D arkness... then light. It's blinding. Closing my eyes isn't helping. I try to cover them with my hands, but my arms resist. When I try again, they still won't move. They're bound! Why? What's going on?! I can barely move to find comfort on the cold hard surface I'm lying on. I squirm as my heart pounds faster, each beat matching the rhythm of my panicked breath. I need to calm down, so I can figure out what's happening to me . A repugnant sulphur taste coats my mouth. I try asking for water - even though I can't tell if anyone is nearby - but my attempt to speak only makes me gag. “Take it easy, big guy. Nobody’s going to hurt you - just relax.” Her voice is angelic, and she's close enough that I can see her silhouette. My vision is still too bright and pixelated to make out what she looks like, though. “Here, have a drink. I’m sure you’re thirsty.” the sweet sound of her voice fills my ears once again. Something small touches my lips… A straw! I lunge at the straw and slurp up the water as hastily as I can until she takes it away. I’m still so incredibly thirsty, but there’s nothing I can do except relax. “Vitals are stable. Vision still seems to be adjusting, as expected at this point. Fine motor skills appear to be working properly. Commencing gross motor test. Security, on the ready.” She is speaking to someone else now and using a much more professional tone. “Copy that.” says a male voice. I watch the figure of the woman as she moves outside of my perception. The bindings holding my arms let go. I immediately rub my wrists in discomfort… they’re surprisingly hairy! I can’t stand up yet - my ankles are still secure. I rub my eyes and scan the room, but still can’t see much - just shapes and outlines enveloped in light. “I’m still here,” the woman says, “I’m just going to raise your bed.” There’s a short beeping noise before half of my bed lifts, bringing me almost to a stand. I can finally see her now - she is a petite woman with blonde hair tied back in a bun. She’s wearing a long, white lab coat and holding a tablet in her hand. A cup and straw sit on the table next to her - I stretch my arm out to grab the cup, but I can’t reach it. She picks it up and holds it to my mouth again, but this time I take it from her. I chug back the entire cup and try to speak again, but can only grunt; so I point to the inside of the cup instead. “No, I can’t do that…” she tells me as she takes the cup back and places it on the table. She’s watching me intently now. I stay calm even though I don’t like her response. She’s close enough that I should be able to reach her, but I’m not about to hurt her over a cup of water. The woman moves closer to the door and then taps the screen of her tablet. Another short beep accompanies the release of the thick steel clasps around my ankles. Stumbling to the floor, I try to stand, but I still need to support myself with my hands on the floor. My eyes fixate on the woman as she lifts her arm below her face. “Hmm. Gross motor skills are working as expected; However, GP-92 is displaying unusual traits. Not red-level, just strange. Directive?” S he says, speaking into a smartwatch. “Subject H-380 has been terminated, it was also displaying traits that it shouldn’t have.” The voice is stern and speaking to her through the device, “Traits that were too aggressive for its matrix. GP-92 somehow had its fundamental personality matrix swapped with the terminated subject. Whoever made this grave mistake is going to be memory wiped and fired!" The woman has a grim look on her face as she takes a deep breath. She presses a button on her watch and raises her wrist in front of her mouth. “GP-92 is non-aggressive. I recommend further study on this unintended development. Especially since GP-92 has passed the preliminary functions test with ease.” She is looking directly into my eyes as she speaks, while I look straight back into hers. “GP-92’s rightful vessel has been terminated. We don’t have the authority or any reason to proceed with your proposal. Terminate the subject.” No! I won't be terminated! I want to live! I jump up and feel the urge to beat on my chest. Letting out a roar, my arm swings - sending equipment flying, and knocking off all the wires on me. The woman screams and runs out the door. As I turn my head to look her way, several bullets whiz by my face, one of them grazes my cheek. I try yelling at them to stop, but the only thing I can voice is another loud ROAR! Hoping to become a more difficult target, I begin making a commotion with their equipment. A table smashed right through a large mirror, creating a hole big enough to walk through. More bullets pass my head as I hurry to escape into the room behind it. “STOP HIM NOW!” That same voice yells, this time it’s loud and clear; “BEFORE HE REALIZES WHAT THAT BODY IS CAPABLE OF!” There are three people in the room, all wearing the same white coat. The bullets stop firing as I approach them. “ARE YOU CRAZY!? SHOOT HIM!” It’s that voice… I know exactly which one ordered my termination now. “But - he’s too close! I can’t risk hitting you guys!” A man shouts from the first room. “He’s about to do much worse than your bullets! KILL HIM NOW! That’s an order!” I scoop the man up in my arms as he finishes speaking. I can feel his bones cracking, even though I’m not trying to crush him. I still need him alive - I have to loosen my grip. He’s still crying out in agony as I hold him in front of me, using him as a human shield. As the shooting stops, the woman rushes into the room shouting; “Filament, rooster, guardian, six, one, three!” “No!” The man I’m holding spoke up “Kill codes... are unique to their matrix -” I don’t like the sound of that, so I cover up his mouth with my hand. “ Oh no! I only work with the gorilla matrix, I - I don’t know the human code!” The woman cries. What does that mean? Am I… a gorilla? This can’t be happening! My breathing hastens as my body trembles fiercely. What am I? I can’t even ask them! AGH! Still holding on to my hostage, I lunge at a door, turning my body so my side bashes into it, smashing it right off its hinges. As I run down the hallway, alarms begin to sound throughout the building. “Code red -- Lockdown is in effect -- Code red --” a PA system repeats its message while I make my way to a door with an "Exit" sign above it. Scientists peer out of their office windows until the force of my movement shatters the glass. They duck out of the way to avoid a barrage of crystalline shards. I barrel into the door, smashing this one down as well. A security guard on the other side jumps and lifts his gun in one swift movement. I swing my arm to push him aside, sending him flying into the wall where he collapses in a heap. The room before me is bare aside from an elevator door. “Please - you have to let him go! You’ll kill him if you keep handling him like that!” The woman is here in the room now - pleading with me. “What’s your plan when you escape, anyway?” I try to respond, but once again, I can only grunt. I smash the floor with my fist, breaking a hole right through it while causing the building to shake a little bit. “You want to speak to me... don’t you? That must be frustrating. I’ll tell you what -” “What are you doing, Doctor Green!? You’re going to get yourself killed!” The security guard I knocked out is conscious again, trying to warn her away. “He’s got a human matrix, I’m sure we can reason with him! He wasn't even violent until after Donavan ordered his termination!” Turning to look at me, Doctor Green says; “ Please let him go. We can find a way for you to communicate… and then we can talk about this. You just… have to let Don go…” How can I refuse that? I let go of Donavan, his body falling limp at my feet. Doctor Green rushes over to check on him, placing two fingers on his neck. “He’s alive! Just unconscious. You hurt him pretty bad, though - Medic! ” I begin to back away, inching closer to the elevator - which still hasn’t arrived. The alarm is still buzzing and playing its message; That’s why!! It’s not coming because of the lockdown. Damn it! I need a backup plan! Turning around, I put my fingers in the middle of the elevator doors. As I begin to pull the doors apart, three sudden, sharp pains pierce my back.

