Just make sure you’re not too tired to stay in time,” Becky said. “I don’t want to have to carry the show myself.” “Becky, when have I ever missed a cue, all tour?” Kate snapped. “Mrowrrr!” called out Ari, the stylist, from behind them. “Cat fight!” “What the fuck do you know about women, Ari?” Becky said with a laugh. “More than most straight guys do, I’ll tell you that,” Ari drawled. “Like that’s hard!” Becky laughed and looked at Kate for solidarity. Kate half-smiled and looked out the window at the city at dusk. At least tonight offered one of the roomier backstage areas Kate had seen. But it wasn’t so roomy as to allow for any real privacy as Kate and Becky changed into their garish, ornate costumes. “Can’t wait to see the last of these,” Becky grumbled, pulling her bright red tights up. “How about you?” “I kind of like them,” Kate said. A step ahead of Becky, she pulled her frilly leotard into place and leaned over to pull her slippers on. “I mean, they’re absurd, but I feel like I’m playing a real girly girl, you know? New to me, I was always kind of a tomboy.” “Then why’d you take ballet of all things?” Becky demanded. “Oh, I had my reasons.” That was all Becky needed to know. “Dance is something you can do for fun for the rest of your life!” Dad had once said while driving her home from yet another lesson. “Yes, and it’s something I can do for money if I can’t find a desk job,” Kate had replied. Dad had laughed. “That too. But listen, honey, making it as a pro dancer is like getting to the NFL almost, and it doesn’t pay anywhere near as well.” “I don’t care about getting rich. I care about not having to move back in with Mom and Max after college.” “Kate! Stop that. Your mother loves you, and Max just teases you because he looks up to you.” Kate had mumbled something under her breath. But it hadn’t been far enough under her breath, and her father had spent the rest of the drive home yelling at her about family ties and respect. On the first few shows of the tour, Kate had felt horribly tense as the curtain went up. That was long gone now, and she had no trouble looking as joyful as Christmas itself as she and Becky pranced along with each song. The hall was full of families with little kids, and as usual a few goofed off and made noise until their parents scooped them up and rushed off, but most were well-behaved and some even appeared to be enjoying the show. Kate enjoyed it, too, but she did wonder how many families out there were like her own – all about outward appearances at all cost. As usual, she was sweaty and sore as she took the final bow, but also as usual she was happy. This was far better than any nine-to-five job even if there had been one on tap last spring! But that lovely hotel room was beckoning loud and hard as she stood back up straight and waved to the audience. Please no encore tonight, she thought. Naturally, there was one. Kate smiled through her exhaustion and stepped back out to do the usual encore number, a fast song that had been cut from the production. Thank heavens it was cut, she thought as it finally drew to a close and she struck the final pose. Another round of applause, another wave to the audience, and the curtain swung down at long last. Molly stood in the stage door. “Lots of autograph seekers out there, people!” she said. “Who’s up for a meet-and-greet tonight?” “Forget it, Molly,” Becky said, squeezing past her. Kate had been all set to do the same. But seeing how Becky looked and sounded, she forced a smile. “I’ll do it, Molly.” She knew the drill. The adults and the drama students would want to talk to the leads, the teenage girls would want their pictures taken with Don, and of course the boys would flock to her. As usual, that was just what happened. Kate didn’t mind a bit; she knew perfectly well she’d have done the same at that age for a male dancer in racy getup. She exchanged wry smiles with the boys’ mothers as they asked for her autograph on the program. As usual, she posed for photographs with every one of the boys who was brave enough to ask, knowing exactly how they would be using that photograph for years to come and not minding a bit. “Can boys learn to dance like that?” asked one boy who was too shy to look in her eyes. “Of course they can!” Kate said. “Just ask your parents about taking lessons. And happy holidays!” “You too…thanks.” He finally forced himself to look her in the eye, and Kate rewarded him with a hug. “Dance is for everybody!” she told him, giving his back an affectionate rub. As she let him go and stood up to find his parents waiting just behind him, she explained, “I started lessons when I was about his age. But it’s never too late!” “We’ve been trying to interest him in it for months!” his mother told Kate. “But until tonight it was all, ‘that’s just for girls!’. Thank you!” “My pleasure!” Kate’s heart was flying, but she was nevertheless relieved that there were only a few more admiring looks from afar before the theatre emptied out. She was one of the last few cast members to escape backstage, and quickly concluded that if she changed her clothes here, she’d be the last one ready to leave. Rather than have that hanging over her head all the way back to the hotel, she tossed her slippers in the bag with her clothes and put her street shoes on, and stepped out into the cold parking lot in her costume. The chilly wind was murder in her skimpy, sweaty clothes, but the laughs and cheers from the others made up for it. “You’re in a hurry to get home, huh?” asked Ari, who was smoking a cigarette by the bus door. “You have no idea!” “Some tomboy you are!” Becky teased when Kate got back to their seats. “Oh, where’s your Christmas spirit?” Kate grinned at her, hoping the earlier animosity would be forgotten. It wasn’t. “Oh, excuse me, Kate, but which one of us will be having Christmas dinner with our families?” “Who isn’t going home for Christmas?” asked Sally, the lead actress, who always insisted on having the entire back row of the bus to herself. Don saved the day by bursting into a rousing rendition of “Christmas, Baby Please Come Home,” which had the whole bus exchanging lines across the aisle before the bus had even pulled out of the parking lot. Kate even joined in on the singing, hoping to keep her mind off the memory Becky had once again torn open. Mom had owned a record album called Christmas in France , with a wonderfully idyllic photo of a rural church that, Kate now realized, didn’t really have to be in France. It could have been in Missouri for all she knew. But she remembered thinking of that picture as she’d gazed at France on her map on the wall, drying her eyes and trying to imagine she was celebrating Christmas over there. She had just gone on toe at ballet class and the promise of someday performing in exotic halls had been on her mind already – and now more than ever. Kate didn’t begrudge the curious and bemused looks she got from the few tired travellers they came across in the hotel lobby. On the contrary, she was happy to make a few strangers smile and wonder. “You know what they thought you were, Kate,” Becky needled her once the cast had the hallway to themselves. Kate ignored her as she rummaged through her bag for her jeans, which had her key in the pocket. Finding it just in time, she said, “Merry Christmas, Becky,” as she stopped at room 108. Becky said something in response that didn’t sound very merry to Kate, but she didn’t hear just what it was. Alone at last, she turned the heater on and paused to look out the window at the barren Midwestern suburb. There was no sign of anyone out there, but she laughed as she realized anyone who did happen to pass by would see her in her dance garb, and just about to tear it off at that. Kate drew the curtains and looked around the quiet room, and at long last she pulled her leotard straps down. A long, hot bath would do just fine, thank you. As long as she kept the curtains drawn, after all, it might as well be Paris out there.

aby8qb

Laurel and Milton's Bucket List

It is Christmas Eve and Nichole is putting the finishing touches on the Christmas ham with her mother Rosa. "It looks like Dad's family recipe has done it again. It looks beautiful. He would be so proud of us.", Nichole says. Rosa sighs and looks out the kitchen window, "I know. It is still hard for me to believe your father has been gone for three years now. But the ham looks delicious, and I know he would not mind if I just cut the tiniest slice off the end here." Nichole gives her mother a side eye. Rosa grabs a knife off the marble countertop and slices through the perfectly maple glazed crusted ham and winks. "You know, just to make sure it's not poisoned." As Nichole begins to protest, Rosa reaches over and puts a thin slice into her daughter's mouth. Nichole moans in ecstasy and licks her lips. "Dad would be so proud of us. Mom, this tastes even better than last year’s ham. This little piggy is a true masterpiece." Just then Kelly, Nichole's wife, and Dayon, their 7-year-old son walk into the kitchen. “Hi grandma! It smells so good in here. It smells like Christmas.” Dayon says as he rushes over to Rosa. "Let me guess. You two are testing the ham for poison." Kelly smirks. Mama Rosa laughs, "You know us all too well Kelly. As you should. You've been a part of our family for sixteen years." Reaching down to give her grandson a kiss she asks, "How's my favorite grandson?" Dayon smiles, "Grandma, I'm your only grandson. Can I have some ham? I think Grandpa Danny would want me to check for poison too.” “Do you see what you two have started?” Kelly asks. “Well, we’re always looking for new partners in crime. Isn’t that right Dayon?” Nichole retorts as Dayon nods in agreement and puts a bite size piece of ham in his mouth. "Dayon let's go get dressed so we can join Milton and Laurel to see the luminarias in Carrollwood." Rosa smiles. "I'm happy they invited us. I never would have thought that an elderly white couple would be so open minded and invite their non- traditional neighbors." Kelly says. "Well, I've always told Nichole and her brother to never judge a book by its cover and that goes for Milton and Laurel. Now, let me help my only and favorite grandson get dressed so we can head next door. Laurel says Milton will drive us since he knows the streets with the best luminarias displays." Rosa grabs Dayon's hand and heads upstairs. "Of course, the male breeder wants to drive. They always have to be in control." Kelly sneers and shoves a piece of ham into her mouth. "Hey, be nice. You heard what my mom said. Never judge a book by its cover. Besides, they wouldn't have invited us if they had a problem with us." Putting her arm around Kelly, Nichole gives her a light kiss on the cheek. "You're right of course. I don't want to prejudge people because that would make me a hypocrite." Kelly says. "And I believe that would put me on Santa's naughty list." She smiles and relaxes into Nichole's arms. “Well, for the record, I don’t mind if you’re on Santa’s naughty list. I’ll still give you all your gifts under the tree.” Nichole grins. Twenty minutes later the motley crew is being driven around Carrollwood's streets and avenues with Milton and Laurel as their guide. "The traditional luminaries consists of a small brown paper bag, a small candle and a small amount of sand to weigh down the bag in case of wind." As Milton navigates through the beautifully lit neighborhoods, they continue to 'ooh' and 'ah' at every turn. “Although the people in our neighborhood have come and gone and changed over the years, the tradition of the luminaries perseveres.” An hour later, Milton pulls the van into the driveway. "So, who wants hot chocolate and warm donuts?" "I do! I do!", screams Dayon. "For the past thirty years me and Milton always follow our luminaries ride with hot chocolate and warm donuts." Laurel smiles and reaches over to squeeze Milton's hand. "That sounds lovely", Mama Rosa replies. That evening, Kelly and Nichole enjoy their traditional bourbon eggnog with steaming hot bowls of gumbo as they wrap last minute gifts for the tree, Kelly smiles, "Tonight will go down as one of my favorite Christmas Eve's." "Oh really?" Nichole takes another sip of her eggnog and places another piece of tape on a gift with sparkly green wrapping paper. “You mean you enjoyed spending time with a white heterosexual elderly couple?” "Yes", Kelly replies. "Milton and Laurel were wonderful tour guides and a sweet elderly couple. You and your mother were right. My early New Year’s Resolution is to not judge a book by its cover. I hope to one day be as loving and caring as they are." "I'll drink to that." Nichole says as they both clink their glasses together. Meanwhile next-door Milton and Laurel are also sharing a Christmas Eve drink; a glass of Pinot Grigio along with small bowls of warm pasta carbonara. "Do you have the book Laurel?" Milton asks as he sips the last of his wine. "You know I do sweetheart", Laurel replies. Laurel places a black leather-bound book with gilded pages on the round dining room table. She gently pulls on the scarlet-colored ribbon revealing a page with the heading Bucket List followed by a numerical list of varying items written in a combination of black and blue ink. Some of the items are followed by a big red check mark indicating a successful completion of the task. Mid-way down on the right-hand side of the journal, Milton's weathered index finger lingers over numbers 71 and 72. "We definitely hit the jackpot with our new neighbors didn't we Laurel?", Milton chuckles as Laurel hands him a red pen. "We sure did sweetheart. Merry Christmas!", and with two quick strokes of the pen Milton puts two red-inked check marks next to the phrases "Have hot chocolate with colored people" and "Hang out with lesbians".

u5fctt

July 25th.

"Welcome to Starbucks, how can I help you?" a peppy barista asks. "I'll have a cake pop, thanks." "Sounds good! Flavor?" "...birthday cake." "Is is someone's birthday?" "Mine." "Happy birthday!" she exclaims. She pulls the cake pop out and hands it to you, along with another chocolate one. "Birthday girls get two, right?" You half smile, then half laugh. "Yeah, thanks." She nods, and waves. You pay and head out the door. "Back again! Want another cake pop?" Day two of Starbucks. "No, I'll have an americano." "Sounds good! Any accommodations?" "No." You sit at the table, in your day old clothes, reading your last text to your parents. "I'm gay." Short and simple. Your parents leave you on read. "You gonna be a regular now?" You look up. Same barista. "Sure. Whatever. A frappe, please." "Flavor?" "Surprise me." You walk to the table. You haven't been home since Monday- two whole days. You're staying at your friends. And at Starbucks for most of the day. You pull up the text to your parents as the barista walks up and brings you your drink. You fumble and try to hide it, but she seems not to notice, a smile growing on her face. "You're supposed to call my name." "I figured I'd bring it to you." You take it and leave. Every day, the same routine. You've started staying with your aunt, and it's been a couple weeks since you've come out. A text message pops up. "Not in our lives, you aren't." You don't know how to respond. The barista does, though. She glances at your screen as she's bringing you your drink, like she now does every day, and glares. "Give me the phone." "What?" "Give me the phone." She takes it and types. She hands it back to you, with your drink, waves, and leaves. You walk to the car. F*ck off, uneducated imbeciles, she wrote. You smile. Two months after you've come out. Living in your car now. Peppy barista comes up to you with your drink. Wearing a rainbow pin. She hands you your frappe. "Have a great day!" she says. She walks off, and you notice the way her dark brown cheerleader pony swings. The way her hands fidget while walking back behind the counter. The way her lips full into a toothless smile when she meets a nice customer. The way you smile fully when you see her, despite not wanting to. Summer now. Living in an apartment with your friend. Taking a gap year in the fall. You still come to Starbucks. Peppy barista wears the pin every day now. She serves you daily. One day she walks up to you. "How did you become brave enough to come out?" You respond, for some reason. "I hated the BS my parents said." "...I hate it too." July 25th. You're parked by Starbucks early in the morning when you see peppy barista. Jamie. Her name is Jamie, you remember. She sees you and comes to knock on the window. "You good?" Her hair is dyed at the tips- rainbow. You smile. "Yeah, just waiting to order from my favorite barista." She laughs, a pretty sound. You wonder if it's flirting, or just friendship. But she opens the door. "Come on, I'll let you in early. You and your caffeine addiction." She opens the door to Starbucks and lets you in, pulling out a blueberry muffin for herself from the shelf. She pulls one out for you too, and you take it. "On the house. Let's eat outside." You nod and walk out to one of the metal tables outside. She sits across from you and bites into her muffin. "Delish." You nod and smile and make small talk. As you're getting up, before you can say a word, she kisses you. September 1st. You've been dating her for a month. Best feeling in the world. She lets you in early every morning, and lets you stay late every night. You love her. It's simple as that. She pulls you in close, puts two straws in the drink, and takes a picture of the two of you drinking Starbucks together. The classic Instagram pic. But then she takes your phone and sends it to your parents. #LesbianLove She hands you your phone and smiles. "I love you," she says. It's like the stars shine brighter in that moment. October 31st. Halloween, and you're loving it. She's already taken you all around the neighborhood to get treats, even though you claim you're too old for it. Now, you're heading to a haunted house, and she's holding your hand tightly, scared of what might come out of the shadows. She jumps when a clown comes around the corner, and you squeeze her hand and laugh. She laughs too, the perfect sound. "I want you to meet my parents." It's Christmastime, and you've been dating for nearly 5 months now. Her parents know about you, but meeting them seems extreme. "Um...." "Please? We can decorate my family's tree, and open presents, and you can celebrate Christmas with us!" You can't say no to her, so on Christmas Eve, you step out of her old Toyota and onto the sidewalk in front of a medium sized suburban house, decked out with lights and reindeer on the roof. "Jamie! You're home!" a man on a ladder shouts, attaching more lights to the roof. He climbs down and envelopes her in a bear hug. "I haven't seen you in a week!" She laughs and hugs him too. "Hi, Dad. I missed you!" He lets go and looks at me. "And you must be her girlfriend!" he says, hugging you too. You're surprised, but you nod and hug him back. "Nice to meet you." He leads you inside and you greet her mom, who hugs you too. Then you eat a huge feast, and head to the living room to decorate a huge green tree. By the time you finish, it's midnight, and you head upstairs to go to sleep. With her by your side. Christmas, and it's snowing. You creep out of bed, but she's awake and follows you out to the kitchen. "Let's go check for gifts!" she exclaims, and the childish tradition makes you love her even more. You follow her into the living room, where under the tree, ten perfectly wrapped gifts lay. Her parents are already sipping coffee and smiling. "Let's open gifts, shall we?" they ask. Jamie opens hers first. A stack of books, from her parents, and a Starbucks keychain. A guava soap and a set of colorful markers. A blanket. And a charm bracelet from you- with a locket, a picture of the two of you. Drinking from those Starbucks cups. And then there's one for you, that she hands you. A small box. When you open it up, you're surprised to see a frame, with a photo of you and her, backs towards the camera, holding hands in front of the Starbucks. You don't even remember this picture being taken, but you love it instantly. You kiss her, even with her parents in the room, and just then, everything feels right. You two head to Starbucks, your daily tradition. Unlock the door and take some muffins. Sit outside and eat, and talk. "I love you," you whisper. And then it's February 25th again, your birthday. You're 19 now, and it's been a year since you met her. Now, you walk into Starbucks hand in hand, a letter to her manager clutched tightly in her other fist. She smiles at you and unfolds the letter, carefully taping it to her locker. I regret to inform you that I will no longer be working here. I apologize for the late notice, and I'm sorry for your loss. I'm following my dreams by moving across the country to go to college with my girlfriend, whom most of you have met. I encourage you to give out cake pops on cute girl's birthdays. Little hint there. Sincerely, Jamie+Maya And then you're off. Bags packed, you head to the airport, board your plane, fly with her. Prepare to hopefully spend your life with her. Wednesday, February 26th, 2019 James Michael Grant has sent you a new message. I'm sorry. You're my daughter. I love you. I don't have to support you, but I love you. Delete contact? YES NO You click yes.

