Eddie sat with his elbow on the bar, scrolling through social media, not bothered by the sun shining into his eyes. Breakfast was going to be served for another four hours before lunch-time. Apart from the workers from the nearby construction site who were coming every morning, he did not have many customers. "I hope you liked the eggs, gentlemen," said the waitress. “Thanks, Pattie. They were great.” said one of them. "And as usual, coffee, for you, is on the house," she smiled. Pattie was a nearly forty-year-old woman, tall and thin, with blond hair kept in a ponytail, green eyes, and a tattoo on her ankle with her daughter's birthday. "Eddie," she shouted, "please turn on the coffee machine." But he gave no sign that he had heard her. “Eddie!” she shouted again like a drill-sergeant. “What? What is it? He shook his head. Pattie pointed to the espresso machine and went into the kitchen carrying dirty dishes. He pressed a button and the machine began its grinding song. "What's wrong with you this morning?" Pattie asked through the small kitchen window. “Eh, nothing. Bored of life, he said, scrolling away.” “You were bored with life yesterday as well, but at least you looked alive. Today you are like The Thinker, but with a phone.” He turned to Pattie with a squeak of his chair. "My brother asked me to hire his daughter for a month or two." “And?” Patti said as she put the dishes in the washing machine. "I don't feel like ‘babysitting’ a teenager who, I bet, won't do anything all day but stay on her phone." "And there isn’t enough room for another one like you here, isn’t it?" Eddie grimaced childishly, then brought the coffee to the workers. Pattie took the mop and washed the floors, then dusted the tables that were unlikely to be occupied. Later, around four o'clock, a girl entered the restaurant wearing a pair of ripped jeans, red Converse and a t-shirt with Greta Van Fleet . She had long, dark blue hair and blue eyes. She wore Rayban sunglasses and had a pair of wireless headphones on her ears. The teenager stopped at the door, dropped her backpack, and examined the restaurant. "What a ghost town?" she said. From under the bar rose the indignant face of Eddie who was arranging the bottles of whiskey up until then.

“Uncle Eddie!” the girl shouted with enthusiasm. “Hi, Cait!” he said, and rose with cracks coming from his knees. "Come and hug your favourite niece," she said, holding out her hands. With a clear lack of enthusiasm, he walked around the bar and hugged her. "What a sweet moment," Pattie said through the kitchen window. You must be our new

colleague and the niece of this ‘ray of sunshine’ . I'm Pattie. "Caitlin, but you can call me Cait." The girl went to the bar and made herself a coffee, while Eddie opened a beer from the fridge. "Aren't you too young to drink coffee?" said Eddie. "Isn't it too early to drink beer?" she replied. A laugh came from the kitchen. He ignored his niece's impertinence. “So, Cait, what brings you here? Don't you have a beach to go to, or a festival, or something? Isn’t your dad giving you allowance anymore? "He does, but not enough," she said with her mouth half full of biscuits from the bar. “In September there will be a huge festival with a lot of awesome bands. It will be crazy! We're going in a group of about ten people. We want to stay at the campsite to be close to the action.” “What bands are coming?” he asked. "You wouldn't know them," she said and gestured with one hand. “They're not from your time.” Eddie spitted out his beer. He wiped his slightly greying beard with his sleeve. "I'm forty-four, Cait. I'm not a fossil.” Pattie finished her work and joined the two. "You'll work with her and help serve the customers," Eddie pointed to the waitress. Cait looked around the place. “Is it always so ‘crowded’ here? "Not so many people have been coming for a while. I do not know why. Prices are the same, nothing has changed,” Eddie said. "Maybe that's the problem," Pattie intervened. Everything has been unchanged for ten years: the same brown tables and chairs, the same old-fashioned and boring decor, the same music, the same menu.” Eddie was taken by surprise. It looked like Pattie had been holding this in her for a while. “But what's wrong with the decor?” "It needs a revitalization," the waitress said. “You can start by taking down these horrible pictures of celebrities.” "You can buy some prettier lights, put an LED strip under the bar, some new flower-potted shelves," Cait said. “Look here...” Eddie analysed with scepticism at the modern restaurant designs his niece showed him on her phone. "I don't know what to say," he said. “Maybe some new fancy restaurants opened and are stealing our clients.” "Look at the reviews," Cait said. She showed him a website on the phone, and Eddie read aloud. “Eddie’s Restaurant: 2.3 stars: ‘The food is ok, the service is good.’ ‘It's an ok restaurant. Nothing wow. It smelled like chlorine when we were there’. ‘Music is a bit meh, coffee is pathetic.’ ‘If you want to have a heart attack, this is the place. They only have fried food’. ‘Poor menu! Nothing vegetarian. 1 star ‘ “. He frowned, muttered a swear-word, and brought his phone closer to his eyes. “ ‘The bartender had the face of a man who didn’t want to be there. I didn't like him at all. Instead, the waitress had a nice vibe’ . Kiss my ass, Robix31!” Eddie shouted, and almost threw the phone if Cait hadn't stopped him in horror. Pattie laughed hysterically. "Maybe we should change some stuff around here," Eddie said. "I'll help you, Uncle," said Cait. “I'm good at social media. As long as I'm staying here, I'll be the restaurant’s PR manager.” "And the waitress. Don't forget about that , Eddie pointed out. “Sure, whatever.” “ Okay, Miss PR Manager, it’s a deal. If you manage to increase the rating of the restaurant, you will not have problems with the finances at the festival.” “Awesome! said the teen.” “But, pretty please, with sugar on top, whatever you want to do, talk to me first, ok?” “All right, boss.” Deep inside, Eddie knew he had made the right decision. What he didn't know was that the road to four stars was paved with good intentions and radical decisions. # The next morning, the girls got up early and they were making plans for operation ‘To four stars and beyond’ . Pattie served breakfast to the workers, and Cait made them coffee. They were sitting at the bar brainstorming, when someone burst through the door, causing the bell to ring chaotically and startling the workers. “ ‘ Two star restaurant? Not anymore! Say goodbye to the deep fry smell, boring decor and elevator music. Join us in our four-star journey. Soon, a new vegetarian-friendly menu.’ ” Eddie shouted while reading the post from his restaurant’s social media page. "And that's just the beginning," Cait said, rubbing her palms. “And stop shouting! You're bothering customers.” "You made it look like it’s a dump," he said, almost whispering. What did I tell you about consulting me before doing anything?” "I sent you four messages." Cait defended herself.

"Doesn’t your generation know about a thing called phone call ?" And why, mind you, was it so urgent to post? Couldn't you have waited for me to wake up?” Eddie said, and poured himself some coffee. “Everyone checks their phone in the morning either from the bed, bus or toilet. It was the perfect moment. I don't want to waste time.” Eddie muttered something and went outside to smoke a cigarette. He watched the cars zapping by his restaurant. He enjoyed the pleasant weather of the summer morning and looked at the building where his loyal customers worked as it grew day by day. "Eddie, come see what we planned for the decor," Pattie said and waved him. He put out the cigarette and went in.

"I'm already scared," he said. “Because it would be too expensive to buy other tables and chairs, we thought of painting them and varnishing them.” the waitress said. “We’ll paint the tables green, the chairs yellow-sunflower and we can decorate them with floral motifs. I have an artist friend who would be happy to give us a discount.” "I appreciate you thinking about the budget," he said. "Then, the real flowers," Cait said, taking him by arm to one of the walls. “We’ll put shelves on here, here, and here and paint them just like tables and chairs.” The young woman, full of enthusiasm, indicates the place of the future flower shelves. Eddie folded his arms and nodded. “Maybe we'll take some pots to hang from the ceiling ...” "Let's stick with the ones on the walls for now," he intervened. “Okay, only on the walls.” "Now the bar," Pattie said. “We’ll put a red LED strip under it. We'll take the bottles from under it and put them on some shelves behind it. It will be easier for customers to decide what to drink and it will look prettier.” "And the menu," Cait continued, disorienting her uncle, "will have to be radically changed. We’ll keep the current dishes, but you will also have to get specialised in salads, lasagna, cream soups, maybe some ratatouille. “Rata-what? Eddie frowned. "Don’t worry, it's not that hard. I'll teach you.” The girls stopped to let him digest the information. He put his hands on his hips and evaluated the plans. He sat down on the high chair next to the espresso machine. After a few minutes, he leaned with his elbows on the bar and looked at one of his ‘boring’ walls. “I have to admit that everything you said sounds good and most importantly, cheap. It would definitely give this place some life.” The two girls were beaming. "All right, let's do it," he said. We’ll go to the DIY store in the afternoon and buy what we need. Cait and Pattie fist-bumped and clinked their coffee cups. "There's something else we want to do that involves you directly," the teen said. Eddie raised an eyebrow and turned to her. Cait formed a rectangle with her thumb and index fingers from both hands and pointed it at her uncle’s head. “We want to film you taking a tour of the restaurant and telling the people what we want to do. Then I'll try to edit the video, put in new shelves and flowers, and so on.” “Absolutely not! I don't want to face the internet.”

