Danny came to see me today, Sara. You would have been proud. He was all dressed up in his Navy blues, his white cap and metal pins bright as ever. He seemed happy. Not as angry. I think you were right, as always. I think he's going to be ok.  I've become nostalgic in my old age, spending my days and nights reminiscing about you and others, remembering how it was all those years ago. I remember some of those wild nights in our youth, and it makes me chuckle. We were the worst, weren't we, the trees that make us groan now? How we changed, you and me. Each storm we weathered made us older, wiser, and ever stronger.

The first time I met you, I'll never forget it. I felt you were the most elegant sapling I had ever seen. Your very presence brought peace and joy. I am so thankful for my time with you. Grateful for sweet Mary and her apple. I still think of Mary. Her bright red coat and curly golden hair flapping in the breeze, and her cheeks rosy as anything. She sat next to me for a while, her parents just down the hill. She took an apple out of her pocket and munched away, her little hands tracing my roots through the dirt. The autumn air was cool, and she shivered a bit; I did my best to shelter her from the wind. As she laid her head against me, I rocked a little, and as she nodded off, I hummed a little lullaby: Sleep, my child, sleep Your father tends the sheep, Your mother shakes the apple tree, As falls down a dream for thee Sleep, my child, sleep I remember when she woke, enjoying a sense of purpose fulfilled, as if the universe had sent me here for this one moment, to be a resting place for this sweet little girl. I watched her walk back down the hill to her parents and then drive away. It was the first time I remember wishing I could move, that my roots would pull themselves up and bring me along wherever little Mary went. Under the stars, I made a wish. Since the universe had not given me legs, I wished that it would send me someone to love who would stay with me forever. What I didn't realize was that my wish had already been answered. Only a few feet away, Mary had dropped her apple core, and you were on your way.

I remember the first spring you bloomed, my Sara. You were radiant, veiled in white. Your slender branches reached for the sky, and your sweet smell filled the air. You enraptured me immediately, and I recognized I would never love another. Your kindness and gentle spirit comforted me often, and it was my pride to shelter you from the harshest storms. As we grew together, our roots and branches intertwined, and we were forever inseparable.

It was autumn, though, which one I can't remember when sweet little Mary returned. She had grown into a young woman, her blond hair and hazel eyes beautiful as ever. It shocked me to see her after so many years and I was elated that she remembered me. She smiled and remarked at how strong I looked and then turned to admire you. She found your beauty as remarkable as I had and told us what a lovely couple we made. Before she left, she pulled out a paper and pencil and drew the two of us, standing tall, together and proud. When she finished, she smiled and left, a hint of mischief in her eyes. Had she told us her plans at that moment, we would have laughed in disbelief while hoping they would come true.

Mary visited a few times that summer and brought an easel and paints with her, sitting for hours, painting our curves, knots, beauty, and roughness. She captured our essence, our fears, and our hopes. It seemed as if she appreciated us better than anyone. As she painted, she would talk, telling us her own dreams for the future, confiding in us her deepest secrets. Mary had been nervous, leaving her home to attend college, and it had been her first week away when she had come back to us. She had been contemplating leaving the school and returning home when she found us again. She said we had been a comfort to her, made her feel less alone, and she had stayed on. Every day, she packed up her paints and thanked us.

It was not long before Mary had brought with her a friend. A boy, he seemed the same age as her and was as handsome as she was pretty. His dark hair and dark eyes gave him a look of sophistication. He'd lay back on the grass and recite poetry as Mary painted. They seemed happy as they kissed and caressed, losing themselves in each other's eyes and falling asleep in the afternoon heat. We were delighted to shade them and make beds with our leaves. We called songbirds to sing for them, and your delicious apples filled their bellies. It was a wonderful time.

The winter snows fell, and Mary returned, painting our bare branches in dark blacks and browns. We noticed something was wrong. Her smile disappeared, and I thought I could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. This continued for weeks as Christmas passed and Mary returned home. It was May before she returned. Her face was a mess as tears fell to the ground. Her sobs broke our hearts as she cried in our arms. He'd left her, she said, for another prettier girl. We both were aghast and remarked at this boy's stupid act, for no one on earth was prettier than our Mary. It was the second time I wished I could walk. I wanted with all my might to charge down our hill and find the boy and show him the pain he'd caused our girl. But you, my darling, cooled my rage and reminded me of our duty. So as Mary laid her head down and wept, we rocked in the wind. Her eyes drooped closed, and as she fell asleep, we sang together our lullaby:

Sleep, my child, sleep Your father tends the sheep, Your mother shakes the apple tree, As falls down a dream for thee Sleep, my child, sleep

Another year had passed when Mary told us she was leaving. She would finish her schooling across the country, and though we were sad to see her go, we were so proud of her. If I could cry, I tell you, I would have caused a flood. Before she left, she knelt and buried something in the dirt around my roots, a little box with one of her paintings folded up inside. She stood and wrapped her hands around me and whispered thank you. We knew no matter where our Mary went, she would remember us, and we would never forget her.

Four winters came and passed as we grew older and observed the world go on. We enjoyed the peace of our little hill, tucked away from the growing world around us. But a part of me, and I suspect of you, felt empty. Something was missing, and while we both recognized it without saying it, we considered it impossible she'd ever return. But this separation didn't last, as Mary returned with a surprise. She carried with her a small child, a boy dressed in blue. His dirty blond hair and rosy cheeks made us smile, and he giggled as he ran circles between us. Mary smiled, and I knew she had something in mind. Her eyes twinkled with hope and joy.

Soon builders came, and for a while, our peace was gone. But we couldn't have been happier. The house was small but perfect for two. And the last thing she did was to hang a small swing between us. I lifted one rope as you raised the other, and together we made it a special spot. Most afternoons, Danny would swing for hours, and we felt whole once more to bring a child joy again. It was the missing piece. As Danny grew, our strength remained, his legs reaching higher and higher with each passing year. And some nights, the clear ones, when all the stars came out, Mary would visit us, holding her son in her arms, and we'd rock them and sing our little song. As Danny grew, his time with us dwindled. We knew he wouldn't stay forever, but a tree can still hope. From our hill, we saw him leave every morning for school. Even when he'd forgotten about us, we still learned what he was up to. His mother told us every day. She'd begun painting again, and under our shade, she told us all about him. She loved him, of course, but she was worried. His friends weren't the best, and he'd stopped listening to her long ago. He wasn't like her, she said; he's no interest in art. Even though she didn't say it, I noticed this hurt her the most. He wants to join the Navy, she told us, spend his days on the water, far away from here. We were sad for her and for Danny and for ourselves. We had tried our best and given as much joy as possible, but sometimes a child needs to find it on their own.

Soon Danny was gone, and the place was grayer. The laughter was missing, and I felt hollow. Of course, Mary remained and kept with her work, but her painting had lost some of its colors. Our limbs, now old, had drooped, and we saw our strength lessen with each stormy gale. We kept up our spirits, though, for the sake of Mary. I wish now that I'd recognized the toll it took on you.

The first thing we caught was how thin her hair was. I saw in her face something was wrong. Her visits grew less frequent, and we followed as doctor after doctor visited the house. I wish we had known. The last day she would come. What we would have said or done. We knew it was the end when Danny returned. The house grew silent, and the sky incredibly gray. The rain fell, and the wind howled. We watched the light in her bedroom window and waited.

Around 3 o'clock in the morning, my worst fears came true. I'd dozed off for a moment, as you told me you'd keep watch. I heard a great gust of wind, and a crack split the air. I watched in helpless horror as you fell to the ground, your graceful limbs snapping and cracking. I couldn't imagine how it had happened until I looked back at the house and realized the light had turned off. I knew it then that your heart had broken, and I wanted nothing more than to join you. You were gone, both of you.

Danny exploded from the house, ignoring the chilly rain stinging his face. I watched him climb the hill and stand looking at the mangled mess of wood and rope that had been his mother's swing. He screamed in anger and kicked at me. I screamed in rage and shook my limbs at the sky. We were in pain. Our loves had left us forever. After a while, he fell to his knees and put his back up against me. The rain continued. But neither of us cared much. I guess at that moment, we both wanted to die. He fell asleep there, and through my tears, I recognized my duty wasn't over, so I wept as I sang our lullaby once more: Sleep, my child, sleep Your father tends the sheep, Your mother shakes the apple tree, As falls down a dream for thee Sleep, my child, sleep

We were both meant to carry on, it seems. A week later, Danny had Mary buried just next to me. It was the most tremendous honor of my life to be chosen to mark her last resting place. They had taken you away, piece by piece. With each cut, I wanted to scream. When they brought Mary to me, they lay her in a casket, and I shook with tears. There lay Mary, our beautiful Mary, in a beautiful applewood coffin. I knew your lovely fragrance and cried and cried, knowing the three of us would be together forever. As they dug her a grave, a little box emerged from the dirt. Danny opened it, and inside was the folded painting Mary had left all those years ago. Mary and a child were sitting beneath a great hickory tree and a beautiful apple tree in the picture.

Danny came to see me today, Sara. You would have been proud. He was all dressed up in his Navy blues, his white cap and metal pins bright as ever. It's been twenty years since that night. I've grown old and weary and even droopier, but I'm still standing, watching over the two of you. Danny told us he'd settled down, got two kids of his own now. Said he was looking to move somewhere quiet. The house is tattered. No one else ever moved in. I think Danny could make it a beautiful home again. He seemed happy. Not as angry. I think you were right, as always. I think he's going to be ok. I think we both are.