c61ung

Christmas, Cookies, and Cleaning

Alice Denning sat against the wall behind the sandbox in her kindergarten classroom, hugging her knees. It was getting dark outside, and she couldn’t reach the light switch. Just like the past two nights, there would be no light at all once the sun set. Would she ever get home? She looked up at the tick marks she had made on the bottom of the chalkboard. She could barely reach the board at all, so she had put them right at the bottom. She had been marking the days she’d been trapped inside the school. Three gone, countless to go . Not to mention, the school got cold at night at Christmas. She cried when she thought of Christmas. She was going to miss it! Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. She cried when she thought of the Christmas tree, of the pretty lights, of her stocking... Would Santa even leave anything in her stocking? Would he leave her any presents at all? She had been so good this year! And now her family was going to have Christmas without her. Would they return all the stuff they bought? Or worse…would her older brother, Connor, get all her presents? As the light waned, she got up and grabbed Oscar the bear and the purple striped blanket out of the nap time bin. She sniffed as she laid down on the carpet, her head cradled on Oscar’s fluffy belly. She missed her teddy bear at home, Julie, with her pretty red-and-white polka-dotted bow, and she missed her mommy and daddy. She missed their rough-and-tumble golden retriever, Ollie, and Conner's goldfish, Scale. She turned over. She missed Conner, too. She was a big girl this year—in senior kindergarten. This was her second year in Mrs. Austin's class, so she knew a lot more than the baby “JK’s.” She knew where to get all the sand toys, she knew how to fold her blanket after nap time, and she knew that the markers were in the white bin, while the crayons were in the green bin. She had thought that being in senior kindergarten would mean that she was all grown up. And yet...being in the big classroom all by herself was scary. She wished her reading buddy, Sarah, was here. Then she could read her a bedtime story. Sarah was in grade six, which meant she knew everything. Alice bet that Sarah would know how to get out of the school, too. Instead, all alone, Alice’s lip began to tremble. She cried loudly then, as if Mommy and Daddy could hear all the way from home. Finally, she fell asleep, the wetness from her tears drying on her cheeks as she dreamt. She dreamt of home, of Christmas, of the tree, and of Santa coming. She dreamt that Conner saw Santa, and that Santa gave him a big hug and left him lots of presents. Meanwhile, Santa told Alice to go back up to her bedroom. She dreamt that Daddy made a fresh batch of peanut butter cookies for Christmas—Alice’s favorite, and Santa’s, too—and that everyone ate them with hot chocolate. Conner pulled out a giant superhero action figure from under the tree, while Mommy packed up the hamster Alice had wanted to bring him back to the store. She dreamt that Santa was pouring coal into her stocking, and as he poured, Alice herself turned into a lump of coal and tumbled off the scoop into a fuzzy, red abyss. She awoke. It was Christmas Eve. She looked out the window. The sky was so bright, a pretty blue with puffy white clouds. The sun was shining, and there was a fresh layer of snow on the ground. She could see the kindergarten playground from the window in her classroom. She wanted to go outside so badly. She looked up at the chalkboard again. Three tick marks. Suddenly, she was filled with a new determination. She did not want to see a fourth tick up there. She had to get home. Santa was coming tonight . And she had to put out peanut butter cookies for him! Conner always put out the gingerbread men they decorated, but Alice knew better. Santa might never come back if she couldn't put out the right cookies! There was one problem: she had tried every door at the school already, and they were all locked. They had been locked since Friday when school had closed for the Christmas holidays. The teachers were all on holiday, and Alice had not seen or heard a single person enter the school since. She had been playing hide and seek with her best friend, Rhonda, when she fell asleep in the greatest hiding spot ever: a secret crawlspace behind one of the storage areas in the gym. Students weren’t supposed to go into the storage areas without a teacher—not to mention find secret crawlspaces behind them. When she had woken up, it was dark, she was hungry, and everyone was gone. She stayed in the crawlspace all that first night. She she had cried, then, too. But she wasn't going to cry anymore. Not until she got home and put out Santa's cookies. The very first thing she had to do, after using the kindergarten potty like a big girl, was to get some breakfast. Then she would try all the outside doors in the school again. She had been surviving on granola bars and apple juice, which she’d found in the breakfast club room. She plugged her nose when she drank the juice—apple was her least  favorite. Her first morning there, after waking up for the second time inside the crawlspace, she had ventured to the breakfast club room to see if she could find something to eat. It was too bad Miss Melissa, the breakfast club lady, wasn’t there. Miss Melissa made toaster waffles on Wednesdays. Alice loved toaster waffles, though Mommy never bought them at home. Unfortunately, when Alice had gotten to the breakfast club room, she’d realized that the freezer door was too high up for her to reach the waffles. She’d opened the fridge instead and found only ketchup, something green in a jar, and the apple juice boxes. Famished, she opened a juice box anyway and thus confirmed that it was still her least favorite. She’d opened several more drawers and cupboards and found pots, dish soap, raw instant oatmeal packets, and wooden spoons. Finally, right at the back of the cupboard between the fridge and the sink, she hit the jackpot: a box of chocolate chip marshmallow granola bars and animal fruit snacks. She wished the granola bars were peanut butter chip, but this would do. She was munching on a granola bar when she looked at the shelves above the counter. There on a high shelf above her sat a giant jar of peanut butter. Alice’s eyes went wide. She had to get to it, but how? She responsibly checked the big closet for a stool and found one that was one step high—just like the ones she’d seen underneath big girl sinks sometimes. She stood on her tippy toes on the stool and stepped one foot onto a drawer knob, and she just managed to push herself up onto the counter. She put her hands on her hips and looked around. She stepped one foot onto the faucet handle of the sink and placed one hand on the fridge to get as high as she could. She reached and reached  with all her might, and the very tip of her longest finger almost touched the jar. Then, her foot slipped, and her hand slipped, and she tumbled down onto the counter, her leg hitting the rim of the sink. She burst into tears and wailed, one foot in the sink, one foot underneath her. When she was all cried out, she climbed down gingerly off the counter. Her leg hurt. She decided to have another granola bar and go back to Mrs. Austin’s classroom. Now, her leg felt all better, though she still tried didn’t like to look at the sink when she opened the fridge or the cupboard. Chewing the last bite of a granola bar, she placed the wrapper in the garbage bin and stuffed a package of fruit snacks in her pocket. Then she set out to try the doors. She tried the door at the far end of the kindergarten hall, first. Locked. She went down to the exit past the grade one and two classrooms, but it was locked, too. She tried the double doors by the middle grades' rooms to no avail. Finally, she found herself in front of the intermediate wing. She had always been scared to go to the intermediate wing. She had only tried the door at the end of this hallway once since being locked up. Grade seven and eights were big. Even knowing that no one was there, she felt sure that a big kid was going to jump out and capture her. And yet, somehow, with her tummy full of gummies and whole grains, she felt a little bit brave. She started down the hallway, and her footsteps echoed. She peeked in every classroom door to make sure nobody was there. Finally, she reached the massive door, and she pushed with all her might. Locked . She turned around and saw how far she had had to come down the hallway. She sucked in her breath and ran as fast as she could, all the way back to the kindergarten wing. Rounding the corner to her classroom, she was sad. She thought of Oscar sitting on the floor, waiting for her. She needed a snuggle. She had to think. But when got inside, there was no Oscar. There was no blanket, either! She spun around to the chalkboard and felt her hair jump right off her head in fright. Her tick marks were gone! They were gone!  She had no way of knowing how many days she had been there. And far, far worse, someone else was there, too! She had to hide! Her heart pounded. She looked at the open classroom doorway. Dare she risk getting close to it? She had to. She ran to the door and shut it, harder than she had meant to. It closed with a bang , not to mention the click-clack  of the handle going into the wall. She clasped her hand over her mouth to keep herself from yelping aloud. She ducked underneath the teacher’s desk at the back of the classroom. Her breath was frantic and shaky. She sat still for several minutes until she was finally convinced that no one was coming. Relief started to wash over her, when... She heard something! She was sure it was coming from down the hall. Plap, plap, plap. Flat-footed footsteps sounded on the tiles. And something else...a squeaking. Squeak-y, squeak-y, squeak-y  went the pattern. Both sounds were getting louder. Plap, plap, squeak-y. Plap, plap, squeak-y . Who could it be? Then, right outside her door, the noises stopped. She heard the sound of a throat clear, and then a knock on the door. She hugged her knees tightly. An uncertain male voice said, " Hello ?" Alice didn't say a word. Then, the handle turned and released from the wall. Click-clack. The door creaked open slightly, and then it swung wide. A pair of feet poked in. The light flicked on for the first time since Friday. She tried to keep her breathing from being heard. She was shaking. She followed the feet of the man as he came into the room. He was walking right towards her! He was going to capture her for sure! The feet stopped right in front of Mrs. Austin’s desk. Then, the feet were joined by a pair of knees as her captor knelt down! She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. But she could not outrun a kidnapper! Suddenly, a friendly face appeared under the desk in front of her. "I thought there must be someone in here," said Jeffrey, the school janitor. Alice began to howl loudly. "Hey, hey, it's okay, little girl. It's all right, Alice. It's only me." Alice cried and flung herself onto him, hugging him tightly. She knew Jeffrey. Mrs. Austin had told them to always take care of their space, "just like Jeffrey takes care of us. He helps keep the school bright and clean.” Alice always said hi to him in the hallways, and he always said hi back. "I'm glad it's only you!" said Jeffrey. "I was pretty scared, there!" Alice stopped crying for just a moment and sat back to look at him. "You were?" she hiccupped through a sob. He smiled under his short, black beard. "Yeah. I thought you were a burglar or a bad guy!" Alice laughed. "I'm not a bad guy!" "I can see that,” Jeffrey said, smiling. Alice smiled, too. "I’m glad I found you!" said Jeffrey. “The whole town’s been looking for you since Friday. They’ve got police on it and everything. And you’ve been here the whole time.” He tugged her into another hug. "You poor thing." Alice sniffled. “They…they were?” “Of course!” Jeffrey said. “You didn’t think your Mommy and Daddy would want you to miss Christmas, did you?” Then he said, “But I thought they already checked the school…” He looked at her gently. “How did you get trapped in here, Miss Alice?” Alice looked away, thinking of the storage room. Suddenly, Jeffrey’s face widened. “Have you had anything at all to eat?” Alice didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t want to get in trouble for stealing, but she didn’t want to lie, either. She nodded tentatively. “I found some granola bars in the breakfast room." She bit her lip. “And some juice. Please don't tell on me!” she pleaded. “I didn’t mean to steal.” Then, fear suddenly washed over her. “Do you think Santa will think I’m bad? And then I won’t get any presents at all?” Her eyes began to fill again. “I have to get home and put out the right cookies for him! He likes peanut butter, just like me! And Conner always wants to give him gingerbread. And…I went into the storage room. And I stole the granola bars! And I don’t like apple juice! And…and Santa will never come back. And I’ll never get any presents, ever again!” She sobbed and tried to squirm back under the desk, but Jeffrey held her with strong hands. His voice was deep and reassuring. "Now, that just won't do," he said. "Not on Christmas Eve." He stood and carried her out of the classroom. "How about we get you something more substantial to eat, and then we get you home to your parents in plenty of time for Santa?" Alice swallowed another sob and nodded. "Uh...huh..." she said, her drying cheeks pinching. Jeffrey's janitor cart was outside the classroom door, and he carried her down the hall, Alice noticed the big black wheels on the bottom of the cart. They must have been what had made the squeaking noise. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. She sat up in his arms and asked in alarm, “Did you take Oscar away?” Jeffrey frowned. Then he smiled. “Is that the teddy bear? Yes, ma’am, I put him and his blanket safe and sound back with his friends. Right next to Mr. Rabbit, if I recall.” Alice rested her head again, the soft scruff of his beard scratching her ear. “You mean, Mr. Squiggles,” she said, thinking of the long-eared rabbit stuffy. He was Rhonda’s favorite. Then she asked, “How come you erased my tick marks?” Jeffrey laughed aloud. “That’s my job, my dear!” When they entered the breakfast club room, Jeffrey turned on the light and set her on a stool. "You know,” he said as he rummaged around the kitchen. "You're pretty smart to know what kind of cookies Santa likes." He opened the fridge and saw the juice, then closed the fridge again. "I'd even say you're one smart cookie." He chuckled. He opened up the freezer. “Hey, they’ve got toaster waffles! Do you like toaster waffles?” Alice nodded emphatically. He pulled them out and then looked up. “Say! There’s peanut butter, too!” Hi, Earl? Sorry to bother you on Christmas Eve... No, no, not at all. Listen, I was doing today’s cleaning, and I found Alice Denning. Yes, that’s exactly right. Mrs. Austin’s classroom. Oh, absolutely. A Christmas Eve miracle. Well, would you look at that. That sounds great. We're just in the breakfast club room—yeah, I made sure. I just fixed her a couple of waffles, it's not much, but... Okay, that sounds great. I'll let her know. We'll see 'em soon, then. Thanks. Oh—me too. Merry Christmas to you, too.

chk349

A Bird and a Child for Christmas

Although Clyde was a bit of an atheist, he still celebrated the more consumer parts of the holiday season. Complete with a big dinner feast in which he and his husband Larry invited their families to. It had taken a while for Clyde’s family to accept that he is gay and that he got married to a man. Never the less his parents and his sister were always looking forward to enjoying Larry’s cooking on Christmas Eve and the lovely breakfast that he prepared every time. Larry had tried to train Clyde in the ways of cooking and baking but he always managed to burn things or undercook the food. Clyde’s family always drove to visit since they live in Great Falls, Montana while he and his husband live in Missoula. Larry’s family lives in Arizona, so they always flew into Montana to visit. Which at first baffled Clyde because Larry’s family had the money to make trips like that and all over the world due to their wealth. Something that Clyde never had growing up and that he didn’t have now individually. Clyde and Larry met them at the airport and brought some of Larry’s delicious peppermint hot chocolate to drink on the way back to their home. The drive was complete with the awful sound of Larry’s mom and sister singing Christmas carols. Something that Larry had warned Clyde about the first time they hosted Christmas. When they arrived at the spacious blue house that Larry had bought for them with the money his parents always spoiled him with, Clyde took the initiative to pack in all of their heavy luggage. They were only staying for about four days but they tended to pack as if they were staying for a whole month. Once inside, they brought out their Christmas gifts that were carefully packed in small boxes with the finest ribbons that Clyde had ever seen. Larry and he put them under the enormous seven-foot beautiful pine tree that Larry had convinced Clyde to get. “What a beautiful tree you guys. Larry had bragged about it on the phone call last week,” said his mother Janet. “It smells better than the fake trees we always have,” explained his sister Kelly with a hint of jealousy in her voice. “It’s just easier hun to do it that way,” explained his dad, Brett. “Well, that’s okay and Clyde’s parents should be here soon,” said Larry as he looked at his mother dead in the eyes. She never got along with Clyde’s parents and was good at making a scene at times. While Clyde showed Larry’s sister and father the decorations they had put up in the walls of the living room. Larry pulled his mother aside as he had done every Christmas and told her to be civil. As per usual she said that she would be on her best behavior but Larry never really believed her. Still, he hoped that this time would be different because he and his husband had some news to share later. After some time of visiting and snacking, they heard a knock on the door. Clyde got up to open it and let his parents in. His mother, Fran came in first carrying her small bag. Whilst his father came in a minute later getting out the rest of the luggage and a few gifts. He handed them off to Clyde and then told him he had one more thing to grab. “Don’t forget the special thing we brought Jake” shouted Fran. “What special thing mom?” “Oh, you’ll see.” Clyde waited at the entrance of the big white door while his mother went in to place some presents under the tree. At the back of his parent’s sedan, he watched as his father brought out a birdcage. That house a beautiful and colorful parrot. “What the heck dad? Is that your pet?” He came up the driveway a little winded in the cold and said, “No son, this is the special gift your mother and I got for you.” “Um, dad that is thoughtful and all but we definitely don’t need or want a bird.” “Well, too bad, we already bought it for you and have all of the birdseed that you need.” His dad brought the bird into the house while Clyde continued to look at him with shock. His mother looked over as they walked in with the bird and said sweetly, “I hope you like him, we thought that a rainbow-colored bird would be nice for you guys.” “Why would you think we would want that?” “Well because you are gay honey and as a kid, you always talked about how you wanted a bird.” “The last time I said that I was young and way over my head. I have no idea how to take care of a bird and I don’t think Larry does either.” “Well just take him into the living room and show him our wonderful gift.” He once again looked at them with a bit of shock as he followed his parents and the bird into the spacious living room. “Woah, is that your bird Fran and Jake,” asked Larry’s mother? “No, we brought it here for the boys,” explained Jake. “Oh.” “Sir, with all due respect, why did you bring us a bird?” Larry looked over at Clyde with his blue eyes all bugged out. “As I explained to Clyde in the other room. Clyde always talked about wanting a bird as a child and so we thought it would be a nice gift for you both,” said Clyde’s mom. “Okay but we have never discussed wanting a bird and I for one only know how to take care of dogs but Clyde is allergic to them.” “Too late, you just have to take him because we are not bringing back our present to you. Quite frankly I am offended that you two don’t like our special surprise.” “I am sorry we offended you but it was completely unexpected,” said Larry with a sound of nervousness in his quivering voice. Fran put the bird down on the oak wood table that was not yet set for dinner. As she did that he repeated the word by squawking out “unexpected.” This made everyone in the room beside Clyde’s parents jump in their skin. “Okay, well I have prepared a lot of food for this evening. Clyde do you want to move our new bird and set the table?” “Yes, yes I will.” He walked up to the bird giving it a glance over and moved him over to the small red cabinet table across from the dinner table. He then rushed over into the kitchen to grab silverware and a red table cloth that they had stored away in the cabinet by the fridge. The two of them whispered in the kitchen about the bird that was brought for them. As they both explained to each other their disdain for the gift and tried to figure out what they were going to do with it. Clyde suggested that they just pretend like they had accepted the gift for the rest of their parents’ stay and then take it to the local shelter. Larry clapped back with the fact that if they gave the bird away after they left that Clyde’s parents would find out the next time they visit. Clyde accepted this and just realized that they were not getting out of this responsibility. So, he went away at setting the table and making small talk as Larry prepared to bring out all of the food. “You have really outdone yourself this year,” said Fran with gratitude. The rest of them mumbled their agreement as they stuffed their mouths with delicious and abundant food. “Thank you, I try my best.” The rest of the evening was pretty straightforward. They opened gifts, had dessert. They did have to listen to the bird talk and make noise. Which Clyde and Larry were quietly annoyed with as well as the rest of them besides Clyde’s parents of course. After dessert and the opening of presents, Fran asked, “What name do you guys want to give your new bird?” The couple looked at each other with their mouths wide open and without words. Finally, Larry’s sister suggested the name Magnificent since it is just so beautiful. “I guess that could work because I can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound humanly stupid,” said Larry with a grin on his face. “Sure, whatever you guys suggest works for me,” said Clyde. “Then that is its name then,” said Fran as she gazed over at Magnificent. After some more small talk and visiting, the families went to sleep in the many rooms of the house. When they went to bed the husbands stayed up a while still discussing the issue of having a bird they never asked for. “Your parents are crazy and this totally overshadows the fact that we were going to tell them that we are in the middle of the adoption process to have a child.” “I know, I know, they have always been a little eccentric but I think they mean well.” “I guess that is true but now we have to have this unwanted burden and have to take care of a child soon. This was definitely not the plan Clyde.” “Yes I know, let’s just go to bed, I think we have hashed this out enough tonight.” The next morning at breakfast, Clyde and Larry had decided to mention that they were going to adopt a child soon. Clyde was a little worried about it since his parents didn’t particularly like the fact that he is gay at first. He didn’t know how they would react. Larry being the braver of the two said, “Well everyone, Clyde and I have some good news to share with you all.” They all looked at Larry with happy anticipation. “Clyde and I are going to be adopting a child soon.” “You are,” asked Larry’s mom with glee? “Yes we are and we are excited to have the paperwork finalized in a few days.” “We are going to have a grandchild,” exclaimed Larry’s mom as she squeezed her husband’s arm gently. “Wow you guys that is awesome,” said Fran. She was apprehensive that the two of them would be raising a child since neither of them is female. She did not mention it because she did not want to stop them from giving her a grandchild. Being that Clyde is their only child. They celebrated the rest of Christmas with joy at the fact that a grandchild was going to be in their family soon. When their families left, Clyde and Larry talked about how their news of the adoption went over so well. They still needed to figure out how to take care of Magnificent though before they were ready to bring the child into their home. Unfortunately, they did not know who they were going to be adopting yet because they had to wait before the whole thing was finalized. They really didn’t care though, they were way more concerned about taking care of an exotic bird. 