"Come on, Eddie," Pattie said. It will be more impactful than a text post. And who better to do it up than the boss-bartender-chef?” He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hands. “OK, fine! But don’t use my ‘angelic’ face anymore, okay?” The girls looked at each other without saying anything and pursed their lips. “What else did you plan?” he said in a low voice. Pattie took the bull by the horns and said. “We wanted to take some pictures of you, and print a cutout and put it at the entrance”. Eddie slowly shifted his icy gaze from one to the other. Without saying a thing, he got up and went to the bathroom. "I think we’ll stick with just the video," Cait said, and Pattie approved. # Over the next few days, the restaurant was closed for renovations. Only the construction workers were allowed to come as usual and they even helped to drill the walls for the shelves. Flower by flower, table by table, the place was coming to life. Eddie bought some decorating items like a neon sign, a broken guitar to put on the wall, and a flag of the local football team. The waitress followed the workers and placed the flower pots as they installed the shelves. Cait painted the tables and chairs while waving her head to the music in her headphones. She was dirty with paint on her cheeks and overalls that Pattie had given her. Her hair was tied in a bun and kept safe under a DC cap. She also made sure that their social media fans knew that things were going in the right direction. "I saw this morning that the rating went up to 2.6 stars," Eddie said with excitement. “And that's before we've finished any redecoration. How come?” "I saw it, too," Pattie said. People probably found Cait's post from yesterday funny and wanted to help out.” "I hope they’ll come here as well." With stars and likes I can't pay your salary. "They'll come, don't worry," Pattie assured him. But the weeks passed and people did not come. In addition to social media posts, the three also printed leaflets, but without results. The rating increased to 3.1 stars due to the benevolent internet users, but it was not an organic increase. One morning, the three of them were drinking coffee in front of the restaurant and assessing the situation. “What if we aired an ad on the local radio station?” said Cait. Eddie sighed and nodded. "Then they wouldn't have anything to come to. A radio ad would bankrupt me.” “ How about a sponsored post on social media? Pattie asked, puffing on her cigarette. "We did that, too," he said. It didn't help.” They looked at the building under construction, which was nearing completion. They were going to lose even their most loyal customers. Eddie finished his cigarette and tossed it angrily on the restaurant wall. "Piece of junk!," he said, and went in.

He narrowly avoided the workers who were just coming out, and watched him with sympathy.

"We left the money on the table, Pattie," said one of them. “Thanks, guys! I see you're almost done with your work.” “Tomorrow is the last day. Then we pack up and leave.” "We'll miss you," said the waitress, and put out her cigarette and picked up the other one. “We’ll miss you too. Thanks for all the coffee. I hope you reach your four-star goal.” "I hope we’ll be here next month," Pattie said to her. The men were about to leave when one of them, looking at their crane, said: “Maybe we can help out” # The next morning Eddie arrived as usual at his restaurant, but it was closed. “What the hell? Where's Pattie?” he wondered. He took out the bundle of keys, unlocked the door and made himself a coffee. He sent Pattie a message asking her where she was and turned on the news on TV. " ... anticipates that inflation will exceed 7% by the end of the year. " said the presenter. “Great! Why stop at 7?” Eddie replied. “Now for local news: A huge banner was placed on a crane in a construction site near Millwater Street, encouraging people to visit a local restaurant.” Eddie dropped the cup on the bar, splashing himself in the process. It was the crane from the neighbouring construction site. He had never seen his ‘angelic face’ of such size and at such heights. It was a banner that read, ‘Come to Eddie's: A soon-to-be 4 star restaurant.’ and his smiling face was printed on cardboard and glued to it. He ran outside to see it with his own eyes, and there it was without mistake. Above the fifteen-story building was his head. The phone started ringing. “W-what the hell is this? Where did the banner come from? Where did, where did the money come from? How ... who?” Eddie stammered as he screamed into the phone. There was laughter at the other end. "So you saw it," Cait said. “I think the astronauts on the ISS can see it. It was on the news.” “Seriously? Awesome! Free advertising.” “How did you do that?” “Your loyal customers have decided to give you a farewell gift. Tomorrow they’re leaving and they wanted to help you. They said their boss wouldn't mind.” Eddie was speechless. He looked at his gargantuan head smiling at him and he burst into laughter. This little stunt proved to be a success. More and more people came to Eddie’s in the following weeks. The four star rating was imminent, and he didn't have time to scroll his phone all day anymore. "Promise me you won't get drunk or do stupid things at the festival," Eddie said to Cait and handed her an envelope with $2,000.” “Sure. Of course. Don't worry.“she said, stuffing the envelope into her backpack. “Thanks, Cait. Without you two, I would have gone bankrupt,” he said, and embraced her. “Call me when you get home, okay?” “Sure, Uncle. Goodbye, Pattie! It was awesome working with you! Bye, Eddie.” Cait went out the door and, after a few steps, turned her head and shouted: “Get ready for next year. We will become a Michelin-starred restaurant!”


The old two-story wooden Victorian house stood at the end of the cul-de-sac. It had once been one of the grandest homes in the small town but now was in dire need of repair. The light blue paint that had covered the exterior walls was now faded until almost white and much of it had peeled showing decaying boards. Shingles were missing from the roof. The landscape that had once been adorned with beautiful flower gardens and neatly trimmed grass was now overgrown with weeds and unkept shrubs. Except for the dim glow of light that shone through one of the lower windows it was hard to tell that the old home was still lived in. But it was. Joseph Franklin had been living there for the past fifty years.

Joseph had been hired as the caretaker of both the house and the surrounding grounds by the previous owner of the home, Doctor Edward Brown, who had built the homestead in the early 1900s. Joseph kept residence in a small guest house that was behind the main house.

Doctor Brown had a medical practice in town and was married to Louise, a dressmaker. Louise had a dress shop in town where she sold the dresses she made. She had a good reputation as being a fine tailor and always had plenty of dresses ready to sell as well as making dresses to order. Louise had always dreamed of marrying and having children but after marrying the doctor and not becoming pregnant after the first two years it was then discovered that she was not capable of getting pregnant. This saddened her greatly.  At the age of only fifty-six, the doctor suddenly became sick. At first, he tried to treat himself but only became more ill. It wasn’t long before the doctor had to be admitted to the hospital where he was diagnosed with an unknown but life threatening ailment. After a week in the hospital he was then taken to ICU and put on life support. After just a few days in ICU the doctor had a major heart attack and never recovered.

Although Dr. Brown was a good man and gave Louise everything she desired, the one thing he did not give her was companionship. He was too busy working and never had time for his wife. During all the years they were married they had never gone on vacation together. The doctor had gone on business trips a dozen times but never took Louise with him.

Louise loved the doctor and did not wish to hurt him, but she wanted more than just what money could buy her. The first ten years of their marriage passed and Louise remained faithful to doctor Brown. She became more and more lonely. Because of her loneliness, Louise turned to Joseph to keep her entertained and satisfied. Joseph and Louise was often seen around town in the company of each other. On the occasions when the doctor was out of town Louise would invite Joseph into the main home with her. Most people in town knew what was going on and talked amongst themselves. When the doctor suddenly became ill and died rumors began to arise that perhaps the death of the doctor wasn’t from natural causes. Murmuring got even worse when Joseph moved into the main house within a month after the good doctor’s death. Just three months after the doctor’s death Joseph and Louise were wed.

Joseph was an expert gardener, and with the money left to Louise by her late husband, Louise helped Joseph open his own nursery business. He did landscape work all over town for people. He was a successful businessman and the nursery flourished. After their marriage Joseph and Louise took advantage of all of life’s pleasures that they could. Louise wanted to try to make up for all the years of pleasure she had missed while married to Doctor Brown. She and Joseph took a vacation at least once per year going on cruises to the Caribbean or touring European cities. They had taken a two-week honeymoon in Hawaii, a place Louise had always wanted to visit. They spared no expense for their excursions.

Louis enjoyed being one of the town’s leading ladies and often held galas and functions for the opportunity to mingle with the town’s high class society.

Joseph and Louise shared life happily together for twenty-one years before Louise became ill with throat cancer. She first underwent radiation treatments and chemotherapy. After completing those she was diagnosed as being cancer free.

After another year it was discovered Louise’s cancer had returned. It was in a late stage this time and required major surgery where she had to have her larynx removed and was no longer able to talk. She was given chemo treatments again but the cancer continued to grow and to spread. She underwent more surgery having to have her tongue removed and was put on a feeding tube.

 Joseph quit working at his nursery and stayed home to care for his wife. Louise’s health continued to deteriorate. It wasn’t long before she was completely bedridden. After another six months Louise succumbed to the cancer and died. Joseph had her buried on the property. Joseph was heart broken and never returned to his nursery. He stopped caring for the homestead and the surrounding property. He became a recluse, seldom leaving the confines of his home, only going out for food supplies. Nine years have gone by since Louise’s passing. The once beautiful home now lies in a decaying state and the beautiful landscaping now is grown up. Joseph hasn’t been outside of the house in more than a year, having his food supplies delivered. It has been said by the few delivery people who have seen Joseph that he is a very feeble man and looks very old.

It is rumored that Louise’s ghost walks the hallway in the house and after the death of Joseph their ghosts will remain in the house until it falls down.