I hit snooze. Not once, but several times before the light come from my window is too bright to ignore. What I rather do is tuck myself tighter in my bedsheets and feel the chill of the air conditioning. I can fake a cozy Fall breeze and have excuses to wear my favorite sweatshirt. I’m tired of the heat. The background of the TV plays in the background as I groggily make my way to make a cup of coffee. I toast the only two toaster waffles left in my freezer and clean the cluttered table from the night before. Crumpled pieces of paper, sprawled across the tablecloth with a half-empty wine bottle that aided in thoughts I tried to write down.

I wanted to remember every detail of the reoccurring dream I kept having. Isn’t there a psychological message behind this? I’ve done countless google searches, with all similar results.

“What does it mean to dream of someone I’ve never met?” Apparently, it is impossible to forge an image of someone you have not seen before. But I have no recollection of seeing this man. I would’ve known if I have.

As the coffee touches my lips and makes its way through my system, I can bring some clarity into my Saturday. I don’t decide to scroll through my phone this morning. Instead, the movie that is on catches my attention. I can count how many times I’ve watched You’ve Got Mail. The opening scene immediately brings a warm smile. It’s autumn in NYC, “Dreams” by the Cranberries amplifies the romantic bliss shared between Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. He makes a remark of how he would rather send her a bouquet of pencils rather than flowers. They know everything about each other without knowing who they are. I notice there is a torn notebook page I forgot to clear off the table.

He had soft brown hair, curly. Long enough to touch his ears. Hazel eyes, an inviting gaze. He smiles like he has seen me before. He hugs me as if I felt it before. There is one more sentence. He stands in an unfamiliar cafe setting and sits there waiting for me as he does in every dream. I don’t know whether to laugh at the coincidence or continue to get frustrated at the fact that this keeps happening. Is it a premonition? Or a scenario that my hopeless romanticism would love to cling onto? I know that sitting here won’t help. This would be another day off wasted on indulging in scenarios and overthinking.

I receive a text from Evie, my best friend from high school who has endured my rants on ex’s, new lovers, over countless take-out meals. She asks if I’d like to “get my ass outside and head over to Barnes & Noble” How can I say no to that?

* * * * * Today calls for something new to wear. I take the sundress out of my closet. It’s a-line, hugging me perfectly at my waist and flows over my lower body gracefully. A cross between a scarlet and terra-cotta, with a delicate white floral pattern. Perhaps a little too much to be browsing books, but appropriate to set the tone for the rest of my day.

I take a look at the products I have lined up on my vanity. I can hear my mother telling me to ease back on the use of makeup. To some degree, I do agree with her. I have a tendency to disguise my features, rather than enhance what is already there. Today I take her advice and start with a tinted moisturizer. I apply one eyeshadow color, a coat of mascara, blush to highlight my full cheeks and peach-colored lipstick. My reflection looks fresh and captures the beginning of August that I’ve finally entered. It’s the last month of summer, the sticky heat, and the invites of numerous weddings. What follows will be the peace and comfort that Autumn will bring. I leave my apartment with time to spare and take the bus to meet with Evie in Park Slope. There are more people than usual around this time.  More couples than usual as well.

Teens and adults both have that look in their eyes. Interlocked fingers, childlike grins, quiet giggles, and cheek kisses to match. It’s summer love mixed in with the illusion of the honeymoon phase.

Imagine if he happened to be on this bus? Before I can lose myself in yet another scenario, I almost miss my stop. I awkwardly move past these couples and thank the bus driver. Evie is at the end of 1st street, waving to me as I meet up with her down the block.

“Wow. I had to bribe you with book shopping to look this stunning?” That is only slightly true. “I mean… yeah pretty much.” She shakes her head and starts heading in the direction of Barnes and Noble. Now before I say this isn’t what we usually do on the weekends, that would be also slightly true. We go out to eat, we enjoy a couple of mimosas at bottomless brunch. But we also go book shopping two out of the four weekends a month.

“I’m surprised you didn’t have to work today.” Evie usually has a weekend shift, but I’m convinced she told her manager it was an “emergency.” “I did but when I knew you would be able to hang out today, I called out. You’re usually cooped up in your apartment reading manuscripts.”

My recent employment at the publishing house has been nothing short of exhausting. I read over 1,000 pages, making edits and notes to newcomer writers. It isn’t glamorous, but it is a step in the direction I want to be in. An editor for future magazines and/or publications.

“Is that why you didn’t pick up the one last night?”, she adds. I knew the look on my face gave it away.

“Not exactly…”, I answer. Before I go on to explain, she already knows the answer. “No, not this AGAIN.”

It wouldn’t be the first time I ignored Evie’s phone call over this. It started as a harmless conversation about a “silly dream” I had a few times. I would make a few jokes, poking at my desire to understand what this all meant. Or how crazy it would be if I saw him one day, walking around this very neighborhood. I kept bringing it up, and each time I would hope Evie have an insight or a new perspective. When I noticed I have talked about this too often, I sought to find my own conclusion.

I wrote down the dream every time it happened. Whatever details I could remember. What changed, what didn’t. If I recognized an object, a scenery, or a feature so distinct. But it all seems the same. Last night, I went down a spiral of trying to pin down the features of every man I could remember. Whether it was a former ex, someone at the grocery store, or any man I could’ve bumped into at work. I wanted to put an end to this fantasy. That it was just my mind looking for a chapter I wish began, where I meet a stranger and fall in love instantly. I wanted it to be someone I knew. Then I would know it’s all in my head and not far from a possibility.

“I’m just trying to find a way to convince myself this is a result of consuming too much romantic genre material. Not anything else.” She tries to stifle a chuckle, rolling her eyes. “You and I both know this is to convince yourself that this CAN be real.”

I deny it immediately.

“Realistically, this is probably just my self conscious manifesting-“ She stops me mid-sentence.

“Cut the psychology crap. You’re in love with an imaginary man.”

“I am not in love with a-“ She waves her hand over my face and the other to open the door for me. “That’s all for the subject manner today. Now put this outfit to good use.” At least here there will be a distraction. There will be no people watching, or an attempt to see a face that is recognizable. We make our way to Evie’s favorite section, which is non-fiction. The stories of which are real and tangible. Right up her alley.

“By the way, my co-worker Aiden might be here today. Apparently, I missed an urgent sales meeting and my boss demanded he comes to find me today and fill me in.” How Evie manages to keep her job as publicist assistant for Penguin Random House amazes me. But as many excuses, as she may have used, she’s brought in numerous newcomer authors that have made exceptional sales. We browse through the aisles with her before I see her settled in the corner, reading the first few pages of the book in her hand. I decide to make my way over to the Fiction section and take a peek at both familiar and unfamiliar titles. One Day. How To Stop Time. Oh, this one I still have yet to read.

The spine sticks out of the shelf, waiting to be picked up. This title sounds familiar, it’s also a movie I never got around to see. I love the idea between crossing romance and sci-fi-related themes together. It brings you to an unworldly place, where the concept of how these people meet is impossible. But you still believe because, well… you want to. Before I can get read further into the plot, Evie comes up behind me. “C’mon, Aiden’s here. Let me introduce you!”

I hold the book in my hand and follow Evie down to the cafe. I have met a few of her coworkers before. Some, nonchalant and humble as they express how much they love their work. Others, brooding and bragging how much their salary should be exponentially higher.

She walks over to the table where he sits. Before my focus shifts on where she lands, he rises from his seat to give her a hug. His body shifts in my direction and suddenly… I freeze.

It’s him. The figure that stands a few feet away from me makes the same puzzled look. We don’t know whether to exchange a hello or hold our gaze longer.

“Do I know you?”


