In our small town in the middle of nowhere, there was a girl named Vita. Vita was known by all who lived there, but not in a good way. Many of the townspeople called Vita and her mother the Water family. Any problem or weird occurrence was usually blamed on the Water's, as they had a bad reputation and they were associated as devil worshippers. The reason why they felt this way was because Vita’s mother claimed that her daughter was cursed as a child by some kind of demonic being. This claim alone left many people to start rumors about the family. Later once they found out what the curse was, the family was then ridiculed and made a joke. Inevitably causing them to keep to themselves. I always found the curse claimed to be put on Vita rather odd as well, which made the rumors understandable. I had grown up with Vita understanding her lifestyle and becoming what seemed like her only friend. She was a sweet person and she had a strong personality to her. She knew how people in town felt about her and she used it to her advantage. Claiming the devil will “kill” them if they kept spreading rumors. Of course, I learned this was all just a joke to her; her real goal was to get people to leave her alone. She knew no devil was going to kill them, but she did tell me there was one that would kill her. Vita's curse is that she cannot be submerged in water unless another living being was in the water as well. It may sound complicated but Vita herself has explained it to me in detail. For example, she explained that she is not allowed to bathe alone. She would always have to have a goldfish or other animal in the bathwater first, or another person in the water with her. Vita says if she follows this rule then she is safe, but claims if she is ever submerged in water without following this rule, the demon Stagnoram will find her and take her. To help prevent this from happening simple locks were also placed on all the faucets in the home. A simple turn and click could unlock them but this helped deter Vita from turning the water on without being prepared. The constant use of fish in Vita’s life caused her to be quite fond of them. They made her feel “safe,” she told me. This caused the family to make constant trips to the pet store, as many fish would eventually die due to use. Vita had many, many funerals for the fish, and she cried at every single one. Her backyard encased a small hill and at the base, she had a fish cemetery where the funerals took place. Of course, this curse did not apply to drinking water; she was safe in that aspect. Only when her body was submerged or covered in water would she be in danger. Therefore, whenever there was a rainy day Vita was always in the dry safety of her home. Due to unpredictable weather, whenever she went out she always carried an umbrella and a rain poncho in a small shoulder bag, just in case she had to cover herself quickly and find shelter to avoid water. In her house, there were fish everywhere. Around every corner and on almost every table stood a small glass jar with a goldfish in each one. She told me these fish are there in case of emergencies, whatever that means. Besides living by this rule, Vita and her mother had a very normal life, and they were amazingly kind people. If only the people in town could see just how normal they were. I always wanted to believe Vita, and I told her I did, but deep down I still felt like she could not be cursed. Now looking back, I wish I had believed her… It all happened one day when Vita’s mother asked me if I would spend the day with her because she had to leave for a work opportunity and could not take Vita with her. She would be gone until the next day, so her mother asked me to look out for her and keep her away from water. Of course, I accepted and proceeded to spend the day with Vita. She and I started the midday by heading to a local diner to eat out. We chose to order our food then find a nice spot outside in the sunshine. It was a beautiful day that day and the smoothies tasted better than usual. Sitting at our table near the diner, I began to see a sliver of movement in the distance. Behind Vita emerging from the corner, a group of boys quickly shuffled along carrying a large bucket filled to the brim with water. I immediately jumped into action trying to stop them. “No!” I yelled, but before I could get to them, it was already too late. The boys dumped the bucket of water onto Vita’s head. She screamed. Her scream was so loud and terrifying that it shook me. Everyone in the entire town probably heard her piercing cry. It caused the young boys to stumble and quickly retreat around the corner, snickering and making jokes as they ran away. Vita, with her now soaked black hair and drenched clothing, began to panic. Her eyes widened and her face strained in a way I have never seen before. It was as if what they did to her mentally broke her momentarily. Suddenly I could hear a deep sound all around us. It was like a vibration but it coursed through the air. You could feel it pressing against the outside of you like a shirt that you could not see, but you could still feel the weight of it. It grew in volume and intensity when finally, it became what sounded like a voice. “*So that’s where you have been*…” The voice emanated from nowhere but everywhere at the same time, almost as if I could hear it, but only inside my head. It was a low whisper but its tone was something unforgettable. It was deeper than any voice I had ever heard, but it could not have been human. It felt sinister. Vita looked directly at me. Tears in her eyes. “I need to get home. It found me.” The words barely escaped her lips. “You heard it too?” I asked her. The feeling of fear began to swell within me now. I was not the only one who heard that awful sound. That voice. It sounded pure evil. I was hoping it was just my mind playing tricks on me. Something like this could not possibly happen. It could not be real, this was all just some crazy trick or game she was playing on me. “He’s coming. We have to go.” Vita