Everything is going black. **** Once again I find myself waking up in a small room, but this time I’m alone, and on the floor - on a pile of straw. At least this time I’m not bound to anything - and I’m still alive. That’s a good sign. The room is spinning, so I’m not even going to try standing up. A few minutes later, the door swings open and the woman walks through it, pulling a large whiteboard on wheels. She pulls a fat marker out of her pocket, plucks the lid off and writes on the board - but I can’t tell what she’s writing. “I’m told that our humans only need to see the connection between the spoken and written word... That this is enough to unlock a full literacy spectrum. Let’s hope this works - my writing here says: "My name is Doctor Amaya Green.’ Are you able to read it now?” The markings on the board start taking the form of letters and words right in front of my eyes. I can read it! This made me bounce up and down with excitement! Doctor Green smiles as she hands me the marker; “You try now. Tell me what my name is.” Taking the marker from her, I walk up to the board and scribble on it. It’s all squiggles and lines at first. Pretty soon, the markings start resembling letters, then legible words; ‘~~^~ <% (~^pf’ ‘Am ~Green name’ ‘You are name Doctor’ ‘Doctor Amaya Green.’ “Good!!” She's wearing a huge smile. “You can call me Amaya. Now, you need a name too. Can I call you Nick? That’s what your name would have been if you had made it to your rightful body.” ‘Yes.’ “Wow, you are astonishing, you know that? We’ve tried cross-implanting before, and it was disastrous -” "What do you mean? What am I, Amaya?” “...Oh! I’m sorry! I’m getting ahead of myself! We’re a government facility that manufactures androids for war. We produce synthetic humans and gorillas for espionage and target elimination.” Amaya pauses to wipe the board clean. “So, you’re an android… an augmented gorilla body with a synthetic human mind.” ‘I’m a robot?’ “No, not exactly… Oh, how do I explain this?” Amaya scrunches her forehead and twists her lips. She then brightens up and snaps her fingers. “We grew your body from real gorilla cells... and designed a quantum computer chip as your base personality. It's like a limitless artificial intelligence that can only grow more complex and unique. Our gorilla bodies are also augmented with physical enhancements. That's why you were such a powerhouse earlier today. You are a living, breathing being… you get a cut, you bleed. You are much more than just a robot.” That was a lot to take in... But it gives me some hope. I write another question: ‘Can you put my chip into a human body?’ “...If we could, Don wouldn’t have ordered your termination. You were not cheap to create. As soon as we install the chip, it begins taking over your body. It merges with you on a cellular level, literally becoming you. Everything a living body depends on starts in that chip, right down to your nervous system. You even get to experience emotions and imperfections. Everything about you will develop like a real human being. But it renders the chip obsolete - it'll never work again in another vessel. You’re stuck with what you are, should you choose to live…” Amaya is looking at me with concern now, as she moves in closer. She puts her hand under mine, lifting it up to elbow height, and then places her other hand on top of it. Her eyes lock on to mine as she continues speaking; “Listen - you can’t do our human work because of your appearance. You can’t do the gorilla work because you’re too human. You won’t fit in with society - neither humans nor gorillas. Don’s order was… the humane thing to do - given the circumstances. So you have a choice. I can recite your kill code and you won’t feel a thing - or we can keep you here until we figure something out for you. If you’re a burden for too long, though, Don will give the order again.” Pulling my hand away, I use my forearm to wipe the board clean so that I can write in large letters; ‘I WANT TO LIVE.’ **** It has been two weeks since I decided to give life a try. Most of the staff are still uneasy around me, but Amaya has always been kind. She has been sitting with me to chat every day. Most days, I don’t even need to write on the board. I'm happy gazing into her bright blue eyes while she tells me about her day and life outside the facility. She has the biggest and brightest smile in the building. “You’re a great listener! Better than anyone I’ve met.” She tells me with a grin after one of her stories. Then, glancing at the clock, her smile gets even bigger; “I have a surprise for you, Nick!” I can hear the enthusiasm in her voice as she stands up, and now I can’t help but stand with her. “I haven’t told you yet, but I’ve been researching - and even scouring the dark web - for anything that might help you. A few days ago I found a hacker that has successfully transferred quantum intelligence from one vessel to another... so I arranged to bring her and her equipment here!” The excitement of this incredible news made me jump up and down. “I’m glad you approve! She should be nearly done setting up.” Holding out her hand to me and smiling, Amaya asks “Shall we go?” in a playfully dramatic tone. Taking her hand, she started leading me to another room down the hall. As we enter the room, I see a tall woman turning around to look at us. She pushes a section of her red curly hair away from her eyes as she greets us. “Hi! I’m Maggie. You must be Nick, I heard so much about you!” She is a fast speaker with a lot of energy; “Wow. Okay, I really hope this works. I’ve only done this with computers, never with a living thing! Doctor Green and I poured over my data and she believes this can work for you, though, so… here we are! Oh jeez… I’m sorry I’m just so nervous and excited about all this! Nick… there are risks. If this fails, any number of bad things could happen, including your death. Can you nod your head if you understand and want to proceed?” I nod my head immediately. Maggie tells me to lie down on the floor next to one of the facility’s synthetic humans. It's already hooked up to a lot of wires and a few large machines. She takes her time to carefully attach a second set to my body. “Okay Nick, all set. Are you ready?” Maggie asks. I look up at Amaya, who smiles and nods at me with the reassurance I need. Nodding back, I close my eyes. I can hear the tapping sounds of a keyboard, and then the sound of a loud computer firing up… **** Opening my eyes, I find Amaya waiting right there in front of my face, eyes wide with concern and wonder. “Nick? Are you alright? How are you feeling?” She asks. “I - I feel… I can talk!?” I can finally respond to her! I lift my hands to look at them; I have human hands! “It worked? I’m human now?” I still can’t believe what’s happening to me. “YES!” Amaya and Maggie both shriek at the same time. Maggie excitedly bounces over to her laptop and starts typing while Amaya helps me sit up. Amaya takes a moment to stare at me while her eyes start welling up with tears. I raise my hand to wipe away the tears and smile at her. “I’m alright…” I tell her, even though I'm still feeling light-headed. She let herself fall right into my chest, embracing me in a long, tight hug. Hugging her back just as tight, I shed tears of joy along with her. “Thank you, Amaya.” I tell her as she pushes herself back to look at me. “No need to thank me, Nick. You mean the world to me. I’m just glad you’re still here!” On the inside, a storm of emotions overwhelms my body. I love her - I’m sure of it. But I don’t want to scare her or push her away. All that I feel safe saying is “Me too, Amaya. You are my world. ”


How can I convince my friend, that she will be alright; when I too am terrified of flying? Our foolish husbands jump on and off flights like it is second nature. If I had a dollar for every time I heard “tis safer up there than driving on 295!”. Maybe but, I saw a plane crash in a field on 9/11/01. I quiver, when I think of the first-time flyers on that flight. Although I was just driving up the road towards the crash site, when the aircraft narrowly missed my roof. I immediately dialed 911. The line was busy for over three hours. I tried every 10 minutes for an hour, until I saw the news reporting the attack on the twin towers. Someone drove to the military base near the original crash site that I witnessed. I went to work not knowing what I had just seen was part of a sinister plan to commit suicidal attacks. On September 11, 2001, 19 militants associated with the Islamic extremist group al Qaeda hijacked four airplanes and carried out suicide attacks against targets in the United States. Two of the planes were flown into the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York City, a third plane hit the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia, just outside Washington, D.C., and the fourth plane crashed in a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Almost 3,000 people were killed during the 9/11 terrorist attacks, which triggered major U.S. initiatives to combat terrorism and defined the presidency of George W. Bush. Usually our town may see an occasional farming accident or a car wreck. Although, no one survived the crash to be treated in our hospital, we had a run of people who had anxiety attacks. Every year since that day we honor the loss of three thousand innocent souls. People who just wanted to go from point “A” to point “B”, just like we do right now. Hopefully my fear is unwarranted! A vacation to the Bahamas sounded good when he said he would book a cruise; my fear of flying outweighs my fear of a watery death. My theory is that we shouldn’t both be on the same flight so, I secretly changed my travel mode to a later date and I know that he’ll be furious but my fear is real. We have young children who will need a parent after vacation. Am I being ridiculous, maybe? Please do understand my fear, it’s not just all in my mind. I have been a nurse for 35 years and I have been beside at least four doctors when they informed families of their love one’s sudden death involving an airplane. Most were single engine planes being piloted by rookies. Nonetheless, one plane crash is enough, to witness or to survive. My husband knows I was in the military but he didn’t know I was a nurse on “Project Angel Flight” we airlifted soldiers from the military hospital back stateside. Often when the enemy realized what our plane did, they’d view us as terrorist and attempt to shoot us down. Several times we were hit and had to put down outside the war zone in order to do repairs before continuing. Each time we sat down we struggled to take off again. Although, commercial flights are different I still would rather just do a staycation. Stay on the ground, stay close to home and the kids. When I began writing this I was trying to convince myself that I was just being crazy. I just looked up to see what time it was and I noticed its 9/9/22 and I am supposed to be flying on Sunday.  9/11, hasn’t bothered me before, I mean since 2001. The nation seemed to have recovered from that day with the capture of Osama Bin Laden. I never wanted to hurt my husband or our friends but I will not be stepping on a plane that day or any day this week. Donald Trump, refused to accept defeat and wound up his followers up so much with an insurection back in January that I truly think something will happen this weekend, especially since Mar a Lago was raided this week. I don’t want to see anyone else get arrested because of their loyalties to that comb-over fool. “Suck it up girl, your family is waiting for you. Figure it out you can’t drive to the Bahamas. You’re 56, being scared is one thing; but being paralyzed is crippling! What have you told many patients before. Take your own advice. I understand what you have lived through but you LIVED! No, your husband didn’t know your story before booking the flight but you’re going to need to work it out, faster. You’re a believing Christian so you say on Sundays. So, this Sunday you have to prove it.” I know mom, I wish you were here instead of in my head. Tossed and turned all night. Cried in the shower, prayed while getting dressed. White knuckled and needing a drink before we take off, I’m here. Yup, in seat fifteen over the wing in first class. I am doing what I need to in order to join my husband and friends. Hopefully, the sea sickness medicine will kick in before we take off. I’d love to sleep the whole way there. I don’t want to feel the turbulence of liftoff or landing. I hear you, you’re wondering if I am this afraid of flying how was I an Angel Flight nurse for over 30 years? In flight I didn’t have time to think of myself or my fears. I was too busy helping to keep our patient stable, comfortable and alive. There were only five people on board those flights two pilots, the patient, the doctor and me. Most flights were uneventful, but then the ones when your patient start to go towards the light is interesting because the last thing you want is to lose someone in mid-flight.