c6on7k

Not a CS 5000

I stumble in the knee-deep snow, my hands numb, my feet cold. My eyes fall to my leather bag for the thousandth time. I have to get it to HQ053 we'll all die if I don't. Suddenly something hits. My lips twitch up in an almost smile as I remember it. exactly 7 years ago, on this day, the Organization was found for the first time, before someone was told about it. That was when the Organization was small, harmless really. It was just for fun, though most people took it very seriously. It was also the day I thought I gotta CS 5000. But of course, I didn't. Instead, I got a Canary. I giggle at the thought. I'm catching it though. I'm going crazy. Just like Sadie did. I shiver and pull my coat closer, whispering the story to myself to pass the time. "Ounce upon a time. . ." *** "C'mon, wake up!" Sadie shakes me awake. "C'mon!" I hop out of bed. "Saide!! I almost forgot!!!" Sadie thinks about this for a moment. "But I woke you up, so you're still young enough." I let out a huge exhale. "Now c'mon. Or they're going to see it without us." We tiptoe out of the room, and down the hallway. Our PJ footies muffle our footsteps as we pad down the stairs. Lauren and Colby are leading, and they suddenly rustle the coats from their place in the closet. Me and Sarah dash through the secret passageway that leads to the secret room under the stairs. I can barely squeeze through. Then they come. First is Aunt Maya, thumping down the stairs. Then Aunt Sophie comes down, her footsteps light, and barely heard. Then Uncle Alex comes down. And more. And more. And more. They come downstairs, and as I peer through the crack, they place different sized packages under the tree. Some round, some have many points. Some are shapeless, some are rectangular. But only one catches my eye. The one held by Aunt Nova. Many of us peer at it. We all know what it is. It's what we all put #1 on our "What I want for X-Mas" list. A CS 5000. The CS was created by Carter Jhonson, a mechanical engineer in Wisconsin. The CS basically reads your mind and changes shape to what you need/want most at the moment. But they are really expensive. And when say really, I mean REALLY. The cheapest edition, the CS 1.0 is 11,593.76. The newest edition, the CS 5000 is 50 grand. That's a lot of money. We all know that Aunt Nova is rich, but not rich enough to buy more than one CS 5000. Which means only one of us gets it. The one Aunt Nova likes the most. Sadie shoves me whisper yelling in my ear. "Who do you think will get it?" But Sadie shoved me a little bit too hard, and my shoulder bangs against the wall. A dusting of plaster coats us as we freeze. The grownups do too. "Who did that." None of the grownups say anything. Finally, Uncle Austin blushes. "I might have done it?" he says weakly, raising his trembling hand. They shoot him death glares, as he stumbles over his words trying to explain. "I-I-I was like-like ummm umm, kinda sorta-you know, bringing-umm my present, to umm put under the tree, and might've-but accident- but I mean like, I dunno The kinda-sorta hit the wall?" If stares could kill, Uncle Austin would be dead 10 times over. But they keep on going, tiptoeing around the room until they put all the presents under the tree. Then, one by one, they go upstairs to go back to sleep. Uncle Austin is the last one to leave. "I know you're there." He whispers. "But I promise not to tell anyone." Then he leaves. *** Lauren and Colby visit us a few minutes later, in Me and Saide's room. I peer down at them from my portion on the upper bunk. "Layla Walker, Aria has chosen you to give the pledge to Austin Scott, along with this letter." Colby throws an envelope up onto my bunk. "Sarah King, Aria has chosen you to follow Austin Scott without his knowledge, and confirm that he says the pledge in the next 24 hours, If he breaks the pledge, you will report to Nora and Elias, the vice presidents." Finally, Lauren gives us the final piece of information. "Austin Scoot mysteriously found out about us, and we suspect someone has told him about us. If we find any evidence against you, you will go to court. If you knew who did it and withheld that information, or it was you who told Austin Scott, you will be terminated and/or put down." Then they leave. I stare at Saide. This job is crucial. If we mess up, we might get kicked out. Then I pick up the envelope, climb down the ladder, and slip out the door. I pad to Uncle Austin's room, my My Little Pony PJ footies muffling my steps. The door creaks as I open it, and I freeze. Austin shifts and mumbles in his sleep, but other than that, nothing else happens. I relax, and Sadie pops up behind me. "Never go anywhere-concerning Organization-without me." She whisper-shouts in my ear. I sigh, than glance back to Uncle Austin. "I know how to do this." Sadie drops to the ground, and creeps forward, staying close to the side of the bed. She presses herself up to the bed, as she slowly rises, and beckons me to do the same. I drop to the ground, and wiggle forward,almost under the bed. I carefully scoot my body up the side of the bed, and I'm next to Sadie. "Do it!" she whisper shouts, and I carefully slide the cream colered, fancy envelope under Uncle Austin's pillow. Then we scurry away quickly, like Uncle Austin is a tarantula, or a creepy clown, or a slug, or a. . . You get the idea. We rush into our beds, and we both giggle. I carefully hang upside down, so my face is in Sadie's bunk. "That. Was. Awesome!" She breathes. Then she whisper screeches. "That was scary, not awesome." I correct her. "Nope, awesome." "Scary." "Awesome." This goes on for a while. Finally Sadie breaks up the argument. "Are you going to spy on Uncle Austin with me?" "Of course. Why not? You helped me." We both giggle again, just because we can, and soon we fall asleep. *** The next morning, all the kids race downstairs, including me. They grab their presents and tear of the wrapping paper. I have 4 presents so far. A stuffed animal, Monopoly, one of those breathing balls, and a dreamcatcher. I go over to the CS5000. It says: From Aunt Nova To Layla W. My mouth drops open. The CS5000 is mine! I open the cardboard box, eyeing the holes. I carefully lift the lid, and. . . It isn't a CS5000? It's a Canary. A type of bird. I stare. I don't know how to take care of a bird. Suddenly Sadie screeches. "Oh my God, oh my God!!!!!" I rush to her side, and she holds up a CS300. This is unfair. But if I get mad, I'll get bad presents next year. Like every year. I know you have to be excited, but my presents are always dumb. I stare at the birds. When I was 7, I was obsessed with birds. I always wanted a pet one. Not so much, anymore though. And I forgot how to take care of pet birds! I guess I better get out the How To Train Your Bird book. I sigh and go upstairs. In Me and Sadie's room, there's a bookshelf at the end of it. I take out the How To Train Your Bird book and get to work. *** I see the bunker. It's a small bump in the landscape, a concrete windowless dome. I stumble to the thick concrete door. A pair of eyes peer through a tiny slit. "Mama, the mailman is here." I rasp. "Is the wolf here for grandma?" A squeaky voice responds. "I have donuts." The huge door scrapes open just enough for me to slip inside. Home sweet home.

54qz46

For One Night Only

The Christmas bells joined the choirs of carol singers and once again, he materialized out of star dust. He watched his small but strong body reform; powerful kicking legs and calloused hands he knew he was seeing again through big brown eyes. Although he understood that he was not actually alive and that this manifestation was only temporary, he loved this one special night of the year. People said that Christmas was a magical time - little did they know how right they were. The wishing, the prayer and above all, the phenomenal power of loving memory, were enough to conjure up the spirits of Christmas Past to live, laugh and love again one more time. Just because they couldn’t be seen, it didn’t mean that they weren’t there. Often times, they could still be felt by the living. The echo of Grandad sitting in his favourite chair, watching his grandchildren open their presents. The deceased mother invisibly drying the tears of her children on Christmas morning. The lost child taking the place that was still set for him at Christmas dinner. And for those with the ears to hear, there would be a very special musical performance tonight. Taking his drumsticks out of his back pocket, he ran them down the iron railings where the icicles reflected the coloured lights. A small child watched and wondered why the frozen slivers fell, seemingly all on their own, but it was only the barking dog at the end of the terrace who knew that the spirit was there. The drummer grinned and practised a few paradiddles on the dustbin lids for good measure, laughing at the dog who was now going mad. In the air, he heard the celestial sound checks begin and made his way towards them. Skidding along snow-covered pavements and splashing in icy puddles, not for the first time, he wondered why he had taken these tiny joys for granted while he was alive. Years had been lost to drink and drugs and the care of those who loved him was squandered. He paused. So many wasted opportunities. Still, tonight was not the time for regrets. The love that people still held in their hearts granted him this one night of existence each year and that was to be celebrated. John saw him first. “The entertainment has arrived,” he laughed. “Where have you been? Filling up on Christmas spirit first?” “I have a reputation to live down to,” the drummer grinned. He raised his thick eyebrows. “Although I think I might have some stiff competition here tonight.” “Ain’t that the truth,” John replied, pushing his little round glasses up his nose, “Brian and Amy over there are certainly making the most of this annual opportunity - as usual.” Sitting on the edge of the stage, the two icons already looked pretty “merry”, giggling and falling into each other. Janis and Mama C. were taking it all more seriously, practising vocal warm up exercises together while Jim preferred to prepare alone. All around this glittering place, guitars were being tuned, microphones adjusted and keyboards were played through their scales. Speakers were put in place, amps were positioned and spotlights shone. And, sitting on a pair of flight cases, Sid and Syd continued their eternal argument about how their names should be spelt. A heavy hand on his should made the drummer jump. He wheeled round to come face to face with his old band mate. “Ox!” he cried. True to form, The Ox said nothing in reply but enveloped his friend in a huge hug. They missed each other as much as their fans missed them. When they parted, the drummer wiped the tears from his eyes. He looked around, hoping that nobody had been forgotten. “Is Bonzo here?” he asked nervously. The Ox pointed to the other huge drum set from which their pal waved to them. "Hey," Harry greeted them, "great to see you again. All we need now is Alice to pop his clogs and the gang's all here." "Don't hold your breath - pun fully intended," the drummer laughed, "unlike us, he learnt his lesson. Clean as nun's knickers nowadays. Still," he paused, "nobody lives forever." "That one certainly won't be forgotten in a hurry," Harry added, "so I expect he'll be turning up here sooner or later and once he does, we'll never see the last of him - thank goodness!" Despite having no actual circulatory system, the drummer felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as he looked at this year’s line up. He probably felt more alive now than he ever had. This is what he had really lived for. It was sad that he had to lose his life to realise that. But, once again, he and his fellow musicians had an annual performance, for one night only, to make it right. The drummer sat behind his kit and flexed his fingers. This is where he belonged and adjusting his cymbals made him feel at home. "Testing, testing, 1,2,3." The main microphone crackled into life and the musicians paused as if holding one collective breath. “Why save the best till last? As we now know, life's too short." An appreciative chuckle rippled round the huge auditorium. "So, to start us off this evening,” Mr Jimi announced, “we have the one and only, truly immortal, Mr Rock and Roll himself!” He swaggered onto the stage. No longer the pitiful, bloated has-been in a white jumpsuit but young and lithe in his blue suede shoes. He tossed back his quiff and swivelled those famous hips. Keith raised his drumsticks. The musicians' party was about to begin. “Well, it’s a one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, now go, cat, go!” And they did. Across the globe, those people who had never forgotten their idols, who still played their music and kept them alive in the hearts, stopped to listen to the echo on the winter wind - and smiled. All those icons who were gone but not forgotten, many of whom lived too fast and died too young -- including, of course, the magnificent Mr Moon -- rocked the world one more time before dissolving back into stardust. Until next Christmas.

h6te3f

Christmas Cheers

Johnny opened the door of his shabby house - shivering from the steady snow that was making him feel as dark as the night, his Ford pick-up parked out front, the lights still on so he could bring his equipment into the garage until the next gig. The school auditorium was packed that afternoon, as his band played song after song, dancing on the gym floor, the room decorated with the usual tacky high school tinsel. The large Christmas tree that stood in the far corner had about the same aura, but at least some of the decorations were made by the art classes, giving it some originality. Johnny was hungry now, he went to the fridge and popped a frozen pizza in the microwave - and as he cracked open a cold can of beer, he put his feet up stretching back on the old torn sofa. "Another day another gig, it's the night before Christmas Eve." He thought, and closed his eyes. "The night is still young, what to do - let's see if the boys are heading out for that party at Chenill'es house." He remembered, the bass player's girlfriend was having a house party tonight. "I bet she invited everyone from this town to the next five cities in Minnesota." He laughed at his own joke, scratching his sweat soaked hair. Playing the drums was his life, he did work part time at Leroy's Garage, but mostly he did as many gigs as he could, took off on the road as often as the wind blew. He would do this until the day he couldnt hold a drum stick in his hand. And even at that, he would still play somehow. "Hey Bubba, you going to Chenill'es tonight for that party?" He had called his lead guitar player. When Johnny got picked to be in the band he was glad that his friend Bubba, or Bobby MacKinnon was also, he was the best guitar picker in town. Six years had now gone by, so quick he couldnt remember ever feeling tired or bored, and it had its benefits too. Meeting new people (not to mention women, always groupies lolling around their table) to woo them and feed on their ego's. 'Oh what a life, heaven on earth', he thought, but now, maybe it wasnt so much heaven, his house seemed so quiet tonight, while the snow continued to coat the air with its smell of freshness and powdering the trees with white flakes. "How many presents did i get this year ma, i was good wasnt i?" His little child voice rang in his memories now, as he would jump up and down looking at the empty tree on Christmas Eve. His mother always baked gingerbread cookies, and left them for Santa. "I dont know now, we will have to wait until morning comes." She would always answer the same, and grab him and kiss him, he was five or six maybe. "Is Uncle Jake going to come too?" Several more years later, he was ten or twelve, not sure but he hated Uncle Jake, who just came in to boast and brag. "We got ourselves that snowmobile - oo0wie, what a babe she is. We plan on tearing down those sweet trails up by the old mountain", he huffed, helping himself to seconds, never once thanking mom for all the cooking and free food. "Ma he never brings gifts either, he is such a free loading cheapskate, i cant stand him." I told her, and she would scold me then. "Now, that is no way to talk - disrespectful, this is my house, i pay the bills." She got all mad at me then, turned the other way while clearing the dishes after he left. Something didnt fit right at all with this picture, Johnny thought, trying to dig into his heart but he was too young then to fully understand what was going down. "Ok mom, but i still dont care for him, i cant help the way i feel." He would say, and stomp off to his room for the night. It wasnt until years later, when he found some old photo's and notes in a shoe box during his move from her house. He had sat there, on the bed, staring at the pictures from the past, and began to piece things together. "OMG this cant be real." He thought, his body tightened from the strain of some unhappy thoughts so dark he wanted to scream to the sky. "Mom, you couldnt have, not possible, not HIM." Johnny knew then, that his uncle was more than just a visitor who didnt bring any gifts. He was mad then, he swore he was going to kill the bastard. In months that followed, Johnny kept his secret to himself. He'd wished he never found that box - life would never be the same after learning of such a dark secret as that. He often noticed his mother too, and saw how quiet her strong beauty was, she raised him on her own, having worked as a waitress and saving pennies, literally to keep them afloat. "One day i am going to take us on a trip, maybe down to Coney Island, how would you like that?" She would dream, resting in her big yellow chair with the soft foot rest attached and stretched out for her sore tired feet. "You can ride the pony or go on the ferris wheel, we can have hotdogs by the water, its so nice at Coney." She would say, having had been there before, with her college friends, then she got pregnant with him. "Yea ma, i would love to go there. " He always went along with her fantasies, knowing the possibility never would come about, he was only a kid then - and knew so much as it stood. She had got him the drums, he never did think about how she could afford one, it was used, but it had a good sound. And so Johnny played and learned, and practiced as much as he could. While his mother would dance, and move around in the house as he did his playing in the garage. By the time he left, he buried truth, and now, as he sat in his silent living room, the night before Christmas Eve, he had already made peace, his mother died two years before. Now it only mattered to him. No one cared or knew about his past, his evil Uncle who violated his poor mother. Johnny got up, cranked the radio to a station playing some old classic Christmas songs, and went to take a shower to get ready to go to the party, whistling Dixie going into the bathroom........

