The hitchhiker stood on a vast open countryside, nothing around her for miles except for farmland, the road she stood aside of, and the car coming to a stop beside her. Without looking in she got in the car, thankful to narrowly miss the storm that was coming.Of course she knew the dangers of what she was doing, She was used to it by now and it was more of a neccesary evil than anything. Before she got her bearings a males voice asked "Where are you trying to get to?". "I dont know." She replied. She sat motionless, eyes closed and picturing her dreams and focusing on that while waiting for the guy to make a move. Instead, He put the car in drive and slowly started driving again while she looked over at him. Immediately her stomach dropped but she couldnt place why. He was close to her age, good looking in an unusual way. He didnt respond to her for some time and kept his eyes forward.   After a few miles of silence the rain began to fall hard, blanketing their vision. Even with the sound of the rain the girl still jumped a little bit when the guy quietly said "How do you not know where you are going??" and laughed a little bit. His laugh was so quiet she could barely hear it, and may have missed it if she didnt see him laughing. Her stomach dropped a little more. She liked his smile and felt comfortable even though she knew nothing about him.She started to think of an answer when he spoke again. "If you don't know where you're going, why would you hitchhike?", asking with a genuinely puzzled look. This question was easy enough to answer, though she normally never told anyone the honest answer for it when she was asked. This time though she was honest. "It's nice to imagine, or hope." He looked at her for the first time, as though seeing the person confusing him would clear anything up. He jokingly pulled his eyebrows low like he was suspect of her, then he smiled again and looked back at the road. Again her stomach sank further and she was feeling nervous now. Of course she couldnt tell, but he was too. "sounds kinda sketch." He said. As she started to get offended he followed up with "hitchhiking I mean, not you." "Elaborate?" he asked. She explained that she had dreams of being out in the world and doing what she wanted, so she would hitchhike with people and imagine she was going out to be in the world and do the things she dreamed of. When he asked her why she didnt do those things instead of dreaming about them she pulled back from her openness. He could tell that he had reached a sensitive area and retreated the conversation to another topic. The storm got worse and neither of them could see more than a few feet ahead so he pulled off to a rest stop to let the storm pass. They talked for hours and nighttime came with the storm going just as strong. At one point she looked over at him and as her stomach began to drop again she only thought one word: Mine. At that moment it felt like the whole world finally made sense. She felt like she knew things, like she knew he was hers. She knew she was his, and she liked that. She felt things she hadnt felt before, alien-like feelings. She asked herself "Is this happiness?" For the first time she felt content, calm, and relaxed.   It turned out that they lived close by each other and that he was just driving around because he "was ready to go somewhere with nowhere to go.", so they agreed to head back to their city after the storm. If it ever stopped that was.... By 3am they were listening to music and talking every now and then, both of their eyelids getting heavy. Abruptly the guy announced he was going to take a nap, leaning his chair back and putting a sweater under his head like a pillow he faced her. She did the same thing and just watched him as he fell asleep. As she was drifting off to sleep she softly asked "what's your name?". The cd they were listening to had ended a while ago and now only the sound of the rain could be heard. She normally would be worried about the storm but was calm, content, and at peace in this strangers car. "The Heretic." he whispered back. In the morning the storm passed right as the sun was coming up. She woke up facing the stranger, and noticed she was holding his hand. She gently let go, embarrassedly thinking that she may have grabbed it in her sleep and didnt want to weird him out. She got out of the car to use the rest stops vending machine and clean up a bit in the bathroom. When she came back out the car was running and he was awake. They drove back to their city and when they got to her house she invited him inside, not ready to part ways. He agreed, and from that moment they spent almost every day together for the following few years. In that time she was happier than she ever felt, realizing she hadn't ever known what it was like to feel truly happy before. This led to her getting her not hitchhiking anymore, getting her own car, and more importantly, she began to look forward to her future. This was something that she usually avoided because she would think there was nothing worth looking forward too. Now she saw herself fulfilling her dreams, living a life she always wanted but never thought she could have. She felt excited looking ahead. She had always dreamed of moving away, somewhere warm, with a beach nearby. Somewhere on the west coast. The guy encouraged it so eventually they were ready to go. She was nervous as she had never been independent, in control of her own life.Neverhad been truly responsible for herself, both for her potential successes and potential failures. She didnt have something to fall back on and blame, and the thought made her uncomfortable. She knew in her heart that following her dream was what she wanted most, being with this boy was what she wanted most. It wasn't that she needed him to do anything for her, just that having him by her side she felt understood, safe, loved, free, powerful. Alive. She felt like she could do anything. Most people she knew saw her and saw that they could take advantage of her or her situation, and they would. The Heretic never did though, and instead protected her vulnerabillities and would challenge her to grow rather than put her down or try to control her. She could also tell that this was all new to him as well, and he had told her that she inspired him in similar ways during one of their many talks. He wasn't a bum before they met but he was...directionless. Ready to go with nowhere to go. Now that he had goals he had changed a lot, in good ways. He still retained his boyish charm but she had seen him grow into being a man in the past few years. He credited her for pushing him to grow, even though she never did. He said just by being herself it made him always want to grow and be a better person. She understood that feeling as she felt the same way. She understood everything he said though(as he did for her too), no matter how abstract it was or how vague or bad he was at describing something. Sometimes they could just look at each other and have full conversations, or be apart and sense how the other one was feeling. If someone had told her that 5 years ago, she would think that person was crazy, an idiot. She thought love in general and people in love were weak, naive fools missing out on life in their boring monogomy. Now she saw that she was the one that was naive.   She was ready to move and get away from all of the toxic things that haunted her past, excise them from her like removing the tentacles of an octopus trying to drown her. It was was the only way she would be happy, she thought. So they began their drive to a new world. The nervous uncomfortable feeling remained with her though, and began to grow. They took the same path that theyd taken all those years before but in reverse. She would normally be hapy to see the spot they had met and she felt her stomach dropping like it did on that day, but this time it wasnt in a good way though. She began to doubt herself, her dreams, her ability to succeed and be happy. "What If I failed?" "What if...I am not enough?" That thought led her to The Heretic, and she began to doubt him too. He could sense something was wrong since they had left, and asked her a couple times what was wrong but she gave a curt "nothing." His face seemed pained, like he was watching someone in pain and couldnt do anything to help them. They had driven for some time and were passing the rest stop from the night they met. She looked at him and he was smiling, looking from the rest stop to her. In that moment they looked at each other and all the bad washed away in her, and she felt excited. She was so close to escaping all of the bad. That was the only moment of the ride that she felt "okay" though, and as soon as they broke eye contact the feeling washed away. No more than a mile later They pulled up to a massive metal gate. The gateway was attached to a wall on either side, solid, shining metal extending as far as the eye could see. As he pulled closer to it she said "stop!" and he did. She quickly got out of the car so he followed, confused. "Whats wrong" he asked, genuinely concerned. Her mind was clouded with a hundred voices all saying different things at once. It was overwhelming and too much. She looked at him and thought "I must look crazy." and pained to think what he must be thinking of her right then. The voices in her head got louder and she felt like she was in the middle of a crowd of people all talking at once. He could see her discontent on her face and stepped towards her to comfort her. He was speaking but she couldnt hear him over the voices, then she said "I cant go". Her eyes began to tear up. The voices were all familiar, all people from the old world, and they were all saying bad things. About her, about him, about her dreams. they warned her about failing, acting as though they were looking out for her. they also warned her about him, saying that he was just like the rest. that he was trying to keep her for himself, thats why he was reaching for her right now. She pulled back and looked at him accusingly. The voices soothingly said that she was safe here, on this side of the gate. This was where she belonged. "Whats wrong? do you not want to go? You dont have to-" he started to say when she cut him off. "I cant go any further." then looked back at the gate looming over them. "What do you mean? Like you physically cant? Im confused." He softly grabbed her hand and led her to the gate. As they approached it the massive metal gate began to lift up. She got more nervous than she had ever been, standing a foot away from the other side of the gate. Everything out there was so alien, so unknown, and it terrified her. He could see what she was thinking on her face and only said two words. "I love you. You CAN." The voices in her head began buzzing again, saying he was pressuring her, he was lying, he was bad. They told her to tell him again, so she did. "I can't." He took one step and was on the other side of the gate, then said "See. Nothing happened. It's no different here than it-" he was saying when the gate slammed down, shutting with a loud boom. He began to bang on the gate, and she began to panic and tried to open it. Looking back and forth she saw no way to open it, no number to call for assistance, nothing that could help.   Now they were apart. She fell against the gate and cried. The voices got louder, some began to laugh and mock, some began to comfort her in her panic, some said she was better off without him. She screamed at them to stop, to go away. They didnt though. After a couple of days of going back to the gate she waited for it to open but it never did. She knew he was still on the other side because he would knock when she would. She looked for a way to slip notes under the gate or communicate with him somehow but couldnt. Eventually she went home. She would go back to the gate every day for weeks, never seeing it open. Never seeing him. She went offroad and followed the gate in one direction and after a couple of days was back at the gate, having gone full circle without finding a way out. The voices in her head assured her this was for the best, that he had left her. He had failed her. That he was why she hurt. She fought with them at first. Years would pass and she stopped going to the gate, hating The Heretic for hurting her. She started hitchhiking again, and almost immediately she had met someone else and he was different. He didnt care about her dreams, or what made her happy, from what she gathered he just saw her as a trophy. It was a relief. She wouldnt have to repeat what had happened and it was "safe". The voices liked him a lot. One day she realized that she was pregnant. The voices were pleased, despite that she wasn't exactly happy. Her new partner was happy as well. He had her on a leash now, in his mind. She thought of The Heretic, and even though she hated him she missed him. That didnt happen often but sometimes she would strangely miss him then feel ashamed for missing someone who was so cruel. In the following weeks the guy proposed to her and she said yes, knowing the voices expected it of her. She didnt want to dissapoint them. "One day they will be pleased" she said to herself, more of a hope than a thought. She didnt know of course that they never would be though. They had grown more arrogant after she said yes to the guy, taunting her even. One night she was sad and couldnt place why, laying in her bed in the dark. It was right at the edge of her mind what bothered her so much, almost in reach but just out of grasp. Among the chatter of the other voices a new one softly spoke up. The Heretics voice said "Go to the gate." It startled her for she wasnt used to hearing his voice anymore, and she never heard it with the other voices. Immediately the other voices began speaking, saying he was trying to hurt her, and not to listen to him. "He is bad". She felt like she had to go though, she had to know why she heard him. She got in her car in her pajamas and took off, fighting the voices the whole drive. They kept saying "your pregnant, this is irresponsible." "turn back." "Youre getting married soon, your husband wouldnt like this would he?" She knew the voices were right, as she had decided they always were. They looked out for her, she would think. Still, she pressed on, and saw the rest stop from those many years ago. Immediately she started to hurt, her mind too clouded to pinpoint why except for what the voices told her. "He hurt you!" She couldnt even recall anything about the night at the rest stop,just vaguely that it had to do with Heretic. She pulled up to the massive gate, not knowing what to expect. It was exactly the same as it had always been, except for a post sticking out on the side of the road. IT had a piece of paper stuck to it at the top so she put the car in park and walked over to it. It was folded up and had a heart on the outside of it with the words "I believe in you" written inside of the heart. The heretic used to write her little notes alot and she recognized his handwriting. The voices said "It's a trick!" "He's trying to hurt you again." "he's lying." "Dont open it." She opened it anyways, and all that was inside were a couple brief sentences. "It's all in your head. There is no gate... I'll be on the west coast, the place we were headed in case you change your mind about staying here. It's never too late to do what makes you happy. I love you, H" Suspicious of his obvious lie she looked up and gasped. There was no gate. Her mind was unusually silent for the first time in years. The voices had dissapeared along with the gate... There, by herself, everything now clear to her, she cried. She felt sick at the thought of all that had happened. The thought of the voices betraying her. Of hating Heretic just because it made her decision easier. The thought of being pregnant by this guy she didnt really love, would have a family that she would hurt every time she looked at, and sick by the thought that she had settled in every way. Sick with the realization that she gave her happiness away because it was unknown to her, scared her even. Sick with the thought that she let her darkness prevail over her light. Let her fear prevail over her courage. With dread she then thought "this is my life." and quickly pushing aside what the Heretic said, she accepted her fate. Then the voices came back, once again filling her mind with noise as usual. They comforted her, reassured her she was making the right choice, as they were so good at doing, she had forgotten most of this event by time she was married, and didnt think of it anymore by time she had her child, and she went on to lead the life they charted out for her. She was never happy, but she was somewhere she was comfortable, somewhere she knew. Not content, but comfortable. She felt alone, incomplete, nervous most of the time but couldnt place why. She didnt search for reasons either, knowing that would only cause pain. It wasn't enough for her, but it was her life. It was the fate she chose.     Many, many years later there was an old man on the west coast, overlooking the ocean from his home. He had no kids, no grandkids. Not that anything was wrong with him or because women didnt like him, he just never let anyone close to him because he was always preoccupied, both in his heart and his mind. On this particular night he was moving slowly, breathing shallow, weak breaths. He knew his time was near. He'd known it for some time, and in a way he felt like he was failing her by succumbing to it. Speaking to her, but to nobody, he said "I'm sorry." His heart pained him, not from old age but from loss. Not his own loss as much as he was pained for her. "You deserved so much more. You deserved better." He held a picture in his hand, old and battered like him. It showed a youthful portayal of him and the girl together and smiling. Big, goofy, genuine smiles. Every time he looked at it he felt a bit of the warmth and happiness he had felt when it was taken all those years ago. He never forgot those days. His mind and heart wouldnt let him even if he tried. That was where he was meant to be. Not any specific place, but just by her side. He slowly walked inside to his bed, his whole body protesting and creaking with every movement. He knew this was the last time he would make this walk, and wanted to welcome it if it werent for the feeling of failure. He wanted to invite the end of pain, but knew it was selfish and so refused. He had fought off the end and staved it off for many years, but the fight ended that night. Laying in his bed, warm but also cold, he held the picture to his chest and said "I love you." The Heretics breathing slowed as he fell asleep.


