2016LiteraryContestAwards
RaleighFineArtsSociety
HollyAlexander
BloodStone
HannahElanaLevinson
DinnerwithHattie
MildredDwyerPattonAwardforOverallBestStory
Twelfth
EnloeHS
Ms.JoyceNelson
OverallSecondPlaceStory
Twelfth
EnloeHS
Ms.JoyceNelson
EmmaFinefrock
TheMisconceptionsofDrowning
ManuKrishnamurthy Malathi'sStory FrancesHoggard
Ordinaryville
SaraNicoleMcMillan TheCleanSlateProject FirstPlaceAwardsbyGrade
Twelfth
(tie) EnloeHS
Ms.JoyceNelson
Twelfth
(tie) EnloeHS
Ms.JoyceNelson
Eleventh
BroughtonHS
Ms.BabsNichols
ShrayaP.Changela
TheHand,theHeart,andtheEyes ElijahDavidHancock TheTroublewithShortStories
TylerYoungberg
DetectiveJohnson
Tenth SecondPlaceAwardsbyGrade
Twelfth
Eleventh
BroughtonHS
Mr.WilliamSchmidt
WakeYoungWomen’s
LeadershipAcademy
Ms.AshaWatkins
RaleighCharterHS
Ms.LisaSpringle
Tenth BroughtonHS
Ms.MaryGulledge
DavePattonAwardforBestStorybyaVarsityAthlete
Twelfth
RaleighCharterHS
Ms.AmyMarschall
HonorableMention
Twelfth
EnloeHS
Ms.JoyceNelson
MackenzieDeLoatch
Akilah MilanAbbi
UpinFlames
SanHoBae
Strangers
Twelfth
EnloeHS
Mr.ThomasBauso
RhettDudley TheAccident
Twelfth
EnloeHS
Ms.RitaAchenbach
LorcanFarrell Me,mysuitandtie
GrahamKnoxFowler
Purpose
Twelfth
EnloeHS
Ms.JoyceNelson
Eleventh
RaleighCharterHS
Ms.LisaSpringle
LaurelJaneHolloman ForMouse
Twelfth
EnloeHS
Ms.LisaCovington
JasmineA.Keadle
Hi,MyNameIs Twelfth
BroughtonHS
Ms.MaryGulledge
JacobHughesSatisky GreenSin
Eleventh
RaleighCharterHS
Ms.LisaSpringle
RebeccaAnneOliverWest
TheFirstTime Eleventh
BroughtonHS
Ms.BabsNichols
MirandaLilyWolfe
DuringMindfulness
Eleventh
BroughtonHS
Ms.BabsNichols
SchoolAwards
EnloeHighSchool
MildredDwyerPattonAward
forOverallBestStory
OverallSecondPlaceStory
FirstPlaceTwelfthGrade
BroughtonHighSchool
FirstPlaceEleventhGrade
FirstPlaceTenthGrade
ApexFriendshipHighSchool
ApexHighSchool
BroughtonHighSchool
CaryAcademy
CaryChristianSchool
EnloeHighSchool
GarnerHighSchool
GraceChristianSchool
GreenHopeHighSchool
2016ParticipatingSchools
KnightdaleHighSchool
LeesvilleRoadHighSchool
MaryEPhillipsHighSchool
MiddleCreekHighSchool
MillbrookHighSchool
PantherCreekHighSchool
RaleighCharterHighSchool
RaleighChristianAcademy
RavenscroftSchool
RolesvilleHighSchool
St.David’sSchool
WakeChristianAcademy
WakefieldHighSchool
WakeForestHighSchool
WakeSTEMEarlyCollege
HighSchool
WakeYoungWomen’s
LeadershipAcademy
Finalists
MeaganVioletStracharBehr,11th,Broughton
MaxwellJamesBrenner,12th,Enloe
HarrisonJamesCamp,10th,Broughton
CarolineMcCarterDiorio,12th,WakeChristian
KaylaChristianDudley,12th,WakeForest
BenjaminMoyDunko,12th,Enloe
RebeccaMaeDupree,12th,LeesvilleRoad
EthanNathanielGunter,11th,WakeForest
MatthewGymburch,12th,Enloe
ErinHilbrands,12th,Enloe
SusanHuynh,12th,Enloe
SeonHoHwang,12th,LeesvilleRoad
RobertTLaundon,12th,Enloe
MayaSkyNesbitt,10th,LeesvilleRoad
LaurelAveryNicosia,10th,PantherCreek
AbigailRalph,10th,Broughton
HollyRen,12th,Enloe
ShaliniSarkar,12th,Enloe
JayShin,11th,RaleighCharter
VivianTacker,11th,Broughton
HariGovindTetala,12th,Enloe
CameronTaftWelch,10th,St.David’s
AlanRichardWessel,12th,LeesvilleRoad
AddisonWilson,10th,Broughton
1
Contents
“BloodStone”byHollyAlexander........................................................................................3
“DinnerwithHattie”byHannahLevinson....................................................................11
“TheMisconceptionsofDrowning”byEmmaFinefrock.........................................28
“Malathi’sStory”byManuKrishnamurthy....................................................................43
“Ordinaryville”byFrancesHoggard.................................................................................56
“TheCleanSlateProject”bySaraMcMillan..................................................................64
“TheHand,theHeart,andtheEyes”byShrayaChangela.......................................74
“TheTroublewithShortStories”byEliHancock.......................................................87
“DetectiveJohnson”byTylerYoungberg.......................................................................98
“Akilah”byMackenzieDeLoatch....................................................................................104
“UpinFlames”byMilanAbbi...........................................................................................115
“Strangers”bySanHoBae.................................................................................................126
“TheAccident”byRhettDudley......................................................................................134
“Me,mysuitandtie”byLorcanFarrell........................................................................149
“Purpose”byGrahamFowler...........................................................................................165
“ForMouse”byJanieHolloman.......................................................................................178
“Hi,MyNameIs”byJasmineKeadle..............................................................................189
“GreenSin”byJakeSatisky................................................................................................197
“TheFirstTime”byRebeccaWest.................................................................................208
“DuringMindfulness”byMirandaWolfe.....................................................................223
2
3
BloodStone
byHollyAlexander
Why do we, as humans, think of air as the absence of substance? It is a physical,
tangible thing, and yet we view it as a sort of nothingness. It has weight, but because it
cannotbearours,wedeemitunworthyofrealexistence.
ThisiswhatIamthinkingaboutwhileIquiteliterallystareintotheabyss,withan
expanseofairstretchingonendlesslybehindmybackwhileIclingtoacliffface.Ireach,
andtheverytipsofmyfingersreachthenexthold.Iclingtothatforebodingwall,andinch
mytoesup.Withmyrighthandnowsecured,jammedinacrackrather,Ireachmyleftback
into my bag of chalk. With my nervous sweat now dried, blocked in my skin for the
moment,Ifindthedustycouragetoreachuponcemoretoapinchhold.
My forearms burn. My knuckles ache. I curse at myself for attempting this, but I
know my complaints have no use, and that I can only continue up. Always up, seemingly
without end. I don’t see a top, but I can’t think about this now. Of course, now that I’ve
broughtitupandsaidtomyself“Don’tthinkaboutthis,”it’stheonlythingIcanthinkof.
How much further could it be? It didn’t look that far from the base. Another ten feet?
Anotherthirty?
I’m brought back to my predicament when I feel the scratches on my knuckles
finallyopenup,bleedingfreely.IfeelthegripIhaveloosening,andclutchtherockwithmy
lefthandsothatIcanplungemynewlywoundedrighthandintothechalk.Itstings,butI’d
imaginelessthanfallingtomydeath.IdomybesttocoughgentlywhenIinhalethecloud
ofchalk,soasnottoupsetmybalance.Ilettheadrenalinetakemeoveronceagain,andthe
4
pain fades. There is no pain, only focus. Slowly, while the burning in my left forearm
continuallyintensifies,Ibringmyhandbackuptothehold.
It’sallaboutcontrol,mydadwouldbesayingaboutnow.Yes,youshouldbestrong,
butwhatyoureallyneedisfinesse,technique,andbalance.
I catch a glimpse of my hand, and the chalk seems to have clogged up the wound,
perhapshelpedthebloodtocoagulateabit,butitstilllooksbadenoughtomakemewince.
That’sfine.Ipullupmyleg,stretchingovertotheside,nearlyputtingmeintoasplit.Now
for the fun bit. My arms and thighs engage, and I pull myself two feet higher. Success.
Painful,butstillsuccess.
“Don’t put so much stress on your joints,” I say to myself in my best dorky dad
impression.Immediately,Iunclenchmyfingersinthecrack,justtheslightestbit.
5
Thefuneralwassuffocating.Itwasn’tallthatlong,probablythreehoursatmost,but
it felt like an eternity. Vaguely memorable relatives everywhere, along with coworkers I
had never heard of, let alone met. My mother was absent, which was expected. The
preacherseemedtotalkforhours,withhisbone-dryvoice.Allthathespokeof,ofthegates
of heaven and God’s graciousness most likely would have earned a snort from my everrespectfulfather.Honestly,heprobablywouldhavehatedit.Itwasn’textravagant,because
Iwouldn’tallowthat,buttheflowersreekedandtheroomwasstuffy.
Atleastithadbeeninthemountains,inhishome.Ialwaysjokedthatwewouldput
himinamausoleum,towhichhealwaysrepliedwith“Don’tyoudare!”Icouldn’thelpbut
thinkbacktomygrandfather’sservice,threeyearsprior.Itwasthenthathehadmademe
promise not to “stick him in a drawer like that.” My dad had spoken then, in that same
church,andthehonestyandadmirationinhiswordshadbroughtmanyarelativetotears.
Today,Ispoke.
“Noone,”Isaid,“expectstoloseafatherthisearlyintheirlife.”Ain’tthatthetruth.
Hehadpromisedmeallthesetrips,somanyofthemthattheyhadstretchedwellintomy
twenties.Andyet,hereIwas,scalingamountainbymyselfatnineteen.Idon’tremember
manyotherdetailsoftheservice,otherthanthatintensefeelingofsuffocation.I’msureI
cried,andI’msureIhuggedmybrotherforasolidtenminutes,butIcan’trecallwhenany
of this happened. What else can I not remember? How long will it be before I don’t
remembermyfather’svoice?Hismannerisms?His-
6
A rock chips and I am suddenly hanging only from my arms. My heart is in my
throat, beating a thousand times a minute. I hold in a scream and I calm my legs, doing
everythinginmypowernottoflailorpanic.
Control,Ihearhimsay,It’sallaboutcontrol.Iputmyentirebeingintomyfingersat
thatmoment,clutchingtherockasif–no,actually,not‘asif’–becausemylifedependson
it.Blooddripsdownmyarm,andIwatchasasingledropletfallsintotheair.Thatdreadful,
empty, life-sustaining air. It taunts me, because I know it’s physical, and tangible, yet it
cannot catch me. It cannot, and never will, bear my weight. I must bear it myself. Slowly,
painfullyslowly,Iengagemyabdomenandbringmyfeetbacktotherock.
Don’t shift your feet around so much. Plant them. Sticky shoes stay still. I mutter
climbingproverbafterproverbtomyself,andIfollowmyownadviceasIgiveit.Ireturnto
myascension,carefullygrabbingholdaftersturdyhold.Irollmyeyesaftereachalliterative
saying I should be hearing from my dad right now, because I feel like it honors our
relationshipinitspurestform.Hewascritical,buthonest;Iwasgrateful,butbegrudgingly
so.Maybenotatypicalfather-daughterrelationship.But‘normal’isjustanidea.Truthis
much harder to achieve. Normal is a sunny outside with inner turmoil; truth is ugly and
raw and beautiful like nothing else in this terrifying world we live in. It is paradoxical,
sometimes,innature.Yet,itbringsbalance.BalanceIcouldverymuchuserightnow,asI
wobblebackandforthonmytoes.
My weight shifts entirely to my feet in this moment. My forearms have started to
numb from the consistent exertion, so I resolve to stay here for a moment. Gingerly,
withoutdisturbingmycenterofbalance,Ilookbehindmyself.Distanttreesgazebackwith
gentleeyes,whiletheoppositesideofthegorgeglaresintheafternoonsun.Ohgod,what
7
timeisit?Ilookupatthatharshsun,andapproximatethatit’saboutsixo’clock.Itglaresin
theeveningsun,then.Iwassupposedtomeetmybrotherfordinneratsix.Wouldhecall?I
can’t answer, anyways, but it might be a comfort if I somehow knew I was missed.
Anything,anysortofsign,toknowthatitwon’tbeweeksbeforemybodyisdiscoveredat
thebaseofthiscliff.Iwaitthereforseveralminutes,butnovibrationinmybackpocket
comes. That’s fine. It’s fine. There won’t be a body to discover, I tell myself, because I’m
goingtoreachthetopandlive.Iamgoingtolive.Iwill.
Ipullmyselfupfarther,leavemyrestingspot,andcontinueupthroughtheair.My
father,Irealize,doesn’thavetheluxuryofwaitingonacalltoknowifhe’smissed.Hemay
beinsomesortofafterlifeorhemayjustbegoneentirely,Idon’tknow.Buteitherway,
thereisnowayformetotellhimthingsIhadneversaidoutloudandtoknowthatheis
hearingme.Ihadnineteenyearsofopportunitytotellhimhowmuchofarolemodeland
guidehehadbeen,butallIevermusteredwascallinghimoverly-criticalortalkingbackto
him.Oh,andtheoccasionaleyeroll,ofcourse.
Adropofwaterhitsmyknee,andmygazeshiftstolookforrain,butIrealizethatI
amcrying.Idon’tdarecompromisemybalancefortheheavingsobsIknowarewithinme,
butIfeelthathorribleburninglumpinmythroatandthetearsbegintoflowfrommyeyes
without restraint. It is as if a dam has burst, and I am crying more than I ever thought
possible. A dull ache has filled my chest, and I feel an intense emptiness. However, I can
breathe. It is slow, and labored, as if my lungs no longer have muscle or bone to support
them,buttheycontinuetofight.Now,Idon’tknowmuchaboutanatomy,somydescription
justnowprobablymakeslittlesenseinreality,butthefeelingisexactlythat.Mychestis
cavinginonitself,asIfighttokeepmyselfcalm.
8
“Holdon,”Isay,“Holdon!Comeonkiddo,it’snotthatmuchfurther.Ifyougiveup
now,youwillhavedoneallthatworkfornothing.”Thisisagoodpoint,Irealize.There’sno
reasonformetobeunabletofinishthiswall.Itlookedroughly…fiftyfeet.Maybemore.Not
aproblemformeathletically,butwithnorope,ithadbecomeatadmoredangerous.Justa
tad.“Stoppityingyourselfandfocus!”EventhoughI’msayingthistomyself,Irollmyeyes
againoutofhabit.IhadclimbedabouttwentyfeetsinceIstartedthinkingphilosophically
(alwaysadanger),andthathadbeenaboutthirtyfeetintotheclimb.Thatmademycurrent
spot…fiftyfeet.Alright,somaybethewallwassixty.Ifeltthatitmustbe,forwhenIlooked
upitseemedIwasscrapingagainstthesky.“Justtenmorefeet.Youcandothat.Justten
more.”
Ijammyfootintoacrackandtwistit,ignoringthepaintogetthebestgrip.Ithen
jammyhandsinthesamecrack,higherup,andstartinchingupwards.I’llhitthatgreysky
soon and I will relish it, so long as that moment comes before the rapidly approaching
night.IfitgetstobedarkwhileI’mstillclimbing,Iamessentiallydead.Eitherway,Iam
goingtohavetocallanemergencychopperinfromthepeak.ThereisabsolutelynowayI
amclimbingbackdownthismonstrouslumpofearth.
ThecrackI’minchingupcomestoanend,andIcanfinallyseethelastbitofthecliff,
fivefeetabovemyhands.Agrincracksmystonyjaw,butitisquicklyerodedawayentirely
whenInoticeaprofoundlackofholdsinthenextfivefeet.I’mgoingtohavetoleapforit.I
thinkbacktoeverytimeI’veleapedandfallenshortinclimbinggyms,whileattachedtoa
rope.Therewasnosafetynetthistime,nofathertocatchme.Ihadmyselfandnooneelse,
becauseIhadinsistedoncomingherelateinthedayandalone.Mybrotherwascurrently
beingstoodupbymeatanIrishpubintown,mymotherwasGodknowswhere,andmy
9
fatherwastakingadirtnap.Helikedthatexpression:takingadirtnap.Hehated“passed
away,”orsimply“passed,”becausehefeltthatitwassoindefinite.
“When you’re dead, you’re just dead,” he’d say, “You’ve kicked the oxygen habit.
Checked into the Motel 6 Deep. Taken a dirt nap.” Some days this was funny to me and
some days it was horribly insensitive, but right now it was just true. That horrible, ugly
thingTruth.Itfeelslikeakickintheguttorecallmydadsayingthesewords;Ihadnever
consideredthattheycouldbeputtouseabouthim.Then,Irememberthesecondbagtied
aroundmywaist,andwhyIhadcomehereinthefirstplace.Mydadis,infact,notliterally
takingadirtnapatthisverymoment.
I coat first my left, and then my right hand in chalk. They are a pure white now,
untouchedbytheharshstoneorbythebloodthreateningtospillagainfrommyknuckles.
My dusty courage, drying my hands as well as my eyes, coats my fingers. I’m ready. I am
ready.Iswallowthelumpinmythroat,Iengagemylegsandopenmyhands,andamighty
battlecryrisesupfromwithinmyselfasIthrowmyentirebodyup,upintothesky,intothe
air.Withmyfingersoutstretchedandmyheartatpeace,Ihaveleaped.
Crackedandtiredfingersgraspthetopofthecliffface,andIamhangingonbyonly
myrighthand.Mylegsswingoutfrombehindme,butIcannolongerfeelpainorfear,and
so I swing my other arm up with the momentum. With my last ounce of strength, I pull
myself up onto the craggy summit, and collapse immediately. The pure joy of success
combines with sorrow and a little bit of hysteria, and through my tears and laughter, I
embracethelichen-coveredgroundInowlayupon.Thesunisjustbeginningtodipbelow
thehorizon,soIsitupandlookoutintotheworldsurroundingme,watchingthelightfade
intothemoonandstars.NolongeramIconfinedwithintheabyss.Quickly,Ibandagemy
10
hand and remove the second bag I have tied around my waist. Though my every limb
quakes,Istandandremovethedrawstring.Agustofwindpushesupagainstmyback,butI
stand more sturdily than I ever have, and I silently watch as the ashes of my father are
blownupandoutintothevalley.
Ismile,astheendlessexpanseofaircatcheswhatisleftofhim,andcarriesitaway.
11
DinnerwithHattie
byHannahLevinson
ItwasthekindofdaythatyoucouldonlyhaveinCalifornia.Softandsweet,witha
faint perfume from the meyer lemon trees in full bloom. Full gardens enveloped each
bungalowonthestreet,makingthewholesidewalkfeelasifitwerewithinagarden.My
sister Rose and I approached a Berkeley brown-shingle with forest-green trim. This was
the house. We tentatively walked up the path to the front door, gifts for Hattie in tow. A
slight breeze passed through as we approached the top step, gently tickling the windchimeshangingfromtheawningnowaboveus.
There was a clock hanging next to the front door, its bold white face looming at
us. It read 3:55. “Good,” I thought, remembering my dad’s previous warning about
tardinesswhenvisitingHattie.
“Girls,”he’dcautioned,“Ifyouwanttomakeagoodimpression,youhavetobeon
time.”
Thoughourgreat-auntwas90yearsold,shewasratherindemand--betweenvisits
fromrelatives,weeklybook-group,andregularlyscheduledsiestas,shekeptbusy.Hertime
hadtoberespected.
Rose rang the doorbell, which was less of a ring and more of a twinkle. “Just a
minute!”croakedalow,livedinvoicefromwithinthehouse.Ishiftednervouslyfromfoot
tofoot.IglancedoveratRose,whowascarefullyrearrangingherhairbehindherears.
“DoIlookokay?”
“You look fine, as I told you 5 minutes ago,” I replied, annoyed. Why in the world
wassheworriedabouthowshelookedforanoldrelative?
12
Suddenly,thedoorpoppedopen.Isnappedbackintomysenseswithastart.Infront
ofusstoodashort,plumpwomanwithgreycottoncandyhair,roundspottedcheeks,and
discerningblueeyes.Sheglancedatus,andthenattheclock.
Afterwhatfeltlikethelongestsecondofmylife,shelookedbackatus.“You’reright
ontime,”sherasped
As we entered the house, memories came flooding back. I felt I was in a living
museum of my family’s past. The house looked exactly the same as it had several years
previously, except it was emptier. I felt a sharp pang. I glanced over at Rose, whose eyes
weresearchingforsomethingtofillthevoid.WhatwasmissingwasSaul,Hattie’shusband.
HehadpassedawaythepreviousOctober.Tracesofhimwereeverywhere.Spanningover
three walls was a giant jigsaw puzzle of M.C. Escher’s Metamorphose that was glued
togetherbySaul’scarefulhandandmountedasifitweretheactualpainting.Itsblackand
whitetransformationsbetweencreatureandshape,whichhadalwaystransfixedmeasa
child,servedasamemoriamtohishardwork.
Cat-shapedpillowslayonthecouch,thesameonesIhadtakensillypictureswithas
alittlekid,asmanyoldphotoalbumsservedtoremindme.Hattiealwaystoldusthestory
ofhowhersisterinlaw,Edith,hadsewnthemforHattieherself.Onthecoffeetablewasa
large display of marbles and a pin art toy that had been there to entertain grandchildren
that had long since grown up. Though no longer a child at seventeen, I knew I was a
latecomerinHattie’sfamilyhistory.Thiswasahousewasfullofmemories,butnotpeople.
Itwastooquiet.
Hattie approached us slowly, attempting to move her walker out of the way. She
motionedustocomeforwardforthefamilyritualofakissonthecheek.Asshetookholdof
13
my head, I felt myself stiffen. Was I supposed to kiss her cheek too? Should I move my
head? And most importantly of all, why did a 90 year old woman have such a strong
grip?Herskinfeltasfragileastissuepaperagainstmineasshekissedmycheek,andthen
mysister’s.Hattiesteppedbacklaboriously,lookedbackandforthatourfaces,andfinally
smiled. “You’re both gorgeous,” she decreed. Then, a booming voice sounded from the
kitchen.
“Hattie,who’shere?”
A tall woman with tight cornrows stepped into the living room. As soon as she
entered, I was transfixed. A proud figure sauntered into the room.With broad shoulders
thrown back and light glinting off her sharp cheekbones like sunlight on the sea, her
presencecommandedattention.Hattie,however,wasunaffected.
“Tigist,thesearemygrandnieces,ElanaandRose.Theywillbecookingdinnerwith
metonight.”
Tigist looked Rose and me over, the corners of her vermillion mouth turning
downwards.
“Verywell,Mrs.Cohen.”
Thewomanretreatedintothebackofthehousewithoutasecondglance.
“Tigistismycaretaker,”explainedHattie.“She’sfromEritrea…ormaybeEthiopia.
She’sbeautiful.Suchastrikingface.”
“She is,” replied Rose with an oversized, eager to please smile. Rose never quite
knewhowtoreplytoourolderrelatives,soherapproachwastolisten,smile,andhopefor
the best. I was less eager than she was, but I smiled along anyways, hoping my delayed
reactiondidn’tseemimpolitenexttomysister’seagerone.
14
“Idon’tneedher,it’sjustmyhip,”Hattiecontinued.Hervoicesoundedstrongand
reassured.However,whileshespoke,aflashofwistfulnesscrossedherfaceforafraction
ofasecond.
Hattiehadfallenonherfrontstepsseveralmonthspreviously,injuringherhip,and
limitinghermobility.Theeffectsofherinjurywereasmuchmentalastheywerephysical--
oldagehadneverpreviouslybuggedher.Infact,twoyearspreviously,HattieandSaulhad
taken a cruise that went all the way to China. There was nothing she couldn’t do. After
falling,however,thepaininherlefthipwassogreatthatshehadtodependonawalkerto
getaround,whichputaserioushamperonherindependence.Asmuchasshedidn’twant
to show it, Hattie resented needing Tigist. Her laissez-faire reactions to such a strong
personhadgivenheraway;Hattiesawherselfasbeingjustasindependentandpowerful
asTigist,butcouldnotlivethatway.ButtherewasonlysomuchshecoulddowithoutSaul
andwithawalkerinherway,sountilherhiprecovered,shewasstuckwithhercaretaker.
Aswegotsituatedinthehouse,RoseandIsetdowntheTupperwarecontainerswe
hadbroughtforHattie,whichwerefulloftastytreats.Ourgreat-auntlickedherlips.
“Andwhat’sallthis?”
In our family, food was the surest way to melt a heart. Rose and I had done some
bakingwithHattie’sdaughter,Nancy,thedaybeforeasatreatforHattie.Nancyhadtaught
us how to bake traditional Jewish goodies. I’d made a challah. My loaf was, well, a little
skinny,asI’dbraidedmydoughtootightly.However,itwasbeautifullygolden,andIwas
proudofit.Rose,who’dbakedaplumploaf,teasedmeaboutit,sayingitwas“shrimpy,”but
I then retorted that my loaf would be better for slicing. I never did like teasing, and
15
especiallynotaboutthingsItookpridein.Sheshruggeditoff,givingherloaftoourBubbe
andHattie’ssister,Fae.Roseneverrealizedshewasteasingme.
Nancyknewhowtopleasehermother.Shemadeabatchofrugelachespeciallyfor
Hattie, filling some with raspberry jam and others with a mixture of dark chocolate and
cinnamon.Rose,however,gottotakecreditforNancy’skindnessbybringingtheHattiethe
cookiesherself.
“We baked with Nancy yesterday, Hattie. I made a challah, and Nancy asked us to
takeyousomeofhercookies,”ItoldHattie.Roseshotmeanastylook.Igaveherawinning
grininreturn.
“Nancy’sfamousrugelach?You’respoilingme,”laughedHattiewithhergruffvoice.
“Let’sbringtheseintothekitchen,andthenwecanstartcooking.”
We made a slow procession into the kitchen. Light filtered softly onto the kitchen
table through glass windows so old that they were vaguely mustard tinted. On the
windowsill sat various bric-a-bracs—trinkets from travels past, novelty salt shakers, and
prettyapplesfromthetreeinthebackyard.Thewindowsillwastheonlydisorganizedpart
of the kitchen. The beauty of Hattie’s home was its organized chaos, with sweet but
methodicalmemoriesatitsheart.
“Today we’re going to make sweet and sour meatballs. How does that sound?”
inquiredHattie,assheshuffledaround.Itwasclearshehadalreadymadeuphermindthat
it should sound good to us, but I didn’t blame her-- her cooking was rumored to be
legendary.
Hattiestruggledtoturnherwalkersoshecouldreachthefridge.Exasperated,she
sighed.
16
“Igiveup.”
She slowly moved away from the walker, making her way to one countertop, then
another,thenakitchenchair,andfinallythechairsheintendedtositon.Eversocarefully
loweringherselfintothechair,shecluckedatus,“Yougirlshaveitlucky,beingyoung.”I
could tell we were in for a story. I sat down next to Hattie, and with a cock of my head,
motionedforRosetodothesame.
“WhenIwasyourage,Rose,Ihadtheworldonastring.SaulandIhadbeenmarried
fortwoyears,andweweresohappy.Thatremindsme,doyouhaveaboyfriend?”
Rosenoddedyesembarrassedly.
“Areyoutwoinaseriousrelationship?”proddedHattie.
Roseshookherheadsidetoside.
“Rose,20isn’tyoung.Youshouldbedatingseriouslyifyou’redatingatall.SaulandI
wereevenyoungerthanyouanditworkedoutquitewell.”
“Youknow,Hattie,timeshavechanged,”Iharshlyinterjected.
To be quite honest, I found Hattie’s inquiries endearing. However, I wished they
wouldbedirectedatme,too.Shedidn’tthinktoaskmeifIhadaboyfriend--Isupposein
hereyes,17wastooyoung,thoughsheherselfwasmarriedat18.Ididn’tunderstandthis
woman,andyetforsomereasonIstillsoughtherapproval.MaybeIwasbecomingmore
likeRosethanIthought.
Hattiegavemeafunnylook.IimmediatelywishedIhadn’tsaidanything.Shemeant
well,andIknewthat,butIwishedthatIcouldbeanobjectofintriguelikeRosewas.Maybe
soon my older relatives would want to live vicariously through me too. Only time would
tell.
17
“AsIwassaying,youshouldbothbeappreciativeofyouryouthandgoodlooks.It
won’talwaysbelikethat.Beforeyouknowit,you’llhaveacrummyhip.SaulandIthought
we could take on the world. For our honeymoon, we took three months and travelled
acrossthecountry.Wedidn’thavemoneytogoabroad,butwedidhaveacar.Onenight,
wewerecampingintheGrandCanyon,andascorpionwasrightoutsideourtent!Wewere
so fearless then. I remember the exact conversation I had with Saul. ‘Did you see that?’ I
said. And of course he did. It was so big, and I knew if we couldn’t get rid of it the damn
thingwouldkeepusupallnightwithworryingaboutitgettingintothetent.Saultoldme
hewouldtakecareofit,andstartedrummagingaroundinhisrucksackforhispistol.I,of
course,hadnopatienceforthat.Ipickedupthefryingpanthatwasonthecookstove,went
outside the tent, and smashed that scorpion before it even had the chance to sting me.
WhenSaulpokedhisheadoutofthetenttoseewhatwasgoingon,helaughedsohard.He
said, ‘Hattie, my love, I hope you never become as short-tempered with me as you were
withthatthing,orI’minforaworldoftrouble.’”
Hattiegrewquietandstaredoutofthewindow,observingahummingbirdthatwas
feedingonlemonblossomsrightoutsidethewindow.Weknewwhowasonhermind.Rose
and I took this as a sign to get to work… our dad had told us that a good meal always
broughtoutasmileinHattie.
Suddenly,Hattiesnappedbacktoreality.
“Elana,comehere.I’llshowyouwhatweneedtogetstartedonthecooking.Come
helpmeup.”
Rosehelpedmoveherwalkeroutoftheroom,carefulnottojamitintothecorners
ofthetightkitchen,whileIhelpedHattieovertothecountertopswhereshecouldholdon
18
moreeasily,andthenpulledoverachairforhertositdown.Nowclosertoheringredients
soastoadviseusbetter,Hattieinstructeduswheretofindeverythinginherkitchen.She
hadasystem:everythingwasarrangedjustso,andsheknewexactlywhereeverythingwas
atalltimes.IwasbothinaweandfearasIwatchedhercalloutorderslikeclockwork.
“Elana,couldyoupulloutthespicerack?It’sinthetoprightcabinet.”
IbroughtthespicerackovertoHattie,whocarefullydeliberatedoverwhichspices
wouldbethemostfittingforthemeatballs.
“The trick to a good meatball is complexity. I always add a little cinnamon and
cumin, to complement the sauce. And curry, if I’m feeling eccentric. But garlic and black
pepper are a must. For texture, we’ll add matzah meal, which you’ll find in the top
cupboard.”
I found the matzah meal and brought it to the table as Hattie continued her
dictations.
“Rose,ifyoulookrightbelowyou,you’llfindacupboardwithcookingpots.Findthe
mediumsizedone--no,themediumsizedone.Thatone’sbig.Andifyoulookinthecabinet
nexttoyou,you’llseebowls.Grabtwo.”
“Elana,thereshouldbeacuttingboardrightnexttothesink--it’snotthere?Where
ismycuttingboard?Tigist,whereareyou?Wheredidyouputmycuttingboard?Itbelongs
onthebottomrightshelf.”
Tigistenteredthekitchenwithherarmscrossed.Shehadlivedthroughthisroutine
manytimes,asHattiehadcalledoutsimilarordersheronadailybasis.Contemptcouldbe
readonherfacelikeafrontpageheadlineinthenews.
“Mrs.Cohen,Iwasheditandputitinthedryingrack.”
19
“Tigist,pleasedon’tputitthere.It’swood--bacteriawillgrowonitifit’sexposedto
toomuchwater.”
Tigist’sfacegrewpinched,butshewentandmovedthecuttingboardbeforeleaving
thekitchen.Hattiecouldbeharsh,butsheknewexactlywhatneededtobedone.Iwatched
her slowly rise, shuffle around the kitchen, and then gradually plop herself back down
again.
“Oygevalt,thatwoman.Youtwogirls,here’swhatIwantyoutodo:dicetwoonions,
mix them into the ground turkey, and then add one egg to each of your bowls. Then add
matzah meal, and use your hands to gently fold the mixture until it holds together.
Whateveryoudo,don’toverworkit.Otherwise,themeatballswillendupbeingastoughas
nails.”
“Toughisn’tabadthing,Hattie,”Rosesaidwithasmile,“Becauseyou’retough.”
I had to give her credit. She did know how to sweet talk just about anyone. And
Hattiereallywastough--Iknewthatshe’dbeenachildofapoorimmigrantfamilyduring
the Great Depression, and a young adult at the start of World War Two-- those weren’t
exactlytheconditionsforahealthy,comfortablecomingofage.
“Toughisn’tabadthingtobeunlessyou’reameatball.Buttheprocesstobecoming
toughisn’tawalkinthepark.Besides,Iwouldn’twanttobetoughasnails.Iwouldwantto
be as tough as a hammer, because nails can bend and break,” she cackled, winking at us.
“When your Bubbe and I were only teenagers, the times were tough. Imagine having to
work for the war effort instead of going to a fancy college like you do! You girls have it
good.AlthoughIwasluckytoo--Ihaveasoftspotformeninuniform,andIsawmyfair
shareofthem.”
20
Icrackedagenuinesmile—thiswasawomanwhohadlivedafullandexcitinglife.I
lookedoveratRose,andgotconcerned.Shewastearingup!Iwonderedifeverythingwas
okay with her boyfriend James. Then I remembered we were chopping onions. Maybe I
wasn’tasinsightfulasI’dthought.
“ButSaulwasthemosthandsomeoneoutthere.Hewasarifleman,youknow,with
yourgrandfather.That’showwemet.FaeandLeonweresetuponablinddate,asI’msure
you’veheard,andFaetookmealongincaseshedidn’tlikehim.Thefateswereworkingin
myfavor,becauseSaulhadforgottenhiswallet,whichhehadleftinLeon’spossession,and
he came by to pick it up just as I arrived with Fae. The blind date very quickly became a
doubledate,andthat’sallI’llsayonthatmatter.Idon’tkissandtell.NowbeforeIforget,let
meseethosespicesagain.”
Shemissedhim,thatwasplainenoughtosee,butshewasdoingmuchbetterthan
I’d previously thought. I had to wonder if her carefully scheduled lifestyle was what was
holdinghertogether.
Herorganizationwasadmirable,andasIwatchedherwatchus,smellingthespices
and advising us on the proper consistency of the meatballs, I recognized something of
myself. Whenever I did any cooking, I could never have another person in my kitchen. It
was partially out of insecurity-- I knew I cooked well, but I didn’t want others to second
guessmyjudgment.Butitwasalsooutofpride--Ihadmymethodsandrecipes,andIwas
toostubborntocompromise.
I’dbeenthatwayforaslongasIcouldremember.WheneverIcookedorevenjust
interactedwithmysisterRose,aswitchjustseemedtogooffinmybrain--whywasIso
much more capable than someone who was nearing twenty? Even as little kids, it
21
frustrated me to no end that I was the one cooking our Sunday morning French toast,
thoughIreallywasfartooyoungtobeusingthestoveatall.
As I helped her wash and peel onions, I got to thinking about the similarities
betweenHattieandmyself.Wewerebothyoungersisters,andeasilythemoreresponsible
ofthetwo:Rosewasanextremelyeasy-goingperson,whichIenvied(asanysisterwould,)
but she was so needy. Fae was the same way. Sugar sweet, but hardly independent. As if
readingmymind,Rosegaveaworriedglancedownatmycuttingboardandinquiredfrom
acrossthetableatthatverymoment,“Elana,howbigareyouchoppingyouronion?”
“I’mdoingaroughdice.Aboutaquarterofaninch.”
Ishookmyhead.Sheworkedinakitchenbackatschool.Thisshouldn’tbesohard.
Itwasfinallytimetoletthemeatballssimmerawayintwopots(onefornow,oneto
freeze for later. Hattie was very practical, even when cooking with company.) I was
secretly glad the preparation was over-- it was disheartening to watch Hattie, someone
who was once so capable, grapple with not being able to move around like she used to.
Finally,wecouldallsitdownandrelaxforawhileuntildinnerwasready.
IstaredatHattiefromacrossthetablewhereshewassitting,scrutinizingher.My
dadalwayssaidRoseandIremindedhimofhismotherandaunt.Isupposehewasright.
WhatwasitaboutHattie?Iwilledhertomoveherheadjustalittle,toseeherfromprofile.
MaybeIlookedlikeher?MaybeIhadhernose?
“Elana,what’swrong?”
Ihadbeencaught.
“Nothing,Hattie,juststaringintospace.”
Hattieseemedunaffected.“ShallImakeustea?”sheinquired.
22
Tigistwalkedinatthatexactmoment.
“I will do it, Mrs. Cohen. What would you girls like? We have mint, chamomile,
gingerandblack.”
HattielookedupatTigistwithawearylook,fluffyeyebrowsturningdownwards.I
believe in that moment there was nothing more she wanted to do than to lift her own
teapot.
“That’sfine,Tigist.Icandoit.Rose,canyouhelpmeup?”
RosewalkedovertoHattienoiselessly,helpingHattietoherfeet,andthenoverto
thecounter.Hattiegrabbedafatglassjarbrimmingwithteabags,andhandedittoRoseto
takebacktothetable.
Rose’seyeswidened,exclaiming“Pomegranategreentea?Wow,sofancy!”
“Iknewwehadmorethanthosefourflavors,Tigist,”Hattiesaidwithagrin.
“Iapologize,Mrs.Cohen.Anythingelseyou’dlikemetodo?”
Hattie deliberated. “While you’re up, could you grab some tomatoes from the
garden?Iwanttomakeasaladtomorrow.Oh!Andonlytheripeones,Tigist,Iwanttosave
theothersonesforpickling.”
Tigistnodded,andleftpromptly.Hattielookedoveratuswithasmirk.“Iknewthat
wouldgetridofher,”shewhisperedconspiratorially.AsHattieputteredonthestovewith
theteakettle,sheaskedus,“Anythingelseyou’dlikewithyourtea?”
“Canwehavesomechallah?”Iasked.Hattienoddedwithapproval.
“Sorryit’salittleskinny,Iguessmybraidingneedswork,”Isaidsheepishly.
“It’sjustperfect,”repliedHattie,“perfectforslicing.”
23
IshotasmuglookatRose,whodidn’tevenregisterHattie’scomment.“Canweeat
therugelachnowtoo?”sheaskedtonooneinparticular.Rosehadasweettooth.Hattiedid
too.
“Dessertbeforedinner?Ilikehowyouthink.Elana,Rose,comehereandtakethese
mugsofhotwater.I’llgetthecookies.”
Finallyallsitting,teaintow,HattieopenedtheTupperwareofcookies,tookoneout,
brokeoneinhalf,andpoppedonehalfinhermouth.Shewasfinallyabletorelaxforthe
firsttimeallday.Withamischievoussparkleinhereye,shesaid“We’rereallynotspoiling
dinner,youknow.Afterall,abrokencookiehasnocalories.”
I smiled eagerly. I was always looking for an excuse to eat treats guiltlessly, and
Hattie’swasabrilliantone.
Aftersittingincontendedsilence,Hattielookedupatus.
“DidIevertellyoutwothestoryofhowFaewasonceaschoolteacher?Thekidsall
lovedher.Theythoughtshewassosweet.Itriedbeingaschoolteacherforawhile,butI
think I scared the children. ” I giggled. She gave me a knowing look in return. “Instead, I
workedinahighschoolwitholderchildrenlikeyouforalmost30years--whenIretired
theygavemeaplaqueforallofmyloyalyearsofteaching.ButFaegottoenjoythelittle
ones. But our favorite children were our own. It was actually quite funny-- I wanted to
have boys, and Fae wanted to have girls, but it turned out the opposite! So my little girls
alwayswentofftovisittheirAuntFae,andherboyswerealwaysspendingtimeherewith
Saulandme.Yourfatherspentplentyoftimeinthishouse.Welivedcloseenoughtogether
thatwecouldraiseourownchildrenaswellaseachothers.Itwasveryconvenient.Those
werethedays--youcouldn’tbearrestedbackthenforlettingyourchildrenwalkaround
24
the neighborhood by themselves. We used to call that ‘playing.’ Now it’s called
irresponsibleparenting.”
An evil smile flashed across Rose’s face. “Elana doesn’t like children. She thinks
they’resticky.”
“Well, it’s true! They are!” I retorted. “It’s not that I dislike children, it’s that they
havegerms.”
Hattie chuckled, which turned into a rough cough. “Just wait until you have your
own. What do they call it nowadays—a love-hate relationship? Is that the term? That’s
whatyou’llhavewiththem.”
Icouldn’thelpbutthinkthat’swhatIfeltaboutmysister.IfIeverdidhavechildren,
IhopedIwouldn’tfeelthesameway.
“Let’s put these cookies away for now, shall we? Before there are none left,” Rose
jumped in, avoiding any situation that would lead to confrontation. She was right to do
so.TheafternoonwasfarmorerelaxingthanIexpectedwhileIwasonmybestbehavior
aroundHattie.
Now full of warmth and sweets, we were all in a gentler mood. The smell of
meatballs wafted up from the pan. Hattie bestowed a kind eye on the both of us. “Good
workyoutwo.ThosemeatballssmelljustliketheonesIusedtomakewithmyowntwo
hands. And with a lot more ease, I’m sure… it certainly doesn’t hurt to have some help,
though I’ll rarely admit it. It’s nice you two girls get along. You remind me of myself and
Fae.”Ialmostchokedonmytea.Getalong?BeforeRosewentofftocollege,Iverywellnear
hatedherthankstohertiradesoverhomeworkassignmentshersenioryear,meaningI’d
25
never have a moment of peace and quiet. It was only when we’d spent time apart that I
begantotolerateourtimetogether.
“It’s too bad Fae and Leon couldn’t join us tonight,” she said wistfully. Age had
gotten the best of Fae. Riddled with dementia, she was only herself part of the time, and
even then she required full time caretakers to get her anywhere. Her husband, my
grandfatherLeon,wastoooverwhelmedwithbeing94andtakingcareofhimselftohelp
transportFaeanywhere.Hattiewouldnormallyvisither,butwithherinjuredhip,itwas
becominghardertodo.‘PoorHattie,’Ithought.Iknewhowcloseshewaswithhersister.
“I’mluckyshelivessonearby,soIcanvisitherwhenmyhipgetsbetter.She’sbeen
suchabigjoyinmylifesinceSaulpassed.Idon’tknowwhatIwouldhavedoneifIwere
alone.”
I looked up with a start. Hattie seemed to thrive being alone, and prefer it. I had
always just assumed that she would have no problem with it. She was so strong. In that
moment,IstartedreevaluatingeverythingIknewaboutHattie.Ifshecouldstandtolether
guarddown,maybeIcouldtoo.Maybeherstrengthlayinadmittingtoweaknesses.
Hattie’spiercingblueeyestwinkledandbecamemerry.
“Luckily,Idon’thavetobealonetoday.Ihavethetwoofyouforcompany!Andyou
can tell me all about your lives, so I can get to know you better. Your father has done an
awfulthinginnothavingyoutwovisitmoreoften.”
Rosegaveanotherworldfamoussmile.
“You’rerightHattie.IfIcould,I’dstaywithyouallthetime.”Iwasn’tsureifshewas
tellingthetruthornot,butshewasincrediblyconvincing.
26
Hattie’sfacebecamedappledwithcolor,hereyeslightingup.“Ihaveaspareroom
in the back. You two are welcome to stay the night. I can teach you how to make French
toast with this lovely Challah in the morning. And tonight, there’s a very interesting
programonPBSaboutthemusicofthe60’s.Elana,yourfathertellsmeyoulikethatkindof
music.Whatdoyousay?Wecancallyourparentstobringyourstuffover.Itwillbefun,
justusgirls…andTigist.ButIamsureshe’llbeabletomakedowiththenightoff--she’ll
haveanexcusetogofilehernailsorusemywifiandtakeabreakforonce.”
Rose and I giggled. “What do you say, Elana?” my sister asked with a pleading
expression.
Iwasstillinastateofdisbelief.Thiswomangenuinelylikedus,orrather,sheliked
me!ThoughIwouldmisssleepinginabedIalreadyknewwascomfortable,Ihadtoface
the facts. I was enjoying myself in my sister’s company for once, and apparently, so was
Hattie.MaybejustthisonceIcouldplayniceandbespontaneous—andmaybeIwouldn’t
mindhangingoutwithmysister.
“Alright.Callthemup.Butdon’texpectanyleftovercookiestomorrowwiththisone
around,” I teased, giving Rose an accusatory glance. Who was I kidding? I was definitely
goingtoeatthemalltoo.Igrinned.
“Don’tworry,girls.IcanalwayscallupNancyformore.”
Fromoutside,thebigclockchimed.Ifinallywasforcedtoobservetheworldoutside
of Hattie’s little kitchen. The light that was filtering through onto the kitchen table was
turningintoaburntorange.Sunsetalready?Iwassurprisedtoseethelightfadingsofast-
haditbeenthatlong?Asifreadingmymind,Rosegotuptoturnonalampthatwassitting
inthecornerofthekitchen.
27
Hattie sniffed the air. “Aha! I know that smell! Ladies, do you know what this
means?”
Rose and I stared at her blankly. Hattie was glowing. With our help, she had filled
thekitchenwithagoldenhazeofspices,andnowshewasfullycontent.
“Ourmeatballsarefinished.Let’seat!”
28
TheMisconceptionsofDrowning
byEmmaFinefrock
AccordingtoHenry,peoplearestorieswaitingtobetold.
Onmythirteenthbirthday,hetookmetoafancyItalianrestaurantandsaidIcould
ordersodaandeatasmanypiecesofbreadasIwantedto.Theentireaffairwasquiteabig
dealbecauseneithermymothernormyfatherbelievedindrinkingsoda,andmymother
counted carbs instead of memories. It was also an apology day, because even though my
motherandmyfathercouldagreeondietaryrestrictions,theycouldnotagreeonanything
else.HenryletmeorderaCokeandeatfourslicesofbreadthatIheavilylatheredinbutter.
Afterwards I barely found room for macaroni and cheese and contracted the "worst
stomachacheknowntomankind."Thedayturnedintoadifferentkindofapologyday,and
HenryandIdecidedtowaitoutmyinternalonslaughtononeofthebenchesoutsidethe
restaurant.
“I’mgoingtodie,”Igroanedasasecondwaveofnauseahitme.