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Engagement Forest

Engagement Forest 1034 words Ah, my favorite night of the year, Christmas Eve. The snow dances in the air lazily, melting as it lands upon my face. It’s dark and glittery outside and the trees surrounding us wear the snowflakes like a formal gown, such an idyllic scene. I sit and let my five senses run free, always unnoticed as couples pass my hiding spot. The news named the vast, barely touched patch of land “Engagement Forest” but the real name is Theodore Roberts Park, after one of our local founders of the same name. It’s the perfect spot for an engagement, smothered in the lush and private interior, completely excluding the dog walkers, dads on weekend custody at the playground, and that group of stay-at-home moms who meet every morning after dropping little Kayden or Kaiden or Kaedynn at school. Nobody even knows when and if you arrive and depart. The irony is that no one local goes into the woods for a proposal; we know it’s bad luck. Engagement Forest is often visited by people in neighboring counties and states;. The groom books a weekend at our quaint little Victorian Bed and Breakfast, always requesting the ‘haunted room.’ They spend a romantic couple of days basking in each other and dude pops that question. Sometimes they have someone hidden with a camera to capture the proposal, so they can share this intimate and personal moment with their parents and exes online. I like the ones who choose a traditional route, zero paparazzi. Then come the tears, ring pictures, kissing. Once after a successful proposal, I got to watch a couple likely create their first child in a pile of brush near the clearing. Twice. I love those, where you can just tell how in love they are. When the tears are authentic, as the Instagrammers like to say, and the partner is extremely verklempt and collapses into the arms of their love, I cry with them. True love is just so beautiful, everyone deserves to experience love in our lifetime. Women make for a hilarious receiver of proposals, maybe why I prefer the company of men. Sometimes you catch the poor guy dropping to a knee and the betrothed puts on her best act; mini jazz hands fluttering around a mouth frozen in an “Oh” face. You can almost hear me roll my eyes. I can always tell if they’re faking. I can see their eyes darting around, looking for a cameraman. I hate them. They make me so angry. The ones I hate the most, though, are the ones who say no. It doesn’t happen often, thank God. Christmas is usually immune to a polite decline, just like Valentine’s Day weekend. Independence Day and oddly enough, Thanksgiving receive a higher ratio of matrimonial refusal. Everyone seems a lot more drunk on those holidays. To be honest, since I started proposal watching, (that’s what I call it) for some time, and to my knowledge, I’ve only seen one person hand back their ring, the only local couple to attempt the romanticism of “Engagement Forest.” Of course, it was shared online, and of course, the entire town decided the magic only belonged to tourists, and proposals were limited to by the Christmas tree, or maybe on Granddaddy’s land. Everybody’s Granddaddy has land. I bet that poor guy wishes he used his Granddaddy’s land, maybe he wouldn’t be the name behind the legend. My thoughts are interrupted by a soft giggle followed by a pretend shocked, “Ry-an!” I watch from my space to see a young couple approaching, hand in hand. The smell of cannabis greets me as Ryan walked ahead of his lady and stopped to “tie his shoe.” It was so obvious that she knew what he was doing. Her eyes welled with tears as she stopped in her tracks. “Ryan.” She started, reaching her hand out to lift him from his knees. “Ryan, I’m so sorry. I love you. I do, you know I do!” She spoke quickly like she was afraid she wouldn’t get it all out in time. His brow furrowed as he stood. “Lakyn, what do you mean? I thought you wanted this! When you said, ‘we need to talk, I thought..” She interrupted him. I hate being interrupted. “You thought , Ryan. You never asked, and that’s why we have a problem. You know the job in Europe was on the table, and I’m gonna take it. It’s a chance of a lifetime, Ryan. I’m sorry. Why are you proposing here, anyway?” She waved around her. “Everyone knows the legend of Tobias and Dennis, where Dennis says no to Tobias and Dennis disappeared without a trace. Everyone who says no to a proposal here…” She stopped as their eyes met. Ryan nodded and smiled bitterly, appearing impassive. ”Yes, Lakyn. Everyone who says no to a proposal here disappears.” He closed the gap between them. “So, why did you say no?” His question hung in the air and Lakyn appeared uncomfortable. Her eyes widen when she realizes that she wouldn’t be leaving ol’ Teddy Bob’s park. That’s my cue. They all know that asking ‘why?’ is my invitation to join the failed engagement party. That’s why they come here; they come for a clean break, they come to make sure they don’t end up in another’s arms. I step out from my hiding space and Lakyn stares at me, her face frozen in terror. She can’t even scream. I watch her struggle to find her voice while my hands circle her neck. “Tobias Davis, congratulations on your recent engagement.” It’s the last thing they hear, and the last time they’ll disappoint another lover.  Ryan turned to leave and tips his hat to me after handing me an envelope. I slid it into my pocket and looked down at the Christmas corpse lying at my feet. She makes number five. Behind me, Ryan strolled away, whistling the carol to himself “Twelve Days of Christmas” and damned if it didn’t get stuck in my head. As I drag her to her final grave, I caught myself singing, “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me.” I’m a sucker for the holidays.

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The five times he asked me to marry him.

Kristy Moxley was sitting at her desk working on her latest assignment. Her editor had been in such a hurry to get out the latest news on this new company that just opened she insisted that Kristy work well into the night to the article out before the morning paper was to be sent to the printers. It was the day before Christmas eve and Kristy wishes she were out with her friends getting last minutes gifts or helping her mom get dinner ready for Christmas day. Sadly, thought Kristy was stuck in her small Boston apartment working on this crazy assignment. Getting to fix herself yet another cup of coffee. Kristy was startled to hear a knock at her door. Not expecting anyone at eight o'clock the night before Christmas it came as a shock to her. Opening the door, she didn't find anyone standing there instead she found a letter written in amazing Celtic handing writing laying on the matte in front of her door. Smiling to herself she picked up the letter she closed the door and walked back inside to her couch. Sitting down she looked at her name written on the outside. Only one person could have written to her and it made her heart swell to think of him. Opening the letter, it read. Mo ghraidh Kristy, (My dearest Kristy) I know you’re working late tonight, and I didn't want to keep you from getting the latest news out to your dragon of a boss. So, I thought I would invite to do something special with me tomorrow night. So, tomorrow night I want you to meet at the first place we met, and I want to ask you something. I will ask you this same question five times. You do not have to answer me until the fifth time I ask you. Don't ask me I'm asking you the same question five times. It's something that has been done in my family for years. An so I want to keep the tradition alive. Please join me tomorrow night at eight o'clock where we first met. An remember you don't have to answer the question until the fifth time I ask you. All my love, Liam. Kristy couldn't help the huge grin that was on her face. Liam O'Shannons was her boyfriend and best friend. They'd known each other since they were babies. Liam's parents and Kristy's parents had meet when the O'Shannons when they moved to American from Ireland in the seventies. The two families had gotten along right away and so they'd become best of friends. Liam was a bit older the Kristy though by about three years. He'd always been there though whenever she needed someone to talk to, or a shoulder to cry on or just someone to vent to Liam had always been there. As Kristy looked at the letter, she wonders what question he could possibly be going to ask her. All though she had feeling what it was he could be going to ask her. Picking up her cell phone she dialed her mother's number. Her mom picked up on the first ring. “What’s wrong sweetheart?” her mom the second she picked up the phone. “Why does anything have to be wrong mom? Can’t a daughter just call her mother the night before Christmas eve to talk?” “Yes, she can, when that daughter isn’t working on something that apparently is going to get her in the good graces of her boss. So, what is the problem?” “Liam sent me this mystery letter telling me to meet him at the first place we met, and he has something he wants to me. Only I’m not allowed to answer him until his asked me at least five time.” “Oh, my goodness it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be, could he?” “Do you think he could be mom? I mean didn’t James and Molly say that James had to ask Molly five times before she finally gave in and said yes?” “Oh, baby girl if it I’m sure Liam will make it very memorable.” “I’m sure he will mom. I’m sure he will.” *Christmas Eve* Kristy fixed her hair one more time as she finished getting ready to head out to meet up with Liam at his parent’s house. That had been the first place they’d meet. She’d picked out a dark red dress that came down just passed her knees. She’s picked out the small ruby earring and ruby heart necklace her parents had given her for her birthday a few days ago. After leaving her hair in soft ringlets flowing down her back she slipped on her back flats. Grabbing her small purse, she grabbed her keys and left her apartment. Kristy didn’t have go far from home the O’Shannons lived just a few blocks from her apartment. Arriving just a few minutes before eight o’clock Kristy went to knock on the door only for Liam to open it and invite her inside before she could even get a word out. “Your ma and da not home?” “No. They’re off visiting Connor and Annie up in NY for the holidays just you and me.” “Okay, so you wanted to us meet here and you wanted to ask me something what did you want to ask me?” Liam just grinned. Kristy felt a chill go up her spine at that grin of his. That meant that Liam was up to something. When ever he gave Kristy that half smile, half grin look she knew he was up to something and wasn’t something she was going to like. It was supposed to be a surprise something. Covering her eyes with his hand Liam guided her into the living room. “Liam what in the world...?” “Just give me a second do not open your eyes when I remove my hand okay.” “Okay.” Liam led Kristy into the beautiful, decorated living room. Counting to three Liam removed his hand from Kristy’s and she gasped when she saw how the living was decorated just as it had been the night they had meet. The big white fur tree decorated with blue lights and beautiful sliver decorations. A fire roaring and the stocking on the mantel. Kristy smiled as she looked around the room. It was almost as she remembered it all those years ago. Looking around at all the decorations she failed to notice that Liam had gotten down on one knee. Turning Kristy gasped again hands covering her mouth. “Oh my god Liam….” “Kristy you and I have been best friends since we were young kids. You’re my best friends, the only person in the world who knows everything about me. You would make me the happiest man on earth if you would be my wife.” Kristy felt the tears in her eyes trying so hard not to answer the question. He had to ask her four more times until she could answer him. Liam smiled when he saw the smile on her face. He knew in her eyes she wanted to answer him, but she was trying hard not to give him an answer. “Alright ready to go to the next place?” “Next place?” “We are going to each place where we’ve had something happen to us. Each hour until eleven fifty-five I’m going to ask you the same question. That’s when you will answer me okay.” “Yeah okay. But where is the last place we are going?” “You’ll see when we get to that part.” “Okay.” Liam just smiled grabbing his keys off the table and grabbed Kristy’s hand and they headed out. Once in car the two where listening to music and laughing talking about memories of they’re favorite Christmas. When they turned to head towards the harbor. Kristy knew exactly where they were going. To the Boston Tea Party ships and museum. Smiling and shaking her head Kristy couldn’t help glance over at Liam with who was smiling as well. Liam pulled into the parking lot and Kristy gasped again. This time it was candles and roses and what looked to be people dressed in period clothing standing in the shadows with candles watching them. Getting out of the car Liam pulled her into the middle of the parking lot and pulled her close. “This has always one of your favorite spots. You love history and I though for sure that you would love this. I know your favorite part of history happen here. Like I told you back at the house I know everything about you. And I know that you always thought the Boston Party was the starting part of Freedom in our country. So, Kristy will you marry me?” Liam asked as he got down on one knee. “This is getting harder not to answer you and you’ve got three more times.” “I know I can see it in your eyes.” *1 hour later* Over the last hour or so Liam took Kristy to a few more of her favorite places. One was Bunker Hill Monument and museum. Bunker Hill was another of Kristy’s favorite places. It was almost as if Liam was asking her to marry at her favorite places. Once again after a loving declaration. Tell her how much she meant to him and how amazing she was. And how he understood how this place was tough to stand on and ask the question. He once again asked her to marry him. She smiled and tried to bite her togue. It was getting hard to not answer him. They stayed around Bunker Hill for about an hour. He had even brought flowers for her to leave at the monument for the men who had died there. The next place was the Freedom trail. They were halfway down the trail at The Paul Revere House. Kristy was in amazement. The Paul Revere house had always been one of her favorite places. They didn’t go inside but Liam stopped in front of it and got down one knee again. He told Kristy that he was starting to see what she loved about history. He had spent the whole week going to all these places and he was starting to understand why she loved these places. They were amazing place and like her. He was starting to love history and he loved her so much so would she marry him? Once again Kristy tried hard not to answer him. After the Freedom trail it was almost eleven O’clock and they got in the car headed to the last place. The place where Kristy would finally be able to give Liam his answer. The car rides had been silent until finally Kristy wanted to know why all these places, he had picked so breaking the silence she finally asked him. “Why did you pick the places where the revelation happens?” “Because since we were kids you have loved anything to do with the revolution. Every time we had a history paper due in class rather it was middle school, high school or even college you wanted to do the paper on something with revolution.” “Oh, come on I did not.” “Oh yes you did. Remember when Rubblestone was trying to tell everyone that he thought Washington was a moron and that he never should have been general. You stood up in the middle of his lesson and told him he was stupid and shouldn’t be teaching American history because he had no respect for Americans or the people who build the country.” “Right, I got into so much trouble. I almost got suspended.” “Yeah, you did.” Laughing Kristy couldn’t help but think back on that time in high school where she’d almost gotten into trouble for defending the history of America. It really made Kristy think why she wasn’t teaching history rather working at a newspaper. As they pulled up to the next place Kristy almost wanted to cry. It was the old North Church. That had been the Church where Paul Revere had told them to place lights in the tower. When they got out of the car Liam looked at Kristy who was in amazement. She hadn’t been here before, but it was differently one of her favorite places. She’d heard the stories and the legends of this place. Liam pulled Kristy by the hand into the church. “One if by land two if by sea isn’t that what Revere said?” Liam asked Kristy when they stepped into the church. “Yeah, he told that to the gentleman who was supposed to put the lanterns up in the town. If the red coats were on land basically if they where seen marching in Boston, then you put one lantern in the tower window. If they saw the ships in the harbor, then they where to put two of the lanterns in the tower window if that happen.” Liam smiled and started to laugh. “See that’s why I love you; you remember all this stuff about history. Now this wasn’t the spot I wanted to do this. I wanted somewhere else but it’s to far away. So, this place will have to do.” Liam said as he once again for the fifth and final time he got down on one knee. Kristy once again felt her heartbeat pick up. The only difference between this time and the other four times was that this time when he got down, she would be able to answer him. “Kristy, I love you more than anyone in the world. We’ve been to all your places started with the first place we ever met. So, this time I’m going to ask you this and now you can answer me. So...” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a beautiful sliver Irish wedding ring. “You should know what this means Can you tell me?” “The hands mean friendship; the crown means loyalty and the heart means love.” Kristy smiled with tears in her eyes. “So, Kristy Blair Moxley will you marry me?” Liam asked as he held up the ring. “Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes and Yes.” Kristy said five time answering the question that she’d had to wait for now to answer. Liam slipped the ring on her finger and scooped up her up in his arms. Kristy laughed and smiled at the same time as Liam spun her around a few times a finally set her down. Kristy couldn’t help but feel like this had turned into the best Christmas eve of her life. “So, what do you think about being purposed to in front of the old north church?” “I think this is going to be most memorable Christmas Eve I’ve ever had.” 

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CHRISTMAS EVE OFFER

We all say it is the best time of year, but Christmas has now officially been chosen as the best time to get down on one knee and ask the question, and we suspect that many of these proposals will happen just after midnight. We know that many couples like to start the New Year with a small gift and a proposal, so on Christmas Eve (December 24) there will probably be the second - most marriage proposals, followed by New Year (which is technically January, but is still a holiday) and then Christmas Day itself. A proposal made just before midnight is technically a "New Year's address." Indeed, according to the annual Pew Research Center survey of holiday proposals, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are the two most popular days for asking a question in the US, with December 23 and December 26 being the third and fourth most common engagement days, respectively. Also due to the religious and family significance of Christmas, the most celebrated holiday is an incredibly romantic time for marriage proposals. Christmas Eve is also often a special occasion, so that a proposal before or after a meal reinforces the happy holiday feeling. As a romantic time of year, Christmas is such an amazing time, and the ways in which you do it are endless. We have seen every single Christmas proposal we have on the site and have summarized some help for you. Read on and try our suggestion idea finder or read on for a list of the most popular Christmas suggestions of recent years. When you are thinking about a marriage proposal for Christmas, take the opportunity to ask your partner for the hand in your hand before you do anything else. If you think your partner is expecting a Christmas proposal, this is a great way to keep them on their toes. If your partner likes a bit of fun and games, plan a treasure hunt for Christmas, as Marshall planned her and her partner. One thing that can make the holiday spirit even more perfect is a romantic Christmas proposal, so let your loved ones know that you want to spend the rest of your life with a Christmas proposal. Just do it in December, if you still feel festive, pack up and walk through a beautiful part of the city to finally land at one of the most stunning Christmas markets you can find. I've been proposed to five times on Christmas Eve in recent years and I'm still in love with each of them. Make Christmas Day an engagement party, go out for dinner or afternoon tea, plan a Christmas movie or ice skating, visit the Christmas market, listen to some Christmas carols or plan to go to Christmas markets and then end your festive - filled day with a marriage proposal. Focus on your family, especially those who will have many more vacations ahead of them, and continue to focus on the family. Plan the ultimate all-night proposal, even if it's not the most romantic night of the year, or even the best night of the year. Imagine a winter ceremony you could imagine, with a surprise element reinforced by a Christmas tree, Christmas lights or Christmas tree lights. The right to payment on Christmas Eve is linked to or conditional on employment on or after Christmas Eve and may be linked to a flexible holiday. For example, a worker who is laid off in July could be entitled to a Christmas Eve payout if the holiday is tied to the Christmas holidays, or Christmas could fall on Tuesday. A Monday before or on Santa's birthday, Christmas Day or New Year's Day can be a "floating holiday" on the Monday after and / or before Christmas, according to the US Department of Labor. The best time of year to propose is therefore, of course, the best way to propose depends on your relationship. Most families have Christmas traditions, and mixing a marriage proposal into one of them can be really sweet and sentimental. So many Christmas proposals happen on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day or New Year's Day, so we wanted it to feel unique to each couple. So we've put together some of our favorite Christmas suggestions so you can do something completely different. When we asked why people suggest Christmas "because the occasion is romantic," the biggest response was "to be with family." Let your suspicions come and go after Christmas or surprise your partner with a marriage proposal on Boxing Day instead. First Financial's offices will remain closed on December 25, Christmas Day, and will close again at 10.30pm on Christmas Eve. Sunday, Christmas Eve is a super-high-volume marriage proposal day, as we celebrate with our loved ones who either come together or are visiting on the 24th and 25th. The next big event is Valentine's Day, and 6% chose Halloween as the best time to get engaged. Christmas Day has proved to be a popular day in recent years, followed by New Year's Eve, Halloween, New Year's Eve and the first Sunday in December. If you and your distinguished colleagues expect a proposal on 25 December or any other day of the year, you will be in for a big surprise. So it's no surprise that many people have proposed to their partners over the festive period, but they have also decided to choose the best time to get down on one knee and ask the question. It is said that it is the most beautiful time of the year, so is it any wonder that for some people, the time is the perfect time to either get down on one knee or ask a question? Christmas has now officially been chosen as the "best time" to get down on one knee and ask the questions. It's easy to see why: Christmas and New Year are the two most popular times of year for proposals, and it's the time of year with the highest number of proposals in the UK. Also due to the religious and family significance of Christmas, this most celebrated holiday is an incredibly romantic time for marriage proposals. Another positive suggestion on Christmas Eve is the possibility of visiting family and friends over the Christmas period. Dinner on Christmas Eve is often a special occasion, and a proposal before or after dinner adds to this joyful holiday feeling. If you're proposing on New Year's Eve, don't worry that you're upsetting any holiday traditions your significant other might have. Choose a traditional Christmas activity or make your own memories of Christmas Day in New York, but you will have to choose from a variety of traditional Christmas activities in New York City and New Year's Eve. Write a proposal and tie it to a Christmas theme that underscores the special importance of engagement during the holidays. Bring your love to this place and find an outdoor tree or put up your own set at the New York City Museum of Natural History on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. Without going into details, WeddingWire's data forecast that Christmas Day (December 25) is the most popular day for an engagement, ahead of Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve. The next big event is Valentine's Day, and 6% chose Halloween as the best time to get engaged, but the significant other is waiting for it. Sunday (Christmas Eve) is also a day with a super busy schedule, especially if you are celebrating with a loved one who is with or practically visiting you on December 24 or 25. The next biggest is Valentine's Day, so expect the other significant ones. Halloween is also popular, followed by Christmas (December 25) and New Year's Eve (January 1), the second and third most popular day for a marriage proposal. Christmas Eve (24 December) will probably be the second most likely to make proposals, followed by New Year (1 January), which we all know is technically January but is still a public holiday, so many proposals should be made just before midnight. Families exchange gifts on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, which seems logical when many of the proposals are made on these days. That is why it is so important to have a plan for a Christmas proposal, as it is to choose one ring for another. To make your proposal even more special, the Robbins Brothers engagement ring has some fun ideas that really add to the spirit of the holiday season. Most families have Christmas traditions, and mixing your marriage proposal into one of them can be really sweet and sentimental. There are a few ways to do this, but if your gesture is a little more sophisticated, we've put together 15 of our favorite Christmas suggestions to help you make your Christmas an unforgettable experience. This is perhaps one of my favourite Christmas suggestions, the proposal becomes a funny story to share all year round. These unique holiday suggestions make the season even more joyful, so why not? If you are planning to make a proposal at a holiday meeting with family or friends, think about the proposal and get some feedback. If you think your partner might be expecting a Christmas proposal, this is a great way to keep them on their toes. Choose a secret that your friends can keep secret, and if you do, you can even keep it secret from your family and friends. Visiting an engagement shop can help you answer a few questions before your big idea of a Christmas present takes full effect. We've collected some offers of help, visited engagement shops and read some of the best Christmas suggestions of recent years in Engagement Magazine. Try our Idea Finder suggestions and see if we have a single Christmas proposal on our site. We love the idea of being in the company of the family, but why not put everything on the table, add a special cracker and make sure your partner is part of a tradition that is important to you on Christmas Eve? If you want to propose at Christmas, take the opportunity to ask your partner for their hand before you do anything else. Plan your proposal on Christmas Day and stay in the place where you first met and watch a classic Christmas movie. Make Christmas Eve a Christmas Day and plan your marriage proposal according to the tradition of getting up late to watch a traditional Christmas movie like "A Christmas Carol." 