exclaimed. “Who is coming? Are you playing tricks on me, Vita? Is this all some kind of game to you?” She stood up and looked at me. Her face wore a look of disappointment. “Out of everyone I thought you would always believe me.” her voice cracked as she said it. She sighed and turned away, beginning to walk toward her home leaving me behind. I stood there for a moment feeling guilty as hell. In her weakest moment, I was not there for her. Then practically called her a liar about her curse. I pulled myself together and began running to catch up to her. I caught up to her and patted her back. “You’re going to be ok, don’t worry.” I tried to reassure her, and at the same time, I felt I was reassuring myself as well. Vita looked at me and gave a small smile, but sadness still lingered in it. “Stagnoram is coming to kill me now thanks to those stupid boys who don’t understand. They don’t understand anything. They have no idea what they’ve done to me!” Her voice was stern and harsh now. I could tell that she was first scared, but is now filled with anger at the situation. I followed her silently as we approached her house allowing her to yell and vent along the way. She shoved the door to her house open as she entered. As soon as she did, the sky cracked and it began to rain. “Well that’s just great isn’t it!” she yelled in an angry sarcastic tone as she threw her bag onto the couch. I walked in and closed the door behind me. Vita grabbed a towel and began drying herself off. “You’re gonna be ok right?” I asked her. She turned to me as she was wringing her hair out. “No. Something terrible is probably going to happen.” As soon as she said it, lightning flashed near the window. The loud crack of thunder echoed through the house. The sound of rain began growing into a noisy static. “Can you check the weather?” Vita asked. “Sure.” I walked to the living room and turned on the TV, switching to the news. As soon as it flickered on, I was taken back. “Flooding?” I whispered it. Vita ran over and snatched the remote out of my hand turning up the volume. “Evacuation efforts have been taken. Nine inches of rain is predicted with some areas facing even heavier rain.” The news anchor spoke as they displayed footage of our town being hit by a major flash flood. Parts just near us were already beginning to have issues as water began entering people’s homes. “He is on to me… He found me… I know it, he found me.” Her voice was shaky and I could tell she was scared. The sound of the rain began to get louder now. “I need to tell my mother what happened, that he knows where I am.” She picked up the home phone and began dialing. As soon as she did, we lost power and everything went dark. Vita let out a small shriek in the darkness. I made my way to her as my eyes slowly began to adjust and I could finally see around me. I reached her and tried to calm her down. We stood there in silence for a long time. Eventually, the streetlights outside began to buzz as they powered on, allowing us more light to see. The rain and thunder raged intensely as we stood there. “Let’s distract ourselves.” I halfheartedly suggested hoping to release the tension. “How about goldfish?” Vita exclaimed joyfully. She turned to me with a spark in her eye. “I’m totally gonna win” she taunted me as she began setting up the card game on the small coffee table. “You’re on!” I laughed as I challenged her. The tension in the air seemed to be broken now, and Vita almost acted as if she forgot about her curse entirely. However, the joy did not last for long. Soon we began to see water leaking through the bottom of the front door. Vita immediately grabbed sandbags from a small closet and began stacking them in front of the door. “Get all the doors leading outside.” She handed me large bags of sand as she asked. “Where did you get all this stuff?” I asked her as I set bags in front of the back door. “I’m always prepared for water.” She sighed as she said it. After putting bags in front of every door leading outside, we regrouped in the living room. The bags were working well, keeping the water at bay for now. All was well but an odd sound began to grow in the distance. I cocked my head to the side and began listening intently. I know this sound; I had heard the same sound at the diner. The deep vibration that grew into some otherworldly voice. Thinking of the voice made me shudder. It sounded as if the vibration was getting closer and closer to the house. Vita quickly grabbed her bag and put on a yellow see-through rain poncho. She unsheathed her umbrella and began pointing it around like a weapon. “Where the hell are you Stagnoram?” she yelled into the air, looking around in every direction. “I know you have been waiting for this moment a long time, but I won’t go without a fight!” her face was serious and her poise was strong. She was ready for a fight. Her seriousness brought fear to me. It validated the fear I had felt earlier when hearing that dark voice. It made the situation more real than I ever thought it could be. Yet, even with all this fear, I still deep down felt skeptical of it all. The sound of the vibrations began to intensify now. It seemed to make the walls shake lightly. I affiliated the cause of the shaking walls with the storm but Vita’s was mind was made up. It was not just a storm shaking the house; it was Stagnoram coming for her. The walls began shaking even more violently now. It caused me to think maybe it was not just the storm, but before I could express the idea further a loud metallic bang was heard a few rooms away, followed by the sound of spraying water. I quickly ran to the source of the sound. Inside the bathroom, Vita’s showerhead had somehow burst. Water was spraying out in every direction. I reached for the faucets to turn the water off but they were not on to begin with. How could this be happening? I began to wonder to myself, completely confused by what was happening. Vita stood outside the doorway avoiding the spray. “the waters not on is it?” Her voice was calm and collected