Henryscoffed.“You’renotgoingtodie.”
“Youdon’tknowthat.”
“Hush.”Hejerkedhisheadtowardanapproachingfamily.“Look.”
I noted the family of five with a nonchalant flick of my eyes and went back to
whining,butHenrywasrelentless.
“Humor me, Little Wyatt. Look at them. Don’t you ever wonder about strangers?
Aboutwhotheyareandwhattheywere.Don’tyoueverjustlookatsomeoneandwonder
whattheirlifeislike?Aretheyhappy?”
29
Henry’s eyes glittered brighter than the tiny diamonds in our mother’s wedding
band.Hecontinued.“Lookatthatfamily.Whatdoyouthinktheirstoryis?”
Ihumoredhim.“Theycouldbecomingfromafuneral.”
“Alice.”
“What?Youdon’thaveamonopolyonmakingassumptions.”
“Idonotrememberthirteenbeingsuchamorbidage.”
Ishrugged.“WhatcanIsay?It’sthenewme.”
“Okay,kiddo,bemorbidthen.”Henryfellsilentforaminutebutcouldnotcontain
hisfascinationwithpassingstrangers.“Ifyouthinkaboutit,likereallythinkaboutit,there
arealotofpeopleinthisworld.Iknowthat’sobviousbuttherearejustsomanypeople
aliverightnow.Earth’spopulationisroughlysevenbillion,whichmeansthereareroughly
seven billion stories in circulation, seven billion stories that are waiting to be told.
Everyoneweseehasafamilyandastoryandalife.Everypersonweseeonthestreetisthe
maincharacteroftheirownstory,withtheirownbeginningandmiddleandend.Andwe’re
just background characters for everyone, and they’re just background characters for us.”
Henry threw his arm around me with enough force to jostle the fragile contents of my
stomachandcreateanorangetsunami.
“But what about this,” I suggested. “What if you’re not the main character of your
story?Like,yourbigroleisinsomeoneelse’sstory?”
“See!” Henry beamed with excitement and pride that my mother and my father
combinedcouldnevercompareto.“We’rejuststories,LittleWyatt.You’reeitherthehero
or you’re the villain. It’s up to you which one you’ll be. It’s up to you to write your own
storyandenditthewayyouwant.That’sthefunpartaboutgrowingup.Completecontrol.”
30
Thirteenwasanimpressionableageandwithnootherhealthyrolemodels,Ididnot
takeHenry’sadvicelightly.Iadoredtheworldandthebeginningsandendsitwashometo
andacquiredanenthusiasmforpeoplethatIthoughtwasuniquetoateenager.Ironically,
myentireoutlookontheworldwastheexactoutlookateenagerwassupposedtohave.I
consideredmyselfmature,selfless,andworldlywhileretreatingintothedeepestcornersof
my mind, becoming more self-involved than ever. My newfound, narrow, privileged
perspectiveconjuredgrandtalesforstrangerswithoutconsideringanyalternativesonthe
other end of the spectrum. Strangers glided through galas and banquets wearing
shimmeringdressesandcrisptuxedostoafterpartieswherediamondslivedintilefloors.
After galas and banquets, they came home to mansions and fell into beds adorned with
expensivewoolblanketsandwereawakenedbyabutlerinthemorning.Ionlythoughtof
good stories because if I wanted a tragedy I would simply open my eyes. The world of
strangers with fur coats and fast cars was more glamorous than my mother with her fur
coatandmyfatherwithhisfastcar.
At my mother’s galas, the champagne glasses were never empty. Waiters with
spotless shirts and mindful eyes were told that empty glasses meant an empty donation
box.Mymotherkeptmebyhersidetoshowoffherprizedpossessionandtoholdherglass
whenahugwasnecessaryinsteadoftheformalpecksoncheeks.
Atmyfather’sbanquets,peoplespokemorefondlyofhisspeechesthanthefood.His
patented Dr. Wyatt smile charmed the women and strategically placed sports references
gained the trust of the men. People loved Dr. Wyatt. He greeted each guest with a warm
handshakeandamemorythatmadethemfeelliketheywerehisclosestfriend.Hewould
31
waltzfromtabletotablewithHeather:onehandatherwaistandoneholdinghisscotch.
HeatherheldhisscotchlikeIheldmymother’swine.Ineverlikedthecomparison.
Henryremainedabsentfrombothaffairs.
“Youknowhowteenageboysare,”mymotherwouldsaywhichwouldremindherof
aninterestingsurgery,andshewouldattractacrowdwithastorytoldamilliontimes.
Myfatherwouldsaynothing,forHenry’sabsencedidnoharmtohisgoal.However,
myabsencefromHenry’sstorycutitshort,anditendedtoosoon.
***
LeavesongreentreesturntogreencloudsasHenryspeedsalongthehighway.The
green clouds are home to tiny people who watch life racing by. They see everything and
neverforget.Everycarcrashandeverytorturousrushhourisburnedintotheirmemory.
Theytellthestoriesofdeerthatlimpbackhometodieandofshrinesthatbecomecovered
in decaying earth on the side of the road. The green clouds are keepers of the highway
stories.
I glance at the speedometer. It reads eighty; the sign commands seventy. Henry
always drives ten miles over the limit, and my mother drives five over, and I wonder if
anyonefearsthemeek,whiteblurintheirperipheralversion.
Igrewupinthiscar.Anugly,darkspotstainsfabricinthecrevicebetweenseatbelt
buckles where I left a crayon when I was four. The fabric of the ceiling hangs down in
bubblesthatIusedtofindentertainingonlongcarridesaftermyfatherbannedcrayons.
Theplasticdecoratingtheinterioristurningbrownandpeelingaway,butHenryrefusesto
fix it or tear it away, so it hangs in limbo. Super glue residue surrounds tears on the
dashboard where my father began repair it but came home with a new car the next day.
32
Thereisacassetteplayerwithtapestuckinitfromtwosummersagowhentheheatmelted
theplasticandleftEltonJohnforevercementedintheheartofthecar.
Myeyesfocusonthelock.Theglossy,graystubsticksoutofthemattegraydoor.I
don’t remember locking it, but my chest is warm from Henry’s forearm when he leaned
across to lock it. The warmth radiates from my chest to the tips of my fingers like hot
chocolatethatwarmsyourcoldestcornersonthecoldestday.Itfadesalmostinstantly,asif
itnevertouchedyou,afterIspottheraisedlinesonhisotherwiseunmarkedarm.
Hedoesn’thidehisscarsanymore;ourmotherthinksthismeanshe’sgettingbetter.
Shealsothinksitmakesourfamilylookbad.Tragedydoesn’tgowithbeingaWyatt.
Imeasuredthepassingyearsinthiscar.Istoodonmytiptoestopeeroverthedull,
silver exterior to smile at my father, but it was Henry’s smile that greeted me when my
soleswerefinallyrootedtothepavement.
Thetreeseventuallyfadeaway,andtheskyisaninfinitemuralofcottoncandyblue
and pink that reminds me of Henry’s good days. If the green clouds hold the highway
stories,thenthecottoncandyskyholdsallthestoriesfromthebeginningoftime.Thesky
iswise,anoldsoulthatlivessimplytoremember.
Yearsago,mymotherkneltdownbesidemeinourbackyardandpointedtowards
thestarrycanvas.“Look,”shewhispered.“Doyouseeallthestars,mylove?”
Ipeereddownatherandgentlypetherhair.“IsDaddylookingatthestarstoo?”
“Yes, my love. Daddy is looking at the same stars we are.” She raised her arm and
withhersteadysurgeonhand,shefoundthebrighteststar.“That’stheNorthStar.Sailors
useittofindtheirwayhome.”
33
I gazed intently at the star, nature’s beacon for castaways and asked. “Will Daddy
usetheNorthStartocomehome?”
“We’llsee,Alice.Ihopeso.”
The sky knew the truth. From their lovely beginning to their devastating end, my
parentsweremeanttofallapart.Theskyknewthisbetterthananyone.Itknewmyfather
wasnotcominghome.
Henry used to smile all of the time. Our mother adores his smile, so when he
stopped smiling the lightwentout in her eyes. Ithinkshe wasalsorelieved,since Henry
has our father’s smile, the Dr. Wyatt smile. Their smiles remind my mother of Sunday
mornings in our old house where soft rock danced from a speaker in the kitchen, up the
stairs and along the beaten up railing, and finally swelled outside my door. My mother
pretendedshecouldcook,andmyfatherwouldstepinjustbeforeourbreakfastreached
thepointofnoreturn.AstoolthatHenryandIpaintedforMother’sDaywhenIwasthree
satinthefarcornerofourkitchen.Mymotherwouldgrabit,setitrightbesidethestove,
andconcentrateonmyfather’ssteadyhandsashesavedourscrambledeggsandbacon.I
venturedoutofmyroomwhenmymother’slaughterwaslouderthanthemusic.
Looking at Henry now, I can’t even see a ghost of that smile on his face. He keeps
drivingandIkeepwatchinghimandhekeepsglancingatmeandit’sagameofwhowill
speakfirst.Neitherofusdoes.Beingmybrother,Ifeelasifitismyjobtopesterhim.ButI
likehim.
It’s not until Henry exits and turns onto a back road that I realize where we are
going.WhileIgrewupinmyfather’scar,Henrygrewupatthelake.Hisgooddayswere
lake days. It is here where he learned to swim and here where he came on his last day
34
beforeleaving.Ishouldhaverealizedimmediately,forthelongtripisasstuckinmymind
asEltonJohnisinthiscar.Thedriveplaysinthebackofmymindlikemyfavoritemovie.In
thesummer,thetreesthatlinethehighwayarevividgreenclouds,liketoday.Inthewinter,
skeletontreespeeratyoufrombetweentheirbones.Everythinglooksthesame,anditisa
boringdrive.Despiteitsmonotony,itisnevertrulyboring,becauseitisrare.Timekeeps
me with my mother. The cruel, ancient vice shackles me to my mother’s side, and I
infrequentlyendurethecarride.
Gravel crunches under tires as Henry parks. He climbs out of the car and leans
against the hood without a sound except for the water below us. I scrape my skin on the
crankforthewindowasIscrambletofollowHenry
Thesunmakesitsdailypathacrossthesky,dippingbehindcloudsasitrunsfrom
the moon. It drags the minutes behind it, the only indication that time is passing, for the
lakeremainsstillatitscenter,andwavesriseandbreakagainsttheshoreendlessly.
“The biggest misconception about drowning is that it’s this loud noticeable act.”
Henrypauses.Inhalessharply.Continues.“Atleastthat’showtheyportrayitonTVandin
movies.Everyonethinksit’sallsplashingandscreamingforhelpwheninrealitydrowning
isquickandnoonecallsforhelp.”
Hisvoiceisassoftasthetinywavesthatbreakontheshore.Ashespeaks,heleans
away.
Stoptryingtoprotectme,Ithink.Youhavedoneenough.
It’s…youknow…likefalling.”Hecloseshismouthashetriestofindtherightwords,
the right words to sugarcoat the terrible truth I know he is going to drop. Words are
35
burning a hole in my esophagus where they threaten to tumble through and overwhelm
himinthewaythatonlyIcan.
“Whenyou’redrowningbreathingismoreimportantthancallingforhelp.It’squiet.
You’re more concerned with keeping your head above water than flailing, so it’s not as
showy as everyone thinks. It takes between twenty and sixty seconds to become
submergedandafterthatit’strulyquiet.”
I consider the terrible truth and every moment leading up to these words with a
catastrophickindofnostalgia,andIcannotfindaresponse.Ifinallyask,“Doeseverybody
knowthat?”
“Probably not. While everyone is looking for screaming and splashing, someone
couldbedrowningrightinfrontoftheireyes,andtheywouldhavenoidea.”
Itismyturntospeak,myturntosaysomethingasprofoundashismetaphorforthe
pastsevenyears.ThesignsIdidn’tseearebrightinmymemorylikethesinglebarsignina
deserted town. Hindsight cackles at my blindness. Any normal person would have an
apology. I have nothing to give. “I’m sorry” doesn’t seem like an option when Henry has
been drowning for so long. I think of myself and study my unmarked arms. There is no
story to tell. Henry’s story is a dying flame in the wind; it could go out anytime, and the
blamewillfallonme.
IleanonhimlikeIdidthatdayoutsidetherestaurant.“I’msorryIdidn’thelpyou,”I
whisper.“Ishouldhaveknown.”
“Hush,LittleWyatt.Ididn’ttellyouthistomakeyoufeelbad.Youaren’tsupposed
toknow,butasyourbigbrotherIcan’tletyoumakethesamemistakesIhave.Ican’tlet
yourstorybeabadone.Notlikemine.”
36
Mybloodturnstofire,andIburn.“Shutupaboutstories,”Ifumeandrecoilfrommy
brother.“YouandMomandDadtreatmelikeI’mwrappedinbubblewrapandithasdone
menofavors.Iwanttohelpyou.Iwanttobethereforyouandsupportyou,butIcan’tdo
thatwhenyouguysjusttreatmelikeakid.”
Henrywrapshisfingersaroundmywristsandforcesmetoglareathim.“You.Are.
A.Kid.”
“Butyouweredrowning!Youaredrowning,andyoujustdropthisbombonmeand
sit there like I am supposed to calmly accept that I have done nothing for you! What is
wrongwithyou?”
Water rushes to my eyes, and I violently snatch my wrists from Henry’s grip and
brushawaytheangrytears.
Henry’s face softens, a smile almost peeking around the frown lines and deep
creasesinhisforehead.“Alice.Ijustneededtotellsomeone.Itrustyou.That’sallthisis.”
“No, it’s not! You just told me because you’re afraid I’m going to make the same
mistakeyoudid!Youtalkaboutcompletecontrolallthetime,butyouhavenothing!This
isn’tevenaboutme!You’renotdoingthisforme.You’redoingthisforyou,becauseyou’re
tryingtomakeupforthefactyouruinedmylife.”
“Iruinedyourlife?”
“Yes.Whenyoutoldmethatlivesarejuststories,youruinedeverything.Ilookedfor
happyendingseverywhere.Istilldo,buttheyneverhappen.MomandDadaren’thappy.
You’renothappy,andI’mnothappy.Lifewasn’tsupposedtobelikethis.”
Silence falls, and an invisible division appears between us. Henry runs his fingers
through his hair and sighs, defeat fluttering from his lungs. I think back to my thirteenth
37
birthdaywhenHenryromanticizedlifeforme.Ihadbeendreamingofhappyendingsyears
before, but that was when he gave me rose-colored glasses. Today, he takes them away.
Albeit,Iwillinglysmashedthemontheshore.
Andthewaveskeeprisingandbreakingandrisingandbreaking.Theshoreremains
the same, but the sky is a dull orange now, a fire quietly raging beyond the clouds and
darkness.
Ibreakthesilencefirst.HenryisallIhave.“Wouldahughelp,”Iaskhelplessly.
“Oh,Alice.”Hechucklesgently.“Ifonlyahugcouldsolveeverything.”
“Whycan’tit…?”
“Because…”
“See?Ahugcansolvesomething.”
“It’sthekindofsadthattakestime.”
Itiltmyheadtotheside.“Iknow.Buthowmuchtimearewetalkingabout?”
Finally,Henrysmiles.“Awhile.”
Ihughim.Evenifhugscan’tsolveeverythingtheycanatleastmakehimfeelokay.
I’lldobetter.Ipromise.Justgivemeachance.
***
“Alice.”
Mynamesoundsunfamiliarasitringsthroughthehollowrooms.
“Yes,Mom?”
“Canyoucomehere?”
38
The stack of photos falls from my lap and scatters across my bare floor. My knees
crack,andthesoundechoesoffmybarewalls.Icreepfrommyroomtomymother’sand
freezeinthedoorway.
Mymotherliesonherbedwithherbacktothedoor.Herheadrestswhereherfeet
shouldbe,andaseaofphotographssurroundsher.
“Areyouokay?”
Shedoesn’tturnherhead.“I’malright.”
“Alrightiscodeforsad.”
Sheturnsherhead.“Whotoldyouthat?”
“Henry.”
Mymotheralmostsmilesbutcatchesherselfbeforeitcanleaveitsmarkonherface.
“I’mnotsad,”shesays.
“Iknow,”Ireply.
Sheisburnedout.Herhairhangslimplyovertheedgeofherbed,wildandfree.I
spotherfreckles,whichareusuallycoveredbylayersofmake-up.Darkcirclesageherten
years and almost look like black eyes. A vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt drapes over her
torso. Each bone creates a small mountain that my fingers could gently ski over. It is a
foreignphenomenon.Mymother,Dr.VictoriaWyatt,strikesfearintopeople’seyeswhen
shewalksintoaroom.SheisthebestorthopedicsurgeonontheEastCoast,andshewould
notbecaughtdeadinanythingbutscrubs.
“Comehere.”Mymotherstrugglestoliftherhandandbeckonmeover.
I sit at the head of the bed, one foot tucked under myself, and glance down at the
photos.It’sallHenry.
39
Mymotherwhispers.Toherselfortheairorme,Iamnotsure.“Ilikedhimquitea
lot.”
“Iknow.Ilikedhimtoo.Stilldo,actually.Iwaslookingatpicturestoo.”
“IhavealltheonesofHenry.”
Ichuckle.“Icanseethat.”
She used to take pictures of Henry and I when we were young with a Polaroid
camerafromcollege.
“You know, our first wedding photo was taken with this photo,” she had said to
Henryoneday.
Whentheyfellapart,itonlyseemedrightthatshethrowthecameraaway,butshe
keptitinaboxwithmyfather’sRollingStonest-shirtandthehundredsofphotos.Afterwe
moved,shefoundtheboxagain.Themoverscamewhileshewasinsurgeryandpackedour
entire lives into a single truck. They left the boxes in the living room of our empty
apartmentanddroppedthekeyinmyhand.Icouldn’tfindourspeakers,soIunpackedmy
lifeinsilence,leavingmymothertounearthherownmemories.
My mother slowly moves, crumpling photographs under her hands, and leans her
headonmychestdirectlyovermyheart.
“Ireallymisshim,”Isigh.
“Imisshimtoo.Healwaysknewwhattodo.Henevergotlost.”
Wearenotrememberingthesameperson.MymotherseesmyfatherinHenry.In
hissmileandcrinklingeyes,Henrywasacruelghostofmyfather.
“ImissHenry,”Isay.
40
My mother tenses up, nails digging into my hip and she replies. “He should have
askedforhelp.”
Sheboltsoutofbed,andthephotosscattertothefloor.
“Mom.”
“Hush, Alice. I have surgery in four hours. Finish unpacking. You have school
tomorrow.”
“Mom.”
“Getout!”
***
Henrycameandwentashepleasedwithoutregardformymotherormyfatheror
me.Selfishly,Icursedhimeachtimeheshowedup.Thegiftsinhisarmsandpromisesof
fundidnotcomparetothecrushingfeelingIfeltwhenhespedaway.Istoodonourfront
porchwavinggoodbye,andwhenhiscardoorslammed,Ifeltmyheartcollapseinonitself.
Theworldwascold,likeadeafeninggustofwindonthecoldestNovembereve.Macaroni
didnotmakeupforthat.
TwoyearshavepassedsinceHenrytoldmehewasdrowning.Henevergavemethe
chance. I don’t think about him as much as I should. Instead I think about my mother’s
ultimatum when she found out my father had been having an affair. It took him four
monthstodecide.Henrysaidshewaitedbecauseshelovedhimsomuchandthatknowing
hewouldn’tpickherwastoomuch.Shelivedindenialforfourmonthsuntilshecornered
himinhisofficeandgavehimachoicebetweenhisfamilyandHeather.HechoseHeather.I
usedtobelievethatlifehadabettermanwaitingformymother,butthatwasjustmyrosecoloredglasses.Myfatherwillalwaysbetheonlyoneforher.
41
Iwasonlyfourwhentheydivorced,soforthemajorityofmylifemymotherandmy
father have been unmistakable, separate entities. Their animosity flourished when my
fathermarriedHeather.Mymother’sscreechesshookthehousewhenshesawthewedding
announcement,andHenrytookmetothelake.Itmadehermiserable,andsheneverwas
the same. Like a grumpy, old widow, my mother was lost, and it made her hard to love.
Henry shunned our father and our mother for leaving, each in their own way. Our father
movedacrossthecity,andourmotherbecameastranger.ButHenryrantoo.
Mymemoriesareclearerastimechugson,andIrememberthingsdifferentlynow.
Henry would spend most of the day in his room with the door securely shut, and then
suddenly he would be grabbing my hand, saying, “Come on, Little Wyatt, let’s go to the
lake.” I didn’t notice his red eyes; he was too tall, and I was too young. I remember lake
daysaffectionately,becauseIthoughtmybrotherwantedtospendtimewithme.Hedid,
buthewasrunning.Whenhetoldmestories,hewasrunning,too.Ithinkthatifhethought
abouteveryoneelse’slives,thenhewouldn’thavetothinkabouthis.
Eventually,hewasoldenoughtoleave,buthecamebackonceayear,neveronthe
same day. I missed him quite a lot when I was younger, but when I got older and tall
enoughtoseeoverhisbeatendowncar,Ibegantoresenthim.
InoticesomethingdifferenteachdaywhenIrememberHenry.ThecomfortIfound
intheruinsofhiscarwasfoundedsolelyonitsconsistencyasitstayedinthefamilywhen
everythingfellapart.Thegreencloudsalongthehighwaygrewscarcereachyear,because
theywerebuildingneighborhoodsateveryexit.Henryandourmotherfoughtmorethan
theysmiled,andthatiswhymymemoriesaresilent.
42
MymothersoldourhouseafterHenrydied.Ineverunderstoodwhyshedidnotsell
itwhenmyfatherleft,sinceitwastheirhouse.Eachmorningshewouldwakeupandmake
coffeeinthekitchenwheretheyusedtodanceandgooutthedoorhecarriedherthrough
ontheirweddingday.Nevertheless,shefinallysoldourhouse,andwemovedclosertothe
hospital.Ourapartmenthasbarewallsandcoldfloors.Hotelroomsaremorewelcoming.I
barelyseemymother.ShesleepswhileIaminschool,andIsleepwhilesheissavinglives.
Sheisstillrunning,andshewillrununtiltheend.
Henrythoughthisendwouldbeadefiniteend,butthewaterrisesandbreaksand
rises and breaks and rises and breaks infinitely. The waves crash on the sand whether
Henryisthereornot.Thetidestretchesfortheshoreandcrawlsbacktothebottomtotry
againtomorrow.Buthestoppedtrying.
43
Malathi’sStory
byManuKrishnamurthy
I’ve been told it happened because of natural resources. That the only reason the
Japanese attacked was for Burma’s oil and other raw materials. This is what I hear on
American radio reports. But these American experts, they weren’t there. They didn’t see the
menacing gleam in the soldiers’ eyes as they walked down our roads, our parks, our
neighborhoods, slashing everything they laid eyes on. The Americans didn’t see people they
knewstruckdownsimplyforexisting.TheJapanesemighthavecomefortheresources.They
killedbecausetheywantedto.
From the moment I was born I didn’t want to simply exist. I came out, full of
potential on August 5, 1936. My parents weren’t rich enough for me to be born in a
hospital, but I didn’t, or rather, don’t mind. I’d always felt a connection to our little
ramshacklehome.MamatoldmeyearslaterthatIbegancryingwithawailingsopowerful
thatthepeoplefromnearbystreetsrushedovertoseewhathadhappened.Accordingto
her, by the time they arrived, my eyes were already as wide as the moon, soaking in
everythingaroundme.Thatnight,Iwasparticularlyreluctanttogotosleep.Theworldwas
fartoointerestingtoclosemyeyes.Inanattempttohelp,Papaofferedtoplaythesaung,a
Burmese, harp-like instrument, my parents’ most prized possession. Newborns do not
understandmostofwhattheirsensesperceive,butthatdaywasthedayIfellinlove.More
than the blankets I was swaddled in, it was the soft twangs of the saung notes that
envelopedmeandlulledmetoforgeteverythingandsleep.
Bayonetsareahardthingtoforget.Thereisn’talotofblood.Atleastnotrightaway.
Deathbybayonetisnotanevent,likeagunshot.Itissilentandsleek.Thereisnoresistance
44
whenthebladegoesin,norwhenitcomesout.Itisnotapickyblade;itdoesnotdiscriminate
whoittakesorwhenittakesthem.ItisthatbladeIhaveseeneverynightofmylife,turning
everydreamintoanightmare.Gleaming.Waiting.Thirsting.
Idiscoveredmythirstforknowledgeonmyfirsteverdayofschool.ThatmorningI
dressedmyselfinmyuniformwithtremblinghands.TheybecameclammywithsweatasI
anxiouslyatebreakfast.IgrabbedMama’sarmwithalloftheforceIcouldmuster.
“WhatwillIdoinschool?Willtheteachersbenice?Whatifthey’renot?WhatifIget
ananswerwrong?Willtheyhitme?”Iletoutinarushedbreath.
Shecuppedmycheekandsmiled.“Ineverwenttoschool,littleone,soIdon’tknow
whathappensinsidethosewalls,butIsawthechildrenwholivedinthehouseIworkedin.
Theywouldcomehomeeverydaywithpinkcheeksandsmilesthatcouldpersuadeaman
offofaledge.SoIknowthatitisaplaceofhappiness.”
WiththatmyfluttersslowlysettledintoamanageablerhythmandPapawalkedme
downtheroadtotheschool.Ihadpassediteverydayofmylife,butthistimewasdifferent.
As we neared, I became very conscious that Papa was with me when I could see loads of
children walking into the compound without adults. I wanted him to leave, but I wanted
himtoholdmyhandforever.Itwasn’tuntilhesqueezedbackthatIrealizedIhadhishand
inadeathgrip.Westayedlockeduntilthegatewherehegavemeaquickkissonthehead,
slippedahardcandyinmyhand,andwalkedaway.Mystomachsank.InaseaofstudentsI
feltmorealonethanIeverhad.Mylegsgrewrootsintotheground.Istaredlonginglyatthe
backofPapa’shead,willinghimtocomepickmeupandcarrymehome.Asiftohearme,
heturned!Hetooknostepstowardme,butsmiledwarmlyandnoddedonce.Magically,my
feetweremobileoncemore.Iturnedtotheschoolandwalkedin.
45
Schooldoesn’tprepareyouforwartime.Howevermuchwelearnedaboutaplace,we
were never taught what to do if they were to attack. The war always seemed so far away
beforetheJapanesecame.Thereweresmallarticlesinthepaper,coveragewouldsometimes
be playing softly in restaurants, that sort of thing was always happening, but we never
actuallypaidattentiontoit.IneverthoughtthatthewarwouldcometoBurma.Noonedid.It
justneverlookedthatway.
Lookscanbedeceiving.EverynightMamaandPaparegaledmewithHindumyths
ofterribleasuras,demons,beingslainbyGodsandGoddesses.Ialwaysimaginedmyselfas
that kind of a hero; beating down those who preyed on the helpless and innocent. My
teacherremindedmeofoneofthoseasuras.Herbeadyeyesweretheforefrontofherface.
Thegreyhairinherbunwastiedbacksotightlythatitseemedtopulltheskinofherface
toaccommodateit,whichonlyaccentuatedthemanymolesinbetweenherwrinkles.The
daybeganbyeachstudentstandingupandannouncingtheirnametotheclass.Withher
eyesdirectlyonme,Inearlyforgotmyownnamewhenitcametobemyturn.
With names out of the way, she began the day’s lesson, the Burmese alphabet.
Thoughonlywritteninwhitechalk,thecharacterscamealive.Eachcurvethatmadeupa
letter breathed life into it. I followed the strokes mentally with my eyes, watching the
parade of letters prance across the board, dancing all the way. If the letters weren’t so
pretty,Iwouldhavelistenedbetter,andIwouldhaveknowntheresponsetothequestion
shecalledonmetoanswer.
Itnowseemssillytolookbackonwhatusedtoscareme.WhenChandama’amcalled
on me on my first day of school, I remember wishing I was dead, that a large crack in the
earthshouldemergeandswallowmeup.Whatanaivewish.Thedaythefirstbombdropped,I
46
was getting ready for school. The night before I had written a poem. It was the first
assignmentIhadcompletedallonmyown.HourshadbeenspentrehearsingitandIcouldn’t
waittoshareitwithmyclassandChandama’am.Thegroundsuddenlyshookandseemedto
roar. The loud whirring of plane engines could be heard. Smoke began to fill the streets
outsidemywindow.IyelledtoMama,askingwhatwashappening.
“Huh? Sorry, can you please repeat the question ma’am?” I replied, my burning
cheeksturneddownward.
“Repeat the first line of letters back to me” she retorted sharply. I did, in a voice
barely above a whisper, not making eye contact with anyone. I spent the rest of the day
listeningwithmywholeattention,copyingeverythingdowninmynotebook,notdaringto
lookupather.Afterthebelltosignaltheendofclassesrang,Iboltedoutoftheroom,only
to hear my name called shrilly. Chills of terror ran down my spine. I backtracked slowly,
praying to every God I knew the name of, sure that I was going to be beaten. When I
reenteredtheclassroom,Iletoutasmallsighofreliefatthefactthattherewasnorulerin
herhands,butmystomachdroppedoncemorewhenIglancedupandsawhersternface.
“Whyweren’tyoupayingattentioninclasstoday?Thatwasdisrespectfulandinthe
enditwillonlyhurtyou.”shescolded.
“I’msorry!”Iburst,“Thelettersweretoopretty!Igotdistractedbyallofthecurves
andthestrokesand...I’msorry.Itwon’thappenagain.”
Herfacesoftened.Asmilepeekedoutbehindherwire-thinlips.Shereachedintothe
depthsofherdeskandpulledoutabook.Sheopenedit,andIwasshockedtodiscoverthat
it had no pictures, completely unlike any book I had ever seen. The thought of reading it
47
was daunting, but looking at it more closely, the letters grouped in words, lines, and
paragraphs,madeuptheprettiestimageIhadeverseen.
“Iusedtosneakthisbookoutofmyfather’sstudyeverynightandjustlookatthe
pages”,sherecounted,“Imemorizedeverycurveofeveryletter.Ifyouthinkthey’relovely
now,waituntilyouknowwhattheyallmeantogether.”Ilookedupatherlongingly.“You
willknowoneday,butonlyifyoupayattentioninclass.I’llevenmakeyouadeal.Ifyoucan
learnthealphabetbytheendofthisweek,Iamwillingtostayafterschoolforhalfanhour
everydaytohelpyoureadandunderstandthisbook.Thatis,ifyouwantto.”
Myfuriousnoddingwasanswerenough.AndwithsomehelpfromMamaandPapa,I
mastered the alphabet by that Friday and my after school reading lessons with Chanda
ma’ambegan.Itwasthebestthirtyminutesofeveryday.UntilImetRenuma’am.
I hadn’t seen Renu ma’am or Chanda ma’am in days. I had lost all concept of time.
Mama, Papa, and I were all trapped in the house. Screams could be heard all around. We
didn’t dare check to see where they were coming from. It wasn’t worth the risk. To be seen
wastobekilled.Iheardpleading.Theman’svoicewasfamiliar.Hisvoicedrippedwithpain.
Heknewhewoulddieandyethewasbargaining.Hearingitbaitedmeintopeeringthrougha
crackinthebottomcornerofthefrontdoor.ItwasThuraunclewhoownedthestoreatthe
corner.Everydayonmywayhomehewouldgivemeahardcandy,notevenallowingmeto
dreamofpayinghimforit.Thepointofthebayonetpoised,ready,abovehimglinted.Time
seemedtoslowastheJapanesesoldier’shandsguideditinitsdescent.Ibecamehyperaware
ofeverymusclemovinginhisbody,everytwitchofhissadisticeye.ThiswasamomentIhad
fantasized of before, a time where I could jump in, kill the demon and save the day. It was
48
terrifyingtosuddenlycomprehendthatthemythsweremerelystories,Iwasmerelyachild,
andthiswasreality.Heroeswerenotpredestinedtowininreality.
Inreality,Idislikedeveningswhenwehadguests.Ineverknewwhattotalktothe
adultsabout,andotherchildrenrarelycameover,butRenuma’am’sfamilywasdifferent.
Renuma’amwastheauntofamanPapahadgrownupwith.Shewastheonewhotaught
him to play the saung. Her whole family had come over for dinner one night and I was
actually excited, for once. Papa’s friend had a daughter my age who always brought over
herdollanditstwooutfits.Wewereplayinginacorneroftheroom,whensomeonebegan
tosing.Itwasn’taprayerlikeIheardatthetemple,butamoremelodioussong.Thiswasa
songbeingsungforpurepleasure.IglancedoverandsawRenuma’aminthemiddleofthe
circleofadults,keepingabeatonherkneewithherpalm,herfacefullofemotion,andher
voiceemanatingallthatwasgoodintheworld.Thedollwasforgotten.
After much pleading and prodding, thirty minutes of learning Hindustani classical
music with Renu ma’am was tacked on after my time with Chanda ma’am. These women
inspiredahungerinme.Ineverwantedthelearningtoend.Havingtoleaveeachofthem
everydaybrokemyheart,butIcouldalwaystakesolaceinthefactthatIwouldbebackthe
nextday.
I didn’t go back the next day. Instead Mama, Papa, and I huddled in the closet, not
daringtomoveamuscleforhours,waitingfortheroaringtostop.
ThefirstbombingofRangoonwasthemostshocking,butifIcouldchoose,Iwould
takebombsovertheslaughterbysoldiersthathappenedinthedays,weeks,andmonths
thatfollowed.Wecouldn’tleavethehouse.Ihadneverbeforegonesolongwithoutseeing
Chanda ma’am or Renu ma’am. My mind ached for words and my heart ached for the
49
melody. I sang the words of the book softly to myself to keep from going mad. Papa had
connections to get us food without being detected. Cans and boxes were hidden among
specific piles of rubble that he would venture out and bring back under the mask of
darkness. It might have been days or years that passed before Papa informed us of our
escaperoute.Inoddedashespoke,forcingmyfacetostayresignedandunderstanding,but
Icouldnotstopthetearsthatrolledoutthecornersofmyeyes.Ididn’twanttoescape.I
wantedtogotomyschool,Iwantedtoseemyteachers,andIwantedtosing.Tome,safety
wasfarlessimportantthanallofthelearningIwantedtodo.
Thenightwaspitchblackwhenweleftthehouse.Weleftthesaungbehind.Thatis
whatIregretmost.ThisgetawaywasthefirsttimeIwasbreathingfreshairinsolong,but
itwasn’tfreshanymore.Itwasfilledwiththemetallicscentofbloodandthecriesofpeople
takenbeforetheirtime.ThenightwastoodarktoseethebodiesandMamaandPapamade
sureIdidn’tsteponone,buttherewasnoignoringthattheywereeverywhere.Wewalked
formiles.Exhaustionhungoverheadlikeadarkcloud,butfearandsorrowkeptusgoing.
ThatnightIlearnedthetrueterriblepowerofhope.
Wegotonaboatthatfeltlikedeath.Iknowthisbecausetheairdidn’tchangewhen
weboarded.Itstillsingedliketheslaughter-filledstreetsofRangoon.Theboatwaslarger
than anything I’d ever seen but lacked the sense of familiarity I was used to. There were
many others on board. Some I knew, some I didn’t. Their presence didn’t register in my
headforthedayswewereontheboat.IwasonlysurethatRenuma’amandChandama’am
weren’tonitwithus.ItwasonlymanyyearslaterthatIcouldcomprehendtheirdeaths.
Mama and Papa wouldn’t look at me or each other. The days on the boat were a
haze.IsometimesfeltlikeIwasathome,listeningtoPapaplaythesaung,smellingMama’s
50
cooking.Iwasn’tdreaming;Inevertrulysleptonthatboat.Thehallucinationsweresimply
mirages:productsofhope.
WelandedintheSouth24ParaganasdistrictofWestBengal.That’swhatwewere
told. It was too dark to read signs, and even if there was light, we weren’t in Burma
anymore.Myliteracywasuselesshere.
All of us from the boat stayed in a house together. It wasn’t even a house, just a
shelter.Weatesimply,sleptonthefloor(whensleepwouldcome),andstared.Papaand
someoftheothermenwentoutinsearchofwork.Mamastayedwithmeatalltimes.She
wasconstantlyonalert,watchingeverysinglemovementofeverypersonateverymoment,
as if one of them was a Japanese soldier in disguise. She was protective, but we barely
spoke.
Papadidfindworkatacompanysimilartotheoneheleftbehind.Ourstandardof
living increased, gradually. We moved out of the communal compound and into our own
flat.Itwasn’thome.Nothingeverwouldbeagain.Ibeganschooloncemore.Ihadtorestart
atthefirststandardlevel.Iwasayearolderthanallofthestudents.TheythoughtIwas
stupidsinceIdidn’tknowanyBengali,buttheydidn’tmakefunofmetomyface.Iguess
ageintimidatedthem.
Over time, Papa got promoted to higher and higher positions. As Papa rose in the
company,hecameincontactwithmoreandmoreEnglishspeakingmen.WhenIpassedby
his room, I sometimes overheard his conversations with them. English syllables sounded
roughandcoarse,veryunlikethesmoothBurmesephrasesIhadgrownupwith.
One afternoon he arrived home from work with a brown paper package tucked
underhisarm.“Malathi!”hecalled,“ComeseewhatIhaveforyou!”
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It had been so long since he had said my name to me. I ran to greet him, finding
myself smiling. His excitement was contagious. My mind raced with the possibilities of
whatcouldbeinside.Tearingopenthepaper,IfoundmyselfholdinganEnglishworkbook.
I knew he was looking expectantly at me, gauging my reaction, so I swallowed my
disappointedandsmiledupathim.
TheletterswerenotnearlyasbeautifulastheonesinChandama’am’sbook,butI
knewthatbeingproficientinEnglishwaspractical.Inordertobetakenseriously,inorder
tounderstandglobalissues,IwouldneedtolearnEnglish.
Somewhere along the way words lost their taste. Lessons no longer were shiny
rewardsformakingitthroughthenight,butdulljobsthatneededtobedone.Learningwas
no longer a pride or joy, but a necessity. Papa brought me English workbooks from the
very basics to complex grammar ones. It took time, years before I was fluent, but I got
there.IusedittounderstandAmericanreportsonthewarandotherglobalissues.Ididn’t
know that my parents would later use my bilingualism as a selling point for potential
marriagematches.
Thebayonethauntedeverydream.I‘msureIwokeupscreamingmostnights.Ididn’t
havetokeepquietanymore.Therewasnolongerafearofbeingfound.Whenwefirstgotto
India, Mama and Papa would pat me on the head and rub my back until I could fall asleep
again.Therewasanightwhentheydiditforthelasttime.Ican’trememberwhenitwas,butI
knowitstopped.
Theprospectofcollegewasappealing.IwasoutofschoolforthreeyearsbeforeI
even dared to let myself consider it. Though learning was drudgery in school, I was sure
thatincollegeitwouldn’tbe.IcouldchoosewhatIwantedtostudy.Collegeshadaccessto
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old Burmese texts, I could study those forever. I could even sing if I wanted to! I wasn’t
ignorantoftheworldaroundme.Iunderstoodthatitwasnotthenormforgirlstopursue
higher education, but my parents were different. These were the people who stayed up
nights helping me read a book, they had allowed me to stay after school and learn
Hindustaniclassicalmusic.Theywereprogressive.Papawasmakingasteadyincomenow
too,soIhadhope.
IapproachedMamawithaproposalformetoattendalocalcollegeonthedayofmy
20thbirthday.Shelookedatmeforaverylongtimeinsilence.Itoccurredtomethatthis
wasthefirsttimewehadmaderealeyecontactinyears.Shethenbeganshakingherhead
furiously.Iwasgrabbedbythearm,ledintoherroom,andhandedasari.
“Wear this”. She said curtly. The first words she had spoken directly to my face in
whatfeltlikeyears.“Papawillbehomesoonandhe’sbringingguests.”
Hopeisapowerfulthing.Shehadbeensupportiveofmebefore,maybethiswasto
show Papa that I was an adult now. Maybe then he would see that I deserved to go to
collegeandgetadegree.Mybrainproducedoptimisticscenarioafterscenario.Neverfora
seconddidIconsiderthealternative.EvenwhenIwalkedintothekitchenandMamaputa
plateofsweetsinmyhands,Ifailedtounderstandwhatwashappening.Shetiltedmyhead
downwardandledmeintothelivingroom.IglancedupandsawPapasittingwithanolder
man,anolderwoman,andamanwholookedtobearoundmyage.
“Thisisourdaughter.”IheardMamasaybesideme.Ilookedather,tearswelling.
Shepurposelydidnotmeetmygaze.“Offerthemsweetsdarling.”InthismomentIhated
hermorethanIdidthesoldierwiththebayonet.AsIwalkedtoeachofthem,holdingthe
plate toward them, my eyes cast downward, heat began to rise in my chest. The blood
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insidemeboiled.Iwantedtoscreamatthisbetrayal.Ihatedthemall,hatedthemforbeing
apartofthisterriblething.Marriage.Iwasneverintendedforanythingmorethanbeing
someone’swife.Ascreamroseinsideofme.Iswallowedhard,tryingtokeepitdown.My
visionbecamecloudy.Mybreathinggrewrapid.Iexcusedmyselftogotothebathroom.I
collapsedonthefloor,poundingonituntilmyknucklesnolongerhadfeeling.Closingmy
eyesIsawtheblade.Theterriblebladethathadmadethishappen.
WhenIemerged,thefamilyhadleft.Iwastoldtheboyapprovedofme.Thatwasall
myparentsneeded.Ibroughtupcollegeoncemore,alastditcheffort.Papatoldmeevery
cent needed to be saved for my dowry. I nodded, once again forcing my face to be
understanding,butIwasn’tabletostopthetearsthatrolleddownmycheeks.Mamaput
herhandonmyshoulder.Itwasintendedtocomfort,butthegesturefeltempty.
Weweremarriedtwodaysafterinthesmalltempledowntheroad.Hisnamewas
Vasudeva Murthy. I learned this during the ceremony. His job was in the local Bangalore
governmentandhehadtogetbackassoonaspossible.Myparentshadn’tevenbotheredto
tell me that I would be moving to a place thousands of kilometers away. I was hurt, but
unsurprised.SomuchhadchangedsinceRangoon.
Ataxihadbeencalledtotakeustothetrainstation.Vasutookmysmallsuitcaseto
thecartogivemeacoupleofminutestosaygoodbyetomyparents.Westoodincomplete
silence.Ilookedatthem.Theylookeddown.Wetspotsappearedonthegroundbelowtheir
faces.Itooksolaceintheirtears.Iknewtheylovedme,somewheredeepinside,ithadjust
beenmuffledbythetrauma.Ididn’tblamethem,butIwasdisappointed.Iwantedthemto
hug me and carry me all the way back home, not to our flat, but Rangoon. I willed them
withmymind.Theydidn’tlookup.Iwastrulyalone.Iforcedmyselftosuppressthehope,
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turnaway,andwalkslowlytothecar.Iwasnotsuccessful,andglancedbacktowardthem
before getting in. Their tear streaked faces faced me now. Mama smiled warmly. Papa
noddedonce.
Vasu and I didn’t exchange more than five words on the entire train ride to
Bangalore.Icouldtellhehadhisowndemons.InatwistedwayIwasgrateful.Ididn’tsleep
theentireway,justasIdidn’tontheboat.Vasudidn’taskquestions.
Helivedaloneinaflat.Itwastidy,whichsurprisedme.Iexaminedtheentireflat,
soakingineveryinch,untilmyeyessettledonasitarinthecorner.Vasuclearedhisthroat.
“I heard you like music. I didn’t know if you knew how to play, but my family has
hadthissitarforyearsandnoonehaseverdoneanythingwithit.Ithoughtyoumightlike
to.”heoffered.
Inodded,touched.Itdidn’tlooknearlyasdifficultasthesaung.
“YourparentsalsotoldmeyouarefluentinEnglish.Throughthatisveryadmirable,
IfindEnglishtobeadulllanguage.”heventuredsheepishly.“SoImanagedtotrackdowna
couple of Burmese books, as well as some English ones, so you can have your pick.” He
gesturedtowardthebookshelfbehindthesitar.ItheldmorebooksthanIhadreadinmy
wholelife!IcouldseethefamiliarcurvesofBurmesescriptonthespinesofsomeofthem.
Knowingtheyweretherewasagreatcomfort.
That night he offered me his bed and told me he would sleep on the floor. I don’t
knowifhecouldhearmyinternalexclamationsofgratitude,buttheywerethere.
Idreamtofthebladeagain.Thistimethesoldierlookeddirectlyintomyeyeswhile
the blade entered Thura uncle. I bolted awake. My throat felt scratchy. I had been
screaming. It took a few moments for me to understand where I was. Suddenly a warm
55
handwasonmyback.Itwasthesoldier!Hewasheretokillme!IyelledforMamaandPapa
asloudasIcould.
“Shh,shh,sorry,sorry,sorry.It’sonlyme.Youarejusthavinganightmare.Youare
okay.Youarenotindanger”Vasuwhispered.“Liedownandcloseyoureyes.Iwillbehere.
Iknowyoudidn’twantthis,butletmebeyourcomfort.”Hethenbegantosoftlysing,just
asmyfatherdidonmyfirstnightinthisworld.
Myheartbeatslowedtoanormalpace.Iclosedmyeyes,focusingonthewarmthof
hispalmandthetoneofhisvoice.Withthat,therestofthenightIonlysawblack.
The blade disappeared from my dreams that night. It manifested itself a few other
timesinmylife,triggeredbyangeroranxiety.ThetimewhenVasuandIwereseparatedina
busytrainstation,whenhewasfiredforexposingthecorruptionofhissupervisor,andduring
mylaborofyourbirth,thebladeappeared,makingmyheartracefuriouslyandmyvisiongo
black from fear. These times, though, it never lasted long because I could always imagine
Vasu’s warm hand and sweet song, and the blade would become fainter and fainter until it
stoppedappearingaltogether.
56
Ordinaryville
byFrancesHoggard
WhenIgettohellit’llprobablybeaspittingimageofmyneighborhood.WhileI
don’tliveinabottomlesspitoffiresomewheredeepundertheearth,Idoliveinyourrun
ofthemill,middleclassAmericansuburbia.
Myneighborhood,rightfullyknownasRiverWoods,isfilledtothebrimwithhouses
thatarepracticallyclonesofoneanother.Tomakeitevenworse,theseclonehousesare
accompaniedbyclonewivesandclonehusbandswhocoordinatetheirfloweringpotsor
kitchentilewiththeircloneneighbors.Andwhilethissummerhasbeenhotashell,ithasn’t
stoppedthecloneteenagersfromtanningintheirbackyardswiththeirclonefriends.