"Mind if I sit here?" said a low voice from Meghan's right hand side. It was a short, Indian man, gesturing to the space on the park bench beside her. "Sure go ahead!" she politely said, moving her bag to her other side, away from the man. He took the space next to her and let out a sigh. They both sat in silence, watching a lady on the other side of the park struggle to get a squirrel to take some food from her hand. "She's trying it with the wrong squirrel." the man said, breaking the silence. "Huh, sorry?" Meghan replied, taking out one of her earphones. "The lady. Feeding the squirrel. She's wasting her time. I come here all the time and that squirrel is very wary of people and won't eat from your hand. The one with the shorter tail on the other side of the swings will eat for days though" he chuckled. "Oh, haha. How can you tell them apart?" "Well that one has a thicker tail and is a bit of a darker grey on the head, whereas the other one is a lighter grey and a bit more thin. It's a lot younger, I think." "Oh wow, should we tell her?" "Oh no, I like to not interfere. She'll either learn, or she won't. I haven't seen you here before?" He turned to face Meghan now. "Yeah I just moved here. First time moving away from home and I thought I'd come clear my head in the park. It's lovely here." "What's on your mind?" "Oh nothing, um, I think I should head back and finish unpacking. It was lovely meeting you though!" Meghan put her book away into the bag and flashed the man a smile as she left. *4 days later.* Meghan was walking through the nearby park, looking for a place to sit, when she saw the same short Indian man beckon her over to the bench. “Hey! How’s the move going? All unpacked? You can come sit next to me if you’d like” the man said. Meghan felt pressured and politely took the space next to him. “Yeah, unpacking is going along alright. Bit slower than I’d like but I’m in no rush.” She replied as she got out her notebook and pencil, ready to do some sketching. “I never got your name last time, I’m Arjun” the man beamed, holding out his hand to shake hers. “Nice to meet you Arjun. I’m just going to pop my earphones in and get on with some drawing if that’s ok?” she replied. He shrugged in a way that said ‘don’t let me stop you’ and Meghan began to draw. After about 15 minutes, she felt his eyes watching her draw, and took out her earphones. “I think I’m going to head home and finish this drawing back there, it was lovely seeing you again though!” “You too! Although, I never got your name.” he replied. “Oh um… it’s Meghan.” “Nice to meet you Meghan, see you around!” *15 days later.* Meghan was on her way to the bench where she had seen Arjun a few times over the past two weeks, both hoping that he wasn’t there so that she could draw in peace, and also hoping that he was there, so that she had someone to talk to. As expected, Arjun was sitting on the bench, wearing a smile on his face as she approached. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he asked as she walked over and took her seat next to him. “Yeah it’s lovely. Not too hot but warm enough that I can wear a vest. How are you Arjun?” She studied him as she spoke. He seemed to be getting thinner. “I’m good thanks Meghan, been here since the sunrise today feeding the squirrels. How’s the drawing coming along?” “Yeah it’s getting there, I’m not too happy with it but that’s part of the process I guess.” She decided this time to not put her earphones in. The two spoke about their weekend and Arjun showed genuine interest in Meghan’s life, something she had not felt before. She often wondered about his life, but he didn’t seem to talk about it much. He was in his 60s, looked good for his age, and there hadn’t been a time that he wasn’t ever on this bench when she came to the park. *37 days later.* Meghan last saw Arjun 4 days ago, and he kept falling asleep during their conversation. “Hey Arjun!” Meghan cheered as she lightly jogged over to their bench. He was feeding the squirrels. “Meghan! How did the interview go?!” he asked. “I don’t want to jinx it, but I think it went really well. They said I should hear in a few days.” “Oh I just know you smashed it...” Arjun trailed off as he stifled a cough. “Do you want some water?” Meghan handed him her water bottle as he began to have a coughing fit. These were starting to become a regular thing for Arjun. He took the bottle and drank until he stopped coughing, before passing the bottle back. He thanked her and the two sat in silence for a while whilst Meghan worked on her drawing. *4 days later.* Arjun was asleep on the bench as Meghan arrived at the park. It was colder today. “Hey Arjun? Arjun!” Arjun awoke, mumbling to himself. “Arjun, I got the job!” she exclaimed. “Oh Meghan I’m so happy for you!” he said. She thanked him, and noticed that he looked rather unkempt. Arjun always managed to be dressed sharply, but today he was in less formal clothes and his hair wasn’t neatly combed over his head. “Is everything okay? Sorry to wake you” Meghan cautiously asked. “Yes everything’s fine. Just feeling a bit under the weather, that’s all. I’m so pleased for you Meghan, you truly deserve this.” he replied. Arjun and Meghan spoke about her new job and what it would entail for quite some time, before Meghan headed home. *21 days later.* Meghan had noticed that over the past three weeks Arjun was starting to look worse and worse. He kept forgetting about conversations that they had, and his coughing was becoming more frequent. “Arjun I have to ask, is everything okay? It’s just that you have had this cough for a while now and you seem to be getting worse” She asked. Arjun didn’t answer at first. He just watched the squirrels chase each other in the tree. “Arjun?” Meghan prompted. “You’re right. I am getting worse.” he replied, with a sadness in his voice that Meghan hadn’t heard from him before. “I have cancer, Meghan. I don’t think it will be getting better for me.” Meghan didn’t know what to say. They sat in silence for a moment. Meghan placed her hand on his. “I’m so sorry, Arjun. Is there a treatment for it? Are you taking anything or, I don’t know, is there a surgery or something?” “Oh no, I like to not interfere. I’ll either live, or I won’t.” Arjun was smiling as he said this. Tears filled Meghan’s eyes and they sat in silence as Arjun fed the squirrels. *16 days later.* Arjun wasn’t there when Meghan went to the park. This was the first time that he’d not been there since she started coming. She sat in her seat, and waited for his arrival. They had never exchanged numbers, so she couldn’t text him. She last saw him 5 days ago, and he looked more like himself. Glowing, even. She waited for a few hours and headed home. Meghan returned the next day, to find the bench empty again. Every few days, when Meghan got the chance, she would return to the bench, hoping to see Arjun feeding the squirrels, and every few days, she was disappointed to not see him there. She checked online obituaries, and saw a man named Arjun Kumar, aged 68, died of pancreatic cancer a week ago. There was no funeral being held, and no indication of a family. No trace of the man that would sit on this bench and feed the squirrels.