now. I turned to her. “No the water isn’t on,” I responded hesitantly. “Then it’s true… Stagnoram really has found me.” Her voice quivered and shook once again. The words came out almost as a whisper. I myself began to panic as well. These weird turn of events and Vita's state of fear began spreading to me. “Like hell, he’s not.” I tried to say it with confidence. I then grabbed a nearby towel and tied it in a knot over the broken showerhead. Water still leaked but it was much more manageable now. I walked out of the bathroom and closed the door behind me. “For now we avoid this room,” I told her. We walked to the living room and things quickly took a turn for the worst. The front door suddenly burst open. Water quickly began filling the house leaving the kitchen already in an inch of water. “Don't leave the water!” Vita screamed. She grabbed her umbrella tightly and began smashing the glass jars holding the goldfish. “You thought I didn’t plan for this?” she yelled as she smashed more fish bowls. The goldfish landed safely in the water and swam about. The water now filled the entire house almost four inches deep. My shoes up to my ankles were completely underwater. Vita looked at me with fierce intensity in her eyes. “Don’t you dare leave this water without me. I’ll die.” Her tone was something unforgettable. It was something she asked from the bottom of her heart and I felt it. “I won’t leave you,” I told her. I was beginning to feel many things now. Fear, anxiety, and helplessness. I could not rationally explain what was happening but at the same time, I was already coming up with answers in my head to normalize the situation. Once again, mentally I was not prepared to take the responsibility of keeping her truly safe. At that moment, the ceiling began to shake violently. Swaying back and forth almost as if the roof would collapse any moment. It was like the universe had read my mind and felt my fear responding to it. Lightning flashed brightly leaving everything white for a split moment. It had struck the roof. Its deafening ring left me dazed for a moment. The roof now was splitting and beginning to crack. “RUN!” I yelled to Vita, and just as I had the ceiling finally gave way. It came crashing down smashing everything underneath it. I quickly ran out the front door and fell, landing on my hands and knees deep in the water. The impact left me breathless for a moment. The rain was heavy and my entire body was soaked in seconds. I pulled myself up out of the water and quickly began looking around for Vita. I ran to the back yard. I looked around and then up and finally saw her. She stood on the top of the small hill in her backyard. The water was still up to her feet even on the hill. Umbrella drawn and wearing her rain poncho, she looked upwards to the sky, and I could see in the distance, she began to cry. I yelled her name, but the sound of the storm was too loud. Somehow, though she managed to hear me. She turned to me and gave a soft smile. In that moment, it was as if time was standing still. I could see every raindrop falling to the ground in slow motion. I felt like everything was going to be ok. As if it were all just a game and that the next day, we would be looking back at this laughing. That feeling quickly subsided. It all happened so fast but it felt like I watched it for a lifetime. Around Vita’s feet, dark black claws began reaching out of the water. They surrounded her like a mouth about to swallow her whole. It rose higher and higher revealing that the claws belonged not to a mouth but to multiple hands. They were long and skinny with fingers stretched much longer than they should be. Its skin was black and leathery with deep enlarged veins pulsating rhythmically. The hands surrounded Vita and rose still even higher. Some of the hands were reaching almost as high as her now. Still, I could not see what foul body was attached to these limbs. A dark black webbing made of what looked like thin skin began enveloping her feet around her. She looked at me for the last time. Tears in her eyes. I stood there watching her. I felt powerless as complete and utter fear took over my body. I felt paralyzed by what I was witnessing. Something not of this world, and I did not have the courage to withstand it. Vita began to say something, but just as she did, she screamed. In a split second, I watched as the long-clawed hands grabbed at her body. The black webbing quickly wrapped itself around her ankles digging into her skin. The hands, each grabbing hold plunged her into the dark black water beneath her. As quickly as she went into the water. A fountain of deep red color rose from where she once stood. It sprayed her blood all across the yard like a sprinkler in the summer. I was now drenched in her blood and the only thing I could do was scream. I slowly stumbled my way towards the hill and fell to the ground where she was plunged down. I began clawing at the dirt, shoveling it with my hands. I trying to find her, to find Vita. In the end, I kept digging for nothing. She was gone. But I didn't want to accept it. It all happened too fast, and I never fathomed anything like that could have ever existed in the first place. If only I had truly believed her... Years have passed now and everything is very different. I moved away and started a brand new life. One not associated with what happened on the hill. There is one thing that hasn’t ever left me since that day. My fear of being alone in the water. Ever since I have been living the same lifestyle Vita had for her whole life. My faucets have locks on them, and my house always has a goldfish near and ready. Sometimes during storms, I hear the vibrations again. They slowly pull at my windows and knock at my doors. If I am brave enough I will put my ear to the door and listen carefully. Sometimes I can hear it making the strangest sounds. One time I was listening, it even conjured up its voice again. It still chilled me to the bone when I heard it. It only spoke one word, overwhelming me with fear. “*Stagnoram.