He glided through the hospital hallway as if he was walking on air. Brimming with enthusiasm and confidence, it was the first day of his fellowship. Ronny Livingston had accumulated awards and accolades everywhere he went. Through college, medical school, internship and residency, he had shone. It was his destiny to excel, be the best. His parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts told him so. You could tell just looking at him that he was something special. He was tall, had a high forehead, a Roman nose, upturned mouth and those penetrating dark eyes. You felt that he could see into your soul. It was intimidating. Yet there was a magnetism about him you could not resist. His laugh was contagious and there was joy in everything he did. Despite his successes and obvious talents, it was hard not to like him. He was humble, generous and kind. His personality and talents won over the most hardcore teachers and professors over the years. He had a golden pathway to success and seemed to be destined for greatness in his chosen field of rheumatology. Nothing or no one could stand in his way. That is, until he met Dr. Christina Patzakis. Christina was a wunderkind of sorts herself. She was the youngest woman to graduate from Medical school in Greece and completed her medical residency and fellowship in rheumatology at UCLA with top honors. She was recruited widely for faculty positions internationally but chose to remain at UCLA. Christina was the oldest of five girls in the Patzakis family. Her parents, Spiro and Rodanthi were considered Greek royalty. They both were well educated diplomats who travelled extensively and were rumored to be cousins remotely related to the last Greek king. Christina was precocious and pampered. She was academically gifted but unlike Ronny she was haughty and condescending from an early age. She knew she was good. Her saving grace was her heart. It melted easily and she could be kind and generous. Friends adored and admired her while others were repelled by her imperious attitude and ambitious nature. She had one glaring weakness as she reached puberty- a voracious sexual appetite. Christina was tall and developed early. She had a full figure and thick shoulder length jet black hair. Her face was long, lips thick and nose a little too big. Although she was not attractive in the conventional sense, many men were attracted to her intensity, intelligence and earthiness. Her sexual conquests were legendary in Athens and often the source of scandal. It was rumored that she left for America to escape the stain of an affair with a married professor. During her training at UCLA, she managed to keep her affairs under the radar. She developed a reputation as a brilliant researcher, clinician and hard task master as a teacher. *** Ronny had yet to meet Christina or as he called her Dr. Patzakis but was sure they would collaborate well. He knew her reputation as a teacher and clinician and was excited about their potential as a team. He welcomed the many pearls of wisdom she would offer. Each stage of his training and each mentor had added to his knowledge base and confidence and been joyful. Why would this stage or this mentor be any different? As he approached the meeting point on the rheumatology ward, he saw a cluster of white coats. In the middle stood a tall woman with jet black hair and long dangly earrings, wearing a colorful low-cut dress under her lab coat. As he came closer, he could see that she was frowning. He picked up his pace and looked at his watch. Surely his two-minute tardiness could not be the source of this woman’s frown. “Dr. Livingston, I presume!” Christina said with a sarcastic smile. It wasn’t the first time Ronny had heard this line but never with such sarcasm. Ronny approached Christina with a smile and offered his hand before saying: “I’m sorry for my slight tardiness. It’s my first time in this hospital. It’s great to meet you, Dr. Patzakis. I’ve heard great things about you and look forward to working with you.” Christina looked Ronny up and down and ignored his offer of a handshake before saying: “Dok-tor Livingston, we don’t tolerate tardiness here. We expect our doctors to be early not three minutes late. Good habits are important. Now follow me and we can finally get started.” Ronny’s face reddened as he stepped in line with the rest of the group of students and residents. He was flustered and felt chastened. He had never had such a rude introduction to a professor or mentor. He was uncharacteristically quiet as they went through rounds, offering clinical observations only when called upon. Next to Dr. Patzakis, he was second in seniority. Yet, he felt Dr. Patzkis treated him like a medical student. She sneered at some of his observations even though he thought they were spot on. For the first time in years, he began to doubt himself. When rounds ended, Christina turned to Ronny and with the whole group still in attendance, said:” Dok-tor Livington, I want you to stay behind and review all the cases on the ward. Treat them like they are members of your family. Let’s see if you can come up with some fresh ideas. Then meet me in my office.” “Yes ma’am.” Ronny answered with humility. “My name is Dr. Patzakis not ma’am. Carry on.” Christina responded with a raised eyebrow. If Ronny had a tail, it would have been between his legs. He retreated to the ward to review the charts and reexamine the patients. He was determined to familiarize himself with each case and come up with fresh ideas regarding diagnoses and treatments. While examining each patient individually, he would establish a healthy therapeutic relationship. Even though it seemed that he and Dr. Patzakis had had a bumpy start, he knew he could gain her confidence. *** As he descended in the elevator to the third floor and Dr. Patzakis’ office, Ronny rehearsed his summaries of his findings. He had gone to the library and researched some of his theories and knew he had valid fresh ideas for each patient. His treatment plans were new variations on established ones but might add something. In one mystery case, he was sure had discovered the diagnosis. It was a disease due to this newly found renegade antibody called IGG4. It was a new and exciting diagnosis in the literature. He had called down to pathology to make sure they did special staining for it on the lymph node biopsy they had obtained days ago. Ronny was excited and thought Dr. P would share his excitement. So he bounded into her office without knocking. His exuberance and smile quickly dissipated when he noticed that she was on the phone and dismissed him with a wave and a frown. He backed away and stood at the entrance of her office until she hung up the phone and gestured him in. “Are you always so rude and intrusive, dok-tor?” Christina sat at a big oak desk which was covered by stacks of papers and files. Her office was painted off white and had rows of bookshelves filled with medical texts and journals on either side of her desk. Ronny’s usual calm and self-confidence wavered as he answered: “I’m sorry Dr. Patzakis. I should have knocked but I have some exciting news.” “What could be so exciting that you forget your manners? Dok-tor, in this program, we expect you to be a good caring clinician and a considerate human being. Now let’s start over. Take a seat and tell me what you found.” Ronny took a deep breath, sat on the wooden chair in front of her desk and shared with Christina all his findings and recommendations. He left his exciting new diagnosis until the end. Christina sat quietly, pursed her lips and nodded intermittently. When Ronny came to his new possible diagnosis, she raised her eyebrows and frowned. Ronny was puzzled. “Dok-tor, your research and hard work are appreciated and expected. The theory you have is interesting. Of course, I have considered it. I wish you had asked me before calling pathology. You are new and don’t know which pathologist specializes in this kind of staining. I do. Please dok-tor familiarize yourself with the proper protocols in this program. I am your mentor and direk-tor. Consult me before any decisions or actions.” Ronny paused and knitted his eyebrows. “I thought that as a fellow we have some autonomy. I’m sorry if I overstepped any boundaries.” Christina smiled slightly and nodded. “Eventually, you will but you are new and need training. I need to know I can trust you.” Ronny had gained trust and autonomy quickly at each stage of his training but somehow, he thought this time might be different. He nodded and was about to rise when Christina motioned him to keep seated. Her demeanor suddenly changed. He noticed that she seemed to be sizing him up. It made him uneasy. She was leaning over her desk, partially exposing her breasts. The atmosphere in the office suddenly became heavy. Christina smile changed. It felt lascivious to Ronny. He squirmed in his seat. Christina seemed to relish his discomfort but in a new heavily accented sweet voice tried to make him relax. “Sorry Ronny if I have been harsh to you. It’s okay if I call you Ronny?” Ronny nodded and Christina continued. “You are new to the program, and I have to set boundaries and rules, you understand? I want to invite you to my house for a party for all new Fellows this Saturday. I hope you can come. Bring a bathing suit. Do you have a girlfriend?” Ronny shook his head. He had broken up with Rhonds six months ago. His head was whirling but he thought he heard Christina say “Good.” ***

 Ronny drove to Christina’s house in Brentwood. It was only five miles from his apartment in Santa Monica, but the quality of the houses changed dramatically. Her house was gated ranch style and two story. The lawn was manicured with two large palm trees in the front yard and Birds of Paradise and Bougainvillea lining the walkway to the front door. The gate, Spanish style windows and red tile roof gave the house a Mediterranean feel. Ronny wondered how Christine could afford such a house on a professor’s salary. Rumors were that she had been through a messy divorce a few years prior. Was this part of the settlement? As he reached the ornate wooden front door, he noticed a paper sign instructing guests to go around the back to the pool area. Middle Eastern music filled the air. He followed the walkway to a side iron gate, pulled up the latch and entered the backyard. Immediately, he was struck by the smell of chlorine. A large patio led to a large Jacuzzi attached to an oval pool. Two of the new female Fellows were sitting fully clothed on lawn chairs by the pool. The only other male Fellow was sitting in the Jacuzzi with Christina. Everyone had a wine glass in their hand and looked up when Ronny arrived. It was three pm. But Ronny noticed a few empty bottles on a table by the pool. Ronny felt strangely uncomfortable. He approached the Jacuzzi and waved at Christina. She smiled and raised her glass. “Ronny, welcome! Go inside, change and join us. There’s wine glasses in the kitchen. The Jacuzzi is very hot and the pool is warm. Jeremy and I just got in.”  Ronny smiled. He really was not in the mood for a Jacuzzi. Dr. Patzakis made him very uncomfortable. She was wearing a string bikini top, and he wasn’t sure she was wearing bottoms. What kind of program had he entered? He knew Rheumatology was going to be fun but this… Maybe it was cultural. He had been to some nude beaches in Greece. He was not a prude, but he had always separated his professional and academic life from his private one. Dr P was a renowned teacher and clinician. He looked forward to learning from her but what hoops would he have to jump through? Only time would tell. He entered the house, found the bathroom and changed into his speedo. Considering all his options, he decided to join Jeremy and Dr. P in the jacuzzi. She toasted him as he slowly lowered himself into the steaming water. He wasn’t sure but he sensed that she slid closer to him. He smiled and looked down. It would be an interesting three years.


The alarm woke me up to a house in absolute silence… meaning sometime in the night the power had gone out. “Wow perfect timing” I quipped to my cardiac alert dog Ginger Pie. (or Geepers! Depending on the occasion) Ginger had her own problems, with the power went the heat. I threw some wool socks on and went down a few stairs of my little house to start a fire in the fireplace just to thaw out some. Ginger gratefully curled up by the fireplace while I made a cup of tea.

I looked at the clock while grabbing a gluten free Biscotti. “Oh my gosh! Is that the time?” I said under my breath. I grabbed my makeup bag from my backpack and made my way to the bathroom. Normally I put my makeup on in what passes for my office in my bake shop in Bushwick. Ginny’s Cookie Jar was formerly owned by my Aunt Ginny until she passed 5 years ago. I inherited both the shop and this cute little house up in the hills behind the village of Bushwick. I said, as if Aunt Ginny could hear me, “What a morning Aunt G! I’m running late, the power is out, I’m meeting Bob this morning in the shop at 9. What am I going to do with my HAIR!” It really was quite a sight. I took a quick shower, wrapped myself in my big terrycloth robe and then began the makeup ritual. If this were an average day my makeup ritual would take 10 minutes from moisturizer to eyebrow pencil but not today. Today was a bit special. However, I reached in my makeup bag only to find that I’d left my favorite eye shadow, eyeliner and eyebrow pencil at the shop! I improvised the eye makeup, then grabbed my lipstick. I pulled the lid off the lipstick only to have the thing fall apart into the sink. “OH SERIOUSLY?!” I shouted. I took a deep breath. “Well Aunt G.” I said aloud, “It’s going to be one of those crazy mornings” I laughed because I knew Aunt G. would have said something to make me smile.