I squinted, trying to see through not only the darkness but the tendrils of cigarette smoke as well that filled the crowded club. I had my arm snaked around the hips of Claudine, a girl that I had met two weeks before in this same club, as she grinded them against my own. Lime and turquoise lights bounced off of her practically white hair, which was frizzy and crazy from all the dancing. She licked her lips like they had sugar covering them and pulled at my neck until my ear was level with her mouth. Her breath smelled like the American Spirit yellows that seemed to be glued between her pouty lips every time I was around her. I found her smoking disgusting, but her body was heavenly. She whispered something in my ear that I couldn’t make out over the EDM that rattled my skull. I looked blankly at her, half trying to figure out what she said, half trying to see if she would say it again. She repeated herself louder, shouting into my ear. “What do you want out of this?” It was such a vague question and I wanted to pry further, so I replied, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” Plain, simple, and dishonest. Even Jack Daniel’s Honey couldn’t confuse the meaning behind her question. I knew that she wanted to know why I was keeping her around instead of just ghosting her after the first night we had sex. I wasn’t exactly sure she’d heard what I said, and I knew for a fact that what she’d asked me would mean further conversation. She paused for a second before lacing her hand between my fingers and pulling me behind her. She walked quickly, which let me know that she knew exactly where she was taking me and exactly why she was taking me there. We went straight out of the back entrance of the club and into the cold midnight. The actuality of how drunk I was hit me when Claudine led me up the metal steps of a fire escape attached to the apartment complex that shared the alley with Eight Ball. Distracted by the clanging of my feet against the stairs, I stumbled and clenched the railing until confident that I’d regained my balance. Claudine chuckled at my unsteadiness. She was completely sober because she said she didn’t enjoy not having full control over her life at all times. I found this insanely humorous because I couldn’t remember a single time I’d ever felt like I had complete control over my life, and the booze helped me forget that dismal realization. Both of us sat, feet dangling over the edge of the escape, a cigarette suddenly appearing between her deep burgundy lips. My drunkenness had caused me to forget the reason that we’d even come outside in the first place, and I guess she figured it less important to talk than she had before. We both felt comfortable sitting in silence on the fire escape in the cold Denver nighttime. I stared at her thighs. She wore ripped pantyhose, but I could still see her milky skin glowing through the holes in the fabric. I wanted to kiss her thighs more than I wanted to kiss her mouth. I looked up to her face, her cheeks and nose were bright pink from the air around us. Thick, inky eyeliner matched the color of her top and very, very short black skirt, which she wore despite the chill. I realized just how stark a contrast her looks were to mine. Her petite body mismatched my own tall and wiry frame, and her all-black outfit didn’t belong with my mom jeans and fleece-lined denim jacket. The longer I stared at her, the more entranced by her mouth and nose I became. Her nose was cute and buttony, much unlike my bird-like nose. I wanted more than anything to see her face washed over with pleasure again because that was maybe the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Except for maybe all of the marble statues I had seen in my undergraduate graduation trip to Italy that I had taken two summers ago. She reminded me of goth girls I’d seen in the porn that I got off to on Thursday nights when I decided not to get ultimately shit-faced. Only Thursday nights, though, because I was alone and the other nights of the week were reserved for pounding back drinks and not remembering the name of the person in my bed the next morning. Claudine sat on the edge of my bed in the same way she sat on the edge of the fire escape, feet dangling, hands tucked under her. Her tiny body would not allow her feet to touch the floor, she looked like a nymphet. She had replaced her black outfit with nakedness, or really I had replaced it for her. Only her black pantyhose remained, and those were entirely torn open. I was beginning to think that those pantyhose were just as much a part of her as her oxblood lips or her American Spirit yellows-- she always seemed to have them on. I wasn’t naked anymore, I’d put my clothes back on afterward almost as quickly as I had ripped hers off when we stepped into my apartment. Her thighs had small purple marks on them. Her mouth tasted like cigarette smoke, which disgusted me. By now, she was curled underneath my sheets, eyelids fluttering back open, trying to coerce herself out of dozing off in my bed again tonight. She obviously had a hard time convincing herself because within minutes, she was knocked out in my bed for the fifth night this week. I sat up in the washed-out lines that my blinds were casting over my bedroom and poured a glass of gin. Sipping it, I glanced over at Claudine slipping back into her clothes. At the sight of her, I tilted the glass back and finished it in one gulp. She looked just as pretty as she had before she’d fallen asleep, and I wondered if that’s what girls who don’t drink look like every time they wake up-- pure and angelic. My lips fell open as if I were about to say something, but my head was screaming at me not to, so I obeyed. They returned back to my glass instead, my head on fire with drunken thoughts. It begged me to continue staring at Claudine, who was still sound asleep and dreaming. “Jesus, Margot. You look like shit,”Claudine said. “I want Clark’s.” I didn’t want to go. Clark’s is the breakfast diner that you just go to after you hook up with a stranger and happen to actually enjoy their company. It’s where you take the hookups that you see yourself spending a lot more time with. I have made it a life point to never attend breakfast at Clark’s with nightly lovers, and despite some sort of internal protest, I wasn’t about to start. Besides, I didn’t actually like Claudine. I only enjoyed her company because of her thighs and maybe her tits. “So I’m gonna take that as a no. Do you have eggs?” “I’m vegan.” This was a lie. “Uh--” “I’m not hungry,” I said, colder than a normal person should have reacted. Then silence. It was awkward because neither of us had much to say after that. She just stared and stared and stared, and I wanted to tell her to stop looking at me because it was freaking me out, but my mouth was occupied with gin. Her gaze shifted from me to the room around me. Surprisingly, she hadn’t brought up my dump of a place on the previous nights she’d spent in my apartment. I knew she wasn’t going to leave that realm of discussion untouched, though, so I gulped down my second (or was it third?) glass of the morning in preparation to actually have to talk to her about something other than whether the sex was good or whether or not I wanted breakfast. “Do you want me to help you clean your place up a bit?” She asked too many damn questions. Between the student loans and the dead-end hardware store job, I didn’t have the means to even think about living somewhere else. My apartment truly was a dump-- wallpaper peeling and ceiling leaks in just about every room. On top of that, I never cleaned. There were to-go cups on just about every surface of the kitchen and the bathroom had a bigger roach problem than I’d care to admit. Usually, it would go unnoticed. The guys and girls I’d bring back to my place would leave as soon as they sobered up, not having time to notice the mess. Honestly, I barely even had time to notice the mess, being as I was gone to work or a bar most of the time. Alongside the mess, there are two of my discernible personality traits hidden in my bedroom. Hanging above my headboard was a set of hooks that held one of my most prized possessions-- a black, heart-shaped crop. Whether or not it was used on me or used by me depended solely on who I was with. Usually, guys liked to use it on me, whereas when I was with another woman, I’d use it on her. Surrounding the crop, there were scrawly sketches of various people that I’d invited into my bed. I never talked to any of them again, but their faces were in my personal gallery. There were at least forty-six of them up there, and those were just the ones I had met since moving back home to Denver after a mental breakdown interrupted my graduate school progress. Moving home was supposed to help me get my life back together, but instead just fueled a frenzy of drunkenness and casual sex. “That's my wall of fame up there. You’re gonna be in my nympho museum”, I pointed up behind my head. By saying this, I was trying to also answer her question from the night before, in the club. I was trying to let her know that she was gonna be up there like the rest of them. She didn’t pick up on that though because she didn’t leave. Some people were okay with just being used for sex, but Claudine didn’t seem like the type of girl to let another girl just fuck around with her. Especially since she asked me to breakfast. Claudine seemed like the type of girl that would hold my hair while I puked up a whole bottle of Moscato and wipe my tears when I was sad drunk. I couldn’t help but feel like a shitty person for being mad at her for this. I probably should’ve fallen madly in love with Claudine. But I didn’t. Everything about her made me want to be sober, and she made me remember that I’m emotionally unstable. She made me feel like I had feelings for her. I hated that. Having feelings about anything was something that I just didn’t do. Everything about her undid everything that I wanted to just go away. She was breaking barriers without even trying. “What do you want from this?”, she asked again. If anyone else had asked, I would’ve known that I just wanted sex, but with Claudine, I didn’t. “What do you want?.” “Honestly, Margot, I just want to be around you.” “I just want more whiskey. Really.” “Jesus fucking Christ, are you trying to drink yourself to death?” Sounded like a good plan. After that, I put on a Bikini Kill record and ignored every single word she said to me, so she went home. Her eyes were shiny when she left. I think she was trying not to cry. “You aren’t that strong. You’re gonna break--”, her voice cracked, “-- at some point, and you can’t fix it yourself.” I shut the door behind her, sliding to the floor with my back pressed against it. My head was fuzzy, but I knew she was right. I got the urge to leave my apartment. I wanted to chase Claudine at first, to bring her back and apologize and to go to Clark’s with her, but I just repeated to myself that I only missed her thighs and maybe her tits. And also maybe I missed her lips, but that was all I missed about her. And then I drank some more. And then some more. And then I woke up confused. It was dark outside, and I looked at the red glow of my alarm clock. 2:49 A.M. There was another stranger in my bed-- a blonde, curly headed boy. His bare chest was pressed against my side, and his arm was draped over me. His mouth hung open with exhaustion. I carefully slid out of his embrace and stood up. The concrete floors were freezing under my feet, and I was still drunk. I wobbled around and had trouble balancing. I scanned my room, my eyes adjusting to the lack of light. I picked up my t-shirt off the floor, slipping it on with no bra underneath. I slid into my jeans and pocketed the condom wrapper on the nightstand, making a mental note to throw it away and clean my apartment later. I walked out of my bedroom and then straight out the door. The chime on the door of the 24-hour corner store on my block tinkled when I walked in. I was greeted by a side-eyed glance from the cashier and no words. I made my way back to the glass doors on the back wall. I felt a coolness wash over my face and neck when I opened one of them. I grabbed out a twelve-pack of Strawberitas and let the door swing back. I made my way back to the front of the store and lifted the box to the counter. “Will this be all for you tonight, Margot?” the cashier asked, remembering my name because coming here in the middle of the night when I run out of alcohol is a normalcy. “Actually, can I get a pack of American Spirit yellows, too?” I replied, pulling a lighter off of the display and placing it on the counter. In the colored light of Eight Ball, I parted a veil of cigarette smoke with my fingers. I twirled it out of existence and when it fully cleared, I saw a bouncing of iridescent frizz and immediately felt nauseous. I was beyond drunk and my legs were wobbly, but I started towards her anyways. I grabbed Claudine’s shoulder and she turned to face me, her lips falling open when she registered who I was. She was different. Her hand was clutching a cup, no doubt filled with liquor. She was swaying, out of rhythm with the music that was blaring. She blinked, wetness brimming her eyes, and shied away from me. I choked on the words in my throat and headed straight for the exit, abandoning her on the dancefloor. I was hit by a wall of cold air when I made it into the back alley. It was December now and I was leaving to go back to grad school in a month. I had hoped that if I ever saw Claudine again that I’d be able to tell her all the things I stopped myself from saying before, but seeing her again only made me more terrified of being alive and having feelings. I sat atop the fire escape, feet dangling, cigarette between lips. I pulled a drag and held the smoke in my lungs until it burned. That's how it felt to be near Claudine. Entirely too drunk for my own good, or anyone else’s for that matter, I watched as Claudine stumbled out into the alley. She was held up by a lanky goth boy and he was the only thing keeping her from hitting the icy street from intoxication. He looked up at me and gave a nod, unaware that the girl he was dragging along was spending every night in my bed only months ago. Claudine giggled and stumbled over her feet, falling into him even more. They disappeared into the winter night while I stole another inhale of my cigarette. “I hate you!”, I screamed behind them, lungs burning and tears freezing on my face. Except I didn’t. I loved her.