“Good day pretty girl. I’m Emeka. I’m a graduate of Abia State Polytechnic, Aba. I studied Business Administration. I’m managing a petty business for now. I like you. I have been seeing you around this neighbourhood. Can we become friends?” Emeka was after her beauty. “I’m Ezinne but you call me Ezy-mummy. I’m a HND final student, studying Mass Communication in Federal Polytechnic Nekede, Owerri. That’s all I can say to you. And for your information, we can’t be friends.” Ezinne harshly replied. Emeka was not the kind man she needed. She needed a rich man. “Alright, can I check on you tomorrow.” Emeka asked. “For what? What business do we have that would warrant meeting each other next time?” Ezinne asked. “Today can’t be a bad luck to me. How can this guy ask me for friendship, what does he have? Oh my God, I wished I had slapped him so that next time he won’t approach a damsel like me! He doesn’t have money but wants good thing, rubbish...” Ezinne mocked him. Without a breathing space, Ezinne chased Emeka away, and warned him never to approach her again. After two weeks, another spinning occurred. “Hi, call me Danny Boy but my parents named me Daniel. I can’t tell you my surname for now because my family has a big name as our personality counts. I’d rather keep it a secret than air it and get myself into trouble. My dad inherited his wealth from his late father, though he is not the only surviving male child of his late father. He has three brothers and a sister; they are five great children born to his parents. My dad’s mother is in her late 70’s, and lives with her first daughter in Los Angeles, United States. I’m a businessman, fortified by my father’s wealth and connections. If you don’t mind, can we become friends?” Ezinne was sitting under a big tree near the school library in Federal Polytechnic Nekede, Owerri with few of her girlfriends. Daniel visited his friend in the campus. He was moving around the campus, and was appreciating the environment. He moved near the library where he found Ezinne and her friends. “I’m Ezinne but you can call me Ezy-baby. I’m a HND final student, studying Mass Communication. Well, I’m not used to long conversation with strangers. My mom warned me to stay far from strangers, especially men. We can’t be friends because you’re a stranger and moreover, my final exams are fast approaching. I wouldn’t need any distraction.” She was saying all that to interest Daniel and make him see her as a responsible lady. “Don’t mind her, you can take her phone number and call later. She always pretends. I’m Chioma. Ezinne is my close friend, and I’ve known her lifestyles for years. Give me your phone number.” Chioma collected Daniel’s phone and typed in Ezinne’s phone number. “Thank you so much, I will call later.” Daniel said and left. “Let me save this number now, I have at least collected numbers from four girls in this campus today. I must have them to myself.” Daniel was talking to himself. Daniel is from a wealthy family and spends half of his life jumping from one lady to another. Ezinne was interested in Daniel but pretended, she thought that he was real. She wanted Daniel’s because he’s from a wealthy family. Emeka admired Ezinne because he has been seeing her in their neighbourhood. He weren’t approaching her for friendship; he was searching for a wife. Daniel on his own part was interested in her just to have access to her body. Later in the day, Daniel gave Ezinne a call and discuss with her over the phone. They agreed to become friends, and a new dawn was set. “Baby you’re a pretty woman. I would always want you beside me.” Danny Boy appreciated her beauty with a promise. “Thanks baby, I trust you. I’m always here for you.” Ezinne reacted. Along the line, Ezinne and Daniel went deep in a relationship. Ezinne’s love was on money while Daniel’s was on her body! They couldn’t last because Ezinne was after money and Daniel, after her body. There was no definition to their relationship. It couldn’t mature to marriage. Danny Boy achieved his aim likewise Ezy-mummy. A time came when Daniel became tired of her and set out to dispose her, he began to misbehave. “I’ve gotten what I needed from her. She doesn’t attract me any longer. I will ban her from visiting me.” Daniel was talking to himself. When Ezinne had found out that he was not assisting her anymore, she began to give excuses when it comes to sex. Formerly, she always begs for sex, because there was money. Emeka finally found a good woman, enjoys a good relationship with her, and she happened to be Chioma, Ezinne’s best friend. She was searching for a partner who has future. She needed love and understanding, and not after money or material things. “Sweetheart, I accepted you because I see future in you. I always feel relaxed and loved whenever you’re beside me.” Chioma confessed. “My baby, thanks for your kind words. Our future is secured in God. I love you so much. You have what I needed in a woman.” Emeka reciprocated. “I love you too.” Chioma replied. Ezinne has been used and dumped after a year and five months. She was not aware of Chioma’s affair with Emeka until a fateful day when Chioma and Emeka went for jugging near the polytechnic’s field. “Hey guy, can’t you hear me?” Ezinne tried to draw Emeka’s attention. Chioma was behind and stays far from Emeka, but stopped when she saw Ezinne. “Hi babe, it’s nice to see you again. How is Danny Boy?” Chioma asked. “Babe please, don’t even mention that name again! Can you imagine that that fool dumped me after we dated for a year and five months?” Ezinne bitterly cautioned Chioma. Ezinne bitterly explained all that had happened to Chioma. “Hey baby, what’s that?” Emeka voice echoed from afar enquiring to know why Chioma had stopped. “Sweetheart, I’m with an old friend, will catch you up soon!” Chioma replied. “Who is that guy?” Ezinne asked. “It’s my boyfriend. He’s a good guy, and we have dated for six months now.” Chioma replied. “Oh my God, I’m happy for you babe. You’d finally found your missing rib.” Ezinne complemented Chioma. After a while, Emeka draw closer to check on Chioma, there he saw Ezinne. “What are you doing with my baby? So you want to discourage her from loving me just as you had insulted and rejected me? Please stay far from my fiancée.” Emeka angrily shunned Ezinne. Unable to control her tears, Ezinne left them and headed near the library where Daniel first met her. Chioma was upset with Emeka’s reaction towards her friend. Emeka later explained to Chioma what had transpired between them. Chioma later went to her and consoled her, her friendship with her didn’t end. Emeka and Chioma got married after eight months. Finally, Emeka got good a job in the Federal Ministry of Internal Revenue.


They were sitting on the floor playing video games, laughing about how terrible she is at the game. She watched his face light up with a laugh and it was as though time slowed down. She saw his smile spread through his lips, up to his eyes. It seemed genuine. In this moment, like each time they talk, Charlotte had a crippling fear that bubbled within her throat; it was as though her mind will have the words planned out, but her heart will say something entirely different. Do something different, something bad. Something that could be so detrimental to her social life, ripping it from its very roots and throwing it into a deep valley of Netflix and takeout on a Saturday night. Each time they come face to face, this very threat is there. One mistake, one wrong look could change things forever. She knew this was long coming, this love that was built upon drunken nights, early mornings, awful professors, and ever-lasting sexual tension—a love that came to be in college. Freshman year is where it all started for Charlotte. It was an innocent encounter, a merging of two groups of friends the first night of college. She ended up in his room, in Henry’s room, that night with several other people they had met. From there, it was inevitable. She had been used to busy day in high school, full of class, extracurricular activities, and of course studying. He was used to school and studying, and a strict social life, or lack thereof. So when the two finally emerged from their tight schedules of high school, they landed into this world of empty hours and open bars. The only thing that stopped this pair from sprinting into a whirlwind relationship was the fact that Henry had a girlfriend, a girl whom Charlotte actually knew from elementary school. Henry and her had been together for at least a year prior to entering this extraordinary life that is college. Having a girlfriend never stopped this friendship. He always texted Charlotte, asking if she was free for dinner, or wanted to study together. This trend continued for so long, so many of those empty hours were spent together doing nothing; playing video games, talking about nonsense. Soon they grew so comfortable together, their conversations changed. They drifted from discussions based around schoolwork and friends, to the girlfriend and sex. Oh, the conversations about sex were in plenty, he knew what she liked and what she wanted. She knew what he had trouble with in regards to his girlfriend, and she ever so dutifully gave him advice to help the couple in bed. The advice about the girlfriend was not limited to sexual advice however. Henry asked Charlotte about real, emotional relationship issues. She actually had the opportunity to tell him to break up with the girlfriend several times, but she stayed true to being his friend and helped work them out. While sex, or at least the intriguing topic of sex, was a prominent focus in their friendship, the conversations about themselves and family are what stood out the most. She talked about her depressed father, and how that put such a strain on her family. He held her when she cried about losing a friend. She smiled and laughed and he talked about his old pets, and his cute sister. It took him longer though, longer to open up to her. He told her that she was the only one to know some things about him. About how he had been depressed for so long, how he hates being alone, how very few things make him happy. She wanted to make him happy, she wanted to be the reason he smiled. She saw him smile and laugh so often, but she could only wonder if it was all an act, or if she did in fact make him laugh. He did not know though, he was unaware of the things she wished for, oblivious to how he made her feel. This unawareness that Henry held in regards to Charlotte was obvious by his manners, if only he knew how she felt. Sometimes the two would walk into an empty room and he would declare that they should fuck. It was all a joke of course, a joke to him. To her, it was as though someone was slowly breaking her heart—anyone could see it behind her plastered on smile, not Henry though. He became her worst enemy and her ultimate fantasy all rolled into one. She wanted him to be so much, to be there for her in a way that means more than friendship, to make her smile and cry with joy. She knew in her heart that he would never be those things. Charlotte was aware that he was sexually attracted to her, he was never vague about that. One night, she confessed to him that while she joked about sex all the time, all she really wanted was love. He said he understood and they chatted about it for a while. Later that same night though, he told her about how he and his roommate had come to the decision that Charlotte would be a solid lay. Such conversations were not unusual. Once, when they were gathered with a group of friends, they jokingly speculated on whether or not Henry and Charlotte would make a good couple. Henry stated that they would, at least for a month because it would all be physical. Each one of these was a blow to her. A reminder that he did not see her as anything more than a friend and would never be anything more than that. All of these memories came crashing back to Charlotte as she watched him laugh while playing video games. It has been over a year and it is time for her to move on, she knows that because they’re friendship will never be more than what it is. From their first meeting, it was inevitable, not friendship nor love, but heartbreak.