I crossed the hall into my bedroom to dress for the morning. It was chilly in that room. I opened my closet to my selection of khaki pants and pastel colored, collared shirts. This is what passes for my usual uniform since I generally wear an apron over my clothes and my hair up in a bun with a white skull cap style baker’s hat (or Toque Blanche). My Aunt taught me everything I know about baking. Just like my Aunt, I wear a pretty tea towel tucked into the apron tie at my waist. I passed up the usual uniform for a button up, lace, mock turtleneck sweater with ¾ length sleeves in an antique white color and Khaki pants. I grabbed my usual white shoes as mandated by the health department then proceeded to the living room to snatch my jacket, backpack, lunch, and of course Ginger Pie.  Ginger Pie became my near constant companion ever since I developed a cardiac arrhythmia. She's got her own room built on to the back of the shop.

As a service dog she’s never near the customers. People aren’t allowed to pet her; she can’t be distracted from her job. Of course the health department would never approve of her being in the kitchen. I had to get special permits to have Ginger in the bakery at all. I don’t know how but even when I’m all the way on the other side of the shop Ginger knows if I am having a “funny turn” as my Aunt used to say. She’ll bark out a warning. Usually all I need is a few moments to sit down. Sometimes it requires a little more help. My cousins and my Aunt Pauline help out in the bakery so I am never alone.

“Coffee with Bob!” I muttered under my breath. “What was I thinking?” Bob isn’t just any guy. His bakery was my biggest competitor in town before I had to take the bakery gluten free, and also a person I’d known since I was 5 years old. My family and his family had only two bakery shops in town for 2 generations. When I was in the middle of getting a degree in marketing my fiancee, and high school sweetheart died in a car accident. I say accident. Actually a drunk driver on the wrong side of the road hit Finn head on then drove away. I was 22 years old. Bob and his family were wonderfully supportive. They helped all of us cope by providing food for the many gatherings in honor of Finn at no charge. I’ve not had a serious relationship since Finn was taken so abruptly. Hard to believe that was nearly 20 years ago now. Meeting Bob for coffee would be my second “date” since that fateful accident.

“This situation is so surreal,” I thought to myself as I was packing the car. Ginger hopped up into her usual spot. “I mean really! Bob is the very last man.” my thoughts drifted off as I pulled the car out of the garage. I moved out of the narrow street on which I lived to the main street that would take Ginger and I to the village. In my head I was still thinking of my meeting with Bob despite all my efforts to push it out of my mind. Yesterday I was at the Bake-off with my team, today I was about to meet Bob for coffee. Twenty years I’d been going to that bake off… never once did I even look at Bob romantically. When we were kids Bob was a fairly normal guy, and a friend. Then he took over the family bakery. As the bakery’s business grew so did his ego. At least that was my opinion until yesterday. Ever since he attended culinary school at Paul Smith’s College he had become an overbearing, pompous, overly dramatic, male chauvinist, kitchen prima donna. Yesterday he proved me wrong. “How the devil did that happen? At no time had I ever considered Bob as a romantic interest” I said to Ginger out loud. She looked at me as if she understood, sticking one ear out at the side of her head. “Exactly” I replied.

Yesterday was a big day for me, my shop, and the village of Bushwick. Bob and I tied for first place at the Applefield Country Christmas Cookie Bake-off Invitational. The festival is fairly prestigious in the area and is often covered by news outlets across the state. Bakeries from 50 miles around are invited to join in the bake-off. The invitations are hard to obtain, winning means notoriety for the bakery and the village. This year was the first time 2 bakeries would share first prize. My family’s bakery and Bob’s Best won. For two bakeries from the same village to win was very exciting. Bob and I shared a rather special moment after our win. That put the icing on the cookie as-it-were. Bob, the normal, thoughtful guy I knew as a kid came flooding back. He opened up his heart to me. He said he had always admired me “but of course there was someone else” He was right. Finn was always there in my heart. It was true that I had closed myself off from other romantic relationships for fear of losing… tears began to fill my eyes as I drove into the village. I stopped at the stop light, grabbed a tissue and dabbed at my eyes and nose. I couldn’t ruin my makeup.

I looked at the dashboard clock. Fifteen minutes early.  It was 7:30 am, Bob was due at 9:00 but I still had to prep the kitchen. When I got there Aunt Pauline, Rachel and Bethann were already there decorating for the Holidays. Bethann had put the gingerbread cookies in the oven to bake. I put Ginger into her room then went into the kitchen to put on my apron, cap, and of course, my tea towel. “Wow! You look great! Is that new eye makeup?” said Rachel. A big grin on her face told me I was in for quite a bit of teasing this morning. “No, I replied, I left my favorite eye makeup here on my desk so I improvised.” Everyone laughed. I shared my morning predicament. Including my lipstick crumbling into the sink. Aunt Pauline said “Good grief you have had a morning! Did you eat anything?” “I grabbed a biscotti and a cup of tea.” I said as I walked into the kitchen to start making the frosting for a birthday cake. “Thankfully buttercream frosting is gluten free. No substitutions necessary.” I said under my breath. Bethann came in behind me to pull the gingerbread from the oven. “Rachel and I will decorate the stars if you make extra buttercream. What time is Bob due?” She ran the sentences together as if inquiring about Bob was a totally natural segue. I looked at her, hand on hip, and said “You know exactly what time Bob is due, young lady. Am I going to take a razzing from you three all day?” She laughed, handed me a warm gingerbread cookie, and stated “Yes, unequivocally, and absolutely, yes”.

I began whipping the buttercream adding a little blue food coloring to tint the frosting. I absentmindedly checked the clock. “Half an hour until Bob arrives. Plenty of time to finish this frosting then check my face” I thought. Then I caught myself. “Check my makeup? I’m checking my makeup for BOB?! This is so crazy. This is so crazy, it just might work.” I smiled to myself. I went into the back room where I had a small set of lockers and a full set of mirrors with lighting just for the purpose of tidying up and looking presentable for the customers. Meanwhile I hollered out “Is there fresh coffee?” A male voice replied “Of course.” It was Bob! He was EARLY! “Holy smokes.” I yelled to myself. I felt slightly faint as the butterflies in my stomach did a hyperspace Jump. I checked myself over, sprayed some breath freshener in my mouth, checked my teeth, applied lipstick (which thankfully did not fall apart). Then walked out into the shop as nonchalantly as possible. I looked on the counter, Aunt Pauline had poured two cups of coffee and set out breakfast sandwiches. “Sly woman” I thought to myself. The closed sign was still on the door and everyone had faded from the shop. Leaving Bob and I to sit at the counter with our coffee and sandwiches.

 Bob looked very sharp in his suede coat, blue shirt and Khaki pants. His dark brown hair was a bit tousled. “I guess these are for us.” I said to Bob, with a big smile, “Please have a seat.” He replied, “Let’s sit over here at the table.” The shop was still decorated in the style of the 1950’s including small, coin operated, jukeboxes mounted on the wall by the tables. I was about to take my seat when Bob hopped around the table to pull out my chair for me. I think I must have looked at him a bit surprised because he said “Don’t look so surprised, I’ve waited a long time to be able to do that.” I was silent. I mean, what do you say after a line like that? On the chair next to me was a beautiful bouquet of Autumn colored mums. “These are beautiful Bob! Thank you so much! You didn’t have to bring flowers.” I said feeling the pink rising to my face. He replied with a grin that showed all his dimples, “Are you blushing?” We began eating our breakfast sandwiches. It’s always unnerving to have another baker try baked goods from your shop. The bread was Aunt Pauline’s recipe. “This bread is amazing. Are you sure this is gluten free?” Exclaimed Bob. I said “Oh yes! Scrupulously made by Aunt Pauline herself”. Bob just kept right on eating. I smiled to myself.

I broke the silence by mentioning the prize from the Bake-off Invitational. Bob looked at me. “I have a proposal” he said with a twinkle in his hazel colored eyes.” “Okay?” I replied with a skeptical tone “We’ll meet for lunch at the house on the lake where we can discuss the prize in comfort. I’d love to learn how you cook gluten free, you know, for future reference. So you bring the ingredients and I’ll make sure every item to be used in the kitchen will be brand new. What do you say?” I sat back in my chair because I really never expected a first date let alone a second date. I didn’t know if I could trust him to keep this to himself. He’s not a braggart in the sense that some men talk about their conquests by the hour. That’s not Bob. He would, however, tell all his golfing buddies that the lunch thing was a date and I didn’t feel ready for the world to know. I wanted to protect my heart again, and that’s not the way relationships work. These thoughts flitted through my brain at light speed. “Okay you got a deal! When would you like to get together?” As if on cue, we simultaneously pulled out our cellphones. Snickering came from the kitchen. Bob looked at me, I pointed to the camera in the shop. (the sound was turned off) We both waved to the girls in the kitchen. “You should have my schedule now” he remarked with a smile. I sent my work calendar to his phone so we could see if any dates matched up. “Well I see we both have days free in the middle of next month”. I joked. At that moment Aunt Pauline came out into the shop “Excuse me. I’m so sorry to interrupt but I can’t find the order for that cake”. I reached into my apron pocket “Here’s why! I’m sorry.” “It’s okay! No worries, I got this covered” Aunt Pauline smiled as she took the paperwork and walked back into the kitchen. While I was talking to Aunt Pauline, Bob got a phone call. He stepped across the room to take the call.