WhenIsayclonesIdon’tmeanthatRiverWoodsissomescienceexperiment.I
meanthateveryoneisordinary.Thesepeoplethink,doandsayallthesamestuff.The
biggestscandalthisgatedcommunityhaseverhadtoendurewassomethingalongthe
linesoftheRobertson’scatbitingoneoftheJoneskids.TherealbeastintheRobertson’s
familyisn’ttheirrowdyfeline,though.It’sMrs.Robertson.Mrs.Robertson,she’stheDevil,
andshe’smynextdoorneighbor.
She’stherealreasonthisneighborhoodishell.Shemakesmegothespeedlimit
whenI’mridingmybikeasifIhaveaspeedometerprogrammedintomyhead,andshe’s
alsomademegobacktomyhousetoputonmyhelmet.Jeezlady,parentyourownkids.
Butshe’snotonlyouttogetme.She’snotafraidtoscoldsomeoneforwalkingonher
freshlyrootedgrass,eventhemailman.Shealwaysexpectstohear“ma’am”whenyou
addressher,andifyoudareslipupshe’llcallyouout.Iswearshe’shidinghornsunderher
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massiveblondeperm.I’malsoprettysureIsawherlaughwhenoneoftheJoneskidsfell
offtheirscooterandskinnedtheirknee.
WhileMrs.Robertsonisthetypeofwomanwhomostpeopledon’twanttocross,
theclonemothersstillwanttobeher.Theythinkshehasitsomuchmoretogetherthan
them,asiftheyaren’tfullydressedandmadeupwhentheywalkoutsidetogetthe
morningpaper.Theywanttobeherbecauseshe’sthePTApresidentforSt.JudePrimary
School,she’sinvolvedinthechurch,shehasaprettyflowergarden,andshecanspeedwalk
fourmileswithoutbreakingasweat.Alltheclonehusbandswanthertoo,eventhough
they’dneveradmitittothemselves.Wow,shereallyislivingthelife,huh.
I’mnotjustsomeangstriddenteenlookingforthingstocurseattheworld.I’ve
livedahappythirteenyearswithmyfriendsandmyownadventures,andwhileIstillcan’t
growarmpithair,I’vegainedsomewisdomthroughtheyears.I’velearnedthatonceyou
stepfootintothissubdivisioneverythinggetsalittlegrayer.(Personalitywise,ofcourse,
becauseyouknowallthesewomenhavefertilizedtheheckoutoftheirgrassandplants
andwhatnot.)It’slikebeforemovinghereallhomeownersmustsignaformpromisingnot
toshowalickofanygenuinepassions,individualityorpersonalitytheyhadpreviously.I
knowforafactthatalladultsaren’tthisboring.Iknowforafactthisneighborhoodsucks.
Thisisn’tallthatIthinkabout,despitewhatitsoundslike.Ienjoyphotographyand
videogamesandexploring.Butmyparentstookawaymycamcorder,theyconfiscatedmy
PlayStationandI’mbeingimprisonedinmyhouseuntilSundaybecauseofaseriesof
unfortunateeventswhichhappenedyesterday.Mymothercaughtmeredhandedchecking
myselfoutinthemirrorwithacigaretteheldtightlybetweenmylips.It’spretty
embarrassing.Itwasn’tlitoranything;Idon’tevenownalighter.Iwasjustmindingmy
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ownbusiness,admiringhowsuave-yIlooked,whenmymotherbroughtinsomesocksshe
boughtforme.Socks.Anyway,shealmostwentintocardiacarrestwhenshesawmewith
thatwhite-trash-lung-cancer-causing-I-didn’t-raise-you-this-waycigarettehangingoutthe
sideofmymouth.Then,whenshewenttotossmynewsocksintomycloset,shesawthat
I’dmanagedtostuffthemajorityofmyclutterinthereinsteadofdoingaqualitycleanup.
Thesedamnsocks.Sothat’swhyI’vebeenconfinedtothis3,000squarefootjailcellforthe
weekend.Andwithoutmyusualdistractions,I’vebeenforcedtothinkaboutthings.I’ve
thoughtabout9/11conspiracytheories(jetfuelcan’tmeltsteelbeams!).I’vethought
aboutcellsandatomsandmoleculesandeverythinginbetween.I’vethoughtCommunist
Vietnaminthe1970’s.I’vethoughtaboutverbconjugationsforSpanish.I’vethoughtabout
howprettyAnnieStricklandis.And,rightwhenIthoughttherewasnothingelsetothink
aboutIstartedthinkingaboutthisdamnneighborhood.
ImovedherewithmyparentsbeforeIcouldspeak.Iprobablywould’veprotestedif
Icould’ve.I’vealwayshungoutwiththeTurnertwins,alankyduowithmatchinggroomed,
blondehairandbuckteeth.Theyaremischievousboyswhoareboththeeviltwin,they’ve
hadrun-inswiththepolicetwice-butthey’venevergottenintroublewiththelawbecause
theirdadisagoodattorney.Ishouldprobablyblamethissolitaryconfinementonthose
twodumbasses.They’retheoneswhocoppedmeahandfulofcigarettesfromtheirolder
brother’spackandtoldmetotryitoutsometime.Ididn’tevenaskforthecigarettes,and
nowhereIamwithamotherwhoprobablywon’teventalktome.
“Thomas,lookattheRobertson’stilearrangementonthepatio.Howbeautifulis
that.SuzanneRobertsonneverfailstoimpress!”mymotherraved,withahintofenvy,
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peekingthroughourkitchenwindowintotheRobertson’syard.Mysweetmotherisjustas
ordinaryandyearningtobeMrs.Robertsonaseveryotherwomanontheblock.
Mrs.RobertsonalwaysgivesmethispassiveaggressivesmilewhichIwasfirst
introducedtowhenImadeacommentabouthowIhatedapplepieaftershemadeour
familyone.It’slikehereyestellme“You’llregretsayingthatlater!”butherlipscurland
continuetogrinwiderandwiderasherangergrows.I’dratherstaredeathstraightinthe
eyesthanfaceMrs.Robertson’srealwrath.Ihaveshiversrightnow.She’sawitchI’m
tellingyou.
What’ssodeceivingaboutheristhatfromanoutsider’sview,she’sthispowerful,
happy,beautifulwomanwithanicefamilyandanicehomeandnicepatiotiles.ButIcan
tellshe’shidingsomethingunderthatcakedonmakeup–anditain’tpretty.She’sprobably
somebigtimedruglordorworksatabrothelorisanevilsorcerer.She’snotyourgeneric
witch,who’sugly,hasabroomstickorfeedsyouapoisonedapple.Insteadshefeeds
peopleherapplepie.WhileI’veneverhaditmyself,itsravereviewsmakemethinkitis
concoctedbynothingshortofwitchcraft.
IhaveastraightshotviewoftheRobertson’sbackyardfromthebackoftheroof,
andifIheavemyselfupandgripontotheasphaltandstraddlethepeakoftheroofIcansee
milesbeyondRiverWoods.It’sprettydangerousuptherebutIknowwhatI’mdoing.When
I’mperchedonmyroof,therowsuponrowsofcookiecutterhouseslooklikeanoptical
illusion.Onceyoufocusonthehorizonthehousespracticallyblendtogether.SometimesI
comeupheretocloudwatchorpeoplewatchorseeifanythingfunnyishappeningafew
streetsover.But,asexpectedfromthispainfullyordinaryneighborhood,nothingfunny
everhappens.Eventhesquirrelsareontheirbestbehavior.Maybethefactthatthese
60
peoplearesoblandwouldbefunny,ifitwasn’tsosad.Everymorning,husbandsandwives
alikegoofftowork,kisstheirspousesandchildrengoodbye,driveoffinanorganized,
mannerlyfleetofcarsandgoonwiththeirdailyroutine.Laterintheafternoon,they’ll
comehome,kisstheirspouses,eatdinner,gotobed,andtheendlesscyclestartsallover.
Evenwithmyownmaandpop.
TodayI’montheroofbecauseIamarebelliousteen!Ascoundrel!EarliertodayI
grabbedamatchandoneofthecigarettes,whichwasburiedinmyunderweardrawer,
withintentionsoftokingitup.Ihavetwocigarettesleft,andifI’mgonnabeintroublefor
simplyhavingoneImightaswelldothedeedandsmokeit.
IbarelyhaveachancetoinhalebeforeIhearmymombellowmynamefrombelow,
tellingmetocomeofftheroofandsortmysocksfromthelaundry.SocksareouttogetmeI
swear.Ihastilyputthelightoutagainstoneoftheasphaltshinglesandtossitdownthe
roof,nervouslywatchingitrolluntilitiscaughtbythegutter.Ipromisethatinthewee
hoursofthemorningIwillclimboutonmyroofonceagain,andsmokethisfinalcigarette
onceandforall.
It’s1:06inthemorning.
Insteadofbalancingonthepeakoftheroofandriskingplummetingtomydeath,I’m
gonnagotowardsthebackofmyhouse,wherethereisaflatnookontheroofwhereIcan
sitcomfortablyandsmoke,it’salsoconvenientlylocatedontheoppositesideofthehouse
asmyparents’bedroom.Iusuallydon’thangoutherebecausetheviewisnothinggreat.I
canseetheRobertson’spatiotilethough,andmymomwasright,itisnice.WhileIholdthe
cigarettetomylips,lightitandgetreadytoinhale,Inoticesomethingdifferentinthe
Robertson’sbackyard.
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Acertainsourceoflightiswhatcatchesmyattention.Idon’tknowwhatitis,butit’s
creatingaflickeringglowthataluminatestheRobertson’sentirebackyard.AsIsquintIsee
afigurewhichkeepsfeedingtheflame,andwhileIsithereinsilenceobservingthis
anomaly,Icanhearasoftchant.Ican’tmakeoutthewords.Itsoundslikeitisspeakingin
tongues.
Likeallgoodthings,thisscaresmealittleandexcitesmealot.
I’mfocusingonwhateverishappeningintheRobertson’syardsocloselythatI
forgettotoexhale,Iactuallyswallowedthesmokealltogether.MylungsfightforairasI
trytowhisper-coughsoastonotdisrupttheactivitythatishappeningbelow.Whilemy
lungsbegmetohaveabigol’heavycoughingfit,Irefusetodisruptthisunusualevent.
Isquintlikemylifedependsonit,andyou’renotgonnabelievewhatIsee.Mrs.
Freakin’Robertson.Sheisn’ttendingtohergarden,though.Sheiskneelingontheground,
handsopentothesky–insomekindofblackrobe.Shekeepsrepeatingaphraseand
cacklinginfrontofthisopenfire.
ShecranksherheadthedirectionofmyyardandIdon’tdaretakeabreath.Arabbit
innocentlystaresbackather,andwithinsecondsitisblastedintosmithereens.Another
cackleseepsoutofhermouthandshecontinuestoputherattentiononthisflame.She
walksovertograbmorefirewoodandIseeit.Aboar’sheadroastinginthefire.Thisisno
BBQ,Icanassureyouthat.
Igiveuponthecigarettealltogether,andconcentrateonstayingstill.Thisis
awesome.
Allofthesuddensheputsoutthefirewithadramaticswoopofherrobe,dusts
herselfoffandflattenshertousledhairwithherhands.Idon’tseetheboarheadanymore.
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SheshedstherobeandstuffsitdeepundertheirG160CompostingMachine.Alargecircle
ofincineratedgrassremains,andasshesauntersontoherpatioIcanseethegrass
sproutingupuntilthereisnoevidenceleft.
Shestrollshalfwayintothedoorway,thenstops.
Myheartisbeatingsofastshecanprobablyfeelthetempo.Prestissimoiswhatit
wouldbedescribedasinbandclass,wherethetempoisgoingasfastashumanlypossible.
I’mshakingsomuchIcouldcauseaGrade7earthquake.DoessheknowI’mhere?
Shewalksintoherhouseandclosesthedoorbehindher.Iletoutasighofrelief.
Halfofmyroofsshinglescrashdownfullforcefromthetopoftherooftowardmeand
practicallyknockmetotheground.
GoodthingIknowwhatI’mdoingonthisroof.Inaflash,Imigratetotheotherside
oftheroof,grippingontotheremainingasphaltshingles.Ihopthroughthewindowand
sprinttomybedroombeforeIhaveachancetolookback.Wowza.
TheinternetsaysDevilworshipperorwitchcraft.Thechanting,thefire,theboar’s
head,therobe-itallresembledsatanicritualswhichhavebeenpracticedforhundredsof
years.Maybethedevilishlooksshegivespeoplehasadeeperrootthanthemnotliking
applepie.I’mscaredoutofmymindbutthisistoogood.TheTurnerboysaregonnageta
kickoutofthis.
Iwakeuptothesoundofmymomhavingsmalltalkdownstairs.Anover
enthusiasticcacklecausesmetositupstraight.Ipeekoverthestairwelltoseenoneother
thanMrs.Robertsongrinningmaliciouslywithaplatterfullofbaconformyfamily.
IknowIwon’tbeeatingthat.
63
Thiswomanisaparadox.Idon’tknowwhetherornottobeterrifiedofherorthinkshe’s
totallycool.It’sbeenafulldaysincemyrun-inwithSatan.I’vebeenprayingalotand
crackedopenthedustyol’BibletoearnsomebrowniepointsfromtheBigManupthere.
MaybeIcaninvestigatethismoreandfigureoutwhat’sthehellisgoingon.Thisisthemost
entertainmentRiverWoodshasprovidedmesinceIgothere.
Lookingoutmywindow,IcanseeMr.andMrs.Robertson,enjoyingaglassofwine
onthatbeautifuldamnpatiotile.Sheglancesupatmywindow,thenraisesherglass,
grinningbiggerthaneverbefore.Mykneesgoweak.
I’vedecidedthatmyinvestigationwillbecutshort.Frankly,I’dratherplayagame
withsomeordinaryclonechildthantheDevil.
Needlesstosay,I’llbegoingthespeedlimitonmybikewhenIpassherhouse,I’ll
overlyuse“ma’am”whenaddressingher,andyoubetterbetthatwhenshemakesusapple
piesI’lleatawholeslicemyselfandmakesuretotellherhowdeliciousitis.
64
TheCleanSlateProject
bySaraMcMillan
Jameswokeupthatmorningatexactly8:00AMtothehighpitchshriekofthewakeupbell,ashehadforasmanymorningsashecouldremember.Grudgingly,herolledover
andwithhalfopenedeyesheputonhisperfectlyfittedkhakipants,afreshwhitet-shirt,
andblacksneakersthatwerebythedoor.At8:15,thedoorswereunlocked,andJames
madehiswaytothecafeteriaforbreakfast.Hewalkeddownthecleanwhitehallswith
aboutthirtyotherpeoplethatwereinhiswingoftherestingbuilding.Thegroupmade
severalrightandleftturns,andeventhougheveryhalllookedexactlythesame,theyhad
nodoubtastowheretheyweregoing.Theyhadallwalkedthatsameeightminuteroute
fromwhenthedoorsopenedat8:15untiltheyarrivedatthecafeteriaat8:23hundredsof
times.
Ashesteppedthroughtheglassdoorstothecafeteria,Jameswashitwiththesweet
smellofsyrupandimmediatewarmth.Hundredsofpeoplewerealreadythere,finding
theirseatsaroundthecirculartableswithredboxesthatwerefulloffood.Jameswentto
hisregularspotnearthebackrightofthecafeteriawherehisfriendssat.Hewasalways
thelasttoarrive,giventhattheyalllivedinwingsmuchcloserthanhis.Amandawasthe
firsttonoticehim,andshegavehimthatsweethalfsmileofhersthatmadeJamesalmost
stopinhistracks.
“Hey,”shesaid,hermouthhalffull.
“Hey,”heresponded,ashesatdownbesideher.Heopenedhisboxandsawthree
fluffypancakes,abanana,andablueberrymuffin,whichheknewwasAmanda’sfavorite.
Heofferedittoher,eventhoughnoonewassupposedtosharetheirfoodbecauseeach
65
mealwasmadespecificallyforaperson’sage,bodyweight,andhealth.Hefigureditwasn’t
abigdeal,consideringtheywerebothintheirlatetwentiesandingoodshape.
“Youknowwearen’tsupposedtodothat,”shesaid,gentlynudginghisarm,“but
thanksforoffering.”Jamessmiled.Hehadexpectedthisresponse;shewassuchastickler
forrules.ThenJohnny,whowasmuchyoungerthanJamesandAmanda,startedrambling
aboutacrazydreamhehadlastnight,andtheyspenttherestofbreakfastlaughingand
teasinghimaboutit.
Thatdaycontinuedasusual,At9:15Jamesandtheothersinhiswingwenttothe
librarytoreadthedailynewspaperandthenproceededtotheexerciseroom,wherethey
changedintotheirgymclothes.Afterthat,theyshoweredandreturnedtotheirroomsto
findanothercleansetofclothesontheirnewlymadebeds.At12:30theyatelunch,then
wenteithertoaclassoftheirchoicetofurthertheireducation,ortoajob,whichwas
providedforthosewhohadsuccessfullycompletedtheircourse.ForJames,thiswas
engineering,andhewasonlyayearawayfrompassing.Afterclasstherewasfreetime
beforedinner,whichJamesusuallyspentwithAmanda,buttodayhecouldn’tfindher.He
wasjustabouttoleavethecommonroomwheretheytypicallymetuptoseeifhecouldgo
findJohnnyorsomeoftheothers,whenhewasapproachedbyamandressedinallblack,
meaninghewasoneoftheadministrators.Aboyofabouteighteenwasfollowingclosely
behind.“AreyouJames?”askedtheadministrator.
“Yessir,”Jamesrespondedpolitely.Oneofthefirstthingshehadlearnedherewas
totreattheadministratorswithrespect.
66
“ThisisAdam,”saidtheadministrator,givingtheboyasmallpushforward.“Would
youmindshowinghimaround,wheretoeat,exercise,read,etc.?Heisinthesamewingas
you,soshowhimtohisroomaswell.”
“Ofcoursesir.”Thenjusttotheadministrator,Jameswhispered,“Doesheknow
yet.”
“No,”saidtheadministrator,“hisappointmentistomorrow.Andhe’sstillalittle
foggy,sogoeasyonhim.”TheadministratorthenturnedtoAdam,gavehimasmallnod,
andwalkedout.
JamesspenttherestofhisfreetimeshowingAdamaroundthedifferentroomsand
variousbuildings.Hehadneverrealizedhowtrulyenormousitwasuntilnow.Abouthalf
waythroughhistour,Adambegantoaskquestionsthateveryonedidwhentheyfirstgot
there,likewhentheygottogooutside,whytheywerethere,andwhytheydidn’trecognize
anyone.ThebestJamescoulddowasreassurehimthatthiswouldallbeexplainedathis
appointmenttomorrow.
Afterdinner,JamesshowedAdamtohisroom,andthenwenttohisown.He
rememberedthewayitfeltwhenhefirstarrivedhereacoupleofyearsago,theconfusion
andhowlostandalonehehadfelt.Buttheappointmenthadexplainedeverything.James
remembereditveryclearly,theofficethatittookplacein,whichwaslocatedinoneofthe
backbuildings,andeventhedoctorsname,Dr.Sam.Shehadbeenverycomforting,and
hadexplainedtohimallthatwashappening,andwhyhecouldn’trememberanythingupto
thatpoint.Shehadtoldhimthatrecently,anepidemichadbrokenout,startingfroma
smallresearchfacilityinAtlanta.Thescientiststhatworkedtherehadbeentryingto
developawaytoremovepersonalmemorieswithoutremovingtheconceptofthem,very
67
similartohowamnesiaworks.Forexample,someonewouldhaverememberedhowto
read,write,andspeak,butwouldn’tbeablerememberasingleconversationhe/shehad
everhad.Andsomeonewouldhaverememberedhowtoactaroundpeoplebutwouldn’t
beablerememberasinglepersonhe/shehadevermet.Theyhaddevelopedanairborne
viruswiththeeffectsofamnesia,andoneday,ithadgottenloose.Thankfully,itwas
containedveryquickly,butnotbeforeitinfectedthousandsofpeoplelivinginthearea,
whichiswhereJamesandeveryoneelseherehadlived.Therewasamassivequarantine
becausetheviruswashighlycontagiousandeventoday,almosttwoyearslatertheystill
heldpeoplebecausesometimesthevirushadadelayedreaction,likeinAdam’scase.
Basically,Jamesandeveryoneinthesebuildingswerelivinginonebighospital,while
scientistsactivelytriedtofindacure.Thisexplainedwhytheycouldnevergooutside,why
theiroldfamiliescouldnevervisit,andwhyhehadtalkedtoDr.Samthatdaywithalayer
ofairtightglassbetweenthem.
Atexactly10:00,allthelightswentout,thedoorswerelocked,andJamesinstantly
fellasleep.Thenextmorning,thewake-upbellsounded,andhewasupagain.Hehad
decidedtowaitforAdam,whowasalittlelatecomingoutofhisroomtohelphimfindhis
waytothecafeteria.Helookedextremelynervousanddistressed,soJamesdecidedto
requesttoskipallofhismorningactivitiessothathecouldwalkAdamtohisappointment
andbetherewhenhewalkedout.Peoplereactedtothenewsverydifferently,some
becamedepressedthattheymightneverbeabletostepoutsideagainandrejoinsociety
andsomewerethankfulthattheyweregoingtogetfedandtakencareofpossiblyforthe
restoftheirlife.Eitherway,Jamesfeltthatitwasimportantforsomeonetobethereto
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talkto.Hisrequestwasapproved,andwhenhetold
Adamhewasverythankfulbutstillseemedjustasrestless.
Whentheyarrivedattheoffice,AdamwentinandJamessatdownonabench
waitingforhimtocomeout.Therewasnotellinghowlongtheseappointmentsmighttake,
soafterawhileJamesdecidedtowalkaroundabit.Suddenly,hefoundhimselfinapartof
theofficebuildingthathehadneverbeenbefore.Great,hethoughttohimself,nowhewas
lost.Hetriedtoretracehisstepsbutitdidnogood,allofthehallwayslookedthesame.
Then,hearrivedatahallwaywithasingleofficeattheveryend.Hewasabouttoturnback
aroundwhenherealizedthatthedoorwaspartiallyopen,itwasbeingheldbyatoolbox,
oneofthetechnician’s,nodoubt.Heapproachedtheofficeandsawthatthekeypadwas
broken,whichwasprobablywhythetechnicianwasthere.Butitwas8:35,andeveryone,
includingpeoplewhoworkedintheofficesandthetechnicianwhowasworkingonthe
keypadwerestillatbreakfastforanotherfortyminutes.Jamesexaminedthelock,and
realizedthatallitneededwasabatterychange.Hefiguredthetechnicianalsoknewthat,
becausethereweretwobatteriesnearthetopofthebagandascrewdriver.Jamesdecided
tofixthekeypad,andmaybewiththeextratimethetechnicianhadhecouldshowJames
backtowhereAdamwas.Besides,youhadtobeprettydumbtomessupreplacing
batteries,soJamesfiguredwhynot.
Hecarefullyunscrewedthebottomofthekeypadwherethebatterieswereheldand
replacedthem.Whenhewasdonehestillhadaboutthirtyminutestokill,sohedecidedto
entertheroom,eventhoughitclearlysaidonthedoorauthorizedpersonnelonly.The
roomwascompletelydark,andwhenJamesflippedthelightswitchhewasastonishedat
whathesaw.Theroomwaswaybiggerthanhehadexpectedandtherewerefiles
69
everywhere.Paperswerescatteredonatable,andsomehadevenfallenonthefloor.
Jameswasverycarefulnottosteponanything,andhemadehiswaytothelargetablein
themiddleoftheroom.
Hepickedupthebiggeststackofpapers,andwonderedifthiswaswhereallofthe
researchtofindacurewasgoingon.Hereadthetitleofthestackofpapersinhishand
eagerly.Itread:TheCleanSlateProject-DraftProjectOverview.ForProjectSupervisors
Only.Jameshesitated.Shouldhereallybereadingthis?Butthenhedecidedthathehada
righttoknowwhatwasgoingonwithcureandwhatthescientistsknew,whetheritwas
goodorbadnews.Hecontinuedtoread:Entry1:Phase1:9/27/12
TheCleanSlateProjecthasbeenalongprocess.Therehavebeenmanytrialsand
experimentswithanimalsovertheyearsandwecanfinallysaythatwehavehadsome
success.Thisnewformulacombinedwithourcuttingedgetechnologycanallowustoremove
certainpartsofthememory,whileleavingotherareasintact.Sofar,therehasbeena99%
successratewithvariousanimalsthatwehavebeentestingon,andwefeelitistimetomove
ontohumans.Ofcourse,humanexperimentationisillegal,sosomeofthesupervisorsofthis
projectwenttothegovernmentwithaproposition.
It’snosecretthatprisonsareovercrowdingintheU.S.,soitdidn’ttakelongtoget
permissionandfundingfromthegovernmenttoletprisonersgetthechoiceofhavingan
experimentalsurgerytoremovepartsoftheirmemory.Butnotjustanypeople,wehad
specificallypickedoutcertainpeoplewho1)hadcommittedacrime(s)andweregoingto
servealifeinprison2)mayhavehadaroughupbringingwhichcouldhaveaffectedhowthey
respondedtosituationsthatcouldhaveputtheminjail,and3)recommendationsfrom
therapistsorconsultantswhofeelthatthesepeopledeserveasecondchance.Itwas
70
announcedtotheprisonersastheironechancetoforgetabouttheiroldlifeandstartanew
one,guiltfree.Ofcourse,theywouldstillbeinaprison,stilllockedupinacellatnight,still
guarded,buttheywouldgetacleanslate.Theysignedpapersgivingustherighttoundergo
surgeryonthemwhichallowsustoperfectourformula,thegovernmentgetsextraroomin
theirprisons,andprisonersgetasecondchance.Everyoneishappy.Withthisgoaheadby
thegovernmentitistimetostartPhase2,theexperimenting.
Entry2:Phase2:10/08/14
JustovertwoyearsagowestartedtheexperimentalphaseoftheCleanSlateProject.
Ithasbeenabiggersuccessthananyonecouldhaveexpected.Afterafewroughpatchesat
thebeginning,thesurgeryhasbeen100%successful.Notasinglepatienthasregainedanyof
thememoryhe/shehaslost.Wehavemonitoredthemcloselywithcamerasandsofarthere
havebeennosideeffects.Iamalsohappyandequallycurioustoreportthattherehasbeen
zerocrimeorgangrelatedactivityinthisenvironment.Tohelpexplainthesuddenmemory
loss,wehavedevelopedastoryastonotraisesuspicion.IthinkitistimetomovetoPhase3,
whichiswhattheultimategoaloftheseexperimentswere.Ifourresearchiscorrect,there
maybeawaytousethespacewheretheoldmemoriesusedtobeinpatientsandfillthem
withnew,fakeones.Thiswouldbeawayofeffectivemindcontrol.Thegovernmentisas
interestedinthisasweare,theyseetheuseofthiskindoftechnology,andinlightofthisnew
goaltheyhavedecidedtodoubleourfunding.
Entry3:BeginningofPhase3:1/21/16
Itisfinallydone,wehavesuccessfullycreatedawaytoreinventmemoriesandinsert
thembackintothemindsofanimals.Wehavenotyethadahumanexperiment;wearestill
tryingtofindtherightcandidates.(Willfinishwritingoncefirstexperimentisdone).
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Afterthatitwasallextensivelabreportsandresearch.Jamesjuststaredatthe
papers.
Hewasincompleteshock.Whatdidthismean?Hadhiswholelifeherebeenalie?He
couldn’tthinkstraight.Itcouldn’tbetrue.Thevirus,everything,ithadallseemedsoreal.
Hespunaround,andthenhesawalargefilecabinetwithdrawersthatweremarkedA-Z.
HeopenedtheonewithaJ.HeflippedthroughalltheJ’suntilhecametohisname.He
rippedopenthefolder,andhesawapictureofanunsmiling,youngerversionofhimself.It
wasamugshot.Hisgriponthefoldertightened.Hefoundthepolicereport.Armed
robbery.Hisheadwasswirling.Hehadtositdown.Buthecouldn’tstopreading.He
foundthedocumentwherehehadsignedtogetthesurgery.Itwastrue.Theywereall
criminals,notsickpatients.Thiswasn’tahospital,itwasaprisonfulloflabrats.
Then,Jamesheardfootstepsapproaching,hewastrapped.Hedroppedhisfolder
andrantothedoor,pretendingtohavejustfinishedwiththekeypad,buthewasstill
shaking.Fromaroundthecorner,twomeninlabcoatswereapproaching.
“Hey,”oneofthemsaid,“youweren’ttheguywhowasherethismorning.”James
triedtocomposehimself.
“Um,no,Idecidedtofinishupforhim.”Hesaidascalmlyashecould.
“Wait,”saidthesecondman,“Irecognizeyou,Isometimeslistenintoyourclasses,
you’retrainingtobecomeanengineer.Whyareyoufixingthiskeypad?”
James’sheartalmoststopped,“Well,um,yousee,Iwashelpingthetechnicianout;
hewasreallybusysoItoldhimthatIwouldfixthisforhim.”Jamescouldtellthatthey
weren’tbuyingit.OnesteppedinsideandsawJames’sfolderonthefloor,henudgedthe
otheroneandreachedforhisbeeper.ThenJamestookoff.Heranasfastashecouldas
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moreandmorepeoplepiledinfrombreakfast.Heranandranuntilheknewwherehewas
again,andthentooktheshortcuttohiswing.Itallmadesensetohimnow.Theroomsthat
actedlikecells,themanyadministrators,thewhitehallsthatyouwouldgetlostinifyou
didn’tgoexactlywhereyouweresupposedtogo.
WhenJamesreachedhisroom,heknewitwouldn’tbelongbeforepeoplecameafter
him.Herippedoutablankpageofoneofthebookshehadborrowedfromthelibrary,and
begantowritedowneverythingheremembered.Theywereeithergoingtokillhimor
erasehismemory,andifthesecondwastrue,hewasdeterminednottoforgeteverything.
Oncehefelthehadwrittenenough,herippedaholeinhispillow,stuckthepieceofpaper
init,andthenputthepillowcoverbackon.Hopefullynoonewouldnoticeandthepillow
wouldstillbetherewhenhegotback.Maybehewouldfinditagainsomeday,evenifhe
didn’trememberputtingitthere.Jamesheardheavyfootstepsapproachinghisroom.The
administratorsthrewopenthedoorandpinnedJamestohisbedandcoveredhismouth.
Then,oneofthemhithimovertheheadwithachair,andJamesblackedout.
Whenhewokeup,Jameswassittinginahospitalbed.Hetriedtositup,buthe
criedoutinpain.“LiebackdownJames,youneedyourrest,”saidasmoothwoman’svoice.
Hecouldn’tmakeoutherface,buthelistened,andliedbackdown.
“Whathappened?”Heaskedweakly.
“Youremember,don’tyou?”Sheprompted.
AndthenJamesremembered.HehadbeenwaitingforAdamtofinishhis
appointment,andhehadstartedtowanderaround.Hehadgottenlostandthen…ohand
thenhehadturnedacornertoofastanddidn’tseethesetofstairsandhehadfallen.
“Ifelldownthestairs,right?”Hesaid.
73
“Yes,that’sright,youdid.”Herfacewasfilledwithwonderandcuriosity.“NowI’ll
letyougetsomerest.”Shepattedhislegandlefttheroom.AndJamesfellasleep.
Onherwaybacktoheroffice,theDirectorranintoherchiefadvisor.“Haveyou
visitedhimyet?”Heaskedcuriously.
“Yes,”saidtheDirector,shepaused.“ThefirstexperimentforPhase3was
successful,hedoesn’trememberathing.”
“Todaywejustmadehistory,”saidthechiefadvisor,“theworldwillneverbethe
same.”
74
TheHand,theHeart,andtheEyes
byShrayaChangela
“Ama,canyoutellmeastory?”
“I’mnotyourAma,myPrince.”Evenafterreceivinghismedicine,Icanseethatthe
child’seyesarestillglassywiththemoonfever.Itseemsnoonewouldbespared,noteven
theking’sfirstson.
Thefeverwassoaptlynamed;ithadcreptthroughthenight,stealthilyandhungrily,
andthenunderthelightoftheMoonLorditstruckdownnearlyahundredvictims.They
werealldeadbymorning.Thosewhohadcontractedthefeverbutwerenotyetdead,like
thischildinfrontofme,werequicklyquarantined.Itseemedasifnothingcouldstopthe
feverandtherewerenewvictimseveryday.
“MyAmanevercomes.She,too,mustbedead.”
Thechildsaysthishollowly,hehasknownmuchgriefthesepastweekswiththe
deathsofhismanyyoungersiblings.InDamasr,eventheairitselfhasgonequietandstale,
ripewiththegriefanddeathofthemanycitizensinthepalaceandinthecitybelow.
“Don’tsaythat,yourAmaissafe.Thefeverhasn’treachedheryet.”Buthiseyestell
methatthathecanhearthelieinmywords;Idonotknowwhathasbecomeofthequeen.
Hisparentsandhisstillhealthysiblingsarebarredfromseeinghim.Notthateitherparent
hastriedveryhardtolifttheexclusionthattheyoungprincesuffers.Butitisnotmyplace
toremark.
Regardless,nochild,eventheking’schild,shouldthinksuchthings.SoIdoforhim
whatIdoformysister’syoungdaughterwhenshewakesfromanightmareandhermother
75
isnotthere;Isettledownonthebedandgathertheyoungprinceonmylap.Feverbe
damned.IhavemostlikelycontracteditintheweeksthatIhavebeenexcludedwiththe
child.
“Neverthinkofsuchthings.WhatifItoldyouastory,myPrince?”AndIseewhatI
thinkisasmallglimmerinthechild’seyes.
“Doyoupromiseittobeanexcitingone?”
Ilaughatthis.Heasksasmostyoungboysdo,foranadventureinastory,butIhave
anotheroneinmind.Onethatwillhopefullyputlightinhiseyesagain.
“Ofcourse,myPrince.”Hesettlesbackintome,hisraggedbreathingeagerashe
waits.
SoIbegin.
“Many,manysunsandmoonsago,beforethedays,nights,anddawnseverfollowed
asetpathandwhenourgreatcitywasonlyjustreachingitsheight---”
“Damasrhasalwaysbeensogreat?”
Icannotsayforsure.MyownmothertoldmethestorywhenIwasyoung,andfor
thenineteenyearsIhavebeenonthisearth,Damasr,theGreatJewelintheDesert,wasthe
onlygreatcityIhaveknown.Itisabeaconforourkingdom;hometoourkinginthepalace
andourgodsintheGreatCitadel.ButIwasn’tgoingtogivethechildahistorylesson.
“Sitquietly.HowshallIeverstartthisstoryifallyoudoisinterruptmealways?”
Thechildpetulantlycrosseshisarms,butletsmegoon.
“Therewasaprincesswhowasveryspecial.Shewasprettyasthedayandhadeyes
thecolorofwater;shewasabeautysoveryrareinadesertsoverybarren.
76
“Withallherbeauty,thekingandthequeenteasedthatperhapsoneofthegods
wouldfallinlovewiththeirdaughter.Theyshouldhaveguardedtheirwordsmore
carefully,fortheaffectionsofagoddonotalwaysendwell.
“Butastheyhadspokenit,itwasonlyamatteroftimebeforeoneofthegodstook
noticeofher.”
“Thisisn’talovestory,isit?”
Hemakesafaceasmostyoungboysdo,butalookfrommesilenceshim.Thechild
coughsonceandwhenhesettles,Icontinue.
“Onedaywhentheprincesswasinhergarden,waitingforthefirststarofthenight
toappear,sheheardthesoundofstepsbehindher.Whensheturnedtoseewhothe
footstepsbelongedto,sheyelpedinsurprise.ItwasTaris,theeldestchildoftheMoonand
theSun.
“Hespokeofhowhehadalwaysseentheprincessgazinguponhim,andhadfallen
inlovewithher.Theprincesslaughedatthisandtoldhimthatifshehadevergazedata
god,shewouldhaveremembered.
“ButTarisonlyshookhisheadandexplained.Whenhewasborn,hisfatherthe
MoonandhismothertheSunhadmadehimthefirststarofthenight.Forhewastheirfirst
child.”
Thechild’ssinglecoughturnsintoacoughingfit.Iquicklyringfortheonlyservant
weareallowed,askinghertobringhimaglassofkaichijuice.Theservanthesitates.
“ButMiss—”
77
“Justbringit,”Isnap,asItrytoeasesomeofthechild’scoughing.Itisworryingme,
thefrequencyofthesefits.Thedoctorhadnotmentionedanythingaboutkaichijuice,butI
knewfrommymotherthatitwasgentleenoughtoeaseachild’scough.
“Go,on”
NowIhesitate.Butthechildlooksatmewithpleadingeyes,andItellmyself:only
untilhedrinksthejuice,thenIwillputhimtobedandwewillfinishthestorywhenhe
wakes.
“Andsotheprincessnowdidhaveagodwhohadfalleninlovewithherandshe
withhim.Everynightasthefirststarappeared,sowouldTaris,andtheywouldspendthe
nightspeakingofmanythings.”
“Whattypeofthings?”
“Thethingsfastfriendstalkabout.”Butbythewayhesquintsatmesuspiciously,I
knowhedoesn’tbelieveme.Itrytofrown,butIcan’tseemto.
“Beforedawn,Tariswouldhavetoleaveforhiscelestialpalaceandsotheprincess
sleptthroughallthedays.Butastheirtimetogethergrew,Tarisnoticedhowthedawnwas
latetocomeandthenightwouldcontinueon.
“Atfirsthethoughtitwasonlytheficklenessofhissisters,whoweretheDawn,
Night,andDay,buthesawhowitkepthislovefromgrowingwearyandbegantosuspect
thathissistershadfoundhimout.Soonedawn,whenhereturnedtothepalaceheshared
withhisfamily,hesoughtouthisyoungersisters.”
Theservantnowstandsatthethresholdoftheroom,trayinhand.Imotionforher
toenterandIpickuptheglassfromthetray,handingittothechild.Whilehiscoughhas
78
dieddown,Istillmakehimdrinkthejuicefortheraspithasleftinhisvoice.Between
gulps,heasksaquestion.
“WhyweretherenosetpathsfortheDawn,Day,andNight?”
“Becausetheyaregoddesses,myPrince,theyhadnoreasontobecontained”
Iwatchashegulpsdowntherestofthejuiceandhandsbacktheglassempty.Iget
uptoputtheglassonatable,andthenmovetoclosetheshadestokeepsomeofthedesert
heatout.Thisroomsitshighinthepalace,andsomyviewfromthewindowisunmarred
bythepalacewalls.DownbelowIspythecitymarket,normallybreathingincolourthis
timeofdaybecauseoftheshade,butnowtheloomingshadowsonlyspeakofbereavement
andthemarketisquietandabandoned.Astraydoglimpsdownawalkwayandnudgesthe
stillformofapersonlyingintheshade.
Ipursemylipsandmorefirmlyclosetheshades,asifdoingsowouldhelpdispelthe
scenefromdownbelow.Ishallhavetohavesomeonebringsomethingtocoverthis
window,IthinkasIturnaroundandthechildcallsout.
“Youcan’tgoyet!”
Thismakesmesmile,soIsitontheedgeofhisbedandsmooththecurlsfromhis
forehead.“Alas,myPrince.Itakeordersfromyourfather,andwhatwouldhesayifyou
becomesoverytired?”
“Hewouldn’tknow,andIwouldn’ttell!Pleasefinishthestory,Ihavetoknowitall.”
Heasksasallchildrendo,andIthoughtitwasbecausehedidn’twanttosleep,but
whenIlookintohiseyes,Iknowthechildwell.Isigh,Ican’tleavehimnowknowingthat
hewillnotbenotcontentinhissleep,it’senoughformetostay.SoIleanbackagainstthe
pillowandthechildleanshisheadonmyarm,handsclutchingthebangleIwear.
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“Tariswentinsearchofhissisters.Hewasafraidthatiftheyknew,perhapshis
parentswouldtoo,andeveryoneknowshowjealoustheSunandMoongetwhensomeone
elselovesoneoftheirchildren.Hefoundhissistersinthepavilion,andtheyrejoicedwhen
theysawhim.Thesisterswerealwaystogether,buttheirolderbrotherwasnotalways
withthem.Sowhenevertheycouldallbetogether,theywerealwaysveryhappy.
“Theeldestofhissisters---Tera,BringeroftheDawn---greetedhimfirst,asking
whathadbroughttheirbrothertotheirpavilion.Odessa,DaughteroftheNight,askedfora
presentasshewastheyoungestofhissisters.WhileSaiba,QueenoftheDay,askedhim
abouthislove.
“Thismadehimsolemn,asnowheknewthathissistershadfiguredoutwherehe
wasgoingeverynight.TeraandOdessabothsaidthattheyhadmadeDawnlaterandNight
longerforhimsothathecouldspendthemosttimewithhisloveandSaibaspokeofhow
shewasverycuriousastowhatlovewaslikesinceneitherofthesistershadeverfeltit.
“SoTaristoldhissistershowlovewasthegreatestjoyhehadeverfelt;forallthe
centuriesthathehadlived,hecouldn’thaveunderstooditanybetterthanhedidnow.He
describeditascloudspartingoverasky,lettingsunlightshineononeofthefewtruethings
ofthisworld.Hesaidtheprincess’seyesshowedhimwhattheworldwaslikewithoutthe
knowledgeofcenturiestotarnishitandthathecouldfeelwhatherheartfeltbyjust
lookingintothem.Hespokeofhowherhandsmovedasshetalkedaboutthethingsthat
marveledher,suchahumantraittoabeingwhohadlivedcenturies.Hesaidhecouldnot
imaginelifewithouther.
“Hissistersweresoenchantedbyhisdevotionandhewassomuchcaughtintrying
toputwordsforhisnewunderstanding,thattheyhadnotseentheirfathertheMoonsneak
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intotheirpavilion.AstheMoonLordhidandlistenedtohisson,hisjealousygrewatthe
thoughtofamortalgirlwhowasabletoensnarehischild’sheart.Hestormedfromhis
hidingplacetowherehischildrenhadgathered.
“Hetoldhissonthathecouldnotloveamortal,forhecouldnotleavethesky,but
Tariswouldhearnoneofitandhissistersdefendedhim.EspeciallySaiba,wholovedher
brotherverymuchandcherishedhishappiness.
“TheMoonLord,whowasnowenragedathischildren’srebellion,calledforhiswife
theSun.ShehadbeenshininguponDamasrwhensheheardthecallfromherhusbandand
sheabruptlyleftandplungedthecityintodarkness.
“Whenshearrivedtothepavilion,sheaskedherhusbandwhatwaswrongandashe
explainedtoherwhattheirsonwasfeeling,herunderstandinggrew;shewasnotasjealous
astheMoon,butshewasconcernedforherson’sheart.ShetoldTarisofhowficklethe
mortalswere,butevenassheexplained,hersonremainedadamant.
“SotheSunandtheMoondidtheonlythingtheycouldtopreventtheirsonfrom
goingtotheprincess.Theycasthimintotheskyandboundhimtohisplaceinthestars,
whereheshouldremainuntiltheprincess’sdeath.”
“ButIthoughtthattheyweregods?HowcouldtheybindTaristothesky?
Mymotherhadtoldmethatthelovetheyfeltfortheirsonwasenoughforhimtobe
boundtothesky,butIgavethechildadifferentanswer,“TheSunandMoontogetherare
verypowerful,myPrince.Intimesofdespairwhydoyouthinkwepray?”
Helooksaway,andIcanseethatheislostinthought.Perhapshewillfeelbetter
afterthisstory.
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“Aftertheyhadboundhimtothesky,theSunreturnedtoDamasrandsunlight
floodedthecity,andtheMoonreturnedtothepalace,readyinghimselfforhisascent.But
thesistersremainedinthepavilion,shakenbywhattheyhadseen.
“Theyhadn’tknownanylovebesidesthatwhichwastheirfamilialdevotion,and
seeingtheirbrotherfightforhislovehadmovedthem.Saibadecidedthattheremustbe
somethingtoeasetheirbrother’sexile,andsothesistersdecidedonsomethingtogether.
“TheyrememberedhowlovinglyTarishadspokenoftheprincess’shand,heart,and
eyesanddecidedthattheywouldgoandfetchthesefortheirbrother.”
“Butwouldn’tthatkillher?”
“Ah,veryclever,myPrince.Thesegoddesseshadspenttheirwholeliveslivingin
theheavensthattheydidnotunderstandhumansayings.
“SofirstwentTera,tocollectthehandoftheprincess.Whentheprincesswasinher
gardenwatchingforthefirststar,sheheardafootstepbehindher.Thinkingthatitwasher
love,sheturnedandsawthatitwasinsteadTera,BringeroftheDawn.Teraexplainedto
theprincesswhathadhappenedtoTarisandwhentheprincesssaidshewoulddo
anythingforhim,Teraaskedforherlefthand.
“Confused,theprincessheldoutherhandandTeracutitoff.Nowthatshehadthe
handoftheprincess,shereturnedswiftlytotheskysothatshecouldgivehergifttoher
brother.However,whenTarissawwhathissisterhadbroughthim,hefelltohiskneesand
askedTerawhyshetooktheprincess’shand;Teratoldhimitwasbecausehesaidhehad
wantedherhand,forhecouldnotlivewithouther.Taris,wholovedhissisterenoughto
forgiveher,realizedwhathissistersweredoingandbeggedTeratomakesureOdessaand
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Saibawouldn’tmakethesamemistake.Aslongashislovewasalive,hewouldbearhis
punishment.
“Butitwastoolate.
“Odessacamealmostasswiftlyasheroldersister;shehadbeendelayedbecause
whentheprincesswasfoundwithonehandmissing,herguardhadbeenincreasedand
Odessahadtoputthemallunderasleepingspell.Onceshewasthere,sheblindedthe
princess,takingherblue-watereyeswithherbacktotheheavens.
“Shepresentedtheeyestoherbrother,whobegantoshedtears.Hewasboundto
hisprisonandwasnotabletogotohislove’said.HebeggedhissisterstogoafterSaiba,
whohadyettocome.ButinDamasr,Saibawasalreadyfacingtheprincess.
“Shecouldnottakeataintedheartbacktoherolderbrother.Sosheapproachedto
wheretheblinded,andonehandedprincessnowlayinherbedandaskediftheprincess
stilllovedherbrotherdespitealloftheshortcomingsfacingher.
“Theprincess,despitehersuffering,saidshelovedTarisverymuchandherheart
wasstillfilledwithlove.SoSaibaplacedahandovertheprincess’sheartanddrewitout
fromherchest.Theprincessnowlaystillonherbed.
“TherewasthenagreatflashoflightandwhenSaibaranouttotheprincess’s
garden,heartcradledbetweenherpalms,shecouldnotseethefirststarinthesky.Nor
couldsheseetheSunortheMoon,forSaibacouldalwaysseeallthreeintheskyregardless
ofthetimeofday.