They told me the name of this planet is Calliope. As soon as my craft lands, I waste no time in exiting the impossibly cramped vessel. I escape onto the dense soil with both feet tentative but strong, and with an overwhelming relief, I summon the first breath of the only truly fresh air I have known in years. I feel I've spent lifetimes in that small metal casket, waiting to be liberated once more. And here I was, out in the open field. All around me is endless forest; an arboreal paradise. Pristine and teeming with unrevealed movement, it looks like every other forest on every other planet I’ve been to- as if all habitable planets were built from the same universal assembly line. An icy wind teases my skin; a dry, intentional touch, and saturated with foreign particles. I look around and see familiar vines, canopies, lush green bushes, rough mahogany tree trunks, and the scope of all hues earthly; each one damp and unforgiving. I begin to breathe with the rhythm of life around me when my elastic concentration is suddenly cut short. Off in the distances, a primal scream cuts the air. A single, shrill scream to pierce the now perturbed atmosphere. A cry similar to what hundreds of years of science says dinosaurs sounded like. I was startled and my instinct immediately thought of it as sinister, but it might have been more of an announcement of some sort. My mind begins to conjure up plans of defense and I opt to stay still. The tension is cut by an ancient hum, the low and steady reverberations of a cicada. A mechanical creature, too small to really use its mind's gears but loud enough to cover miles of an otherwise silent area with its unrelenting monotone. I decide to proceed slowly now and continue on my path. I look up to see twin moons shinning. Walking in this natural Eden, I relax once more, I stretch muscles worn and cramped. Inside my veins, I can feel the reversed engineered bacteria the science team injected, surging through my system. That tingle means it’s working. Theoretically, I am immune to the diseases infesting this planet. I flex luxuriously and grin. I recall for the millionth time what I learned from the mission briefing: a few decades ago, the scientists found the first contaminated humans drifting on a small shuttle, four light years away from its intended destination. When the lost ship was boarded, the rescue team was attacked by something- not quite human but not quite nightmare. The unrecognizable faces and bodies were half gone, replaced by a metallic-looking melted version. Higher cognitive function gone; their eyes glowed brilliantly in an eerily vapid pulse. The rescue team was killed…then the next and the next. The eighth team finally adapted properly and went in with life-proof suits made from a material I can’t pronounce, killed all but one, and bought him/it back for analysis. Re-focusing, I begin to think on which arbitrary direction I should follow when I spot a gliding movement towards the not too distant “North”, I see what looks like a man. Walking, he disappears once more into the thicket. I catch up quickly and watch as a wiry druid stalks through the forest. He is the hermit of this planet and I know he's why I'm here. I follow invisibly and watch as he shadows a path only perceptible to him, his movements are fluid and measured, his leathery skin covered in moss- he is a walking expression of the landscape. I stand silently next to him as he arrives at the shore of a placid pond and I watch as he bends down swiftly to meet the gently lapping waves. At first, he seems to be looking beyond the surface at the tadpoles but then his eyes adjust and focus on something less familiar. He begins to make exaggerated facial expressions, smiling, widening his eyes and launching into a series of winks, he begins to make himself laugh. He splashes the water and and in an elegant, sudden movement, he straightens his posture. Standing now, he removes his cloth and what looks to be some sort of very light and scaly armor from his shoulders. He arches his back in an impossibly long curve and steps gingerly into the water, exhaling swirls of contentment. His eyes closed, I begin to approach him and I recall the bacteria in my veins, confident that this new strain protects its host. I hope it works.


The immediate desperate, panicked breathing told me that this wasn't going to be one of the usual mundane calls that occupied 98% of my time as an emergency responder. It threw me off slightly creating a longer than usual pause before I went into my well worn script. I quickly got a hold of myself and ignored the ragged nature of the breathing long enough to begin “911 what's your emerge...”  “I'm not safe!” whispered the person harshly down the other end of the phone. The hairs on the back of my neck grew long and sharp suddenly. The voice was so strained and stretched that it was almost the dying whimper of a wounded animal. Before I could pull myself back to my script again the voice continued, “I don't know who else to call, please listen to me!”. I bought of rusty coughing and spluttering added breaks in the persons speech, adding to the suspense that was clutching the handset to my ear so hard it was turning white. “It's too late for me” a brief pause as if they took time to accept this fact after stating it “but can you pass on a message to Dan Sharper, I believe he's high up in the police force. If you don't know him ensure the message is passed on, it's of the highest importance”.  I managed to mutter a brief and uneven 'hmmhmm' in response. “Tell him this and exactly this 'They're here and I fear we are too late my old friend. I see them everywhere and I feel they have caught me looking. You know what must be done'. Did you get that?”. I managed another affirmative while my mind raced through the cryptic message trying to understand. Before I could draw any conclusion my mysterious caller added “You must make haste; and watch the shadows! Count them! They're coming...if they aren't there alrea...” the line went dead. I put the handset back on the receiver but I could still here the constant beep of the line ringing around in my head.  My mind was swimming but as I kicked back in my chair and took a breath the rational part of my brain began to tick away. It wasn't uncommon to receive a call from a mentally ill person or a prank call from people who think it's funny to waste our time. My heart rate slowed and I began to calm down. “Tough call, aye?” asked my colleague (Ben) in the neighbouring booth. I turned my chair towards him to laugh it off and tell him about the creepy warning I'd received but something in the back of my mind told me to keep quiet about that call. Maybe it was because I'd let the prankster get to me and I was a little embarrassed. Maybe it was the fact that the only source of light was from the window behind Ben and yet cast in front of me were two elongated shadows. One looking considerably darker and, if I wasn't mistake, seemed to move of it's own accord.


I take a sip of my coffee while turning to the next page of the newspaper. I overhear a senior woman saying to a friend, “My grandkids keep pushing me to get this thing called an app. But I can barely figure out how to text them since that’s the only way they will talk to me.”

“I know what you mean, Beatrice. My son gave me a smartphone for Christmas, and I keep missing his phone calls because I don’t know how to turn the ringer on.”

I try to tune out the conversation; it’s the same one every day, old people complaining about tech.

More people shuffle into the dining room to get breakfast, and most are using walkers. I always sit in the back of the room to eat my eggs and toast so I can enjoy my cup of coffee in peace. When the complaining gets to be too much, I reach up and take both my hearing aids out—silence at last.

I’m almost finished reading the paper when someone taps me on the shoulder. I look down to see a small boy watching me. He says something, but of course, I can’t hear him. I let out a big sigh of annoyance, hoping he will take the hint. Yet he still stands there watching me. Begrudgingly, I put my hearing aids back in and turn in my chair to see him more clearly. “What do you want?” My voice rasping, being the first time I’ve spoken this morning. “Mister, what happened to your arm?” Before I can reply I hear a woman call to him. “Bobby, what are you doing? Don’t bother the nice gentleman.” Nice? I don’t think anyone has ever called me nice before. She takes his hand and leads him away while apologizing over her shoulder. She walks over to a young teenage boy who is watching me intently. I take my hearing aids out and go back reading my newspaper.

The next morning, I decide to go to breakfast early. Hoping today will be less eventful than yesterday. I finish breakfast and reach for my paper when I feel a light tapping on my shoulder again, and it’s the young boy from yesterday standing there. “What happened to your arm?” He asks again. I look around for the woman who dragged him away, but she is nowhere in sight. “Shouldn’t you be with your mother?” I turn away, trying to dismiss him.

“It’s okay. My mother brought me to visit my grandmother.”

Whoopty doo, I think and begin to pick my paper up again when I hear him walk around my chair to stand on my left side. He pulls the chair out and sits down, only to prop himself up with his legs underneath himself. “Can you do tricks with your arm?” “Look kid, you’re bothering me and you shouldn’t talk to strangers.” “You’re not a stranger. Your name is Roger.” “How did you know that?” His eyes are fixed on my arm as he responds. “My grandmother told my mother about you.” I usually don’t care for gossip, but this little boy has piqued my interest. “And what did she say about me?” “That you’re the only old person here who doesn’t act old.” “That’s a strange thing to say about someone.” “Can I touch your arm?” He starts to reach for my arm. “Bobby, you’re being rude.” Bobby jerks his hand away, looking embarrassed. The voice belongs to the teenager I noticed yesterday. “And who might you be?” I ask. “Come on, Bobby.” He ignores my question.

“You know it’s rude not to introduce yourself when interrupting a conversation.” Annoyance flares in his eyes. Still, he doesn’t respond. Bobby is at his side, and they start to walk away. It must be a knee-jerk response because I say, “Kids these days.” The teenager stops dead in his tracks and turns around. “You have no idea what ‘kids these days’ have to deal with. More than you ever had to, old man.” This makes me chuckle. “Really? You think?” I lift my left arm, which isn’t a human arm but a prosthetic one. I reach with it and pick up my coffee mug. I lift it to my mouth and take a drink. “Yes, Bobby, I can do tricks with this arm.” Bobby smiles and comes back to the table.

I shift my focus back to the teen. “What about these?” I point to my hearing aids. “Well, you’re old; of course, you have hearing aids.” He snips. “Okay, then ask me when I lost my arm.” The teenager looks around, debating whether to take the bait. But curiosity is a powerful motivator. “Okay, when?” He asks. “I was 8.” The teen raises his eyebrows. He steps closer to the table, placing his hands on the back of the chair opposite me. “How did it happen?” “Got it caught in a piece of farming equipment.” “You were working on a farm at 8?” Bobby asks excitedly. But the teen looks unimpressed. “How do you move your fingers?” Bobby asks. “There are sensors in the stump that communicate signals from my brain to the arm.” Bobby looks impressed. “Sounds expensive,” The teen dully says. “It was. I spent all my money on it. That’s why I’m in this nursing home.” “You wasted all your money on a fake arm that can only move its fingers?” His outlandish response makes me crack a smile. “After living most of my life without my arm, it’s been nice to get it back.” “But you could be living in your house right now or on a beach somewhere.” When I look back at him, he’s now sitting in the chair, looking intensely at me as if my response will be the most important thing he’s heard in his young life. “You’re from a generation with many things on demand, but above all, you have choices. Technology has given me choices today to have things I couldn’t have before.” “What, you don’t want to go back to the good ol’ days?” He scoffs. “What good old days? Heavy, uncomfortable prosthetics that don’t do anything?” “Well, what about the…” I don’t let him finish. “It doesn’t matter what time you live in, there will be problems. I’m saying that the things we have today have fixed many of mine. I think air conditioning may be the best thing ever invented next to this arm.” “Then what’s the point of trying to be better if it’s never-ending pain and struggle?” “For the days we do solve problems, the outcomes…” I lift my prosthetic arm and hold it out to shake hands, “are well worth it. I’m Roger, and it’s nice to meet you.” The teen looks at the hand with skepticism. But slowly reaches out his hand and places it in mine. When the metal fingers gently close around his fingers, he jumps a little. Then we slowly shake hands. He looks up at me, and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “It’s nice to meet you, Roger; I’m Timothy.”