He walked back to the table. As he dropped down into his chair “That was my mom. I’ll have Saturday free because the Singer wedding was cancelled.” Bob said mournfully. “Seriously? Wow I didn’t see that coming! Not good news for anyone involved!” I said in a sympathetic tone. Bob said; “How about Saturday? I see your schedule is free.” I felt those butterflies again except these were more like Black Hawk helicopters as the natural alarm systems were going off in my brain. Bob looked at me seriously. “Lillian I know this is hard for you. I wouldn’t push you under any circumstance. Since this will be a working lunch and not really a date, we’ll be discreet. We’ve been friends for many years. It does feel a bit unusual to change gears.” Bob remarked with genuine feeling. “I had hopes that someday you might see me as more than a friend. I realize that at some point you saw me with less than friendly eyes.” He continued. “I can’t say that I blame you. I find it very challenging to be the boss of my family business. To cover for the way I felt I became ‘super Bob’.” I giggled “Is that what you call him. That other guy with the ego.” Though I have to say inwardly I was surprised to hear him talk this frankly. “Lil!” He exclaimed. “Sorry Bob, I couldn’t help it. To answer your question yes next Saturday will be fine. You can pick me up at 10:45 am, sharp.” I said looking him straight in the eye. “Obviously Ginger Pie will have to come but she’s a good girl and will love the lake.” I added. “Obviously!” Bob said with a twinkle in his eye.

 The clock read 10:30 am and I needed to open the shop for folks to pick up their orders. Sunday the shop is closed but I will take special orders. I knew Bob had several standing orders for their homemade bread. Bob I hate to do this but I have a customer coming in to pick up a cake for a baby shower at First Lutheran. “Baby shower?” Bob queried. I laughed out loud “Where have you been? Pete and Tyra are having their first!” “Oh! Well, we both have work to do so I’ll see you on Saturday morning.” said Bob with a grin. “Excellent! Thanks again for the flowers, Bob. They are beautiful!” I commented. Rachel popped out from the kitchen with a star-shaped gingerbread cookie in a box upon which they girls had written Bob. “A little something to take with you” She said. “Thanks Rachel and Bethann!” Bob waved to the camera and stepped out the door.

I stood at the door watching him walk down the sidewalk with the cookie box in hand. I flipped the sign over that read “open for pick-up”. I turned away from the camera, took a deep breath, shook my head, then walked back to the kitchen. I got mobbed by 3 hugs, and a happy bark from Ginger’s room. Okay ladies, no time to get the “vapors” as Aunt Ginny used to say, we have orders to get out. We had a good laugh and got down to business. I don’t think the smile I’d had since 9:00 am left my face all day. At no time in the past 18 years had I been more excited about a “working lunch”.


This is a real story. I was 20. I had been robbed before when I was younger. I didn’t expect to get robbed so close to my neighbourhood. I thought it was safe around my home. I had recently spent all the money I had gotten in a summer project on my brand-new smartphone. My parents never gave me much money, so I highly valued every item I owned. That morning I went to the orthopaedic surgeon, my appointment was at 0745 sharp. My shoulder and lower back were in some pain. I had to go there that early because at 1000 I had my university lessons. I brought my wallet, my keys, and my brand new phone with me. The appointment went well. I walked out of the clinic and crossed the street. I sat at the bus stop, waiting for the next one. I was the only one there. There wasn’t anyone around, as it was quite early. Bars were just opening. Most owners didn’t want to miss the early commuters. First thing I noticed about this guy is that he was bloody tall. I’m talking 2.1 meters tall. The second thing I noticed was how tan he was, and his gold rings and chains. These helped me to identify him as a Romani Gypsy from the local community. I had gone to school with a lot of them, and I got along with most. They were proud people that didn’t like to be disrespected. I always knew how to make them feel like they were running the show. Mostly, they left me alone. The third thing I notice, he’s looking at me. He had these huge hands. He was a bloody big fella. “Good morning mate!” He said, in a very chipper tone. *Not a good sign.* “Good morning mate!” I replied in a lower tone, but still friendly. “Waiting for the bus. Yea?” He said. *Too chipper for a Tuesday at 0810.* “Indeed, friend.” *Keeping it cool. Answer his questions but without giving him too much rope.* “Well here’s the thing mate. I’m missing a coin for the bus. You wouldn’t happen to have one?” *There it was.* “I might have just the one.” Funny stuff, this was true. I had about 3.5 in local currency in my wallet. I had a debit card, with some money in it, my bus card, my uni card and the library card. Not much to rob. However, the phone was in my back pocket. I slowly and casually moved so that my back was against the bus stop. “Well fella, let’s see it, quickly.” He demanded. “Give me a minute sir.” Rule number 1 to avoid conflict, be respectful and do not show aggression. “I think we might come to an agreement…” “Give me the wallet, or your mum ain’t going to be hugging you again.” “Look, seriously, give me a minute. You want to rob me, you rob me. You are going to rob me anyway no? There isn’t a way that I’m going to avoid this from happening, so just hear me out.” Guy was looking confused, this was working. “You better know that, small fly.” “Okay, so look, I’m Loud.” I extended my hand in a greeting gesture, waiting for him to shake it. “What’s your name, mate?” “What’s your mother’s name?” *Okay, that didn’t work too well.* I took my hand back, and I got my wallet out of my pocket. “Look, give me a minute.” I open my wallet and hand him my ID card. “I ain’t bullshitting you, my name is Loud. What’s your name?” He took my card. He looked at me. Looked at the card. Looked at me again. By this point, I bet this robbery wasn’t like any other robbery he had done recently. “My name is Alpha” He handed me back the card. *This is good.* I had given him something and he had given it back. “Right, look here Alpha. Extend your hand. I’m going to give you my stuff.” He did. “I have 3.5 with me,” I said, putting the money on his hand. “No bills whatsoever.” I showed him the inner fold of my wallet. No bills there. “I have my debit card, on red numbers I’m afraid, bought the sister a present yesterday.” I gave him my debit card. “I have my library card and my university card.” I gave him those. “And finally, that’s my wallet here.” I gave him the empty wallet. He was confused. He didn’t know if he was supposed to run or not. “Now, before you take off with that whole pile of objects that are worth less than a tenner: Hear me out.” “I’m hearing you.” *Good!* “Alright, well, here’s the thing. It’s bloody early mate, and I haven’t had breakfast. Have you? He moved his head side to side. He was paying attention. “Right. So, I suppose that if you do take all my stuff, you are probably going to go get some breakfast. A big fella like you can’t run on an empty stomach.” He nodded. “Right. So… here’s the thing, if you do rob me, and take all of my stuff, I need to cancel my card, and my bank will ask what happened to the card. I will have no other choice but to present a complaint in the local police, and they are a bunch of idiots. Now, I happen to be very hungry myself. I live around here and I can tell you 100%, that bar right there.” I point at a random bar on the other side of the street. “That bar right there has the best croissants that you are going to have in your life mate. They are the best. Coffee isn’t too good, but the croissants man, the croissants… delicious.” He was still looking confused. “So, instead of robbing me: Why don’t you come with me. I invite you to the most awesome breakfast in this side of town for 3.5 that you are ever going to get. You did say that you were going to use my money for breakfast anyways. We get ourselves some coffee, just two guys. Talking shite about life. No robberies, no need for you to get in trouble, and I can hug my mother tomorrow. You get your free breakfast anyways, mate, and none of the problems.” I didn’t think it was going to work. I thought he had seen my mobile phone and he was going to punch me in the face, knock me on my arse, kick me some more and then take everything I had. To my surprise, he gave me back all my stuff. “Walk.” Talkative fella he was. We crossed the street and I was behind him. I didn’t want him to see my phone. I opened the door to the bar. Moved my hands to invite him in first. Barely fit through the door he did. My backside was always out of his sight. “Hello, chaps!” I say to the bartender and someone that was in. “Long time no see! Do you still have those awesome croissants?” Let me reaffirm something that might not be immediately obvious. This was my first time in that bar. No one knew me there. Bartender looked confused by my friendly approach. I didn’t know if they had croissants. This was a proper Hail Mary. “You betcha!” *God loves me.* “Sit down Alpha! They have them!” He sat down. “Two coffees and two croissants, please.” I asked. He went to prepare the coffees. “3.85!” The bartender replied. *Maybe God doesn’t love me that much.* “Alright, I’m a bit short on change. Could we make it only one croissant? I’m not hungry anyway.” “No problem. 2.85!” I handed him the full 3.5 euros. “Keep the change, brother.” So, I came back to the table. Bringing the coffees and his croissant. “Here it is, man. Best croissant in this side of town I tell you!” He took his coffee to his side. I took mine. I gave him the croissant on the third plate I was carrying. “Where is yours?” He said. He looked at me. Neutral expression all the way. “Oh!” I lowered my voice. “That bartender, he upped the prices. It was 3.5 for the whole thing, I didn’t have enough for two croissants, but you go ahead, mate. I’m not hungry.” “Oh.” Pause. “No.” He said. What he did next surprised me more than getting my high school diploma. He took the plate. He took a fork and a knife. They looked out of proportion with those huge hands of his. He cut the croissant in half. He picked one half with his fingers, careful not to touch the other one and he passed me the plate. “You said you were hungry.” He said. *What. The. Fuck*. So, for an hour. We sat down and we ate. He agreed that the croissants were good, thankfully. He told me about the business. He said that he was in the copper business. He would grab junk, take all the copper out and sell it. His dad started the business and he joined when he was 14. Fuck school, he said. told me that his sister wasn’t arranged to be married yet and that it was a problem because his daddy was getting angry. I said I understood. I didn’t. He talked far more than I did. When we finished, he went to the bar. The other lad and the bartender had to look up. “Good croissants mate.” He headed for the door. I followed behind. “Well Loud! It was awesome to rob you.” He held his hand out, but not for a shake; the fingers extended upwards, arm close to the chest, bent elbow, open thumb. I took the queue like a champ. High five. \-CLAP- Shoulder bump. Hand across the back. Proper bro hug. “You are welcome to rob me anytime if you are going to be this nice, brother.” He laughed. I went to the bus station. Less than 4 coins shorter than I was when I left home. My phone was still in my back pocket. I saw him a few more times before leaving the country. He was sometimes accompanied by some friends. All those times, he pointed at me and his friends waved their hands in my direction. They mostly laughed. Once, we walked into each other. I asked him about the copper business. We talked for a bit. He said he still goes to the bar for croissants from time to time. Best croissants he’s ever had. \ If you've reached this far, thank you for taking the time to have a read. I really appreciate any feedback. English isn't my first language, so if I've gotten anything wrong. Do let me know. Once again, thanks.