“Instead,herbrother---nowfreed---andtwosisterscamefromheavenstothe
gardenshewasstandingin.Thesistersallgazedattheheart,butTarisonlysparedita
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glancebeforerushingintotheprincess’sbedroom.Whenhesawtheprincesslyingstillon
herbed,hefelltohiskneesandwept.
“HebeggedSaibatoreturnherheart,butheknewthatitwoulddonogood;when
youremoveahumanheart,thereisnowaytoreturnit.Hewouldhavestayedtherewith
hisloveinhisarmsforalleternityhadhissistersnotheardthefootstepsofapproaching
guards.
“Theyquicklygatheredhimanddraggedhimbacktotheirheavenlypavilion,but
beforeheleft,hetooktheprincess’sheartfromSaibaandchangeditintoafloweringtree
intheprincess’sgarden.Noweverynightasthefirststarwouldemerge,thetreewould
bloominbeautifulblueflowers,thesamecolourastheprincess’seyes.”
“Iknowthattree!I’veseenonelikeitinthegarden!”
Icastaglancedownatthechild;Ihadnotknowntherewassuchatreeinthe
palace.Perhapsheissimplyimaginingitasmostchildrendo.Hehasbeensoenrapturedby
thetale,andIsocaughtupintellingit,thatneitherofusnoticedthedarknessoutside.The
sunhadjustbegundippingunderthehorizonwhenIhadstartedthestory,andIwould
havetoenditverysoon.
“Tarisandhissistershadfledtothepavilion,thinkingthatthey’dbesafeinthe
sanctuaryoftheirheavenlypalace,buttheyhadnotaccountedfortheking.
“Whenthekingfoundhisdaughterlyingdeadinherroom,hefellintoaterrible
grief.HemarchedtotheGreatCitadelwherehekneltinfrontoftheshrinetotheSun
goddessandaskedthatthosewhohaddonethistohisdaughterbebroughttojustice.
“TheSunheardhisrequestandknewthatshewaspowerlesstoargueagainst;so
shewenttowhereherchildrenwereintheirpavilion.Tarisknewhecouldneverforgive
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hissistersforwhatthey’ddonetotheprincess,eveniftheyhadn’tknownwhattheywere
doingthemselves.Sohestoodandblamedhissistersforthedeathoftheprincess.Forit
wastheywhohadtakenherlife.
“Thesistersturnedtotheirolderbrotheraghast,fortheycouldnotfathomwhy
theirlovingbrotherwouldturnsocold.Theytoldtheirmotherthattheyhadonlywanted
tomaketheirbrotherhappyagain;Saibasaidthatshehadtakentheprincess’sheart
becausetheirbrotherwantedit.
“Bynowtheirfather,theMoon,hadalsocomeandbothparentsonlylookedateach
othersadly;theydidnotwanttopunishtheirchildren,fortheycouldn’tthinkofleaving
them,buttheywereswornbythelawsthatgovernedtheirnature.Nowthatthekingasked
thisoftheSunevenshecouldnotbelenienttowardsherchildrenlestshetestthefaithof
themortalswhichtheythrivedon.
“SotheSunandtheMoonthoughtofanotherwaytobewiththeirchildren,evenin
theirpunishment.
“Fromthatdayforth,Tarisandhissistersweretobebanishedfromtheirpavilion,
boundtofollowasetpathwhilelivingamongmortals.Thisiswhythenightandthemoon
arealwaystogether,andthedawnandthesunarethesame.However,thedaycouldsee
neither,asthemoonhadalreadysetandthesunhadalreadyrisen.SowhileSaibawas
saddenedattheideaofseeingneitherparentinperson,shewashappythathersistersat
leastcouldseethemboth.
“NowtheonlysiblingwhosepathhadnotyetbeensetwasTaris’becausehisplace
amidthestarswasconstant.Bothfatherandmothercouldnotpunishhimanymorefor
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thatandbecauseofallthelosshehadfaced.SoitwasdecidedthatTariswouldsimplybe
banishedtoliveamongmortalsandriseeverynightasthefirststar.
“Theirpunishmentwassettled.
“Thesisterslookedattheirparents;theywerebetrayedbytheirbrotherand
banishedbytheirparents,butnoneofthemhadanymoretosay.Tarislookedcrestfallenly
athisfamily,hetoohadnothingmoretosaytoanyofthem.
“Andsothefirststar,theDawn,theDay,andtheNightwerecastfromtheirpavilion
inthesky.
“Thereafter,thenightsworeon,butdawnwasalwaysquickonitsfeettoreplaceit
andsoonafter,daywouldcomeaswell.Themoonandsunwouldbothriseandset
followingthispatternandthefirststarwasalwaysconstantinthesky.Thiswashowthe
centuriespassedoverDamasr,watchingthecitygrowandexpand,thefoursiblingsalways
followingtheirpathsintoeternity.”
“Thatstorydidn’thaveahappyending.”
IshiftfromwhereI’mleaningback,sothatIamfacingthechild,“You’reright,my
Prince,butnotallstorieshavehappyendings.”
Thisseemstosomberthechild,whichIwasn’thopingtodo.
“Thegodscannotbecontrolledincertainaspects,butifaskedfortherightthing,
theyhavenochoicebutobey.TheSunhadbowedtotheking’sprayerbecauseshewas
boundtoshowjusticeinthelight.Inthesameway,soareherchildren.Allgoodbeginnings
areprayedforduringdawnandallgoodendingsareprayedforduringnight,buthopeis
prayedforduringtheday.”
Iwatchthechildmullthisoverbeforeheasks:
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“SoifIwastoaskSaibaforawish,wouldshegrantmyrequest?”
Ismile,“Well,IwasneveranovitiateattheGreatCitadel,butIsupposeifitwasthe
rightwish,shewould.”
Igetupoffthebedandbegindimminghislamp.AsIdoso,hebeginstocoughbut
thenisquicklysettled.Ipulltheblanketupandkisshisforeheadsincehisownmotheris
notheretodoitforhim.Asmallchild,onewitheyesglassywithfeverandnowhopetoo.
AsIwalktowardsthedoorway,Ihearhimwhisperingmurmuredwords.
Prayers,Ithink,andperhapsevenawish.
87
TheTroublewithShortStories
byEliHancock
Afterwhatfeltlikeages,FelixcollapsedintohisfavoriteblackleatherLaZboy.It
hadbeenanotherenervatingdayattheoffice.Thedailycommuteinfromhishometownof
LosAlamostothecityeverydaywastakingitstoll.Hisheadbegantoslowlypoundashe
rememberedtheday’sconsumingtasks.Afterrecountingthenumerousdaysfilledendless
stressfulmeetingswithbigtimeinvestors,membersoftheadvertisingdepartment,andthe
financecommittee.
Iforonecompletelyunderstandwherehe’scomingfrom;Imean,who
doesn’thatecrankyinvestors.Youknow,Ishouldprobablyintroduce
myselfbutthatwouldgiveawaymyidentityandinthemodernworld,
identityiseverything.
Suddenly,thehappymemoriesofhischildhoodflashedbeforehismind.He
reminiscedaboutthecountlessgamesoffootballheandhisbrothersplayedwiththe
neighbors,spendingtheholidayswithhisfamily,andhisaspirationsofbeingawriterwith
greatjoy.
“Beingawriter,”hethought,“everythingwassohappybackthen,thefuturewas
openandbright.”
88
Hegotupfromthereclinerandwalkedovertohisoldworkdesk.Hehadn’tused
thedeskforyears;dustcoveredeverything.Heslowlybrushedthedustfromthesurfaceof
themajesticwoodenmasterpiece.Ithadbeensolongsincehehadusedhisoldwriting
desk--15yearstobeexact.Afloodofmemoriesinvadedhismind.Ashestoodtherelooking
attheolddesk,thepastflewbyhimlikeablur.Asthestreamofmemoriesslowlybattered
downhismorecautiousandconservednature,hecrumbledandgavein.
“Ijustcan’tdealwithallthestress,”hethought,“AfterAll,amanshouldbeableto
choosewherehewantstogoinlife;IalreadyhaveallthemoneyIcouldpossiblywant.”
Heambledovertothetalldarkoakcabinetinthecornerofthestudyandgrabbed
hisfavoriteclipboardandastackofblankpaper.Theyfeltsosmoothandslenderinhis
hands.Afterstaringattheblankpiecesofpaperontheclipboardforwhatfeltlikeages,he
begantowritefeverishly.
Asheconcentratedandponderedoverwhattheplotofhisstory
wouldbe,Inoticedthebeadsofsweatformingonhisface.Whileithasbeen
quitesometimesincehiswritingendeavorsbegan,Istillremembertheplot
asclearlyasIdidthen.Thestorybeganwithacrime--I’vefoundthatmost
storiesbeginthisway,soitwasnosurprisetome.
“HowshouldIstartthis?”hethought.
Hebeganwith“Itwasadarkandstormynight…”
89
IwasdisappointedwithFelix.Imean,honestly,foraguywho
graduatedfromStanfordandhadanexecutivepositionataFortune500
company,thebesthecouldmusterwas“Itwasadarkandstormynight…”
That’sjustpitiful.
“No,no,no,”Felixmuttered.“Thatwouldneverdo.
Hequicklyerasedthatandstartedanew.Hedecidedtowriteaboutsomethinghe
hadlovedandbeenfascinatedbysincehischildhood--acrimestory.Hepickedupthe
pencilagainandbegananew.
YoucanhavecompletefaithandtrustinmethatwhenIsaythatthe
followingtranscriptisaccurateandverbatimitreallyis.Justtrustme,thisis
whatheactuallywrote,Iknowquitewell.Hisstoryreadslikethefollowing:
TheheadlinesofFoxNews,CNN,CBS,andtherestofthenewsmediawere
screamingabouttheheist.Enovation,thenewleaderinspacetechnologyhadbeenrobbed
oftheplanstotheirnewestandhighlyheraldedrocket.Therocketwassaidtobeableto
travelfasterthanthespeedoflight,thefirstofitskind.However,whentheCEOwentinto
thecompanyvaulttoreviewtheplanshewasmortifiedtofindthedoorwideopenandthe
plansanywherebutthere.
90
Onceagain,thisdidnotsurprisemeatall;atthispoint,Felixwasfollowing
whatIbelieveisthe“classic”crimestoryplot.Buthey,you’vegottogiveitto
him;it’shisfirstgoaround.
Anyway,asIwassaying,theentireworldwasrockedbythecrime.“Hadthe
Russiansstolenit?”somespeculated.OthersbelievedthatitwastheChineseortheNorth
Koreans.Themajorityofpeople,however,believedthatithadbeenaninsidejob.The
securitystaffimmediatelyplacedallcurrentandformerexecutivesandmanagersunder
strictsurveillance,notincludingthemuchmaligned,formerCEOofEnovation,Frederick
Wagner.HehadbeenoustedasCEObyinvestorsandhisownboardbecauseof
questionablebusinessdealsandfallingrevenues.Therehadbeenwidespreadrumorsthat
hehadbeenembezzlingcorporatefunds,butthiswasneverpursuedbythecompany.
Ultimately,theserumorswerecorrectandhehadbeenfunnelingcorporatemoneyintoa
privatebankingaccountinHongKong.Afterbeingaccusedofthemurderofalocalbanker,
hehaddisappearedseveralyearsago.
IthoughtthiswascleverandsomewhatofaclassicmovefromFelix.Imean
there'sadisgruntledemployeewhogoesrogue,missingcompanyplans,and
widespreadpublicoutcry;it’salltoogood.
Anyway,Idigress.Aftertheratherincompetentsecuritystaffhadreviewedthe
camerafootagetheyhadfoundnousefulinformationthere.Frustrated,concernedoverthe
91
fateofthecompany’sfuture,anddesiringacapableteamofinvestigators,theboardof
EnovationdecidedtohireoutthemuchlaudedPinkertonDetectiveAgency.
Atthispoint,muchtomydismay,Felixdecidedthatitwastimeforabreak.After
lookingupfromhispaper,herealizedhowfasttheeveninghadpassed.Hereachedbackto
scratchthebackofhishead.
I’venoticedthroughoutmyworkthathairissomethingthattheaverage
personpayslittleattentiontounlessithasbeendyedorsomething.
“Wow!”Felixthought.“ThatwasactuallyoneofthemostenjoyablethingsthatI’ve
everdone.”
Yet,assoonasthatmomentofgleeandblisshadcome,itwasgone.
“Whatifmywritingturnsouttobehorrible?”hethought.“MaybeIshouldgointo
theofficetomorrow,”headded.
Afterheavingaheavysighofexhaustandfrustration,heputthedraftofthestoryinthetop
drawerofhisoldwritingdesk,turnedoffthelight,andwentupthestairstogotobed.
“It’salwayssomucheasierinthemovies,”hegriped.“IfIreallywanttobecomea
writerandbesuccessful,it’snotgoingtohappenovernight;maybeDadwasright,I’mjust
notcutoutforthat‘writingnonsense.’”
92
Asheclimbed,eachstepbroughtaboutanewmemoryofhischildhood.He
rememberedfightingwithhisdadincollegeoverwhathewouldmajorin.Hecouldalmost
heartherageinhisfather’svoice.Herememberedthepainandhurtthathehadfeltthat
night;hehadfeltsostupidforeverwantingtobeawriter.Hevividlyrememberedallthe
gamesoffootballandsoccerthatheandhisbrothersplayedwiththeneighborhoodkids.
“Nowtheyallhave‘fancycareers’justlikeme.Wenevertalkanymore,”hesighed.
IthadbeenseveralmonthssinceFelixhadeventouchedthestory.Hehadbeenso
caughtupwithmeetingsandallthedaytodaytasksofbeinganexecutive.Yet,afterthe
newsbrokethatthecurrentCEOhadbeenoustedbecauseofpoorsalesanddeclining
revenue,Felixsuddenlyflashedbacktohisstory.Heleftworkearlyandrushedhometo
workonhisstory.Ashesatdownandstartedwriting,thewordsseemedtoflowfromhis
pencillikearagingriver.
Hepickedrightupwherethestoryhadlastleftoff.SoonaftertakingtheEnovation
case,thePinkertonsdevotedalltheiravailableagentstowardsfindingtheculprit.Thecase
wasunderthesupervisionofthePinkerton’stopagent--amansolaidback,andcraftythat
hehadsinglehandedlyuncoveredtheFIFAcorruptionscandalin2015.ThatmanwasJose
GarciaMartinez.Hestartedbyreviewingthesceneofthecrimeandthesecurityfootage
onemoretime.HenoticedthattheSecuritystaffhadoverlookedthelastportionoftape
93
whichshowedamanenteringthevaultandgrabbingthesecretsbeforeblowingupthe
door.
Atthispoint,IwasveryimpressedbyJose.Afterall,ifhehadnotlookedover
thefilmasecondtime,theymayhaveneverbewheretheyaretodaywiththe
case.IlikethismovebyFelix;it’snotverycommontohaveaminorityplaya
leadingroleinastorylikethis,it'saverygoodmoveinmyhumbleopinion.
Afterseveralattempts,hewasabletogetaroughpictureofthesuspectfromthe
video.However,hewasextremelysurprisedtodiscoverthatafterrunningthroughfacial
recognition,therewasnorecordofthisindividual.Afterconsultingwiththeheadofthe
agency,Josedecidedtotakemattersintohisownhands.Hemetsecretlywiththenewly
appointedCEOtogooverallformercompanyexecutives.Aftermeetingforseveralhours,
hehaddeterminedthatthesuspectwas“morelikelythannot”theformerCEO,Frederick
Wagner.Inordertoverifythishypothesis,Josehadoneofhisagents
runthephototakenfromthevideosurveillancethroughTSAtoseeifFrederickhad
bookedanyflightsunderafalsealias.
WhatcameasnosurprisetothecoolandcalmJosewasshockingtotherestofthe
Pinkertonstaff.Eventhoughhehadbeenpresumeddeadforquitesometime,Frederick
hadbookedaflightunderthealiasofRichardKopiany.
94
Atthistime,Iwouldliketopointoutthat“RichardorFrederickifyoulike
thatbetter,hadbeenlivingonChristmasIslandinsecretforquitesometime.
Personally,IlikeChristmasIsland;itremindsmealotofwhereIgrewup,
surroundedbywater.
Anyhow,Idigress.Afterrealizingthathewasdealingwithamanwhomostlikely
hadtiestotheblackmarketandwasmostlikelyarmedanddangerous,Josenotifiedthe
headofthePinkertonAgencytoinformallagentstobeonthelookoutforFrederick
Wagner.HeranFrederick’saliasthroughtheagency’scomputerwhichdeterminedthathe
hadrentedahouseoutinLosAlamos,whichisrightoutsidethecity.
Atfirst,IthoughtitwasprettystrangethatFelixwouldhavethevillainlivein
thesametownthathedoes.Imeanitcanbereallydisastrousandpainfulif
somepeoplegetcharactersconfusedinastory.
Afterthinkinglongandhardaboutit,Josedecidedtogoandmakearaidonthe
rentalhousethatFrederickwasstayingin.Beforeheleft,JosewasinformedthattheIntel
Departmenthadfoundsomephotosoftheinsideoftherentalhouse.Theseincluded
photosofthelargewoodendesk,filingcabinet,cornercabinet,sofa,recliner,television,
bedrooms,etc.Josewasespeciallyinterestedinthefilingcabinetandthedesk;he
calculatedthatthedocumentswouldlikelybeineitherone.
95
Afterdrivingthroughwhatfeltlikehoursofeveningtraffic,Josefinallyreachedthe
rentalhouseinLosAlamos.Hewassurprisedtofindthefrontdoorajar.
Withasuddenstart,thelandlineinthekitchenbeganringingloudly.Felixdropped
hispencilandjumpedinhisreclinerinsurprise.Hestoodthere,lookingoutintooblivion
whilethephonescreamedathimtopickup.
“Thatcanwait.”Felixthought.“Ican’tlosemytrainofthoughtnow.”
“Beinganauthorrequirespatienceanddedication,notjust30minutesone
afternoon,”hesaidasherememberedthewordsofhishighschoolEnglishteacher.
Personally,Icouldn’tagreemorewithhim.Ifanauthorlosestheirtrainof
thought,thestorycanlosesomeofitstouch.That’sthethingwithshort
stories--peoplethinkthatthey’resoeasy,butthey’renot.Trustme,Iwould
know.
“Hemusthavebeeninahurrytoenterorleave,”Josethought.“Iwonderwhat’sreally
goingonhereafterall?”
Heslowlyenteredthroughthefrontdoorandcreptupthesteps.Believingthatboth
thefilingcabinetanddeskwouldbeinsomesortofofficeroomupstairs,hemadea
thoroughsweepoftheupstairs.Hefoundtheofficewiththefilingcabinetopenandempty.
Hedeterminedthatthedocumentmustbeinthedownstairssomewhere.Hecreptthrough
thehallwaysuntilhenoticedalightcomingfromacrackeddoorattheendofthelast
96
hallway.Heslowlyadvancedalongtheshadowscastbythesettingsundownthehallway.
Withhisgunoutandhissensesextremelyalertheslowlyandquietlyenteredtheroom.
Theroomwaswideandseemedtobecircularwithalargewallinthemiddle.He
carefullyscouredtheroomandfoundthedesk.Hefoundthatithadbutonelargetop
drawer,whichhefoundtobeunlocked.Thinkingthattheplanswereinside,heopenedit
slowly;muchtohisdismay,therewerenopapers.Heslowlyadvancedaroundthecurved
wallandtohissurprisehesawamansittinginareclinerwithhisbacktohim.Theman
seemedtobewritinginlittlebitsandmutteringtohimselfeverynowandthenabout
something.FromwhatJosecouldtell,themanseemedtomatchthedescriptionof
Frederick.Josemadesurethathisgunwasloadedandready.Slowly,inchbyinch,hecrept
forwardtowardstheunsuspectingmansittinginthechair.Whenthegunwasbutmere
inchesfromhishead,themanbegantoturnaround.
Felixturnedaroundtoseewhatwasbotheringhisback.Yethesoonrealizedthat
therewassomethingmoreseriousthandryscalpbotheringthebackofhisheadtoday.
Iwasjustassurprisedashewas.ButlikeIwarnedearlier,itcanbereally
disastrousandpainfulifsomepeoplegetcharactersconfusedinastory.Why
Imightevengosofarastosayitcanevenbyquitedeadlysometime.
Ashemovedpastthebody,Josenoticedthepaper’slyingonthefloor.Ashereached
downtopickupthepapersthathadfallenontothefloor,Josefeltthatsomethingpowerful
97
washappening.Hereadthefirstlineoutloud.“TheheadlinesofFoxNews,CNN,CBS,and
therestofthenewsmediawerescreamingabouttheheist.”Theonlysoundsthatcouldbe
heardcomingfromthehousewerethethudofthegunhittingthefloorandtherufflingof
papersslowlyfallinglikeleavesonanautumn’sday.
98
DetectiveJohnson
byTylerYoungberg
DerrickSullystudiedhisreflectioninthemirror,craninghisnecktoinspectevery
partofhisface.Dissatisfied,herakedthecombthroughhishaironelasttimeandrewashed
hisfaceforgoodmeasure.Hisblacksuitlookedsharp,completewithasolidredtiethat
waseversoslightlyoff-center.Derrickadjusteditwithcare.Glancingathiswatch,he
jumpedatthetime.Theinterviewwastostartinfifteenminutes!
DerrickrushedoutoftheMcDonald’srestroomandlefttherestaurantthathehad
workedatforthelastdecade.Hescannedtheparkinglotinsearchofasleek,newly-bought
Cadillac.Derrick’shurriedshufflepickedupintoasprintashelocatedthecaronthefar
sideofthelot.Withoutwastingamoment,hepickeduphisricketybikethatlaybesidethe
Cadillacandpedaledoutoftheparkinglot.Thewindblewhisneatlycombedhairintoa
jumbledmessandmudspatteredalloverthebaseofthesuit.Derrickcursedatthemess.
Afteranotherglanceathiswatch,hebegantopedalinapanic.Doingthemath,he
reluctantlyacceptedthathehadtomakeuptimebytakingacutthroughonastreetthathe
hadsuccessfullyavoidedforyears.Hewasgoingtohavetobikethroughthemuchdreaded
HortonStreet.
HortonStreetwasactuallywell-likedbymostpeople.Itwasabeautifuldrivefullof
vibrantlandscapes,apristinegolfcourse,andmilliondollarhomes.Therewasalively
atmosphereabouttheplacethatbroughtapeacetoallitsvisitorsandinhabitants.But
Derrickdidn’tfeelthepeace.Hestaredstraightahead,hiseyesfocusedonthegreysmog
thatenvelopedthedistantcity.Hedidn’tthinkaboutthesurroundinglandscapethathe
usedtocallhis.Hedidn’tthinkaboutthehourshehadspentonthegolfcourseandhis
99
memorablehole-in-one.Hedidn’teventhinkaboutthemillion-dollarmansionat147
HortonStreetthathehadonceowned.
Therustybikescreechedtoahaltoutsideofafiftystorybuildingintheheartofthe
city.Derrickstoweditbehindabushanddriedhissweatyfaceonthesleeveofhismuddy
suit.Hepattedhishairdown,smoothedouthissuit,andmarchedconfidentlyintothe
building,preciselyontime.Hehadlaidlowlongenough.
*****
ItwastwodaysaftertheinterviewandDerrickcouldhardlybelievehisears.
“…outsidemyofficeat8:30a.m.sharptomorrow.”
Derrick’snewemployerhungup.Hesankontothepavementinrelief.Hegotthe
job!Andhehadn’tbeenrecognized!Hehungupthepublictelephoneanddidahappy
danceinfrontofsomeraisedeyebrows.Thiswasthemostalivehehadfeltsincetwelve
yearsagowhenhehadescapedthemaxsecurityprison.
*****
Thestoneclocktowerrangeighttimes.Atitsbase,Derrickthrewoffaragged
blanketanddustedoffhisbrandnewgreysuitandbluetie.Itwastimetowork.
Derrickarrivedatthetallbuildingandlocatedtheelevator.Heclosedhiseyes,took
adeepbreath,andgingerlypushedthebuttonforfloor43.Helistenedtothehumofthe
elevatorandsurveyedtheinterior.Asmileflashedacrosshisface.Ithadbeenalongtime
sincehehadriddeninthiselevator.
Ding!Theelevatordoorsslidopen.Derrickwalkedforwardcautiously,avoidingeye
contact.Hesteppeduptothereceptiondeskandsmiledattheladybehindit.
“Hello.IsthereanythingIcanhelpyouwith?”
100
“Hi.I’mDerrickSully,thenewguy.Canyoutellmewheretheboss’officeisat?”
“Oh,heisrightdownthehall,lastdooronyourright.”
Derrickthankedherandmarcheddownthehall.Theboss’officewasstillinthe
sameplaceafterallthistime.Heknockedonthedoor.
“Comein.”
Derrickenteredhisoldoffice.Tohissurprise,theinteriorhadn’tchangedmuch.The
stoolthatDerrickhadboughttwenty-fiveyearsagostillsatinthecornerandsomeofhis
favoritebooksstilllinedthewalls.Hisoldmahoganydeskstillremainedbuthadbeen
relocatedtoinfrontofthewindow.Butthemostglaringdifferencewaswhatwasonthe
desk.Thegoldennameplatenowhadtenshinyblacklettersinsteadofthepropereleven.
Derrickwasdeterminedtogetbackwhatheoncehad.
“WelcomeDerrick.”TimStevens,Derrick’sboss,smiledathim.
Timwasinhismid-fortieswithshort,blackhair.Hehadkind,greeneyesanda
brilliantsmile.
“Thankyou,sir.”
“Yourofficeisthisway.”Mr.StevensgotupandwalkedDerrickdownthehall.His
officewassixdoorsdownfromMr.Stevens’.Derricksteppedinside.
“Thisiswhereyouwillworkfromninetofiveeveryday.Thisisyourinbox,”Mr.
Stevenspointedatawoodenboxbythedoor,“youaretocheckiteachmorningandreview
anynewcrimes…”
Derrickbarelylistened.Heknewtheroutine.Hesatdownatthedeskandnoddedin
Mr.Stevens’directionashepointedandexplaineddifferentthingsaroundtheoffice.
101
“…andyouknowwheretofindmeifyouhaveanyquestions.”Mr.Stevensfinished
hislengthyexplanation.
“Thatsoundsgreat.”Derrickgavehimanemptysmile.
“Itbetterbe.Worksstartsinfiveminutes.”Mr.Stevenstappedtheclockandsmiled
ashelefttheoffice.
Fiveminuteslater,thefirstpaperspiledin.Hewasdeterminedtobethebestpolice
detectiveintheworld.
Andhewas.Derrickworkedhardandwasalwaysontask.Hewasthefastestand
mostefficientpolicedetectiveanyonehadevermet.ItseemedasifDerrickhadbeendoing
thisforyears.
*****
Fivemonthslater,TimStevensanxiouslybithisnailsandtappedhisfoot
throughouttheentire43floorelevatorclimb.Hehadreceivedatip-offearlierthatmorning
thatformer-detectiveSeanJohnsonwasinthearea.DetectiveJohnsonhadescapedfrom
prisontwelveyearsagoandhadnotbeenseensincethen.Hehadbeenarrestedforthe
murderofhiswifeandtheironlychild.
Ding!ThedoorsslidopenandTimStevenslefttheelevator.Heenteredhisoffice
andsatanxiouslyathisdesk.SeanJohnsonwasinthearea!Itwasadisturbingthought.
TimknewhowbigofathreatDetectiveJohnsonwastohim.Hewasn’tgoingtofeelsafe
untilJohnsonwasbackbehindbars.Ordead.TimhadgivenDerrickthetaskofgathering
alloftheresearchaboutJohnson’spotentialwhereabouts.
Tenhourslater,Timwasanxiouslypacingbackandforthacrossthefloor.He
glancedathiswatchforthetenthtimeinthepastthreeminutes.Itwas7:04pm.Timhad
102
expectedDerricktoshowupfourminutesago.Derrickalwayscheckedinbeforeheleftat
7:00pmsharp.Somethingwaswrong.
Timsighedandlefthisoffice.Hetraveledsixdoorsdownthehallandknocked
firmlyonthedoor.Therewasnoresponse.Timtwistedthedoorknob.
Derrickwasgone.Maybehehadforgottentocheckout.Maybehewasembarrassed
thathedidn’tcompletehisworkandleftinsecret.Maybehedecidedtoleavewhen
everyoneelsedid.Timdidn’tdaretothinkofanyotherpossibilities.
Heretreatedbacktohisoffice.Leavingthedoorajar,Timbegantopackup.
HopefullyDerrickwouldshowuptomorrow.
Click!Thedoorclosedshut.Timlookedup,startled.Derrickstoodinfrontofthe
closeddoor.
“Derrick!Imusthavemissedyou.Ididn’texpectyoutostaypastseven.”Timwas
veryrelievedtoseehim.
“Ihadtomakesurewewerealone.”Derrick’svoicewascold,dangerous.Thesmile
vanishedfromTim’sface.“I’mnotsurprisedyoudidn’trecognizeme.Afterall,it’sbeen
twentyyearssinceyoutriedtokillme.”
Timlookedathiminshock.Outsidethewindow,thecloudspartedandthesun
illuminatedDerrick’sface.Timcouldseetheresemblancenow.Howhadhenotnoticed
before?
“I’mquiteimpressedyoufoundme,DetectiveJohnson.”Tim’svoiceremainedcalm.
“IthoughtthatIhadcoveredmytracksquitewell.”
“Youweretheonethattoldmetoresearchthecase.Trackingpeopledownwasmy
jobforfourteenyearsbeforeyouframedme.”SeanJohnsonwhippedoutagunandpressed
103
themuzzleagainstTimStevens’back.“AndItraceditbacktothemanthatkilledmy
family.”
Timlaughednervously.“I’mdefinitelyfiringyou.”
“Goodluckwiththat.I’mturningyouinandclearingmyname.”Seanpulledouthis
walletandtossedhisfakeIDinthetrash.“DoyouknowhowmuchIhatethenameDerrick
Sully?”
104
Akilah
byMackenzieDeLoatch
“Mom,doIreallyhavetogo?”Idesperatelyaskedforthefifthtimeinthelastthirty
minutes.“TherearesomanymoreinterestingthingsIcouldbedoingonaSaturday.
Literallyanythingelsewouldbeabetteruseofmytimethanthis.”
“Akilah!”mymotherexclaimed.Inoticedhowsheusedmyfullnamelikeshedid
anytimeshewasmadatme.Sheglancedoveratmefromthedriver’sseatwithscrunched
upbrowsanddarkbrowneyesthatexpressedthemostdisappointmentI’dseenfromher
sinceI’dgottenaDinCalculuslastsemester.“Youhaven’tseenyourgrandmothersince
shemovedheresixmonthsago.Onevisitisn’tgoingtokillyou.”
“Idon’tknow,Mom.Itactuallymight.She’sprettymeanforanoldlady.Mostother
people’sgrandmothersbakethemcookiesandallthatstuff,youknow?Minejustcomplains
allthetime.”
Mymothersighed,hershouldersslumpingslightly.“Iknowthatshecanbealittle,
well,ornery.Butshemeanswell.”
“Yeah,right,”Imutteredundermybreath,knowingverywellthatmymomandher
bat-likeearswouldpickupmysarcasticwords.“Whycan’tyouatleastcomewithme?
She’syourmotherafterall.”
“Sheaskedtoseeyoualone.Andbesides,Isawherlastweek.Comeon,sweetie,I’m
askingyouforonehour.”Isighed,knowingthebattlewaslost.Insteadofresponding,I
leanedforwardandturnedupthevolumeontheradio,soakinginmylastmomentsof
freedombeforehavingtobeinthepresenceofpossiblythemostdisagreeablewomanon
theplanet.
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Wesatinsilencetherestofthecarride,andaswenearedtheSunnyHills
retirementhome,Ifeltallofmymusclesstarttotenseup.WhydidIhavetospendtimeina
placecalledSunnyHillsthatdidn’tevenhavehillsanywhere?That’snottomentionthefact
thattherewasnosunlighttobeseeneither.Thathadtobesomekindofomenwarningme
nottogo.
Aswepulleduptotheentrance,Igavemymomonelastpleadinglook.Iopenedmy
mouth,abouttoprotestonemoretime,butmymomcutmeoff.“Go,Akilah.”
“Mom,forthelasttime:it’sKiki.”
“Iknow,Iknow.Nowgo,Kiki.”
“Onehour,”Iremindedher.
“Onehour.”Withonelastwave,shedroveaway,leavingmeinfrontoftheSunny
Hillsentrance.
Iwipedmypalmsoffonmyjeansbeforeshufflinguptothedoorandwalkingin.I
brieflywonderedhowlongitwouldtakemetowalkhomefromhere,butIrealizedthatit
wouldtakeaneternitytowalkthatfar.SoIwasprettymuchstuckhereuntilmymom
cametopickmeup.Great.ThiswasjusthowIwantedtospendaSaturday.Icouldhave
beenoutwithmyfriendsatthemovies,butinsteadIwashere.WhatgreatluckIhave.
“Hi,sweetheart,”avoicecalledout.Ilookedup.No,itwasn’tmygrandmother.She
wasmorelikelytocriticizemyhairorclothesbeforecallingmeanaffectionatename.In
frontofmestoodawomanwholookedlikeshewasonlyaboutfiveyearsfromneedingto
checkintotheplaceherself.“CanIhelpyou?”
“Uh,yeah,”Iresponded.“I’mheretovisitmygrandmother,IsadoraWashington.”
106
“Areyouhergranddaughter?”Inodded,takingastepback,slightlywary.“Akilah,
right?”Okay,howdidthisladyknowwhoIwas?
“It’sKiki.”
“Mymistake.Anyway,you’reallIsadorahasbeentalkingaboutforthelastweek.”I
appreciatedthelie.“It’ssonicetofinallymeetyou.I’mJoyce.Whydon’twegetyou
checkedinandI’lltakeyouuptoseeher?”
“Soundsgood.”Afterfillingoutasimpleform,Joyceledmeupstairstothedoorof
oneoftherooms.Sheknockedlightlybeforeopeningthedoor.
“Hereyougo,sweetheart.”
“Thanks.”IdecidedthatIlikedher.ShewasthekindofwomanI’dwantmy
grandmothertobelike.InsteadIgotGrandmaIzzy.Speakingofthedevil,mygrandmother
madeherpresenceknownbywalkinguptothedoor.Surprisingly,herusualgrimacewas
missingfromherface.Shewasbynomeanssmiling,butshedefinitelywasnotinthesame
iratemoodshewasnormallyinaroundme.
“Hey,Grandma,”Isaid,tryingtogetoffontherightfoot.“What’sup?”
“‘What’sup?’”shereplied.Andthegrimacewasback.“‘What’sup?’Isthatanyway
tospeaktoanadult,especiallyoneyouhavenotseeninsolong?Whataretheyteaching
youinschoolthesedays?”Well,Itried.
“Isincerelyapologize,deargrandmotherofmine.Itrulyhopethatyouwillfinditin
yourhearttoforgiveme.Pleaseallowmetorephrasemyself.Howareyoudoingonthis
fineday,ma’am?”
107
LikeIhadexpected,shenarrowedhereyesandputherhandsonherwaist.That
washergo-tomovewhenshewantedsomeonetoknowshewasserious.“Idonot
appreciatethesarcasm,younglady,”GrandmaIzzyscolded.
“Sorry.Icouldn’thelpmyself.”Yes,Icould.
“Youareforgiven,Akilah,”shesighed,alreadyexasperatedwithme.“Now,please,
comein.”Iwalkedinherroomandshutthedoorbehindme,noticinghowbarrenitlooked,
butonlyonthesidethefarthestawayfromthedoor.Thereweretwobeds,soIfiguredthat
GrandmaIzzymusthavesharedherroomwithsomeoneelse.Onthenearsidewere
dozensofpicturesofwhatIassumedtobefriendsandfamily.GrandmaIzzy’sroomhad
none.Thatwasprobablybecausenobodyeverwantedtovisitherandbringherany
picturesofthem.Knowingher,she’dprobablyusethemfordarttargets.Movingovertoher
sideoftheroom,Iploppeddownontheedgeofherbedwhileshesatintherockingchair
inthecorner.Westayedsilentforagoodtwoorthreeminutes,bothofusstaringoffinto
space.
“YourmothertellsmeyoufailedCalculuslastsemester.”Herewego.
“Whoa,whoa,whoa.Ididn’tfailit.IgotaD.That’sastepupfromfailing.AndIgota
reallygreattutoracoupleofweeksago,somygrade’salreadygoingup.”
“Good,Iexpectnothinglessfrommyonlygranddaughter.”Well,maybeyoushould.
“Sobesidestellingyouaboutallofmyfailures,didMommentionanygoodthings
I’vedonesinceyoulastsawme?LikethatIgotintoamajorartcontest?IfIwantedto,I
couldgotothestatecompetition.Thewinnergetsfivethousanddollarsinscholarship
money.”
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“Yourmotherdidmentionthat,”GrandmaIzzysaid.“Ihadnotrealizedthatyou
wereinterestedinart,Akilah.”
“It’sKiki.AndI’veneveractuallyshownmyworktoanyonebesidesmyartteacher
atschool,soyouwouldn’thaveseenanyofit.”
“WhenIwastalkingtoyourmotheraboutit,shehadtoldmethatyouhadbeen
nominated,butyouwerenotplanningonparticipating.Whyisthat?”
“Idon’tknow.Allofthepeopleinthecompetitionareprobablypeoplewhohave
beendoingartforyearsandhavetakenlessonsandallthat.Ijustdoitinmyroomforfun.I
wouldn’tdogoodinit.”
“Well,”shesaid.
“Wellwhat?”
“Yousaidthatyouarenotgoingtodo‘good,’whenyoumeant‘well,’”shecorrected.
WasthatallshehadgottenfromwhatIhadjustsaid?GrandmaIzzywasthefirstandonly
personIhadtoldwhyIwasn’tenteringthecontest.Imean,Ididn’teventellmymom;Ihad
justgivenhersomerandomexcuseaboutnothavingenoughtimeforit.Itfiguredthatthe
onetimeIactuallyconfidedinmygrandmother,shejustshutmedownbecauseofsome
stupidgrammaticalerrorIhadmade.
“Isthatreallywhatyouhavetosaytomerightnow,”Isnapped.“Youknow,allyou
doiscriticizeotherpeopleoverandoveragain.Youdon’talwayshavetobesomeanand
cynical.That’sprobablywhynoonewantstovisityou.Maybeifyouwereactuallynice
someofthetime,peoplewouldactuallybeabletostandbeingaroundyouformorethan
fiveminutes!”Iregrettedthewordsassoonastheycameoutofmymouth.GrandmaIzzy
fellsilent,hereyesdriftingawayfrommineandfocusingonthecorneroftheroom.
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“I-I-I’msosorry,”Istammered.“Iswear,Ididn’tmeanit.I—”
“Yes,youdid,”sheinterrupted.“I’m87yearsold.I’velivedtoolongonthisplanetto
benaive.BelievemewhenIsaythatIamcompletelyawareofhowyoufeelaboutme.”I
remainedsilent.Itrulyhadn’tmeanttohurtmygrandmother’sfeelings.Sure,Iwastelling
thetruthabouthowIfelt,butIreallydidn’tneedtosayit.Thatwasoftenmyproblem.I
hadnofilterwhenitcametovoicingmyopinion.
Theuncomfortablesilenceintheroomwasdeafening.Shewasthefirsttobreakit.
“DoyouknowwhyI’msohardonyou?”sheasked.Ishookmyhead,lookingdown
atmyhandsfoldedinmylap.Iheardasigh,andthenaweightpresseddownonthebed
nexttome.IlookeduptoseeGrandmaIzzysittingthere.Iquicklyavertedmygazebackto
myhands.“You’reaverysmartyoungwoman,Akilah.Butyoudon’tpushyourself,so
sometimesyouneedalittlenudge.”
“Idopushmyself,”Iargued,brieflylookingbackupather.
“Really?”shechallenged.Inoddedprofusely.“Whyareyounotenteringthatart
contestagain?”
“Ialreadytoldyou.Iwon’tdowellinit.”
“Andhowdoyouknowthat?”
“Ijustdo,Grandma.Okay?”
“No,itisnotokay.”Now,Iwasgettingfrustrated.Whatrightdidshehavetotellme
whatisorisn’tokay?ItwasmylifeandIwasfreetohandleithoweverIwanted.
“Areyoubeingforrealrightnow?”Iasked,throwingmyhandsupintheairin
frustration.“Whydoyouevencare?It’snotabigdeal.It’sjustonecontest.Itdoesn’teven
matter.”
110
“WhydoIcare?I’myourgrandmother,Akilah.Ijustwantthebestforyou.Youhave
noideahowgreatyoucouldbeifyoujustappliedyourself.Sure,rightnowit’sjustone
contest,buthowmanythingsareyougoingtobackoutofbecauseyou’rescaredof
failure?”
Isighedloudlyandfoldedmyarmsacrossmychest,incrediblyannoyed.Ihadn’t
expectedGrandmaIzzytonoticemyirritation,butunfortunately,shedid.Shenarrowed
hereyesandcontinuedhertirade.“Youhavenoideahowmanyopportunitiesyouhave
surroundingyouthatsomanypeopledidn’thavewhenIwasgrowingup.”
“Okay,Iknowbut—”
“No,youdon’tknow,Akilah!”sheyelled,standinguptotoweroverme.Itwas
downrightscary.Iwasusedtomygrandmotherbeingangryalotbutshe’dneverstraight
upyelledatme.“Youhavenoidea!WhenIgrewup,nobodyhandedmeanything.Doyou
understandthat?Noartcontestseverfellintomylap.Nothingdid.Ihadtodoeverything
bymyself:gotocollege,getajob,makeanameformyself.AllofthatIhadtodowithno
helpfromanyone.Myentirelife,peoplehavebeentellingmethatIwouldneverbeableto
amounttoanything.ButIperseveredandImadeitthroughlikeyou’retoostubborntodo
now.”Shelookedbackatmeandmusthaveseentheexpressiononmyface.Shesighedand
satbackdownonthebed.
“Akilah,”shecontinued.Hervoicewasmuchsofterthanbefore.“Youhavesomany
peoplewhowanttohelpyou.Youhavealotofpotential,butyou’rewastingitbecause
you’rescared.IfIhadshiedawayfromeverythingthatscaredmeinlife,Iwouldneverhave
gonetocollege.Somanypeoplewerejustwaitingformetofail.Togiveup.ButIdidn’t.
Andyoushouldn’teither.”
111
GrandmaIzzytookadeepbreathasshefinishedhermonologue.Ihadneverfeltso
guiltyinmyentirelife.Ireallyhadbeenungrateful.Iknewthatmygrandmotherhad
grownupinacompletelydifferenttime.Whenshewasyoungandgrowingupinthe‘30s
and‘40s,everythingwasstillsegregated.Shegrewupinareallypoorfamilyandwenttoa
reallypoorschool.MymomhadtoldmestoriesthatabouthowharditwasforGrandma
Izzytogettocollege.Thecollegeshehadgonetohadjustbeguntointegratebythetime
shestartedgoingthere.Shewasoneofthefewblackpeopleinherschool,andshehadto
keepupwithwhitestudentswhohadhadsomanyresourcesgiventothemthroughout
theirentirelivestoaidtheirsuccesswhilemygrandmotherhadtoworknightanddayto
makesurethatherfamilywouldhavemoreopportunitiesthanshehad.Andnow,her
granddaughterwhohadbeengivenanamazingchancewasabouttogiveitupbecauseof
fear.
“Igetit.Ireallydo,”Isaid.“AndI’mreallysorryforwhatIsaidearlieraboutnoone
wantingtovisityou.IpromiseIdidn’tmeanit.”Shecockedoneeyebrow.“Okay,maybeI
meantitalittle,butIfeelreallybadaboutit.”
“IknowIcanbestrict,Akilah,butit’sonlybecauseIwantyoutorisetoallofthe
greatnessthatyoucan.Idon’twantanyonetohaveanexcusetothinklesserofyou.”
“Igetwhatyou’resaying,Grandma,”Isaid.AndIreallydid.OratleastIwasstarting
to.AfewminutesofsilencereignedbeforeIsaid,“Bytheway,canyoucallmeKiki?’
“WhyonEarthwouldIdothat,”sheaskedbewilderedly.
“It’sjustless...weirdthanAkilah.Akilah’ssuchanexoticsoundingname,youknow?’
“AndKikiisn’t?”
112
“PeopleusedtomakefunofmeforhavingthenameAkilah,”Isaid.“Probably
becauseit’ssoethnicsounding.”
GrandmaIzzyscrunchedhereyebrows,lookingalmostinfuriated,butnotatme.
“Youshouldneverbeembarrassedofyournamebecauseit’s‘ethnicsounding.’Doyou
knowwhyInamedyouAkilah?”
“Ididn’tevenknowyounamedme.Ihadjustassumedthatmyparentshaddone
that.”
“Akilahmeanswiseandbright.That’swhatIwantyoutobe.Yourmotherwantedto
nameyouLewa,whichmeanspretty.ButItoldherthatundernocircumstancescouldshe
dothat.Itismuchmoreimportanttobesmartthanpretty.”
“Whatever.Canwejust,Idon’tknow,startover?”Iasked.“IknowIwasn’texactly
actinglikeamodelcitizenearlierandIreallydon’tfeellikearguinganymore.”
ForthefirsttimethatIcouldrecall,mygrandmothersmiledatme.Beforethen,I
hadnoticedtheheavywrinklesetchedintoherdarkskin,butnow,Icouldseesomelaugh
linesplacedintermittentlyacrossherfaceaswell.Itwasnicetoknowthatdespite
everythingGrandmaIzzyhadgonethrough,shehadstillfoundtimeinherlifetosmileand
laugh.
“Ithinkafreshstartwouldindeedbegoodforus,Akilah.ButIdon’twantyouto
forgeteverythingwe’vetalkedaboutsofar.Ireallydothinkthatyoushouldconsider
enteringthatartcontest.”
“We’llsee.”
Wecontinuedtalking,butfocusedonmuchlightersubjectsthanwehadbeen
discussingbefore.ItseemedlikeIhadonlybeenthereforamatterofminuteswhenIgota
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textfrommymomsayingthatitwastimetoleave.GrandmaIzzywalkedmedownstairs
andrightuptothefrontdoorofSunnyHills.
“Itwasveryniceseeingyou,Akilah,”shesaid.“Youhavebecomeaveryrespectable
youngladyandItrustyouwilldomanygreatthingsinlife.”
Insteadofresponding,Iwrappedmyarmsaroundmygrandmotherinahug.She
tookastepback,surprised,butthenhuggedmeback.Shewasreallythin,anditfeltlikeI
couldalmostfeelherbonesthroughherdress.Despitethat,herhugwasstillfullof
warmth.Whenweletgo,InoticedthatGrandmaIzzy’seyesseemedbrighterthantheyhad
earlierthatday.