“What other things can your arm do?” Bobby asks with bright eyes. “Want to watch me give someone the middle finger with it?” Both boys laugh. “Bobby, Timothy, what are you doing? I’ve been looking for you.” Their mother walks up, putting her hand on each boy’s shoulders. “I hope they haven’t been bothering you, Mister.” She looks genuinely concerned that her sons have been harassing me. “No, ma’am, you have two exceptional sons here.” Timothy looks surprised at the compliment. The mother sighs with relief. “Oh, good. Okay, let’s go say goodbye to Grandma,”

Timothy gets up and starts to walk away but abruptly turns around. “Hey, take it easy, Roger.” He holds out his closed fist. I hesitate before slowly curling my prosthetic into a closed fist and fist-bump him. “Yeah, you too, Timothy,” I say. Timothy nods and walks away.


Margaret’s caretakers tell me she doesn’t have long. When she was born, I swore that she would be my last child. It was for humane reasons at first—for the sake of my children and my own peace of mind. But as she grew, as she became the sweet, fiercely compassionate woman she became, I wanted her to be my last child because I had never done better. She was the best of them all, and she made me feel like my life had not gone to waste. I walked through the doors of the “Colonial Plains Nursing Home,” a facility designed to mirror a particular vision of the American past. There was a mix of Monticello-esque columns with the 21st-century idea of colonial decor. The colors were hospital-style pastels with dark brown accents, ostensibly to match the wooden beams of construction back then. There were a lot of cornucopias and rocking chairs. The idea was to appeal to a kind of nostalgia that couldn’t be rationalized with. If no one was actually in Colonial America, then everyone could remain at peace in the illusion of a shared past. It was a good enough effort, but I had that bemused condescension people must feel when movies about their lives exaggerate the wrong details. The woman at the front desk stopped me as a I walked past. She must be new, I thought. She was in her mid-30s, if I had to guess. “Excuse me, young man. You’ll need a visitor’s pass. Who are you here to visit?” “Margaret De la Cruz. She’s in Room 3A.” The young woman was clicking around a lot more than Mrs. Myler, the other front desk woman. She squinted at the screen, searching for the right way to record my visit and print my pass. I tapped my foot lightly, but enough to be heard. “I’m sorry, we don’t normally allow unsupervised minors in the facility. Are your parents with you today?” I started composing a good excuse, but to my relief, a heavyset orderly in his 50s walked around the corner: Harold, a proud man who understood, as few do, the ancient and sacred duty of caring for our elders. “Ah, Ms. Peña, I can vouch for young Will here. His grandma isn’t doing too well—he’s been visiting every day this week. I can record his visit, don’t you worry.” Before she had a chance to argue, I was already walking down the hall as quickly as possible. Before long, I was in Room 3A. “Mrs. De la Cruz, I’m back. How are you feeling?” My daughter opened her eyes. Even now, close to the end, she was keenly observant. Her hair was thin and her brown skin papery and liver-spotted, but her eyes—her eyes could reduce emperors to jittery schoolchildren with a hard look. “Ah, William. Not bored of this old crow yet?” “Old crow? All I see is a young lady in her prime!” “Ha! I should be so lucky that this was never my prime.” “What will it be today, Mrs. De la Cruz? Want to talk about your childhood? Or are you interested in recording an interview about your activist work?” I started taking out my headphones and a voice recorder when Margaret handed me a book. “I much rather feel like being read to, William.” “I—read to? That’s not really why I’m here, Mrs. De la Cruz.” “Maybe not—but I also know you’re not here with the Jamestown Historical Society. Or is the historical society hiring teenagers to conduct interviews now?” “Mrs. De la Cruz, I—” “Never mind why you’re here. Fine. Let’s trade. A story for a story.” I took the book from her—To Kill a Mockingbird—and nodded my head. “Well before your parents would have been born, the children in my neighborhood came down with a truly terrible case of the flu,” she said with clarity. “A few children died, if I remember. All of us were quarantined in a special part of the hospital to keep the flu from spreading.” Margaret absentmindedly stroked the back of her hand. I recognized the gesture and made a note not to do the same. “I was delirious most of the time—the fever kept most of us on the edge of death for a few days. But I remember being read to then. A young man, unafraid of the flu, came in to read to us to help us take our mind off the fever and sickness and nausea.” I realized my hands were gripping the book hard enough to bend the cover. I loosened. “But I remember believing that he was there to read to me especially. He stood in the center of the room and read to us all, but he only ever paused or slowed down when I couldn't hear. While other children drifted in and out of consciousness, he read the book only when I was awake. Other children might have missed bits of the story, but I didn’t miss a single line.” Margaret reached out to my face and touched my ear, putting her finger on a birthmark behind my earlobe. “I would like to be read to one last time, William.” She touched her own ear absentmindedly, and for the first time I saw that she had a birthmark in the same place. I resisted the urge to hold her, to tell her it was going to be fine, that she wouldn't be alone for the rest of her life. Instead, I wiped my eyes, took a breath, and turned to the first page.