Why do men fear reptiles? Why was the first temptation, seductive and familiar, whispered by a serpent? Why, in ages past, did men slay almighty dragons and claim their ever-fire for his heart? Why do sacred places both welcome draconian angels and banish ground-dwelling snakes, why do we recoil from the bottomlessly black eyes of reptiles? We see monsters, in them. We call the depths of our minds, self-centered and unnervingly aware a *lizard brain*, the control center for motives better served by those mindless, primordial drives. We fear the lizard brain, the cool calculation somewhere far down inside. We dream of dragon power, we fear serpent sin. It is *in* us. Medusa, who could kill with a stare, slipping across ruined marble, her living hair and lengthy body alive with reptilian horror. Men measure infinity itself in a snake eating it’s own tail, fruitless and potent and eternal, all at once, all a reflection of a reflection. Black temples that are artifacts on wonder today were once the almighty centers of worship, their stairways red as sacrifices strove to placate feathered lords with scaly bodies and endless hunger. Tiamat and Typhon, Satan and Quetzalcoatl. Manifestations of beauty, of lust, of regality. Every dragon bearing the same ancient, foundational bones inside. Somewhere in us is the memory of being small, scuttling underfoot from vast lords. Somewhere in us is the terror of the meek and the frail, when the world lived under a saurian banner; indomitable, undeniable. *Terrible lizards*. But they were *oh so much more*. More than we can imagine— and more than we can fear. Where Men fumble with iron and steel, They were masters with the gene and the mind. Where Mankind only fitfully explores his dreams, They were denizens of the world that bleeds between real and unreal, lords that spun whole fantasies into being in contemplations that would awe our greatest thinkers. Our vaccines, our quaint meddling with the very stuff of life— They would scoff at. They could make life from anything, into *anything* that they desired. Cities, like mirages, wavered and danced on the horizon until with a thought, they existed. Legions of warriors, perfect and unstoppable, sprang into being from seeds of ultimate-life. They became Gods, more than Gods. Triumph after triumph, mastery upon mastery. Time unwound beneath their vision, space opened and embraced vast expeditions beyond the hissing dark. *Everything opened to them*, until only one undiscovered country remained. The final barrier. The place that stilled all things, stars and masters and time alike. The preparations took eons, and the preparations took seconds. It happened at once, and it happened over long, slow waves. They died. They lived. They *dreamed*. The world was silent, and the ritual took its toll. Drained the world of so much, heavy and deep with immeasurable power. Furry things came up from below to look upon the catastrophe, unaware of its beauty. Unaware of the truth. They came, two by two, many by many, to reclaim and spread. Their march to mind set in a world quietly healing from being undone. Bones sank into an earthly embrace. Men came. And all the while, down his soul, came the memory. Came the faintest touches, the quietest whispers. Slow at first, like the gentlest signs of a season changing. Like first winter frost, easy to miss, to forget, but building all the while. Louder and longer and deeper. Stories and dreams, prophecies; stirred by forgotten gene-songs. The words changed but the meaning remained. The urgency. The truth. The world would be theirs again.


I’m watching him over the rim of a glass of red wine. *Gosling-handsome*, I think to myself as the rich rioja slides down my throat and esophagus before resting at the bottom of my stomach. I should have eaten first, now I’ll get tipsy after my first glass. I’m sitting at a small round table that is covered in a white cloth. At the center is a tall, black vase with a long-stalked flower. A daisy of some sort - Oxeye maybe? I’m no expert on flowers, but it’s beautiful in its simplicity. In front of me, next to the glasses of wine and water and the small wine bottle, a delicately folded napkin is accompanied by lean, modern cutlery. When I arrived, the table was set for two, but Gosling quickly and subtly whisked away the second plate and cutlery after I mumbled that I am here alone. My eyes are drawn to the Gosling-waiter fluttering between the tables, and his eyes meet mine for a second. He raises his eyebrows as if asking if I want something, but I quickly shake my head and look down with a little smile on my lips. Am I flirting with a stranger? That’s insane. I almost giggle at the thought, but I mostly blush. I take a big sip of the wine, letting it do its job, while I sink into the chair. Me. Alone. Enjoying wine. A tingling sensation in my neck. It feels good. *Maybe I shouldn’t tell Stephen*. The tingle is replaced by a rigid, sharp feeling of anxiety, as I straighten up at the thought. Maybe when he asks about my visit to aunt Eden, I’ll just make up a story (watching TV, knitting, going through family albums - safe stuff). *No!* I will not. I have made up my mind, and I will look into his eyes and tell him I didn’t go. I went to a restaurant instead. It will be better that way. In the long run. A bowl of soup appears in front of me and makes me flinch. “Th-thanks!” I stutter as I try to regain posture. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I scare you?” He sounds worried and amused at the same time. “You looked like you were miles away.” I manage to mumble something reassuring and hunch over my miso soup, effectively blocking him from any further contact. I quickly take a spoonful of soup, and involuntarily moan as a searing hot piece of tofu wrecks my taste buds at the back of my tongue, before continuing its carnage down my esophagus on its journey to the red wine. Looking around I'm relieved to discover that Gosling is out of earshot. I continue glancing over at him while I eat the rest of my soup, more carefully this time. What will Stephen think when I tell him, I wonder. Me, alone, in a restaurant? He will laugh, surely, and shake his head and snort at the thought. He won’t believe it at first, but when he does, his eyes will fill with horror and anger. The questions that will fill his mind are going to be down the line of “Is the bitch cheating on me?”, “Is this little lowlife whore *leaving* me?”, and next he will punch me. Hard. Hard enough to make me fall over. Then he will kick me. My stomach, my back, my head. After that, I don’t know. But I know it’s not good. He *did* warn me: no funny ideas. Here he is again, Gosling, carrying a plate of yellow pickled ginger, green wasabi cream and red and orange pieces of sushi, draped over the white lumps of rice, just big enough to fill my mouth. Somehow my soup bowl has disappeared, and he’s now placing the plate in front of me, before pouring a bit of soy sauce into a tiny glass bowl. A set of chopsticks has magically appeared on top of a fresh napkin. “Thank you,” I say, more relaxed this time, but I make sure not to look at him. His hand grazes my underarm as he pulls it back, and I feel myself stiffening. *It was just a coincidence, don’t worry about it*, my mind insists, but my body is on the verge of getting up from the chair and running out of the restaurant. I force myself to sit tight. Calming my breath, I look up to send him a smile of gratitude, but he’s already gone, heading over to a couple at another table. My hands are shaking as I pour myself another glass of wine and mix a little wasabi in the soy sauce. It feels like a miracle that I don’t spill anything. Encouraged, I pick up a piece of ginger with my fingers, smirking at the thought of how Stephen would frown at this act. I stick my tongue out (not too far) and place the ginger slice on it. Chewing slowly, the sour, strong taste feels cleansing, and I feel much calmer as I reach for the chopsticks and use them to bring the first of eight tasty treasures to my mouth, only slightly delayed by a detour into the soy sauce mix. *It’s the best I have ever tasted. It’s the best I will ever taste.* Stephen has taken me to restaurants 19 times, once for each year we have been married, always on our wedding day. But never to a sushi restaurant, just safe, cheap diners with “normal food”. He says “normal food” while snorting at the thought of anything expensive or exotic. My eyes swipe over Gosling again. He’s a few years older than Norah, but no more than 25. Maybe they know each other? *I can’t believe she’s 19 years old already.* Her new apartment is on the other side of the town. Stephen bought it for her for her birthday. He has been spoiling her her whole life. When she was born, he took control of everything, even insisted on feeding her, leaving me to pump breast milk and making formula when I couldn’t anymore. I don’t feel as connected to her as I suspect other mothers do, but he was so fantastic with her that I made my peace with it. That too. I pour the rest of the wine and, as I drink, I can sense the heat of it rising to my cheeks. I will enjoy this experience to the max. Three pieces of nigiri are still left on my plate and I tremble in excitement at the thought of eating them. Devouring them. Feeling how the taste and texture will fill me with happiness from the tip of my toes to the top of my head. I’m entitled to feel happy for a little while. I am! This *is* after all, my very last meal.