Lavinia knew all humans had enough food, clothing, and adequate shelter, as well as a livable water budget to stay clean and hydrated. Hers was a regulated world. Humans had all been told since birth that they would always have enough of the necessities to sustain life for the extent of their experiences on Earth in their lifetime. That was a given and never in doubt. Life had been this way since the arrival of the Helpers long ago. Lavinia now lived and studied at the Helpers’ well-established Institute of Seekers (IS). She was being taught to practice being respectful, responsible, and compassionate in all venues of her life while at IS and even beyond when she received her adult assignment. Being respectful, responsible, and compassionate were basic skills taught at IS. Upon graduation, an IS graduate was guaranteed an assignment within the infrastructure that regulated all humans on Earth and thus kept Earth functioning as a habitable planet. It had not always been thus. History was filled with stories of Earth before the Arrival of the Helpers. These were cautionary tales used to direct human minds, hearts, and energies on a trajectory based on global cooperation for sustainable management all earth’s resources for the common good of the human species everywhere on the planet. This was the way it was in Lavinia’s world. Lately, an odd thing had happened within the walls of IS. A whisper of a pernicious rumor was infecting the minds of some students with Doubt. It was only at the whisper stage, but was already quite unsettling to Lavinia. The rumor was circulating slowly, but steadily. In hushed tones it was saying that the guaranteed future after IS graduation was in question. Thus, the seed had been planted in her heart and mind that perhaps all was not as she and her fellow students had been told. No one knew how the rumor got started, but there it was, a seed of Doubt implanted within her mind. She had tried to dismiss it, but Doubt remained, challenging the Belief that was foundational to her world. The first thing Lavinia noticed was that Doubt brought forth that tricky term “evidence.” Questions arose in her mind. What evidence have you seen of the fulfillment of the IS promise? What evidence have you seen of working graduates? None was always the answer. The truth was that without other kinds of evidence, she was dependent on the Stories from the Story-Holders and on her intuitive abilities to sort out fact from fiction or opinion. She wrestled with these thoughts until she could wrestle no more and finally, fell into a deep, dreamless, but restorative sleep. Meanwhile, by the time she awoke the next day, the seed of Doubt had sprouted into a fragile but potentially powerful fracture in her Belief in the basics of the Healing Way she had been taught all these years of living and studying at IS. This was presenting a transformative conundrum. After all, at IS ultimate Truth was the inherent goal of all Seekers. She did a mental review of the history stories. History said that over ten thousand sun years after the Arrival of the Helpers on Earth, life had improved for the planet, humans and other species as well. The Helpers were benign beings from a far-away planet known as Ethos from the galaxy Zaraluz. These beings heard Earth’s vibrational cry for help across the galaxy boundaries and came to Earth to help. No one in her family lineage had ever traveled to Ethos, though during the last 1000 sun years, some intrepid space traveler pioneers had gotten close. Space hopping hadn’t been possible on Earth for very long, a couple of centuries she thought, maybe. Space pioneering wasn’t a beloved topic for her. Such feats as space hopping didn’t appear in any of the ancient text readings with which she was acquainted. She had read of mystical occurrences in those ancient texts, but not space hopping. She pushed her thoughts further. History told stories about how the Helpers began to regulate and mitigate human behaviors by adapting and adjusting their mindsets to be in alignment with the needs of the human species and the planet which supported them. The ills that had plagued humans for millennia on Earth were finally placed on a healing trajectory. History said that the Helpers knew that the healing of toxic human minds would lead to the healing of toxic human hearts and those healings would lead to the healing of the planet, which at the time of The Arrival, was teetering on the brink of becoming uninhabitable. And then, History said, “The Helpers arrived in a star shower, and the healing began.” There were so many stories of sacrifices and transformations about those times after the Arrival of the Helpers. There were stories of humans cleansing greed and hatred from their minds and hearts. Most of Lavinia’s favorite stories were about cleansed humans surrendering material goods and/or services as a means of aligning themselves with the powerful founding principles of sharing and caring. Thousands of stories were told about caches of essential and luxury goods being voluntarily donated to the Common Good Fund, which was managed by the Helpers during the transition time until IS was firmly entrenched, a sufficient number of humans had been cleansed vibrationally, and trained to assume management of the Common Good Fund. That had all been achieved seamlessly in the first 500 years after the Arrival. All the stories of humans before the Arrival had been passed down orally from generation to generation by the Official Story-Holders, a high-level assignment for IS graduates. Sometimes Lavinia had dreamed of becoming a Story-Holder. After the Arrival, stories had been added by Story-Holders all along the way right up to Lavinia’s present time. All the stories from After the Arrival ended with some version of the traditional ending: “And thus, so onward life traveled and Here we are Now.” The living humans and the stories they told and retold were the only evidence that the Helpers had come long ago to reset the minds and hearts of the humans which resulted thousands of years later in the regulated and healing world that Lavinia knew. All the Helpers left behind after their departure were their stories and the infrastructure for healing which they had established and nurtured. They left no technology nor written texts. Their work was on such a high vibratory rate that their knowledge was transferred by intuition and telepathy. IS was a significant part of that infrastructure for healing, and still running on intuitive and telepathic powers. Lavinia awoke with remnants of the dream stories she had experienced while sleeping still visible in her mind. These remnants evoked the personal story of her life at IS. She had been brought there as a very young child. Eventually, she had been told that her parents sacrificed their claim to her for the Greater Good. The mandated testing for potentially adept Seekers had revealed she had a very high score in that arena. Thus, she had arrived at the intake room of IS and ever since had been cared for, guided, taught a broad range of academic subjects, and trained in the principles and practices of the Healing Way of the Helpers. She was destined to live a life dedicated to the Helpers’ Principles of Wholeness and thereby continue to sustain and elevate the ongoing healing of the planet. In order to keep Earth habitable, all systems regulating humans and other species had to work as an integrated, positive whole. That task had become a duty of the Seekers. Lavinia accepted her destiny. However, when the question of evidence came up, she realized that her devotion to Destiny’s Truth depended on her Belief in the stories. There was no evidence outside of Belief. She was a Seeker-in-Training. She squared her shoulders and finished dressing by pulling on her boots. She had to walk about half a kilometer along a tree-lined path to reach the Morning Exercises Park where IS students gathered every morning for spiritual training and physical yogic exercise. This produced a vibrational energy up flow each morning that was essential in the continuous work of removing toxins from specified areas of earth and the humans living there. As she walked, Lavinia loosened her mind to dive deeper still into the significance of the appearance of Doubt in her sphere and its implantation in her mind. Perhaps, she thought, this recent occurrence of Doubt and questioning was actually part of her Seeker training. Surely, she wasn’t the first to Doubt. She thought about the basic maxim she learned experientially, early in her training: “It matters not what happens to you. What matters is how you respond to what happens.” As she analyzed what had happened, especially the rumor meant to produce Doubt in her mind and heart. She decided it had to be a built-in IS test to determine her readiness to level-up in her training. She pondered deeply how to neutralize and then expel Doubt from her mind and heart. Intuitively, she knew that was the response she needed and wanted to cultivate. She had to use the belief-strengthening techniques she had been taught at IS in order to work this toxin of Doubt out of her system. She knew Doubt could lead her to the precipice of unbelief in the Way of Wholeness and the Common Good Fund, and if not battled from within, ultimately over the precipice she would go into madness and obliteration of all hope of ever becoming a full fledged and vetted Seeker. Yes, this was a test. There was no place for Doubt in the mind and heart of a Seeker.

Being a Seeker meant following the Principles of Wholeness. Principle #1: Believe healing is possible--healing of Self, healing of Others, and healing of the Planet. Principle #2: Do not give up. Strive. Principle #3: Do not surrender to the Darkness. Principle #4: Always lean closer and closer to the Light. Principle #5: Use the Helpers’ training and seek a compassionate way to sustain the positive change you wish to see in yourself and the world around you. Principle #6: Believe and you will find that compassionate way. Her teachers had taught her to follow these principles, and she would find what she sought. These principles would enable her to awaken others to the possibilities present here on Earth dedicated to the healing of human flaws like greed, selfishness, lying, hate, intolerance of biological diversity and lust for control that had brought Earth to the brink of being uninhabitable, which was where Earth’s situation stood when the Helpers arrived. As Lavinia neared the Morning Exercise Park, all her thinking made her decide to immediately begin the belief-strengthening exercises that morning. After all, the Helpers had come and shown her ancestors the way that compassionate healing and clear understanding could be responsibly applied to any problem to root out toxins great and small. Her ancestors had worked devotedly with the Helpers, and together over time, Earth and her humans were healing. The work continued. Balance was being monitored and restored in real time. Lavinia was part of that work. She was grateful that the Helpers had come and stayed long enough to teach the humans how to keep planet Earth habitable. The fact that they turned the work over to well-trained Seekers only added to her gratitude. It was good to know that she and other occupants of Earth were not alone in the vastness of this inter-galactic universe. She took her place amongst her other Seekers-in-Training on the brilliant green clover lawn of the Morning Exercise Park and began the belief-strengthening exercises to remove the toxin of Doubt from her being. As she practiced, she could feel the vibrational energy of Belief in the Stories and in the Way of Wholeness expanding within her. She knew that she would ultimately prevail and succeed in banishing Doubt from her heart and mind. She left the Morning Exercise Park determined, nourished, and very uplifted. She knew she would continue to strive, always lean closer and closer to the Light, and never ever give up until she was free of all Doubt. Only time would tell how long it would take. She would persevere to victory.


The plains of Kansas stretched out before Julio.

He looked at his speed, he looked at the time, he looked at the road.

He unfocused his eyes, and then refocused them.

Fuck I hate this place, he thought.

The drive from the east coast of the United States was criminally boring, but the mountains of Colorado loomed in the distance.

He ached for the natural beauty, the refined air, the beautiful stream and mountain passes.

Not that he’d explore anything beyond his car, he wasn’t insane.

The scenery tempted him more every year, and for a decade he had spent his summers basking in that desire.

One day, when I’m near death, maybe I’ll really step Outside there .

He dreamed of it, the smells and sounds, the lack of walls surrounding him, but it was a pipe dream.

No one in his generation left their vehicles anymore; well no one that didn’t have to.

Of course, the poor had jobs on the Outside, and some of them didn’t even have money for climate suits.

He’d heard stories that the very poor wandered the countryside like bandits, drinking unfiltered water from streams and growing vegetables, or made permanent Outdoor homes.

No one expected that they lived very long. A road sign breezed by advertising power refills, water refills, and black tank emptying.