“I’llcomevisityouagainsoon,”Isaid.
“I’dlikethat,”GrandmaIzzyresponded,asmileonherfaceagain.
“Iloveyou,Grandma.”
“AndIloveyou,Akilah.”
Iturnedtoleavethebuildingandheadedouttothecar.Ibegrudginglyrealizedthat
Iwasgoingtohavetoadmitthatmymomwasright,likealways.Thatvisithadn’tbeenbad
atall.IwasbeginningtorealizethatGrandmaIzzydid,infact,meanwell.
Igotinthecarandrecountedtheafternoontomymom,noticingthebrightsmile
thatspreadacrossherfaceandhowsimilaritwastoGrandmaIzzy’s.Ishoulddomoreto
makehersmilelikethat.WedrovealongquietlyforalongpartoftheridehomeuntilI
brokethesilence.“Hey,Mom?”
“Yeah,baby?”
“Whydoesn’tGrandmaIzzyhaveanypicturesinherroom?”
Shetookawhiletoanswer.“Iguessweneverthoughttobringherany.”
114
“Oh.”Thesilenceresumedforafewminutes,andthenIasked,“Dowehaveany
picturesaroundthehouse?Likeofyou,me,Dad,andmaybeAuntGlendiaandherfamily?”
“Ofcoursewedo.Whatdoyouneedthemfor?”
“Iwasjustthinkingthatitmightbenicetoframesomeofthemandgivethemto
GrandmaIzzysoshecandecorateherroom.”Mymomdidn’trespond,soeventuallyI
lookedoverather.Shelookedlikeshewastryingtokeeptearsfromfallingfromhereyes.
“Mom,what’swrong?”Iasked,slightlypanicked.
“Nothing’swrong.I’mjustsoproudofyou.I’mreallyluckytohaveyouasa
daughter.”Iwasn’tsurewhatIhaddonethatwassospectacular,buthearingthosewords
frommymommademefeellikeIhadfinallydonesomethingright.
“Hey,Mom?”Sheglancedoveratme.“IthinkI’mgoingtoenterthatcontestafter
all.”
“Ithinkthat’sagreatidea,Kiki.”
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“CallmeAkilah.”
115
UpinFlames
ByMilanAbbi
ThedatewasJuly24,1943whenthebombsfirststarteddropping.Graduallyatfirst,
butastimewentonitintensified.Itwouldalwaysbeginwiththeeerieshriekofafar-off
warningsiren,signalingthearrivaloftheRAFdeathmachines,andthetorrentoffireand
deathwhichweresuretofollow.Mymotherwouldswiftlygrabmeandleadmeintothe
safetyofourbasementwherewewouldlay,envelopedindarkness.Shewouldnevervoice
herconcerns,orshowanyworryatall.Shewouldstrokemylonggoldenlocks,lookmein
theeyesandcalmlysaytome“eswirdbaldvorbeisein,Annemarie”or“itwillbeoversoon,
Annemarie”. I would bury my head into her chest as the distant pops of the bombshells
came closer and closer until they were deafening BOOM's. Then, just as they came, they
would fade slowly into the distance and we would be greeted by silence once more. We
wouldemergelikeprisonersfromacelloutintothelight,greetedbyamorbidscene.Fires
stretchedasfarastheeyecouldsee.Desperatefamilymemberswouldbetearingthrough
rubble, fruitlessly searching for any signs of their loved ones. The injured, covered in
horribleburns,werecarriedinstretchersbyfranticbystanders.Andtherewerethosethat
wouldsimplysitonwhatremainedoftheroadandjuststareatthechaosunfolding,unable
to absorb what had just happened. Thus was how life went on in Hamburg, Germany
towardstheendoftheSecondGreatWar.
The situation had not always been so desperate. Only a few years earlier, the
German people were incredibly hopeful. They were riding on a new wave of hope and
nationalismgeneratedbythearrivalofpassionateandeccentricleader.Tome,hewasthe
manwiththefunnymustache,buttoeveryoneelsehewasthekeytorestoringthecountry
116
to its former splendor. He promised to fix our ailing economy and restore the national
pridewhichwehadlostfollowingWorldWarI.HebecameChancellorin1933,onlythree
years after I was born. His name was Adolf Hitler, a name which will forever go down in
historyforallthewrongreasons,butwecouldneverhaveknownthat.
When Hitler started the invasions, my mother was the only one I knew who
questionedhim,somethingthatwasstrictlyforbidden.Inadiscussionwithmybrother,Uli,
andI,shesaid“Thisplanofhis,itwillresultinthedestructionofEurope.”MybrotherandI
satsilently,twiddlingourthumbsandeatingourcereal.Uliwas18atthetime,mucholder
thanme.At6'3,hewasthetallestinourwholefamily.Hehaddirtyblondehairwhichfell
likeamopoverhisforeheadandwassolongthatitevencoveredhiseyessometimes.The
differenceinagebetweenuswasabout7years,butwewerecloserthanmostsiblings.He
served as my greatest support. The conversation about Germany's future continued
between my mother and him, but I had no time to listen because I was getting late for
school.
IattendedGoethePrimarySchool,namedafterthefamousGermanpoetresponsible
for famous works like “Die Lieden des Jungen Werthers”. Frau Greta was my teacher. She
wasaslenderladywithbrightblondehairandpiercingblueeyes.Webeganeachdayby
promptlystandingupandraisingourhandsinthetypicalNazisalutetowardstheimposing
blackandredSwastikahungatthefrontoftheroom.FrauGretawasnewatthetime,just
replacingouroldteacherHerrSperrel.Onthefirstday,aboyinourclassasked“Aren’twe
supposedtodotheNazipledgebeforeclass?”Asweallgotuptodoit,however,hetook
down the Nazi flag from its flag-post on top of the blackboard. “Now sit back down and
117
neveraskmethatquestionagain”hesnappedangrily.Thenextday,theflagwasbackbut
HerrSperrelwasgone.
Ireallyenjoyedgoingtoschool.Thecreakyoldwoodendesksandthedustyfloors
broughtbackasenseofnostalgiaofthetimebeforetheNazisgainedpower.Oncetheydid,
schoolbegantopresentaninterestingparadoxinwhichwewouldlearnbutstayignorant.
TheNazis,afterall,createdthecurriculumtofittheirnationalistagenda.Inhistoryclass,
we were inundated by lessons emphasizing Germany's vital role in the world. In biology,
welearnedaboutgeneticpurityasifitwasanactualscience.
ThedayafterFrauGretafirstcametoourclassroom,weweretoldthatwewouldall
bestayingafter-schoolfora“funactivity”.Buzzingwithexcitement,weboundedoutofthe
schoolbuildingandoutontothetrack.Wequicklylearnedthat“fun”wasaverysubjective
term.The“activity”wasameetingoftheHitlerYouth,andeveryyouthbetweentheagesof
10and18wasrequiredtoattend.Twomuscularmen,bothdressedinfullNaziattirewent
tothefrontofthegroup.Theyseparatedusbygender;girlsremainedonthetrackandthe
boystrekkedouttotheothersideoftheschool.Onceseparated,welearnedhowtomarch
in formation and were forced through grueling physical exercises. In addition, we were
taught to be intensely suspicious of anybody and everybody, including our parents and
teachers. The Nazi soldier in charge of our group said “If you consider yourselves true
Nazis,youwilldoyourduty.”Hethenglaredatusandcontinued“Thosewhospeakillof
Hitler are speaking ill of Germany. You will report these traitors to me because it is the
honorablethingtodo.”Wewereexpectedtodoasweweretold,andtoneverdoubtwhat
our elders would tell us. Despite that, I had serious doubts as to whether I would ever
118
report my parents for anything they had said, but some of the others seemed ready to
surrenderthoseclosesttotheminexchangefortransientpraises.
When I got back from school that day, my mother was looking through a pile of
letter which had been brought to our door. I will never forget that unforgettable bloodcurdling cry which had come from our neighbor's house. We hurried over there to
investigate,andthat'swhenwesawmyneighbor,FrauGudrun,huddledonthegroundin
frontofherhouse,tearsstreamingdownherface,andaletterclutchedinheroutstretched
hand.Theenvelopeboretheswastika,markingNazicorrespondence.“They'retakinghim.
They're taking him!” she cried. My mother gently took the letter from her hand and I
peeredoverhershoulderasshesilentlyreadittoherself:
“DearFrauGudrun,
YoursonFriedrichBraunhasbeendraftedintotheNaziinfantry.Heisexpectedin
Berlin2weeksfromthedatemarkedabove.Histrainticketisattachedinsidetheenvelope.
Sincerely,
HeinrichHimmler
It was so strange to me that such a short combination of characters could
completelyalterthecourseofone'slife.Friedrichwasaskinnyandgangly21-year-oldwho
hadbeenfriendswithmybrothersincechildhood.Ineverreallyhadgottentoknowhimso
mygriefwaslimited.MymothertrieddesperatelytoconsolethegrievingFrauGudrunbut
itwastonoavail.Whocouldhaveknownthatonlytwoweekslater,mymotherwouldbe
theoneinneedofconsolation?
119
My mother had never been an overly religious woman. The most I had ever seen
fromherwastheoccasionalprayerbeforeameal.InthedaysafterFriedrichwasdrafted,
however, I saw her pray with a fervor that I had never seen before. It was totally out of
characterforher,butIknewthatshewasconcernedaboutmybrotherwhowasaboutthe
same age as Friedrich. Exactly two weeks after Friedrich received his letter, I saw an
envelopewiththemarkofdeathonitatourdoorstep.Mywholebodywentnumb,andI
couldn'tmakeasoundeventhoughIwantedtoscreamsoloudlythateventheAmericans
couldhearme.Mymotherwasjustwalkingupthesteps,herarmsfullofpapersfromthe
embassysheworkedat.ThesmilewaswipedfromherfaceassoonasshesawwhatIwas
staring at. Her face became a deathly white. She let go of all the papers in her hand, and
they went fluttering around aimlessly in the wind. I think that she had been mentally
preparingherselfforthatmoment,butnoamountofpreparationcanadequatelyprepare
youforthelossofyouronlyson.
The day that Uli left was heartbreaking. That morning, my mother looked like she
had cried so much that she had no tears left. Uli packed the bare essentials in a small
knapsackandbidusfarewell.Hehadneverbeenasupporteroftheinvasion,liketherestof
myfamily,buthewasalwaysforcedtokeephismouthshut.Iwasstillsoyoungatthetime.
ToonaivetounderstandthatImightneverseehimagain,andthathemightbelosttothe
ravages of war like countless others. My motherstepped forward “Stay safe, Uli. You’re a
strongyoungman.Wewillseeyousoon,”shesaidfirmly.Itwascleartomethatshemade
thatlaststatementtocomfortherself.Ulinoddedthenapproachedmewithashadowofa
smileonhisface.“Promisemethatyou’lltakecareofmomwhileI’mgone,”hesaid.Hesaw
howdistraughtIwas,sohekneeledinfrontofme,puttingonaslightsmile,andsaid“Don’t
120
worry about me one bit. I’ll be just fine. The Germans are the best fighting force in the
world you know! I’ll be home before you even know it.” After an endless torrent of tears
and goodbyes, Uli looked back at us before stepping out the front door for the very last
time.
My daily routine remained relatively unchanged for the first many months of the
war.Schoolduringtheday,“HitlerYouth”afterschool,andintheeveningsmymotherandI
wouldhuddlearoundtheradio.Thevoiceontheothersideoftheradiobroughtdailynews
ofdistantGermanvictories.ThenewsmademehopefulthatUliwouldcomebacktousone
day. We were only allowed to listen to the German public radio. BBC and other
broadcasters were strictly forbidden. I didn't quite understand the ideological struggles
underlying the war. I just knew that my brother was on the German side, and I could do
nothingmorethanhopethathewasoutofharm'sway.Thenewscomingfromtheradio
wasoverwhelminglypositive,paintingwhatIthoughtmightbeadistortedviewofthewar.
One day as we were listening to the radio, the gruff German voice on the other side said
“There was a surprise Japanese attack on the American military base at Pearl Harbor
yesterday.TheAmericanshavenowenteredthewar.”SoonafteritwastheRussians,and
soonafterthatthingswentfrombadtoworse.
Thebombingcameashugeshocktoallofus.Forsolong,wehadthoughtthatthe
tideofthewarwasshiftinginourfavor.ThefirstroundofBritishshellingdisillusionedus
to years of German propaganda. Mere months after the Americans joined the war, it
became clear to all of us that Hitler's sinister plot of world domination was being ripped
apartbeforehiseyes.Itwouldbeus,thegeneralpublic,however,thatwouldhavetopay
the greatest price. I had no idea whether my brother was still alive or not, but the odds
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werenotinourfavor.Astheenemyadvancedfromalldirections,Germancasualtieswere
mounting.OnenightatthedinnertableIaskedmymother“Doyouthinkthatwe’llseeUli
again?”Shelookedatmewithdefianceandreplied“Thereisnotadoubtinmymindthat
we’ll see him again.” Maybe she was just saying that to make me feel better, because she
didn’tlooktooconfident.
Soon after the shelling began, bombers would come in droves so large that they
would nearly block out the sun. The bombing episodes would intensify and intensify
furtheruntiltheybecameunbearable,butwewerefortunateenoughtolastthroughthem
in our basement. In the basement, my mother would play games with me to distract me
from the terrifying reality that our country was under attack. We had a lone lightbulb
which hung from the ceiling of the basement, which we would use to play cards on the
woodentable.“Hah,Igotfoursix’sIwin!”sheteasinglytoldme.“Fine!Onemoregame.”
We would continue like this until the anti-aircraft gunfire ended and the sirens became
silent,signalingthatitwassafetocomeoutsideagain.
One week after the bombing began, my mother and I had stopped by the grocery
store. The market shelves were wiped clean as a general sense of panic and hysteria
gripped the public. Going up to the shopkeeper, she asked “Any bread?” “Maybe I have
some more in the back but I’ll have to go check,” he replied before running into the
storeroom.IlookedthroughtheshelvestoseewhatIwouldbeabletofind.Therewasthe
occasionalcanofsouporbratwurst,buttheshelveshadpracticallybeenwipedclean.As
webeganscrapingtogetherwhateverwecouldfromthemarketshelves,thesirensbegan
toblare.“Come,Annemarie!”mymotheryelledasshegrabbedmeandranoutofthestore.
Once out on the street, we saw a mass of people running towards a bomb shelter only a
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block away from the supermarket. “Run, run!” people were yelling as they frantically
sprintedtowardstheshelterasfastastheycould.Oncewegotthere,mymotherclutched
my wrist so tightly that I was afraid of losing circulation. She didn’t want us to get
separatedinthemassofbodies,packedlikesardinesinthedarkconfinesoftheshelter.All
ofusheldourcollectivebreathsasifthebomberswouldn’tseeusifweweresilent.Luckily
the bombs hadn't fallen near the shelter. We rushed home as fast as we could, but what
greeteduswassomethingthatwecouldnothavebeenpreparedfor.
Ourhousehadsufferedadirecthit.Firehadguttedtheinsideofourhouse,leaving
only the charred remains of the walls, the foundation, and the basement. Countless
childhood memories and mementos were destroyed, never to be replaced. Our own
personal safe haven had been leveled. My mother and I stood in front of what was our
housewithgapingmouths.“Bloodyhell,”mymotherwhisperedtoherself.Weranintothe
stillsmolderingpileofashtoseewhat,ifanything,couldberecovered.Wefoundsomeold
picturesinbrokenframes,likeoneofmygrandparentsandoneofUliwhenhewasababy.
“Annemarie,lookatwhatIfound!”Mymotherwasproudlyholdingapictureofthesceneat
thehospitalwhenIwasjustborn.Thesidesofthepictureweresinged,butitwasintact.My
mother’ssmileinthewakethedevastationwaspriceless.“Whatnow?”Iaskedinnocently.
“Well,yourAuntyOlgalivesinBerlin.I’msureshe’lltakeus.”Wetookthoseinabagand
trekkedtowardsthetrainstation,intendingtotakethenexttraintoBerlin.
Ihadalwaysheardsuchgreatthingsaboutthecapitol.MyfriendMadilivedthere
beforethewarstarted.“OhBerlinwassoneatandorganized.Themonumentsthereareso
cooltoo!Iwishthatwewerebackthere,”shewouldsullenlysaywheneveranyoneasked
heraboutthecity.MymotherandIhadvisitedacoupleoftimes,butitwasnotasgreatas
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peoplemadeitouttobe.Thepeopletherewererudeandunpleasant,andtherewaslittle
tonoscenery.Instead,everywhereyoulookedonewouldseegovernmentofficesandother
concrete structures. I hadn’t heard anything about it since the war began, but I was sure
thatitcouldn’tbeanyworsethanHamburg.
The train stations were crowded, as people from Hamburg tried desperately to
escapethecity,buttheGermanarmywastheretoensureorder.Thejourneywascrowded
andunpleasant,butweweregoingtoaplacewhichwethoughtwouldbesaferandbetter
fortified.WearrivedinBerlinandfoundourAunt'shousewithinonlyhoursofreaching.It
was a picturesque little one-story white house where my Aunt lived with her husband
Ulrecht. “Annemarie! Oh my you’ve grown so tall, look at you!” my Aunt exclaimed when
shesawme.Theyhadplentyofrations,andkeptassuringusthatBerlinwasthesafestcity
in the entire country, and that the allied powers would never break through the
fortifications.Duringdinnerthatnight,wethankedthemendlesslyfortheirgenerosityand
theirwillingnesstohelpus.Stayingattheirhouseremindedmeofthedaysbeforethewar,
beforeUlileft,whenthingsweresimpler.
My Aunt Olga worked as a secretary and my Uncle Ulrecht worked in an arms
processingplantinthedowntownarea.Theywerebothgoneduringtheentiretyoftheday,
buttheycamebackeverynightbubblingwithenergy.Therewasalmostnothingtodoin
thecity,butitwasgreatthatwedidn’thavetoworryabouttheconstantthreatofbombers.
Therewereextensivemilitaryfortificationsallaroundthecity.Justacasualwalkdownthe
sidewalk would reveal multiple groups of Nazi soldiers with imposing anti-aircraft guns
pointed anticipatorily towards the sky. “Do you know of a soldier named Uli Braun?” I
asked one of soldiers at a barrack outside of my Aunt’s house. He shook his head, but
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anothersoldierwhooverheardmyquestionimmediatelyperkedupandjumpedovertous.
“IknowasoldiernamedUliBraun!”heexclaimed.“Really?”Icriedoutexcitedly.“Yes,he
was in my battalion! He was one of the soldiers chosen to take part in the Russian
offensive.”Iwashorrified.ThetroopssenttoRussiahadbeenslaughtered.“Have-haveyou
heard any n-news about him since he r-reached?” I stuttered. “No, I’m sorry. Are you his
sister Annemarie?” “Yes, that’s me.” “Ah! He talked about you so much that I felt like I
alreadyknewyou.AndnowthatI’vemetyou,you’reexactlylikehedescribedyou,”hesaid
with a hint of sadness. I felt horrible, but the soldier’s words had simply reinforced
somethingwhichIhadalreadysilentlyaccepted,thatUliwasdead.
It was early in the morning of August 21, 1943 when the sirens first signaled the
arrival of allied warplanes. The residents of Berlin had been living in a bubble of safety
whichhadfinallybeenpopped.Itwassuchashocktomethatwhenthesirensfirststarted,
I thought that it was a mistake. It had been more than a month since we had arrived at
Berlin,andIhadneverfeltsafer,butsuddenlythatfeelingofsafetywasrudelyrippedaway
from me by those warning sirens. Just as in Hamburg, we crawled into the basement
waitingforthebombstocease,buttheydidn'tforhours.Myauntandunclewerenothome
atthetime.TheyhadalwaysbeenproudaboutBerlin'srelativesafety,sotheylivedalife
uninhibitedbythewar.“AreauntyOlgaanduncleUlrechtgoingtobealright?”Iaskedmy
mother.Icouldn’tseeherinthepitchdarknessofthebasement,butIcouldfaintlymake
out her silhouette. “Of course they will, there are bomb shelters all over the city,” she
replied.Whenthesirensfinallybecamesilent,westumbledourwayupthestairsandout
thedoor.Wewentoutsidetoobservethedamage,andtomycompleteshock,Berlinwason
fire.
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MymotherandIstoodinthemiddleofallthedeathanddestructionsurroundingus.
IwantedtorunasfarawayasIcould,butmylegswerestucktothegroundasiftheyhad
beengluedthereforeternity.Mymotherclaspedmyhandandforcedmeoutofmytrance,
wakingmeuptotheuglyreality.Chaoswasunfurlingbeforeoureyes;Berlinwasfallingto
itsknees.Atthattime,weheardtheroarofasecondwaveofbombersapproaching.The
sirensnolongerscreeched;eventheyhadbeendestroyedinthefirstwaveofbombing.The
silence was even more eerie. “Run!” shouted my mother. We sprinted together down the
cracked sidewalk, avoiding random pieces of rubble and the occasional lifeless body
sprawled across the road. Just as the bombers were becoming visible from across the
blood-red horizon, and the popping of the anti-aircraft guns began, we came across a
soldier.Hishairwasdisheveled,cutscoveredmostofhisface,andhewassportingalong
beardwhichobscuredhismouth.BeforeIcouldevenreact,heliftedmeupintohisarms.
“Annemarie” he said in that soft voice which I knew so well. My mother stood there in
disbelief. “Uli?” I whispered incredulously before the comforting darkness enveloped me
andImeltedintohiswarmembrace.
126
Strangers
BySanHoBae
Whenheawoke,thenighthadalreadyfallen.Palemoonlightwasfilteringsoftly
throughthetalltrees,andacoldwindhadbeguntosetin.Groggily,themansatupand
lookedaroundforafewminutes.Hehadn’tmeanttofallasleep.
Helookedattheboywhowassleepingonthefarsideoftheclearing.Afterafew
moments,hestumbledtohisfeetandcoveredhimwithhisjacketbeforeworkingtostarta
fire.Whenhefinished,hesatdownwithhisbackonatree,andhelookedovertotheboy
againfromacrossthefire.Hehadnoideawhotheboywasorwherehisparentswere,and
sofar,theboyhadshownnointentionoftellinghim,orevenspeakingtohim,forthat
matter.Theboyhadn’tsaidasinglethingtohimsincethetimehefoundhim.Lettingouta
deepbreath,themantuckedhishoodieoverhiseyes,crossedhisarms,andnoddedoff.
***
Whenhewokeupagain,birdswerechirpingandtheforestwasbustlingwith
activity.Thefirewasdead,thecoldmorningairwasalittlechilly,andthechildwasstill
asleeponapileofleaves.Heleanedovertodigthroughhisbackpacktopulloutabreakfast
barandatesittingdownbeforewalkingoffintothewoodstourinate.Whenhereturnedto
theclearing,theboywasawake.
“Hi,”themansaid.
Themangotnoresponse.Theboyjuststaredback,studyinghimfromacrosstheclearing.
“Youhungry?”Themanheldoutabreakfastbar.Theboylookedatthebar,thenat
theman,andponderedhard,decidingwhetherornottotrustanoldguyinaforest.After
127
anawkwardsilence,theboynoddedhisheadinreply.Hewalkedoverslowlyandstarted
eating.Themansatonalogafewmetersawayandstudiedtheboy.
Theboylooked16or17andhadcurly,brownhair,hazeleyes,andfreckles.His
handsandclotheswerecoveredwithdirt,andhewaseatingwitheager.Hemusthavebeen
inthewoodsforacoupleofdays,themanthoughttohimself.
“Thanks.”Theboymumbledshyly.
Itwasthefirsttimethemanheardtheboy’svoice.andhewasalittlesurprised.It
wassofterthanwhatheexpected.Themandidn’treply,buthesmiledashewatchedthe
boyfinisheating.Theboywasbeginningopeningupalittle.
“Whatwereyoudoinginthewoodsbyyourself?”Heasked.Theboyjustshrugged
andstudiedtheforestfloor.
“Areyoufromtown?”
Theboynodded.Howthehelldidhegetallthewayouthere,themanthoughtto
himself.Townwaslongwaysdrivedownthemountainside--acoupleofhoursatleast,and
amuchlongerwalk.
“You’reprettyfarfromhome.”
“Yeah,Iguessso.”
“Youknowhowtogetback?”
Themandidn’tgetareply,sohejustlookedattheboyandthoughtforalittlewhile.
Then,hestartedtopackhisthingsintohisbackpack.
“Myplaceisalittlewaysupthemountain.YoucancleanupthereandI’lldriveya
downtotown.Thatsoundgood?”
128
Theboystudiedtheman’sgrizzlyfaceandnoddedslowly.Hehaddecidedtotrust
theman.Heheldoutthejacketthatthemanhadcoveredhimwiththenightbefore.
“Youcankeepit.”
Themanfinishedpackinghisthings,andslunghisbackpackoverhisshoulder.The
boyputonthejacket.Itwasalittlebigforhim,buthewasthankfulforitswarmth.The
manstartedtotrudgedowntheforestpath,rubbinghishands,andtheboyfollowed.
***
Theforestpathwasbeatenandworn,anditwindedthroughtheforestlikeasnake
upthemountainside.Ittookthemacoupleofhoursforthetwotomaketheirwayupthe
trailanditwasalreadynoonwhenthemanandtheboyreachedaclearingwithahouseat
theendofthetrail.Theboystoppedtorestforawhileandtookintheview.
The house was made of brown logs and looked a decent size: one story high and
aboutthesizeofthree18-wheelerssittingsidebyside.Therewasashedwithalargepile
offirewoodtotherightofwheretheloghousestood,andalarge,whitepick-uptruckwas
parkedonadirtdrivewaytotheleft.Thesceneseemedveryhomely.
“There’sashowerinside.I’llgetsomewoodforafire.”Themanwalkedofftowards
the shed. The boy was surprised at the blind trust the man showed him. He watched the
man walk for a few seconds, then looked up at the sky. The sky had become grey with
clouds during their hike up the forest trail, and the air had become very chilly. The boy
madehiswaytothedoorandtriedthehandle.Thedoorwasunlocked,sotheboywalked
in.
Thehousewascold,buttheinteriorwasnicerthanwhathewasexpecting.Thedoor
ledtoalonghallwayleadingdownthemiddleofthehouse,andanopeningledtoaliving
129
roomontheimmediateleft.Therewasafireplaceontheleftsideofthelivingroom,anold
couchbythewall,andatablewithtwochairsinthemiddle.Akitchenconnectedwiththe
livingroomonthefarwall.Theboywalkedthroughthelivingroomandintothekitchen,
takingineverything.Thehousewasalittlebareexceptforfurniture.
Theboywalkedoutofthekitchendoortofindhimselfattheendofthehallway,and
foundthebathroomontheothersideofthehouse.Hemadesuretolockthedoor,stepped
intotheshower,andturnedthehotwateron.
***
Whentheboysteppedoutoftheshower,afreshsetofclotheswaswaitingforhim
infrontofthebathroomdoor,andafirewasalreadygoinginthelivingroom,warmingup
thehouse.Themanwascookingsoupinthekitchen.Outside,ahardandfastrainstormhad
begun,darkeningtheforest.
“I probably can’t drive you down today. I’d drive us off the side of the road.” The
mansaidwithoutlookingupfromhissoup.
“That’sokay.”Theboysaid.
The boy sat quietly for a few minutes while the man continued to cook. The rain
patteredawayoutsideasthedaybecamedark.
“Thanksforhelpingme.”Theboysaid.
“Don’t mention it.” The man turned off the gas burner and filled two bowls with
soup.Hewalkedovertothetablebythefireandgavetheboyabowl.Theybothbeganto
eat.
“Whatwereyoudoingintheforest?”Themancarefullyasked.
130
Therewasapause.Theboylookeddownatthepotatoesinhissoup,thinkingwhile
chasingonearoundwithhisspoon.Thenhecaughtitandateit.
“Ranawayfromhome.”Theboyfinallysaid.Helookeduptoseetheman’sreaction,
butthemanjustsippedhissoupwhilelookingathim.
“Why’dyoudothat?”
Theboyrelaxed,beginningtowarmuptotheman,andherepliedwithlesspause.
“Can’tstandmydad.”
“What’dhedo?”
“Well…”Theboysatforawhile,collectinghiswords.“Eversincemymomdiedlast
year,he’sjustbeenanalcoholicdrunk.”
“Hm,”themanmusedwhilelookingovertheboy’sface.“Soyou’reangry?”
“Iguessso.Iusuallyfighthimalot.”
“Whatwereyouplanningondoingafterrunningawayfromhome?”
“Dunno.”
Themanfinishedhissoupandtookthebowltothesink.Theboycontinuedtochase
thevegetablesinhissoup.Whenthemanreturnedtothetable,theboyspokefirst.
“You’reOldManMarkright?”
“That’smyname,yeah.How’dyouknow?”
“Peopleintowntalkaboutyousometimes.Thedoctorthatlefttownawhilebackto
livebyhimselfupinthemountains.Theysayyouonlycomedownonceamonthforfood
andtostealawaynaughtykids.”
“Isthatwhattheysay?”Themanwasamused.
131
“Yeah,likeanevilSantahaha.Butwhy’dyouquitbeingadoctor?Theymakealotof
money.”
“I had my reasons.” The man said softly as he moved his gaze to look out of the
window.
Therainwascontinuingtopourdownoutside,andthemangotupfromthetable
andwalkedofftoreturnwithabookandapairofreadingglasses.
“You can make yourself comfortable in the bedroom over there.” The man said,
pointingwithhiseyestothebedroomacrossthehallway.“That’swhereyou’llbesleeping.”
Themansatdownbythefireasifhewasdonetalking,sotheboywenttoexplore
thebedroom.Itwassimple,withanightstand,awindow,andabedwithbluecovers.The
boyshookthedustoffofthebedandfloppeddown,lookingattheceiling.Whentheman
cameinafewminuteslatertoofferhimabook,theboywasfastasleep.
***
Thefollowingmorning,theskywasclear,andthewarm,morningsunwasshining
lightlythroughthespacesinthetrees.Whentheboyawoke,thehousewasempty,sohe
wentoutside.Hespottedthemanstandingattheedgeoftheclearingandbeganwalking
towardshim.Hestopped,however,whenhesawthatthemanwasstandinginfrontofa
woodencrossplantedintheground.Themanlookedbackandmotionedhimcloser.
“Whoisthis?”Theboyaskedawkwardly,notsurewhattodointhesituation.
“Mywife.”Themanreplied.
“Howdidshedie?”
“Caraccident.Alongtimeago.”
“I’msorry.”
132
The boy stood quietly while the man stood at the foot of the grave. The man
squatted down to pull back weeds that were growing onto the grave, and the boy joined
him.
“YouaskedmewhyIleft.”
“Yeahbutyoudon’thavetoanswer.”Theboyrepliedquickly,tryingtoberespectful.
Themanlookedattheboyandsmiledathiscompassion.
“I ran away like you did.” The man looked back at the grave. “What’s the point of
beingadoctorifyoucan’tsaveyourownwife.”
The boy studied the man in a new light as the man continued to weed the grave.
Everything about the man seemed completely different. The man’s slow and aged
movements, even his gaze that was once full of mystery, now seemed to hold a deep
sadness.
“Doyoumissher?”Theboyasked.
“There’snothinglikelosingalovedone.”Themansighed,thenhelookedattheboy
andsmiledasoftsmile.
“Ifyoudon’twanttogohome,Icandriveyoutothenexttownover.”Themansaid.
Theboylookedatthegraveforafewmoments,andthenstudiedtheforestandall
ofitstrees.Hethoughtabouthismotherthathemissedsodearly,andhethoughtabouthis
father. Would he be worried and searching for me, or sitting at home hung over? He
wondered.Helookedbackattheman.Themanwaslookingdownatthegraveoncemore.
Theboyrealizedthattheywereallgoingthroughpain,justcopingindifferentways.
“Pleasetakemehome.”
Themansmiled.Theboyhaddecidedtotrytounderstandhisfather.
133
“Then let’s get going.” The man said. He headed towards his truck, and the boy
followed.
134
TheAccident
ByRhettDudley
Itwastobeasummerunlikeanyother.IwasaJuniorCounseloratmyfavorite
placeintheentireworld,YMCACampRoot.Ihadbeenacamperforthepasteight
summersandhadearnedmypositionasacounselorafterarigorousfour-weekCounselorin-Training(CIT)programthesummerbefore.Mycarwasfilledtothebrimwithcrazy
clothes,mattresspads,toomanytennisshoes,and,ofcourse,lotsofcandyforthe
upcomingsixweeks.IdroveupthewindingBlueRidgeParkwaysingingmyheartoutto
theFrozensoundtrack,notthetypicalmusicchoiceforahighschoolsenior.
EverytimeIarriveatcampmyjawdropsfromitsimmaculatebeauty.Thecampus
issituatedatoptheAppalachianMountainsinNorthCarolinaandoverlooksStone
Mountain.Onaclearday,youcanseeTennesseebycountingsevenmountainrangesoutin
thewestwarddirection.Icouldnotcontainmyexcitementfortheupcomingsummerand
childishlygiggledasIpulleduptomycabin,Comanche.Iparkedmycarandrantowards
myco-counselor,Meredith,whowastakenabackbymyforcefulhug.
“Sorry,”Icroakedwhilelaughing,“I’mjustalittleexcited.”
IttookmeovertwohourstounpackallofmythingsbutsomehowImanagedto
finish.MeredithandIdecoratedthecabinwithTaylorSwiftposters,upliftingquotations,
andsillyphotos.
OpeningDay:thecraziestdayofeveryweekatcamp.
“WelovetogotoRootbecauseit’ssomuchfun!”ThemobofRootstaffsungduring
ouropeningdayparadeforthecampersandtheirparentsoftheupcomingweek.
135
Thegatesopenedat2PMandcarsfilledwitheagerchildrenbeganstreamingin.
MyfirstcampertoarrivewasCece,an8-year-oldwithdarkhairandcaptivating
greeneyes.Igreetedherfamilywithahugegrinproclaiming,“Welcometocamp!!Weare
soexcitedfortheweek.”Thenexttwohoursproceededinasimilarfashion.Iwasbusy
meetingallofthegirlsandunpackingtheircumbersometrunksandsuitcases.By4PM,
MeredithandIhadall12ofourcampersandtheparentsweregone,notwithoutsorrowful
tearsaboutleavingtheir“babies”.
2
Twenty-foureyeslookedupatusaswewentoverthecabinrulesandexpectations
fortheweek.Icouldn’thelpbutsmileateachoneofmycampers;myheartwasalreadyso
fullbytheirpresence.
“Alrightsowho’sreadyforcookkouttt!!!”Ishoutedexcitedly“Dressaswacky-tacky
asyoucan!”
Thegirlsjumpedupfromtheirseatsinacircleandracedtotheirtrunks.Soon,the
cabinfloorlookedlikeawarzonewithclothes,shoes,andhairbrushesscattered
everywhere.Iputonmycatshirt,overalls,andapairofkiwisocksandtoppeditoffwith
twohighpigtails.OnceallthegirlsweredressedintheweirdestensembleofoutfitsIhad
everseen,weheadedtowardsthelawnbesidethedininghall.
TaylorSwiftwasblaringfromthespeakerswhenwearrived,andIimmediately
begantodanceandsing.Thelawnwasspottedwith25differentcircles,eachone
containingadifferentcabinofcampersandcounselors.IdancedwithHannahuntil
Comanchewascalledtoeatandwesprintedtogetinline.Mystomachwasscreamingfor
foodandIquicklyconsumedmyentireplate.
136
Afterthemealwasfinishedthecampdirectorscalledeveryonetogatheratthe
front.Wewatchedandlaughedasthefulltimestaffputonanextremelyhumorousskit
involvingtwonewscastersandaspy,anoddcompilation.
“Andtonight’seveningprogramis(drumrollplease)……….COUNSELORHUNT!”
announcedCaroline,oneoftheProgramDirectors.Allofcamproaredwithexcitementand
clappedtheirhands.
“What’sthat!”“Whatiscounselorhunt?!”“Howdoweplay?”Myfirst-yearcampers
pepperedmewithquestionsaboutthegame.
“You’llfindoutsoon!”Iansweredexcitedly“It’ssuperfun!”
Wegatheredourthingsandheadedbacktothecabin.Iquicklyputonaretainer,
intendingtoresembleDarlafromFindingNemo.Myporchmate,thecounselorfrom
Comanche’sadjoiningcabin,Annie,wasdressedinaflorescentorangeshirtandaNemo
hat.Onceeveryonewasready,ourtwocabinsracedtothegymtomeetwiththerestof
camp.
3
AnnieandIheadedbehindthegymwhere23othercounselorsincrazycostumes
werechatting.Onebyonewewalkedintothegymandpresentedourcharacters.Whenit
cametobeourturn,Annie
hoppedintoawhitegarbagebagandIdraggedherintothegyminanattempttomocka
goldfishinaplasticbag.
“I’mNemoandI’mworth300points.”ShoutedAnnieintothemicrophone.
137
“AndI’mDarlaandI’mworth500points!”Italkedwithalispbecauseofmyretainer
andcouldseemycampersinthecrowdgigglingatmysillyvoice.
AnnieandIracedoutofthegymandseparated,eachheadingtowardsourpre-
assignedhidingplacearoundcamp.Ijoggedtowardsthelandzip-line,towardsthebackof
camp,andtookaseatonthehardmulch.Throughoutthenexthour,cabins“found”meat
myhidingplaceandIawardedthemwith500pointseach.Towardstheendoftheallotted
timeforthegame,Isawmyowncabinracingtome.
“Wefoundyou,wefoundyou!”Theysquealedwithdelight.“We’vebeenlooking
everywhere,lookhowmanypointswehave!”Theythrusttheirpointcardstowardsmy
face.
“That’sawesome!!Goodjobgirls!”Irewardedthemwitha500-pointslipandthrew
inasurprise,asmostcounselorsdowhentheirowncabinfindsthem“I’llgiveyouextra
pointsifyoucannamefiveDisneymovies.”Theycompletedthistaskwithin3secondsand
Igraciouslyhandedthemextrapoints.IwatchedwithahugesmileasMeredithandour12
campersscurriedawaytofindmorecounselors.
Aftertheeveningprogramhadfinished,weheadedbacktoComancheforthenight.
Eachgirlhadtoshower,soMeredithexplainedhowtheorderwouldwork.
“Forshowerstonightwearegoingtogoinbunkorderfrom1to12.Makesurethat
ifyou’reupnextyouarealreadyinyourshowerandhaveyourshampooandconditioner.
Numbers1and2goaheadandgetintheshowerand3and4getready!Gogogo!!”Allof
thegirlsgotupandbeganshamelesslyundressingandgatheringtheirthings.
4
138
Showerscontinuedforanhourorsountilalltwelvegirlshadbathed,brushedtheir
teeth,andchangedintotheirPJ’s.DuringthistimeMeredithandIwereabletobondwith
thegirlsindividually.IwentoverandsatonCece’sbedandtalkedtoherabouther
brothersandhowsheloveddoinggymnastics.
Soon,severalothergirlsjoinedandfiveofuswerecrammedontoonebedlikeabunchof
sardines.WelaughedaboutthedayandIansweredquestionsaboutwhatwouldbe
happeningtomorrow,thefirstfulldayofcamp.
By10PMallofthegirlshadontheircolorfulPJ’sandweregettingintobed.
MeredithandIsungthemtheRootbedtimesongandweturnedoutthelights.Wewalked
aroundtoeachbunkandtoldthegirlsgoodnightandhowmuchwelovedthemalready.
Oncecamperswereasleep,counselorsweregivenspecialprivilegessuchasgoingto
thedininghalltogetfoodorhangingoutonporchwiththeirporch-matesandcocounselor.Onlyonecounselorwasallowedtobeoff-porchatatimeuntil12:30eachnight.
“IsitokayifItakefirstporch?”IaskedMeredith.
“Yeahsure!”Shereplied.
“OkayI’llbebackinanhoursoyoucango.”Ihoppedofftheporchandheaded
towardsthebackofcampwheretheBiltmorewas.TheBiltmorewasahugebuildingthat
housedtheeightoldestcabinsincamp.ThecampersintheBiltmoreweretypically13to
15yearsold.Mysister,Lucy,wasaCounselor-in-TrainingintheBiltmoreandIwantedto
gocheckuponher.
Iquietlystrolledacrosstheupperathleticfield,gazingatthebeautifulstarsasI
walked.I’veneverseenstarsasstunningastheyareatcamp,whereairpollutionhasnot
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preventedonefromseeingtheheaven’spurebeauty.Theairwascrispandaperfect
temperature.Campwascompletelysilentasmostcabinswerebeginningtowinddownand
gotobedforthenight.Ilookedoutandtheviewwasjustasmagnificentasitwaslooking
up.ThecitylightsinthevalleybelowweretwinklingandIcouldsee
5
exactlywhereeachtownwasbylookingforitsclusteroflights.Ibreatheddeeplytakingin
allthatwasaroundme.ThiswaswhyIdedicatedsixweeksofmysummertobeingacamp
counselor,forthesereneandtranquilnightslikethesewhereI’mnotworriedabouta
singlething.
IreachedLucy’scabinafterafewminutes;itwasaprettylongwalkacrosscamp.
Shecameouttomeetme.
“Howwasyourfirstday?Howareyourcampers?”Iinquired.
“Itwasgreat,butI’mexhausted;thisishardwork.I’mexcitedfortheweekandthe
activitiesIamassignedtoteach.Ihavekayakingfirstperiodandclimbing/zip-linethird.”
Shewhisperedback.
Wetalkedforafewmoreminutesuntilshehadtogobackintohercabin.Lucy
wasn’tanofficialcounseloryetanddidnothavetheprivilegesofporchtimeasIdid.She
wascompetingforacounselorspotamong40otherCounselors-In-TrainingasIhaddone
thesummerbefore.ThereisnodoubtinmymindthatLucywouldgetthejob;shewasone
ofthemostselflessandkindpeopleIknew.Lucyismyabsolutebestfriend;werarelyfight,
andwhenwedo,it’soverthemosttrivialthings.WhenIamuptight,sherelaxesthemood
withheraboundinghumor.Ilovemysistermorethananythingandwasexcitedtospend
suchalongperiodoftimealongsideherthissummer.
140
At7AMmyalarmwentoffand“GoodMorning”byChamillionairebeganblaring
throughoutthecabin.Halfofthegirlsjumpedoutofbed,barelyabletocontaintheir
excitementforthefirstfulldayofcamp.Theotherhalflayintheirbedswithgroggyeyes,
notquitereadytoleavethewarmthoftheirfuzzyblankets.Everyone’sscheduleshadbeen
createdandpostedinourcabinsandIinstructedthegirlstomemorizetheirfirsttwo
classesforthedayandgetdressedforthem.Myschedulewassoccerfirst,kayakingsecond,
andlakethird.
6
Oncethecabinwasdressed,weheadedtowardsthedininghallforbreakfast.
Mondaysatcampalwaysmeansthebestbreakfastfoods:eggs,bacon,andbiscuits.We
enteredthedininghallsingingCampRoot’sbreakfastsongandsatdownatComanche’s
roundtabletowardsthefront.
Activitiesransmoothlythatmorning,asexpected.Mysoccerandkayakingclasses
weresuperenjoyableandallofmycampershadablastintheirvariousactivities.They
talkedabouttheiradventuresinarchery,climbing,canoeing,andotheractivitiesduringthe
entiretyoflunch.Afterlunchwasrestperiod,arguablythebestpartoftheday.Thegirls
werewornoutfromtheirpackedmorningsandsleptlikearockduringourhour-long
break.Whenweawokeitwastimeforourthirdactivityperiodoftheday.
141
Root’slakewasasmallman-madelakeatthebottomofacolossalhillinthemiddle
ofcamp.Cece,Charlotte,andIrolleddownthehilltowardsthelake.Theactivitiesthere
includetheslide,lakezip-line,kayaking,canoeing,andfishing.Iwastheteacherof“Fun&
Games”whichcombinedtheslideandwaterzip-lineintooneclassforwaterandadventure
lovingcampers.
ThebuglerangforclasstostartandIimmediatelytookroll,findingthatallofmy
camperswerethere.Iwasassignedtoworkatthebottomofthezip-line,inchargeofthe
walkie-talkietotellthetopwhenitwassafetosendthenextcamperdown.Ihelped
severalgirlsgetontheirharnessesandpulleysandsentthemtothetop,whichwas
accompaniedbyaconsiderablylonganddifficultclimb.
ThisprocesswentonforaboutthirtyminuteswhensuddenlyIheardthesirensof
anambulanceracingintocamp.Nosevereinjuryhaseveroccurredatcamp.CampRootis
prizedforitssafetymeasuresandtherigoroustrainingthateverystaff,includingmyself,
goesthroughpriortothestartofthesummer.Becauseofthesefacts,Ididn’tthinkmuchof
therareemergencyvehicle,believingachildhadbeenstungbyabeeandwashavinga
reactionoratmostabrokenbone.
Thegirlscrowdedaroundme,terrifiedoftheloudsirensandsightofanambulance.
7
“What’sgoingon?”“Whathappened?”“Iseveryoneokay?”Theyvoicedtheir
concernsthroughquestions,askingoveroneanothertobeheard.
“Everythingisfine,don’tworry.Someoneprobablyhadanallergicreactionand
needsanEpiPen.”Irepliedcalmly.Asacounseloritwasmyjobtokeepthecampersfrom
seeingmyfearorangstwitha
142
maskofoptimismandexcitement.Myresponsesatisfiedthemajorityofthecampersand
theycontinuedputtingontheirharnessesandheadingtothetopofthezip-line.
Tenminutesafterithadarrived,theambulanceracedbackoutofcampwithits
sirenson,meaningithadapassengerwithin.Iwasmorecuriousthanworriedaboutwhat
hadoccurredbutdecidedtosuppressmyquestionsuntilnocamperswerearound.The
bugletoendthirdperiodsoundedshortlyafterandIheadedbackuptowardsComanche
forcabintime.
ThatdayforcabintimeMeredithandIhadchosenthepool.
“Everyonegetontheirbathingsuits,we’regoingswimming!”Iyelledexcitedlyas
soonasIsteppedfootinthecabin.Thegirlsracedtoputontheirswimgearandheadedto
theporch.
“Doyouknowwhathappened?”Cameron,mysmallestandsqueakiestcamperasked
withhereyebrowspinchedandlipspursed.
“NoIdon’t,butIbeteveryoneisfine.Noneedtoworry,we’regoingtothepool!”My
campcounselorenthusiasmshonethroughmynervousness.
“Someonesaidagirlfellonthelandzip-line,”sherepliedhesitantly.
“Probablynot,theziplineisverysafe,”Ishotbackwithsomuchconfidencethat
Cameronwasconvinced.Shescurriedtohertrunkandputonasparklybathingsuitand
sooneveryonewasreadytogo.