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The Annoucement

Striding into the room the tall intruder announces, “Hey lovely Maria, you have been noticed.” “What” she states, alarmed? “The Boss has noticed you. He has been watching you for a while and is, well, how do I say this? He is impressed.” “Who are you anyway and how did you get in here” she cries? “Well, that’s not all that important,” he smiles knowingly. “I do have my ways. The thing is, the Boss thinks you are quiet a beauty, something special, he has been watching over you for some time.” “What are you talking about,” she babbles on “please don’t hurt me. Are you going to take me somewhere?  I haven’t done anything and don’t have anything you want.” “Oh, on the contrary you have just exactly what the boss wants,” he states calmly. “Look sweetheart, don’t be afraid, I’m not going to hurt you and you aren’t going anywhere,” he raises both hands in surrender. “Everything is fine, copasetic, you know cool.” She turns away, covering her eyes, “Can’t you just leave? I don’t understand what you want or what he wants. Please just go and leave me alone!” “Hey now, no drama is needed. I have a great big surprise for you, it’s really super. The Boss has an important job, or maybe assignment is a better word, just for you,” the stranger states. “I don’t need an assignment and I don’t want an assignment. I just want to forget this ever happened. I feel like I am having a really weird dream.” “No really, you need to calm down and listen. The Boss wants you to have his baby. He’s already picked out his name. Oh yeah, the baby is going to be a boy. You are going to have a baby boy little missy, the Boss’s son.” In a total panic she faces him and shouts, “What? No, you are crazy.” “Yes it’s true, the big Boss’s son, who will inherit all his assets. He will be the heir, the head of it all, and you young lady will be his momma. What do you think about that,” he says with a flourish? She stares at him bug-eyed, “You have got to be kidding? You picked the wrong house, the wrong girl, I’m too young, and besides I’m no body, a no account.” He points at her and does a spin on his toes, “You are the one.” “But, I just can’t be, I’m not experienced, I know nothing about men, much-less how to please the Boss. Plus, I can’t be a mom yet,” she implores. “Couldn’t he find someone better, more suitable to be the mother of his child. Besides how could I have the Bosses child I’ve never seen him, had a date with him much less, well, slept with him.” He looks up at the ceiling and scratches his head, “Well now, here’s the thing, I know it sounds crazy but the Boss is going to make you pregnant in a special way; no dates, no marriage no honeymoon, no sex even. Bam! It will just happen and you will be pregnant.” “Really,” she stammers? “Hey, just to show you I am not messing with your mind, you know your old aunt Elizabeth, married to that old preacher dude?” “Yes, of course I know my aunt,” Maria states with confusion. “She is my mom’s older sister.” “They’ve got no kids, right?” “No, they never had any kids,” she agrees. “Well, news flash, old Liz is six months pregnant and counting. The Boss made it happen, He gave old Zach some get up and go and what do you know? She’s pregnant,” the tall stranger announces, crossing his arm. “How could she be,” Maria shouts, “she’s too old?” “Well in case no one has told you, nothing is impossible for the Boss.” “All of this makes no sense. It is kind of creepy.” She looks down, “I mean, I know about the Boss, I’ve heard about him since I was just little. I remember even trying to talk to him when I was by myself,” she pauses. “I just never though he cared about me, noticed me.” He smiles, “You were wrong.” “Yeah, I guess I was,” she looks up at the intruder. “I know it’s supposed to be an honor to have his child. I’ve heard he would have a son one of these days. I mean, I know lots of girls are really into it. They look up their family on those genealogy sites and what not; to see if they have the right blood lines to have the Boss’s son.” She takes a deep breath, “Honestly, it just never occurred to me that it would happen, much less that I’d be picked to be that girl.” “Hmm,” he hums. She continues, “I guess I’m a little scared. I’m not married yet and if I get pregnant what will people say, how will they treat me? Oh, yikes what about Joe? I mean, we are supposed to get married eventually. Will the boss let me get married? Is Joe going to buy me being pregnant with the boss’s baby,” she exclaims out of breath? The stranger shrugs, then smiles, “It’ll all work out sweetie, I promise.” “I guess the Boss never does things the way people expect. He kind of has his own way of doing things, huh? He isn’t predictable is he,” she says? “Not since I’ve known him,’ says the stranger with a shake of his head. “Well, I sure don’t know how this is all going to work out but I’m willing to do whatever he wants me to do. Oh, and tell the Boss I am really honored, scared but honored” she smiles bowing her head. “Oh, don’t worry, he already knows,” he smirks. She looks up, “Oh by the way, what is your name again, or did you even tell me? “Gabe, sweetheart, just call me Gabe,” he says, turning to go. “Hey, speaking of names, I forgot to tell you, the baby, his name is Jesus, baby Jesus.” Bam!

0gk0y2

Satiety: Swan Lake

Christmas and the sprinkles of the first virgin snow never cease to peak the public’s crave for a festive show. Eight weeks straight. Eight performances a week. Sixty-four shows. Washington was Giselle, California was the Nutcracker, Los Angeles was La Bayadère, and finally, the epic climax of Swan lake. Christmas party? Holiday get together? Family dinner? No, the show must go on. I was a swan; another angelic bird part of the corps de ballet. A long-spanning reputation for having performed in fifty countries, hundred thirty-six cities; American Ballet Theatre was in the midst of their annual tour, pliéing and port de braising across international and state theatres. Ballet was what we had injected into our bloodstreams and what we had spent years shaping our muscles into coping with, to chase the thrilling flash of the spotlight and the electrifying feeling of an audience's attention. Nevertheless, all-day training, sleeping only in commute, time differences, and the pit aching of feeling homesick was only making the sunset slower. Performances quickly had to adapt and become clockwork, everyone needed to move with purpose; each second lost accounted for a minute that would push us back. My team and I knew what the holidays were: a minefield of bleeding calluses, muscle inflaming and warm water soaking. Those who did not bind their feet properly would lose toenails mid performances, but the show continued onward no matter how painstaking. Everyone's loyalty would be tested and the steady march to reach the end of December slowed with every post-dance heel massage. Was I playing The Swan Princess? The Black Swan? The Queen? No. Why was I here? Why was I crouching over my tattered toes desperately trying to soothe the aching bunion, when my family lay down a table runner for a festive feast nearly four thousand kilometers away? I did not need to be reminded, tedious questions like this didn’t matter and neither will they ever to me, right now I needed to warm up. To undergo the rigor of performing in this Tchaikovsky masterpiece, the basics were to look like a floating swan; however untainted and docile you could make yourself look. Perfectly ceremonial. Perfectly poised. I would not let however tender standing on my tiptoes were to dictate or distract from my role. I am a swan and swans were not supposed to feel pain when floating. Tonight was show night and it was a full house, the endgame was encroaching and outside the theatre, it was snowing in true Christmas magic fashion;  how suffocatingly cheesy. Act 1, opens to a grand square in front of a castle. Act 2, a moonlit night on the clearing of a bank. Act 3, an ostentatious hall inside the palace. Act 4, by the lakeside... The fabric barrier drew back once again for the last time, commencing the final act. The hollowed cave-like theatre drowned with black and extinguished all warmth; the only light that remained was the audience’s eyes that glistened a reflective silver. The towering ceiling above seemed to now open up to a night sky; a breathable but compressed black hugged the stage. Soaring above the crowd, gliding through the darkness, the delicate tune of strings accompanied by a heavenly run of the harp strengthened the stillness of a rapt audience. Then -like the shock of lightning- a beacon of white danced on the walls and rushed to the stage; the onlookers held their breath in unison. The theatre diffused the prickly vibration and tingling scent of adrenaline. In disciplined fashion, a bevy of slender white swans tiptoed on their peach-toned pointe slippers. Each one of their faces strained towards the ground behind their shoulder. In flawless single file, the stark colored swans’ tutus faced the crowd fully as they pointed their vamp outward. Their faces had been painted around the eye sockets and cheekbones with an ash grey and black, mimicking the inky feathers at the face of a swan or snow owl. Then the instruments advanced, at the exact first note the swans began their number. Springing up from their crouched position they stabbed the stage with their platforms in a frenzy of blurred white figures. The cellos joined the fleeting melodies of the violin; solemn, sweet and short notes now enthralled the watchers with its buoyancy. Each white pair of legs like a knife slashed through the air in such grotesque harmony with one another. Audience members cocked their heads higher, bewitched by the outstretched, tall and narrow flow of the swans’ arms and fingertips. An instant leap in the rhythm of the notes triggered the swans to vault from one point to the next, the precision of their bodies like javelins piercing through the sky and impaling the floor below. The orchestra’s echo grew tenfold,-the climax was approaching- the swans bolted past one another, terror and fright beaming out of their flexed cheekbones and chins; hinting at a vicissitude in the act. Their nimble calves hit the floor on each rising note, they appeared to float like clouds lingering in the sky but their lower halves depicted a shrewd contrast. A woodwind melody shoved past the other instruments. Every joint in their arms oozed and trickled out towards the crowd almost close enough to touch their icy skin. Finally, as delicate as a blooming lotus sprouting its petals and as elegantly as it had begun, the swans wafted away on their glass legs entangled with the fragile symphony; the theatre again was engulfed with black. Goosebumps pebbled through the skin down my thighs and my spine was shivering through the exposed back of the bodice. Someone was calling out from the entrance "You gon' tag along?" I flashed a toothy smile at the swans who had unassembled themselves the quickest from their feathers and sparkles and were now looking twinkly-eyed at me, keen on savoring what was left of Christmas eve. "No, no-go 'head without me." I hollered back. The stage was naked, with no sets nor props. I sat on the chilled floor with my aftercare kit open just like some other half dozen girls around me. Meticulously following my routine, I rolled out my tender muscles and heated the balls of my feet. I've done it. In retrospect, it was a masochistic way to phrase it but I had survived . When finished, I cocked my chin high and impulsively gushed a smile towards the ceiling as I pushed through the steel norman doors; striding into the darkness of Christmas eve. As I threw my sight to each end of the street, not a joyous or festive soul was to be heard; only the gaudy decor that illuminated the baren sidewalks yellow. Everyone had retreated from the winter freeze. Most likely having decided to retire to their embellished homes and carry out a comically cozy night by some sort of wood fire. I haphazardly slung myself onto a densely snow-coated bench and didn't yield to put my chin down, allowing the delicate snows to cling to my hair and clothes. My red cheeks melted and harden under the rich glow of the warm-hued lights. Memories of restless nights, the bleeding calluses, muscle inflaming, and warm water soaking had all delicately untangled from me and slipped through my fingers, bundling together to present the best gift I could have given myself. As I awkwardly shift in the bench I hear the crackle of my jacket and nothing else; I rested easy with no particular place to be and relived the roar of the applause.

tvpe34

You’re Not Joe

It started out just like any other work day...lousy. Tonight was even worse! There was a blizzard blowing outside. It was one of those nights that I was glad that I worked indoors. My job as night janitor can get monotonous...even downright boring at times. Enter the office, first sweep around the room is to dust and collect the trash. Second sweep is to straighten anything that is out of place and vacuum the floor. Same thing every office every night. I expected more of the same tonight. It didn’t matter to me that it was Christmas Eve. I have no family to spend the night with. Well, at least none that I would want to spend time with. I do have a nerdy brother who is always going on and on about one project or another that he’s working on. I have no interest in such things. It makes me wonder how we could be related, but I digress. I have fifteen floors with ten offices on each floor to clean. Today I sign in with security and decide to start with the lobby and work my way up to the top floor. I was kinda in the mood to talk to someone and tonight Joe was on duty in the lobby. We chatted for a while about Christmas and the lack of people to spend the holiday with, sports (or the lack thereof), and a few inconsequential topics that were only of interest to the two of us. It took me all of about thirty minutes to clean the lobby, and since there was no carpet, I washed the floor as I headed off to the elevator. Once inside the elevator, I pushed the mop bucket full of dirty water off to one side and pushed the button for the second floor and leaned the wet mop against the corner where it would not tip over when the elevator moved. In one office, make the two sweeps around it and out again. Over and over, floor after floor. I usually stop on the seventh floor for my breaks. This floor has fewer offices because the cafeteria is there. Since it is night, the cafeteria’s kitchen is closed. But I have access to the microwave so I can reheat my lunch. I liked taking my breaks there because I have an awesome view of the city from this floor. I’m not too high so I’m not looking down on rooftops. I can see into the surrounding buildings. Tonight’s view was of people having office parties. In one building down the street it seemed as if every floor was having one. I wonder why people are in their offices when they should have been with their families. All too soon my break was over and I had another eight floors to clean. More cleaning with the same, dreary pattern. Finally I got to the top floor. Something was off, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I worked my way down the corridor cleaning office 1501, then 1502 which was across the corridor. I worked zig zagging my way down the corridor. Around the corner and I finally noticed what felt off. There was a new door! The sign on the door read “No Admittance”. I checked my keys. There wasn’t a new key. I tried the door. It opened into a stairwell. By now I was bone tired but my curiosity got the better of me. I climbed the stairs, all the while I was hoping that I wouldn’t be caught. I also wondered how I could have missed seeing this door all these months. Then it finally dawned on me, just as I reached the top of the stairs...I traded assignments with the other janitor, Sue. She wanted to finish early and took my offices. I usually do only the other five offices on each floor. No wonder I was so bloody tired! I was doing twice the work! I stopped in front of a very heavy door and wondered what was so special about this stairway. Slowly I pushed the door open. It opened out onto the roof. Instinct told me to prop the door open with the brick that was leaning against the wall just inside the door. I thought I could hear the blizzard raging. But somehow, it was calm on the roof. I walked out onto the roof and took in the cold night air. As I surveyed the surrounding city-scape and the swirling blizzard around the building, I heard the faint tinkling of bells. I slowly turned in the direction of the growing jingling bell sound. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Through the haze caused by the blizzard I could barely make out a shape. Reindeer really do know how to fly! I just stood there with my mouth hanging. Eight reindeer with a red sled expertly stopped on the roof right in front of me! As I stared in awe, the rider in the sleigh, a corpulent man with a white beard wearing a red suit with white trim climbed out of the sleigh. He took a limp green sack out of the sleigh and then turned and stared at me. Eventually he spoke…”You’re not Joe” he said as he walked towards the propped open door. I slowly stepped aside and let him pass, my mouth still hanging open. He went inside and I instinctively followed. He went down the stairs and headed off down the corridor. I caught up with him as we rounded the corner. We were now on the side where my usual offices were located. Suddenly a new door appeared. The red suit clad man paused, looked at me and said, “You’re not supposed to be here. Usually Joe helps me. Since he’s not here, I guess you’ll do. Follow me.” And he opened the mysterious new door. Inside was amazing! Simply amazing! Bedlam and chaos were running rampant! People were scurrying around everywhere! Inside this mysterious new office was larger than it appeared! I could only stand there and stare! So much was happening and it was all very unbelievable! If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t have believed it! It finally dawned on me that these people were children, or so I thought. “Well, what are you waiting for?” the red suit clad man said. “We have work to do!” And before I knew it, someone had taken my left hand and was pulling me rather urgently along the wake of that man. I numbly followed his path into a building that the sign on the door said “Workshop”. My reverie was disturbed by another tiny person telling me to take the two bags in their hands. Feebly I grabbed them and once again followed the red suit clad man. Back out the “workshop” door, across wherever it was where we were, through the mysterious and unexpected door, down the corridor, up the stairs and back to the sleigh. “Please put those in the back” said the man. “Young man” he said, “I must ask you not to tell anyone about this” he said as he climbed back into the sleigh, shook the reins and the reindeer took off down the street, I don’t know how long I stood there staring after them. Eventually I was disturbed by Joe. “He’s real, y’know” Joe said. Slowly I turned my gaze in his direction. Joe was standing in the doorway. “I don’t know what happened to me, I shouldn’t have been so distracted tonight” Joe continued. “There was a ruckus outside our front door that kept me busy. Thanks for helping him tonight.” Joe concluded as we closed the door and went back to our duties. Right after the door closed, I realized that the blizzard was once again raging just outside that door. Joe had his patrol to finish and I had two more offices to clean. I don’t think anyone would believe me even if I did tell.