First creative writing I've done in several years. I finally feel my spark coming back after fighting through a bout of depression. It's cold. I can see the water particles in my breath freeze as I breathe. They have breached the main hull, knocking out life support. I am huddled behind a desk in a side room off the bridge, blaster in hand, eye on the bridge entry. Ready to blast the first thing that comes in. Lights are off, power knocked out, too. The only light I have is the occasional red glow of the emergency strips along the walls, illuminating the dead crew strewn around the bridge. "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus three minutes and twenty-five seconds" I grit my teeth. I refuse to die here, alone in a strange nebula, in this cold, metal grave. The ship automatically initiated the self-destruct protocol when we were boarded. 5 minutes. 5 minutes until this thing explodes, taking them with it. But not me. I refuse. I hear a noise from the hallway. As if the mandibles on a giant bug were clicking together. I shivered. These creatures were things from a nightmare. A nightmare I must escape from. "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus two minutes and fifteen seconds" I exhaled sharply. I didn't realize I had been holding my breath. I had 2 minutes to reach the escape pod. It was right around the corner. If I could rush out, distract the invaders with a few shots from my blaster, I could make it. Close off the airlock, and escape in the pod. I only needed about 60 seconds to do it. I narrowed me eyes, mustering up all the courage I had left, and channeling my almost crippling fear into energy. "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus one minute and forty-five seconds" I can do this. "For the Sovereignty. For Vandor!" I raised my blaster, it's steel cool against my hand, giving me strength. I stood and ran for the door of the bridge, firing off a round of blasts to clear my way. I heard screeching. I must have hit one of the bugs! As I charged through the gaping holes in the bridge door, I was almost caught by a black mandible as a creature reached for my neck. I managed to twirl around and doge it, letting off a few more shots in it's general direction. Hissing from the creature. I ran a down the hallway, dodging sparking panels and downed pipes from the ceiling. I could see the door! I was almost there! I reached out to open it. Suddenly, I felt something grab my waist. It was tight, hard, and pulling back from the door. It was one of the creatures. "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus one minute and fifteen seconds" "No!" I screamed. I will NOT die here! I lifed my hand to fire off a round into the creature's face. No blaster! I must have dropped it when it grabbed me! It hissed, hot hair blowing into my face. The smell of death. I couldn't make out it's full form in the dark, but from the occasional spark or flash of red from the emergency panels, I could tell it was black, shiney, with many eyes looking at me. Its mouth was a hole with two large pinchers on either end, and many smaller ones in it's mouth. It leaned in for the kill, pulling me towards it. I reached out into the dark for anything, and found what I hoped was an electrical cord hanging from the ceiling. I thrust it forward, into the creature's mouth. It screeched as the electric charge surprised it, releasing me and stumbling back. I wasted no time getting back to the door, charging through and shutting it behind me. I locked it and climbed into the small, cramped escape pod. "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus forty-five seconds" I flipped the boot up switch, preparing to launch the pod. But nothing happened. "No! Nonono!" I tried it again. Still nothing. "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus thirty-two seconds" I tried it once more. A whirl, lights flickered, and then went out. Oh God. Had the pod been damaged? Is this the end? My mad race for freedom, was it all in vain? "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus twenty seconds" My head sank into my hands. "Please" I whispered, hoping my silent prayer would be heard. "Warning. Delta protocol enacted. Self-destruct will commence in T-minus fifteen seconds" I tried the switch again. "10" The lights flickered "9" They didn't shut off! "8" The navigation panel came to life, loading the preprogrammed emergency coordinates "7" I felt a vibration in the seat as I felt the pod trying to come to life "6" Sweat beaded on my forehead "5" The airlock door of the pod slid shut. "4" It clicked. Locking me in "3" Just waiting for the launch button to light up" "2" It lit up! "Launch sequence completed." "1" I slammed my hand down on the launch button. ...... ...... ...... "Timmy! Time to go!" My mother called to me from the exit of the grocery store. I looked up at her from the small cockpit of the rocket that I had just sat in. She chuckled, walking over to me. "Aww, did my little spaceman forgot his quarter? Here." She reached into her purse, pulling out a shiny quarter, and put it into the coin-slot of the rocket. Ruffing my hair, she watched as i grinned, enjoying the few moments of fun I had while the rocket bounced back and forth. It was a good day to be a kid.