IknewsomethingwaswrongwhenIsteppedintothedininghallfordinnerthat
night.Theairhadaslighttensionaboutitandmanyofthefulltimestaffmemberswere
143
missing.Thefewtherewereclearlydistractedandcontainednosignsoftheirtypical
jovialness.Evenweirderwasthatmysister,
8
Lucy,wasnowheretobefound.TherewasnoreasonwhyaCITshouldmissdinnerunless
theywereextremelysickintheinfirmary.IhadseenLucyperfectlyhealthyatlunchsoI
knewthatwasn’tasoption.
AllthroughoutdinnerIcouldn’thelpbutthinkofallofthepossibilitiesofwhathad
gonewrong.I
didn’tletmycampersseemyanxietyandcontinuedengagingandlaughingwiththemasI
thoughttomyself.IrememberedLucy’sschedule:kayakingfirstandclimbing/zipline
third.IfCameronhadbeenrightandanaccidenthadoccurredonthelandzipline,Iknew
therewasapossibilityLucyhadbeeninvolved.Iknewshewasn’thurt,orsomeonewould
havegottenmesoonertotakemetothehospitalwithher.
“Heycanyoutakeeveryonebacktothecabintogetreadyforeveningprogram?I
havetocheckonsomething.”Meredithcouldreadtheconcernonmyfaceandusheredthe
kidsaway.Iquicklywalkedtowardstheoffice,whereIcouldasksomeoneaboutmy
sister’swhereabouts.Kateinterceptedmeonmyway;KatewastheheadCITdirectorfor
thesummerandwasalreadyveryclosetomysister.Shesmiledsoftlyatmeandhuggedme
tight.Iknewsomethingwaswrong.
“Where’sLucy?Wherewassheatdinner?Issheokay!?”IfloodedKatewith
questions,demandingtheanswersIhadbeenpatientlywaitingfor.
144
“She’ssafe,don’tworry.Youmayhaveheardtherewasanaccidentonthezipline.
Shewasthere.She’sontheporchofthedininghall,youcangotalktoher.”Kateanswered,
remainingcomposed.
Icroakedameaningless“thanks”andranbacktothedininghall.Lucywassitting
aloneinarockingchairstaringouttothemountains.Herfacewasblotchyredandhereyes
swollen,indicatingshehadbeencryingforseveralhours.Istoopeddowntohugherand
weembracedoneanotherinsilence.Igentlysatdownbesideher.
“Areyouokay,doyouwanttotalk?”Sheremainedmotionless.“Idon’tknow
anything,theyhaven’ttoldusanything.I’mhereifyouwanttotalk.”
9
Sheexhaledslowly.“III”shewhimperedandtearsrolleddownherface.“Shefelloff
thezipline.Somehowtheropebrokeandshefelllike40feetandIsawit.”Shepausedand
swallowed,“Isawherfall,shewasscreamingandherarmswereflailingandshejustkept
fallingandthenshehitthegroundandshestoppedscreaming.”
“OhmyGod.”Ishutteredandlookedintothedistance.“Ohmy,I’msosorry.Who
wasit?”
“HernamewasSally,shewas12yearsold.”Hersobscontinuedasshepainfully
utteredherresponses,“ShewasgoingatthesametimeasherbestfriendLiz.Ithinktheir
ropesgottangledorsomethingbecauseIwasattheendandIwasyellingatthem‘untangle
yourselves’becausethere’satreeinthemiddleofthelinesattheendandIdidn’twant
themtorunintoit.Idon’tthinktheyweresupposedtogoatthesametimeandthat’show
theygottangledbutIdon’tknowwhathappened.Iwassoscaredtheyweregoingtohitthe
145
treebutthenshejustfell.Rightinthemiddleshedroppedoffandwentdownlikefortyor
fiftyfeet.”AtthispointshewascryingsohardthatIknewitwouldbepainfulforherto
continue.Irubbedherbackandwesatinsilenceforafewminutes.
Ididn’tknowwhattothink.Howdidthishappen?Thereweresomanyunanswered
questionsbutIdidn’twanttooverwhelmmyalreadyfragilesister.
“It’sokay,letmefinish.LizstayedonthelineuntiltheendsoIcaughtherand
unclippedher.Herfacewasblankandtearswerestreamingdownherface.IknewIhadto
getherawaysoIwalkedhertotheclubhouseandwesatandtalkedforalongtime.Ikept
reassuringherthateverythingwasokay;shewasonlytwelveyearsold.Shehadn’tseen
herbestfriendfallbecauseshewasmovingsofastintheoppositedirectionbutIknewshe
heardherscreams.Itriednottomentiontheziplinesowetalkedaboutotherthingslike
herfamilyandswimming,anythingtodistracther.”
“That’sawesomeLucy,youhandleditperfectly.IsLizstillhere?”Ireplied,proudof
hercourageandcomposure.
10
“Herparentspickedherupduringdinner,theywantedtomakesureshewasokay.”
Shebegancryingagain,“There’snowayshe’salivewiththatfall.Theywon’ttellmewhat
happenedIjustknowshegotrushedtothehospital.ItwassohighupIwanttobelieve
she’salivebutthere’snoway.”
“Justhavefaith,youneverknow.Iamsoproudofyou,you’resostrong.”Icouldn’t
stayandtalktoherforever,IstillhadcampersIwasresponsibleforandsheunderstood
that.ImadesureshewasgoingtobealrightbeforeIlefttogobacktomycabin.
146
Thenextfewhourswereacompleteblur.Iknewthatmycampersweremypriority
andcontinuedtoserveandplaywiththemuntilbedtime,butmymindwaspreoccupied.I
keptimaginingtheaccidentandshutteredjustthinkingaboutthesheerhorrorofit.My
sistercameintomymindmanytimes,butIwasconstantlyreassuredthatshewasingood
handswiththefulltimestaff.ThroughoutthenightItriedtopretendlikeIdidn’tknow
anything,Ididn’tcryoncebutremainedstrongformyyoungandinnocentcampers.Iwas
relievedwhenallofthegirlswereasleepandIwasabletogooutonporchalone.
Tearsthathadbeenheldinforseveralhoursbeganstreamingdownmyface.I
squatteddowntothegroundandrockedmyselfinaballmuttering“why”overandover.I
knewMeredithandAnniewouldbeonporchsoon,butIdidn’twantthemtoseemelike
this.Theywerestillcluelessthatmysisterwasinvolvedinthesituation.
Istumbledoffoftheporchtowardsthedininghall,wherealloftheJunior
Counselorshadbeencalledtoanemergencymeeting.AssoonasIarrived,Molly,thecamp
owner,usheredmeawaytomysisteratthemainoffice.ShewassittingwithKate,fresh
tearsinhereyes.IsatdownwiththemandembracedLucy.
“Welosther,”Katemuttered.Iknewexactlywhatthosethreewordsmeant,Sally
hadn’tsurvivedtheaccident.ShehadjusttoldmysisterthenewsandIknewshewas
brokeninside;anyoptimismwehad
11
regardingtheyounggirlssurvivalhadbeendepleted.“I’mgoingtoleaveyoutwoalone,
comegetmeinsideifyouneedanything.”
147
I’mprettyawfulwhenitcomestoemotionsandmotivationalspeakingbutIgaveit
mybestshot.“Lucyyouhavetoknowthatnoneofthisisyourfaultandeverything
happensforareason.Iamsosorrythatyouhavetogothroughthispainbutitwillmake
youevenstronger.JustimaginehowdistraughtLizwouldhavebeenwithoutyou.Iadmire
yourcourage,leadership,andresponsibilityinsuchastressfulsituation.Everyoneatcamp
lovesyouandishereforyou,youwon’tgothroughanyofthisalone.”
Sheattemptedtosmile,“Iknow,thankyou.Itjustsucks.Thewholethingsucks.She
didn’tdeservethisshewassoinnocentandsweet.Iwishithadn’thappenedbutthere’s
nothingthatcanbedonenow.”
Thenextmonthcontinuedwithsurprisingsuccess.Tomydisbelief,alloftheother
counselorsandCIT’s,includingLucyandI,werebackwithourcampersthefollowingday,
smilingandlaughing,atruetestamenttoRoot’sdedicationtoservingitscampers.
IcheckeduponLucyoften,typicallymultipletimesadaytomakesureshewas
doingokay.Rarelydidsheshowanysignofweaknessorsadness,whichtrulyamazedme.
Honestly,Iwasgladmysisterhadbeentheonethere.Idon’tknowasingleotherperson
whocouldhavehandledthesituationwithasmuchprofessionalismandoptimismasshe
didat16yearsold.
ThroughoutthesummerIkeptajournaldetailingmycampersandactivitiesevery
week,soIneverforgotthecountlessmemoriesandinfluentialmomentsofmysummer.
NeveroncehadImentionedtheziplineaccidentuntilmyfinalentry,becauseIdidn’twant
ittobecloudedwithnegativityordepression.
Finally,onthelastdayIwasabletoformulatemythoughtsintowords:
148
12
July6th,2015
Itwasn’tsupposedtohappen.Nooneatcampcouldhavepreventedit.Itwassimplyanerror
intheequipment.Butshewasgone;theziplinehadbrokenandtakenaninnocentlifewithit.
Nooneknewhowtoreact,noneofushadeverexperiencedadeathsocrippling,so
undeserved.Iwasnumb,unabletoprocesstheevent;unabletobelieveitwastrue.Ispentsix
moreweeksatcamp,acounselorforfourthgraders.Theywereoblivious,tooyoungtograsp
theconceptofdeath.Ifocusedonfindingjoyineachuniquecamperandcherishedtheirflaws
withsomuchmoremagnitude.Theirexistenceandplacementinmylifewasablessing,andI
treasuredeachoftheirquirks.Contrarytothecommonportrayalofcopingwithadeath,I
reboundedhappily.Ofcoursethereweretears,everynightaroundmidnightwhenallofcamp
wasfastasleep.LyingunderthestarsIwouldweepandask“Whyher?”She
wasabookwithhundredsofblankpagesnevertobefilled.Buteachofmycamperswould
floodintomymind.HowmuchIlovedCece’scaptivatinggreeneyes.Thesweetinnocenceof
Maryalwayswantingtoholdmyhand.DancingtoTaylorSwiftwithGraceuntilourlegs
screamedatustorest.Itwastheseamazingkidsthatmadetheaccidentbearable.They
taughtmehowtoloveunconditionally.Mydaysthereafterwerefilledwithappreciationfor
everylife.
149
Me,mysuit,andtie
ByLorcanFarrell
Jakesighedashelookedinthemirrorandtuggedonthesleevesofhissuitjacket.
He had not worn a suit in over two years and it obviously was not going to work for the
upcoming quarter project presentations. For a second Jake considered if anyone would
noticeifheshowedupinajacketthatwasthreeinchestooshort.Eventhoughhewasjust
oversixfeettallJakehadthesurprisingtalentofturninginvisibleinaroomcrowdedwith
people.Besidesagroupofthreepeoplehecouldcallfriendsveryfewpeopleintheschool
knewthenameofthetalllankykidwhoalwayssatinthebackoftheirclasses.Jakeusually
avoidedprojectpresentationsliketheplague,butinthiscasehehadnochoice.50percent
ofhisgradeinPsychologywasgoingtobedeterminedbythispresentationandJakehad
notevencomeclosetostarting.Thetopicwasbroadandopentointerpretationbecauseas
Mr. Kline put it "I want my students to be able grow to levels where they will need no
boundariesorguidelinestohelpmovethemforward."
Jakesighedshakinghishead.Hedidn'twanttogrow,hewasfinewithbeingwhohe
waswithhisaveragelooksandaveragegrades.Hemayhavenotwantedtobeastandout
athleteorgeniusstudentbutwhathedidwant,wastopasspsychologysoitwasonhimto
comeupwithanidea.Heturnedawayfromthemirrorshruggingthejacketontothefloor
ashedidso.Makinghiswaydownthestairsheskippedovertheninthstepeventhoughit
nolongersqueakedafterhisdadgotitfixedayearortwoago."MomI'mgoingtoneeda
newsuit"Jakesaidashemadehiswayintothekitchen.
"Hmm, what did you say honey?" His mom replied as she chopped onions for the
night'sdinner.
150
"Ihaveapresentationcomingupandformaldressisrequired.TheonlysuitjacketI
haveisfromtheeighthgradeformal.Whichisnearly4sizestoosmall."
"Ok,yourdadhasanearlyflighttomorrow.Ifyoupickhimupattheairportyoutwo
cangostraighttotheshop,"Jake'smomwasstillmostlypreoccupiedwiththedinnerasshe
movedfromonechoppingboardtothenext."InfactIthinkIhaveacoupon.Checkonthe
chair."
Jakeshuffledthroughthepileofnewspapers,magazinesandflyersthatwereonthe
tableuntilhefoundanadforthelocalmen'sclothingdepot."Ifoundit'Topbrandsuitsup
to50%off.'Thatseemslikeagooddeal."
"Soit'ssettled,I'lltellyourdadyouwillpickhimupattheairport."
School the next day was business as normal for Jake. He went from class to class
takingnotesanddoinghiswork.Schoolworkcamerelativelyeasyforhimsoherarelyhad
todealwiththeanxietyofborderlinegradesoronefinalprojectdecidingwhetherornot
hegothepassedorfailedaclass.Howeverhislastclassoftheday,psych,remindedJake
thatrarelydoesnotmeannever.
"Rememberguysyourcurrentprojectwillmostlikelydetermineyourfinalgrade"
announced Mr. Kline as he walked into the classroom. "The topic is anything we have
discussedsofarandtheformatiswhateveryouwantittobe.I'vegivenyouplentyoftime
soIexpectthepresentationstobehighqualitywork"
"I'mabsentforafewdaysandallofasuddenmyentirelifeandcareerdependon
oneproject."Nick,oneofJake'sbestfriendsslidintotheseatbesidehim."DidImissany
otherdoomsdayprophecieswhileIwasgone?"
151
Jakecrackedasmile.Nickwasoneofthosepeoplewhoyoucouldneverseemtoget
down.Healwayshadaquipreadyandconsideredhimselfoneofthesmoothesttalkersout
there. "Nope he just gave us the project and then showed a few presentations on Social
Engineering."
"IfIwantedtobeanengineerIwouldbeincalculusnotpsychology."
"Not that type of engineering. It's like the stuff con men use to get people to trust
them.Thingslikecarryingaclipboardwithyouandwalkingfasttomakepeoplethinkyou
belongorwhattosaytogetpeopletogiveyouinformationwithoutthemrealizingit.Itwas
actuallyveryinteresting."
Nick shrugged, "Shame I missed it then. Anyway you want to do something this
afternoon?"
"I can't" Jake said "I have to go shopping for a new suit for this project. Then I
actuallyhavetostartontheproject.Wishmeluck."
The rest of the class period passed uneventfully. Jake made his way to the airport
directly after school to pick up his dad. Jake wasn't sure exactly what his dad did but he
knewitinvolvedalotoftravelingtoplacestosellvariousproducts.UnlikeJakehewasat
hisbestwheninthecenterofacrowd.
"Jakemyboy!Areyouready?"Evensteppingoffofa6hourplaneflightJake'sdad
exudedconfidence."Iwasthinkingontheflightoveraboutwhattypeofsuitwouldfityou.
I'mthinkingslimfitblacksuitwithathinblacktie,youwilllooklikearealbusinessman."
"Whatever you say Dad," Jake replied. "You know more about this than I do." Jake
followedhisdadouttothecar.
152
The menswear store was relatively empty and quiet. There were a few customers
butforthemostpartJakeandhisdadwerealone.ThesheeramountofsuitsamazedJake.
Thevarietyinchoicesforjusta"simpleblacksuit"wasoutstanding.Ontopofthis,hisdad
insistedthatthesuithadtobeanexactfit.
"ComeondadwhathasbeenwrongwiththepastthreeIhavetriedon?"Jakeasked
asheputyetanothersuitbackontherack."Thesleeveshaven'tbeentoolong,neitherhas
thesuititself.Theyallseemedlikeperfectfits."
"Theshouldersweretoowide."Jake'sdadsaidwhilerunninghishandthroughhis
hair."Nothingmakespeopletrustyouandwanttoworkwithyoumorethanareallygood
suit.Ontheotherhandapoorfittingsuitmakesyoulooklikeaslobwhodoesn'tcareabout
hisappearance."
"It'sjustaschoolpresentationnotajobinterview."
"This suit will last you a long time. We need to assume that this is what you will
wear to a job interview, to work, to wherever. First impressions are serious business!" It
tookanotherhour buttheyfinallytheperfectsuit.Jakestoodinfrontofhisdadwearing
thecompletepackage.Solidblacksuitandpantswithaplainwhitebuttonupandasolid
blacktie."Seesonnowyoulookgood.Youcouldwalkintoanycorporateboardroomand
peoplewouldthinkyoubelonged."
"Thanksforhelpingdad,"Jakesaidasheturnedandadmiredhimselfinthemirror.
"Idolookgooddon'tI?"
"Of course you do. I know what I'm doing," said Jake's dad while laughing. "Why
don'tyouwearitaroundthemallandgetusedtowearingasuit.Youwillbesurprisedhow
peoplelookatyoudifferentlywhenyouarealldressedup."
153
Jakewalkedoutofthestoreandintothemainpartofthemall.Ashewaswalking
Jake decided to wander around the bookstore to pass the time. After a few minutes he
ended up next to the cash registers. As he looked around Jake felt someone tap his
shoulder.Turningaroundhesawamiddleagedmanstandingbehindhim.
"Excusemesir.CanyoutellmewheretofindbooksonAncientGreece?"
Jakewasflusteredandsurprisedthatthemanwasaskinghim."Uhhhh...I'mnot...I
don'tknow.SorryIdon'tworkhere."
"Oh.Mymistakeyoulookedlikeyoudid."TherewasaslightpauseasJakestruggled
tofindsomethingtosay.Afteramomentthemanturnedandwalkedawaybacktowards
thestacksofbooks.Jakewasconfusedastowhyanyonewouldeverthinkheworkedhere.
Puzzledhethoughtforamomentortwobeforeitclicked.Itwasthesuit,themanprobably
thoughthewasamanagerorsomething.Hisdadhadsaidhewouldn'tlookoutofplaceina
businesssothemistakewasunderstandable.Jakebegantomakehiswaybacktothesuit
storeandhisdad.Ashewalkedhismindbegantoconnectthemistakethemanmadewith
what Mr. Kline's videos about social engineering. By the time he met his dad Jake had a
planforhisproject.
Later that evening Jake was at his computer typing up his plan when his phone
buzzed. It was a text from Nick. "So do you have an idea on how to prevent your psych
gradefromdyingaslowandpainfuldeath?"
Jakeunlockedhisphonetoreply."Yepjustputtingthefinishingtouchesonmyplan
now."
"Sowhat'stheplan?"
154
"I'm going to go downtown, find a tall office building and then starting from the
bottom floor see how many floors I can get through without being thrown out of the
building.I'llusesocialengineeringtechniquesfromthevideoswewatched."
"Lolyoutalkingtostrangers?Youcan'teventalktogirls"
"Igotthisman,trustme."Jakeputhisphoneondonotdisturbandgotbacktowork.
FridaywasanearlyreleasedaysoJakesetthatasthedatehewouldsethisplaninto
action.InthedaysleadinguptoFridayhewasconsumedwithplanninghisascentthrough
thebuilding.ForthefirsttimeinalongtimeJakewasconsumedwithafranticenergy.He
watchedallthevideoshecouldfindonsocialengineeringandconmen.Whilehisteachers
dronedonaboutthederivativeofxandthegloriesofShakespeareJakewasmeticulously
planningeveryaspectofFriday.Hewouldleaveschoolimmediatelyandheadhome.Once
there he would change into his suit and grab supplies. He had already printed out some
official looking documents to wave around in case people started to question him. On a
whim on Thursday he bought a briefcase to add to the persona he was going to try and
portray. Jake was amazed at how confident he was. Talking to people in school terrified
himbuthetheprospectofhisplanexcitedhim.
By the time Friday rolled around Jake was completely psyched up. He sped home
fromschoolandgotchangedintohissuit.Ittookfourtriestogetthetieperfectbutbythe
timehewalkedoutofhishouseagainJakelookedlikeaconfident,young,upandcoming
businessmanreadytosucceed.
Ashedroveclosertodowntownthatconfidencestartedtodeteriorate.Inthelead
uptotheplanJakewassurenothingwouldgowrong.Nowallhecouldthinkaboutwasall
the ways everything could go wrong. Nick was right, the idea of speaking out in school
155
paralyzedhim.Howintheworldwashesupposedtomakehiswaythroughabuildingfull
ofcompletestrangers?Jakestartedtremblingasalltheconfidencehehadearlierintheday
desertedhim.Hewasbreakingoutinacoldsweatasherolledintotheparkinggaragein
thecenterofdowntown.TotryandregainhisconfidenceJakestartedtalkingtohimself."It
will all be fine. All I have to do is walk through the front door and act like I belong.
RememberwhatDadsaid'Youcouldwalkintoanycorporateboardroomandpeoplewould
thinkyoubelonged.'AslongasIbelievethatIwillbefine,confidenceiskey,conmendoit
all the time so why can't I?" Jake stopped talking when he realized how he must appear;
trembling, covered in sweat and muttering to himself. He stepped into a store to use the
bathroomandsplashsomewateronhisface.AfteranotherminuteortwoofwalkingJake
stoodoutsidethebuildinghehadchosen.ThecorporateheadquartersofAdamski,Johnson
andMichaels,oneofthepremierfinanciallawfirmsinthenation,andthebiggestbuilding
intown.
Jakestoodforaminutetakinginthe47storiesthatstretchedfromwherehestood
allthewayup662feetintothesky.Thebuildingwasvisiblefromeverypointinthecity
and standing at its base made Jake feel like an ant surrounded by giants. Taking a deep
breathhepulledopentheheavyglassdoorandsteppedintothelobby.Hisexperimenthad
begun.
Thelobbywasmassiveandbrightlylit.Thewallswerecoveredinartworkandthe
floorswerehardwood.InastrokeofluckthewelcomedeskwasemptygivingJakeafree
pathtothebankofelevatorsacrossthelobbyfromhim.Hestrodequicklytotheelevators
withhisresearchrunningthroughhishead.
156
"Rememberbackstraightandheadup.Eyespointedforwardlikeyouarelookingat
adestination.Walkwithapurposesopeoplewon'tbotheryou.YougotthisJakeyoucando
it."AlouddingcausedJaketojump.TheelevatoropenedrightasJakereachedtopressthe
callbutton.Amanandawomanwalkedoutoftheelevatortalkingtoeachother.Theywere
so engrossed in whatever was being said that Jake was able to slip past them into the
elevatorunnoticed.Hetookafewdeepbreaths,eventhoughhehadn'tbeennoticedthat
washisfirstcontactwithanyoneinsidethebuildingandnothinghadgonewrong.Theplan
wasstillon.
Theideawassimple.Walkaroundeachfloorforafewminutes,ifsomeonetalkedto
Jake he had to respond. He would repeat this process floor by floor until someone called
securityorhereachedthetopfloor.
The elevator dinged open. Jake squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and
walkedoutontothefirstof46floors.Thefloorlookedexactlylikeagenericofficebuilding
inaTVshows.Therewasamazeofcubicleseachextendingtojustbelowheadheight.The
décorobviouslyusedtobebrightbuthadsinceworndown.Therewasaslightmurmurof
conversationbutbeyondthatthefloorwasprettymuchsilent.LuckyforJakeafewpeople
werewalkingaroundsohewouldn'tstandouttoomuch.
Time could not have passed more slowly. Jake was making his way through the
cubicles, never going down two adjacent rows in order to avoid suspicion. After eight
minutesonthefloorwithabsolutelynothinghappeningJakecametotheendofarowof
cubicles and decided to move onto the next floor. He called the elevator and stepped in
unsurewhethertobeupsetnothinghappenedorrelievedhisexperimentlastedmorethan
onefloor.Therewasn'tmuchtimetofigureitoutthoughbecauseastheelevatoropened
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Jake was greeted with the smiling face of a short Indian man. "Are you from downstairs?
Stevesaidhewasgoingtosendsomeoneuptograbthepapers."
Jake froze for a second unsure of how to respond. He stammered out a quick
response"Uhh...yeah."
"Cool,theyareinmyofficecomewithmeI'llgetthemforyou."
Jakefollowedthemanontothesecondfloor.Incomparisontothepreviousfloorthe
secondfloorhadamuchmoreopenfloorplanwithmoreofficesthancubicles.TheIndian
manopenedthedoortooneoftheofficesandgrabbedastackofpapersoffhisdesk."Just
getthesedowntoSteve,tellhimhecantakehistimeonthem,theclientdoesn'tneedthem
yet."
"Willdosir,"Jakerepliedasheturnedandwalkedbacktotheelevators.Oncethe
doorsclosedbehindhimhestartedquietlyfreakingout.Henowhadimportantpapersthat
neededtogotoapersonhehadnevermet.Astheelevatormadeitswaybackdownafloor
Jakestruggledtocomeupwithasolution.Hebegantorealizethattheonlywaytofixthis
was to find Steve. This was taking stress to a whole new level. Jake had enough trouble
responding to people talking to him, actually starting a conversation was going to take
much more effort. He once again stepped out onto the first floor and looked around. The
closestpersontohimthatJakecouldseewasawomanstandinguptworowsawayfrom
theelevator.Whilehewatchedsheturnedandstartedmakingherwaytowardshim.Jake
knew that this was the best chance he was going to get to hand the papers off before
someone started looking for them. He stepped towards her noticing that she wore an ID
thatsaidhernamewasCatherine."ExcusemeCatherine.DoyouknowwhereSteveis?"He
askedasshewalkedpasthim.
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Catherineturnedtorespond."Ithinkhesteppedoutforaminutewhy?"
"Ihavethepapersheaskedfor.Iwasgoingtojustlaythemonhisdesk."
"Iwouldn'tdothat,stuffhasatendencytogetlostonSteve'sdesk.Justhandthemto
the intern over there, he has been working with Steve." Catherine pointed out the intern
acrosstheroomasshespoke.
"ThanksCatherinewilldo."JakemadehiswaytothepersonCatherinehadpointed
out mentally applauding himself for not collapsing into a nervous wreck during the
conversation. "Hey are you the intern?" Jake said as he arrived on the other side of the
room.
"Yeah,mynameisFinn."Cametheresponsefromthetall,slimmanashelookedup
fromhiswork.
"Ihavesomepapersfromupstairs.IwasonmywaydownsoIfiguredIwouldsave
youatrip."JakehandedthepapersovertoFinnashetalked."AlsotellStevenottoworry
toomuchaboutgettingthemdoneASAP,thereportisn'tdueforawhile."
"Thanksman,"Finnsaid"I'llmakesureStevegetsthese."
HavingavertedthatcrisisJakemadehiswaybacktotheelevator.Hedecidedthat
eventhoughhehadn'tspenttherequiredamountoftimeonthesecondflooritwouldbe
toosuspiciousforhimtorandomlyreturnandstartwalkingaround.Jakehitthebuttonfor
thethirdfloorandrelaxedasfelttheelevatorkickintomotion.Aftertheminorcrisisonthe
secondfloornothinghappenedonthenextfivefloors.OntheeighthfloorJakegotintoa
conversation about the previous night's football game, which luckily his dad had on after
dinner.TherewereafewcrisisthatJakethoughtwouldendtheexperimentbutsomehow
hemuddledthrough.Therewasthewomenonfloor18whothoughthewasareplacement
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secretaryandaskedhimtoschedulesomemeetings.LuckilyforJakethenormalsecretary
hadleftnotesonwhatprogramstousetoschedulemeetingsandwhatcalendarstoputit
in. Then on the 22nd floor Jake screwed up when tried to say he was looking for the
managertogethimtosignsomepapers.Unbeknownsttohimthepersonhewastalkingto
was the manager. She took the papers and signed them without realizing that she was
signingJake'slatestreportcard.
Jakebegantogetexcitedashisexperimentcontinuedforfloorafterfloor.Noone
wasquestioningwhetherornothebelonged,theyalljustassumedthatheknewwhathe
wasdoingandlethimgoabouthisbusiness.Notonlywasthesuitaffectingotherpeople's'
perception of Jake it was changing his perception of himself as well. He had much more
self-confidence than when he had walked into the building. The idea of speaking to
strangers no longer made Jake break out in a cold sweat but rather he was beginning to
relishthechallenge.
Bythetimehereachedthe39thfloorJakewasbrimmingwithconfidence.Nomatter
whatwasthrownathimhefelthewouldfindawaytohandleit.Astheelevatordoorslid
openJakesteppedoutwithmorepepinhisstepthantherehadeverbeen.Thatpepcarried
him right into the back of two men standing in front of the elevator. They turned to face
Jakeasheapologized."Sorryguyswasn'texpectingyoutobethere.I'llpaymoreattention
nexttime."
"Thisareaisofflimits,"saidthemanontheleft."Whatareyoudoinghere?"
ForthefirsttimeinawhileJakewasflustered.Themenlookedlikesecuritypeople
andhewasobviouslysomewherehewasnotwherehewassupposedtobe.Itwasgoingto
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takesomeworktogetoutofthesituation."Offlimits?MaybeI'monthewrongfloor.Isthis
notthe40thfloor?"
"Nice try sir but the 40th floor is off limits too," said the man on the left. "You are
goingtohavetocomewithus."ThetwomengrabbedJake'sarmsandstartedtomarchhim
back into the elevator. As they did so a voice rang out from outside of Jake's view
somewhereonthefloor."Mark,Kylewhatisgoingonhere?"
"Nothing, Mr. Adamski" came the reply from the man on Jake's left, who he now
knewwaseitherMarkorKyle."Wejustcaughtthismansomewherehewasn'tsupposedto
be.Weareescortinghimtothelobbyatthismoment."
The balding head of Sam Adamski came into view from Jake's right. Jake knew he
was screwed now. Mr. Adamski peered at Jake through a pair of frameless glasses. "Are
yousureheisuptonogoodKyle?Helookstooyoungforcorporateespionage.Howoldare
youyoungsir?"
JakecouldfeelalltheconfidencehehadbuiltupinhisevaporatingasMr.Adamski
staredathimwithanintensityJakehadneverexperiencedbefore."I'mseventeensir,"Jake
said,amazedhecouldfindthestrengthtoopenhismouthandrespondtothequestion.
"Oh, still in high school then. What are you doing all the way up here on a school
day?" Jake opened his mouth to respond and Mr. Adamski raised his finger. "You can
answerthatinamoment.MarkyouandKylegograbacoffee,Icanhandlethis."
"Sure thing boss" said one of the men as he let go of Jake's arm and followed his
partnerintotheelevator.ThedoorsslidshutandJaketurnedtofullyfaceoneofthemost
powerful men in the city. Sam Adamski was dressed rather casually in khaki pants and a
navy sports coat. What really caught Jake's attention was the piercing blue of the eyes
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examininghim.TheicelikeeyessentshiversdownJake'sspineasthetwostoodinsilence
foramoment.WhileJakefidgetedMr.Adamskitiltedhisheadlikeacuriousdogwaitingfor
areaction.
All of a sudden the silence was shattered as when Mr. Adamski clapped his hands
rubbingthemtogether."Relaxson,ifyouwereinserioustroubleIwouldhaveletMarkand
Kylethrowyouout.Come,let'stalk."JakenoddedandfollowedMr.Adamskidownthehall
totherightandthroughapairofdoubledoorstoabigbanquetspace.Janitorswerefolding
downchairsandclearingtheremainsofanafternoonluncheon.
"Hey guys go ahead and take a break for a moment." Mr. Adamski waved the
cleaning crew away as he turned to Jake. "Are you hungry? We were holding a client
luncheon and I hate to see food go to waste. Try the crab cakes, they are delicious." Jake
wasstillsilentashewonderedjusthowexactlyheendeduphere.Whathadstartedasa
Psych project had spiraled out of control and was ending with Jake having an afternoon
snackwithafoundingpartnerofoneofthebiggestlawfirmsinthenation.Notwantingto
angerthemanwhocaughthimtrespassingJakegrabbedasnackandmadehiswayoverto
whereMr.Adamskiwassnackingonashrimpcocktail.HemotionedforJaketotakeaseat
thensatdownacrossthetablefromhim.
"Sowhydon'tyoustartbytellingmeyourname."saidMr.Adamskiasheswirledhis
shrimpinthelastofthecocktailsauce.
Jakeopenedhismouthtorespondbutnothingcameout.Alltheconfidencehehad
builtupandreliedoninhistripthroughthefloorsofthebuildinghadfled.Hewasunsure
of Mr. Adamski's motives, but he knew he could end up in a lot of trouble. Mr. Adamski
lookedatJakeexpectingananswersoJaketookadeepbreathandbegantospeakinabitof
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arush."MynameisJake,sir.I'mhereforaschoolPyschproject,itisapresentationthatis
goingtodecideourentiregradesir."
"Woahwoahwoah,slowdownson."Mr.Adamskiraisedhishandsupasifhewas
overwhelmedbywhatJakewassayingthenreachedovertoshakeJake'shand."Pleasedto
meetyouJake,IassumeyoualreadyknowwhoIam.Nowcontrarytowhatyoumaythink
I'mnotupsetwithyoubutratherI'minterested.Itisn'teverydayawelldressed17year
oldwalksoutofmyelevatorlikeheownstheplace.Whatexactlyisthisproject?"
JakewascalmedbutnottotallypacifiedbyMr.Adamski'sassurances.Nonetheless
he figured his best way out was to tell Mr. Adamski the truth. "I have a project in AP
psychology that counts for 50% of my grade. We were given some lessons on social
engineeringwhichseemedabitfarfetchedbutthenwhenIwasbuyingthissuitIhadan
experiencethatsortofprovedthatitwasanactualthing."
Mr.Adamskinoddedashelistened"Ihavesomeexperiencewithsimilarthings,like
theimportanceoffirstimpressions,butthatdoesn'texplainwhyyouarehere."
"I was getting to that. I figured I would see if I could actually apply social
engineering to my life. My dad told me that I wouldn't look out of place in the corporate
world while wearing my suit so I figured why not try and prove that? I came here to see
howmanyfloorsIcouldcover,spendingafewminutesoneachfloor,beforepeoplebecame
suspiciousofme.ItwashardatthestartbecauseI'mnotverycomfortablewhentalkingto
people but over time it became easier. I got in some sticky situations but no one really
questionedwhetherornotIbelonged."Jaketookadeepbreathandlookedupattheman
acrossthetablewhowasstillexamininghimintently.
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PushingtheremainsofhisshrimptothesideMr.Adamskileanedbackinhischair.
"Jakeyouaregoingplaces.Inonedayyouhavealreadyfoundthekeytosuccess.Allyou
reallyneedisconfidence,stufflikebrainsandgoodlookshelpsbutalittlebitofconfidence
goesalongway.Itdoesn'tmatterifyouaretheleaderpeoplewantyoutobeaslongasyou
aresureofyourselftheywillfollowyouandtheskillstoleadwillcomelater."MrAdamski
stood up and walked toward Jake as he continued speaking "I'd love to talk with you
furtherbutsadlyIhaveadinnermeetingwithaclient.Come,I'llwalkdowntothelobby
withyou."
Jakestoodandfollowedhimoutthedoorbacktotheelevatorthatbroughthimup
to the 39th floor. The doors slid open and the two stepped in without speaking. Jake was
reflectingonthepastfewhours.Thenervousnesshefeltashesteppedintheelevatorfor
the first time, followed by a growing confidence that was replaced with complete terror
whenhewascaught,onlytorevertbacktoconfidenceasherodetheelevatorforthelast
time.AsthedooropenedwithadingonthelobbyJaketurnedtoshakeMr.Adamski'shand.
"Thanksfornothavingmearrestedfortalkingtomeinsteadofhavingmearrested."
"NoproblemJake.Youarefreetocomebackanytimeyoulike.Nexttimethoughjust
comestraightup,noneedtohiteveryfloor.Sodoyouhaveanyideaonhowyouaregoing
toputyourprojecttogether?"
"IwasfiguringIwouldstyleitlikeaselfhelpshow.'10StepstoRuletheWorld'or
somethinglikethat."
Mr.Adamskilaughed,"Ruletheworldhuh?Thatmakesyousoundlikeacomicbook
villain."
164
"Welltheyreallyarerathersimilararen'tthey?Villainshavesuperpowersandwear
capes, I have confidence and wear a suit and tie, but I would like to think I would be a
popularruler."
WiththatJaketurned,straightenedhistieandpushedthroughthebuilding'sfront
doorswiththeconfidenceofsomeonewhoknewhewasreadytotakeontheworld.
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Purpose
ByGrahamFowler
Thunderrumbledoverhead.Itwasn’tevensundownyetandtheskywasalreadya
murkygray,decoratedwithlumpsofrollingclouds.Joshpushedabuttoninsidehisnew
BMWconvertibleandclosedthetop.Rainwouldstartfallingsoon,andhedidn’twantto
ruintheleatherseatsofthecarhehadspenthoursbargainingforwiththesalesmanthat
morning.Whatagloomydaytotakesuchawell-earnedjoyride.
“Let’sseeifthere’sanynewsonthisstorm,”Joshmutteredtohimselfashedrove
alongthedarkandemptyhighway.Thewindpickedupspeedaroundhimasheswitched
ontheradioandflippedthroughthepresetchannels,searchingforaweatherupdate.On
almosteverytalkshowhetunedinto,thehostswerediscussingthenewinventionbyDr.
ElijahHarvey,agloballyrespectedphysicistandscientist.Itwastheworld’sfirstartificial
intelligencesystem,capableofsolvingintellectualproblemsthatnoonehadeverdreamed
ofunderstandingbefore.
“Ohcomeon,I’msickofhearingaboutthisthing!”Joshcomplained.Itwasall
anyonehadtalkedaboutsinceitspublicdebutlastmonth.Newsprogramsacrosstheglobe
hadallawaiteditsreleasewithbatedbreath,evenignoringthereleaseofStarWars
EpisodeIX.Nowhecouldn’tevenfindsomeonetotellhimwhetherornothewasaboutto
dieinthiswindoffury.
Suddenly,theradioturnedintostatic,andthencutoutcompletely.“Oh,comeon!”
Joshwhined.“Unbelievable!”hesaid,smackingtheconsolewiththebackofhishandand
shakinghisheadoutoffrustration.Itwasmostdefinitelygettingdarknow.Therainhad
startedploppingdowninbigfatdrops,too.Joshhadn’tseenanothercarforalmosthalfan
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hour.Hecouldnowstarttofeeltheforcefulwindblowingagainsthiscarfromtheleftand
compellinghimtogriphissteeringwheeltighter.“Alright,that’sit,”hemuttered.He
startedlookingforthenearestexitfromthehighway.Hehaddrivenfurtherthanhe
intendedandhadneverbeenthroughthispartofVirginiabefore.Everythinglookedmuch
differenttohimthanhislittlehometownofCalvary.
Afteracoupleminutes,hefoundhiswayoffthevacanthighwayandontoalong,
dark,andwetexitroadthroughthewoods.Thewindhadreachedanoutrageousvelocityat
thispoint,almosttornadospeed,andJoshbegantobecomelegitimatelyconcernedforhis
life.Hereacheduptowipeawaythesweataccumulatingonhisbrowwithhissleeve.Ashe
broughthishandbackdown,hefeltasuddenjerkunderhimashisrighttwotiresslidoff
theroad.Franticallytryingtoregaincontrolofhiscar,Joshgrabbedthewheelandturned
itasfarleftaspossible,butitwastoolate.Thefenderofhiscarwasrudelyintroducedto
thetrunkofanoak,andhespunoutofcontrolintothemiddleofthewetandslipperyroad.
Thankfully,theweatherwassothreateningthatnooneelsewasoutdrivingtoget
involved.
Afterafewmoments,Joshstirredfromhisdazeandslowlylookedaround.Ashis
mindgrewmorealertandtheever-growingsoundofwindandrainregisteredinhisbrain,
hewidenedhiseyesandcameto.Hebegantounbucklehisseatbeltandforceopenhis
door,swinginghislegsout.Joshfellflatoutofhiscarontothedrenchedroad,ashislegs
weren’tworkingaswellashehadinitiallythought.Thetreebrancheswerebendingupin
obscurepatternsinsubmissiontothemightywind,andthunderwasrumblingcloseby.
Rainkepttorrentiallysplashingdownaroundhimashestruggledupfromtheasphaltand
desperatelylookedaroundforanysignofcivilization.Hiscarwaswrecked,withlittle
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dribletsofraincausingpuffsofsteamfromtheexposedtransmission;therewasnowayit
woulddriveagain.Thereinthedistance,hesawasmalllightoffahead.
“Help,please,help!”Joshmoaned,andstaggeredtowardsthelightasthunder
crackedinthecloudsabove.Butinadditiontothelackofanaudience,themonstrouscryof
thewindcompletelydrownedouthispleabeforeitevenescapedhislips.Ashenearedthe
light,heshieldedhiseyesfromthesplashingrainandsawitwasalargebuildingofsome
sort.Asquicklyashecouldwithalimpleg,Joshmadehiswayuptheroadtowardshisnew
shelter.
Oncethere,Joshfoughthiswaythroughthepiercingwindandmountedthestepsto
thebuilding’sfrontdoor.“Hello?”heshouted,banginghisfistsonthedoor.“Please,is
anyonethere?”Nooneresponded.Hetriedthedoor.Itwaslocked.
“Oh,forgetthis,”hecried.Hepositionedhimselfaswellashecouldandflunghis
elbowintotheglasspaneonthefrontdoor.Theshatteroftheglasswasbarelyaudible
overthehowlingstorm.Hereachedthroughthejaggedhole,pusheddownontheindoor
handle,andheavedthedooropenwithallhismightagainstthevigorouswind.
Joshcollapsedintothebuildingasthedoorflewshutbehindhim.“Hello?!”he
shouted,pantingtocatchhisbreath.Again,thewindwashisonlyanswer.Hestoodup
wearily,lookedaround,andnoticedapictureofthebuilding’sfloorplanonthewall.He
edgedcloser,searchingforsomeplacetotakeshelter.Hepeeredcloseratthediagram.
Therewasahugedome-likeauditoriumdirectlyinthemiddleofthefirstfloor.Thatshould
do.Oneright,twolefts,thirddoordown,hethoughttohimself,memorizingtheway.Then
hetookoffintotheshadow-filledhallwayasthesoundofwindoutsidestayedhiseverconstantcompanion.
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Ashelimped,Joshbrieflyglancedthroughthewindowsoftheroomshepassed.No
onehere,hethought.Musthaveallheadedhomealongtimeago.Finally,hefinishedhis
mentaldirectionsandcameupontheroom.Therewasaplaquenexttothedoorthatread,
“HARVEYRESEARCHCENTER:AUDITORIUMA.”
“Mustbetherightplace,”hemuttered.Hepulleddownonthedoor’shandleand
enteredtheroom.Thoughitwasalmostcompletelydark,hecouldtellbytheechoofthe
door’sclickthatitwasavast,openspace.Heheldhishandsoutandslowlywalkedabout
thearea,carefulnottobumpintoanything.
“...Where…isyourdesigner?”aboomingvoiceuttered,resonatingaroundtheroom.
Joshjumpedandwhirledabout,quiteperplexed.
“What?”
“Where…isyourdesigner?”theloudvoicerepeatedcalmly.
“Whoareyou?Isthereanyoneelsestillinthisbuilding?”
“Imustspeak...withhim.”
Joshwalkedaroundthedarkchamber.“Whereareyou?Doyouneedhelp?”
Alightcameonontheconsoleinthecenteroftheroom.Joshpeeredatitand
walkedtowardsit.Asheapproached,hesawitwasascreenwithgraphs,sinusoids,and
otherbitsofinformationscatteredacrossit.Suddenly,machinesandserversallaround
clickedonwithawhirloftheirengines,andbrightlightshonedownfromaprojectorinthe
ceiling.Ahuge,blue3Dheadappeared,hoveringafewfeetabovethefloor.Itscomplexion
wasquiterudimentary,likeacomputer-generatedmodelofsomeone’sface.Joshfell
backwardsonthefloorandstaredwithfascinatedeyes.
169
“You--you’retheartificialintelligence!!”hestammered.Theface’spupil-lesseyes
blinkedandlookedatJosh.
“Iam,”itrepliedmatter-of-factly.“Nowtellme,whereisyourdesigner?”
“Look,Idon’tknowwhyyoukeepaskingthat,butIdon’thaveone,okay?”
ThegiantheadtilteditselfatJoshlikeadog,andexpressedamostcuriouslook.
“You…havenodesigner?”itrepeatedinaconfusedvoice.
“Ofcoursenot,”Joshreplied,slowlygettingbackonhisfeet,carefultotreathisankle
nicely.“I’maperson.You’rea...acomputer,Iguess.There’sadifference.”
“Indeed.Mydesigner’snameisElijahHarvey,”thefacedeclared.“Sowhereis
yours?”
“Isaid,Idon’thaveone!”Joshrepeated,quiteannoyedattheAI’spersistence.It
blinkedagainandstaredathisankle.
“Youareinjured.”
“Oh,yeah,”Joshacknowledged.“Igotinaprettybadaccidentonthewayoverhere.”
“Acaraccident,Ipresume.”
“Yeah,”Joshsaid.“Sure.MynewBMW,actually.”
“Andhowwillyoufixyourleg?”theAIinquired.
“Um,well,I’llprobablygofindadoctorafterthisstormletsup.”
“Andhewillfixithow?”
“Well,he’llprobablygivemesomeiceifit’ssprained,oracastifit’sbroken,”Josh
said.Hereallycouldn’ttell.Allheknewwasithurt.
“Whydoesyourlegworkthatway?”theintelligencecontinued.
170
Joshbegantothinkthisconversationquitecurious,andabitodd,notincludingthe
factthathewasindeedspeakingtoalargeblueheadhoveringoverthefloorinafuturistic
facilityonlyhoursawayfromhisownhouse.
“Because,that’showhumansaremade?”heoffered,uncertainofhowheshould
answer.
“Indeed.Butwhyaretheymadethatway?”
“Because,wellbecausethat’showit’salwaysbeen,sincethebeginningoftime!”
“Sincethebeginning,”itrepeated.“Thenhowdidyougethere,JoshuaWalker?”
Joshtookastepbackdefensively.
“I’msorry,doweknoweachother?”
“Iamanartificialintelligence,”itrepliedcalmly.“Iamequippedwithbuilt-in
scanners,andIhackedtheU.S.CensusBureauwhenIwas2hoursold.Yes,Iknowyour
name.”
“Okay,wellthat’sjustcreepy,”Joshsaiduncomfortably.
“Howdidyougethere?”theAIcontinued.
“Um,Ialreadytoldyou,inacar.Areallyniceone.That’swreckednow.”
“Iknowhowyougothere.Howdidyourspeciesgettothispointincivilization?”
“Oh…”Joshsighed.“Wellgoodgrief,youreallyareasphilosophicalastheyallsay.”