90x57y

Marriage is Overrated

The floor was glitter. Or so it seemed to Carrie. Granted, her vision was blurry through all those tears. Her dress was light. White as the snow she longed for. Everything in her room had a bright aura surrounding it. Yet she felt miserable, her heart was sunken deep in her chest, unable to absorb the light. She was sitting on her bed and thinking back to the events of that day. How she was proposed to five times and three times out of those five she had to crush her lover's hope for a life together with her. It all started that morning when John showed up at her door five hours early for the Christmas party her family was throwing that day. “John! What are you doing here so early? Couldn’t keep away from me, huh?” Carrie smiled teasingly but was quick to frown when she saw the serious expression on John’s face. “What’s wrong?” “Carrie…I thought about this for some time, and it is time I act like a man and get it over with. I truly love you and... “ “I love you too but why-“ “I want you to marry me!” Well, that was unexpected. He didn’t go down on his knees, nor did he bring out a box from his pocket. That’s why Carrie thought he must be joking, so she burst out in laughter. “Damn John, I didn’t expect a prank on Christmas Eve! And you looked so serious!! You got me good. Have you thought about going into acting?” Only after she saw that John wasn’t joining her and that his face was bright red, redder than a police light, did she stop laughing and realizing that after all, John was not pranking her. He actually proposed! And she laughed at him! Carrie felt her joyfulness evaporate. Embarrassment and fear were slowly making their way to extinguish her Christmas Spirit. “John, I-, I- …. I will see you at the party!” With that she closed the door behind her, leaving John dumbfounded and stone-faced outside. In the safety of the house, Carrie felt horrible for what she had done. Her boyfriend was proposing, and she laughed in his face. But he surprised her. Yes, she hated herself for doing this to someone who clearly loved her, though as hard as Carrie tried to feel remorse, she couldn’t. Even if she wouldn’t have seen that as a joke, she most likely would have still denied him. That evening she would get the chance to properly reject his offer. They’ve been together only two years, since sophomore year. And still, Carrie couldn’t see herself marrying him. In fact, she couldn’t see herself marrying at all. Not with her John, not with John Travolta, not with anyone. She wasn’t going to be a “wife.” She was going to graduate from college first. Then make a living, a name for herself. Move out from her parent’s house. She was going to be happy, healthy. And she had no intention, none whatsoever, of her happiness and wellbeing to depend on a man. Not yet at least. John was going to understand. He will forget today's incident, and everything will get back to normal. Christmas makes some people crazy. Carrie went on with her day, as usual, getting ready for the party and not giving the hasty proposal another thought. Only when John appeared at her door for the second time that day, did she begin to worry. But when Carrie opened the door, nothing about John’s mood could divulge what happened here just a few hours earlier. He was happy. After he put down the presents he brought, he took Carrie in his arms, laid a kiss on her lips and one on each of her cheeks. Maybe the proposal this morning was a prank after all, and John just played the part too well. All was good until dinner. Gathered around the table where John, Carrie, her parent, her brother, Uncle Bart and Aunt Patricia, and of course Marissa, Carrie’s best friend, was there too. They were chatting happily away, eating the delicious food prepared by Carrie’s mom. John was sitting adjacent to Carrie. He had a grave expression on his face and was moving his jaw in circular motions as if trying to unclench it. Or rather, as if trying to prepare for a battle he knew he had no chance of winning. Carrie touched his arm, worried that he was mad about that morning. That’s when he stood up. “Carrie, in front of all your family I will make my offer known once more. This morning you surprised me, denying my offer. You had to be in shock, surely that’s why you closed the door in my face. Or I thought you had to think it over but as I still haven’t got my answer here it is again: Marry me, Carrie! I can’t understand why you wouldn’t want to, after all, you love me, don’t you?” He said this all in one breath and even though it was hard to follow him, everybody around the table understood what he said. Carrie’s mom wanted to say something but Carrie was quicker than her. “No, John! I love you. You know I do. But it’s too soon. You know my plans very well and you know I can’t marry yet. Why are you torturing me like this?!” His face was glassy like crystal. Carrie knew him so well and she knew he was hurting. Hasty to change the subject, before anyone had something else to say about the proposal, she started opening up presents. She took the big red box that sparkled in her eyes and hoped that the content of the package would draw everyone’s attention away from her now probably ruined love life. In the box, there was another smaller box, and another and another until Carrie reached the last one. She opened it with sweat running down her spine. Inside, as she feared since she opened the second-to-smallest box, was an engagement ring. “Marry me, Carrie. I know I can make you happy.” As he said this, John got down on one knee and pleaded to Carrie with his eyes. She’d just shut down the proposal and here it was again! The ring was shining bright, mocking her. John obviously thought Carry would say yes. That made her furious. She never expressed her desire to get married. Was she just supposed to be an obedient girl and accept? At that moment something clicked inside her. She had the right to make her own decisions. And she didn’t care if John would cry or suffer or beg her for forgiveness. “Don’t you see, John? I don’t want YOU to make me happy! I want to experience life by myself, not to depend on you and have my life tied to yours. We are still young and if you can’t wait for me, then maybe we should end this.” With these words, she ran for her room, seven pairs of eyes following her. On the stairwell, Marissa caught up with her. “I need to be alone, Marissa.” “I know. I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to marry him.” She smiled brightly trying to make Carrie’s tears go away. “I will always be here for you. Marry me instead, my fair lady Carrie, and you will be happy and I won’t make you cook or clean but you’ll be free as a bird.” “For real, a fourth proposal?” “Fourth time’s the charm,” Marissa smirked. She was always making fun of every situation. “I’m kidding! I will talk to John, beat some sense into him. But promise me you won’t drown yourself in your tears.” “I’ll try.” Back in her room, Carrie sat down on her bed trying to keep her tears from running down her cheeks and failing. Getting proposed to three times in a day. Well four, if you counted Marissa’s sad attempt of making her laugh. And what a day it was! Christmas Eve, a day of joy and happiness, of presents and sweet carols sung around the fire. A day when Carrie had to break the heart of her high school sweetheart. She hoped dearly that John would forgive her, for it was not her intention to break his heart. But she simply couldn’t keep lying to him anymore. Carrie's future didn’t involve him. At least not at the moment. She was lost deep in her thoughts when her little brother came in. “Mom sent me up to tell you that John is gone.” Carrie nodded. She was still shaking too much to be able to face up to her family. Women were supposed to accept when someone proposed to them. That was her father’s philosophy, and Carrie knew that well enough. Her mother married him when she was only 17. She didn’t go to college, didn’t have a career. Carrie was having none of it. Times were changing. Women were gaining more power. “Right, let’s go then.” Carrie headed for the door when her brother's small voice whispered: “Carrie, will you marry me?” “ADAM, I’m your sister. What the heck was gotten into you?” His eyes seemed big, blue holes in his skull. “I know. I just want you to refuse me. You know, I have a crush on this girl at school, and she’s just like you. Determined to work one day and not be a house-wife.” Now his eyes glimmered with love and hope. “If I will one day ask her to marry me, I fear she will say ‘no’. So I figured, since you’re so good at breaking hearts, you could prepare me for when my lovely Amanda will break mine.” Carrie was baffled for a moment. When she finally found her words, she told her brother: “You are silly. Well, if you want your heart broken then listen to this: I will not marry you, not now, not ever. Because you have no place in my brightly lit future, where I plan to become a renowned doctor. So leave now and maybe I’ll have pity on you and when I get my M.D and you’ll be old and sick, I’ll take you on as my patient and tend to your weak body.” “You are brutal, Carrie. But is it true? Do you want to be a doctor? You never told us anything about that.” “Yes, I do want that. But I was afraid to tell mom and dad because you know they are so traditional and I am scared of how they’ll react. But now that they’ve seen I don’t plan to marry, maybe it’s time to share my dreams with them.” She sighed. “Listen, Adam. Don’t pressure Amanda into marriage. Be by her side and support her. You are still young. Sixteen is such an exciting age. Wait and see where this goes. There is more to life than love and marriage.” Adam seemed satisfied enough with this answer and left her room. Although Carrie was tired, she still wanted to be with her family and tell them all about her aspirations of being a doctor. She hoped they’d understand. It was Christmas Eve after all and it was just about time for a Christmas miracle. Heart beating fast, she headed for the dining room.

qlh6rr

Dancing for June

This year, he would spend the holidays with is family and get some peace and quiet, while June D's tour had been cancelled. Atlanta was too loud and too busy for the Texan. All he needed was a few days of rest in the rental property he shared with his wife and teenage daughter. Being a backup dancer for June D, the most famous singer in the world, was not free of its challenges.                Stephan Spalding loved performing in June D’s shows. He knew that she appreciated having him as a member of her dance crew. He was on time, volunteered to train the weakest dancers, and constantly came up with new choreography to keep her looking fresh and relevant to a younger audience. He had helped her create her signature Torch Dance on Tik Tok, which garnered 12 million views on YouTube in a single day. It sent her hit new single, Toss Em’ Back, straight to number one on the Billboard music charts.                Next, he would give his best efforts at the Coca-Cola Roxy for the commercial shoot. She would see how dedicated he was to her, and finally promote him. Rehearsals would take up most of his day for the next three days, so there was no time to waste. Unfortunately, he would have to cancel plans to spend the holidays with his daughter, Ladonna.                “Hello? What is it, Stephan?”                “Hey, Allison. I know you and Ladonna wanted me to spend the holidays back in Austin, but June D has a Coca-Cola commercial that she sprung on me at the last minute. I can’t miss it. It’s a huge opportunity for me, and I could become her Dance Captain really soon. I’m gonna take us out of the hood. Baby, I promise to buy you a house and get Ladonna into college. Please, try to understand. I hope the two of you can forgive me.”                “Really? Again, Stephan? You always choose that selfish Jazz diva over your family. She doesn’t even appreciate you, let alone give you credit for helping her become famous. If it were not for you, her song would have flopped. You cannot do this to Ladonna. Don’t worry about me, it is her who you will be disappointing. Please, come?”                “I can’t, Allison.”                “The way she treated me and Nancy when we were assistants was horrible, I can only imagine how hard it must be for you to breathe air around that woman. She sucks it all up. I’m telling you Stephan, if you do this, I am not going to let you see Ladonna again.”                “What?”                “Yes, that is right. You heard me. You keep pushing us away, you always break your promises, and now you are going to miss the third Christmas in a row. She hasn’t seen you since her 9 th birthday, Stephan. She is 12 now. June D will understand, just go!”                “I’m doing this for us, baby. Just bear with me. You will see when I make Dance Captain that our lives are going to change.”                “No it won’t, you will be away more than you are now. You making Dance Captain is going to be the end of us. I’m lonely and I don’t have your support back home. You need to give up this foolish dream, and face reality. You have a good job here at the law firm that my uncle set up for you, just come home to us. Please? I’m begging you. I don’t feel safe here. There are always strange people lurking around the store at night.”                “No. I can’t-“She hung up the phone.                Stephan could feel the thrill of excitement coursing through his veins. This would be the one performance June D would see that would solidify his position in his mind. There was only one problem, he couldn’t get the conversation he had with Allison out of his head. Did she really mean what she said? Would she keep Ladonna away from me? I’m sacrificing for them both, and I wish she could see that.                They were living poorly in downtown Austin, renting out hotel room after hotel room, only to check out before 11:00 in the morning. He was struggling and it was embarrassing. The pay for being a backup dancer for June D was a bunch of peanuts in relation to what Casey, the current Dance Captain, made. She was getting paid thousands of dollars a week for maternity leave. Stephan had rehearsed the steps, memorized the counts and breaths, and almost injured himself on a number of occasions to her holiday song Toss Em’ Back. He learned everything he could from Casey, before she had to leave.                A bottle of chilled Yuengling would not help him fall asleep that night, only getting June D’s nod for a promotion would do the trick. He could imagine it now. It would be as though he had won the lottery, or some grand prize. She had announced that Casey may not be returning to be a stay-at-home mom in Phoenix, Arizona and she would be watching the dancers to choose a replacement for Dance Captain on Instagram. Her fans would vote for the best dancer in her commercial after it aired on Christmas day.                Dance rehearsal had been full of mistakes and mishaps. Dee Dee slipped and landed flat on her ass, but mostly the bony part. Evelyn spun around too quickly and popped Natarsha in the forehead. The woman had a massive headache and needed to take a break and a rest for a few hours. Tracy tripped and landed into camera 4, breaking the microphone attachment and the tripod it stood upon, simultaneously spraining her ankle and giving herself a pop in the breast by the fallen boom microphone overhead. It made a loud smacking sound, since Tracy was so top heavy. Ohna and Neveah partied hard at Little Five Points, were hung over and still drunk.                Looking at the mess they were in, Stephan rallied the dance crew together for a pep talk. He was sincere, compassionate, understanding and a leader. June D watched in the distance. She could tell how great of a Dance Captain she would have with him taking the reins. Casey was right to have recommended him for the job. She would make him Dance Captain, regardless of the Instagram votes. The camera crew, staffers, and performers took their places on set.                June D was in another mood today. Stephan had hoped it wouldn’t interfere with her decision to find a new Dance Captain. All he could think about was getting his growing family out of the hood. The flat they shared above the liquor store was cold and pest-ridden. The winters were the coldest and the summers were the hottest, because the owner of Kay’s Liquor Stow didn’t want to install a heating and cooling unit upstairs. He knew he had to make the change to get his family into a better and healthier living situation. Toss Em’ Back began to play loudly and the dancers took off, sprinting across the set and frolicking in the snow. Dee Dee, Evelyn, and Natarsha pretended to build a snowman at stage right, and the rest of the dancers performed June D’s viral dance that Stephan had come up with, the Torch Dance. Is that me? Oh, no! I forgot to put my phone on silent. Who would call me right now? It’s my big moment and I don’t need any distractions! Dammit!                The ringing ended, but started again. The director yelled, “Cut! Who did it? Who forgot to put their phones in the collection box at the door? You know what, I don’t care. Just take your call outside and hurry back, or you will be replaced!” He said, rolling his eyes towards the group of dancers.                Stephan hurried to his coat sitting on a bench in the back, and zoomed to the exit. The phone rang again for a third time.                Who is it? I don’t know this number.                “Hello?”                “Stephan Spalding?”                “Yeah! Who is this?”                “This is the Heart Hospital of Austin. My name is Ava. I’m calling to tell you that your wife survived, but we could not save your daughter, Ladonna. We tried to contact you sooner, but you wouldn’t pick up.”                “What? Wait! What the hell are you talking about? My wife is at home with my daughter. The last time we spoke, they were decorating the Christmas tree. I don’t understand.”                “Well, there was a burglary at the liquor store they lived above. The thieves were going to leave with what they had, but overheard Christmas music playing above them. They broke into the home and opened fire at everyone inside. I’m so sorry, Mr. Spalding. We will need to have you come to the hospital as soon as possible to take care of affairs. Your wife is asking for you, but she is barely stable. Again, we’re so sorry for your loss.”                “Oh, my god! Oh, no! Ladonna! My baby girl!”                Running inside to gather his belongings, a man in a security guard uniform knocked him down. The guy didn’t look back to see who he had pushed over, let alone apologize or check on the fallen person he had left behind. This angered Stephan, but it wasn’t important to him. He needed to get to Austin on the next flight leaving the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport.                The director shouted at him, “Hey! You! Get your ass back on set. We need you to lift June D onto the sleigh. Let’s go!”                Stephan ignored the tiny man and carried on with his things. He ran out the door and hopped onto the Marta that was parked in front of the Roxy.                “Hey man, are you leaving any time soon?” He asked the driver.                “My man, I’m on my break. I’ll leave when I get ready. So, have a seat.”                “Damn it! I need to get to the airport. How long is your break going to take?”                “I don’t know fool. Just take a seat.”                A fleet of cars had arrived to pick up more tourists. Again, the loud honking of horns, people getting in and out of Lyfts, Ubers, and taxis had overwhelmed his ears. He couldn’t get away from the annoyingly busy city fast enough. He seized the opportunity and hopped in the back of an Uber that had been waiting for a fare.                “Hey, I need to get to the airport. Can you take me there?”                The flight back to Austin was the longest flight he had ever taken. Nothing was happening fast enough for him. Soon, he would learn that the peace and quiet he had wished and hoped for would never come. His heart hadn’t stopped beating rapidly since he got off of the phone with the hospital.                My baby. No, not my Ladonna. Not my little girl. Please, god. No.                He held onto his steering wheel as hard as he could, wishing it had magical powers to reverse this. He wanted his reality to change. The traffic was non-existent, allowing him to think of the good times he shared with his daughter, before her death. The new bicycle he and bought her for her ninth birthday, the daddy-daughter dance they had at her Kindergarten graduation party. Everything was more important than it was before.                I should have come home every chance I had. I’m so sorry Ladonna. I’m so sorry Allison, please hold on baby. I’m on my way to the hospital.                His phone rang again. This time, he knew it was the hospital.                “Yes? It is Stephan Spalding. What’s going on?”                “Are you parking soon? I can hear your turning signal.”                “Yes, just spit it out. What is it? Is Ally okay?”                “Mr. Spalding", the woman gulped loudly. Her voice breaking as she spoke into the phone, "She didn’t make it. Her wounds were too severe. She was shot in the neck and the bullet severed her carotid artery. We tried to save her, but she had lost so much blood. Her brain was without oxygen and blood for a long time, she didn’t survive our efforts to save her. I’m sorry, Sir.”                Overcome with grief, his eyes filled with tears. They were overflowing so much that he lost sight of the road, missed a traffic light, and another one. He flew through another and was hit by an oncoming semi-truck.