A few years ago we had a local who came to us saying he would tell us what we needed to know, we knew he had the intel because he started spewing information that we didn’t even know right there at the gate, stuff that the guys at the ESP didn’t have the background to even understand. They searched him and brought him in because while they didn’t know what he was talking about they knew that someone did and that they’d get a good word put in from the higher-ups if this went well. The first question we always ask when someone is just volunteering intel is why. People get shot at the gate all the time and no one ever finds out about it, so why would this guy risk getting shot to help us. So we ask him, and he says something about how we find missing persons all the time, and how his wife and kid are missing. It’s true finding missing persons is one of our objectives but it’s pretty low on the list of priorities and it wasn’t the kind of stuff we were doing. Right then, in the middle of our conversation, two guys from the agency walk in. It was then that I realized this guy’s intel is probably pretty important to someone since the agency guys usually just sit around smoking and joking all day. But this time they were serious. They walk in, tell me and the other guys to leave the room. It’s just them three now. About 20 minutes later they walk out without the local and they give us the “rundown”. The rundown from the agency guys is them telling you what you’ll say and do, and you have to do it, no questions asked, otherwise you won’t keep your job too long. This time the rundown was, “We’re gonna tell this guy that we’ll do everything we can to get his family back if he gives us what we need and you guys are gonna tell him that too.” Then one of the agency guys takes me and walks about 20 feet from the group, and looks me in the eyes and says “Now I’m sure you know this, but that guy's family is dead, or might as well be because we’re not doing shit to find em’, and after we fill him in, this guy is never leaving the gates.” I know the drill, the guy before me filled me in, most of the locals that deal with the agency guys never leave the base anyways, but this was different because this local wasn’t an “enemy combatant” or whatever they call them now, this was just a civilian who thought we could help him. So they tell the local he can’t leave the base until they get the intel because he’s in danger anywhere that’s not here and that once they got the intel, they’d find his family and give him a house somewhere with some solar panels like they do with the guys that give us low-level intel. The reason they couldn’t let this local go when it was all said and done was that they had to give him background information so that he could fill in the blanks, and this “background” was stuff that no one but those two guys knew. It was stuff that if I knew, I might “step on an IED” in a week. The local stayed on base for about a week, then one of the agency guys gave me the new rundown. Again he looks me dead in the eye and says “Here’s what gonna happen, you’re escorting him off-base to his new house, when you guys get there he attacks you, and you take him out, bring his body back, make sure you’re at least 10 miles from here when you do it.” I take about 15 seconds before I say “ok”, then right before I’m about to turn and walk away he says “Make sure he’s not alive, because if you bring him back here and he has vital signs we’re gonna have a problem.” I nod and walk away. The next morning I wake up and look at the sun for a few minutes, I don’t know why but whenever I have to do something hard it’s what I always do in the morning. The local is already in the SUV when I get to it, he’s pretty calm but I can tell he’s happy. I feel f\*cking awful. I get in and we drive away. I’m hoping he doesn’t talk to me, that would only make it harder for me to do what I had to. He asks me if his family is ok, locals don’t usually know English, and if they do it’s not much so they always skip the small talk. I tell him they’re doing fine, that some guy radioed me saying so before I got in the car. Then I lie, I say I think one of the tires is flat so I pull over, you can get away with that kind of lie because most of these locals don’t drive cars so they wouldn’t know. I get out of the car and walk over to the back right tire, I let out a bunch of air so it looks flat. I stand next to the car for about 5 minutes. I already know exactly what I’m going to do, I played through the scenario about 100 times the night before. I walk over to the passenger door and tell him the tire is flat and I need his help replacing it. He’s eager to help and gets out of the car and asks what I want him to do. I tell him to walk over to the tire with me and hand him the car jack. I walk behind him as we go to the tire. I start talking to him, telling him how the houses we give people are nice, and that he’ll get enough electricity to have lights on at night. Then while he’s cranking the jack I pull out my SIG and shoot him. He dies instantly. I got a little splatter on the car which pissed me off, but what pissed me off is that I think he knew what was up, I mean I wasn’t even helping him, why the f\*ck would I ask for his help if all I was going to do was sit there while he cranked the jack, he must’ve known something was up. I just hope he didn’t know exactly what was up, because I’d feel awful knowing he knew he was living the last moments of his life and that he knew it was inevitable.