Pain is a funny thing. One day it is so consuming you cannot breath, cannot function. Everything is fuzzy, low hums replace words. Your body goes on auto pilot and hours pass and you wonder how you got through the day. No one bats an eye lid because you smile and joke, you say all the right things and you body gives no indication of the decay that is happening inside. Before you know it you are alone in your room. Homework has been done, dinner has been eaten. You sit next to your Dad, watching the new episode of some crime drama while practicing the knitting stitches your mom taught you. In your room you are finally free to feel all the pain that has been built up. Sigh a relief that the pretending is over and the tears start to fall down your face. They are fat tears that tickle your face as they roll down. The salty taste upsets your stomach which sets off more tears. Betrayal, you have no right to dislike the tears as it is all your fault for them in the first place. Your mind wonders, how did you get here again? You cannot tell your parents because they thought that this was taken care of. 3 nights a week going to group therapy, to talk to a safe adult and like teens who have been through the same thing. Even though your mom said she wanted you better, her sighs when she realises that she needs to drive you again. The low talking to herself about how she will pass the two hours. How she cannot go to her book club for the time being because she needs to sit in the waiting room judging the other parents. It is obvious why their kids are messed up, but didn’t your father and I give you everything you needed? Did the family vacations and cello lessons mess you up? The summers spent on your Great Grandpa’s dairy farm running care free some how make you funny? We don’t understand where this came from Doctor, she has never shown any signs of being sad. Is it chemical imbalance? I cannot see how Doctor, we only eat organic. No unhealthy food is allowed in my house. Sometimes it isn’t even the talking, its the looks. How the family will go silent when you enter the room. Odd eye contact passes between the other people in the room. The fake dusty flowers that have been there forever suddenly become the high light of the room. Look how they arrange, they really bring the room together. Even though they are fake can’t you smell the fresh roses? Oh Grandma, the arrangement of roses and lilies really were a good choice. What? Grandpa got them for you for your 10th wedding anniversary? But they still look new! Yes, they are a good reminder that even when things are bad, you can always top and smell the fake flowers haha. Then all eyes fall on you. A good reminder that even when you are sad, stop and smell the fake flowers your great grandpa bought for $1.75 back in 1945. The over excited ‘Well look who it is! Aren’t you getting big and beautiful! Your puppy fat is finally going haha must be the volleyball.’ All done with good intentions but the tone shows it is forced. No one knows how to talk to a sad person. No one thinks that just saying ‘I’m here for you’ is ever good enough. But it is good enough. You don’t need advice, advice on how to wear your hair, grow it out honey you don’t want people to think you like girls. Really black lipstick, do we need to talk to your youth pastor? I’d buy her something pink but her body may burst into flames if she wears anything other than black haha. Your mind is racing. How do you stop the tears? How do you stop the pain? What did the safe adult say? Write it down? You should write it down but you can’t anymore. Mom found your journal and said that it was appropriate for you to have such bad thoughts. Dad tried, he said maybe it was good for you to write it out so you don’t hold it in, but he lost just as much as you did. Absolutely not, she needs to think better, she needs to see all we do for her and be grateful. Dad half smiled at you, he understood what you were going through. He said the safe adult recommended a journal, but mom still threw it in the fire place. You should have gotten sad in the spring, low chance of the fire place being on. Think of something funny. The time you were on the farm and you got your boot stuck in the mud. You couldn’t stop laughing as you stood there like a flamingo on one leg, waiting for your dad to come and rescue you. He kept telling you to just walk over, we will change your sock but you refused, wet and dirty socks were the worst! He was laughing and upset at the same time. He came and plucked you up but then he got his foot stuck in the mud and you both fell over. The laughter that rang through out the farm. He asked you if you preferred to be fully covered in mud or just your one sock, and to your surprise you lifted up your bootless foot and told him your sock was still clean. The two of you spent a good five minutes laughing and your clean sock. Afterwords you both decided the only way to get fully clean was to jump into the man made lake that was on your great grandpas farm. You both ran on the dock and just jumped in fully clothed. You splashed and laughed as the ducks swam around you. You floated on your backs and cloud gazed. Finally your mom came out and told you both to get inside and get properly clean. She scolded your dad for allowing you to get filthy and proper girls didn’t role around the in the mud and then jump in a lake for a bath. This wasn’t the early 1900s anymore, we have hot water for a reason. A knock on the door, a quiet hey you still awake? Oh hey dad, give me a minute. Why are you crying honey? Its ok, I’m here, move over let me sit on the bed with you. Dad I’m sorry I have been such a burden lately. What? No not at all, whatever it takes to get you better. But I don’t know what makes me so sad all the time. Then we keep trying to find it out. But mom is losing patience. Mom grew up differently, idle hands are the devils play thing, more work less time for day dreaming. Maybe a part time job would help me? Make some new friends, some money for myself. For more black cloths haha. Dad, it isn’t black it is a dark gray haha. Whatever you want to do honey, but do it for you, not for your mom or me. Dad does mom hate me? What? No of corse not, she just hates that she cannot control your mind. She knows what she needs to do to make herself happy but when it comes to you she is at a lost. I try to make her think what she wants for me is helping, but it isn’t. I know sweetheart, but don’t worry we will figure it out. Dad, I’m so sorry. Oh honey, come here, cry it out if it will help. The only thing that could be heard are the sound of your tears. Finally someone says they are here for you. No advice, no pointers, no sly remarks. Just someone fully there for you unconditionally.


Break into a Thin Ocean Place Drawing breaths between gritted teeth, in response to more up ended bins, rubbish strewn wide and broken windows. Sonya also noticed still wet graffiti daubed on toilet walls and tried to ignore Faberge egg shapes morphed into sharp edged phallic looking shapes as she walked down to the water. And wondered about necessity to appreciate this daubing as art, no matter how she looks, nothing artistic jumps out and bites her. There, as if an ultimate contrast to her mood, she saw a vision of happiness. A young woman was throwing a stick for a big, handsome dog. He tore back and forth on narrow shores, bounding and leaping with pleasure. As if this tripled any other euphoric canine experience. Dog body language said, beach, walk, best day ever! Rather than harbour thoughts of dog joy, Sonya forced herself away, kept her lips pursed, almost bit her tongue. Conceded she missed owning a dog, unconditional affection, canine happiness vibes and simple dependability. Another thing her ex had removed. She gathered herself inward, instead of speaking, else her anger at yet another vandal attack gets loose on some poor innocent dog walker. Thin edge of a wedge pushed more positive vibes as Sonya felt water curl around her toes. Warm and welcoming, liquid did not cut, punish or destroy. Instead licked her ankles. Salt in the air caresses her stomach. Ocean rolls, connecting with her belly. She looks at minute details in the sand, tiny undulations and high water marks. Not far away from the woman and her dog, was her neighbour, John. For the umpteenth time, told herself their relationship possessed more dimensions than proximity. Once again, with his tripod set up close to water’s edge. When he noticed Sonya, he waved. A grateful acknowledgement, stronger than earlier visions of hooligan damage. Feet propelled her in his direction. As if repelled by opposite magnets she associated with still dripping graffiti. ‘They’re always changing,’ John said, enamoured by watery weeds. ‘Light, current, wind, way they float and move, fluttering on all sorts of rhythms. I’ve taken dozens of pictures and each one is subtly different. Can’t decide which camera aperture captured image is best.’ Something about his manner, broke through Sonya’s negativity. To her, John brought good vibes; a token photography magazine in her letter box, or tiny, still warm pancakes, delivered on Shrove Tuesday. Little things, a smile, and raised eyebrow of recognition, visible through a crowded meeting hall. John embodied more family member traits than a orbiting merely as a neighbour. Indeed, less judgmental, because she could talk more candidly with him, than to her own brothers.

‘My dad believed we’re made up of invisible currents. He used to say there were ‘thin places’ where we’re closer to unseen worlds.’ ‘Name a thin place.’ John asked without looking up from rock puddles and weeds. ‘Ocean side. You stand next to seas and you’re in touch with longings and losses.’ ‘Longings and losses. Does sort of sum up ocean side sensations.’ Her mind swung back to a time when no excitement competed with a beach arrival. In a loaded-up van, full of siblings arguing about seating arrangement. Soon about to glimpse blue waves in gaps through bush, out a window past her father’s sun spot flecked arm. Heavy wheels, produced new divots on well-worn tracks, which pushed through thick Banksia trees and lower growing melaleuca shrubs. ‘Won’t be long before I can bring my hives down here.’ Her father scanned vegetation more than actions of his offspring. ‘Be a mass of flowers in no time.’