His levels would be fine until the border, and he hated the idea of staying longer on these roads than he had to.

He kept moving. – Three centuries ago, a small Russian border conflict had attracted the attention of the world’s most powerful nations.

Tensions escalated, and soon these nations were wrapped into the conflict.

Two schools of thought exist around what happened next; some think nuclear conflict could have been avoided if a policy had been enacted at the right time, and others think the Sword of Damocles always had to fall.

History doesn’t care, it happened. In the span of half an hour, most of the world’s population was decimated.

In the weeks that followed, radiation poisoning killed more.

A decade of nuclear winter, caused by all the soot released into the atmosphere, wrecked crops globally, and famine was widespread.

Another decade of nuclear summer followed, temperatures intensifying globally from the massive concentrations of carbon dioxide and methane.

Very few survived these years, and living conditions were unforgiving. But underground, in bunkers built years before the first bombs fell, people thrived.

Starting in the early 21st century, governments had begun investing in long-term living solutions in case of climate or nuclear disasters.

These self-contained units grew crops, expelled waste, purified fresh air, and cleaned water from the aquifers they were built near.

They had doctors, and medical supplies.

Hardlined communications were created to other bunkers in case of broad wireless system failures.

As tensions rose globally, governments secreted some of the population down in these centers.

Of course, they primarily picked from those highly educated; minority populations were barely represented, and a large percentage of politicians were chosen. This group of survivors became the new human race.

Several generations were born in the confines of these bunkers, and to them the space didn’t feel as claustrophobic.

Technology development had continued, and engineers from around the globe worked together to create a suite of technologies to allow people to leave their confines.

A century after the first bombs fell, doors swung open on bunkers around the world, and construction started on the first Ecosystem Cars. – Julio pulled into the fill station, it was the first one across the border.

He stopped his vehicle in a stall, and put the lights on to indicate that he needed a full service.

An attendant walked over; every inch of his oversized climate suit was covered in bright brand logos and advertisements.

The suit resembled historical pictures of diving gear, but was more loose fitting than a wet suit.

An air purifier sat on the attendant’s back, with a hose going into a gas mask.

The suit was covered with small, localized air conditioning units to withstand the extreme heat. The attendant hooked his vehicle to the charger, and inserted the bi-directional pump that removed waste and filled fresh water simultaneously.

These facilities usually supplied their energy from a local solar farm, and processed waste into clean drinking water on site.

When the job was complete, the attendant scanned the barcode on the back of his car, and knocked on the rear window before they walked away.

Julio noticed that most of the advertisements on their suit were for a local Love Hotel called Desert Oasis .

People would meet in these sealed bunkers for a night of revelry, but Julio had no idea who was doing that in this wasteland.

Julio steered back onto the highway to continue the drive west.

Mountains loomed in the distance with an unforgiving finality. – The centuries following the opening of the bunkers were known as The Great Migration.

As the infrastructure expanded along the antiquated highway system, people struck out in their self-contained ecosystems.

Some of them left as families, but most chose a nomadic life in solitude.

Wireless communication networks were re-established, and people drifted further from physical interactions.

Still, population numbers slowly climbed as new families formed on the road. In the beginning of the great migration period, there was no formal economy.

People traded locally in skilled labor and bartered crops grown in different bunkers, but all necessities were available to each person.

As the transportation and infrastructure needs of this new society grew however, so did the industry alongside it.

Fifty years after the start of the great migration, an economy and international currency had been established, and the trends of socio-economic stratification started again.

Within the next fifty years, this had forced humanity into a caste system where it was nearly impossible to ascend. – Julio ended the trip in the remnants of an old town, the map called it Crested Butte.

This was the same destination as every year, the road ended in a valley surrounded completely by steep mountain faces.

The terrain was extreme and uninviting, and the closest fill station was far back on the main highway.

Here was complete solitude. On the drive here through Old Denver he’d parked next to one of the city parks while he ate lunch.

It was now completely overgrown, but some of the old charm remained.

Giant elms dominated everything else in the park, and chest high weeds choked the field.

To his astonishment, Julio watched a deer stop and graze for several minutes at the edge of the park; it was seemingly there just for him.

Suddenly, the deer spooked, and he caught something else moving in the park, but it was obscured. Julio drove deeper into the park, and through a gap in the weeds he could see two small homes and a large greenhouse.

There was a man standing in the clearing Outside the greenhouse.  He was tall, and covered in black dirt up to his elbows, and was shirtless.

His skin was ravaged by the sun, but otherwise he looked healthy.

Julio wondered why this scene was so strange, and then in a flash realized the man wasn’t wearing a climate suit.

He’s going to die before he sees anything from that greenhouse, he thought, but to his astonishment his skin showed no signs of radiation poisoning.

Quietly, Julio reversed out of the interior of the park, and without looking back he drove away as fast as he could. Shaking the memory from his mind, Julio kept moving towards his camp. – It was night, and Julio had parked his car in a field at the edge of the old town.

By pressing a few buttons, the interior space of the vehicle had converted to a spacious bedroom, and the screens on all the walls displayed the images behind them.

It gave the appearance of being in a completely translucent dome; there was endless night sky in every direction.

The stars slowly drifted, and Julio made up patterns in his mind between them.

In those patterns, his mind drifted. He dreamt that he was Outside, walking up the hillside with the sun blazing down.

The tall grass felt soft and friendly against his bare legs; he heard bees humming somewhere nearby.

At the top of the hill he saw the deer from earlier, it was drinking from a stream and looked at him as he approached, but it wasn’t scared.

He was transfixed, and he approached the deer with an outstretched hand.

He stroked the deer’s fur, it was coarse like twine.

And then he noticed red welts appearing on the deer where he’d touched it.

The deer cried out in pain as the welts spread across its body in a flash.

Julio looked at his hand and saw the same welts extending up his arm.

Radiation sickness he thought, the panic racing through him.

He swiped at the sores with his other hand but saw them extending up that arm too.

Blood was pounding in his ears; he watched the deer collapse in front of him and then sank to his knees.

The pounding in his head intensified; he covered his face with his hands and wept. Sunlight drenched him; it streamed in through every window and filled the vehicle like a warm blanket.

His eyes darted to check his arms; it was just a dream , he concluded.

But then the pounding continued, and he realized it wasn’t in his head, but on the window. A woman’s tanned face was pressed against the window, the loose curls of her chestnut brown hair splashing across it.

She had one hand cupped against her face to block the sun, and the other raised to knock again.

Her eyes were like chipped jade, and when they locked with Julio’s she smiled radiantly.

He was paralyzed in her gaze. “Hi there, sorry to wake you, but only it’s already midday and I got tired of waiting for you to wake up and I was just so excited to see another human that I just couldn’t wait, you know what I mean?

It really is beautiful out here, and you wouldn’t believe how good it smells .

I mean, who knew the Outside could smell like this ? And there’s so many sounds , the nights are really alive!” She paused and took a deep breath, composing herself. “Sorry, that was a bit too much.

I’ve come here for a long time and never seen anyone else.

Did you know the radiation dissipated years ago?

Some places still have small traces, but not enough to drastically shorten life expectancy.

The data has been there for years, but our generation grew up in the specter of it, and we’re too damn scared to think the world could be safe.

I know I was, it took me a year here before I was brave enough to take my climate suit off.

This zone is completely free of radiation; it’s safe to go Outside, the water is clean, even the soil is fine for growing crops.” To prove this to him, she reached down and held up an old geiger counter and turned it on.

It didn’t register anything.

Julio stared at the indicator dial, waiting for it to move and tell him the climate was poisoned and this girl was going to die.

He kept staring at the gauge as she continued to speak. “I’ve built a small hut back in the trees, right on top of that hill.

If you want to come Outside, there’s a place you could sleep.

I know this is a lot to process, but if you decide to not come out yet can I come back tomorrow to talk?” Julio nodded, barely.

“Till later, then.

My name’s Doe, by the way.”

She waved and then walked away.

Julio stared at her skin, beautiful and clear of sickness.

She disappeared into the trees, and Julio shifted his gaze to her hand print left on the window. He stared at that hand print for the rest of the day, dreaming of possibilities.

When he closed his eyes he saw her clear skin moving away from him through the tall grass.

– In one universe Julio had the courage to leave his car.

He trusted her readings, and went Outside.

It was beautiful, and perfect, and real.

In that universe he fell in love with Doe, and they built a home together.

They were the start of a community that lived Outdoors, and news spread steadily across the world.

It inspired others to go Outside, and other safe places were found.

Like a boulder rolling downhill, civilization gained momentum.

Julio died an old man, surrounded by his family, and was buried in the earth. Julio could taste the sweetness of that, even in this life.

He saw it as he drove back down the highway out of town.

Days later, he could feel it when he’d put his hand over her hand print.

At the next major stop he paid for a car wash.  Tears streamed down his face as he watched the foaming chemicals wipe out the memory.

The next day was new, and he chose a new road.