b7rdq9

Snow Day

With snow falling at a rapid pace what is some of your best snow day stories from childhood, college and today? Now that I am old it is nice to relive the stories from the past and hear stories from others that make me feel young again:) One story I remember from my youth was going sledding to "Death Hill" (The rumors of by gone children dying on the hill and going to the hospital were legendary..... however no one knew any of the people personally or if they truly existed at all: ) I remember the trek to the hill was like an adventure in itself. Starting from my house with a few friends and working our way through town. Passing the bank, the firehall and then crossing the major roadway to get to the town store then behind the store we trekked over hill and field to finally arrival (it seemed like hours) really 15 minutes or so. To the hill. The hill was steepish and ran down to bushes and a small stream the trick was not to end up in the stream or die hitting a bush or tree. We spent hours (seconds) peering over the edge to get the nerve to go. Once you did, down the hill you went hopefully bailing prior to said obstacles. It was fun and to my knowledge no one got hurt....badly. But to this day I still think of that hill on snow days. Have a great day all and enjoy the snow if possible.  was lucky growing up. My neighborhood had a great hill and 15 kids my age besides my brother and my cousins that lived next door. Snow days were awesome. Then in high school we used to get cheap beer and take ATVs in thru town to the woods and drink around a fire all day and cook mass amounts of venison in the coals. Now I build snowmen with my kids who are 4 and 2. Have you ever been nervous about something and wished for an excuse to avoid it? That's exactly what happens to the girl in I Need a Snow Day! Feeling nervous about her math test, she wishes for a snow day so she can miss school. When she wakes up in the morning, will there be lots of snow? Detailed illustrations and engaging text support emergent readers. This story can also be used to teach students to determine fact and opinion as well as to recognize and use exclamatory sentences. The world sleeps under a white blanket, unaware of the emotions I feel as I stare at the empty playground. A small wind blows by, causing the swings to sway and creak. You’re not here either, and I can’t think of any more places you might be. As peaceful as the night is, the unforgiving chill of winter lingers. Where are you? Looking around, a shadow under the streetlight catches my eye. Walking towards it, a sigh of relief leaves my mouth as I run over, only to freeze at the sight of you. You wear a blank expression as you look up at me, your eyes colder than the air around us. All the words I was ready to blurt out die in my throat. I’ve never seen you like this before. You make no move to leave, but your eyes never leave mine. I can’t read them, but my heart seems to know what to do. Wordlessly, I sit down next to you, ignoring your empty gaze. Instead, I take in the falling snowflakes, sparkling in the light. It’s like the stars in the sky have transformed, finding their way to illuminate the darkness despite the clouds. Finding their way to come down and touch us instead of shining from afar. Out of curiosity I stick out my tongue, hoping against most odds to catch one. You stifle a laugh at the sight of me, warmth returning to your eyes. I smile back sheepishly, knowing how silly I looked, being cross-eyed and all. Reaching out, I take your hand in mine before putting it back into my pocket, a move that even catches me by surprise. Still, the coldness of your hands is what shocks me more, followed by a slight ache in my heart. How long were you sitting here? The snow in your hair has gathered into a thick coating, another indication that you’ve been here for a while. We lock eyes again, and a small smile dances across my lips as I take in all of you. “What? Is there something on my face?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. My smile softens as I turn my whole body towards you. “Yeah. Strength. Beauty. Bravery.” Three words. Three truths. The last of your defenses fall at my words and your eyes well with tears. “It’s okay. You’ve done well.” My arms hold you close as you fall apart, clutching onto me as sobs wrack your body. The sound of your cries breaks my heart and I desperately fight back tears of my own. Tightening my hold on you, I swear to myself that I’ll never leave you. Not for anything. I don’t know how much time passes before your tears start to dry, the snow still falling from the sky. Cupping your face in my hands, I wipe away the snowflakes that kiss your cheeks before looking into your eyes. The heaviness of your soul has lightened, but the pain remains. Questions race through my mind, but I keep silent. You’ll tell me if you want to, and only when you’re ready. As much as I would fight the world to keep you safe, to avenge your hurt, I know it’s not my place. You are far more capable of fighting your own battles. What I can offer, though, is rest, love, and myself. And those are things I’ll never hold back from you. Quietly I help you to your feet, my hand entwined in yours as a sign of comfort for you as well as a sign of reassurance for me. I found you, and I’m not letting you go. It’s only after I wrap you in blankets when you open your mouth, your voice hoarse but steady. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this.” Tiredness is laced in your tone, but your words scream the opposite. Sitting down in front of you, I make sure your eyes are on mine before replying. “Do not apologize for being human.” Something clicks in your mind at those words, so I continue, praying you’ll understand how much I mean my words. “In fact, thank you for trusting me enough to be vulnerable.” You’re tearing up again, but you quickly blink them away and smile. It’s a smile that catches me off guard, so gentle and filled with joy. It’s a smile I’ve seen before, a smile I’ve always loved, because it lights up the room. “And thank you, for being,” your eyes dart back and forth as you try to come up with the right words. Your eyes light up before you pull me into a warm embrace, your head resting on my shoulder. “Thank you for being my home.” My heart swells with your words and I bury my head in your neck. Home. So this is what home is.

3hbrbc

Shift

Not again. It was happening all the time now. Aida Nguyen was experiencing... actually, she didn’t know what she was experiencing. All she knew was time kept repeating itself.       It had started three weeks ago, when she was ordering a burrito at Taco Bell. She placed her order at the Drive Thru, and was going to the window to pay and get the burrito, when time shifted. Everything moved back to two minutes prior, when she was getting to the Drive Thru. It seemed like she was the only one to notice, as well.    It wasn’t just messing with her at the Taco Bell Drive Thru. It happened everywhere! At random times, random places, random scenarios! Right now, it was the eve before Christmas Eve. December 23.    Aida still had to buy a present for her mom, and was rushing to find the book her mom wanted. There was only one left in the store, and she needed to get to it first. Running through the store, she located the book section, and found the book. Just as she was about to grab it, time shifted. But she was the only one who shifted. No one noticed, though. Time shifted her to a few feet away from the aisle the book was in. She started running again, just in time to see an elderly man grab the book.    Aida ran up to the man and asked if she could have that book. “Please, mister. I’ve been looking for that book for weeks!” What she said was partially true. Aida had in fact been looking, just not for weeks. More like for the last ten minutes. The man must have known, somehow, and said “I’m sorry, miss, but I feel as though you haven’t. This is a present for my wife, and I must be going. Happy Christmas.” And he left.    Aida was not one to say “Happy” Christmas. She said “Merry”, and was about to tell this to the man, when someone grabbed her shoulders and whipped her around. Out of instinct, she balled up her fist, and threw it into where the person’s stomach most likely was. And her aim was accurate.    “Oohhhhh, ow…” Aida opened her clenched eyes to see her best friend rolled up in a ball on the ground. “Ethan! We’ve talked about this! No scaring me unless you want me to do - well, that.” Aida told the ball on the ground. Helping him up, she apologized, and asked “what are you doing here?”    After catching his breath, he told her that he needed help - fast! They ran out of the store towards the most popular clothing store for girls Aida’s age, which was around 20. They rushed in the doors of the store, and Aida grabbed Ethan’s shoulder to ask him what the hell he needed.    Ethan stopped. “I need a present for Ava. And the store is closing in 5 minutes, we gotta move!” Ava was Ethan’s girlfriend, and, come to think of it, Aida still needed to get a present for Lily, her own girlfriend! That was one thing she had in common with Ethan; they both liked girls, and girls only!    They were racing around the store, looking for a present for their girlfriends, when it happened again. Everything shifted. The time went back 3 minutes, when they had first arrived. But, they didn’t move. It was like time was helping. Aida stopped for a second, and looked at Ethan. He didn’t notice. She shook her head and looked through a rack of cardigan sweaters. They left soon after. Ethan held a bag with fluffy slippers in it. Aida held a bag that held a fluffy purple sweater for Lily, and she found the book for her mom at the last second. They were walking towards the exit when Aida’s phone buzzed. Bzzzzz.        Mom: Where are u? Dinner is going to be very late… Dad burned the food, had to go out and get more. Stay out for dinner, ok? Love u!    Aida smiled, responded with a quick ok and looked at Ethan. “Want to grab something to eat?” She asked. Ethan smiled, and they turned left to go to the food court.    As they walked, they talked about Christmas plans, food, and gifts. They got to the food court to see a few people sitting down, eating hamburgers. “Where is everyone?” Ethan asked, as usually the food court was packed full of people. “I don’t know… Well, let’s enjoy it while we can.” Aida replied. She grabbed his wrist and dragged him towards the Chick-Fil-A. There they ordered two chicken sandwiches, chicken nuggets, waffle fries, and two sodas. They sat down at a table, splitting the fries and nuggets, chatting. The people who were sitting and eating were giving them weird looks. It's not very common to see a Black girl sitting with a white guy eating Chick-Fil-A in a mall food court. But Aida was used to it. The weird looks, the comments, the rude remarks, everything. Luckily, Lily was from India, so she understood what Aida went through.    “So, what else are you getting Ava for Christmas?” Aida asked, swallowing some soda. “Well, uh… a book?” Ethan replied sounding unsure.    Aida: Mm-hmm.    Ethan: I’m not sure I understand…    Aida: Stop talking like Siri. No rings?    Ethan: *practically chokes on soda*    Aida: *laughs*    Ethan: What?!    Aida: No? No smoochies? No white and lace?    Ethan: AIDA!!! It was 5 pm, Christmas Eve Day. Ethan had left soon after Aida asked if he was proposing to Ava. She later remarked to Lily over the phone that he seemed mad. Like, really mad. Perhaps it was a touchy subject with him.    Aida picked up her phone from her bed. Another text from Lily. Instead of answering, Aida tapped the FaceTime icon. Lily picked up on the second ring.    “What should I wear to the party tonight?” Aida asked. “What do you want to wear?” Aida pulled three different outfits out of her closet. The first included a pair of warm blue leggings with a loose purple miniskirt pulled over top, a T-shirt, and a pink fuzzy sweater. A knitted black hat and scarf accompanied the outfit, along with black boots.    The second outfit was a very obvious party outfit. The leggings had sequins sewn down the side of both pant legs, the jacket was sparkly and jingle-jangly with Christmas bells. The boots, hat and scarf were brightly colored, and the outfit carried along lots and lots of sparkly necklaces.    The third and final outfit was more meant for New Years in California, with a tight dress that covered the bearer until mid thigh. It was a sunset scene, with dark pink near the top, and a lighter pink near the bottom, yellows and oranges mixed in between. A black city skyline was at the hem of the dress. The heels were about an inch high, with glitter covering the fake leather. Lots of necklaces accompanied it. Aida threw it back into her closet.    In the end, Lily, fashion expert and party extraordinaire, chose the first outfit, so Aida threw it on her bed. The couple chatted for over an hour about the party, which was being held at a skating rink. Lots of people from their college were going. Mostly people from their Psychology class. Soon after, Aida heard her mom calling for her from the floor below. She was lucky; her college was in her hometown, so she could stay with her family a bit longer. At 7:30, Ethan, Ava and Lily came to pick Aida up for the party. She stepped out of her house, wearing her outfit and lots of necklaces. Her hair was curled, and her eyelids sparkled. Her lips shone like the North Star with all her lip gloss, and she walked with a sway in her hip.    When she got to the car, Ava rolled down her window. They embraced through the small space, and Ethan asked how her hips were doing after that walk to the car. “Sore,” Aida said, causing laughter in the car. “Very sore. Mental note, don’t do that again.” Just as she was about to grip the car handle, time shifted again.    Aida prepared to start walking towards the car again, but the car was gone. She was still standing on the sidewalk, a little too close to the road itself, arm still outstretched. Quickly, she stepped back, and pulled her arm down. She waited a bit for the car to pull up again. When it did come, Ava again rolled down her window, and they again hugged.    “A bit eager to get to the party, aren’t we?” Ethan asked, jokingly. Aida laughed, and got into the backseat successfully. Lily hugged her when she sat down, and gave her a quick kiss. She seemed a bit nervous, for some reason… Aida shrugged it off and started talking with her friends. They got to the party with no more shifts, thank God. There were lots of people. It was in the middle of a field, near the edge of the city. There was a huge ice skating rink, a snack bar, hot chocolate bar, and skate rentals. A few feet away from the rink was a firepit. In the middle of the skating rink stood a huge tree. The tree was dressed from tippy top to bottom of the trunk with Christmas tree ornaments. And on top of it all stood a massive glowing star.    “Aida!” Aida heard her name and turned to see a male with short blonde hair and a black jacket running over to her. She didn’t recognize this person... But, she did at the same time. And it wasn’t a boy, either… “Aida! It’s me, Josie! I cut my hair! Now it looks like it should be on a male head!” Aida’s eyes widened.    “Josie?! Oh, my God!! It looks great! I didn’t even recognize you! I thought you were a dude!” The girls hugged, and Aida turned towards two confused faces. “Ethan, Ava, this is Josie, one of my best friends at college! Josie, this is Ethan, who I’ve known since birth, and his girlfriend, Ava.” Ethan shook Josie’s hand, and Ava hugged her. Then Lily came up and greeted Josie with a hug.    “Good to see you, girl! How’s it going?” Josie said, hugging back. “It’s great. Speaking of great, look at this party!” Josie smiled. “Your welcome! I’m Party Council Chairperson - again.”    “Congrats!” Aida said. Then they all headed towards the skating rink. They grabbed some cocoa, rented some skates, and hit the ice. Ava clutched Ethan’s arm, even though she was a figure skater. Lily and Aida held onto each other for dear life, as both of them had been born in different countries, neither of which had ice very often. Josie skated with her boyfriend.    After a few hours of skating, drinking cocoa, dancing around the firepit, and chatting, Lily grabbed Aida’s hand and pulled her towards the forest area. They stopped just at the edge of the forest. Aida, smiling, asked what was going on. “I wanted to get you alone. We haven’t been hanging out a ton, recently. And when we are together, there’s other people around.” Lily said. Aida smiled again, and stepped closer to Lily. The kiss they shared was wonderful. It was hot, long, and beautiful. It lasted almost a full 30 seconds before Lily, being the jokester she is, pulled away, saying she needed oxygen, gasping for breath. Aida laughed before kissing her again, just quick, short, sweet.    For once, she wanted a shift to happen to redo this moment. But before she could wish it, Lily was talking again. “You know, I do really love you. I want to spend forever with you, and I thought today was a good chance to ask…”    Jokingly, Aida said that it was already technically Christmas Morning, and it would be a bit late to ask what she wanted for Christmas. “Har har,” Lily grinned. “Anyways,” she continued. “I want to have you… If you want me, at least. Aida Imani Nguyen,” Lily got down on one knee, and Aida gasped, tears already brimming her eyes. “Will you marry me?” Time stopped. Literally. Stupid time shifts…    Aida could move around, but everything was frozen, like an extremely icy breeze came through and froze the world. She looked closer at her girlfriend, soon to be fiancée. Aida would have said “yes” if this didn’t happen.    She realized that Lily had beads of sweat on her forehead. That’s why she was so nervous in the car! Aida followed Lily’s arms to where they sat near one pocket. Aida looked in the pocket to see a box. Pulling out the box, she noticed it was a box for jewelry. She was about to open it, but realized she wanted it to be a surprise. She put the box back in Lily’s pocket and went back to her place in time before time had stood still.    “... marry me?” Aida blinked. Time unfroze, and Lily proposed again. A tear trickled down Aida’s cheek, probably from before. Aida’s smile grew, and was about to respond when Lily was getting down on one knee for the second visible time. What the hell?! Aida tried to cover her facial expression but it didn't work. "What's wrong?" Lily said. "Oh, no. You aren't ready! I'm sorry, I really am, oh, God," Aida was about to calm Lily down when another shift happened, and Lily was, again, getting on one knee.    Aida put her hands behind her back and pinched her skin as if to wake up. But she quickly had to pretend to stifle a gasp, as this had happened three other times already! Lily hadn’t even had time to finish her question when Aida blacked out. She didn’t know how much time had passed. She didn’t know where she was, even. But she woke up to someone gripping her wrist lightly, and a small tug. Keeping her eyes closed, she followed the tug, until she opened her eyes to see her beautiful girlfriend, and it returned to her. She was at a Christmas party with Ethan, Ava, and Lily. But why was she in the forest?    “Why are we here?” Aida asked, smiling. “I wanted to get you alone. We haven’t been hanging out a ton, recently. And when we are together, there’s other people around.” Lily said. Aida smiled again, and stepped closer to Lily. They shared a beautiful kiss before Lily, being the jokester she is, pulled away, saying she needed oxygen, gasping for breath. Aida laughed, feeling a sense of déjà vu.   Lily was talking again. “You know, I do really love you. I want to spend forever with you, and I thought today was a good chance to ask…   “I want to have you… If you want me, at least. Aida Imani Nguyen,” Lily got down on one knee, and Aida gasped, tears already brimming her eyes. “Will you marry me?”