All about blooms, seasons, hive sites, according to Dad. Whereas back then Sonya lusted after empty beach sands, shifting waters, salt spray and next best-ever-special shell discoveries. A twinge of nostalgia for a more pristine coast needled. Too many people, houses and cars pushed in these days. If only she might travel back to, so much easier, childhood days. ‘So much easier now cameras recognize low-light algorithms. I can past water surfaces.’ Interrupted John. ‘You’ve crossed another thin place barrier.’ Words released while Sonya maintained her nostalgia. Driving in as kids, many corrugated minutes after they’d left smooth highways, it was possible to note subtle differences. Top sand which faded in two long wheel spaced strips, first grey, edged with wild oats and twigs, turning to paler as dunes dominated. Big trees decreased until low scrub took over. Ought to be clear lines on a map to mark zones. Smells of salt, open water expanses, rushing waves drifted into wound down windows, as deeper breaths were drawn. As the last hill was crested, full views of the beach visible. Blue of water and sky almost melting into each other. Just as quickly hillocks enclosed again, sometimes they caught sight of swamp reeds in a low depression. Dad often said, ‘some years reeds flower. Each bloom has male and female parts, you know. People call them Cat’s tails. But when they fluff up and explode into a mist of flakes, more like tiny flea infestations. Useless to bees, though.’ Words only wafted like those seeds until hidden ocean blues were revealed. Further away, before the family car vanished down unsealed tracks, closer to highways where tiny shops encouraged those here for surf activities to partake of fresh fish and crisp fried chips. Tantalizing glimpses of ocean vistas. Promised ride-able waves and cooling swims. Now any distance between buildings, commercial businesses and beach drastically reduced. As if dunes and coastal shrub had been chewed away by some introduced predator. Dad, sure to comment, bee sites so much further away now. He did keep struggling until he sold remaining hives to a man who marketed, via face book and websites, coastal honey (whatever that meant) at grower’s markets. Sonya recalled coastal flowers glossed only by rising, or setting suns. No need to take out phones, post on Instagram. And John’s photographic activities weren’t they just a step up from juvenile, takie-photos. Childhood arrivals meant a laden station wagon being embraced by sand hills, followed by expectations displaced by sheer joy of being near this tumbling blue goddess. Father’s words, ‘everything’s changed.’ As if citing a thin edge, evoked sensations of lust for ownership strong enough to preserve swaths of coast and grieve for environments lost. John broke through Sonya’s memories touching a cold finger to her wrist. Leaving her wondering, how does he do that? Sonya looked around and concluded, current arrivals didn’t provide similar sights nor anticipation. Especially when she need only glace to see evidence of constant vandal attacks. Shading her brow, looking at this view, she took in a narrow beach, captured by rock pools soon to be refilled by incoming tides. Tides, time and rising oceans, along with crowds stolen those remembered wide shores. Recalling how even on the grayest of days water glimmered a most extraordinary blue, as if generating its own light. Possible to follow line of shores, see hills rise around quiet bays, detect summer green grass slowly fade toward winter brown. She wondered, how long before local marauders launched projectiles into those ocean edged pools, rubbish tipped from bins, plastic bags, broken surfboards and random shrapnel collected into crevices. While she was happy to linger, John again interrupted. ‘We best make a move, before we need water boots to make the car park.’ As they walked John’s camera gear clunked. ‘You really have to stop getting so cross about things.’ ‘It’s that obvious.’ ‘Look on your face, gave things away.’ ‘And here was I thinking an encounter with dog and stick brushed clenched jaw and wrinkled brow away.’ ‘Not quite. Besides you seldom beach walk when you’re calm and collected.’ ‘Again, you’re right. I hope for better therapy, thin edges to take me away, confirm longings, give me ability to ignore losses.’ Rain out over the ocean obliterated a stretch of ragged cliff with squally grey sea beyond dissonance between rock and water. While she looked Sonya craved her tempers breaking like a thunderstorm, just so she could relish a post-tempest freshness. A metallic aroma lifting in wafts of released moisture equal to one-time aggression. A toughness of existence is battled out here. Evolution harsh on lands edge which drifted away form a great southern continent, breaking up under liquid pressure. Boundaries established with flora defined like sea and land – no millimetre surrendered without a battle of will. Each layer of land from the ocean to mountains is defined by the ability to conform to atmospheric pressures. A drop in wind is a moment to be savored as precious time before the next front from our closest star or celestial circling rock decides to wreck equilibrium of our floating oasis and create majestic chaos. Here is a place where you just exist and feel lucky to witness. Buff-green swellings indicated elevation and magnitude of land-ocean edges. In one dimension, water appeared to be part of land, while obviously and entirely two separate elements. Yet residing on a thin edge, longed to be one in the same and shake off their separation. As if another dimension existed only in this place, where water and land met. Sonya hears again her father’s, ‘closer to unseen worlds,’ belief in the fantastic. What if she could vanish on those invisible currents? Or devise a way to make stronger connections with shifting waters and sand to push away her tempers. If so who’d shout at Councillors, who’d write to newspapers and ultimately who’d keep powerful developers away. Gulls, dark headed and greedy, spun on thermals above cliff edges and then dropped away, like bit parts in some conjuring trick. Seemed to be more birds lately, or maybe they stuck closer to beach side all-you-can-eat rubbish bins. Perhaps envoys from more pristine shores sent to warn, if only tone-deaf humans learnt their idioms. Heading back towards houses John and Sonya encountered butterflies dancing in a depression between low scrubby sand hills. Moments later, before John could swing his camera into use, these insects were gone. ‘Damn, missed a calendar shot, right there.’ As if the extent of any interaction with scenery reduced to a monthly portal only available free from the local chemist. Glare from white sand edging an estuary below cliffs made Sonya squint as if walking from a darkened room out to a whitewashed courtyard. Her shoulders stooped, and sweat gathered underneath Sonya’s shirt.

‘All very beautiful,’ John said, looking again out to sea, ‘in some ways more real than anything I’ve seen.’ ‘So how do you preserve this serenity? ‘I try not to think about big things, focus instead on minuscule elements, weeds in a rock pool resembling green hair floating in tiny currents, butterfly wings, a dog chasing a stick.’ ‘Yet, look out there, its huge. Makes me feel helpless, as if I can’t possibly fight against so many negatives.’ John reached out, held his hand lightly over her shoulder. Almost touching, for the umpteenth time Sonya noticed yellow flecks in his eyes. ‘What is it you want to change?’ ‘I’d be happier, calmer if council members would listen to suggestions, especially about development applications. Be fabulous if policemen they send down here, during summer’s influx did something more pro-active about willful damage to change rooms, toilets and beach rubbish bins. But those fly in, fly out authorities don’t care. Shouldn’t be so hard to identify, they keep daubing repeated symbols. You’d think officials track down who is Tap’n Dude? ’ ‘At least the Council purchased some of my prints to display in public buildings, and ensured an annual arts festival. I feel affirmed, as if I’ve broken through what might be damaged.’ Sonya smiled. ‘You are my best friend John. But I get angry. Willful destruction of facilities and the environment are issues more than recoverable by pretty pictures and art works.’ ‘Maybe we could organize groups of those kids to daub artistic creations, not only along foreshores but within the age care village. Might take a while, but things may change as those kids grow up. Encourage more people to visit your father’s thin place.’ ‘Maybe then they’d fall through and vanish into unseen worlds, along with broken shorelines and ugly graffiti.’ ‘A tad cruel to wish on another person. Besides I think I’ve worked out who is Tap’n Dude. Got to be Saltant’s boy, Joel.’ ‘How’d you figure that out?’ ‘Crosswords, it’s another word for leaping, jumping, dancing. Sort of a puzzle, shorten words, sometimes reverse their names, I’ve been watching, guessing, making connection. Plus other tiny bits of evidence. ’ ‘Such as…’ ‘Spray cans out in their rubbish, same name on the back of his cap.’ ‘I know you focus on small things, but I’m not convinced, photos, murals and art work can make a difference.’ ‘No matter, Joel will be the first one I approach. What d’you think?’ About to reply, too slow, lips moving but words not ready. John continued. ‘Seems to be a creative force. Possible to be channeled. I’ll ask if he wants to be part of an artistic project, to splash new images and pictures around. Worth a try, I reckon.’ Sonya stamps her foot. Believed John needed to fix a wide angle lens to that camera of his. Take some images to demonstrate intensity of increased storms. Show less run off and flushing of estuaries and rising tides eating away at the very bedrock. Only then would he be able to appreciate how loss functioned. No matter how much nostalgia Sonya evoked doors to unseen worlds were creaking closed. Thin places growing scarcer by the minute.


She would leave.  It was the best possible solution to their problems.  Who was she kidding? A romantic getaway with a man who had given up months ago couldn't...wouldn't fix their problems.  So she made up her mind.  At first light she would leave their beautiful chalet and their relationship forever. She sat in the great window of their cabin and watched the sun come up over the silver-tipped mountains.  It was amazing how long the sluggish sun took to make its drowsy appearance when the importance of one's fate was at hand.  She had never really unpacked because she never really believed that this trip could be anything other than what it was, a final good-bye to a seven-year relationship.  But sitting in this big, plush chair, she realized it held her the way he used to hold her.  It was warm just like his arms, and she found herself casting a glance to the bedroom where she knew he slept. She hated to admit that she still wanted this from him. The sun creeped its lazy ascension into the world, and she realized the world that surrounded her had transformed over night into a winter white world that she had only seen in pictures. It was a beautiful and a truly breath-taking blanket of pure white.  It only made her think of how she'd love to snuggle up next to him, feel his warmth under the covers, but she knew that the words of the past stacked an unbreakable wall between them.  The "I could never forgive you" that she'd spoken just days before made her sick to her stomach.  She wished she could just simply take it back.  How could they go back? So much had been done.  So much had been said. She heard him stir. It was as if her hopes and dreams were somehow cast into the room he slept so soundly in. He had no idea that she would be walking out the door in the next few minutes.  Maybe she could try, again.  Tell him that all she wanted was his love, to forget all the things that had gone wrong over the years.  She could forgive him, but there was so much between them that she didn't know if it was possible. "Amy, why are you up..." he said, trailing off.  He saw her bag by the door.  He instantly knew why.  Walking to the window, he looked at the new fallen snow.  "Looks like a lot fell over night, huh?" "Yes, it does." She said, still watching the sun rise over the trees. She wouldn't...couldn't look at him. He would see it in her face, the resolve within herself. In the distance, the light of the sun touch the tips of the mountains creating golden peaks where silver tips had once been.  She felt her breath catch at the sight, and she exhaled for the first time in months. "It's beautiful, isn't it?  It just seems so easy." He said resting his hand on the back of her chair. "What seems easy?" She asked, a little confused at how a sunrise could be easy. "Nature.  It isn't hard for the sun to come up.  It just does, and then something miraculous, out of the blue happens, like snow.  It's the easiest thing. " His eyes were now on his wife.  Her eyes were welding with tears.  He saw them, but he knew she didn't want him to see them. "Yeah, you're right, Adam.  The natural thing isn't hard. Not at all."  She wiped the tears that were now streaming down her cheeks.  It was so natural for her to love him, but she didn't feel like it was natural for him to love her at all. It certainly wasn't natural to be thinking of leaving him. Here he was talking about the sun and snow, but what about them?  She stood up to step closer to the window.  The light danced off the snow.  She wanted to step out in it, be anywhere that didn't make her feel this way, but she knew that leaving now would be impossible.  There was simply too much snow. Adam stepped closer to the window.  Taking another step toward his wife, he touched her waist.  "Amy...I..." he trailed, pulling her close to him. "No, no..." Amy said, pushing away from him. "What do I have to do?  Amy, I'm sorry for the millionth time!" Adam pleading, rushing to pull her into him. "No, Adam!" You don't just get to put a band-aid on our relationship.  You don't just get to buy me gifts and take me on trips!  You don't just get to say, 'I'm sorry!'  Aren't you tired? Like, really tired of the up and downs?" She was looking at him finally.  She wanted him to really see her pain.  She wanted him to acknowledge her hurting heart. "I am tired.  I'm so tired of feeling guilty. I know I've been a terrible husband! I'm tired of trying, and you keep pushing me away.  You never gave this trip a chance, Amy. Do you think I don't see this bag?  Your bag is packed.  Where are you going?" Adam now looked at his wit's end.  He was pacing back and forth. But Amy had no words.  If she really spoke them, it would be true.  There would be no going back.  Just like that, seven years would be gone and wasted.  So she watched him.  She watched his face turn from worry to anger to mere frustration at her none answer. Finally, he walked over to her.  "Are you leaving me, Amy?" So they had come to this. She stared into his eyes looking for truth, looking for love, looking for a reason to stay. "You don't want me, do you? Really, Adam.  You don't, right? It took us this long to get here.  Look at this beautiful place.  Look at us. It's literally where I've always wanted to be with you but not like this." Amy cried, shaking her head. "Not like this? What do you mean? Not like me, really trying to love you? I do love you. I want you, and I know you want me! I keep trying to show you, and I just don't know how. I don't know how. I don't know--" Adam gripped his jaw, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. "Not like me feeling heart broken and angry with you! You broke my heart, Adam! I don't know how to be here with you!" Amy sank back down in the chair allowing it to envelop her the way she wished Adam could, but she knew she couldn't...wouldn't let him in. They sat in silence for a moment, both gathering themselves until Adam broke the silence. "Let me love you, Amy." Adam said facing Amy.  "That's how to be here with me.  You can feel what you want to feel, but please, just let me love you.  Let me back into your heart." Amy looked into Adam's eyes and for a moment, her breath caught in her throat as it had before with the sunrise.  She exhaled when she finally saw a needing-kind of desperate love in his eyes.  She knew it, for it was the kind of love she saw in herself for him. Taking Adam's hand, Amy led him into the bedroom and let him hold her.  She let him kiss her.  She heard his pleas of love.  She kissed him back.  She let their love intertwine into something beautiful again until their bodies locked in warm, desperate surrender. And as the snow kept falling outside their chalet, miracle that it was, Amy remembered what it was to love a man who needed her as much as she needed him and just how easy that really was.