Sumathi was a neighborhood tailor. The kind you would find virtually in every street corner in India. Not the fancy boutique variety, but someone who would stitch your sari falls, alter your kurtis , hem the edges of your dupattas , stitch an emergency blouse or two – kind of tailor. It would be an understatement to say that life had not been kind to her. She had an alcoholic husband and three children in quick succession. However, the husband was a tailor and he did give her money to run their home. He was also the one who taught her tailoring. Things took a turn for the worse during COVID. Her husband contracted the illness and died. Sumathi and her children barely made it alive. The only thing going for Sumathi was that they had a home of their own. It was dark and dingy, but it was hers. With literally no work available during COVID, she and her children lived on the charity of kind souls. In the post-pandemic era, she tried her best to continue her husband’s tailoring business. But most of his regular clients had moved on to others. A few orders trickled in and Sumathi somehow had to make ends meet with those. She was completely at a loss as to how she could get more orders in. To make matters worse, a new tailor had set up shop, just opposite hers. His store was brightly lit and he blared popular Tamil movie songs, a tactic which seemed to attract many customers to his store. His little shack was buzzing with business. And he even, rather condescendingly offered her a job. But Sumathi was not comfortable with the idea when she had her sewing machine as well as the complete setup to run the business on her own. She was not ready to give up her newfound independence. Though her work did not fetch her much income, she had earned a good name among the few clients who did come to her. And they did keep coming back to her. It was enough to keep her hopes alive. One such happy customer was Agnes. A frail and lonely Anglo Indian, who lived in a pretty house a few doors away. She got her loose, flowy gowns stitched by Sumathi. Agnes was well into her 70s, and lived by herself, as her sons had settled in Australia. Often, she sat on a rickety stool in Sumathi’s dingy home and watched as she ran her machine and earnestly did the little work that came her way. Their conversation was mostly one-sided as Agnes spoke only in English – a language Sumathi did not understand. But she listened and just allowed Agnes to be. Some days Agnes would be quiet and simply watch her with rheumy eyes. Then Sumathi filled the companionable silence with her own life stories. Agnes listened with rapt attention – though she understood nothing because Sumathi could only speak in the local Tamil language. Their friendship defied logic. It broke barriers of caste, social standing, language and age. It was incomprehensible to others around. The men in the opposite tailor shop smirked and cracked mean jokes every time Agnes tottered her way into Sumathi’s home. Here comes Sumathi’s only customer, they booed. This one has one foot in the grave, when she dies, Sumathi’s business will die too. They taunted. All of Australia going to copy her fashion, they laughed. None of it, however, deterred their friendship. One day, close to Christmas, Agnes walked in with a lovely silk material. She wanted Sumathi to stitch her the most beautiful gown. She had cut out patterns from Vogue magazine and shared them – giving Sumathi detailed instructions on how she wanted the gown to be. Sumathi was nervous. She had never worked with such expensive material. She did not want to mess it up. But she did as she was told and got the gown ready. When Agnes tried out the new gown, her joy knew no bounds. She looked angelic! Both the women were so ecstatic they danced and pranced and giggled all afternoon. Later, Agnes left for her home with a big, contented smile. The next day Agnes did not turn up at her usual hour. Sumathi was filled with a sense of foreboding. She locked up her home and went looking for Agnes. Her door was locked from inside and Sumathi’s insistent knocks got no response. In the end, fearing the worst, she called the police. They had to break open her door. They found her lying in her bed wearing her new gown and an angelic smile. Her frail body barely took up any space in the large four-poster bed. An Ambulance was called and the medics declared her dead. Sumathi broke down and cried inconsolably. Her sons turned up from Australia to perform the final rites. Sumathi sat limply at home, unable to do any work. Missing her friend dearly and wondering how she could go on without Agnes’ comforting presence. One evening, a week later, a young man turned up at Sumathi’s door. He introduced himself as David - Agnes’ youngest son. Sumathi was startled to see how much like Agnes he looked! He had the same smile and the same kind voice. She teared up as he thanked her for giving his mother the companionship that she had yearned for all her life. He shared that during his phone conversations with his mother, she often told him about her friendship with Sumathi. For a while, they both reminisced about the woman they loved. When David got up to go, he pulled out a small bag that he had been holding and handed it to Sumathi. Mother wanted you to have this, he told her. When Sumathi opened the bag she saw a string of fairy lights inside and a tiny effigy of an Angel. David explained that his mother thought of her as an angel friend. And she always worried that Sumathi would ruin her eyes stitching in the dark. This is her love and good wishes for you, said David as he left her home. Sumathi was really touched by the gesture. She immediately set up the fairy lights around her workspace. And placed the Angel figurine carefully alongside her other Hindu God images. She was happy to have something that would remind her constantly of Agnes. The next morning, Sumathi sent her children to school as usual. Then she prayed to her Gods and bowed before the angel figurine. She switched on the fairy lights. And to her utter amazement, it brightened up her whole workspace. It was like a zillion-watt bulb! That day and in the days that followed, a steady stream of customers walked in on their own accord. The tailor opposite had too many orders and could not accommodate theirs – owing to the festive season rush. And when they turned to go, the lights in Sumathi’s home drew them in. Work poured in for Sumathi. The new customers stayed on. The angel figurine looked upon her with a beatific smile. And the fairy lights shined on upon her.


It was a little colder tonight, but I still decided to go on my nightly walk. I needed the fresh air and frankly the exercise. I always walked the same path and normally never saw anyone. I lived in a quiet small town, so seeing people is very rare for me. I was about halfway through my walk when I saw another man and a girl on the other side of the creek. At first, I thought nothing of it, a father and daughter, or maybe a brother and sister. I liked it when I saw others, it made the world feel a little less lonely.

I kept walking down my path trying to keep my eyes off of them since mom always used to tell me staring isn’t polite and I mustn't do it. I would glance at them every so often, and imagine I was walking with them. I had never walked my path with another and I wondered what it would be like.

I was just about to turn away from the creek and head back home, but I took one last glance at the others. I couldn’t tell what the man was doing, but I knew it wasn’t normal. Instead of turning away, I hid behind a bush to find out what was happening. It was a little hard to see them since I was across the creek, but it looked as if the man had his hands wrapped around the girl’s neck. The next thing I knew the man had the girl on the ground. He was killing her. I started to panic. I slowly backed away from the bush and ran the rest of the way home. I couldn’t believe what I had just witnessed. The thought of me not doing anything to help was running through my mind. If I had just shouted he might’ve stopped.

Even though it was ten at night I ran to the police station. This man could not get away with this. When I got there they told me to wait in the lobby. I told them I couldn’t wait and it needed to be dealt with now. The lady at the desk didn’t seem to care and still told me to have a seat.

I waited patiently for what seemed like forever. After a while, I went back to the front desk and demanded to speak to someone now. It was urgent I told her. I was getting angry, I thought they were supposed to help.

I sat back down and a few minutes later someone finally came out to get a statement from me. They took me into an integration room since I told them it was urgent.

“Ok sir, what is it you’d like to report,” said the officer.

“A murder. I saw it happen, by the creek. It was awful he strangled her. You have to get him. You just have to!” I pleaded. I started panicking again which had to do with the condition I have. I have bad anxiety and normally don’t socialize. The officer just looked at me like I was crazy. Like I said small town, word gets around. People think I’m mentally ill and can’t function on my own. Gosh, why did I think they were going to believe me.

“Ok, we’ll take a look into that. Have a nice day sir,” he said standing up and leaving me in the interrogation room all by myself.

I felt silly even being here. No one cared and no one believed me. I knew he wasn’t going to look into it. I could see it in his eyes. I stood up and walked out of the station. I felt stupid, this is what it feels like when the whole world is against you. No one listens and now that poor girl’s killer will never get caught.

I was almost at the end of the parking lot when an officer stepped out of his car. He walked right up to me and it wasn’t until he was standing inches away from me that I noticed he was the killer. I almost didn’t recognize him since he was far away when I saw him kill her.

“You ok, you need a ride?”

“No,” I said frantically and ran off. I sprinted most of the way home and when I finally got there I knew that he would never get caught.

The next day I went back to the police station with my mother, the only person who believed me, and told them an officer killed the girl. I told them it was Officer Westley and they had to believe me. I knew I sounded crazy, but I didn’t care. The men who were supposed to protect us just killed an innocent girl last night. I need to get justice for that girl. I didn’t know her, but I felt like I owed this to her and her family.

An hour later my mom and I walked out of the station with the words: “I’m sorry but what your son is saying makes no sense and there is no proof of Officer Westley killing anyone.”

I felt defeated. The murder had won and there was nothing I could do about it. No evidence, no case. Her death will forever be unjustified.

... Twenty years later and he was never charged or even arrested. I think about that poor girl every day of my life. I started to work with my condition and live for her. I went back to school and got into law and criminology. I am now a lawyer who helps families make sure killers get sent away for a long time. I will forever be grateful to that girl, she made me realize there is more to life than my mom and a nightly walk. Even though I never found out who she was, I hope she is in peace and I wish to thank her. Maybe someday they will find her body and her family can have peace as well. Until then I will continue getting killers locked away for what they did.