I'll never understand the power of inebriation to make things funny when any rational empathetic person would find them heartbreaking. It rewires the brain unplugging the proper emotion from a stimulus and connecting it to its moral opposite. Joy for disgust. Anger for pity. Love for disdain. There is one connection that never gets touched no matter how long or how much you try. Every drunk hopes one more round will break the link from regret to sadness. That bond only gets stronger. Still they persist and drink here day after day. My humble dump of a pub hugs an ancient block wall that reaches out of the sand from what had once been sidewalk. It is not much more than a lean to built with a quilt work of charred road signs and corrugated tin. All hung on a lattice of what you might think was driftwood if it were not in a desert. When I built it five years after the blast life had just started to creep back. They said the radiation would kill me. They were right because I won't last much longer but the morons didn't realize that was the point. I just didn't think it would take so long. Penance has a pace all its own. The bar was an accident, or a sentence depending on your point of view. Leaning against that wall drinking one day a guy offers me money for a swallow. The next day he staggers by and brings a friend. We held up the wall and drank till the bottle was empty. Rinse and repeat. This went on for days, because I had a secret stash and a longing for a horrible death. In my half lit state I decided a bar needed a proper table so I scavenged one of those wooden spools they use for the power lines. There were a lot of them around from before the government gave up on restoring services and surrendered Arizona back to the desert. I set up shop and have been here ever since. There were more people like me that wandered back for the death sentence than you would have thought. Each of them looking for somebody or some thing they knew wouldn’t be here. The city blocks of rubble around Talking Stick turned into a little community for the broken, starving and cancer plagued survivors. Trading for food, drugs and other sordid needs. Wherever there are people, there is thirst for amnesia and what was left of the entrepreneur in me was compelled to fill the need in the market. You might be wondering where I got the booze. To understand that I have to take you back to when the NBA still played on the other side of the wall we drank under. Back in the day I was the penultimate business cliché. Every week was a stream of meetings, flights, and scavenger hunts for power outlets to charge the phone. Five minutes a night to talk to the kids. Weekends were for super dad. Coach third base. Paint a set for the play. Work in the yard to keep the homeowner’s association off my ass. And somewhere in there I saw the woman I was married to. She stopped being a wife a long time ago. Just another client meeting over an expensive dinner where I listened to problems, cared deeply and promised to fix them all, knowing all along I could not change a thing. It was a Friday and I couldn't wait to get home. Eva and the kids were picking me up and we were going straight to the NBA finals game. Nobody could believe the Suns were in it. It was my son's ninth birthday that weekend and he was crazy about it so I bought the tickets with my commission. My sixteen year old was all eye rolls and snapchat but once she got there I knew she would get into it. High impact quality time. Except that I blew it. The meeting went long and I missed my flight from Chicago. I got on the next one but I'd be late. It might work. I texted Eva and she would go ahead. I would meet them there since it was just a few blocks from the airport. No idea what I would do with the bags but I'd figure that out. This would work. The pilot had just given the announcement for the initial descent into Phoenix Sky Harbor. Forty-five minutes until game time. The plane banked right to come around and land from the west. Then the flash. It filled the cabin but felt like a camera flash you looked right into. A second later the plane banks harder, acceleration pushes me back into the seat and we climb. Some lady screams. When the shock wave hit I knew we were dead. It shuttered for what seemed like hours but it was only seconds. We didn’t die. Three hours later we land in Dallas. We should have died. We had been a hundred and twenty miles out and on pure reflex, the pilot finished the rotation he started and turned us in the opposite direction of the blast. Had we been perpendicular to the spherical shock wave radiating from ground zero or even at a lower altitude it would have rolled the aircraft. I heard more than three thousand died that way. But not me. I walked out of that airport with one thing in mind. Get to that arena. I never really thought about why and I never stopped. It is not like I had hope. I just had nothing else. The next few weeks were rental cars, dead phones, stolen cars, refugee camps, more bombs, water lines, riots, and walking. Endless walking. Funny thing about history is that they write down in excruciating detail how it starts. The finer points don't matter much when it ends. I kept moving from camp to camp, dodging troops scooping up people trying to get West once I got free of forced relocation. Why they cared to stop any of us I still don’t know. There wasn’t anything West of Albuquerque that didn’t glow in the dark. I had a time getting by the barricades at first but eventually the gatekeepers just drifted away. It just took a while for society to collapse to the point where they stopped caring if you wanted to kill yourself going home. It got easier to travel once I found that beautiful eighteen wheel monstrosity. An abandoned Peterbuilt at a truck stop outside Las Cruces, NV. The only thing I was ever grateful about from having an emotionally distant and mostly physically absent trucker father was that he taught me how to drive one of these when I was fourteen. That thing blew through the abandoned roadblocks like dry leaves in winter back east and I made the last four hundred miles in a third of the time it took me to go the first fifty. Dallas to Phoenix in forty-six months. The truck had one other advantage. Daddy taught me to drive but he never taught me how to unhook a trailer. By the time it got to Phoenix it was still hauling 18,990 bottles of Absolut. Turns out I get a hundred and eighty miles a gallon. Coming into the city most of the abandoned cars had been bulldozed off the highway by the military. Closer in it was much harder to move a rig that size so I ditched the truck in a rail yard, packed a few bottles of encouragement and started in on foot. More walking. Rubble strewn between charred buildings and the refuse of a dead civilization lay every where. Scattered among the ruins was the occasional scavenger with telltale growths and blisters, few teeth and even less time. I walked up what I thought was Jefferson past what had been Chase Field. Even back then a market of sorts had started to take shape at between the ruins of the sports complex and casino with a water peddler,battery smiths and other traders. I walked down Third street with the crumbling remains of a parking deck to my left and the hulk of the arena on my right. Turning on Jackson I planned to just walk around the block. You might have thought I’d have had a better plan than this after four years. I shuffled down the long block wall toward the arena’s south entry. When I noticed the monstrosity it looked almost as if it were leaning out of the wall. A trick of the light. At first I thought it was some kind of memorial. I’d had enough vodka by then to laugh out loud at the absurdity of an artist’s tribute in a dead city. Then through the haze it hit me. A long train of silhouettes. Blackened shadows etched all along the wall. A hundred or more outlines in the grey block face, forever queued in time for a game that never started. I slowed. Moving down the wall my fingers tracing the edges of Satan’s artwork until I came to one about four and a half feet high. I paused and looked back at two I had just brushed by and knew in my soul they were exactly five feet four inches. Tracy had caught up to Eva when she was fifteen. The air left my lungs and I sank to my knees, my face scraping the wall. Wanting so desperately to burn my own flesh into the rough gravel. Blood dripping on the sand at my feet. Every breath long slow and painful like it was drawn through the wall itself. Released in a dry coughing wail. I sat there wanting to die and started to drink. I drank until I couldn’t see anymore. Woke up and did it again. Drifting between screams, sobs and silence. I should have had a better plan. I don’t know how long after I looked up and there was a man standing over me. “Is that real liquor or are you just using the bottle to pretend” Somehow I found a voice, and told him what it was. “I’ll pay you for it.” And with that transaction my last life as a bartender to the damned began. Day after day I stare at the wall where my ghosts hang in judgement. But as much as I longed to see them as they were, I want so much more to see the shadow that isn't there. For another blinding light to put me on that wall where I should have been. Go ahead and laugh. Everybody does after a few. I don’t hear it any more. I just drink and I wait for the game to start here at the bar I call the Flash and Shadow.


It was a slow evening, even for a Tuesday. I packed up my guitar early, slinging it over my shoulder as I rummaged through the tip jar for the price of a hotdog. I was ten cents short, but Joe let me slide for it. He filled a napkin with some scraps for Bonnie, and we headed over to our bench to watch the moon rise over the river. Someone was already sitting there, hunched shoulders and an air of dejection. Bonnie trotted over to him, her ears pricked up, tail awagging as he patted her muzzle. “Sorry, I don’t have any spare change,” he told me flatly. “I feel that, brother. I ain’t lookin’ for a handout, just a share of the view.” He shifted over, and I joined him, noticing the perfect tailoring of his navy suit, the carefully manicured fingernails and fancy Rolex. Clearly a man of means, yet he looked sort of hollow, like that feeling you get in your gut when you haven’t eaten in a day or two. He watched as Bonnie settled herself at my feet, looking up expectantly. I put her napkin on the floor and she set right to eating, picking each piece as delicately as though it were filet mignon and not dried up hamburger meat scraped from the griddle. “You seem kinda bummed out, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so,” I broke my hotdog in half and offered the bigger half to him. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” I shrugged, taking a bite myself, the tangy relish making my mouth water. “Suit yourself. Joe’s hotdogs are the best around, though. You’re missin’ a treat.” We sat in companionable silence, while I finished my supper. I wiped my mouth on a napkin and tossed the paper tray into the trashcan beside me. Bonnie licked the grease from my fingers and spun around in a circle, before settling back down in a puddle of golden fur to nap. “I’m a good listener,” I said gently. “If’n there’s somethin’ on your mind, might be good to put it into words. That’s what my shrink used to say, anyways.” He sighed. “I wouldn’t know where to start. “This time last year I thought I had everything I could ever wish for. A beautiful wife, my career was taking off. I was headed in the right direction, you know?” I nodded. “Then I won the lottery, and it’s all been downhill since then.” He pulled a duffel bag out from under the bench, grabbed the zip and yanked it open.