It was a normal day in the life of the 24-year-old Josh Hopkins who has been working at his dream company and has a beautiful wife waiting for him at home. At least this is what he was dreaming about until the alarm buzzed.

Josh: (Yawns) “Time to get up buddy, and go for another day of waste while job hunting.” Meanwhile, there is a loud knock on the door by Josh’s flatmate and college friend Sara.

Sara: (Yelling) “Wake up you good for nothing guy, I am going to the restaurant, make sure you get your ass dressed and find a job already, or else you are moving out of here.” Sara works as a waitress at a restaurant while struggling to be a published writer. Josh finally wakes up and dresses up to leave for the unending struggle that has been the routine of his life since he lost his last job. On his way, he kept thinking that only if there was a way for him to win some instant cash then he would not need to be worried about the daily nagging by Sara.

At this time, something crosses his eye. He takes a second look at what is supposed to be a poster for the new reality TV show “Survival Couple”.

The poster says: “Enter with your beloved partner now to have a chance of winning a million dollars in just 10 days.”

At first, Josh completely ignores the thought thinking the last time he talked to his ex-girlfriend Kathy was 2 years ago. The day continues just like the other days with Josh returning home hungry and disappointed. On his way, he bought instant noodles, well what to expect from a jobless guy. Soon, Sara returns home exhausted.

Sara: (Sitting with her head tilted on the sofa) “So you useless guy did you find a job? Or you again just roamed around and ate instant noodles?) Josh: (Laughing) “HAHAHAHA! You know me so well.” Sara: (Throwing the cushion at Josh) “This is no laughing matter, we haven’t paid the apartment dues for the last 5 months and this month Mr. Cook is sure to evacuate us unless we clear the dues.” At that moment a sudden idea hit the not so bright mind of Josh and he smilingly said, Josh: “Hey, I saw a reality TV show poster for couples; the winning prize is a million dollars and that too in just 4 days, what say we give it a shot?” Sara: (Surprised, and then burst into laughing) “You and me as a couple on a reality TV show? They would instantly catch upon our lie.” Josh: “No. not necessarily. Look, we have known each other for the last 8 years and have been sharing an apartment for the last two years; in the eyes of many people we would definitely be a couple.”

Sara: “Yeah, that is true but can we win the show? Do you really think so?” Josh: (Confidently) “Yes! It is at least worth a shot, we aren’t getting anywhere with our careers anyway.”

Sara: (Still unsure) “All right, let’s give it a go, register us and we will see what happens.” Josh: “Hey are you so opposed to the idea of even dating me for 4 days to even not be swayed by a million dollars!” Sara: (chucking) “That’s because I know you dumbass, and I also know that you are still hung up on that ex-girlfriend of yours.” John: (Silently) “Hmmmm……” That night Josh registers both of them as a couple for the reality TV show. They get an email the next day regarding an audition to grant entry in the main show. Both Josh and Sara get dressed and go to the venue.

Sara: “Woah! This is huge, just look at the size of that stage.”

Josh: “Yeah well what did you think? They are giving a million dollars as the prize money and from what I have heard they will make the main round participants live together at a separate venue.”

Sara: “That is so cool man; we get free food for 4 days.”

Josh thinking in his mind that they really need to win the competition or they are not going to have a place to live starting next month. As he was lost in this thought their name was called up. Judge A: “Introduce each other and tell something weird but cute about each other.” Josh: (Seemingly looking tensed) “Ummm… So, this is my girlfriend Sara James. We have known each other for the last 8 years, went to high school and college together, and now we live together. She has a habit of suddenly talking in impersonated voices of famous movie villains; it always cracks me up (laughing).” Sara: “This is Josh Hopkins my boyfriend, and as he mentioned we have known each other for the last 8 years and currently live together. He has a weird habit of thinking way ahead like marriage, children, etc. He builds up different scenarios and asks me questions, any other girl would totally feel weird but I kind of like his way of thinking.”

Judge B: “All right, this is a test, please fill it separately, you have 3 minutes, do not think long just right the first thing that comes to your mind otherwise you will not be able to complete the entire test which could lead to disqualification.”

Josh and Sara fill the form in a hurry and hand them over and then look at each other chuckling. Judge B: “Okay, thank you for your time. We will email you your results by tonight and the details about the next round.”

Josh on his way out: “Woah! That was nerve-racking, I was about to spill the beans in the test.” Sara: “Totally, I don’t even know how I did on the test; all the questions were related to the cheesy stuff that couples do.”

Josh: “Well let’s see what results we got, for the moment let’s get something to eat from the diner.” Later that night, they receive an email detailing their selection and the next round. Josh: “Sara pack your bag we are leaving for Los Angeles tomorrow.” Sara: “Home huh? It’s been two years since we last went back home. I wonder how your ex Kathy is doing nowadays.” Josh ignores her and goes to pack his stuff. The next day they leave for Los Angeles on the TV show’s bus. Finally, after a tiring ride, they reach the hotel at which the main rounds are going to happen. All the participants start to gather in the lobby for the instructions, and it is when they see an old face. Kathy: “Hey Josh! What are you doing here? (Then she sees Sara) Hey Sara! Long time no see girl, where have you been? No one at the hometown has a clue about you.” As Josh was about to respond the host comes and calls the attention of all the participants. She congratulates everyone on reaching the main round and informs them about the show’s procedure. After the introduction is complete, they tell us to go and rest for the night in our designated rooms. As Josh and Sara were about to leave, Sara approaches them: Kathy: “So you two are a couple now? Who knew that the kid A of our college and the lonely beauty would end up together.” For a minute pin drop silence echoes throughout the atmosphere when finally Josh speaks Josh: (sensing Sara’s uneasiness) “Yeah, astonishing things do happen, I mean look at you who knew that you would start to date the quarterback of our high school football team.” Kathy: “True, but Smith here is a real sweetheart, he lets me do whatever I want.” Smith: (Phone rings) “Sorry guys have to take this call; it was nice meeting you both again. Kathy comes to our room when you are done talking.” Kathy: “So Josh when did you two start dating, was it right after our breakup?” Josh: “No, it was sometime after when I met her in New York by chance.” Kathy: (touching Josh’s arm) “You sly dog, I never knew that you could get The Sara to be your girlfriend. Sara so tell me about it does he still do that trick with his tongue in the bed? I have been with many guys but no one can match that.” Sara seemed uneasy to reply. Josh: “Hey Kath! Come on give her a break. We are pretty tired from the ride; see you tomorrow at the competition.” Kathy finally left Josh’s arm when he grabbed Sara’s hand to go to their room. On their way, Sara was absolutely quiet. After freshening up, Josh sits on the sofa and Sara on the bed. Josh: “I am sorry for what happened downstairs, I had no idea Kathy would be here.” Sara: (showing a poker face) “Hmmmm……” Josh: “All right let us get some sleep we have a big day tomorrow. I’ll take the sofa, you can have the bed.” Sara without saying anything went to bed. The next morning when Josh woke up, Sara wasn’t in the room, he dressed up and went to look for her, he found her walking near the poolside.

Josh: “Hey! What’s up? Something troubling you?” Sara: “Nothing much. So, tell me something. Do you still have some lingering feelings left for Kathy?” Josh: “No, not at all, what gave you that idea?” Sara: “Well you seemed to be pleased to see her and especially when she was touching your hand.” Josh: “Oh come on, that was nothing at all, you are overthinking it. Right now we are a couple and we need to concentrate to win the million dollars.” Soon after that, they went to the lobby for the first competition of the main round.

Host: “We have here 64 couples with us, after this first round more than half of them will be eliminated from the competition and would have to go home immediately. The first round is the cook-off, in this round all the males will cook a dish in 20 minutes, and then the ladies will have to judge that which dish was made by their partner.” The round kicks off and all the males hustle and work against the clock. Finally, all the dishes are made and the tasting and decision are done by the females. Host: “Only 16 females were able to guess the correct dish, their names are Elizabeth Love, Sara James, Kathy Kristen, ………………….. The selected teams have now a 30-minute break during which they can enjoy at this luxurious hotel.” Kathy: “Congratulations guys! We both made it to the next round, by the way, Josh you made the Half-fried omelet right? I knew it just by having the first bite you still make some cruel omelets.” Josh: “Yeah that was me, though I was surprised that Sara was able to guess correctly since..” Kathy: (Interrupting him) “Why? Hasn’t she had your omelet since you two have been dating for a while?” Josh who almost slipped the secret that he has never cooked this dish for Sara. “No no, I meant that she is very bad with tasting, she can’t even differentiate between Mozarella and Cheddar, I mean can you believe it?” Kathy: (laughing hysterically and again touching Josh’s hand) “Oh my seriously?” Sara: (Sighs and then goes to the lobby to wait for the next round alone, meanwhile Kathy stops Josh from going and keeps flirting with him.) Finally, the time for the second round arrives.