xz6idq

FOG AT CHRISTMAS

 FOG  AT CHRISTMAS “ Listen Paula, I would like to ask you if you know something new about that neighbor of yours….You told me that he had disappeared just on Christmas day, and no one knew anything of him since months. You see, they talked recently about this man in television, and my son Alex remembered that this….this Horatio C. is the father of a classmate of his….Ah, back then, when my son and his were teenagers, this Horatio  was a photographer, while you told me that he now, before disappearing, had a farm , even a farm specialized in the production for biological food…..” Anne said, looking at Paula, sitting facing her at the small table of the living room. “Oh, yes, the farm….ah, I told you about the farm….but it seems that Horatio C. was going to sell it….ah, but then he disappeared, just as I told you, the morning of the Christmas day……His wife  am his son went out for go to Mass, after the Mass they went to the pastry shop ,  where they had ordered the dessert for Christmas lunch….ah there would also be the grandparents and the uncles, the aunts at lunch that day. They, his wife and his son had left him ( Horatio ) at home, while he was putting the finishing touches  on the table , already set for the great lunch, and on the Christmas tree. He had also remained at home to wait for the relatives, who had to arrive at any moment. When they came back home, they found their relatives waiting outside, since they had rang the bell, but the door had remained closed.And he, Horatio, had disappeared” “ But, you know, in the television report, where they talked about him, about his disappearance….a friend of his, or maybe just an acquaintance who, while was talking, was only filmed from behind, said that Horatio had in mind since some time to change his life, and perhaps to disappear ….That man mentioned the disagreements of Horatio with his wife, and with his son , too. But not only……this man told that Horatio had for years been in a relationship with a married woman, from whom he had had a daughter…..” At this point Anne was silent for a moment, to catch her breath, since so much frantically, very moved, she had spoken. “ But listen…listen …he, Horatio couldn’t recognize her daughter , who therefore turned out to be the daughter of his lover’s husband “ Anne said, all in one breath. Then she remained silent, but it was evident that she was anxiously waiting for her curiosity could be satisfied by what Paula would tell her, oh, she after all was a neighbor of the missing man. “ Ah, look, I haven’t seen the television report you was talking about, but anyway….if one knows details….things….like those that….that guy had reported….but why doesn’t he let us see his face?” Paula snorted in replay , and then she was silent, crossing her arms. “ Do you mean…do you mean that it doesn’t appear to you that Horatio had a lover and also a daughter from her lover?” Anne asked, rather disappointed. “ Ah, look…I not only don’t know anything about that….oh, but I assure you that I can exclude he had a lover, not to mention a daughter ( he would have from his lover)….no, look, I can exclude all that, even if…..I cannot tell you why “ “ But how….let me understand….you said that you can absolutely exclude that Horatio, your neighbor, had a lover and, therefore even he had a child from his lover….oh, well….he was a neighbor of yours…. But soon after you came out  with your statement that you cannot tell me WHY you are able to exclude…..what you exclude. Sorry, but then I could ask you: why should I believe you rather than that…..that guy in television?”Anne spoke in an impatient, even angry tone. “ Oh, my dear…I could get away with saying that you have to believe me instead of….that handsome guy squirting how much in television, since I, while I’m talking to you, I’m here, in front of you ! And you can see my face!” Paula exclaimed, sealing her words with her fist knocked on the table. “ Ah, I see….I think that you know….but sure….I mean that you must know important facts, circumstances …..important things about this man , Horatio, about his disappearance, about his family , too. But sure that you can know even something secret about him, after all since he is, indeed was , a neighbor of yours ….”  At this point Anne stopped a moment, motioned to Paula, who was about to  start speaking, to wait, since she still had something else to add. “And , yes, I can understand that you don’t want to talk about these…..these secrets” Anne almost whispered these words, in a resigned and sad tone. “ Ah! Ah! Ah! Oh, sorry, excuse me if I am laughing, but how can I not burst out laughing , to hear you speak of secret! Around here…..” And Paula gestured with her arms, her hands, to indicate the place , the surroundings. “ Around here all people know well that, oh, it was certainly not Horatio to have lovers! Ah! Ah! Ah!” “ You say….do you mean that ….that she was his wife , who had a lover?” Anne dared to ask, more and more intrigued, as well as to be about to learn something very interesting. “ Ah, his wife! She of lovers didn’t just have one! Oh, I’m sure to not tell you a secret! All people here know it very well” Paula claimed. “Oh, but look….and he, Horatio, did he know ….?” “ Of course, he knew” “ Ah….I would never have imagined such a situation. You know, in that television report they also interviewed his wife….She seemed so much worried , even sincerely saddened for his husband’s disappearance. She said that she was fearing that….he was dead”   Anne’s voice, who had begun to speak almost shouting, dropped to a murmur. “ Oh, imagine if she is afraid her poor man is dead…..I would say that she rather is fearing the opposite, that he is still alive” Paula accompanied the words she was saying, as if to underline them, with shaking of  his head and hands gestures. “ Listen…..do you think Horatio is dead? Do you think he was killed?” Anne asked , in a very excited voice. “ Ah, I don’t know….But, yes, he could have been killed” Paula whispered. “ Yet you ….you must know more, I ‘m feeling that you know something more…..Oh, I know it is useless for me to insist on ( for) knowing. You won’t tell me anything” Anne complained, shaking her head disconsolately. “ Well, then listen to…this…” Paula started saying, while she was looking intently at the watch on her wrist, holding the dial of which between her thumb and her forefinger “ Yeah, I’ll tell you of something ….almost strange, something that will make you think…. think badly…..Then, the day after, indeed it was night, Christmas, when Horatio had disappeared, I found, and at all by chance, his watch . And do you know where I found it? On the sidewalk of this street, three, four hundred meters from here. It was behind a garbage can , as if someone had put it there to hidem it…..or maybe not, maybe instead that the watch had ended there because it had fallen to whoever had it…” “ Oh, but then…..indeed, are you sure it was his watch?” Anne, impatient, interrupted Paula. “ I ‘m absolutely sure. I had seen his watch, seen it up close, I mean . He, Horatio, had shown it to me, all proud of having such a special, particular watch. It was a gift of his nephew, who had brought it to him from Saint Petersburg. And that watch really had characteristics , which made it very special, if not unique. Besides___SAINT PETERSBURG___written in the Cyrillic alphabet, his nephew had engraved the name___HORATIO___on the watch case. “ Paula fell silent, staring at Anne. “ Oh, but then you had have taken that watch to the police, I guess “ “ Sure…. And do you know what I had to hear? Ah, really an unbelievable stuff! The policeman who saw the watch, I think he was an inspector, said me .. that watch had no importance, it was at all irrelevant to the investigations into Horatio C., into his disappearance” Paula ended her telling by clapping her hands. “ But are you kidding? How it couldn’t  matter if it was his watch ?” Anne cried, staring at her with wide eyes. “ Yes, very unbelievable, isn’t? Yet, that’s what they told me at the police station “ “ But the watch….how did that watch end? Where is it now?” “ Ah! Ah! Ah! Listen….to remain in the unbelievable……ah! Ah! Ah! But listen…..since the watch had no importance for the investigation, it was seized by the police! Ah! Ah! Ah!” Paula’s words were drowned in laughter. “ I cannot believe it….I cannot believe it….” Anne kept on repeating , shaking her head disconsolately. “ Yes, all this is incredible , but indeed it is more than incredible….ah, I would say it is very crazy! You know, since the police inspector said me that watch was irrelevant for the investigation, I thought they would give it back to me, that I  would give it to Horatio’s wife or son, or that they, the cops, would take care to return it to his family “ Paula added. “ But…if you found his special watch on the sidewalk, the day after he had disappeared, then…it is very likely that Horatio C. did not go away by his will, but that he was made  disappear” Anne said, after a moment of silence. “Yes, that’s what I think too” Paula agreed. “ Then…if he was made to disappear, I think he was  killed too” Anne said, in a faint voice. “ Do you remember the last Christmas? “ Paula started to speak with this completely unexpected question. “ Last Christmas…it was a foggy day….and about evening the snow began to fall, it kept on snowing all night. The following morning there was plenty of snow on the streets, on the sidewalks…..there was a thick blanket of snow everywhere….” Paula was talking dreamily.         “Sorry, but I don’t understand why you started talking about …..about fog and snow” Anne interrupted her talking. “ Don’t you remember? Last Christmas was a foggy day, there was a thick, also freezing fog….and at night it snowed heavily. If you think about it….that was the ideal day to make someone disappear” “ Yeah, that’s right” Anne acknowledged. “I’m over forty, but I don’t remember another Christmas, before this, with fog” Paula said. .                                                                                                       

tq6f9e

Setting you free

You know, it's one thing to buy someone a cheap card from the store. Hasty and unoriginal, yet oddly comforting to know they care about you. The sentiment of being tracked down after final bell, thrown into a moving vehicle, and being given a mysterious object? Not so much. This sounds like the beginning of an action movie. Contrary to popular belief, I am, in fact, not being kidnapped. Of course, I know where I'm going all the same. Bob clenches the wheel with a bright grin, his faded white shirt with the words "You only live once" meticulously scrawled on its cheap fabric. Maybe it's an ironic reference to the fact if he continues to drive like this, we'll both be dead. "You could slow down," I fumble with my seat belt, haphazardly dropping the blanketed object. It's contents squawk with protest as Bob turns red. "What the hell did you do this time?" "Marshal," he tries to keep the mystery item from falling on the floor, nearly smashing into a pole. "I warned you! I told you you could cut 6th period. Then we wouldn't have to hurry" I sigh as a reply. School has never been important to me like it is to Bob, but when even he doesn't have qualms about skipping school, it means something. Besides, I couldn't skip 6th period; I had photography class. When I tell people, it devolves from there. My parents tell me to focus on my ap courses to help with college. But to me, nothing is more important than that 1-hour block of the day where I don't have to think about any other classes. I snap that shutter, and the moment is immortalized. When I'm asked to model, I make sure to portray the best version of me. A picture can speak a thousand words, which is longer than the essay Bob was supposed to write in 6th-period government class. "Why do we have to hurry? Where are we going?" Bob pulls over onto the sidewalk without endangering the lives of the late holiday shoppers, and pulled the blanket off the small metal box. A small red bird peers up at me with blank eyes, as if saying "Great, he got you in this mess. Any chance you could let me out?" "That's your big reveal? Is it some clue? Are we going back to the forest to release this bird you've captured?" His trademark smile turned into a scowl. "You don't have to be such a dick, Marshal" "I'm trying to be honest" "Well, I'm trying not to be mad at you today? Do you know why?" "Because you need to copy my homework for Ms. Georche's class?" "No, be sensible. I doubt you did any more than I have yet anyway" I begrudgingly shrugged. He had me there. "I give up. What is it?" Bob dropped a quarter between the bars of the cage, waiting patiently for the bird to pick it up. When it did, he carefully inspects it. "We're turning right," Bob declares. "You're not angry at me because we're turning right?" "I like that. Give me some more sarcasm. The good stuff, this time" "That doesn't answer my question" "Marshal," Bob twists to look at me before shooting his eyes back to the road. "Tonight, this car will be your guide to the crappy town we've been forced to live in. We will crush our enemies and feast at only the finest banquets!" "And by banquets, you mean Dunkin's" He flashes me a grin. Years ago, Bob and his mom were struggling to find food. His dad had left, and his mom's classes were taking up her time. They entered Bob into an acting competition for Dunkin's, landing him a spot in a commercial. When the director found out his age, he quickly dismissed them. Luckily for Bob, he didn't leave empty-handed. Thousands of coupons come in the mail each month, at least a third of them expired. Part of me wants to believe Bob's sick of the fast-food chain by now, but he keeps ordering there. To dine at such a place requires the fortification only my best friend possesses. At least we live in new England; you turn in any direction, and they're right there. "Christmas break began today," Bob reminds me. "Winter break," I chide. "Jewish, remember?" "Whatever. You know you still celebrate Christmas. You just get twice the amount of presents. Hell, you've gone to church the same amount of times I have" "I've never even stepped inside one" "Exactly. And so, to celebrate this fine day, we will travel along with this car, using only coins as our maps" "I'm sorry, what?" Bob hands me a stack of quarters. "Whenever I tell you to flip one of these, do it. If it's heads, we'll go right. Tails, we go left" "Why do we need this many?" "You can't use the same one twice. Duh!" Bob explains as if the rules are plainly obvious. "Then we free the bird" The little red bird cocks its head in relief. "Where did you find the bird?" "In my ib environmental class," a bit of me breaks as Bob's expression turns hazy. I can't bear to see him as sad as the day his dad left. Before I can wonder what about the incident that made him sad, he continues. "We were hiking in the woods,” Bob's smile wavers. ”The storm cut this little guy off. I volunteered to get him back to his family by tonight, before the nor'easter” ”That's brave,” I admit. ”Except for the bit about the extra credit. Maybe cut that part out when you mention it to girls” His grin returns, but there's a forced part to it now. ”Where to first?” I flip a coin. ”Right,” I dictate. ”Then left” ”See?” Bob brags as he drives, leaning over into the next lane. ”This'll be the most fun anyone's ever had been kidnapped!” When I flip another quarter, George Washington grimaces up at me. “Onto the highway!” Bob reports. “I know where to go” His exuberance can only take us so far. Bob ends up cranking the holiday station up to the max, trying to drown out the quiet between us. While I'd like to say our friendship is the type that doesn't require forced chats, that isn't true. Bob's always ready to strike up conversation. Something's up. He finally makes a turn off the highway at an exit I've never ventured off of. The candy sunset is set aflame by this new array of lights, splashing up into the sky with greedy anger. “I wanted to take you here first,” Bob tells me, staring at the mess of string lights before us. It's a maze, I guess. Each hedge wall is adorned with multicolored sparkling lights, leading us down. Bob buys two tickets, smiling at me. “Are you ready for this?” I pull on a sour expression, despite my amazement at this blinding labyrinth. “I'll try” We can only make it a few feet before Bob takes out the quarters. “It'd be cheating if we didn't use these” “Of course,” I snort. “Because using simple logic to solve a children's maze is ridiculous. You're trying to stall” Bob gestures out to the maze, revealing an assorted cast of other teenagers. In fact, the place seems to be devoid of kids. “There's supposedly going to be a party at the end,” he promises. “Beer. Music. Girls?” I laugh at the last one, poised as a question. “Girls” “Girls?” Bob feigns a pout. “Girls,” I playfully punch his arm. “Girls it is. Where to first, captain?” “Left,” I sigh, staring down the illuminated hall, already suspecting the dead-end staring us straight in the face. I swear Bob nearly skips down its length, dragging me along by my hand. “C'mon!” he says, turning around to face me. “If you want to get there and back in time” “What about the bird?” A playful half-moon plays on his face as we turn down a different stretch of the maze. Turns out it wasn't as simple as I thought. “That's the thing,” he confesses. “There's gonna be a road out to the forest. We can take it out there to release the bird” “That's simple enough,” my feet drag across the ground. “We're taking a right next” “Roger that,” Bob salutes me, dancing into the next aisle. A dead-end greets us almost immediately. “Shit,” the quarters failed us again. When is he going to learn? “We need to find a way to speed this up” “Maybe not use the quarters?” my voice sounds dry in the cold air. “No,” Bob pushes the idea off as if it's insane. “Maybe just throw them around in the bag? If you didn't keep dropping them...” “Do you expect me to be able to keep flipping them in this weather?” “Listen,” Bob slides off his gloves. “Use these. You'll fit in them, I think” “Thanks,” I grumble, only slightly content. At least he's trying. It still doesn't help our strategy. Before I can use my newly warmed fingers, a shriek pierces the air. “Jaime!” A girl's voice breaks the quiet between us as a large girl smashes into me. “Sorry!” I turn to stare at her. Her eggshell trench coat pulled over her shoulders compliments her dark skin in a way my own wardrobe would have approved. Her curly pink hair is piled under a thick woolen hat. “That's my bird,” she points toward the cage in Bob's hand. “Huh? I found it in the woods. We were just about to release it-” “No!” She cries, gloved hands put on either cheek as if the thought is too much to bear. “Please don't! I lost him a few days ago, and it'd really be a hassle to get him back” “I found him in the woods,” Bob points out plainly. “Didn't you even notice he's a tropical bird” Well. That explains a lot. I look back at Bob, mimicking his stupid grin. “Whoops” “Are y'all headed to the party?” she takes the bird from Bob with a warm smile, generous and clean. “Yeah,” Bob elbows me. “We were just about to get there” “Why'd you two go down this wrong turn? Doesn't seem like you're really trying” I scowl at Bob. “I told you we didn't have to use the quarters” “What?” She yanks us out into the main corridor, eyeing the back. “Did y'all really use those?” Her southern accent pierces through any attempt at subtlety. “Yeah. This dumbass thought it would work” “And,” Bob continues. “This dumbass's name is Bob. That's Marshall” “I'm Agnes,” she stands proudly, leading us through the maze. “My brother works here. That's why I'm up here. I could get y'all out” “Perfect,” I nod towards Bob. A little bit of him deflates, but the sounds of the party as Agnes quickly takes us through the maze lifts his spirits. Each turn winds us through the snaking lights, the rainbow streaking past our eyes in a whipping blur. "Here!" Agnes proudly stands, showing off the party. I didn't know what I expected, but I guess string lights are in. In fact, the entire place seems to be glowing. Fairy lights bundled up in balls like tumbleweeds, strip lights slashing x's through the snowy walls. the gazebo is probably brighter than it is during daytime. Before I can even picture the carbon footprint, Bob pulls me in to dance. "C'mon!" he says, dragging me in. I follow reluctantly, drawing an odd look from him. "Indie shit," I mumble, hearing the soft drumset bring me into the jumble of teens all thrashing. Of course, Bob's loving it. "What's wrong?" he asks, hand wrapped around my hair, pulling at my ear. "I thought you loved dancing" "I do," I begrudgingly reply. "With other people who are actually good" He hiccups a little, pulling me in. "How drunk are you?" "Just a few drinks," Bob admits. "Aren't I always this weird" He has a point. There isn't much needed to bring him even farther off the deep end. The beat grows infectious, each tap swallowing me whole until I'm one of the crowd, right beside Agnes and Bob, mingled with thousands of people I don't know. And honestly? I have to like it. Everything screams at me to hate it, but I love it. 'It was a bad idea' the song screams at me like a siren, every warning call pulling me closer and closer to the huddled mass. Sweat and perfume stink the air, covering up every inhibition inside of us. "How great is this?" Bob yells over each looping guitar riff. "Better than spending the night at your mom's house, right?" 'Calling you up' I have bob my head back to him. How many drinks have I had? "Obviously!" 'Was such a bad idea' And then it kills me. Bob's face is right next to mine, each dimple pressed near my cheek, each slow-motion destroy every panic attack I have. Every cell screams to fight it. But he brings me closer anyway. 'I'm totally fucked!' "I wanted you here," Bob decides. "I wanted you" 'It was a bad idea' And then he's kissing me. His lips caress my own, sweat from his forehead dripping down onto my paler skin. Our bodies are quickly tangled, my shirt lifting higher and higher as his hands venture farther than I've ever gone. 'To think I could stop' "The hell?" my shouts barely reach over the music, but Agnes catches my eye, moving off from the boy she's been chatting it up with since we got here. "Did you think that was good?" 'Was such a bad idea' "I mean..." His voice trails off before I slap him. I didn't ask to have a crisis like this. I don't fucking need this. 'I can't get enough!' "You fucking ass," my hand slaps the rosy cheeks that once swept across my bleached blonde bangs. "What were you thinking" "That's the thing," Bob's voice drops an octave. "I wasn't. I just wanted you" "Fine," I scoff, heading down to the forest trail. "Here's some fucking advice; pine after a guy who actually wants you" And with that eloquence, I twist off, the final chords of the song winding my entire heart down. I don't have to feel bad, do I? I'm straight. I liked every ex I've had. Bob's own crisis doesn't have to be mine. "Listen," a spunky voice finds its way into my ear. I already know the face attached to it. "You didn't have to be a bitch about it" "For someone I've just met," I spit back at Agnes, staring up at the towering pines above me. The light from the party still casts an eerie glow onto my forehead that I try to ignore. At least the music's faded off into familiar territory. I can completely relate to Conan's wish to be sober. "You sure know how to invade someone's life" "I think you should go back," Agnes advises. "You don't have to love him. But you shouldn't ruin your friendship like this" "I ruined it?" Her fist collides with my jaw. "Try that again, punk, and they won't find your body in the forest" "Now you're threatening me?" My voice comes out higher than I'd want it to. "No," Agnes confines to the outer reaches of the path, where the lights only splash across a small stretch of her face. "You brought Jamie back to me. I'd never attack someone who helped me" "You literally just hit me!" "That was a weak punch," Agnes clenches her jaw. "Want me to really try? "Listen, you don't have to listen to me. I don't even know if you like guys. But here's the cosmic question; what if you did?" "Huh?" "You're a male model," Agnes lists my grievances out on her hand. "I saw you dancing to Conan Gray and Girl in red. You're dressed like that, for fuck's sake!" I stare down at my black designer t, a thousand vaporwave rainbow fronds splayed in a dizzying array, tucked in neatly with my dark skinny jeans. "That's a stereotype," I turn away from her, walking farther down the path. "You're basing it all off of what you think gay people are like" "I don't even think you're gay," Agnes grabs my shoulder. "Have you ever either considered the thought of being bi?" "Of course," I scoff. "But not with Bob!" "Why" It comes out more like a command, one that doesn't betray her furious face. "I..." "You don't know. You're scared of doing it wrong? Scared of something new" "Listen, you should just mind you're own-" "Marshal, I'm sorry" Bob moves into the scene, clenching his arm awkwardly. "Great," I mumble. "Why did you even do that?" "I thought you were bi, I swear. I even asked Agnes" "My gaydar has never failed me," she promises. "Never" "Anyway," Bob tries to reach out for my hand. "I didn't want to ruin anything between us. But we've been friends for so long. I thought you were ready for..." "I," my voice catches in my throat. "Listen; I'll admit it. I have thought of you. I've thought of many people. But I never wanted it in life" "You were a closet-case" Agnes shrugs. "Listen, lots of people have all been there" "Why does having gay thoughts make me bi?" I ask, cursing when I realize how ridiculous it sounds. "Sorry" "I don't want to force this on you," Bob leans closer to me. "So I'll ask. Can I kiss you?" "I'd love that," I confess, watching as he draws nearer. His love eclipses my own, the moon acting as our own personal spotlight. The halo of light from the party surrounds us, a hazy aura, a mix of a thousand different colors. And for once, I'm ready for the future.

j2b04b