The air is filled with the scent of breezy laundry, freshly slaughtered grass, and propane-licked steak. My stomach rumbles, and I hear the happy shrieks of kids and the low roll of suburban traffic. I’d love to eat but I’m on a mission. I take another sniff – and there it is. The sweaty over-ripe fragrance of needless aggression. The breeze keeps snatching at the faint scent, but it’s enough for me to follow. I run past the Mitchells, head out the cul-de-sac, and down Triton Avenue. I lose the trail where Triton hits Berry Road, thanks to cars with their pungent smokes and acrid oils – but there! Across the road, the flick of a mangy grey tail! For a second I lock eyes with that miserable stray, Missy, and then she darts into Ouroboros Place. I surge after her. Cars honk, tires squeal, and plastic crumples against metal, but I don’t have time for any of that. When I hit Ouroboros I just see Missy disappear into the overgrown lawn of the old Rainer place, a crumbling house that’s stood abandoned for the better part of a year. I flatten my ears and rocket after her. The paint-chipped door is open a crack and it nearly flies off its hinges when I torpedo it with my nose. And inside– Ah crap. It’s a trap. I skid to a halt on the scuffed linoleum and seven cats jump out of the shadows and surround me. Missy, Filthy, Scabs, One Eye, Loudmouth, Hey You, and Cougher; all the neighbourhood wretches gathered in one place. And there, lounging on the fireplace mantel, is Imperator himself. “Well, well,” he says, his eyes half-lidded. His fluffy white tail flicks playfully, and he stinks to high hell of sour self-satisfaction. “What do we have here?” “It’s a dog,” says Scabs. Imperator scowls at him. “Yes, thank you . I can see that.” “A dumb dog,” says Missy. “Name of Pugsly, right? Fell right for your plan.” She extends her claws and scritches the linoleum, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. “As I knew he would,” Imperator says. The smugness is suffocating, a miasma of ego cascading down to us from the mantel. “Now, before we put an end to you, satisfy my curiosity. Why have you been stalking me?” Wait, there’s something else beneath the pompous perfume. I sniff. A hint of fear? No, that can’t be right. It’s not me, but why would Imperator be afraid? I sniff again. Yes, definitely a tiny spike of panic and… bird! I see now Imperator has a fledgling engulfed in his paw, casually petting it with the other. “Unhand that bird!” I shout. Imperator guffaws. “Never!” “You’re a menace!” “I am,” Imperator says, petting the trembling little bird so hard he nearly crushes it. “And it’s high time the world knew it. Is that why you’re here, Pugsly? To whine at me, about your petty moral dogma?” “You can’t just run rampant, slaughtering all the little creatures in the neighbourhood! You’re a house cat, Imp!” “ Imperator , thank you, and yes, I can. I am a house cat no longer. I am now a world cat!” The other cats meow their approval. “I tire of your whining. Any last words, Pugs?” The other cats all turn their vicious gazes on me, and I hear the blood curdling shwing of their claws extending. Then there’s something else – a muffled slam? Boots? I can’t quite place the noises, and suddenly Imperator’s street crew all hiss and scatter. “What the devil?” says Imperator. “Hey, come back here at once!” Suddenly the door flies open again, and a man barrels through. He’s wearing mint-green coveralls with a logo of a bright, smiling sun, which says, ‘Happy Farm Animal Control.’ He’s got a net for some reason that makes me vaguely queasy, and he smells of existential disappointment with his life, and like he’s been sitting in the sun too long. Suddenly he grabs me, and next thing I know I’m in the net! I yelp, and Imperator unhelpfully roars with laughter. “Serves you right!” he says. Small mercy, the bird took its opportunity to slip away. But then a woman bursts out of a side door and scoops Imperator into another net. I might have found his indignation amusing on any other day, but I have no idea what’s going on and I’m terrified. In a flurry of motion, the humans whisk us out of the abandoned house and into the back of a van with the same sunny logo. They hang our nets from hooks, slam the doors, and start driving. “Pugs!” Imperator whimpers. “What’s happening?” It’s dark in the back and we don’t have any windows. “I don’t know,” I say. I try to writhe out of the net but my feet are all tangled. At least I can still wag my tail, though I don’t particularly feel like it. I sniff out a couple other animals with us. A kind of earthy/fishy thing… a snake? Then a kind of warm, doughy aroma, with a piny edge. An armadillo, I think. And sort of a lily-scented hotdog, which must be a porcupine, and then the fragrance of spoiled fruit, motor oil, fresh plastic, and joy – that’s got to be a raccoon. In fact, “Spoons? Is that you?” “Ey!” comes Spoons the raccoon’s voice from the darkness. “Is that you, Pugsly? They got you too?” “I guess so,” I say. “Who is that?” Imperator says. “Who are you talking to? What’s happening?” He meows piteously, and I hear him thrashing about in his net. “We’re in a van!” says Spoons. “Yes, I know that ,” says Imperator. “But where are we going?” “I dunno. Some kind of farm, I think.” “I’ve always wanted to live on a farm,” says a tiny voice I trace to the porcupine. “Well I don’t!” says Imperator. “I’m a house cat! Not some barn mouser.” Are we really going to a farm? The idea of open fields sounds nice, but… I don’t want to leave my home behind. I don’t want to leave my humans behind. They’ll be lost without me! “Fools,” says a low voice, slithering with venom. It can only be the snake. “There is no farm. This is just a ruse.” “A ruse?” I say. “What do you mean?” “Human treachery – what else. They call themselves Happy Farm, but it’s just a trick to fool stupid beasts into complacency.” “Well then, what are they going to do?” “What else, dog? They plan to eat us.” The porcupine squeals, Imperator argues, Spoons chitters nervously, and the armadillo snores. And I’m not ashamed to say, I let out a high pitched whine. “That’s preposterous!” Imperator says. “How do you know that? Humans don’t eat cats!” The snake chuckles cruelly. “I know, because I’ve been caught before. And humans eat anything they can fit in their mouths. You say you’re a house cat. Surely you must have taken note of the canned meat they have.” “That’s tuna!” The snake doesn’t respond right away, instead drawing the silence out. “Is it? Have you ever seen a tuna?” “Oh dear!” Imperator gasps, and then everyone gets going again. Then one of the humans bangs on the metal wall separating us from the cab, and we hear a muffled shout. And the rest of our dreadful ride is in silence. I don’t know how long it lasts but I do know I whimper most of the way through, and the air fills with the bitter odor of fear. Eventually the van comes to a stop. I hear the crunch of boots outside and the back door is opened. The sudden sunlight is blinding and someone pulls me out by the net. As my eyes adjust to the brightness, I see a long, squat building bearing that same Happy Farm logo, nestled on a weed-choked gravel parking lot. The building is run down, with a rusty drainage pipe and peeling paint, and whatever else it might be, it’s clear this is no farm. And then a most delightful aroma reaches my nose. Sizzling grease, sumptuous beef patties, breaded chicken nuggets, and even wretched potatoes made palatable by deep frying, and I can’t stop the saliva from dripping. Then I see a pair of yellow arches on an adjoining building. The universal human symbol for food. Oh no – the snake was right! I gasp, Imperator shrieks, and all of us make noise. All except the sleeping armadillo. The humans jostle our nets and take us into the gloom of the squat building, and as we enter, I smell the air is rank with fear and dread. So this is it then. This is the place where they turn good animals into burgers and cans of tuna. They place the armadillo – still sleeping – on a scale, and a human in a white coat examines it and jots something down on a clipboard. No doubt calculating how much meat they’ll get from us. Oh, this is terrible! “Psst!” says the snake. “Dog. I demand your attention.” In the dull light of this sad building, I can see the snake is actually much bigger than I expected. It’s coiled in on itself numerous times, and its tongue flicks in my direction. And I think, if I saw this thing back home, well, I’d probably cross the street in a hurry. “I need you to cause a diversion,” it says. “A diversion? What? Why?” “Because I am getting out of here, and you will assist me.” “But I don’t know how.” Or if I should, to be honest. “It’s simple, dog. Make those annoying howling noises your kind are so fond of and thrash about. Bite. If you are able, foam at the mouth.” “Foam at the mouth?” “Yes. Do it. Now.” “I don’t–” “– Now! Obey!” It flicks its tongue mesmerizingly. I bark. I howl. I start thrashing about. The human holding my net struggles and grunts, and the others look our way. When another human steps up, making calming coos and holding its hand out soothingly, I snap at the fingers. I’m tangled in the net, but I manage to kick my hind leg and I connect with something soft that makes the human holding me yelp, and then I’m on the ground. The other humans scramble, one of them trying to tackle me and getting just as tangled in the net as I am. I can’t quite get away, but I notice they set the other animals down too, and the snake has already slithered out of its net. But then I lose sight of the snake as someone grabs me by the scruff of my collar, and now I see the man in white approaching with a – gulp – needle. I whine and try to look for any way out, but someone’s holding my head firm. I can only move my eyes around and I see that Imperator’s managed to get out of his net too. “Help me, Imp!” I just manage to grunt. “ Imperator! ” he huffs. “And no.” He sticks his tongue out and then releases a stench of self-satisfaction. “Please! They’re going to eat me!” Imperator turns to go, looks at me again, and then vanishes from my sight. I whine again. Well, I suppose that’s what I get for pinning my hopes on a cat. My claws clatter against the floor as I shiver uncontrollably. Three humans are now holding me, and the one in white crouches. He starts pawing at me with one latex hand, smoothing the fur away from my shoulder, while the other hand brings that needle ever closer. He coos and mumbles in the jolly-if-infantile language of humans, but his eyes are dead like a – well, like a cat’s. He brings the needle closer. I feel the deathly cold of the metal touch my skin. This is it then; my destiny, a can of dog burger. I let out one final whimper. But then I hear something. A metal crash, a bunch of barks and howls, the shrieking of birds. The humans hear it too. The man in white pulls the needle away and all of them look to an adjoining door – which suddenly bursts open as a mountain lion tears through it. It’s quickly followed by no fewer than six stray dogs, a parrot, and – I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it myself – a chimp. The humans scramble to their feet, letting go of me. The man in white starts shouting things to the others and they begin chasing the loose animals, but they just keep coming. Cats pour out of the door, alongside rats, and even some bats. A human cowers when a wolf slinks by, and is then bowled over by a doe eager to stretch her legs. Nobody even considers standing in the wolverine’s way. And more and more beasts just keep coming. When a gator crawls out and snaps its maw, the humans flee. Thankfully, like all the others, it seems happy just to get out of this place and leaves me be. I try to get out of my net but I’m tangled pretty badly. Then a cloud of misplaced self-superiority descends on me and I almost gag. I look up and see Imperator standing before me. “There,” he says. With a flick of his wrist he switchblades my net. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.” “You came back for me?” Imperator rolls his eyes. “Don’t read too much into it, Pugs. I just figured it might get boring back home without you.” We walk to the door of the Happy Farm building and look out over the unfamiliar gravel parking lot. “Besides,” he says, “I don’t really know how to get home. Do you?” I sniff at the air. Firs, a fishy creek, nearby fields with wildflowers – memories of country walks – “Yeah, I think I know where we are.” “Good,” he says. He leaps onto my back. “In that case, yah dog! Home we go.” “What are you doing? Get off.” “I don’t want to get my feet dirty.” “I thought you said you were a world cat now?” “I meant worldly. That means I like rugs, which you remind me of.” “Ouch. Fine, we’re even now.” “Ha! Hardly.” We’ve a long road ahead of us, but it’s a beautiful day for a walk.


“I am Sorin Weylen, god of mischief” No one ever liked him after he said those words, and no one ever liked him before he said those words. While he was the god of mischief, he was also the god of pranks, which, according to him, was vastly different then strictly mischief. He was also born the god of citrus, leather, ink, the number 7, and to his horror, rutabagas. Sorin Weylen hated rules and he hated mortals. Messing with them became a game of his, bribing Mayven, the goddess of weather, into sending down hail storms when there was a festival, or spoiling the citrus trees when the mortals had particularly pissed him off. According to him, they were good at that. “The only thing those stupid mortals are good for is being test subjects.” -Sorin Weylen at some point. The hateful relationship went both ways. The mortals were none too fond of the god. While he targeted their resources, they targeted his hatred for rutabagas. When it came to the god rituals in the second week of January (which was dreadfully cold in this climate) they went to his altar and threw rutabagas at it. “The audacity! Don’t they know who I am?” - Sorin Weylen at another point. They knew exactly who he was. They did not care. During the 1,234th year of the god rituals Sorin had something planned that would shock the other gods as much as the mortals. He called a meeting with his most trusted companions. Mayven, the goddess of weather. Elysian, the god of pride. Bolide, the goddess of the night sky. And Zephyr, the god of winds.