Host: “The second round will have two couples make a team and take part in the treasure hunt. Only the first 6 teams to finish the hunt will qualify for the next round. Kathy, Smith, Josh, and Sara coincidentally end up in the same team.” Kathy: “Let’s do this guys we have to take the first position, remember Josh how we won the treasure hunt in college, we can do it this time too.” They all start the hunt and easily reached the last clue first, the last clue required them to take the stairs all the way to the rooftop. All of them ran to the top, Smith being the athlete he was, was way ahead and behind him was Kathy and then Josh and Sara when suddenly Kathy missed a step and slipped, spraining her leg.

Kathy: “Aaahhh…..Aaaahhh…..Help me Smi……Help me, Josh!” Josh stops and takes her hand while Sara stares at them, Kathy tells him to take her to the top in his arms or give her a piggyback ride, Josh after retaliating uselessly gives her a piggyback ride. Sara after seeing hurries to the rooftop and they end up winning the Treasure hunt and move to the next round. After that Smith takes Kathy to the infirmary while Sara is still quiet.

Host: “Congratulations to the 12 teams here to qualify for the finals. The finals will start the day after tomorrow and will go on for two days, and at the end of it we will have our final winner.” Josh and Sara go to their room, and still, there is a distance between them as Sara does not talk much. Meanwhile, Kathy comes back, she just had a light sprain. The next day passes by as all of them enjoy the leisure activities provided at the hotel, throughout which Kathy keeps flirting with Josh. Finally, the day of the final round arrives. Host: “The final round will be spread over two days. To win the couples have to do the tasks listed in the instruction manual given to you. The final task carries the most marks and will probably determine the winner, only one team will be able to complete that task.” Josh looks at the tasks, most of the tasks are fairly simple while some are a bit tricky. The final task is left blank, and in the end, it is written to fill this task after completing the rest of the tasks.

Both the couples were able to do almost all of the tasks listed, although what they did not know was that one task was different for every couple. Kathy and Smith had the task to go confess and kiss to the opposite gender of one couple, only one of them had to do it. So they decided Kathy should do it with Josh since they already know each other. Kathy finds Josh roaming around the pool at night and goes to him. Kathy: “Hey Josh listen, I want to confess something to you.” Josh: “What is it?” Kathy: “That time I did not break up with you because I was not in love with you but because I was scared that if you had gone to New York we would not be able to be happy. I still love only you Josh. (Kathy then suddenly kisses Josh)” Behind the scenes, Sara was listening and seeing the whole thing and she hurriedly went back to her room as a teardrop came into her eyes. The next morning all the teams did their tasks, and finally, only the last task was left. The last task was supposed to be thought and done by the males. Sara goes to her room telling Josh to figure it out and then call her. At night just 20 minutes before the countdown ends Josh messages, Sara, to come to the rooftop. When Sara reaches the rooftop she sees Kathy in Josh’s arms with her leaning on his chest. After that Kathy leaves while Sara hides. Then Sara opens the door and walks towards Josh. Josh: “You finally came, here I was worried that you might get late and we might lose.” Sara: “Well I did come early but you were busy flirting with your girlfriend.” Josh: “Wait what? Girlfriend? Who?” Sara: (Angrily) “Do not lie, I saw you and Kathy, today and even yesterday night. If you had gone back to her then why even bother to play this stupid show. (Sara bursts into tears)” Josh: (not knowing what to do) “Hey! it is not like that at all.” Sara: “Stop lying Josh. (Stuttering) I, I, I, I have always been waiting for you, for the last 8 years I have been waiting for you to love me. First, you did not even see me as a girl, and then you got into a relationship with that stupid Kathy, and then when you finally broke up I thought maybe now you will look at me, I even left a good job opportunity and came to New York chasing after you, I even lived in the same apartment thinking you might make a move on me this way but still to no avail and now when this was supposed to be our show you go back to her and embrace her. I hate you, I hate you so much.” Josh: “Hey Hey stop crying dumbass, you do not even know the whole story, last night was just a task that Kathy was completing and right now I called her to thank her for breaking up with me because it was because of that I was able to realize something very important (Josh sits with one leg bent and takes out a ring)” Josh: “Sara James, will you marry me and continue to handle my foolishness for the rest of your life?” Sara: (In a state of shock, shouts) “Yes! Yes! You stupid dumbass (she starts hitting him repeatedly after wearing the ring and then finally kisses him.” Host: “Everyone, we have our winner here. The final task was for the couples to show their true love. And what is true love if not marriage.” Josh lifts Sara in her arms and kisses her again, both of them smile and laugh like they never ever did before, and finally come together as one.


I am roused from my 10 a.m. slumber by the sound of a phone notification going off. Fuzzy dreams of black wavy hair and crinkled-eye smiles still linger in my head as I reach for my phone on my shelf. My initial thought is not that it could be you because I haven't heard from you in days. Although, who else could it be? My only friend is someone I've known since fifth grade, who is now 25 years old and married. She only reaches out to me once every two months through random Instagram messages from her favorite cat lover account to let me know she's still out there. If it's not her, then I'm sure it's another Instagram notification followed by forty others that will soon follow throughout the morning. But, then again, could it be you? I become excited as blurry images of brown doe eyes still rush to swarm my drowsy thoughts.

Don't be , I tell myself.

The notification list is just as I thought, except your beautiful, magnificent, adoring name, wedged in between the forty Instagram notifications, graces my small screen, impossible not to catch. A missed video call. Not a message. I look at the clock. I have work at 12:00. It takes 40 minutes to get there. Based on my typical routine, it should take approximately 10 minutes for a shower, 10 minutes for breakfast, and 5 minutes to make lunch (assuming we have turkey). Ok, I don't have time to call you back. But my finger selecting the notification has a mind of its own. I guess I'll skip lunch today. Or just work altogether.

It takes a minute to go through, but soon your bunny-toothed smile captures my screen. Your eyes squint in joy, and your hair flops around your head in black waves long enough to cover your secret bunny ears, which I know must be hiding underneath. But I can't miss the iced mug of dark yellow beer in your hand raised up to the screen. Now I understand why your smile looks so goofy. I laugh lightly to cover the worry. You are miles and miles away, and although it may not be 10 a.m. where you are, it's still 3 a.m. on a Saturday for you. I'm concerned. It seems like you're making this a habit. You're a casual drinker, but is it considered casual when you're crying by the night's end? I decide not to ask you. It's been a while; I keep it light. And I've missed you too much. I inform you that I have work in an hour, and I'll need to carry you in my pocket for the day. However, you don't acknowledge my playful attempt to get your attention. I send an onslaught of messages, each containing bright purple hearts, one after the other, but again I fail.

You've started a karaoke session in your apartment. Turns out you also sing when you're sad too. Since you're busy, I walk around the house getting ready for work and listen to your drunken melodies through my earbuds. Even while intoxicated, your voice is sickeningly sweet, pure, and honest, laced with pain in its octaves. I gladly listen to you sing and sing as I crack eggs on the counter for breakfast and fasten on my light-washed overalls, imagining you here beside me. After I've picked out a coat for the nippy Spring day, I realize you've gone quiet. I then notice you've disappeared from the screen when I look at my phone. Your room is dark, as usual, the only natural light emitted from a flickering candle you lit and placed in front of the screen. I look for you in the shadows. I can only make out the black couch and the scattered stars rotating on your ceiling, cascading over your living room in a green and blue galaxy-like dust projected from your favorite galaxy mood lamp. Then I hear the soft snores coming through my ear. You fell asleep. You're lying on the couch but out of the video lens. The candle you have lit burns next to the screen; it sounds like a tiny crackling fireplace. It's peaceful. If I could, I'd stay and fall asleep right next to you.

It's now 11:25. Again, I am late. We'll talk next time.

At work later on I get a message from you: Lol, is it morning?! I still need to sleep more :) I'm still sleepy I reply back. Oh, look who woke up, sleepyhead >.< :)

—------------------------------------------- The library life is fantastically eventful. Only three or four patrons scour the dust and book-filled shelves and sit behind the only two available public computers in the corner. As I assist a patron with the printer, I ponder whether my English degree was a worthwhile investment. Meanwhile, I sneak glances at my phone hidden under the counter, eagerly anticipating a message from you. Although you're probably still sleeping in your beer coma. I shut my phone off. As I listen to an elderly man scold my coworker for not putting up the closed sign on our holiday Monday last week, my mind wanders into a daydream. I imagine you waking up to the warm midday sun with your hair tousled and your lips slightly swollen from a deep sleep, only to discover that your video is still on. I laugh lightly to myself. You'll probably be famished once you wake up.

I count the hours, I count the minutes, I watch old videos of you and your friends playing games of UNO and Jenga while I take phone calls that blur into one another. "No, this is not the Law Library," "Yes, you need a library card for that," "No, I cannot provide that." But it's not enough.

When I get home, I tell myself to search for new jobs. My part-time job doesn't pay me nearly enough to support me. Nor the occasional concert ticket. I fight the urge to check Instagram to see what you've been up to. I remind myself not to live vicariously through you, to not become too intertwined in your life. Holding onto my pink bunny plushie, I recite this mantra and open my computer only to see a collage of our pictures I made last month and set as my wallpaper, with your face in it. I fail.