I see her as soon as I open the restaurant door, waiting politely in the queue for the hostess. “Linda!” I say warmly, and we share a heartfelt if a bit awkward hug. I extend my arms and we stretch back without letting go to take a look at each other. “You look great!” I exclaim at the exact same moment as she says “I love your hair!” and we laugh as we pull each other back into the hug. Linda’s shape hasn’t changed over the years, beautifully rounded. She had confided it made her feel self-conscious back in the 1980’s but it has always absolutely perfectly suited her larger-than-life personality. Now, her shape is basically what is expected at our age and my own form has conformed more than I liked to admit. “How are you?” I ask with a roll of my head and a wry smile. Where would we even begin to catch up after all this time? “I’m good” she assures me with a little helpless shrug as we follow the hostess to our table. I remember so many times we’d met for dinner after work, one or the other of us always late, always rushing but making time to see each other even when we lived 30 miles apart. Now we live thousands of miles apart and were lucky to be able to arrange this lunch. Never one to ignore the elephant in the room, she blurted right out with “I’m so glad you responded to my post. I am so sorry we never got together after Jim died and before I moved away”. “I know”, I replied, “there was so much going on and..” I trailed off, not sure how to end that. I knew that she never really liked Jim, he was so much older and she thought he was “slimy”. Years before she had broken the cardinal rule of not criticizing your best friend’s partners even when they are, because they will inevitably get back together and you can’t take back those words. I remember the phone call from her, when my sister and I were driving back from the funeral parlor. “Not right now” I had told her, “please call again”, but she hadn’t. “How’s Jack?” I ask, thinking of the room he had occupied in their old house, with the unmade single bed and how she’d told me he sometimes snuck into their big bed, acting silently and leaving again when they’d finished. She accepted that arrangement and I was not one to judge, not having been married longer than 10 years or having had any children. “Good, she said, we’re happy”. I grinned and asked “Is he raising goats yet?”. Years before, I had stayed at Linda and Jack’s house while I had multi-day meetings on the Peninsula and since I wasn’t a full member of the Academy my travel wasn’t paid. We had such a good time that we started planning our future aging in a communal house, where Jack would raise goats and we would grow our vegetables.