“See?” The bag was bursting with hundred-dollar bills, all rolled tightly with elastic bands. More money than I’d ever seen in my whole life. “That’s a whole lotta greenbacks.” I looked around us, checking the shadows to make sure we were alone. “This ain’t the kinda area you wanna be carryin’ that kind of cash around.” He smiled wryly. “That’s why I came here. Figured sooner or later someone would take it off my hands.” “You don’t want it?” I was confused. “What’s wrong with it?” “Maybe nothing. I don’t know,” he replied. “I thought when my numbers came up that my whole life would be a fairytale – one of the jet setters, you know? Tropical vacations, fancy cars, a big house on the right side of town for once. Thought it would take away all my worries, set my family up for life.” He closed the bag and tossed it back onto the ground. “Boy was I wrong.” He took a silver cigarette case out of his jacket pocket, like some old time movie star on the black and white screen. He offered me one. “Thanks, but I quit.” “Me too, me too.” Hi lit up, taking a long drag that sent the tip blazing red. “Guess that’s another promise I’m going back on tonight.” “There’s always tomorrow, man.” He shook his head. “I’m done on tomorrows and talk of brighter futures. I’ve made my peace with it.” I was growing concerned. The dude sounded suicidal, and I wondered if I ought to run back to Joes, ask him to call someone. “Don’t talk like that,” I told him. “We all got to go through dark times. It’s what makes the better days seem so good.” “But what if all the better days are behind you? What if you wasted them all without even knowing it?” I thought about it. “How can you be so sure, though? Ain’t none of us can see the future. For all you know, your luck could change tomorrow. Be a shame to miss it, don’t you think?” He offered a pinched and cynical smile. “You hold on to that way of thinking, then. I hope it works out for you. But me, I’m out. As soon as I find someone to take this load off my shoulders, I’m gone.” I could tell he meant it. Was even cheerful about the prospect – what had happened to him that made oblivion seem like the best option? “Well, seems like you puttin’ me in a tricky predicament, man. I can’t just leave you here now, that ain’t gonna sit right with my conscience. How’s about you tell me how things got to this point?” Bonnie twitched in her sleep, as though sensing something bad in the air. He looked at her, and then at his hands, in his lap. “Fine. It’s not a long story. Like I said – I won the lottery, a year ago today. Won big - $62 million after taxes. Not too shabby, huh?” I nodded. “I threw a party to share the news with my family and friends. I planned it so well. Bought Mom and Dad a house, right next door to my little sister and her kids. Real pretty neighborhood, tennis courts, a community pool – nice location, safe. Sent them away on a vacation, the whole family, off to Disney, while I set it all up. They didn’t know about the winnings – thought I’d just got a big promotion. Assumed I was too busy working to join them.” “That’s nice of you. Not everyone would share like that.” “I’m not the type to keep that kind of thing for myself – I wanted to share it with everyone I loved.” His eyes were watery, and his voice was thick with emotion. “I booked limos from the airport straight to the community centre, hired caterers, balloon arches, the works. All my friends were there, and we waited for the limos to arrive. I was like a kid on Christmas morning, handing out gift bags with $10k in cash to all my friends and cousins. Like some kind of crazy Santa Claus. When they didn’t show up, I figured their flight was delayed.” He wiped a tear on the back of his hand, and Bonnie woke up, looking concerned. She lay her velvety nose in his lap, licking gently at the salt on his fingers. “Flight 183?” I asked, remembering the newspaper headlines from the year before. “Flight 183. All souls lost. You read about that kind of thing, but you never think it’ll happen to you and yours. I’d give it all, all $62 million, if I could take it back.” “It wasn’t your fault, though. Wasn’t nobody’s fault.” “They wouldn’t have been on that plane if I didn’t buy them the tickets. I just wanted those kids to have a treat, you know? They’d had it rough, their Dad was no good, flaked out on them when Caitlyn was knocked up with the youngest. Never had any money for theme parks and vacations.” He took out his cell phone, showed me a photo. A friendly-looking couple in their 70’s, arms around each other, flanked by a pretty brunette woman and three cute kids. Everyone grinning in front of the pink castle. “Looks like they had the time of their lives,” I could hear the false cheer in my voice. “Yeah, yeah I guess so.” He put the phone away. “My whole family, dead and gone in an instant. And the money to blame. They never got to step foot inside their beautiful new homes – instead of buying bunkbeds and emptying the aisles in ToysRUS, I got to pick out coffins and floral wreaths. Do you know how small a child’s coffin is?” He took another deep puff on his cigarette, flicking the ash on the ground. “I’m sorry, man. That’s awful, ain’t nobody deserve that kinda luck.” “Yeah. And I still had my friends and wife, right? They’d be there for me. That’s what I thought.” He reached down to stroke Bonnie’s ears, seemed to take some comfort in the loving way she gazed up at him. “My friends all changed, faster than a red light when there’s a cop behind you. The small taste of money I’d given was not enough. It only whet their appetites. I’d go over to their homes for barbeques or dinner parties, only to find it was a set-up. Sob story after sob story, from everyone I ever knew, even people I didn’t. Someone’s mom has cancer, another’s dog needs surgery… kids summer camps, new cars… it was endless. I never said no, but each time it broke my heart a little more. That they didn’t care about me, only what I could buy them.” “I’m sure that ain’t true, man. They were your friends before the lottery when you weren’t rich.” “But it all changed, don’t you see? The way they looked at me changed. It was in their eyes, a constant hunger, a jealousy. Never mind I’d lost so much – they all envied me just the same. I could see it in every one of their faces – the same question. What’s so special about him ?” Across the park I could see Joe closing up shop for the night. A slight breeze rippled over the river, sending shards of moonlight scattering across its surface. “What about your wife?” I asked. “What about her? I turned my full attention to her. Lavish gifts – diamond bracelets, Pomeranian puppies, designer shoes and bags… I just wanted her to be happy, for my money to do some good at least. And for a while, it worked. She was like a kid in a candy store, buying everything she wanted. My credit card bill each month was astronomical. I didn’t care.” In the distance a fire engine siren wailed as it sped down the freeway. I shivered, despite the warmth of the evening. “What changed?” “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know. At some point, it was like there was nothing left of us, like all the things we loved about each other became lost in a sea of useless possessions. She was a shopaholic, filled whole rooms with clothes and make-up. By the time I noticed it was too late to stop her. She even got storage units just so she could keep on collecting. I understood why – she grew up piss poor, never had much of anything. It was like she was trying to buy a happier childhood, better memories. Only it just made her worse.” “Couldn’t she see a shrink?” I asked. “She did, for all the use it did us. They diagnosed a hoarding disorder. But it was more than that. Her temper became unbearable. If I so much as tried to toss an old pizza box she flipped out. I hired cleaners, she fired them. Nobody was allowed to touch her stuff. Eventually I just moved out, left her to it. I don’t think she even noticed I was gone. At least, not as much as she noticed the money stopping.” He nudged the bag with his foot. “There’s a little over $1 mil in there. All that’s left of my winnings. Over $60 million spent in less than a year, must be some sort of a record, right?” He laughed bitterly. “A million’s still a whole lot, from where I’m sittin’. You could start over, take it and rebuild a new life for yourself. Don’t have to end tonight.” “I considered it. I was a successful man once, and I liked my job. Should never have quit it, really, but it seemed silly to keep working when I was so wealthy.” “So go back, ask your boss for a fresh start!” He looked me up and down. “What would you do, right now, if I gave you this bag? If this million dollars was yours, no strings attached?” I leaned back, imagining all the ways I could use it. Get out of the hostel, buy a condo, maybe go to college or something. A fresh start, no more busking for quarters on street corners. Bonnie could get proper dog food, no more scraps of hot dogs. All the tennis balls she could dream of. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Thinking you’d have done a better job with it than I did.” “I guess so. It’s mighty temptin’ – almost scary, the way just the thought of that wealth makes me feel.” He stood up. “Well, it’s yours, if you want it. All of it. I don’t need money anymore. Not where I’m headed.” “Wait!” I grabbed his arm, Bonnie jumping up and putting her paws on his shoulders. “Why should I?” He asked. “It’s not my burden anymore. It’s yours.” “Then give me this, man. Come with me, see what I do with it. Aren’t you curious, even a little bit?” He didn’t look curious, only tired. But he let me lead him across the park, past the basketball courts and down towards the municipal buildings. He seemed confused. Bonnie nudged him gently to keep him moving. We reached the city pound. The sound of dogs barking in the kennels out back had always broken my heart. Bonnie faltered too, perhaps remembering her own fear and sadness, before I rescued her. It was a hopeless place, a place where dreams came to die. A place where day after day the kind volunteers worked tirelessly to undo some of the cruelty of mankind. I dropped the heavy bag on the doorstep, where it landed with a solid thud. I rang the doorbell, three short buzzes, three long. We waited. “Hello, Bonnie!” Darryl was on duty tonight. He knelt down, and Bonnie leapt up to cover his face in sloppy kisses. “Are you hungry? I can go find you something…” “She’s fine, Darryl. We both are.” “Then what can I do for you?” He glanced at the man beside me, brow furrowing as he tried to figure out why I was with such a well-dressed companion. “This gentleman’s been goin’ through a tough time. He’s had a mighty big burden on his shoulders for too long, and I said we could help him with it.” I unzipped the bag at my feet. Darryl gasped. “What the heck…? Did you rob a bank?” “No, nothin’ like that. The money’s legit. He wants to donate it, don’t you?” I turned to the man, who was openly crying now, his knees buckling as he slumped by the side of the building. Bonnie curled up beside him, resting her big old head on his knee. “Yes…” he sobbed. “Yes, I think that I do.” “You see, man, this money ain’t cursed. You just had bad luck, is all. And Bonnie here, she had bad luck too. All these dogs ‘n’ cats, they all got a big dose of the unluckies. But now, you’re givin’ them a fresh chance. A new life. They’ll get new families, forever homes. Your money can do some real good. And you can go back to bein’ who you was always meant to be.” I patted him on the shoulder. Darryl took the bag, shaking his head in confusion. “This is unorthodox… we’ll need to know where it came from, there’s legal stuff to sort out with a gift this big.” “You see? You can’t die now, or they can’t accept your donation. You gotta stick about a bit longer, see it through. Think you can do that, man? Think you can see it through?” He nodded, and I whistled for Bonnie. She gave him a last lick and trotted over to walk beside me. “But why didn’t you take the money for yourself?” He asked as I shuffled back towards my bench by the river. “Wouldn’t it have made your life better?” “I’ve got Bonnie, and I’ve got my old guitar. Reckon that’s more than enough for me.”