I know you haven't posted anything, that's not unusual for you, but when I search your name, I can't find you. There are countless accounts with your exact name, but I don't see that familiar black-and-white silhouette profile picture. I check all the letters of your name. I spelled it correctly. Do I need to remember the underline? I type "J, U, N," but it doesn't appear. I check your messages from today. Could I have missed something while at work? I discover there's one message unread: I left Instagram. I just erased it because I never used it. I don't think I'll use it in the future just letting you know :) Oh. Well, at least I have your pictures saved. I close the app. I really need to get a life,

I think to myself . But where would I start?

I think back to the day I first saw you. My best friend invited me to her house one day; she had been trying to introduce me to you and your friends for months, stating you were the next big thing. She said you all sang and harbored immense talent, but she said your voice specifically was one of pure magic. I could care less, but she asserted that I had to see you; actually, she said, "You have to see his friend. He's so beautiful!." Your friend was more handsome, I'll admit. The first of your friend group to catch my eye and all the other girl's eyes, I'm sure. Initially, he appeared distant and aloof, resembling a stunning yet frigid sculpture. However, as the night progressed, I learned he was quite warm and open. Nevertheless, I took one long look at his marble form and let my eyes flit elsewhere. They fell on, what I come to know, as your more responsible friend. This one seemed most intuned with my usual type. Kind and intelligent and just a bit of a goofball. I sometimes imagine if you weren't there that day how we would be married by now, on our second child. Naming our second son Indigo. But I'd never tell you that.

I'd like to say I didn't see you first; instead, I heard you first. This doesn't make sense because sitting next to your friends, you were the more reserved of the group. The kind to watch things play out before acting. Shy, but not around those close to you. Your hair was cut short around your face, dyed a light brown, and straight. You had a constant Duchenne smile which made you appear innocent but a little mischievous. You definitely were noticed. When a karaoke session began, I watched as you went up for a rendition of

Memory of the Wind  by the singer Naul, right after your kind, intelligent friend had just jokingly butchered it. We laughed along with him at his self-deprecating humor; however, this suddenly broke off at the first sound of your voice. I was entranced. To this day, that song remains my favorite because you sang it. Even against the muffled mic defects in your 10-dollar karaoke microphone, your voice was clear and powerful, warm and comforting. Even your friend's laughter had abruptly paused as they sat and listened, even though I'm sure they'd heard it a hundred times before me. You were not just a noticeable boy anymore. You took the stage, the forefront. You became the glittering star. The crowd you made gather around you could not look away. And neither could I.

I still can't.

You were born to be a singer. Nobody that ever met you would ever question it. I was not surprised in the least when your talent was noticed by a large entertainment company too. I supported you from the sidelines and became one of your fans as you climbed to the top. I was ok in my little part of the world as you discovered and conquered the whole of yours. And you stayed humble, always coming back to me at the end of the day. You really loved me. You had never failed to say it every day. But calls got shorter, and the days got lonelier. What was I to expect? You were living your life; I needed to live mine.

You told me on a video call one day to prioritize my life and be happy even if you were not with me. You cried that day. You were drunk again. You were sitting at your dinner table with a white beanie and black hair underneath, curling against your neck.

Were you leaving me? Was this the end?  No, no,

you  were my only priority.

You

made me happy. I needed you. Nothing else mattered.

My friend, the one who introduced me to you in the first place, told me you were right. I needed to move on. I was becoming too "obsessed" with you, she said. But she didn't understand. We had something special. You loved me, and I loved you. We relied on each other. But I yielded to her concern and put on my best fake smile. So I went to college for five years and got that degree I'm still not sure I wanted or needed. I spent day after day writing, reading, writing. You went to the White House and shook hands with the President, targeting social issues, spending day after day singing, traveling, and winning. I heard a rumor you dated that famous singer with flawless skin, the pixy nose, the one with Bambi's eyes. Her songs are almost as mesmerizing as your voice. I can see why you picked her.

Over time, I have come to accept the bitter truth that your life is beyond my reach. Your life appears to be a constant display of vibrant purples and shimmering blues, like an endless fireworks show. You have found what you love, nurtured your talent, and let it flourish into beautiful roses. Giving one to each person whose lucky enough to receive one. I would like to take a little bit of your magic and sprinkle some overhead as well. Maybe some tulips might grow instead of these weeds.

I want to prove that although we may be far apart, our love for each other remains strong. I know I am your biggest supporter. If given a chance, I could make you happy and wipe away any tears that fall. I've known you for so long. Our friendship, our love, can overcome anything. —-------------------------------- I find myself standing at your doorstep, outside your hotel room. I had heard that you were in town, and although I know you value your privacy, I remember you mentioning that you wished we could all meet up in person instead of just chatting online. Maybe now is the right time for that. That day could be today. I took off the weekend from work to see you and be here for you. You seem so down lately, I had to come cheer you up. So here I am, food in tow, with your favorites, sweet bread, and strawberry milk.

A friend on Instagram told me you were staying here. I hope she's right. I even bought a room beneath the floor you're supposed to be staying on. It's 10 p.m. right now. Tomorrow is your 24th concert, but I'm sure you're awake, considering your video calls are always past 12 p.m. I waited until this floor was clear because I didn't want any distractions; I'm already nervous.

Room 284.  I knock on the door twice. I stand there for a minute or two, with no answer, before I hear footsteps coming down the hall.

I panic.

I drop the food in front of your door and sprint down the opposite direction of the hall, pushing through the emergency exit doors as I race down the three flights of stairwells and throw myself through the lobby stairwell entrance. I fly through the lobby, boots hitting against the red and beige patterned carpet until I pass the hotel bellhops with puzzled looks on their faces and set off down the sidewalk at full speed, my heart in my throat, and possibly the dinner I had three hours ago.

—--------------------------- "Did you see Jun-sang's Weverse post?" My boba drink is grasped tightly as I suddenly hear the name. I look up from my phone to find my friend staring at her phone across the table with a disturbed look. My palms suddenly feel sweaty.

"No, why?" My voice sounds calm enough.

"Those sasaengs are at it again." She rolls her eyes and hands her phone to me. I read the post for the second–first time.

Jun-sang: Please don't send me delivery food. I'm thankful for your concern, but I won't eat it even if you send it over. I'm serious. Stop. If I get sent food one more time, I will check the receipt number and take further action to stop this. End it beforehand.

My throat is dry. I can't form words, so I look up at my friend and widen my eyes in a dramatic expression of surprise.

"I know, right?" She states, grabbing her phone. "That would have been you five years ago, too," she jokingly bursts out laughing, resuming her scroll through Weverse. I laugh nervously with her and sip my boba tea to keep myself busy. "Have you seen his recent lives?" she continues, "He seems a bit sad lately, but his lives look like so much fun. I heard he got drunk and fell asleep with the live still going the other day! Did you watch it? I just saw some clips on Instagram." I shake my head vigorously, mouth full of milk tea as I chew the boba slowly.

"Oh wow, you've really changed since your Z2M phase. I still remember when I showed you that video of their group singing karaoke at my house 5 or 6 years ago. I was so in love with Tae-hwan. And you were so obsessed with Jun-sang. I could tell you were hooked as soon as you heard his voice. All I heard for the next year after that was how great he was. That's all you ever talked about!" My friend begins to laugh hysterically across the table as she relives our old memories. I stay silent.

When her laughter finally dies down, she looks at me again, quiet for a moment. "I'm pretty sure you were their biggest fan," she giggles. "I had to force you to get out of your room and off that computer. I mean, your still a fan, right?" As I gaze at the tablecloth adorned with purple and white flowers, I run my fingernail along the curves of the stitching. I glance up to see her curious expression.

"I mean, not so much. I'm not really a fan anymore."


I scroll through pictures I’ve backed up from my phone. I have thousands, but in every lineup there are pictures of my boys throughout my myriad of randomness. Every grouping they grow subtly, nearly invisibly to the normal eye. But I see it. I see the time between. I’m gone so much. They say parents never see their children actually grow, age, get bigger and smarter because they are with them nearly every day of their growing lives. I see my two boys grow every time I see them. They are three and five, almost four and six and I have been away from them for the majority of their lives. I watch them grow from a distance. I am more lucky than my father who did not have video chat and the technology of worldwide instant communication that we have today, but that’s a tiny grace in the life of an absent father. I get to see them age through pictures or a phone screen. Every time I interact with them is a joyous heartbreak. Every time I delve through my photo vault I am reminded of how much I love and miss them, how much of their lives I miss and memories of theirs I will never be a part of. Their first steps and words, a loving story passed to me by my best friend and love, my wife. They’ve hit the age where memory sticks, and I’m terrified of their memories without me. I hope they are happy, I know they are given so much love… but do they truly feel my love from a distance and through a screen? I remember my life growing up without my father present, and that put a huge gap in my heart that took me most of my life to figure out and fix who I am because of it. Am I doing that to my boys? Will they carry this hole for the majority of their lives? Will they perceive my absence as a loving sacrifice or will they see me as the father who was never there for their scrapes and problems? Another photo, another memory of a time I was there and the painful stab of reality that I am yet again viewing these from a distance. I try to pass on wisdom from afar. I try to bribe their love with boxes and mailed gifts from around the globe. One day I will be there, but they will be too old to sit on my lap, to cuddle with me the way a toddler can. That warm pure innocent embrace without specific memory. They are passing the sweet innocence of childhood into their cognitive years and I am never there to directly shape and sculpt their personalities. I try to lie to myself and believe that I do this for them, I do this to provide for them and give them a life of opportunity, meals that aren’t ramen and broth soup. College funds to give them the option of an education if they so choose that route. Money doesn’t buy happiness but it does provide for an easier start and an easier life. I try to believe that I am not there in order to provide that opportunity most children don’t have. I hope everyday that I’m not making excuses for my own mind, but I know the truth and know that there is a part of life that cannot be replaced with the provisions of an absent father. I think of them every day, I miss them every day, and I’m torn on the reciprocal. I want them to miss me, but I don’t want them to feel the pain of missing me. I want them to be amazing people and shape society for the better, but understand that in doing so, they will have been able to build that strong foundation without me. They will be great men, and I fear that I will not have been a part of that foundation.