Linda glanced at me quizzically, and I said quickly “Just something he said years ago”, realizing she didn’t remember that. That hurt a little, since I remembered those couple of days very fondly.

It’s funny how something that is so memorable to one friend will not even be recallable to the other, but I had experienced that so many times I let it drop, navigating to safe territory by asking “Keeping busy with the grandkids?” She relaxed a bit with that, a huge smile showing that same adoration I seem to see on all my friends who are deeply interwoven with their grandchildren’s lives. Honestly, Linda was always meant to be a grandmother, even when she was an absolute technical legend in the microprocessor industry. Not only her grandmotherly shape, but her cooking and crafting and decorating seemed ready-made to step right into her 60s. I tell her “I bet you’re the perfect Grandma”, and she smiles, acknowledging. “It’s so great to be able to spoil them. I never felt I could with my own kids, I guess I was probably too tough on them”. “No way!” I say. “You’ve been a great mother to them”. I remember babysitting one time when she and Jack had wanted to attend their big company holiday party. When I got there, her 5 year old daughter was in the bathtub, and Linda had said goodbye to her then, leaving me with a naked little girl who was trying not to cry. I also remembered how she told me she wasn’t sure she even wanted a son who didn’t want to go to college, but I don’t bring that up.

We update each other on what we know of mutual friends from long ago, illnesses, and former lovers. We discuss how we handled our parents’ estates and assure ourselves that our own estates will be easier for whoever is stuck doing that for us. I tell her about my life now, the plant nursery and the last few jobs I had before I retired.

“Sometimes I think about all we endured as early women in technological roles and I wonder if things have gone backwards”, I offer. “I know!”, she agrees. “But then again, the things we’ve seen and endured would never happen as blatantly as they did then.” “Like someone hiring all the beautiful young college hires like that IT department manager did? It was like girlfriend tryouts for him.” “Or some disgusting older man bringing unwanted romantic valentines to a married woman with a sexual innuendo, year after year?” “How is it”, she asks, “marrying again? How much do you tell him about your other husband?” “Ah”, I reflect, “Not as much as I’ve told you!”

She laughs with a wicked grin. “OK so not about that afternoon with the colleague and the other woman then?” “No. I mean I could, but I don’t want to give him ideas. I didn’t like it all that much.” She laughs in agreement. “Yeah, I haven’t told Jack about that time with Stan, either”. I pause. “I honestly think he’d understand, but at the same time it’s not only your story so it may not be fair to Stan or his widow”. It’s always striking to me how I can share so many intimate details back and forth with someone for so many years, and then be completely out of touch for so long. It seems strange, yes, but it’s become a common thing with me. When I have a friend that I see frequently, we share everything, and when that changes due to circumstances, we just, well, stop until we are in person again. Most of the time it’s easy to pick back up when we do see each other again, but not always. Today with Linda, we jump right back into that intimacy, but what was it about that time that made it so easy to confide? How can this one lunch bridge 20 years when I haven’t had this kind of conversation with any of my newer friends? I say “I wish we could keep in better touch”, and she gives me a kind smile. “Me too”.

“Remember how we’d talk for so long on our work phones, office doors closed but still working, running test cases or code integration or whatever, but just staying on the phone?” “I do! We just had so much to figure out, mostly about men as I recall” “True! We couldn’t have those conversations anywhere else.”

She tells me “When I think about it, I don’t know how we ever survived all that.” “Right! I would never want to go back to being that age, would you?” “Oh, God no, can you imagine?” “No more than I could imagine being this age back then, I guess. I’m glad we’re friends, Linda, it was all a lot more bearable with you to talk to.” We part with another hug, saying we’ll keep in touch and that we’ll be hoping for another in-person opportunity soon. “Ask Jack if he remembers about the goats”, I say.


It had been twenty-four years since she’d last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. The estate in Arak, in all its glory, was a gift

from the Qajar dynasty, the rulers of Persia from 1789 to 1925, to her great grandfather, Mirza Isa Ghaem Magham Farahani, for he had served as their trusted chancellor for more than 20 years.

The mansion, in its powerful display, was a perfect representation of him. An artist-drawn portrait, hung in the entrance halfway, showing a look of a man not common today. His long-black beard, almost as tall as his colossal hat. Eyes looking away from the artist, maybe to show the perfect angle of his sharp features.

Her father, Aman Allah, as well as the Arak residents talked forever fondly about Mirza Isa Ghaem Magham Farahani: An honorable man, a scholar, an author who had served as the Prime Minister of Iran in 1834, until his tragic betrayal and murder just a year later. Luckily, many of his published books including the Monsha’at were left behind to carry-on his legacy.

While she was staring at the gorgeous structure before her, her own beauty a reflection upon it, one of the older servants, Fatemeh Kanoom, who had dutifully served in that house since her childhood, rushed to welcome her.

“Welcome home Ezzat Kanoom (Mrs)!” Others circled around her reaching to kiss her hands and show her their affection. Ezzat was used to attention. In her opinion, too much. Her beauty was like a thick coat of armour, unmatched, with the exception of her own mother, a distinctive beauty, who had left her father’s lands in Bakhtiar and Lorestan to enter this house as a noble bride at such a young age. It drew the eye from suitors galore and some women's disdain. If only she could take it off from time to time.

It was a joyous moment given the sad circumstances they found themselves in. Alil, one of Asgar’s sons (the old and faithful gardener still living in the house), arrived with the lit ‘esfand’, the seeds and dried fruits of Garden Rue (Peganum harmala), to perform the customary 5000 year old ritual of burning esfand in honor of this beautiful mistress. He held a metal spoon, scooping esfand seeds and heating them until they smoked, giving off a familiar aroma to the servants who believed in it’s “magical” effects. The seeds began their popping sound and between the smoke and sound, more greetings were exchanged,

the esfand working its way to ward off the evil eye. The esfand see has its true medicinal properties. Used throughout history to cure many ailments and diseases, leprosy being one of them. Iranians believe that the evil eye can be bestowed upon someone through an ill-intended compliment, speaking of a positive endeavor before it happens, and occasions such as this one that Ezzat was in. Coming back home.