“Tash, how long does it take you to get dressed in there?” Chloe’s fist hammered on the door. “One second!” I yelled back. I quickly turned around and checked myself out in the mirror. *Gulp*, I hoped this one would pass Chloe’s eagle eye test…. Or else I was gonna be in hot water! Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. Chloe turned around “It’s about time- Whoa….” Brumby craned his neck around her “Whoa!” He echoed “You look good mate!” I coughed awkwardly; my hands stuffed in my pockets. I wore polished black boots, black jeans, a belt with the buckle in the shape of a rearing horse. My ebony horse amulet gleamed on the skin exposed by the tight V-necked black T-shirt. Over that, I wore a black leather jacket “Yeah…. You do….” Chloe muttered in a sort of disappointed whimper. “‘You do?’” Brumby crowed “Oh man she actually agrees!” Chloe punched him. Brumby grinned as he rubbed his shoulder “How did those words taste coming out of your mouth?” he asked, hiding behind me. “Bitter.” Chloe replied dead pan before she hit him again. “Good choice Tash.” She looked at me with disappointed eyes. “But your makeover isn’t done yet!” She smiled happily. Brumby eyed me with panic-stricken eyes. A sentiment deeply echoed by me. “It’s not?” “Oh no it isn’t! We may have fixed your wardrobe but we still have to do something about your hair!” Suddenly self-conscious, I ran a hand through my shoulder length black hair. I know I didn’t exactly brush it but still…. “What’s wrong with my hair?” God, why did I sound like a whiny little girl? “Other than the fact that it’s unruly, wild and covers your face half the time.” “She’s just jelly cause your conditioner is way better than hers.” Brumby said in a stage whisper. Chloe’s eyes zeroed in on him like the cross hairs of a sniper rifle. “What did you say?” She said in a thunderous whisper. “Um, nothing!” Brumby hid himself behind some mannequins. “Mr. Smooth strikes again eh?” I muttered in an equally loud stage whisper. This time it was Brumby who glared at me while Chloe grinned and gave me a high five. “But, of course,” I mused, shooting a sly glance at Chloe “he does have a point…. my conditioner is way better than yours, girl!” Chloe raised an eyebrow as Brumby howled with laughter. Just then Chloe’s cell rang. She answered it with a bright smile but then her expression shifted, first from a frown to surprise and then a frown again. She held the phone out towards me. “It’s for you.” Me? Who could possibly be calling me? I glanced at Brumby who shrugged back. I took the phone. “Hello?” “Hi um…Tash? Um, it’s Trixie…” TRIX-TRIXIE! TRIXIE FRICK FRACKIN BARTON WAS CALLING ME !? I punched the air silently. Brumby grinned at me but Chloe frowned. Focusing back on the call, I deepened my voice and made it sound as manly as I could. “Uh, hi Trixie, what’s up?” It was the girl of my dreams on the other end of the call! My heart was in my mouth…. “Listen Tash, um…. I’m afraid I’ll have to rain check on tonight….” …. And down went the heart. “Oh…” I muttered into the phone, my shoulders slumping in disappointment. “Yeah….er something came up and-” “No worries! I mean we can always get together another time!” The words sped out of my mouth so fast I couldn’t believe what I said. “Oh, um…great! So….um…. bye!” The line went dead. “Bye…” I whispered into the silent phone. I turned back to the others. “Tash, what happened mate?” asked Brumby. “I mean one minute you were punching the air and the next…” he trailed off looking at my face. Guess that told him the whole story. “Oh, um that was Trixie!” I smiled at them, hiding behind the thin armor the smile gave me. Brumby started to smile back “She uh, called to rain check the date.” Brumby’s grin faded and for once his eyes didn’t gleam with humor like they always did. Chloe’s mouth was turned down and she smiled sympathetically at me.  “Tash, I’m so sorry.” Chloe said gently placing her hand on my arm. “I know Trixie, she’s my friend but I didn’t know she knew you or anything.” “Yeah, those two kinda have a complicated history.” Brumby clasped my shoulder and squeezed. I nodded glumly at his words. Then I looked up “One thing though, how’d she know I’d be with you?” “Well apparently, she called the stables and they said that you had gone off with Brumby, and then she had apparently called around at my place and…found out that I was gone too, so then she’d gone back to the stables and…. Um…” She blushed. “What?” we both said together “Well, the head trainer Jock told her that you’d be with Brumby and that Brumby would be….wherever I’d be…” This time both of them blushed. Brumby’s ears turned scarlet. I cracked a smile, I had to. “Well then, I declare this outing as your first official date!” I beamed at them. Both of them looked sharply at me. “Tash, this is not a date!” Brumby shot me a murderous look. Chloe just stood stock still but I could tell her ears were tuned like sonar panels towards Brumby’s voice. “Of course, this is a date!” I held my ground “And I’m the acting chaperone! So, you two lovebirds had better not sneak off while I go to the restroom, got that?” I turned and grinned at Chloe who was hiding her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking. “Tash, this is not a date!” Brumby repeated, his face turning red. “Well, why isn’t it?” I walked past Chloe and got right in Brumby’s face. “Well you’re here! And I wouldn’t call going shopping for my best friend a date!” “So, you wanna take her on a proper date?” I asked slyly. “OF COURSE, I WANNA TAKE HER ON A PROPER DATE!” Brumby yelled loud enough for the whole store to hear. I grinned at him then my smile widened as Brumby’s expression went from mad-dog to frozen to shock-and finally a bright burning red. I glanced at Chloe over my shoulder. Her green eyes were wide and there was a touch of pink in her cheeks and a smile peeped out from her mouth. There was an awkward silence…. Then a slow clapping started from the back of the store. An old couple was staring at us and beaming. Suddenly the clapping grew louder as the other shoppers, the shop assistants and even the grim looking manager joined in. There were even a few whoops and whistles from outside the store. I saw a mall cop pounding his barrel chest and whistling. SCORE! “Well then,” I stepped back two paces and beamed at the pair of them “my work here is done.” I bowed to Chloe “Ms. Granger.” She smiled shyly as she blinked her thanks I spun on my heel and walked past the still frozen Brumby. I stopped, leaned in and whispered. “You’re welcome, Brumby Boy.” I slapped him on the back. Brumby didn’t even react, he was still frozen. I snapped my fingers in front of his face, still no reaction. Rolling my eyes at Chloe, I snorted and gave him a sharp dig in the ribs. Brumby’s eyes flickered and he blinked rapidly. “T-Ta-Tash…” He stuttered I chuckled as I gave him a fist bump “Just don’t screw up okay? Now get going Casanova. She’s waiting for ya.” I gave him a hearty shove towards Chloe. I ducked out of the store and hid behind two big plant pots muttering the Mission Impossible theme song. Operation Broe had begun! See what I did there? Brumby + Chloe = BROE!!! Now that, my dear Reader, is called good shipping. Now back to the story of those two young lovers. She stood there shyly. He stepped cautiously towards her. She smiled up at his towering form then gently reached up and touched his cheek. He leaned in and whispered something to her, causing her to giggle. Then she gently rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. He grinned broadly and took her hand. And the two young lovers walked out of the store, followed by the crinkling and mellowing eyes of all those around them. Even me! I’ll admit it! No judging Reader but watching those two….it was enough to make a grown man cry! Ha-ha, just kidding, you think I’d actually cry? Ha, no way! But I couldn’t help smiling at the sight of them but at the same time I couldn’t help wondering…. Would Brumby still be the same guy? Would he still have time to hang out or go riding or just you know…. Yeah well, I know we all have to grow up Reader, but still… Well I guess time would tell. Now back to the story. He led her through the mall, only stopping to.... AWWWWW, buy her a rose! Now isn’t that the sweetest thing you ever read, Reader? I mean he bought her a rose! A Red Rose! You know what that means don’t ya? But still…. damn Brumby, this girl hasn’t just lassoed you, she’s hogtied you! They continued on their little elopement, gazing into each other’s eyes with the passion experienced only by two people reckless with the joy of love and- Hey! I'm pretty good at voice overs! Angel was right, maybe I should get into the whole announcing thing- And they walked as if lost in the dreams of Love, while being stealthy followed by a very dashing young man, if I may so myself, who darted from corner to corner like a super spy! I was an Ice man! I was the coolest of the cool! I was unfazed by danger! I was the flame that burned night and day! I was-nearly arrested by a security guard for hiding, in what he called an ‘inappropriate pose’, behind a lingerie mannequin. Anyway, he took her to a rom-com movie. After checking what time, the movie ended, I wandered around the mall for a while then slipped into the car park and went to meet some guys from Monarch who I’d called from a payphone. We all had a bit of a bite to eat then with a quick wink, I slipped a walkie-talkie into my pocket and walked away.

The movie had just finished when I arrived back. And there the two little love birds were! He led her to the rooftop, leading her to a quiet little bench in the corner. She leaned her head against his shoulder and he kissed her forehead as they watched the sunset. Then slowly she turned her head to face him. He looked deep into her eyes. She was leaning in! They were about to- “TRA-LA-LA-LA-HEY!” -be interrupted by their chaperone, as said dashing chaperone sprang out from behind the bushes! “TASH! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU-” Brumby sputtered leaping to his feet. I silenced him with a finger to his lips and pushed him back into Chloe’s arms. I cleared my throat as I pranced in front of them. “For your entertainment, tonight, lady and…Mr. Boy Toy over here, I now present the one-man band of Tashunka Lone Raven!” “BOY-TOY!?” Brumby’s mouth dropped as Chloe burst out laughing. Then his eyes met mine with the horrific realization of what I was about to do. “Tash! No! Oh no! No, no, no, no, no!” Brumby buried his head in his hands as I gave myself a quick drum roll “HEY NOW, HEY NOW! WHAT I DO SEE? TRA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA ! OH! ITS BRUMBY AND CHLOE SITTING IN A TREE! TRA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA ! BRUMBY AND CHLOE SITTING IN A TREE! TRA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA ! OH, IT’S BRUMBY AND CHLOE SITTING IN A TREE K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” “I’m gonna kill him. I am going to KILL him!” Brumby muttered furiously as Chloe clapped her hands to the beat, laughing with delight. But I was not done yet! HAHAHAHAHAH! Not by a longshot! “First come Love! Then comes Marriage! Then comes the baby in the golden carra-” It was at that moment that part of my brain registered that Brumby had risen to his feet. So that part of the brain, whispered to the other part of the brain “Uh oh, Brumby’s coming!”  “And he looks pretty mad!” The other part of my brain agreed “What do we do Tash?” they both asked. “One word boys, SCRAM!” Laughing, I bolted while Brumby mock charged me “Tash, not one step closer!” He growled. I put my hands up in surrender, a wide grin etched on my face, as I slowly pulled out the walkie talkie. “What’s that?” Brumby asked cautiously eyeing the walkie talkie. I raised my eyebrows “Just a little surprise I cooked up for ya.” I lifted the walkie talkie to my mouth. “Light ‘em up.” “Copy that.” said the voice on the other end. Suddenly the dusky sky blazed with light as the fireworks. Chloe squealed with delight as she gazed up at the fiery stars that lit up the sky. “Brumby.” I said in a stage whisper. “Now might be a good time to kiss her.”  Brumby chuckled and grinned at me, shook his head in wonder, then walked back to Chloe and kissed her. I mean it was a real movie style kiss. I know what you’re thinking Reader; AWWWWWWWW. With a grin, I walked away. How’d it go? asked Jingo, my black Arabian mare as I mounted. “Pretty well, Jingo old girl, pretty well indeed.” I whispered as we trotted off down the street. I’m not OLD! she snorted fiercely.