For five years now I have been trying to fulfil my New Years’ resolution. Every New Year I try to strengthen my resolve to complete my resolution but somehow I lacked the courage to do so. However, this year will be different. I have only one objective-This world has to hear me. It has ignored, ridiculed and molested me for many years and I spit on it for its cruelty towards me. The final countdown has begun. One hour until midnight. One hour until I fulfil my long standing New Years’ resolution. One hour until death. A hallowed existence lives within me. An existence that violates the basic principles of this hypocritical society. I have lived the twenty years of my life asking the same question, over and over again, "What am I?" and today I have finally given up. I am tired of being called a 'freak', a 'trans', a 'c***boy'. The continuous denial of the so-called 'modernized' society to acknowledge that someone like me can exist has made me wary. Believe me when I say that I have tried. Not once, not twice but a thousand times and then I tried some more but somehow my efforts to find acceptance in my family, among my friends and in the society has always failed. Sometimes I wonder if all of this was my fault? What if I am actually a mistake? A genetic flaw in the cycle of evolution? A disease at childbirth? These questions have taken a toll on me. I am a broken individual now. At this final hour of my life I sit down to pen down my thoughts, my emotions are running haywire. My only objective today is to succeed to fail my own life. By the time you find this, I have already died. I have chosen to jump from the top floor of an under construction building. I know it is not an elegant death, but why have an elegant death when I had such an un-elegant life? A fall from fourteen storeys should be the end of my misery. The end of my story. This is not a suicide note, well, it is not meant to be one, but as this is the last thing I pen down it will probably be treated like one. I feel like I have died many times before tonight, but, I actually do not know what to write during my final moments. Let me call this as 'My last letter to you'. 'You' is you-the one reading the letter and I am addressing you directly through my letter. I am asking 'you' to answer for my misfortune. I am asking 'you' to justify the anger that you have shown me. I am asking 'you' to tell my story. The story of a transgender. My name is irrelevant, you can take a pick from 'knob jockey', 'ring raider' or my personal favourite 'shit stabber'. Isn’t it strange that all the names that I have called over the years all relate to some sort of male genitalia stuffed into my body parts? Fifteen thousand years of evolution and the world has summarised my whole identity to one single statement- "He likes men". That is how I am perceived by the world. Let me tell you, that is not me. I am a man with a feminine soul. I have the biology of a man but the psychology of a woman. I guess it is easier for people to relate to someone when they know their sexual inclination. It does not mean that people accept you if you are biologically male and sexually crave for a male, or, vice-versa, but it definitely helps in inventing the abuses that define me. It has been so long that someone has actually called me by my birth name that sometimes I feel like I do not even have one. You might also wonder about my country of origin, but is that necessary? My survival might have been a little different if I was born in some particular country, but would it have brought social acceptance for me? The sad reality is that borders on land do not erase the borders in your heart. I am a nameless, country less transgender. An entity with an unacceptable identity. ...and this is WHY I decided to end my life. I had the most amazing childhood anybody could possibly ask for. A caring father, a loving mother and a wonderful elder sister. A perfect family, or so I thought. I was lanky boy who was not very athletic and did not fit well with the other people of my group. My parents took me to a psychologist and he deducted that I have some social anxiety, completely normal at that age. Little that he know that I felt trapped in my own body. It all started when I reached the age of sixteen. I could sense that my body was not behaving the way a boy's body should work. The boys would show off their bits of facial hair and talk about the 'small brother standing up'. I had no physical changes like that. I started questioning myself while slowly retracting in my own shell. I would go home and lock myself up in my room. I would take off my clothes and stare at my body for hours. I wanted to hate my body, but I was not able to do it. I felt that I loved my body, just not the way the other boys liked theirs. I loved my tiny bony frame and the edges of my body. It confused me. I was a young teenager trying to make sense of things. I decided to talk to my parents about this. I thought their affection will help me deal with my anxiety. That was my first mistake. “What do you mean you THINK you are women from inside?” my father’s voice echoed through our home “Tell your son to get his head straight, or I will beat it straight” he shouted at my mother and stomped off. I did not expect my father to react so harshly. I started crying and looked at my mom. She had a stern look and as my father left she slapped me. “You will never speak of this non-sense again, I would rather have to die then listen to this kind of blasphemous talk in this house”, she said angrily. I tried to reason with her. I tried to tell her my physiological scenario but she dismissed all of it with a wave of her hand. They ignored my pleas as if it was a figment of my imagination. This incident shook me to the core. I did not care about the world but I expected my parents to understand me and accept me the way I am. I was unaware that it is impossible to reason with ignorance. I died a little that day. That year my parents invited our cousin to spend the New Year with us. Let us call him 'Ape', because that is what he was- An Ape. Ape was the 'boy-wonder' of the family. He was a twenty-one year male with extreme chauvinistic attitude. The perfect teacher to teach me the ways of manhood, according to my parents. I was told to share my room with him and 'bond like boys'. Initially I had no issues with that, I even thought it would be fun. Little did I know that this monster would ruin my life. The first night we spent a lot of time talking about his escapades with girls. Ape would shamelessly describe how he managed to sleep with six girls in the past year and how he discarded them once he was done with them. It was not a very pleasant conversation for me. I was appalled as a person but I kept quiet and let him finish his rant. "Do you like titties?” Ape asked me smiling. "Not really", was my prompt response. "What about balls?” he smirked grabbing his own balls over his trousers. I was aghast. I murmured, "I don't know". He burst out laughing. He kept on talking after that, but I was not listening to him. I just kept staring at him in disgust. He did not mind my look though, in fact, he seemed to be amused by my disgust. “There are some major issues with you, but don’t worry I will fix it, even if it has to be done in the hard way”, he smirked and went to sleep that night. I was hardly able to sleep that night. “Let’s go the new building site and have some fun, shall we?” the Ape proposed on the night of the 31 st . I agreed. Once we reached there I found that he had invited a couple of his ‘friends’ to join us.  They brought alcohol and cigarettes. “Want some?” one of the friends tried to give me a bottle of rum. I said no. “When he said drink, you DRINK!” Ape grabbed my mouth open and poured the alcohol. The sharp taste of cheap liquor felt like molten iron running through my throat. I jumped free and vomited out the alcohol. Ape and his friends found it quite amusing. “Such a sissy” they smirked. “I want to go home!” I shouted out. “You will go home when I say you can go home, now SIT DOWN!” Ape’s voice was loud and menacing. I got scared and tears rolled down my eyes. “You are a homo aren’t you? You piece of shit!” Ape takes a large sip of the rum. The silence of the new years’ night was deafening. At the distant I could see the fireworks go off. People were celebrating the New Year and here I was scared for my life. “It is quite late and dark can I go home please?” I pleaded to them. Ape looked at me, his eyes glistening in the darkness. He reached into his bag and signalled to one of his friends as he took out a rope from his bag. His friend nodded in agreement and sneaked up behind me. He grabbed me and pinned me down on the ground. “STOP! You are hurting me!” my voice echoed through the empty building. “Do not make any noise or I will break your jaw”, Ape said menacingly and tied down my hands behind my back. “Please! Please!” I shrieked in desperation, “What are you doing?” I have never been so frightened before. “Well we are going to teach you a lesson you homo so that you get cured of this disease” Ape smirked and started unfastening his belt. One of Ape’s friend gulps down the bottle of rum and asked, “What now?” “Well take off his pants and let’s get this party started. Let’s f*** up this homo”, Ape replied. I had been beaten up before but what Ape said send shivers down my spine. I tried to wriggle free as his friend took off my pants. “This one even fights like a bit**” he sneered and shoved a rock in my mouth, “Listen homo, if you try to do something funny I will punch your face so hard that the rock inside will crack, so stay calm while we have fun.” My muffled cries for help drowned as they discussed who would rape me first. Ape went first as his other two friends held me down. The pain and humiliation was unbearable. The rock cut through my tongue as I desperately tried to shout for help. Tears ran down my cheeks and he violated me is the worst way imaginable. “I am done”, pride dripping from his voice as he fastened his pants. “Alright then, now it is my turn”, one of his friends announced. He came close to my face, his breath reeked of alcohol. He slapped me as blood gushed out of my closed lips, “You can cry as much as you want pretty boy, but I will take my sweet little time.” Every passing second felt like an eternity as that scum raped me. It felt like not only my body but my soul was being devoured by these animals. “God damn homo, you are a pig!” they laughed as they raped me one after the other. At one time I could not feel anything. I just prayed that it got over soon. I just wanted to get back to my mother. The pain was so intense that I hoped to die, but death is a luxury few can afford. “Here, wash yourself up homo”, Ape threw a bottle of water at me, “Now you are cured” he laughed as they high-fived each other. I groggily got up and tried to clean up the dirt and blood from my thighs and legs. “STOP CRYING” Ape looked at me with a death stare, “If anyone finds about this, they will kill you so you better keep quiet” I nodded in agreement, trying to control my sobs. “When you left home today you were a homo but now you know how it is to be that, so I hope you have learnt your lesson or…” he grabs my throat and forces me to look at him, “…or we can do this again.” “NO! NO! I have learnt my lesson, please don’t hurt me.” Ape laughed, “Remember this lesson!” We reached home at the early hours. My parents were still asleep. I quietly went into the restroom and took a cold shower. The pain was unbearable but the humiliation was far more painful. I wept in the shower trying to understand why this has happened to me. Is it so wrong to be NOT normal in this world? Is it a crime NOT to behave in the way the society expects me too? Is it so wrong to have a body of a man but a soul of a women? Is it so wrong to be weak that the strong will come and violate you? That cold shower washed away the blood and my will to live. Suicide is the only way out of this humiliation. It has been five years since the incident. I did not tell anyone about it, because, let us be honest, would anyone care? No one cares about people like us. There will be no Candle-lit marches and protest speeches to support our struggle. Instead, people like us get ridiculed, or worse, get completely ignored. I have hidden my identity well so far. People like me learn how to supress their nature and put on a socially acceptable camouflage. Every New Year I try hard to gather the courage to end my life. To end this misery that I go through every waking moment. The humiliation of not being accepted by my family. The humiliation of being sexually violated by ‘animals’. The humiliation of not being able to have a dignified life. The humiliation of living a lie. This New Year will be different. As I stand on the top floor of the same building where I was once raped, my resolve is strong.  As the clock gets closer to midnight, one step forward and my miserable life will end. The world does not deserve me. Maybe I will be reborn one day where the society will accept me as I am- A Transgender. Until that day comes, let this letter remind you of the hypocrisy of our world, where being different is acceptable on paper but looked upon as an abomination in real life. Let this letter serve a testament to those parents who try to ‘force’ their children to be ‘normal’. Let this letter bear witness to the brutality that I had to endure in my life. Let this letter tell my story….goodbye!