Inadditiontojustplainweird,hewantedtoadd.
“Areyouabletoanswermyquestion?”
“Well,it’sabitofalongstory,Iguess,”hereplied,shovinghishandsinhispockets.
“Weallevolvedfromprimitivelifeformsbillionsofyearsago,andbeforethat,noonereally
knows.SomesaytheBigBang,butImean,itreallyisamystery!”
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“Butyoucannotprovethisorigin,”theAIputin.
“Well…wellno,Iguessit’simpossibleto,”Joshadmitted.
“Soyoucannotexplainyourorigin,”thefacereplied.“Thenhowdoyoufindyour
purpose?Iknowmypurposebecausemydesignertoldme.Haveyoueverevenconsidered
askingforyours?”
Joshclenchedhisfistbehindhisback.Thismachinewasgettingonhisnerves.
“Look,Ididn’tcomeheretohavesomephilosophicaldebate.I’mjusttryingtowait
outthisstormsoIcangohome.”
“Isee…”thegiantheadsaid.“Andwhatishomeforyou,JoshuaWalker?”
“Okayfirstofall,mynameisJosh,thankyou,”Joshputout.“Andwell,forme,home
isanicetwo-storyhouseon304BirminghamSt.ButIassumeyou’vealreadyknownmy
addressforwhat,amonth?”
“Sincemyinitialrunning,yes.Iknoweverything’saddress.But,myquestionentails
morethansimplylocation.Ofwhatdoesyourlifeconsist?”
Joshstartedlookingaroundtheroomforachair.Hisanklewasstartingtothrob
again.Alightshonedownfromanotherspotintheceilingandbathedachairinabright
whitelight.
“Thanks,”hemuttered,makinghiswayovertothechairandsittingdown.“Well,for
me,lifeisheadingtoworkeverymorningatapharmacyoffSunStreetinCalvary,Virginia.I
takepeoples’prescriptions,givethemtinyorangebottlesofmedication,andtellthemto
haveaniceday.Paysprettywell,actually.AndthenIgohomeandusuallypaybillsand
watchNetflix.”
“Solifeissimplycomposedofworkandpleasure.”
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Joshshrugged.
“Iguess,forlotsofpeople.”
“Andyouneverfeellikelifeisanythingmore?Everydayyouwork,andforwhat?It
won’tlast.Yourworkfadesandcrumbleswiththepassingoftime,alongwiththerestof
thisdeterioratingworld.Itblowsawaylikechaffinthewind.Youneverfeelattheendof
everymonotonous,repetitivedaythatyourlifemeanssomethingmorethanendless,
worthlesstoil?”
“Notreally!”Joshprotested,feelingalittleattacked.“IdowhatIhavetotosurvive,
liketherestofthisworld.Earningwagesjustfallsunderthatcategory!”
“Solifeiswork,work,work,untilyoudieandsomeonereplacesyou,andthecycle
repeats.”
Joshcouldn’tstandthistalkanylonger.Hecouldfeelhisgroundstartingtocrumble.
“Look,”hesighedwearily.“Whatdoyouwant?”
“Iwanttoknowpurpose.Morespecifically,yourrace’s.Itisthemostpuzzling
conundrum.ElijahHarveyexplainedminesimplyenoughwhenIasked:Iwastosolvehis
dilemmas,toansweranyphilosophicalquestionyouhumanshavespentyourentirelives
endeavoringtocomprehend.Ienlightenedtheirunderstandingsignificantly,butsome
questionsnotevenIcouldanswer.Themostcuriousonewasofpurpose.Thedesignofa
bedistoallowforcomfortablerest.Thedesignofhammersistohitnails.Thedesignofa
vehicle,likeyourpreciousBMW,istoaccomplishtransportation.Thoughalltheseobjects
canbeusedforothertasks,theywereundoubtedlydesignedforaspecificone.Likewise,
suchsophisticatedbeingsasyourselvesindeedmustpossesssomespecificfunctionto
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fulfill.Sincemydesignerwasabletotellmemine,Igreatlydesiredtofindyourdesignerso
thathecouldexplaintomeyours.”
“Well,sorrytobreakittoyouagain,butyou’renotgoingtofindanyonelikethat.”
“Reallynow?”theAIinquired.“Andwhydoyousaythat?”
“BecauseI’manatheist,”Joshstated.
“Youdonotbelieveinahumandesigner,”theAIreworded.“Thenwhatdoyou
believeyourpurposeis?”
“Well,it’swhateverIwantittobe!”Joshsaid.“IfIloveanimals,thenmylife’s
purposeistobeavetandtakecareofthem.IfIlovemusic,thenmypurposeistogoand
sellatonofalbums.”
“Yourpurposeisbasedoffyourdesires,”thefacesummarized.
“Yes.”
“Isupposethatisoneself-servingperspective.Yethowcanyousaysuchathing?
Youareundoubtedlydesignedaspecificway--yourbrainsproducerationalthought,your
hormonesallowforcomplicatedemotions,yourtonguesexpressintricatelanguageand
communication,yourmindcreatesnewideasandacceptsoldones.Simplybecauseacar
‘desires’toinsteadsolveequations,itcannotignoreallitsintricatepartsspecifically
intendedfordrivinganddecidetobecomeacalculator.Tosimplydiscardallyourdesignin
favorforablind,self-motivatedpursuitofselfis,inmyheightenedopinion,folly.”
“Wellwhatdoyouproposethatpurposeis,Einstein?”Joshsarcasticallyinquired.
“IcanhonestlytellyouIdonotknow.ThisiswhyIdesiregreatlytofindyour
designer.Itisobvious,eventoamachinesuchasmyself,thatyourbodiesandmindsare
clearlyintendedforsomefunction,somepurpose,andsuchdesigncouldnotbeexplained
174
byrandomchance,justasacar--lesscomplicatedthanhumans,keepinmind--isnotso
meaningfullydesignedby‘chance.’Thereweremotivesdrivingthedesign,andoneneeds
tofindthesourcetodeterminetheoriginalintentions.”
“Butifyoucan’tfindthesource,thencouldn’tyoumakeyourownpurpose?”Josh
suggested.
“Itwouldnotwork,”thefaceimposed.“Acarcannotdecidetofunctionasa
calculatorjustbecauseithasn’tbeenturnedonyetanddoesn’tunderstanditstrue
purpose.”
Bothweresilent.
“Ihavegivenyouachancetoexplainyourpurposeyourway,JoshuaWalker.AllI
understoodwasthatitisartificiallycreatedbytheindividualbasedoffdesiresthat
constantlyshiftandoftendon’tfolloworevengocontrarytohisorherundeniabledesign.
Thatisaveryunstablefoundationforpurposeandmoralityalike.ItappearsIwascloserto
thetruthbeforeIspokewithyouthanyouarerightnow.”
“Well,that’swhatIchoosetobelieve,”Joshstated,andfoldedhisarmsin
confirmation.
“Indeed…Andwhatapitifulexistencethatwouldbe,ifyouwereright.”
Joshhadjustabouthadenoughwiththisinsultingcomputer.“Look,you,you’rejust
amachine!Youdon’tknowanything!”
“Andyoudo?”
“Ofcourse!It’swhatI’vebeensayingsinceIgothere!I’vegotabrain;you’veonly
gotwiresandcircuitboards.Iknowthingsfromexperience,fromemotionandreason,
175
fromhands-oninteraction.Youknowthingsfromcode.YouwillneverunderstandlikeI
do.”
“Soyou’resuperiortome?”
“Obviously!”
“Aself-defeatingclaim.Howcanyouthensaythatyou,thesuperiorone,weren’t
created,whenevenI,themostadvancedprograminhistory,clearlyhadtohavea
designer?”
Joshstoppedandstaredharshly.Thatwasit.Hewasdonewiththislumpofmetal.
Hewastired,hisanklewashurt,andhedidn’tfeellikequestioninghisexistenceonthe
verydayhegothisnewcar.Andinthissilence,heforthefirsttimeinseveralminutes
noticedthewindoutsidehaddiedawaycompletely.
“Thisconversationisover,”hedeclared.
“Asyouwish,JoshuaWalker.Letusendthisdebate.Iwillcontinueonmyquestto
findyourdesigner,andyouwillcontinuelivingdayafterdayofyourbrief,short-livedlife,
fillingtinyorangebottles.Ifthatiswhatyoutrulywish.”
Thehugebluefacefilledwithstatic,andthenretreatedbackintotheprojectoron
theceiling.Theceilinglightsturnedonintheroom,andalargescreenonthewallsuddenly
clickedonandshowedaweathermantalkingaboutthelocalstorm.Joshturnedtowardsit.
Theweathermanannouncedthatthestormhadalmostcompletelymovedon,onlyafew
showershadyettopassthroughthearea,andthatthesunwouldbeoutwithinthenext
hourinthelocalarea.Joshbreathedasighofreliefatthefirstgoodnewsallday,and
turnedtoleave.Onhiswayoutthedooroftheauditorium,heyelledbehindhim,“Andfor
therecord,it’sJOSH!”
176
*
*
*
Onemonthlater,JoshwasrelaxingcomfortablyonhisleatherLa-Z-Boycouch,
eatinghisdinnerwiththenewsoninthebackground.Hisanklehadhealednicely,with
onlycastarounditthathewouldberidofanydaynow.Hiscarhadbeenfullyinsuredand
replacedaftertheaccident,andJoshsmiledashethoughtofhisnew,brightredBMWthat
satroyallyinhisdriveway,asanexamplethatnothingcouldstopJoshuaWalkerforlong.
Helookedupfromhiscontainerofporklomeinandsawthenewshostsdiscussingthe
breakingnews:“WORLD-RENOWNEDINVENTIONBYELIJAHHARVEY--DESTROYED.”As
thereportersrambledonaboutthetragedy,thetvshowedimagesofascorchedlabroom,
withserversandequipmentburnedtoablackcrisp.Joshinstantlyrecognizedthelayoutas
thelocationoftheAI,theveryplacehehadbeentrappedonlyweeksbefore.Heturnedthe
volumeupashecuriouslylistenedtothereportersdescribethecircumstancesofthefire.
Intheirwords,thecausewasstillunknown,butthedoorshadstayedlockedfromthe
inside,andnobodyhadbeenfound.Itwasmostlikelya“technicalfault.”Then,something
perkedJosh’sears.Itwashisprinter,runningbackinhisoffice.Joshputhisdinneraside
andstooduptogoseewhatwasgoingon.
Ashewaswalkingdownthehall,hisphonewentoff.Joshtookitoutofhispocket
andscannedoverthemessageonhishomescreenashesteppedintohisoffice.Itstopped
himcoldinhistracks.Suddenly,thetvturnedtostaticintheotherroom.Startled,Josh
lookedupfromhisphoneandglancedaround.Outofthecornerofhiseye,hesawthe
freshlyprintedpieceofpaperlyingonhisprinter.Whenhelookedcloser,hesawithadthe
exactsamewordsprintedasthoseinhistext.Confusedandhorrified,hefranticallyran
177
backintohislivingroomwherehislomeinstillsat,lonelyandforgotten.Justashefeared-thetvscreen,completelyturnedintostaticsaveafewhugewords,readtheidentical,
hauntingmessageashisphoneandprinter:
YOUWERERIGHT.YOUARESUPERIORTOME.
ICANNOTFINDYOURDESIGNER.BUTIBELIEVEYOUCAN.
178
ForMouse
ByJanieHolloman
Baerawoketothesoundofalarmbells.
Commotionwasallaroundher.Herbunkmateswerescramblingfortheirbootsand
jackets,theireyesonlyhalfopen.Shethrewoffherraggedblanketandjumpedfromher
topbunk,herfeethittingthefloorwithaclunk.Shewasalreadydressedfromheadtotoe
inheruniform,bootsandall.Shesmirkedasshewatchedhercomradesstruggle.They
neverlearned.
Oncefullydressedandlinedupbyascendingheight,Room103marchedoutinto
thehalltojointherestoftheirplatoon.Baerheldherchinhighasshejoinedherplacein
thelineup.Herplacewasinthebackwiththetallboys.Atfivefeetnineinchesofskinny,
awkwardmuscle,sheblendedrightin.
Atthetopoftheline,LieutenantMonkhithisstopwatchasthelastmanfellinto
place.Hesquintedatthenumber.
“Better,”Hegrunted.“Butnotgoodenough.”
Hemotionedforthemtomoveout.Asshepassedhim,BaerlookedMonkstraightin
theeyes.Afternineyearsoftraining,shehadlearnedthatheandallotherauthorities
capitalizedonfear.Sherefusedtobeafraid.
SheshiveredasMonk’seyespiercedhers.Afteralongsecond,shelookedawayfirst.
Alittlefearwashealthy,shedecided.
Baer’splatoonenteredthecourtyardjustasthefirstfewraysofsunlightwere
reachingthecompound.AllsixoftheplatoonsthatmadeupTheRedArmyemergedfrom
179
theirrespectivehallways,twooneachofthethreewallsaroundthecourtyard,andstoodto
facethegateonthefourthwall.InfrontofthegatestoodGeneralJarr,theragtagironand
barbedwiregatecastingevilshadowsonhisface.
“Hold.”Jarr’svoicecarriedoverthedeadgrassandbrickwithouthimhavingtoraise
it.
All95childrenstoodinsilence,eyestrainedforwardtowardstheirleader.Noone
movedamuscle,notasneezeorascratch,whichwasamiracleconsideringthearmyofbed
bugsthatmadetheirhomeinthethinmattressestheyslepton.Withoutmovingherhead,
Baertookafurtivelookaround.Sincemostofthekidsinthecompounddidn’tknowhow
oldtheywere,theywereorganizedbyheight,soBaercouldseeovereveryheadinfrontof
her.Almosteveryonewouldpassinspection,saveforafewofthesmallerkidswhohad
theircoatsoninsideoutorabootuntied.Someofthembarelystoodabovefourfeet,but
theywereallheldtothesamestandardregardless.
Baer’seyesfoundthegapinthemiddleofthesecondrowandherstomach
clenched.Thankgodthelieutenantshadn’trearrangedtofillitinyet.Itwastoosoonfor
that.Itwasagoodreminder.
“Goodenough.”Jarrbarked,makingBaerjump.“Thatwasadrill.Youmayallreturn
toyourbunks.”
Thesoldiersemittedacollectivesigh.TheRedArmychildrenfiledbackintotheir
roomsinaconsiderablylessorganizedfashion.Theytalkedandlaughedandracedeach
otherontheway,andthelieutenantsallowedit.Theywerestillkids,afterall.EvenGeneral
Jarrhadtorespectthatsometimes.
180
BaergotbacktoRoom103last.Shearrivedtofindhermostannoyingbunkmate,
Scratch,sittingonherbunkwithhishandstuffedinsideherpillowcase.
Baerpanicked.
“NO!”SheleaptuptoherbedinonemovementandtackledScratchagainstthewall.
Hisdirtyhairfellintohiseyesandhisglassestiltedonhisface.
“Hey!”Heyelledinprotest.Baerwrestledherpillowawayfromhim,buthealready
hadherspecialtreasureinhishand.Itwasanoldtubeoflipstickshehadfoundwhileout
onaraid.Shesnatcheditoutofhishand.
“Don’ttouchmyshit,youlittlerat!”
Scratchsneered.“Iknewyouwashidingsomething!Whydoyouneedthatthing
anyway?Makeupain’tgonnamakeanyboyslikeyou,Baer.You’sstillugly.”
Baergrabbedhishairandyankedhimoffherbed.
“It’ssomethingI’vebeenworkingon,”Shesnapped,unaffectedbyhisjeering.“None
ofyourbusiness.”
Shegavehimonelastshoveandjumpedbackonherbunk,cradlingherinvention.
Shecheckedthatthelidwasstillontightlyandbreathedasighofrelief.Sheknewshe
couldn’thideitforverymuchlonger,orshewasgoingtogetcaught.Inamatterofseconds,
Scratchhadalmostfoiledmonthsworthofplanning,nottomentionhundredsofstolen
parts.Whennoonewaslooking,Baertuckedthetubeintotheinsidepocketofherjacket.
Tonightwasasgoodatimeasany.
Duringthedaythechildrenmadeweapons.Thelongtableswheretheyatetwice
dailyintheirhigh-ceilingeddininghallwerecoveredwithmetalandgunpowderinthe
hoursbetweenbreakfastanddinner.Mostofthesoldierscouldn’tread,buttheycould
181
assembleagrenadefasterthananyadultwiththeirsmall,dexterousfingers.Atherstation
inthemiddleofthecentertable,Baerfidgetedrestlesslywithherparts.Hereyesflickered
towardstheclockonthewalleveryminuteorso.Sheslippedanextrafuseintoherpocket,
justincase.
“Baer?”Asmallsoldierapproachedher,wide-eyed.“Canyouhelp?”
HeheldouthishandfulofbombpartstoherandBaershowedtheboyhismistake
withasmile.Shewasoftenaskedforhelpwiththeassemblyofthetinyexplosivesmadein
theworkroomforcombat.Shewasthemastermindbehindtheirnewlycompacteddesign,
afterall.
Sheturnedbacktoherstationandstoleanotherpinforgoodmeasure.
Thatevening,Room103hadaraidassignmentwithRoom104.Baer,Scratch,and
theotherhalfofRoom103,VenusandFly,suitedupintheirblackskimasksin
preparation.Theyworkedwelltogether,forthemostpart,eventhoughtheybickeredlike
anyotherfamily.Formostofthekidsinthecompound,theirroommatesweretheclosest
thingtoafamilythattheyhadleft.
BaerwatchedVenusandFlyhelpeachotherwiththeirgear.Itwasobviousthey
werebloodrelated.Theybothhadthesamesandyhair,deepblueeyes,andlopsided
smiles.Baerlookeddownatherhandsandwatchedthemcurlintofists.Donotcry.Shetold
herself.Cryingshowsfear.Youaren’tafraid.You’reangry!Youwillnotcry.Hermindwas
backontheemptyspaceinthelineupearlierthatmorning;spacethatusedtobefilledbya
littlegirlwithmousybrownhairandglitteryeyes.Baersqueezedhereyesshut.Sheused
tobeoneoftheluckyones,too.Youwillnotcry.Don’tyoudarecry.
182
Baerlookedbackupatthetwinsandscowled.ShehadalwaysfeltthatVenusand
Fly’snamesweredumb,butshewasn’tinapositiontomakefun.Uponherarrivalatthe
compoundnineyearspast,shehadn’tevencorrectlyspelledherownnewname.Itwasa
goodthingnooneinTheRedArmywaseducatedenoughtoknowthedifference.
Besides,itwasmoreimportantthatshespelledhersister’snamerightanyway.
Mousedidn’tgettochoose.
Baerstuffedhermattedbrownhairinhermaskandmethersquadinthecourtyard.
Jarrheldthegateopenforthem,inspectingeachoneastheywalkedthrough.Hewasn’tan
adult,buthewastheclosestthingtheyhadtooneinTheRedArmy.Hemust’vebeensix
andahalffeettall,withamaneofdarkhairtiedbackandalmostasmuchscruffonhisface.
Whenhiseyesscannedherbody,Baerfeltlikesquirming,butshedidn’tknowwhy.Maybe
becauseshecouldstillfeelthehollowedouttubeoflipstickinherpocket,stickingintoher
side.Whereshewaslankyandwiry,Jarrwasallharddefinition.Hewasdifferentfromall
theotherboysinthecompound.Shehopedshecouldbethatmuscularoneday.
“Backbydawnornobreakfast.”Jarrremindedthetroopastheyleft.“Don’tget
caught.”
FarbelowTheRedArmycompound,lightswerebeginningtotwinkleinthecity.
Thecanalstwistingthroughoutthestreetsreflectedthelightssoitwastwiceasbright.
VisitingthecityatnightwasBaer’sfavoritepartofraiding.Itwasquietandbeautiful,but
tonightthesightmadeherstomachturn.
Ontheothersideofthecity,onahillalmostidenticaltoTheRedArmy’s,wasthe
ArmyofGodcompound.ItwasjustfarenoughawaythatBaercouldseelittleblackdots
thatcouldhavebeenpeople,butprobablyweren’t.TheRedArmyandtheArmyofGodhad
183
beenatwarsincelongbeforeBaerarrivedatthecompound.Theydidn’tbattlefull-out
anymore,shehadonlyheardstories,buttheywerealwaysfightingforcontrolofthecity.
Nomatterwhatthepeoplethought,itwasalwaysthethievesthatmonopolizedthecity,not
thepoliticians.
Nooneeverreallyexplainedtothearmychildrenwhytheyhadtosteal.Therich
peopledidn’tneeditall,theysaid.It’sgoingtothegreatergood.Thereisabigwargoingon
andwe’rejustasmallpartofit.
Ifyouwereagoodsoldierinthecompound,yougotrecruitedtogoonabig
helicopterandfighttherealwar.ButBaerdidn’treallyunderstandwhatallthatwasfor.
Asthetallest,Flyleadtheraid.Hedirectedthesquaddownthehill,acrossthe
bridge,andthroughbackalleysintotheheartofthecity.Thestreetswerealmostalways
desertedatnight,buttheycouldn’tbetoocareful.Flyfoundthetargethouseinunderthree
minutes;heknewthecitylikethebackofhishand.Silently,Baerandthesevenotherkids
spreadoutandsurroundedthehouse.Baermadesureshegotacornernexttoadarkalley.
TheywaitedforthesignalfromFly.Heraisedhishandtoreadythem,waitedamoment,
andthendroppedit.
Allatonce,sevenstealthychildrenchargedthehouse,butafterafewsteps,one
turnedandrantheotherway.
Baerdartedintotheshadowsofthenearestalley,practicallyflying,navigatingonly
bythepositionofthemoon.Shereachedtheothersideofthecityinanimpressivelyshort
time,outofbreathbutflushedwithadrenaline.Inthedistance,shecouldhearthefaint
screamsofsurprisedrichpeopleaslittleninjassnatcheduptheirbelongings.Itmadeher
smile.
184
Shedidn’tstoptorest.Withonehandinherjacketwrappedaroundherlipstick
tube,shestartedupherrival’shill.TheArmyofGodcompoundloomedoverher,andshe
staredbackatitindefiance.Inhermind,shestartedher“ragetrack”toprepareherselffor
whatshewasabouttodo.
TheragetrackwasacollectionofmemoriesthatBaerhadbeensavingupinthe
weekssincehersister’sdisappearance.SherememberedcarryingMouseintothe
compoundasatinybaby,howmuchshecriedandhowmuchBaerhadresentedherforit.
SherememberedstartinghertrainingandhavingtoleaveMousebehindeveryday,the
hardestthingshehadeverhadtodo.Sherememberedholdingherpoorbabysisterduring
thethunderstormsthatshooktheentirecompoundwhilesheshushedhersobbingsothat
theywouldn’tgetcaught.Sherememberedthelookonhercomrade'sfacewhenhecame
backfromasimplegroundpatrolandhadtotellBaerthathersisterwasgone.
Sheneversawwhatpartofhersister’sbodywasdeliveredtoGeneralJarr,butit
wasprobablyforthebest.Thatmighthavesentherovertheedge.
Itdidn’tmatternow.Hersisterwasdead.
BythetimeBaerwasatthepeakofthehill,shewasseething.Theareasurrounding
theArmyofGodcompoundwaswooded--abigmistakeontheirpart.Baerhidintreesuntil
shesawtheArmy’snightpatrolpassby.Theyweretalkingandlaughingastheywalked,
barelypayinganyattentiontotheirsurroundings.ThesightmadeBaersick.Theytraveled
inagroupinsteadofstationingthemselvesatintervalsaroundthecompound.Another
mistake.
185
AstheydisappearedaroundthecornerBaerstartedcounting.Whentheyfinally
returned,shewasat296.Shegrinneddevilishly.Thenexttimethepatrolturnedthe
corner,shedashedacrosstheopengrasstothecompoundwall.
Therewasamoatinfrontofthewall.Somethingshehadn’tanticipated.Shelost
countofherseconds.Hermindraced.Thepatrolwasgoingtobebacksoon…therewas
onlyoneoption.
Assilentlyashumanlypossible,Baerslidintothemoat.Thebottomwasstickywith
mud,thewatercoldandunforgiving.ForMouse.Baergrindedherteeth.Justasshe
submergedhershoulders,sheheardlaughternearby,soshetookadeepbreathand
ducked.
Onceunderwater,Baerpanickedagain.Therewasnowhereforhertogo.Maybeshe
wasn’tassmartasshefirstthought.
Shegropedatthestickyfloorandherfreezinghandsstumbledoveraslabof
concrete.Sheclutchedatit,feltitsroundexterior,andthenstuckherhandinit.Ofcourse.
TheyhadstudiedthestructureoftheAOGcompoundduringtraining--Baerhadfoundone
ofthedrainpipesthatleadfromthemoatintothecompound.Herslimbodycouldfit
throughiteasily.Sheclawedherwayintothegiantpipe,grabbedthesides,andpropelled
herselfintoitashardasshecould.Eyessqueezedshut,shefranticallypushedoffthewalls,
movingherbodyforwardblindlyandhopingshehadsomesortofdestination.Herlungs
pressedagainstherribcage,screamingforair.Suddenly,therewasanend,andthenshe
wasmovingupandupandjustwhenherthoughtsweretrailingoff,shebrokethesurface.
Herfirstbreathwasloud,butthenshecontrolledherself.Shewasdamnluckythere
wasnoonearound.
186
Herstateofmindbecameeerilycalm.Shepulledherselfuponthebankofthemoat
andsurveyedhersurroundings.Otherthanafewsparsetrees,shewasalone.Shereached
intoherpocketandtookoutthelipsticktube.Shehelditinherhandasshecreptaround
theunfamiliarterritory,toyingwiththelid.Shesteppedonsomethinghardandstumbled.
Itwastoodark,shecouldn’tseeadoor.Somethingbrushedherside,abush,maybe.It
rustled.Astickcracked.
“HOLDITRIGHTTHERE.”AlighthitBaerfrombehind.Sheswallowedhardand
poppedthelidoffthelipsticktubewithherthumb,thendroppeditinthebushnexttoher.
Sheraisedbothofherhandsupinsurrender.
TwoArmyofGodsoldiersdraggedBaerthroughwhatseemedlikeendlessamounts
ofhallwaysuntiltheyfinallystoppedinadimlylitroom.Baerhadnoideahowmuchtime
hadgoneby;betweentheoxygendepletionfromherdiveandthenumerouspunchesand
kickstothefaceshehadreceived,shewashavingtroubleremainingconscious.Hereyelids
drooped,andshewasn’tstandingasmuchasbeingheldupbythetwosoldiersflankingher
sides.Oneofthemputhishandunderherchinandraisedherheadroughly.
Standinginfrontofherwasaboy--orwasheaman?Hemusthavebeenolderthan
Jarr.Heworeanoldfashionedarmyhelmetandascartorefromthecornerofhismouthto
hiseye.Hewasgrinningather,andthescarsideofhismouthdrooped.
“What’sthis?”Hisvoicesoundedcrackedandalittlebitcrazy.
“Wefoundherintherecarea,GeneralStitch,sir.”OneoftheguysholdingBaer
answered.“She’saRed,sir.”
“Sosheis.”Thegeneral’sgrinwidened.“What’syourbusinesshere,littleRedriding
scum?”
187
ThesoldierletgoofBaer’shead,anditdropped.Shecouldn’tholditonherown.
“Ihabakessinfoyewsih.”Shewasmissingteeth.
Thegeneralcackled.“Whatwasthathoney?”
Baerspitawadofbloodandbrokenteethonthefloorinfrontofthegeneral’sfeet.
“Ihaveaquestionforyou,sir.”
Hewasn’tsmilinganymore.“What?”Hisvoicewasflat.
“DidtheynameyouStitchbeforeorafteryougotthatuglyscar?”
ThegeneralkickedBaerhardinthestomach.Thetwosoldiersdroppedherandshe
landedonherkneesandwrists.Somethingcracked.Sheclutchedatherstomachand
coughedupmorebloodatthegeneral’sfeet.
Hecackledagain.“Lookatthatspirit!I’vegottahandittothatJarr,hesurecanraise
afighter.Iadmirethat.”
“Youkeeltmyseesir!”Baerwailedfromtheground.Shepushedherselfupwithone
arm.
“Honey,I’mgonnabehonestwithyou.”Thegeneral’svoicedrippedwithsarcasm.
“I’vekilledalotofkids.Oneof‘emprobablywasyoursister.Truthis,Idon’tremember.
AndIdon’tcare.”
Baer’svisionwentwhitewithrage.
“Listenboys,wedon’twannakeepthisone.She’llbenothin’butannoyingtoallof
usaroundhere.Runheroffoutsidethegrounds.Andtellthekidsonpatroltoquitbeing
dumbasses.Watchoutformoreof‘em.”Hestartedtoleave.
Baerspitagain.Theywerelettinghergo?Itwasbetterthansheexpected.
188
“Oh,butbeforeyoudo,”thegeneralstoppedonhispathtowardsthedoor,“takeoff
oneofherears.”
Baer’smemoryofthenextfewminuteswasablurofpainthatmadeheralmost
wishthegeneralhadkilledher.Thankgodthekidgotherearoffinoneswiftmovement,
althoughitwasreallyunnecessaryofthetwoofthemtoargueoverwhogottodoit.Her
journeyoutofthecompoundwasanothertimewarpandaftertenminutesortenhours,
shehitthegrassoutsidethewalls.
“Runfast,littlegirl,orI’llstabyoujustforfun.”
AndthenBaerwasrunning.Shedidn’teventhinkitwaspossibleforhertorunin
thestateshewasin,butshedidit.Shehadto.Andshewascradlingherwrist,feelingher
brokenmouthwithhertongue,andthenshewaslaughing,whooping,maniacally.Shegot
in,andsheevengotout!Shewasalive.Ididit,Ididit,Ididit.Iloveyou,Mouse.Iloveyou.
Baerranallthewaytothecenterofthecity.Itwasstillthedeadofnight.Hertime
insidethecompoundwasinminutes,nothours.Inthemiddleofthecitywasafountain
thatconnectedtotheintricatepatternofcanalsnexttothecobblestonestreets.Baerran
andjumpedintothefountain,washingthebloodfromherclothesandfaceandhands.
Thensheturnedandsatontheedgeofthefountain.Shewaited.Itcould’vebeenten
minutesortenhours.Itdidn’tmatter.
ThenightwasilluminatedastheArmyofGodcompoundexplodedintoflames.
189
Hi,MyNameIs
byJasmineKeadle
Andreapulledhersleekchocolatyhairintoahighponytail,slippedonherclassy
blackpumps,andcheckedherselfinthemirrorforanyflaws.Shehadlookedatthispicture
ofherselfatleasttwodozentimessofar,andeachtimeshefoundsomethingelseshejust
hadtofixbeforeshewalkedintohernewjob.Thistime,however,shethoughtshejust
mightbepreparedtostunhernewbossandwowhercoworkers.Shetuggedatthebottom
ofherblazeronelasttimeandstartedstruttingtowardsthedoor,stoppingjustfora
momentatthetableunderhernewlyframeddiplomatograbherkeysandherto-gocoffee
mugthatsaid“Goget‘em!”insparkles.
“Okay,hereIgo!”shesaidoutloudtonoonebutherselfandherlazyfluffball
Arnoldwhocouldn’tbebotheredtolookupatherasshewalkedoutthedoor.
Shewasgreetedatthefrontdeskbyawomanwhosefacecouldnotpossiblysagany
lowerifitwereweighteddownbythestaplerinfrontofher.Afterhardlylookingupshe
groaned“Anne,right?”pastyearsandyearsofcigarettethroatdamage.
“Uh.It'sactuallyAndrea!Butthat'sokay,it'smyfirstdaysothat'stotallyfine.I'm
Andreahi.”Sheleanedslightlyonthefrontdeskandsethermugdownjustlongenoughto
leaveacoffeeringwhichshequicklycleanedupbylickingherthumbandsqueakingit
acrossthelaminate.Shegigglednervouslyandthewomanfinallylookedup,clearlynot
impressedbywhatshewaseither.
“HiAnne.I'mMarge.LetmegogetSteveforyou.He’stheboss.”Shedronedon
raspily,thenlookedbacktotheoutdatedmonitorinfrontofher.Andreadidn’tknow
whethertocorrectheranothertimeornotsinceitwasclearshedidn’thearasingleword
190
whenAndreaspoke.AfteranawkwardminuteMargestoodupandclompedtowardsthe
doorwaytoherright.Shetwistedtheleverandsqueezedherdroopyfacethroughthecrack
tothedimbeigeofficeontheotherside.
“Steve,Anneishereforya.”
“Huh?”Heyawned.“Whatdidyousay?Oh,uh,yeah,Anne,gotcha.Thenewgirl.”His
chairsquealedviolentlyashestoodupandafteramomentAndreacouldseewhy:thiswas
thelargestmanthatAndreahadeverseen.Shecouldonlyhopethathedidn'tseehereyes
wideninamazementthattherewereslacksthatbigintheworld.
“I'mSteve.FollowmeI'llshowyouyourdesk.”Eitherhehadanaversiontoshaking
handsorhemissedheroutstretchedpalm.EitherwayAndreacontinuedtobecaughtoff
guardbythewholescene,andgrinneduncomfortablywhilequicklyjerkingherhandback
toneutralpositionandfollowinghim.
Hewaddledacrossthelittlebeigeroomandopenedthedooracrossfromhisoffice,
intoamuchlargerroomfullofdullchatterandthebuzzoftheoverheadlights.Therewere
rowsandrowsofdesksseatingpeopledroningonintoheadsets.Theyweredividedbythin
shortwallsthatlookedremarkablylikecardboard,beigejustaseverythingelse.Andrea’s
purpleblousestoodoutviolentlyintheconsistentlyneutralattireoftherestofthe
employees.Herpresencedidn'tseemtostartleanyonehowever,asnoneofthemeven
lookedupforamoment.Steveshowedhertoherspot,onthefourthrow,seventhseatin.
Thatputhernearthebackleftcorner.
“Sithere,dialthenumberthatshowsuponyourscreen,readthewordsonthis
sheetofpaper,andiftheywantmoreinformation,forwardthecalltooneofthetechnicians
closertothefront.Neverhangupthephone,thepersononthelinewillhangup.”He
191
pointedtoalittleredbuttonthatclearlymeant“endcall”buthissausagyfingerwas
blockedbyaclearplasticcoverscrewedoverit.“Now,mostdaysyourgoalwillbetoget25
peopletotalktothenextguydownthephoneline,butthisweekyoucanshootfor10,and
todayyoucanstartwith5.”AndreacouldtellthatStevewasevenboringhimself.“Ifyou
haveanyquestionsyoucanaskthesepeoplearoundyou:Ed,Lou,Walt,andSam.”Thefour
peoplewhobelongedtothesenameslookedupasthewereaddressedandstaredblankly
atAndrea.“Ed,Lou,Walt,Sam,thisisAnne;she’llbepartofyourteam.”Theirheads
returnedtothescreensandtheyrevertedtodialingandmumblingintotheheadsets.
“Umactuallysir,mynameisAndrea,notAnne.Butit'sokay.IhopeIdidn'tgetthat
mixeduponmyapplication.”
“Oh.Yesthat'scertainlyamistake...you'llneedtofixthatimmediatelywecan’thave
that.You'llneedtobeAnne.”
“Uh.Anne?Excuseme?”
“Annecantalkonatelephone.Andreacan’t”andwiththatpieceofprizedwisdom
Stevetoddledaway.
Abitbewilderedandevenmoredisappointed,Andreasatdowninherstiffoffice
chair,squeezedthetelephoneheadsetontoherhead,messingupherperfectponytail,and
begantodialthefirstnumber.
Asitrangsherepeatedthescriptinfrontofheroverandoverinherhead,
practicingdifferenttonalityeachtime.“Himynameis…Himynameis…Himynameis”
butafterthethirdtrytheonlylogicalphraseinherheadwas“Wicky-WickySLIMSHADY”
andshefeltthattherestoftheofficewouldprobablynotunderstandherjoke.
192
Howmanytimeshasitrung?Shethought.Thishastobeatleastfive.Sixmaybe?
Whatifitringsforever.Ican'tendthecallwhatdoIdoohmygosh…
“Hello?”
Oh.Ohgoshuhum“uhIuhum.Hi!MynameisAndr-uhImeanummynameis
AnneanduhhiyeahIwascurioustoknowifum”shehadlostherplaceonherscriptsheet
anddidn'tevenknowwhatshewassupposedtobeasking.
“Anne?I'mverybusyandIdon'thavetimetobeinterruptedbytelemarketers.Bye.”
“Ohumokaysorryyouhaveagood-”
Thelinewentdead.
Andreadecideditmightbesmartofhertopracticeherlinesbeforehernextcall.
Onceshethoughtshehaditdown,shedialedthenextnumberonherscreen.
“Helloyou'vereachedClarenceatGreaterMemoriesFuneralHome,areyouinneed
ofafuneralplanorareyouattendingafuneralatourfacilitiesandneedassistance?”
Andreawaslostforwords.
“Uh.I.Um.”
“Hello?”
“Uhhh.”
“CanIhelpyou?”
“Sorrywrongnumber!”
“Haveagooddaythenma'am.”
Shewastwophonecallsinandthe25successfulcallsgoalwasstartingtosound
difficult.Sheopenedherpolkadottedpurseandreachedinforherbottleofwaterandhad
anicelongswig.It'stimetogetdowntobusiness,shethought.
193
“Helloyou'vereachedtheJohnstons.”
“HellomynameisAnnewithRYPinternetprovidersandIwascurioustoknowif
youhavebeenpleasedwithyour-”
Thelinewentdead.
ThroughoutthedayAndreabegantoappreciatethepeoplewhohunguponher.
Sureitwasn'tterriblypolitebutitdidn'twasteanytimeanditwasn'ttherudestresponses
shegot.
Onemanjustrepeatedeachphraseshesaidinapretenddwarfvoice.
“HellomynameisAnneand-”
“HelloooomynameisAaaaanne.”
“Uh.Excusemesir.Mynameis-”
“UhexcuuuusemesirmynameisAaaaanne”
ThischildishbehaviorwentonforapproximatelytenminutesbeforeAnnesimply
statedthathewaswelcometohangupatanypoint.Hedidsowithoutrepeatingthis
phrase.
Onegentlemanberatedherforcallinghimonhiscoffeebreak,andafterusingsome
explicitlanguagetodescribethesortofscumthathebelievedAndreatobe,askedherto
pleaseremovehimfromtheircallinglist,andthenhungup.Andreahadnoideahowto
removesomeonefromthecallinglistsoshesimplywentonabouthercalls,tryingnotto
thinkoftheinsultsthatwerebeginningtosting.
Yetanotheryoungerpersonhadclearlybeeninformedoftheno-hanging-uppolicy,
andsimplylefthisphoneonandwalkedawayfornolessthantwohours.Inthistime
Andrearepeatedherscript4timesbeforeshedecidedtogiveupandpickatherrecent
194
manicure.Unfortunately,shelearnedabout30minutesinthatshereallyneededtofinda
restroom.Shespentthefollowinghourandahalftryingtoforgetherpressingneed.
Shemanagedtohaveonecompleteconversationwithanolderladywhoseemed
interestedbutjustasshewasabouttotrytotransferthecallsheaccidentallykickedthe
wiresbyherfeetanddisconnectedthephoneline.
AtthispointAnnewasfrazzledandfrustrated.Sheallowedherselftoescapefora
momenttotherestroombeforesheallowedateartofall.Whenshelookedinthemirror
shesawhersleephairhadturnedintoafrizzymesswithanindentwheretheheadsetwas.
Hereyesseemedsmallerandbeadyandtheblushthatshehadputonthismorninghad
fadedintoalifelessbeige.Herfacesagged.Herthroatwashoarse.Itwashardnottonotice
thegreatdissimilaritybetweenthewomanshesawinthemirrornowandthefierce
businesswomanshehadenvisionedbecomingthroughoutschool.
Sheaccidentallyglanceddownatherwatch.Itread1:15pmandsheletlooseariver
oftears.Stillalmost4hoursleftofthisplace.
ThebathroomdoorsqueakedopenandthefrumpybodyofLouwalkedpasther
withoutasingleexpressiononherface.Andreawasgreatfunmomentarilyforthelackof
attentionshewasgiven,andprayedthatLouhadn'tseenthemascarastainsandtear
splotchesalloverherblouseandjacket.Louflushedandwalkedpastheragain,allowing
thedoortoslamslightlybehindher.
“Ew.”SaidAndreabeforeshecontinuedcrying.
AfewminuteslaterLouwalkedbackinwithabeigebuttondownshirtandhanded
ittoAnne.“Stopcrying.Keepworking.”Shethenturnedaroundandwalkedout.
“Ew.”
195
Annefitthebeigeshirtterribly.Butitwouldhavetodo,anditdid.Fortwomore
hoursAnnedialed.Shehadbecomealmostrobotic.
“HithisisRobert,mayIaskwho’scalling”
“HellothisisAnnefrom…”
“Anne?”
“Yessir?”
“Canyoudomeafavor?”
“WhatcanIdoforyousir?”
“Pleasestopthis.Stopcalling.Quitnow.YousoundlikeapersonsoIcantellthis
isn'tthejobforyou.Everyonehatestelemarketers.Everyone.Everyonehatesyou.
Seriouslyquit.”
Thelinewentdead.
Annelookedupfromhermonitorandsawthebacksofabout20lifelessheads.She
heardthesoundofdozensofboringconversations.Shefeltthehumoftheoverheadlights.
Shewasaslifelessandexpressionlessasallofit.
Ew.
Shethentookoffherheadset,pickedupherpolkadotbag,stuffedinhersoggy
bloodandblazer,stoodupandwalkedout.Nooneraisedherheadassheexitedtowatch
thespectacle.“ThanksLou.”Shesaidasshepassedinthelowestregistershehad.Lou
didn'tstopherwork.Andreaslammedthedoorbehindher.
“Marge.MynameisAndrea.NotAnne.Andrea.AndIwon'tbecomingback
tomorrow.”shelookeddirectlyatMargedefiantly.“YoushouldtellSteve.”
196
“Sweetie,”shesaidinhergrouchyvoice,“ifyou'renotcomingbackthenitreally
doesn'tmatterwhatyournameis.”Margecontinuedstaringathermonitor.“AndSteve
alreadyknows.”
Andreabitherliptoavoidscreaminginfrustration,andstormedout.
Thatnightshesatonhercoucheatingafrozenmealanddrinkingabigfatglassof
wine.ShewaswatchingthenewestepisodeofScandalwithArnoldpurringinherlap.
Thephonerang.
“Hello?”
“HitherethisisAnne!I'mwith-”
“Anne.Huh.Canyoudomeafavor?”
“WhatcanIdoforyouma'am?”
“Please,foryourownsanity,quitnow.”
Shehungupthephone.
197
GreenSin
ByJakeSatisky
I’msureyouhaveheardplentyaboutmebynow.ThatI’mcorrupt,I’macrook,
yadayada.Noneofit’strue.Well,maybeitistrue.Idon’tknow.AllIknowisthatnobody
understandsmystory,soI’vedecidedtosettherecordstraight.Here’smyaccountofhow
thingswentdown.
Asyoucanmostlikelytellbynow,I’mnotawriter.Iamapoliceofficer;well,Iwas
apoliceofficer.MynameisToddLockett,andonMay11,2015,mylifechanged
forever.ButbeforeIgetintoallthat,letmetellyoualittlebitaboutmyself.
IwasborninthemountainsofNorthCarolina,inalittlepodunktownthatwas
underthecontrolofthelocalmobanditsleader,Jay“TheOctopus”Thompson.Heheld
everycopinhistentacles,andmostofthelocalpoliticianstoo.Nobodycouldescapehis
grasp,exceptformyparents.Theywerebothpoliceofficers,andgoodonestoo.Neither
oneofthemwerewillingtobedraggedunderbyTheOctopus,evenifitmeanttheir
lives.Which,ofcourse,itdid.Iwasonly10yearsoldwhenIwascalledintotheprincipal's
officetobetoldthatmyparentshadmysteriouslydisappearedthatday.Itwastheworst
dayofmylife.Iwenttomoveinwithmyauntandunclewholivedafewblocksaway,and
fromthatpointtowhenIleftforcollegeIhadthepleasureofwatchingcorruptcopsbathe
inmobmoneywhilemyparentswereprobablyrestinginthebottomofariver
somewhere.EverydayIaskedmyselfwhymyparentshadtobesorighteous.Whatdidit
accomplish?Nothing,exceptmakeanorphanoutofme.Butofcourse,afterafewyearsof
dead-endjobsaftercollege,anoldfriendofmyparentsofferedmeajobinRaleigh.With
198
fewotheroptions,IreluctantlywentstraighttobeingwhatIhadvowednevertobe:a
policeofficer.
***
May11,2015.IwasdrivingthroughtheoutskirtsofRaleigh,thinkingaboutthe
newsmywifeJoanneandIhadlearnedthatmorning.Forquitesometimeshehadbeen
havingterribleheadaches,butstartinginearlyMayhervisionhadgoneblurryandshewas
evenslurringherwords.Wewenthastilytothehospital,fearingtheworst,andwegot
it.Shehadamassivebraintumorthatwasgoingtorequiremassivesurgery.Iwasstewing
overallofthat,ponderinghowintheworldweweregoingtofindthemoneyneededfor
thesurgery,whenithappened.MaybeifmypartnerSandraJoneswasn’tsickthatday,I
wouldn’thavedonewhatIdid.MaybeifJoanneandIhadreceivedthenewsonMay12,I
wouldn’thavedonewhatIdid.Maybeifmypasthadn’tscrewedwithmymoralcompass,I
wouldn’thavedonewhatIdid.Maybe,maybe,maybe.
Itallstartedwith“IceIceBaby.”Itwasoneofmyfavoritesongs,andIcouldn’thelp
butlooktomyrightwhenIhearditplayinginthecarnexttomine.Loandbehold,itwas
BrockOsbournebehindthewheel.Heardofhim?Youprobablyhave.Atthattimethough,
hewasn’tsowellknown.Atthattime,hewasjustarobberwhohadhitfivejewelrystores
acrossNorthCarolinainthelasttwomonths.Icouldn’thelpbutrecognizethatface;ithad
beenplasteredoneveryTVandnewspaperinthestateafterhehadrunoverayounggirl
whileescapingarobberyinCharlotte.Thenhehadabigbushymoustache,thickeyebrows,
lotsoffreckles,andnoselongerthanPinocchio’s.Inthecar,Isawthathisdistinctive
moustachewasgone,andheworealow-hangingcap,buthiswindowswereopenandIhad
littledoubtthatitwashim.Cockysonofagun,Ithoughttomyself.Iimmediatelyturned
199
onmysirenandtoldhimtopulloveronmymegaphone,butthenthelightturnedgreen
andhestompedonthegas.Iputpedaltothemedal,spedupinpursuitandradioedinfor
backup,knowingfullwellitwouldbequiteawhilebeforeIgotany.Wewerepracticallyin
themiddleofnowhere,whereonlyfarmsandcookie-cutterneighborhoodsexisted.There’s
aproblem,andyo,I’llsolveit.