They were going to make the mortals very, very, angry. And they were going to have some fun. ~~~~~ Two moons before the ritual, they met at the twelfth hour in Sorin’s palace. The company sat in a circle on 5 exquisitely decorated chairs that Sorin had stolen. “Before we begin, why are we all the best dressed gods that have ever existed?” Elysian laughed. They all looked down at their outfits, nodding in agreement. “Always full of pride, aren’t we Elysian,” teased Bolide, her onyx earrings twinkling with her laughter. “That is what I’m god of, darling.” The company sat watching, amused at the lovers banter. “While I’m entertained, lads, I’d like to get to work. I have a prank to pull on Cyrus this afternoon,” said Sorin. Cyrus was the god of writing, so Sorin Weylen liked to use his relationship with ink to his advantage. Every once in a while, a certain mortal would find that his or hers pen didn't work. “As we’ve all seen the extremely rude, disrespectful, and down right insane way my alter is treated every year at the ritual,” shuttered Sorin. “This year I’m not planning on being kind to those mortals, so I’ve decided to enlist you, my friends, to assist me in getting revenge on the ones who’s attitudes are too large for their fragile bodies.” Fine without an explanation, they all nodded to confirm their participation. Sorin smiled a wicked smile, and they began. The company worked tirelessly, planning and preparing. When it came to the day before, Bolide went to Bastion, the god of the sun. Bastion just happened to owe Bolide a favor, which Sorin Weylen suggested she cash out.

“For the cause,” he claimed.

She went to visit Bastion the day before the ritual, demanding to see him.

“Hello, Bastion.” “Hello, Bolide.” “I've come to cash my favor,” she began. “I need to keep the moon up for a few extra hours tomorrow.”

He smiled a shifty smile and agreed. Bastion had always liked a prank. Now that the pivotal part of the plan was confirmed, they could move onto the rest. When night fell, they went to work.

~~~~~

Under the cover of night, Sorin Weylen went to work on the citrus trees. He moved each one over exactly seven inches. It may not seem like much, but he knew how much humans relied on routine. If everything was moved they would bump into the trees, which Sorin hoped would leave a bruise.

While Bolide and Sorin were busy, Elysian used his powers to turn each of the mortals against each other. If there was one thing that mortals couldn’t stand, it was being wrong. He planted tiny arguments in half the population's minds, and rigged them to blow out of proportion. In the other half, he inflated egos and made them insufferable. He had done his job well.

Mayven had always liked rain. She had been working on a trick, and she decided that it was time for it to make a debut. When the mortals woke up, she would place storm clouds above each individual, visible only to the person it covered. Everyone would think they're soaking wet, and mixed with Elysians tricks, everyone would be too proud to mention it.

Zephyr was a man of few words, but he had a passion for hair. He would use wind to give every mortal an… interesting hair-do. He drew up some designs for Sorin Weylen to approve, to which the god cackled until he cried. Zephyr was ready.

~~~~~

The gods watched anxiously as the mortals walked out of their cottages, looking around confused as they checked their watches against the night sky. They glared around at each other, asking what was wrong in accusatory tones. Sorin Weylen laughed as a farmer bumped into his tree, cursing and kicking at it.

They turned their attention to shouting, all giggling at what they found. Two boys had begun to fight over who was smarter. Another man stood on a curb and gave a speech about how he was the perfect male specimen.

“Hmm,” thought Elysian while he smiled as he took in his work.

It seemed the weather changed, as Mayven released her project. Every mortal looked up and around, searching for the source of the downpour. Mayven found the suspicious look in their eyes hilarious, nearly falling onto the floor of Sorins palace.

Trying their best to appear like nothing was bothering them, they went on with their day, although their body language showed something was bothering them very deeply.

Because the rain didn’t cause a bad enough hair day, Zephyr put his passion to work. He sent a very, very strong gust of wind through the locks of the mortals, making it stick up every which way. Some were in delicate designs, some in strange shapes. His personal favorite, to Sorin Weylens annoyance, was a rutabaga.

~~~~~

When the sun finally rose and the storms finally ceased, the mortals went to their altars for the rituals. They sent the occasional glare towards the altars of wind, the night, pride, and weather, but still made their offerings and said their thanks. As usual, Sorin Weylen’s was last. The mortals wore sneers as they approached, reaching into the canvas bags they carried offerings in.

They froze as an unfamiliar figure stepped out from behind the altar, a mischievous smile playing across his face. He held his hands behind his back, and something about the glint in his eyes made the mortals hearts pound.

They all stopped breathing as he began to spoke, saying

“I am Sorin Weylen, god of mischief.” Then he pulled back his arms and pelted them with citrus.


Nervous with anticipation, I was grateful to be riding shotgun instead of maneuvering the car through holiday traffic.  It seems like forever since I’d seen JoAnn and her son Keith.  They represent a rare, solid connection to my childhood.  Keith left for the army straight out of high school, so no telling how those years changed him.  Yes, nervousness and excitement!  With my best friend Debbie at the wheel, I was free to savor familiar landmarks all decked out in Christmas decorations passing by my window. I felt butterflies agitating more so as we approach JoAnn’s house.  I’m starting to feel light headed.  I know I’ve changed into a completely different person since I last saw Keith, physically and emotionally I’ve matured.  I’m a woman now and he’s a man. Now we are no longer kids. Once we would dream or make believe about what the futurre would bring.  And what’s become of those dreams?

JoAnn wanted to surprise Keith, so she didn’t tell him I was coming.  Would he appreciate the surprise?  Here we go...pulling into the driveway now. ‘Kiddo!” JoAnn exclaims as she opens the door.  Kiddo was always my name with JoAnn.   She was my mom’s best friend, a fixture in my life since I was 10 years old.  That it’s been over 10 years and JoAnn still calls me Kiddo is endearing.  As I step through the door, she gives me a one-arm hug and a hard pat on the back.  Debbie is given a more measured welcome, but a friendly one nonetheless. Debbie understood I was always one of her favorites, not counting her own kids of course. “You guys want a beer?” JoAnn said to us.  “That would be great,” I said, thinking a little alcohol in me would take the edge off my nervous tension.  She fished a bottle out of the ice chest and handed it to me.  There’s nothing like that first taste of really cold, wet bottle beer.  I power gulped almost half the contents in one big go.  I wasn’t sure if Keith was there yet, but I didn’t want to seem overly excited about seeing him again.  I drank more of my beer, scanning the room for his face among the other guests.  I felt a tinge of disappointment, realizing he wasn’t here.  JoAnn came closer and grabbed me by the elbow, nudging me along towards the back porch.  “Keith’s outside,” she said as she walked with me through her old familiar house.

My nostrils flared involuntarily.  The edge of my vision was all a blur.  And there he was, seated in a chair, looking into the backyard while talking to some people I didn’t recognize.  I briefly wondered  how he would react when he saw me.  Was he going to be happy to see me?  Would he even care as much as I did?  I knew that I always had stronger feelings for him than he had for me.  He was my first real crush…my first true love, even.  JoAnn nudged me forward and whispered, “Go ahead, walk around where he can see you.”

Shuffling around so he could see me,  I silently waited for him to notice me.  In a flash his eyes lit up and he smiled his trademark smile. He still had the same twinkle in his eye that just melted my heart.  He shot up from his chair and said, “What a sight for sore eyes!  Oh my god, how are you?  Where did you come from?”  All I could think while he wrapped me up in his arms was how deep his voice had become.  Also, that he somehow smelled the same as he always used to.  And I felt like my 14 year old self again.

Its wondrous how long forgotten feelings can lay dormant all these years just to pop up out of nowhere when you are back in someone’s arms.  As we broke our embrace he held my hand and curtsied a step backward  to get a better look at me.  “God, it’s so good to see you, You look great.”

Keith introduced me as an old friend to the people he’d been in conversation with, then excused us saying we had some catching up to do.  “Here we go,”  I thought, more unsure than ever what to expect .  It was always bothered me a bit that our relationship never went beyond “friends” except for the occasional kiss and fooling around.  We always flirted and teased each other, and when one of us was in a relationship, the other was envious.  Obviously, there were complex feelings on both sides. We both grabbed another cold beer and carried them over to the bench swing further out in the backyard. As we sat down, he let out a big sigh.  “That was quite a sigh,” I said.  “Yeah, it was,” he said.  I soon realized the reason behind the sigh.  He sat back and pulled me close to him so he could put his arm around me. This behavior was uncharacteristic of him.  When we were teenagers it was always me making the first move.  We just sat there in silence for a few minutes, his arm around me and his hand affectionately rubbing my shoulder.  I was dizzy and not sure why. He started to say something and then stopped.  We explored each other in a gaze that he held for a moment before flashing a wan smile that told me  “I have something to tell you but I don’t know how.”

 “Alright…so I’ve always regretted not pursuing you, pursuing us.  You don’t know how many times I’ve kicked myself over it.  Or how many times I’ve thought about having sex with you.  Even now, I’m not blind to the fact that there’s an undeniable connection between us.  I feel a way with you that I’ve never really felt with anyone else.”  As I sat there listening to him I was trying to comprehend everything.  What does this mean?  Where is he going with this?  I had a million thoughts going through my head. After a few minutes of silence, I said, “Why are you telling me this now?  He sighed.  “Well it’s been in the back of my mind for a long time.  You were the one that got away and I want you to know that.  You are special, always have been and always will be.  There’s just something about you.  AND, I wanted to be the one to tell you that while I was away I got married.”