Although they are inarguably one of the most popular bands in the world today, in 1994 the Slack Magnets were playing their first string of shows in small venues scattered in and around Milwaukee, usually as an opening band for other relatively unknown indie and punk rock groups. Legend had always held these shows were sloppy and erratic, as the members were 'primarily drinking partners who formed a band when we ran out of things to talk about' - according to guitarist and vocalist Eric Borders. It may have taken them a few years to get their act together as composers and performers, but as archivists they never missed a beat. From the very first show, and each one since, the Slack Magnets have recorded every performance they have even given. Last year the band released their career-spanning box set 'Idle Gimmicks' which included a vinyl pressing of the third time they ever took the stage, which was in late June at The Chuckaluck in Madison, Wisconsin. The live recording, which was released in its glorious unmastered rawness, confirmed the inebriated swagger of those early outings. While the album is a great time capsule of the mid-nineties underground music scene, and a peek into the early days of rock royalty, the Slack Magnets' performance is too chaotic and disjointed to be enjoyed as anything more than a historical novelty. In fact the shining moment of the entire half hour performance comes when an audience member inextricably screams "Bro my balls!" in between songs; which has spawned merchandise, memes, parodies and even a number one hit by the band in the wake of the trope's popularity. Since then thousands of people have come forward claiming to be the Bro-My-Balls-Guy, but none of them have provided any evidence to support their allegation. Only a few of them have even been verified to be plausible, but the mystery of who said it and why has been one of the great cultural conundrums of the twenty first century. For her thirteenth birthday, Charlotte Meyers' father had promised to take her to a concert of her choice, and the eclectic middle-schooler chose Weezer. As luck would have it, Weezer were scheduled to perform three weeks after her birthday in Chicago, and her father agreed to make the two hour drive from Edgerton, Wisconsin so she could attend her first rock concert. Unfortunately, on the day of the show, Rivers Cuomo had succumbed fully to a nasty case of influenza, and the event was called off eight hours before it would have started. When Charlotte heard the news on the radio it broke her heart. She had anticipated this night for months and now she would have to wait weeks or months for a make-up date, if there would even be one. Her father promised they would go see her favorite band as soon as it was possible, but also offered another option in the meantime. They could drive up to Madison the next day and catch an all ages show at one of the many dive bar clubs the college town had to offer. He made some calls and confirmed that there was a show featuring bands that neither of them had ever heard of, but which even a thirteen year old could attend. "On the way to the show I pretended to be excited for my dad's sake, since he had gone out of his way to give me an experience, but in my mind it seemed like a poor substitute for what was supposed to have been the greatest night of my life. But once we got inside The Chuckaluck, I was completely thrilled. It smelled like smoke and alcohol and danger. I instantly realized how much cooler this was than some giant events center where basketball games were played." Charlotte was reluctant to share her story for fear of not being believed, but after finding some photos she took at the show that she thought had been lost years ago, she reached out to The Whirling Pebble to share her memories and solve the mystery of the Bro-My-Balls-Guy once and for all. note: The Whirling Pebble has confirmed the authenticity of these photos, which clearly show Charlotte and her father, as well as the Slack Magnets. Former employees and patrons have confirmed the venue appears as it did during that time period. The band themselves believe there is no doubt that this picture is from that specific show. "The Slack Magnets opened up the show that night, becoming the first band I ever saw live, and from then on they were my favorite band. Weezer was out. I saw them two more times that year and many more times over the years to come. But that first show is etched into my memory in the same way some people remember every detail of their wedding day or 9/11." Charlotte can remember precisely the events that led up to the now famous mic bomb. "There was this guy, this very drunk guy, and he was dancing around like an idiot. I don't think he was even into the music, he just wanted to be part of the spectacle, so he was going out of his way to act flippant and unruly. My dad kept trying to move us further away from him, but no matter where we went he eventually made his way close to us. Not on purpose, but just as a matter of doing his whole wild boy routine. At some point he decided to engage in some situationally inappropriate skanking, flailing his body around like some misplaced rudeboy, and in doing so ended up unintentionally swinging his fist right into my dad's crotch. That is the point where you can hear him yelling on the record." Of all of the theories to emerge in regards to the incident, so far as I can tell, nobody has ever suggested that genre-defying ska dancing played a part. Yet the inebriated absurdity of the entire situation seems retrospectively appropriate, considering where the band itself was at in their lives and career at the time. "My dad actually pushed the guy to the ground. By the time the dude got back up and started threatening my dad, the lone security guy had arrived to deal with it, and promptly escorted the dancing nuisance out of the show. Afterwards, between sets, he came over and apologized to my dad for letting things go so far before intervening." As far as she knows, her father's testicles were not seriously injured in the making of the infamous incident. "He had a great time, too. It must not have bothered him because he spent the next several years enthusiastically escorting me to dozens of shows that he seemed to enjoy as much as I did." Charlotte's father passed away in 2016, three years before his exclamation of pain became a legendary footnote in rock and roll history, but she says he would have appreciate the Bro-My-Balls -Guy phenomenon. "My dad would have gotten a huge kick out of it. It was a great memory for both of us, and he had a better sense of humor than anyone else I have ever met. And knowing how much amusement it brought everyone would have made him incredibly happy. It was one small groin punch for dad, and one giant leap of joy for mankind." R.I.P. Arthur Meyers 1958-2016 The Whirling Pebble, Issue 587, December 2020