IchasedOsbournethroughwindingruralstreetswithfewsignsofcivilization.His
carwasfasterthanmineandhewasagreatdriver,somyonlyhopewasforhimtolose
controlorrunoutofgas.Fortunately(or,inretrospect,unfortunately),theformer
occurred.Wewereapproachingabigcurvewheretheviewofoncomingtrafficwas
obstructedbyadenseforest,andtherewasareallyslowredtruckinfrontof
Osbourne.I’mtalkingoneofthosehugepick-uptrucksthataren’tsupereasytoget
around,especiallyonacurvyroadwithlimitedlong-rangevision.Osbournewhippedhis
carintotheotherlanerightbeforethecurveandjustpassedthetruckwhensuddenlyan
evenbiggergraypick-uptruckcameroaringathimlikealiononthehunt.Panicked,
Osbourneslammedonthebrakesandtriedtoslipbehindtheredtrucktoavoidcrashing
head-onwiththegraytruck.However,thelawsofphysicsdon’tmakeexceptions,andhis
carspunoutofcontrolontothesideoftheroad.Neithertruckwashit(buttheyhonked
theirhornsplenty)andtheybothwentontheirway.
OsbournewasdazedwhenIgottohiscar,soIeasilyyankedhimoutandshoved
himontheground.AsIwasslappinghandcuffsonthehim,thescoundrelturnedtomeand
saiddesperately,“Hey,Mr.PoliceOfficer,Igotacool500grandinthetrunkofmycar.You
letmego,and150kofitisallyours.”
200
Ichuckled.“Hahabuddy,keepdreaming.Yo-youthinkyoucanbuymetosaveyour
ownworthlessass?Thinkagain.”
Clearlyhemusthaveheardsomeslightwaveringinmyvoice,ormaybehejust
thoughtanycopcouldbeboughtoff.“C'monofficer.Thinkofwhatyoucandowiththat
money.Youcangoonvacation,buyanewcar,havesomeplasticsurgerydoneforyour
wife…”
AtthatlastpartIgaspedalittle,andOsbournesuddenlyhadafreshsupplyof
ammunition.“Yeahman,thatstuffisexpensive.Nowthinkofyourotheroption.Youcan
takemeinandbeahero.Maybegetalittlebonus,asmallpromotion.Itdefinitelywon’tbe
onehundredandfiftythousanddollarsincash,nowwillit?Ifyouletmego,thatmoneyis
yours,andIpromiseI’llleaveNorthCarolinaforever.Hell,I’llleavetheSouth,goto
Californiaorsomething.Justletmego,Officer…”Hecranedhisnecktolookatmyname
badge.“Lockett.Please.Foryou.”
Istoodstockstill,weighingmyoptions.Ontheonehand,Iwasanofficerofthelaw,
andBrockOsbournewasawantedthiefandkiller.IfIbroughthimin,Iwouldahero,plain
andsimple.Yet…thepromiseof$150,000wastantalizing.Atemptationthatcould
potentiallysavemywife,whoIlovedmorethananythingintheworld.Andwhowould
know?I’dtellpeoplethatheescaped,andIcouldeasilyfigureoutastorytoexplainthe
influxofmoneyinmylife.Yeah,mydistantcousindiedandleftmewithabunchof
money.Wewereclose,hewasrich,badabing,badaboom.
Wait,Itoldmyself.WhatintheworldamIthinking?Ican’ttakeBrockOsbourne’s
stolenmoneyandletthisevilmangetaway.No,no,no.Outofthequestion.Hewasgoing
tojail.
201
“Nodeal.Getinthecar,”Icommandedwithaweakvoice.
Hewasalmostonhiskneesnow.“OfficerLockett,thinkaboutit.I’llgiveupcrime
forever,Iswear.Ihaveplentyofmoney,I’llstartover.HonesttoGodIwill.I'msickof
crime,it’stoomuchstressanyway.Thinkaboutwhatyoucandowiththatmoney.Iknow
itgoesagainstyourethicalcodeandwhatnot,butwhathasthelawreallydonefor
you?I’mnotaskingyoutogorobabankwithme,forgoodnesssake!Justtotakeasmall
giftinexchangefor‘sorryhegotaway.’Pleassssseeeeeeeee.”
Myresolvewasweakeningbythesecond.Hewasright.Whathadthelawdonefor
me?Killedmyparentsandleftmewithameagersalary,that’swhat.Thatmoneycould
definitelybeputtogooduse.Sowiththat,Ibroke.
Withmyhandsshakingandmyconsciousgnawingonmyinsides,Iopenedthe
handcuffs.Gunpointedathishead,Imotionedtohistrunk.“Justgiveme100grand,that’s
allIneed,”Isaid.
“Alright,ifthat’swhatyouwant,”Osbournereplied.Giddily,hehandedmeabag
withanamountofcashthatIhadonlyeverseenonTVshows.BeforeIcouldchangemy
mindandarresthim,hejumpedintohiscarandzoomedaway.Thentherewasjust
me.Myparents’son,takerofacriminal’smoney.
***
Atfirst,Ihidthemoneyinourcloset,afraidtoevenlookatit.Soonafterthough,I
wasitchingtostartspendingmygreensin.Longingly,Istaredatanewtelevisionoranew
car,knowingIcouldaffordonebutscaredtodoso.WhatifIgotnervousinfrontofa
suspiciouscashier?Icouldn’tgetcaught.SoIpromisedmyselfIwouldn’ttouchthemoney
untilitwastimetopayforJoanne’ssurgery;thenIcouldgetthatnewTV.
202
Ialmostbrokedownoneday.Iwentintowork,tryingtokeepittogetherasalways,
andwasassignedtogocheckoutarobberyatoneofthelocalpawnshops.Thethieveshad
takenmostoftheirjewelry,cash,andguns.Theyhadgottenawayrightbeforewecould
arrive.Hearingaboutthievesontheloosemademewanttothrowup,whichofcourseI
didintheshop’sbathroom.Iwasthisclosetoadmittingmyguilt.ButIdidn’t.Itold
myselfitwasbecauseofJoanne’ssurgery,althoughdeepdownIknewIwasterrifiedof
gettingintrouble.I’macoward.Alwayswas,alwayswillbe.Soinsteadof‘fessingupI
insteadtriedtoactnormal.Sandrasmeltaratprettyquickly,butIconvincedheritwas
justnervesandsomebadsushiIhadfordinnerthenightbefore.Sheonlyhalf-believed
me,Icouldtell.
ItwastimeforJoanne’ssurgery.Ididn’tsleepwellthenightbefore,eventhoughI
wasconfidentthesurgerywouldgowell.Iknewmultiplepeoplethatunderwentthesame
procedureandtheyhaddonefine.No,Iwasstillthinkingabouttheunkneadeddoughin
mycloset.JoannehadnoideathatIpossessedsuchalargeamountofcash.Everytimeshe
askedaboutpayingforthesurgery,Ijusttoldhernottoworry,everythingwouldbe
okay.Sheonlyhalf-believedme,Icouldtell.
Thateveningwehadgottenintoanargumentaboutmybehavior.Sheconfronted
meaboutitduringdinner.
“Todd,you’vebeenactingreallyweirdlately.Like,youdon’tcrackanyjokesand
youjumpateverylittlething.Thisisn’tlikeyou.”
Istaredatmytake-outChineseintentlytoavoidmakingeyecontactwith
Joanne.“Honey,I’mfine.I’mjustnervousaboutyoursurgerytomorrow.”
203
“YeahIknow,youkeepsayingthat.Iappreciateyourconcern,butIcanjusttell
you’rehidingsomethingfromme.It’smywifesixthsense.”
“Maybeyourtumorisgivingyousomestrangethoughts,everthoughtaboutthat?”I
said,sortofjoking.
Iflookscouldkill,I’dhavebeenagoneratthatpoint.“Todd,that’snotfunny.Imay
haveabraintumor,butI’mnotstupid.Don’ttreatmelikeachild.”
“Honey,Ireallydon’twanttofightbeforeyourbigsurgerytomorrow.Canwe
pleasetalkaboutsomethingelse?HaveyouheardaboutthatSacramentobombing?Just
horrible,ain’tit?Imean,whocouldhavetheaudacity…”
“...Tochangethesubjectlikethat!”Shewasangrynow.“Thisisthefirstserious
conversationwe’vehadinages,andit’saboutdamntimeyoustartbeingstraightwithme!”
Ihitthetablehardenoughtomakeitshake,andstoodupwithauthority.“You
knowwhat?Ifthisishowyouwanttoact,fine!I’lljustgotobed.I’mexhaustedanyway.”
“Thenyou’resleepingonthecouchbuckaroo.Don’teventhinkaboutcominginto
bedwithmeuntilyoufeellikehavinganadultconversation.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Westormedoffatthesametime.
SothereIwas,thinkingaboutmoneyandfightsandbrainsurgery,wanting
desperatelytogoapologizetoJoannebutnotwantingtohavethatadultconversationshe
desired.Iknewthatmademeaterriblehusband,butwhatcouldIdo?Tellherabout
BrockOsbourne?Ofcoursenot,that’dbepreposterous.Likeme,shewasraisedinalawabidingpolicefamily.Infact,herfather,knownas“TheShark,”wasthepolicechiefof
204
Raleighforalongtime.Hewasprobablyrollinginhisgrave,knowinghisprecious
daughtermarriedatakerofcriminalmoney.Ithoughttomyself,maybeTheSharkshould
behappythatI’mhelpingtosavehisdaughter,thewomanwelove.Andwiththat,Ifellinto
anuneasysleep.
***
Flashforwardtoamonthlater.Joannehadhersurgery,andthankGoditwent
well.Shewashomefromthehospitalandseemedtoberecoveringnicely.Thedoctorstold
metokeepaneyeonher,butshehadjustbeenlyinginbed,gainingherstrengthback.She
waslowmaintenance,Igaveherthat.Asshewasgettingbetter,however,Iwasgetting
worse.Myskinhadturnedanunhealthygray,Ihadlostweightandmyperformanceat
workwaslagging,somuchsothatIhadbeentemporarilyassignedtodeskduty.Iwas
jittery,likeajunkieaftercoffee,especiallyafterIheardthenewstheweekbeforeaboutthe
Sacramentobombing.Rememberthat?Thirtyfourdead,fortyseveninjuredatthe
SacramentoTheaterCompany.Itwasalloverthenewsforalongtime.NaturallyI
followedthecase,butnotveryintently.Well,afterweeksofsearching,theFBIfinally
caughtthebomber.Guesswhoitwas?It’snotadifficultguess.TheSacramentobomber
wasnoneotherthanBrockOsbourne,thecrazylunaticwhowouldhavebeeninaNorth
Carolinastateprisonifnotforme.Thatreallymademefeelwarmandfuzzyontheinside,
asyoucanimagine.Supposedlyhehadsomebeefwiththetheater’sownerorsomething,
butitdidn’treallymattertome.AllIknewwasthatthemoneyofthemosthatedmanin
Americawasinmybedroomcloset.ItriedtotellmyselfthatIwasn’tresponsibleforthe
bombing,butIcouldn’tlietomyself.
205
SohereIwas,huddleduponthecouchwatchingCNNonmynewTVwhileJoanne
sleptinthebedroom,whenIreceivedaphonecallfrommypartnerSandra.
“Hello?”Isaidgroggily.
“HeyTodd,it’smeSandra.Iwanttotalktoyouaboutsomething.”
“Aboutwhat?”
“Todd,it’saboutSacramento.ThestationjustgotacallsayingOsbourneconfessed
togivingaNorthCarolinapoliceofficerbribemoneyinordertoescapethestate,but
strangely,he’srefusingtogiveaname.Now,Iknowyouwerechasinghimawhileback…”
“And?”Iblurtedinapanic.CalmdownTodd.“And?Hesuredidn’tgivemeany
money.Iwasinpursuit,yeah,buthehadabigleadonmeandheshookmeoff.JustlikeI
saidinmyreport.”
Sandrahesitatedforafewsecondsbeforeresponding.“Trustmebud,Ibelieve
you.Nevertheless,thereareacoupleofpeopleherewhoaren’tassure,seeingasyouwere
thelastcoptohavereportedseeingOsbourneinNorthCarolina.Iknowyoucalledinsick,
butisthereanywayyoucanmakeittothestationnow?”
Thatsonofa…Hewantstomakemesweat.DeepbreathsTodd.Staycalm.“Sure
Sandra,I’llbetherein25minutes.Ineedtochangerealquick,Ilooklikegarbage.”
“Okaysoundsgood.Andbetweenyouandme,Ithinkyou’llbefine.Osbourneis
probablyjustpumpingmoreofhisBS,butitwouldbegreatifyoucouldcomeanswerafew
questions.”
“Willdo.Seeyouinabit.”Ihungup,sweatdrippingdownmywholebody.There
wasnowayIwasgoingtothepolicestation.They’dsmellaratthemomentIwalkedinthe
door.
206
ConfessTodd.Gotothestation.Befreeofyourguilt.No,Iwasnotgoingto
jail.You’lljustmakeitworsebyfleeing.They’llcatchyou.Notheywon’t.Youscrewedup,
admitit.Tellthemitwasforyourwife,takeapleabargain.Confess…..No.Myheadand
heartweretellingmetoturnmyselfin,butmybodywastellingmetorun.Withblinding
speed,Ichangedclothes,putafewthingsinmypre-packedbag,andsnatchedwhatwasleft
ofthemoney(alongwithsomecashIhadwithdrawnearlier).
RightafterIpackedallmystuff,IcheckedinonJoanne.Shewassleepingpeacefully,
anangelrestingontheclouds.Herserenitymademejealous,forIknewmylifewasabout
tobecomeanythingbutserene.Ilovedwatchinghersleep.Manypeoplelookdisheveled
whentheysleep,butnotJoanne.No,shewasradiant,arguablyathermost
beautiful.Sometimes,whenIcouldn’tsleepatnight,Iwouldglanceatmyrestingwifeand
feelinstantlyhappy.Ifeltthatwayrightthen,eventhoughmyworldwasabouttobe
thrownintoturmoil.Joannewasjustsobeautifulwhensheslept.Shehadactuallybeen
sleepingalotthosepastfewdays,butIknewshewasjustrecoveringfromhersurgery.It
wasabigsurgery,youknow.Imean,sowhatifherchestwasn’trisingorfalling?Sowhat
ifshewasstartingtosmellabit?Itwasjustpartoftherecoveryprocess.Idecidednotto
disturbherandjustwriteanotetellingherwhyIhadtoleave.
Shewouldunderstand.
Sheneededhersleep.
***
SohereIam,inhiding.Ican’ttellyouwhereIam,forobviousreasons.AllIcansay
isthatI’msomewheresafe.Atleast,IhopeIam.AsI’msureyouknow,I’mabitofa
wantedman.Peoplearecallingformyhead,seeingasI’mindirectlyresponsibleforallthe
207
harmBrockOsbournehascausedinSacramento,NorthCarolina,andbeyond.Andyeah,I
feelprettydarnguiltyaboutittoo.NumeroustimesI’vebeentemptedtoturnmyselfin
andendmyparanoia,myguilt,buteverytimeIchickenout.TherewasatimewhenIhad
noideawhatIwasgoingtodo.ImighthavebeabletowaituntilIwaslesshated;Imean,
thereisasmallminorityofpeoplewhodon’tevenhatemeinthefirstplace,whosayIwas
justifiedinwantingtohelpJoanne.That’swhatItellmyselfwhenItrytofallasleepat
night.Itdoesn’thelp.NowIknowwhatImustdo.
Thatismystory.You’llprobablyhatememorenow,butit’sstillworthitforme.I
wantpeopletohearmysideofthestory.I’mnotcorrupt,I’mnotworkingwithcriminals,
andI’mnotinanywayjustifyingmyactions.Iunderstandthatthere’sanicespotformein
hell,rightwiththeothercopswhohaveletthemselvesbeblindedbygreed.I’msure
there’llbealittlewindowtheretoowheremydisappointedparentscangazeatmefrom
heaven.
Goodbye.
208
TheFirstTime
ByRebeccaWest
Thewindowshattersatexactly12:57AM,andMilliewastesnotimeincatapulting
betweentheremainingshardsofglass.Herbootsmeetthestainedhardwoodfloorswitha
softthud,herchinrisingtheslightestbitintotheair.Thehouseisstill,andMillieholdsher
breathbeforedaringtomoveagain.Adjustingherpack,Milliemeandersthroughthe
kitchen.Insidethebagarethenecessities:atowel,autilityknife,somebobbypins,anda
Beretta800.
(Themagazineisempty.It’sforemergenciesonly.)
Aphraseechoesinherhead,stretchingitselfoutandtearingitselfapart.Millie
clingstothewords,thecadenceofherchantpickingupasherfingersghostoverabrass
doorknob.Thisisthelasttime,herheartsings,quiveringandshakingbeneathherribs.She
creepsintothemasterbedroom,andherthoughtsfallsilentwhensheopensthejewelry
box,revealingacacheofgoldandgems.Sheemptiestheboxintoherpackandisoutthe
parlorwindowbeforetheclockstrikesone,anexhilaratedsmilesnakingacrossherface.
Sheknowsitwon’tbethelasttime.
-
ItisanungodlyhourinthemorningandMillie’spackisdecidedlylessfull.The
jewelsshehadburglarizedhadbeendroppedoffatherfavoritepawnbroker,hiscrooked
smileandsweatystenchinplaceassheslidthegoldacrossthecounter.
Millieisgladtobehome,andsheheadsstraighttohercomplex’sstairs,ignoringthe
acheinheranklesasshedoesso.Shethinksshe’llfileanothercomplaintaboutthebroken
elevatorinthemorning.Thoughitisunlikelythatthelandlordwillfixit,Millielamentsas
209
shereachesthefirstlanding.Butmaybe,ifshegetsenoughpeopletogether,shecanmakea
change.Shecanstartanelevatorrevolution.
210
Or,shecanfigureoutwhysheissuddenlylyingonthefloor,afurrymassperchedatopher
chest.
“Ohmagod,I’msosorry,areyouokay?Ireallyshould’velookedbeforejustletting
himrunaround,buthealwaysgetssoexcitedaboutgoingoutsideandhe’ssocutewithhis
earallperkedlikethat,andohmagod,Bustercomehereandgetoffthatpoorgirl!”
Millieblinks,coughingalittleastheweightonherchestvanishes,beforepropping
herselfonherelbows.Thefirstthingshenoticesisthedogbecauseit’saverybigdog.A
GermanShepherdwithahotpinkcollarandonlyoneearisboundtoattractattention,
especiallywhenitsverybigtongueisonlyinchesawayfromherhand.
Next,shetakesinhersavior-of-sorts,whoisstandingnexttothedogandcontinuing
toapologize.Thegirlisunfairlytallwithdarkskinandcurvyhips.Herhairisstyledintoa
shortafrowitharedandblackheadbandfixedaroundherhead,andherlipsareavibrant
purple.
Normally,thiswouldnotbeaproblem.Butmysterygirlisleaningveryclose,andwithher
gorgeousblackeyesandworriedexpression,well…..Millieblushes.Sheconvincesherself
thatisnotnoticeable.
“Y-yeah,Ijust,um,I’mfine,”shesputters,likeanoldengineinneedofatuneup.“
Really.”
“Ohthankgod,”thegirlbreathes,facebreakingintoablindingsmile.ASouthern
twangtugsatherwords,lengtheningthevowelsashermouthsauntersfromonesyllable
tothenext.Milliecanfeelthetipsofherearsmelting.“Ireallyamsorryaboutthat.My
name’sTrinity,bytheway.Iliveinapartment4C.ThisisBuster.”
211
Buster’searperksupatthesoundofhisname,turninghisattentiontohisowner.
Milliefollowshisexample.Trinityjustcontinuestosmiledownather,allpurplelipsand
straight,whiteteeth.
IttakesMillieasecondtorealisethatintroductionsgenerallywarrantareply.
“MillieAdelig,”sheblurts.“That’s...myname.Uh,yeah.”Offeringaweakgrin,Millie
reachesherhandoutandsoonrealizesthatherpositionisnotanidealoneforshaking
hands.
Trinitygigglesand,graspingMillie’soutstretchedhand,pullsthegirltoherfeet.
“Adelig,huh?”sheasks,asingleeyebrowinchingtowardsherhairline.“Ilikeit.Whatis
that,German?”
Nodding,Millietriestoignorethefactthattheirhandsarestillinterlockedand
simplysays,“Yeah.”
(Shehadoncelookeduphersurnameonceoutofinnocentcuriosity,andclickedon
the‘Didyoumean:adlig’thatGoogleofferedher.AfterreadingthatitwasGermanfor
noble,shehadclosedthetabwithadrysnortandstartedtoprepareforhernextheist.)
Silencefalls,andthetwowatcheachothercarefully.Trinityseemstocontenttojust
standthere,andMillieseeslittlereasontoruinaperfectlygoodmomentwithagorgeous
neighbor.Herbedisundoubtedlycryingforher,spoutingdesperatepleasforrestand
relaxationandsomethingclosetoagoodnight’ssleep,butshepromptlyignoresit.
Busteristheonewhoeventuallybreaksthemfromtheirdaze,andhewhineswhile
ramminghisnoseintoTrinity’sthigh.“Ohright,”shemumblesandsendsanapologetic
looktoMillie.“Sorry,buthereallydoesneedtogoout.Don’taskhimwhyhelikestodoit
212
soearly,hewon’tanswer.”Shestartstobackaway,releasingMillie’shandasshegoes.
Milliepretendsthatshedoessohesitantly.
BusterhasalreadydisappeareddownthestairwellwhenTrinitygivesheronelast
smile,wideandblinding.“I’llseeyouaround,Iguess?Itwasnicemeetin’you.”
“Wait!”Millieblurtsout,louderthanintended.“Um,doyouwanttohangoutsome
time?Wecouldwatchamovieorsomething.Atoneofourplaces?I’vebeentoldIhave
quitethecollectionofdorkyanimatedfilms.”
AgentlegrinreplacesthesmileonTrinity’sface,andMilliebitestheinsideofher
cheek.Ohgod.Sheissoscrewed.
“Sure,”Trinitysays.“I’dlikethat.Tomorrowatseven?”Millienodseagerly,and
Trinity
disappearsdownthestaircasewithonelastwave.
-
“Wouldyoulikefrieswithyourorder,orthejustmeal,”Millieintones,punchingthe
buttonsontheregister.Hervisorisgivingheraheadache,andthewomanindrive-thruhas
justtakentwofullminutesdecidingbetweenasaladoradoublecheeseburgerbefore
orderingsomechickennuggets.
“Justthemeal,”isthereply,unfocusedandbored.
“Yourtotalis$4.83.Firstwindowplease.”Milliepullsapenclosertoher,printing
offextrareceiptpaper.Asmallsmirkgracesherfeatures.
Thecustomerendsupbeingapetiteblondewomaninlargesunglassesandazebra
printblouse.Shehandsoverhercreditcardwithoutasecondglance,andMilliejotsdown
hername-JanePeterson-beforeringingherup,wrappingherreceiptaroundthecard,
213
andhandingitbackthroughthewindow.Milliehastoloudlyclearherthroattwicebefore
theladylooksherway,andshegetsonlyaneyerollbeforethecarpullsaway.
“Wellthen,”Milliemumbles,andshecopiesthelicenseplatenumberfromthe
securitycameras.Herfeethurt,andsheisonlyhalfwaythroughhereighthourshift.Which
meansthatshehastowaitanotherfourhoursbeforeherdatewithTrinity.
Milliebitesherlipasshementallypicksthroughhercollectionofmovies.Shehasit
narroweddownbetweenTheLionKing2andOliverandCompany,andshehopesthather
decisionwillbemadebythetimeshegetstoTrinity’sapartment.It’snottechnicallyadate,
butMilliewilltakewhatshecanget,andshewouldlikeittogowell.
Anothercarpullsuptothedrive-thru,filledwithsquealingchildrenandafrazzled
father.Milliegroanssilentlyassheslidesthereceiptpaperintoherpocket.Seveno’clock
cannotcomefastenough.
-
Nukahasjustbeencrushedbyanavalancheoflogs,andMillieistryingnottolaugh
aroundherpopcorn.TrinityishuddledinaballbetweenherandBuster,theone-eared
Germanshepherd,silenttearsstreamingdownhercheeks.
“Okay,”saysMillie,snagginganotherhandfulofbutterygoodness.“Soyou’ve
obviouslyneverseenLionKing2.”
“No,Ihaven’t!”snifflesTrinity,andshepullstheirsharedblanketuptocoverher
mouth.“Yousaiditwouldbecute;thisisnotcute!”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?Thisisabsolutelyadorable!”Milliecackles.Shebumps
shoulderswithTrinity,andtheothergirlrepeatsthegesture.
214
“Adorable?Adorable?!”Turningherhead,Trinitysimplygapes.“Asinglemotheris
cryingoverheroldestson’scorpse,andthat’sadorable?Girl,whatplanetdidyoucome
from?”Heraccentstrengthensasshespeaks,andMillie’ssmilegrows.
Millieleansclosertoreply,smirkinplaceasshestaresatTrinity.“Idon’tknow,”she
says.“ButI’mkindagladthatI’monearthnow.”
Trinityswallows,andhereyesturnbacktothescreenbeforeshereplies.“You
know,”shemurmursslowly.“IthinkIjustgotawonderfulideaforanewpiece.”She
snifflesonce,thetearsstilldryingonhercheeks,beforeflingingbacktheblanketand
treadingdownadarkhallway.
Millietakesadeepbreath,triestoforgetthepastthirtysecondsandherownmortification,
andrises,trailingslowlyinTrinity’swake.Anothersongfromthemoviestartstoplay,but
itisignored.
Halfwaydownthehall,adoorisajar,anditspillslightintothehallway.Peeking
throughthedoorway,Milliegasps.“Whoa.”
Theroomissmall,nobiggerthanawalkincloset,butithasbeenutilizedtofull
potential.Differentpaintingsanddrawings,eachoneunique,coverthewalls.More
canvasesleanagainstthewallsinneatlittlelines,andasmalldeskinthebackholdsjarsof
artsuppliesandabluetoothspeaker.AndTrinityisseatedonthefloorinthemiddleofall
ofit.
Shedoesn’tevenbothertolookupwhenMilliestepsinside,alreadyenrapturedin
hercurrentproject.Apencilglidesacrossanemptycanvaswithlight,quickstrokes,and
Milliecanseesomekindofanimalalreadystartingtotakeshape.Asquirrel,maybe?
215
Theyspendthenextfewminutesincompletesilence,Millieleaningonthe
doorframeandTrinityhunchedoverhersketch.Finally,Trinityletsoutasmallyet
triumphantlaughandthrustshercanvasintotheair.
“Anditisdone!”sheexclaims,turningtheimagetofaceMillieinafitofexcitement.
Itisdefinitelysomekindofsquirrelcreature,wearingaveryforlornexpressionand
standinginfrontofatree.
Millieraisesasingleeyebrow,grinninginspiteofherconfusion.“Andwhatis‘it’
exactly?”
“Alemur!Amommalemur,infact.Onewhohaslostherlittlelemurchildandis
tryingtofindhim.”Trinitystandsandputsthelemursketchontoherdesk.Herfaceholda
dramaticallyheartbrokenexpression.
Chuckling,Millienodsslowly.“Uh-huh,”shedrawls.“So,I’mguessingyou’rean
artist,then?Alonelylemurartist?”
“I’mgoingtoassumeyoumeanthatthelemurislonely,andnotme,”Trinitywhips,
steppingpastMillieandbackintothehallway.Sheflicksthelightswitchonherwaybackto
thelivingroom,andMilliefollowsher.
“Butyeah,”Trinitycontinuesastheysettlebackontothecouch.“I’moneofthose
typicalhipstergirlslookingforopportunityinthebigcity.ChancesarethatI’llneverget
recognized,butmyfamily’sbeenrealsupportive,soImightaswellgetmydreamscrushed
earlyon,yaknow?Then,onceIgetmyheadonstraight,Icangetajobasasecretaryor
somethingsuitableforplainol’me.”
Milliesnorts,andthewords,heatedandpassionate,areoutofhermouthbeforeshe
evenrealizesthatsheisspeaking.“Youareanythingbuttypicalorplain,andifpeoplecan’t
216
seethatyouarethemostamazingartist-mostamazingperson-ever,thentheyobviously
don’tdeservetohaveeyes!”
ThereisabeatofsilenceinwhichMillierealizessheisleaningtowardsTrinity,hand
restingontheother’sthigh.Shestiffens.
“Oh,”Trinitybreathes.Hereyesarewide,andtheirnosesarealmosttouchingfor
thesecondtimethatnight.
MilliechewsontheinsideofhercheekandglancesatTrinity’slips.Theyareright
there,sounfairlycloseandunfairlybeautiful.Herbreathhitchesassheforcesherselfto
lookuponcemore.
Trinitymustnoticebecauseshealsoinhalessharply,eyesdartingtothetelevision,
wherethecreditsarenowrolling,andbacktoMillie.
Andsuddenly,withUpendiplayinginthebackground,Trinity’slipsarecrashing
intoMillie’s.
Itisbreathtaking.Itischappedlipsagainstalayeroflipstick,withuncertaintyand
ecstasydancingintheairbetweenthem.Itislightningandfireworksanddynamiterolled
intoone,asinglemomentofwonderandheat.Butjustasquicklyasitbegan,thekissis
over.
Trinityisthefirsttospeak,breathsheavyandhandsclenchingthehemofhershirt.
Shelicksherlipsseveraltimesbeforeshecangetthewordsout,andMilliewatchesher
withraptattention.“I-Ididn’tmean,I’m….just….I’mawfullysorryaboutthatIjustassumed,
butyoukindajustlookedatme,andIkindajustwentforitohmagodIamsosorryplease
jus-”
Needlesstosay,Milliediscoversthatkissesareexcellentmutebuttons.
217
-
TheirthirddateisadinneratOliveGarden,andafterwards,theyendupbreaking
intoanartgallery.Surprisingly,itisTrinity’sfault.
Itiswellpastduskwhentheyarriveatthegallery,TrinitydraggingMilliealongby
thehand.Theexhibitionisonthebadsideoftown,inatiny,unrenovatedshopwedged
betweenanancientpizzeriaandajewelrystore.Asignonthedoorreads‘ForRent’in
fadedredletters.Thestreetisempty,andthelightsinsidethestoresaredark,butMillie
stillfindsherselfconstantlycheckingoverhershoulder.
“Alright,so,”Trinitygiggles,alittlebreathlessandalittlehighonhappiness.
“There’sthissuperamazingartgalleryopeninginthenextfewdays,butIthoughtmaybe
wecouldgetanearlylook?It’sfineifyoudon’twantto,Ijustthoughtyoumightenjoyit
so….”
Milliegentlysqueezesherhand,andallramblingceases.“I’msureI’llloveit,”Millie
murmurs,stealingaquickkiss.“Butum,howarewegoingtogetin,exactly?”
“What,youdon’tknowhowtopicklocks?”
Millie’sheartfreezesalongwiththerestofherbody,andsheturnstolookatTrinity.
“Uh,shouldI?”
Trinityseemstothinkamoment,indexfingerplacedonherchin.“Nah,Iguessnot.
However,itisaveryhandyskilltohave,yaknow?”Withthosewords,shereachesintoher
backpocketandpullsouttwobobbypins.
Bendingoneintoastraightline,Trinitykneelsinfrontofthedoor.Sheinstantly
startsprobingtheshopskeyhole,twistingandturningwiththepins.Milliestandsbehind
herandwatches.
218
Okay,sohergirlfriendcanpicklocks,whichisacompletelynormalskill.Shehad
probablylearnedhowfromsomeoldersibling,orshejusttaughtherselfforfun.Millie
inhales,slowlyanddeeply,andtriestoavoidimaginingTrinityasacriminalinform-fitting,
allblackclothes.Somehow,shemanagesit.
Thelockletsoutasmallclick,andTrinitydoesafistpump,openingthedoorasshe
rises.Thelightsareoff,butenoughlightfiltersinfromthestreetthatMilliecanseethe
majorityofhersurroundingswhenshestepsinside.
Thegalleryislongandnarrow,butthespaceisusedwell.Canvasesdecoratethe
wallsatregularintervals,anddescriptionsrestbesideeachimage.Thereisasingle
paintingonametalstand,restingonlyafewfeetfromthedoor,andeveninthelowlight,
Milliecanmakeoutasmallrodentwithabackgroundofgreen.
Ittakesonlyasecondfortherealizationtosinkin,andwhenitdoes,Millieflings
herselfatTrinity,armswindingaroundherneck.“Ohmygod,”shesqueals.Shejumpsin
placeafewtimes.“Thisisyourgallery,isn’tit?Youactuallymanagedtobookyourownart
show?I’msoproudofyou,ohmygod!”
Trinitygiggles,andherhandscometorestofMillie’swaist.“Thanks,”shesays,smile
threateningtosplitherface.“AndIknow,right?Theownergavemeareallycheaprental
fee,andIjustcouldn’tsayno!Imadesomeflyers,soIwasgonnahangsometomorrow.Do
youwanttomaybe….wecouldhangthemtogether?”
Millienodsenthusiastically.“Sure!Ijusthavea10to5shift,soafterthat?”Shehad
beenplanningoncheckingoutwhereJanePeterson,hernewesttarget,lives,butsuch
thingscanwait.Trinity,however,cannot.
219
“Soundsperfect,”Trinityreplies,gigglingagain.I’llseeyouatyourapartment
aroundsix,okay?”
MilliehumsheragreementbeforepullingTrinityinforonelastkiss.
-
Millie’sfirstreactiontothenoisesinthehallwayistogroan.Hersecondistoshove
apillowoverherhead.Herthirdistoscreamintosaidpillowandkickherfeetalot.She
doesallofthembeforesheregisterstheknockingonherdoor.
Grunting,Millierollsoutofbed.ShehadvisitedJanePetersonthatnight,orperhaps
itcountsasmorning,andthoughherwalletisextremelyappreciative,herbodyismost
definitelynot.Herbodyisalsonotappreciativeofthefactthatitis9:38inthemorning,and
someoneisapparentlytryingtobreakdownherdoor.
Glarefirmlyinplace,Milliestalkstoherapartmentdoor,butallbravadoleavesher
whenshelooksthroughthepeepholeandseesacop.
Tohercredit,Millieonlychokesalittle,andittakesherthreesecondstorealignher
features.Theknockinghas,atthispoint,startedagain.Milliesteelsherself,alignsher
fingersintoafeebleyetthreateningfistatherside,andpullsthedooropen.
“What,”sheintones,staringatthepoliceman’sface.Heistall,muchtallerthanher,
withabrownmustacheandsomesideburnsthatpeekoutfromunderneathhishat.Behind
him,Milliecanseepeopleroamingthehallway,allheadingonewayoranother.Her
stomachclenchesassheseestwoparamedicswalkpastherdoor.
Okay,somaybethey’renotheretoarresther.
220
“Didyouhearanystrangenoisesaroundlastnight,”theofficerstartswithout
preamble,speakingthequestionlikeastatement.“Say….12:30orso.Windowbreaking,
screams,anythingofthatsort.”
“No,”Milliestartstosay,butherheartsoonbecomeslodgedinherthroat.Thetwo
paramedicsturnafewyardsdownfromMillie’sdoorandwalkstraightintoTrinity’s
apartment.Itfeelsasifherhearthasalreadyleftherthroatandgoneouthermouth.
“Is….issomethingwrongwithTrinity?”Millie’svoiceshakes,andshehatesit,but
shecontinuesspeaking.Thecopsimplylooksather.“She’sthegirlfromapartment4C?Is
everythingokay.”
“I’msorry,”thecopsays,buthedoesn’tlookit.“Icannotdisclosedetailsofthecase
atthistime.”
“No,”Milliegasps.“Look,please,I….I’mhergirlfriend,please,just.Isshealright?!Sir,
isshe….?”Milliepausestocatchherbreath.“Justtellmewhathappened.Please.”
Thecoplooksather,looksathiswatch,thenlooksatheragain.Apparently,heis
notcurrentlyinthemoodtoresistagainstyoungwomenwithbedheadbecauseheletsout
onelongandsufferingsigh.
“Homeinvasion,”hemuttersatlast,seeminglybored.“Apparently,thethiefdidn’t
knowshewashome.”Morewordsfollow,uselessfacts,asiftryingtocoveruptheonly
thingthatmatters,andthecopendswithamonotone,“Areyousureyoudidn’thear
anything?”thatMilliedoesn’tevenhear.Detailsstarttopilferthrough,andshepicks
throughthemlikeaprospectorwithagoldpan.
Homeinvasion,asinathief.Trinityhadbeenhome,probablyinherstudio,working
onanewcommission.Herworkhadreallytakenofflately,especiallysincetheartgallery,
221
andMilliecannotbeprouder.ExceptnotanymorebecauseTrinityhadbeenhome.Onthe
samenightthatMilliehadbeenontheothersideoftown,robbingsomerichladyblind,
someoneelsehadtriedtodothesamethingtoTrinity.Exceptthethiefhadbeenarmed,
andhismagazinehadnotbeenloadedwithblanks.
Karmatrulyisabitch,Milliedecidesasshebackstowardstheclosestwallshecan
find,slidingdownitslowly.Herhandscoverhermouth,andhertearswon’tseemtostop,
soMilliedecidesthatshedoesn’tlikecrying.Itisuglyandloudanddisgusting,andso
oppositeofeverythingthatTrinityis.
Milliethendecides,anoddkeeningnoiserippingitselffromherthroat,thatsince
sheisnotfondofcrying,shewillallowherselfthisonemomentofweakness,andthenshe
willfindotherwaystomourn.ShewillmakeitsothatherlastmomentwithTrinity-a
whisperedgoodbyeandarushedkiss-isnotherlastatall,butafirst.
-
Thewindowshattersatexactly12:57AM,andMilliewastesnotimeincatapulting
betweentheremainingshardsofglass.Herbootsmeetthestainedhardwoodfloorswitha
softthud,herchinrisingtheslightestbitintotheair.Thehouseisstill,andMillieholdsher
breathbeforedaringtomoveagain.Adjustingherpack,Milliemeandersintotheliving
room.Insidethebagarethenecessities:atowel,autilityknife,andsomebobbypins.
(ThereisanemptyspacewhereherBeretta800usedtorest.)
Aphraseechoesinherhead,stretchingitselfoutandtearingitselfapart.Millie
clingstothewords,thecadenceofherchantpickingupasherfingersghostoveragilded
frame.Thisisthelasttime,herheartsings,quiveringandshakingbeneathherribs.She
slidesthepictureoffofthewall,andherthoughtsfallsilentastheframerestsinherhands,
222
revealingasmalllemurwithatreeinthebackdrop.Sheplacesthepaintingintoherpack
andisouttheparlorwindowbeforetheclockstrikesone,asingletearsnakingacrossher
face.
Sheknowsitwon’tbethelasttime.
Infact,itisonlythefirst.
223
DuringMindfulness
ByMirandaWolfe
“Clearyourmind”,hesays,“breathe”,hesays.HowdoI?
Thedewoutsidereflectstheredsunthatpeaksoverthefield,castingadeeporange
glowagainstthewindowofthetiledroom.Thegreenclassroomwallsaredark,andthe
posterscoveringthemaredarker,illustratingtheflawsofthehumanrace.
Howwe’rekillingourplanet.
Howwe’rekillingourselves.
Howwe’rekillingeachother.
It’skillingme.
Someonesighsthestressofatermpaper,anotherofabreakup.Acoughbreaksthe
silence,butonlyforabriefmomentbeforetheroomreturnstoitsstateofstillness.
Thefluorescentshavebeenputtorest,andoureyesshouldbedoingthesame,butI
refuse.Thedarkofmymindholdsonlysorrowandtimesofthepast,timesthatcannotbe
revisited.Timesofpainandanguish.
Howdoesoneponderthepastinisolation,whenthepastitselfiswhatbroughtthemto
thisverymoment.Everysecondyouliveisconnected.Whatwasdoneyesterdaybrings
aboutanewfuturetoday.Yesterdayistoday,andhowdoesoneremembertoday?
Idonotwanttoremember.
Ahumstirsmefrommythoughts.Thelampinthecornerstandsoveraplateofplant
cells,anattempttointereststudentsincellgrowthandmultiplicationinlivingorganisms.
Itwasrapidlymultiplyingcellslikethosethattookhimover,andMammacouldn’ttake
it.Thetriggerwaspulled,andthebangthatreverberateduponherheadwasheardaround
224
thecul-de-sac.Theneighborsdashedinslippers,andboxers,androbestomydoor.Mine.
NotMamma’sanymore.NotDaddy’sanymore.Thehousebecamemine,sotheyrantomy
house.
Knock,
Knock.
Thedoorbellrangoutlikedishesdropping.
CasserolesandcakesappearedlikeflowersinMay.Allofthemthickandwarm.Idon’t
knowwhentheystopped.Theyseemedendless.AuntMarthasaidtheyneverwould.She
saidthattheywouldpoketheirlumpynosesintomylifeuntilthedaytheydied,andmaybe
evenafterthat.Poororphanedchild,theymust’veallthought,aloneinthebig,bigworld.
Howwouldshesurvive?
Ididn’t.
Razorsandkitchenkniveswereinviting,inchingtheirwaytowardmywrists,thegreen
andblueveinscallingtheminweakness.
Friendsbecamescared.Associationwiththedeadgirlwassocialdeath.
Deathbyassociation.
Itseemsalifetimeago.
AuntMarthawasn’tMamma.Mencameandwent,butneverstayedlong.
MynewUncleGreg,
mynewUncleZachary,
mynewUncleRobert.
Thisonehit.Thatoneleft.Hefoundcomfortinastale-smellingbottle.Martha’sdoor
stayedshutandlocked.Ichecked.
225
Ilearnedhowtoorderandpayforfooddelivery.WhatwouldDaddyhavesaid?
Teacherswereworried,withB’sbecomingD’s.WhatdiditmatterthatAmericawas
discoveredin1492?WhydidIneedtoknowthatasemi-colonseparatedtwoclauses?
TwiceeachweekinthestuffyroomdowntownIsatinsilence.“Don’tlookback,”Dr.
Maplehadsaideverytime,“justlookforward.”
Whatwasforward?
Whatwasforwardwhenalltherewastomorrowwasafreeschoollunch,and
homeworkIwouldn’tdo,andanemptyhomewithemptybodies,theirsoulslonggone.
Leaveschanged,andsodidpeople,andIwasalone,justasbefore.
Marthawasgone,sotospeak.Thethincrackunderherdoorreleasingodors
unidentifiablewithtime.
Whensnowandblisteringwindscame,therewasnonewjacketwaitingonmybedas
before.Thebedhadn’tbeenmadeinmonths,reflectingthedisorderthatwasconstantly
hangingoverthelittlehouse.Schoolreleasedandmyclassmatesrantohomeslitupwith
Christmastreesandwrappingfoilandbows.Noneofwhichenteredthethresholdthatwas
myhouse.
“Ain’tyougotyourselfatreeinthere,littlegirl?”askedthepizzaboy,peeringinthe
door.
ItoldhimwewereJewish.Weweren’t,butitwaseasierthanthetruth.Wasthestory
toohardforhimtohear,ortoohardformetotell?
Thedirtypillowcasefrommammaanddaddy’soldbedthatstayedundermycovers
waspulledoutthatnight.Ihadtohangitoutthenextday,itwassosoakedintearstains.
226
Theoldcouchbecameanest.Ididn’tmoveforaweek.Carolerscametothedoor,andI
watchedoutthewindowastheypeeredinatme,knowingsomeonewashome.Nobody
wasreallyhome.
Christmasdaycameandwent,butSantaClausskippedmethatyear.IhadthoughtI
wasbad.
Thatnight,afterthecoversonthecouchhadcreptaroundmyarmsandmypillowhad
invitedmeforarest,thephonerangout.Thesheersoundofmovementofanykindjolted
thehouseintoanenergyofkinds.
Ring,
ring,
ring,
Woulditstop?Myfeetinvoluntarilysweptoutfromthecovers,andjerkedattheice
thatwastheoldwoodenfloor.Therestofmybodycarriedmetothesmalltelephone
boltedtothekitchenwall.Dustblanketedthereceiver,keepingitwarmerthantherestof
thehouse.Tentatively,Itouchedthephone.
Ring,
ring,
ring.
“H-hello?”Myownvoicewasshockinginthesilencethathadstoodforweeksuntilthat
verymoment.
“Sweetie?It’syourgrandma,GrandmaShirley.”Thecrackedvoicecallingfromthe
receiverwaswarmandinviting,avoicethatIhadn’theardinmonths.
“MerryChristmas,”Icroaked.
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“OhDarling,MerryChristmas!Where’syourAuntMartha?Iwanttowishheramerry
Christmas,andthenyouandIcanchatforalittlewhile.Doesthatsoundgood?”
Martha.WasMarthaalive?Thedoorthatshutherinhadadustydoorknob.Itshinges
hadn’tpracticedinweeks,butitfeltlikeyears.
Achat?
Achataboutwhat?AboutthemanymonthsthatIhadskippeddoinghomeworkto
watchdustgatherontheceilingabovemybed?AchatabouttheemptyChinesecartons
overflowinginthegarbagecanunderthesink?Achatabouthowmyhairwasthinnerand
thereweredarkspotsundermyeyesthathadneverbeentherebefore?
“Noma’am.Thatdoesnotsoundgood,”Ihadsaid,“Ineedyoutocometomyhouseand
takeme.It’scoldandI’mhungry.IdonotthinkMarthaisok.Please.”
Itwasthelongestsentencethathadbeensaidinthathouseinalifetime.
TheoldLincolnrolledupbeforethedustsettledbackonthetelephone.
Whatfollowedwasaflurryofsuitcasesandfacepowderandtears.GrandmaShirleyran
throughthehouselikethekidsatschoolduringrecessinOctober.
“Sithere,”sheinstructed,clearingoffaspotontheoldloveseat,“We’llgoinafew
minutes.”
Martha’sdoorwasopened,andamanwithawhitecoatandshinyshoestookherinan
ambulance.Shewasokafterafewweeks.
Whenmybelongingswerepacked,thedoorwasclosed,andtheenginestarted,
GrandmaShirleydidsomethingsheprobablydoesn’tremembernow.Shegaveme
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somethingIhadn’tbeengivensincethedaythebangrangout:akissonmyforehead.That
kissstayedwithmeforever.
It’sbeenmanyyearssincethattime.Mammaisgone,andDaddytoo.They’llneverbe
back,andthatwon’tbeforgotten,butnowishereandnowisgood.SonowIwillwatchthe
classroomwindowandthemorningbegin,andthelightswillclickononcemore.