A blank whiteness flashed before his eyes, and he remembered nothing. He saw nothing but white and felt nothing but pain. Laying on his back, the cold hard floor chilled him through his loose clothing. Ringing filled his ears, high pitched and whining it slowly softened as the hazy world around him came into focus. Soft edges became sharp corners while fuzzy black lines tightened to form regular square panels of creamy white. They were hard to see because of the powerfully bright light shining down on him. Closing his eyes did nothing, the light so bright his vision was not black but aglow with a fiery orange hue, the only colour allowed in this black and white space. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes again, but he couldn’t look up for long as the glare only worsened the already skull shattering pressure built up behind his eyes. He tried to shift but found his body almost impossible to move, his limbs feeling as if they were made of lead. It wasn’t only his body that was weighed down, but also his mind. A thick fog clouded his thoughts making them almost impossible to hold onto before they silently slipped behind the misty veil back into the realm of unconsciousness. Chasing his thoughts only made his head spin, making him feel sick. The pounding headache began to subside, along with the rolling waves of nausea, giving him a chance to finally try to move. Dazed, he slowly sat up. His muscles screamed in agony with even the slightest movements. Squirming across the floor, he eventually bumped up against and slid up a smooth wall as icy as the floor. From his now seated position he had a look around. Surrounding him were four plain white walls rising from an equally plain white floor to meet with the while tiled ceiling. Scattered among the tiles were half a dozen panel lights softly humming while bathing the room in an uncomfortably bright glow. There was absolutely nothing other than himself inside this room. There were no windows. There wasn’t even a door. All around him was empty white space, the room barely definable as the uniform lighting melded everything together into an almost infinite white blend Panic set in. *Where am I? How did I get in here? How do I get out?* A thousand thoughts breached into his conscious mind all at once, rushing in like a raging flood. Bombarded by a so many questions, he was quickly overwhelmed. He doubled over and wretched, but nothing came out. He spat out a glob of phlegm and took in a deep breath. The air was crisp and fresh despite the enclosed nature of the room. He could see no ventilation, but he knew there had to be some otherwise there would be a stale taste to the air. Thinking about it for a moment, he noticed there was a taste to the air. The faint lingering odour of disinfectant or bleach, not strong enough to be overpowering but present enough to be noticeable. It smelt clean. Too clean, almost clinical. A sudden mechanical whirring caught him by surprise. In the centre of the room a small, previously hidden hatchway opened. Rising from this pitch-black opening was a slender column atop of which sat a bright red button. The column rose to chest height and then stopped, the hatchway sealing around its base, leaving the vacant chamber quiet once again. The island in the middle of the room stood proud and tall, waiting expectantly. The red button so sharp in contrast to the pallid room it had a ghostly glow to it. Curiosity piqued, with careful wobbly steps, he let go of the sturdy wall and drunkenly staggered towards the button, almost tripping over his own numb feet several times. He felt like a baby deer taking its first steps in a cold and unforgiving alien world. Wet slaps echoed throughout the chamber as his warm flesh peeled off the cold floor with each step, leaving greasy footprints behind. Once at the column, he rested his weight against it. The short walk over had been more than enough exercise for his tired legs. The button was staring up at him, enticing him to touch its shiny plastic surface. He almost obliged its request, his sweaty hand looming ready to depress the button, but a black screen had made itself apparent on the wall opposite him, diverting his attention to the message displayed upon it in large bold letters. **ARE YOU SURE?** His hand trembled slightly as he held it above the button. He looked down at the button and then back at the big screen. Was he sure? He thought he was. He definitely wanted to press the button, that was clear enough from the fact he was moments away from doing so. But why did he want to press the button? That was a question he wasn’t sure he could answer. He didn’t know what it would do once he pressed it, but he was about to anyway. He felt compelled to press it, like he was supposed to. What else was there to do in this blank space? He moved his hand down ever so slightly but pulled back at the last second, keeping it hovering over the button. He then took his hand away and the screen disappeared. Startled, he almost fell down but managed to catch himself on the column. Where had the screen gone? Finding his footing, he swung round the column and made for the wall. His legs felt stronger and he could move without so much pain as before. He approached the wall and slid his palm across it, feeling along its length for any indentations or other indications as to where the screen had gone. It felt as smooth and cold as the wall he was leant against when he came too in this strange white cube. Rapping his knuckles against the surface at various points to try and determine a difference in material yielded nothing but sore hands. He even pressed his cheek against the wall, scanning down its length for any perceptible peaks or troughs. There were none. If he couldn’t feel them, he was certainly not going to see anything either. Dumbfounded, he returned to the column when an idea struck him. Slowly, he moved his hand towards the button again. Nothing. Interesting. He gently lowered his hand so far as to touch the button, but still nothing happened. Casually tapping it with his fingertips didn’t elicit a response from the hidden screen. Only the second the impulse to truly push the button flashed through his mind was the screen was back, displaying the same message as before. **ARE YOU SURE?** So it wasn’t his proximity to the button, but rather his intention to press it that drew out the response. He withdrew his hand but remained fixated on the idea of pressing the button. The message stayed up on the screen, flickering slightly but otherwise unchanging. A bead of sweat rolled down his brow which he quickly wiped away. *Was it getting hotter in here?* He was certainly sweating more but the floor still felt chilly to the touch. Maybe it was an infection. His muscles had been aching and his head was still sore. Coupled with the sweating, it felt as if he was coming out of some type of flu or cold. Him being sick would also explain the bleach-like smell that still hung in the air. How sick was he if he had been placed in this quarantine room? It must be bad. Another bead of sweat tried to run down his face but was wiped away. Maybe the button would call a doctor or give him some medication or something. He wasn’t to know unless he pressed the button. The red glinting of the button teased him, such an alluring presence drove him to press it but every time he went to make a move, his eyes automatically returned to the screen. **ARE YOU SURE?** What a taunting question. It was as if the room was mocking him. Asking such a condescending question, making him look like an idiot made his blood boil. Who was this that was so sure of themselves and certain the he himself was to make some mistake? Why did they not trust in his intentions? Was it not a sound and rational idea to press the button if there was no other obvious object in which to interact with within the confines of this limited space? He sure thought it was. But that message. It sowed unwanted doubt in his mind. It made him wonder whether the message was goading him into making a mistake by having him press the button, or it was to throw him so off balance that he could never press it and remain trapped in this room for eternity. Whatever the true intentions were, it made him rethink and question himself at every turn. He didn’t like to be questioned, especially not by some damn screen. Had he something to throw at it he would have, but he didn’t so he couldn’t. Out of spite he decided he wouldn’t play this stupid game any longer. He turned, walked to the far side of the room and sat down, staring back at the screen and the button. There he would sit, arms and legs crossed, until that confounded message went away. It’s true the message had faded more since coming over to the other side of the room, but it remained. So began the war of attrition between man and screen. He didn’t know how long he had sat there, it could have been many hours or merely a few minutes, but after a while his brow loosened and he dropped his scowl, opting for a more relaxed look as his face had begun to hurt. His arms and legs were aching, the blood flow impeded by being crossed for so long. The worst part was that his bottom had gone numb. The cold, hard floor was in the least bit accommodating to his poor bottom. He could not sit there for much longer, but the message was still there, flickering away. “I can’t take this anymore!” his hoarse cry stuck in his dry throat as he flung himself off the floor and made for the button with such haste that he buckled under his flailing legs and crashed to the floor. A bright stream of claret exploded from where his nose met the floor. The crunch was deafening and the pain searing. He pinched his nose and tried to stem the torrent of blood that gushed like a raging river down his face. Tears welled in his eyes but he could still see through them to the glorious red button and the intrusive message behind it. Almost slipping in his own blood, he stormed over to the button, a bloody trail dripping in his wake. This time, without a second thought, slamming his bloody fist down on the tantalising red plastic, he pressed the button. The screen flashed a new message before disappearing into the white wall, the words burning in his mind, building a pressure behind his eyes, threatening to burst his skull wide open. **PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE** It was all too much for him and he felt himself falling. A blank whiteness flashed before his eyes, and he remembered nothing.


Savannah had been sent to the principal’s office yet again. Her IEP allowed her to speak to the guidance counselor before anyone determined whether disciplinary action was necessary. She stormed through the door and slammed herself in the chair at the table outside the counselor’s offices. Ms. P. was making me feel like shit about my math skills again so I flipped her off. She thought, but no one would believe that a teacher had acted that way, and even if they had, did that excuse her behavior? She placed her head on the table between her arms, flipped her hood up, and began to quietly sob. Savannah didn’t want anyone to know she was crying because she feared they wouldn’t take her seriously. The teen was so filled with rage, sadness, and shame that she was frozen. Savannah could hear everyone around her talking, but she couldn’t gather the strength to respond. “Are you okay?” Mr. Davis, the guidance counselor, wondered as he placed a hand on her shoulder. Of course not, you twit. Everyone thinks I’m an idiot, and I don’t want to be in this miserable place. “You need to come to my office,” Principal Booker demanded. All I need is a fucking hug! She wanted to shout. Savannah knew that if she just had a chance to speak to her mother maybe she could calm down, but those demoralizing thoughts kept taking over. What’s the point? You’re dumb. No one here cares about you. Don’t bother. Everyone around her kept talking, but none of it was sinking in. Help! She cried, but everyone just kept prodding her. They treated Savannah like she was being belligerent, but she wasn’t. She just felt worthless, and her body refused to respond to any commands beyond weeping. “Call the police. If she won’t come to my office, we’ll have to have her escorted off campus,” declared the principal. When the police arrived, Savannah was lost in the shroud of her mind more so than ever before. I’m drowning! Help! I don’t need the cops; I just want my mother. “Either come into my office now or you will be forced to leave,” said the principal. It took everything Savannah could spare to pull herself to her feet, and in a split second, “Fine!” She shouted just before her emotional whirlwind shot into her leg, which slammed her foot into the wall next to the principal before going into the office. “I want her out of here, now !” One of the officers tackled the frail fifteen-year-old to the ground and cuffed her so tightly one of her wrists was cut. Savannah wanted to cry until she had no more tears to shed, but she was numb. As she awaited her mother’s arrival, one of the officer’s cuffed the teen to the desk. “Can you take these off?” “You gonna run?” “And go where?” The officer’s eyes narrowed. He nodded and released the young teen who shook life back into her wrists. “Are you charging her?” A stern voice cut through Savannah like nails on a chalkboard and a warm hug at the same time. “No ma’am.” Mom, I’m so sorry. Ms. P. made me feel so badly about myself. I was just crying. I didn’t think they’d call the cops . “Let’s go, Savannah.” Her gaze was met with the cold eyes of a mother who hadn’t decided how she felt so the teen followed her mother to the car in silence. Savannah took her backpack and climbed the stairs up to the apartment without a word and went straight to her room where she stayed until she smelled food. The teen cautiously emerged from her room as her stomach growled so loudly that it echoed in her ears. “You’re spending your suspension with you father. He’ll understand this.” Savannah’s father had been arrested his fair share of times. He was a pacifist who hated authority, and he lived about 80 miles away. She could feel tears gathering behind her eyes. Are you so angry at me that you don’t want me around? “Okay.” She whispered before adjourning to her room to pack. Savannah grabbed her backpack and tossed in enough clothes for four days, her hairbrush, her handheld gaming system, and a sketchbook. She changed into her pajamas so she could sleep and lied awake in bed listening to the music of her stomach. She could tell she dozed off briefly because it was suddenly 11 o’clock. Mom is bound to be asleep by now . She thought before sneaking out to the kitchen. She rummaged through the refrigerator and found some chicken, but the risk of her mother hearing the microwave was too great. It’s not that her mother would take issue with Savannah eating, but she didn’t want to deal with her empty, frigid eyes so she inevitably just munched on various snacks before finally going into her bedroom and falling asleep. The ride to her father’s was the longest, quietest hour and a half of her life. “I’ll pick you up Monday night. Don’t forget to do your homework so you can turn it in on Tuesday.” “Okay.” I love you. “Bye.” Savannah listlessly replied before turning toward the ramshackle apartment building behind her where her father was waiting. Not a word was spoken between the two until they were at apartment 3-B. “Your mother loves you, ya know?” He said as he opened the door. “Yeah.” She said as she tossed her bags aside and plopped herself down on the dusty, brown couch. “I made you some cake.” Her father said as he offered her a slice. She took the plate and sniffed it. This is mint chocolate which is disgusting. “I’m not hungry.” Savannah’s father popped Superman into the DVD player. She tried to ignore it, but she enjoyed watching Christopher Reeve’s performance. “So, what happened, kiddo?” Savannah sighed. I was crying like a little bitch and no one gave a shit. “I’m honestly not sure.” “Savannah, the cops once pulled me from my car and beat me to a pulp. You can tell me anything.” She sighed, “they called the cops for no reason. Then they said I ‘resisted arrest.’” Her father scoffed. “They always tack that on as an excuse to charge you with something else.” Savannah smiled for the first time since before math class. She spent the rest of her weekend playing video games, basketball, and avoiding her homework. When she returned to school on Tuesday, she discovered that she was a hero to her classmates. Apparently, Ms. P was horrible to everyone , and Savannah was the first student brave enough to take action. The following year, she was gone.