The servants were certain that the evil must have befallen their beloved masters to have to endure so much tragedy. She closed her eyes to embrace the smell and ritual of the burning esfand, not because she believed in such nonsense, but to put the servants at ease. She lowered her head below the metal spoon that was being circled around her head. How she wished that she could truly believe that the disinfecting smoke and popping sound of the seeds could actually shield from the evil intentions--that it could take away all of the unwanted attention from men that seemed to constantly surround her.

She closed her eyes to breathe the old familiar smell of the house. The delicious milk bread, a specialty of Aligoodarz

(the birthplace of her mother) that was being baked in her mother’s memory, was coming from the kitchen, filling the room and her thoughts. Was it really 24 years, since she was in the kitchen baking with her younger sister Azam, whom she had practically mothered? She recalls their floured faces, in a dream-like arodescense, in their majestic kitchen, while her younger uncles received lessons from the mullah who came to act as the boys’ tutor every morning. What a waste! She thought, as a light tongue-click and hiss escaped her mouth.

She would forever feel resentful on why it was the boys in the house who received the education. While she and her sister were strongly encouraged to learn cooking instead. Although she could feel happiness from time spent with her little sister learning to cook and spending time with Godsi Khanoom the kind hearted Chef, but still the resentment was there. Conversely, deep down in her un-admitable depths, she was proud of her cooking skills. She had yet to meet someone who could match her skills as a Chef. Fariba, the youngest of the servants, took her bags,”Ezzat Kanoom, how did you get here? Why didn’t you call us to come pick you up at the station?”

“Now Fariba, you know better than that. Ezzat Sadat never asks for help! She is my proud daughter,” came the voice of the kind hearted old Chef, Godsi Kanoom. They liked to add the word Sadat, whenever they used her name, as a sign of respect, as this was a title reserved for those thought to be of direct lineage to the prophet Muhammed himself.

Everyone fought to grasp a bag.

“She is a Ghaem Magham, and her mother’s daughter, that she is, may God bless her soul,” said Asgar Aga, the gardener. With that, a silence fell on the room. The women in the room became teary-eyed, a few others closed their eyes and said their Salavat’s (Islamic prayer saying may peace be upon her) in honor of the sweet lady they had so loved. “Where would you like to stay?” Mastaneh, the inexperienced servant, asked once more. Godsi Kanoom, pulling herself up while breathing hardly so she could scolded her, “Where do you think silly girl, In her mother’s old room, of course, next to the library”

In the background, servants still are overcome by excitement and curiosity over the arrival of Ezzat Sadat , and her striking resemblance to her mother. They whispered to each other, how is it possible, that aging and giving birth to five children, in addition to the pollution in Tehran, where she had been living, has only made Ezzat Sadat more beautiful than before. Asgar Aga, glanced an angry look at them, and took her over the charge of her bags, while ordering the younger ones to be careful with the esfand. As they passed the library, she paused to step in. She looked at the door behind which, once upon a time, a large-boned servant boy, Taghi, had hidden in secrecy to listen to the mullah who had been giving lessons to her uncles. Taghi was tasked to bring tea and dates to the young masters during their tutoring. Unbeknownst to them, Taghi had made it a regular occurrence of hiding behind the door during their tutoring and listening to the lessons. On one particular afternoon, the mullah asked the boys a question about Socrates. “What is the Socratic method?”

To which he received no response. Just as the mullah’s frustration began to set in, a voice rang out with the correct answer. “A dialogue of asking and answering questions to stimulate critical thinking leading to deep ideas and finding underlying presuppositions.” Wide-eyed, the mullah watched as the young Taghi came from his hiding place. Now angry and flabbergasted, Mullah forcefully escorted the servant boy to Mirza.

Everyone, including the Mullah, expected and feared that the boy would be punished for his actions. However, Mirza was more impressed by the boy’s actions and aptitude for learning than angered by his disobedience. Instead of disciplining him, from that day forward, young Taghi was included in the tutoring sessions and was able to learn, no longer as a servant, and with no need to hide. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips into a sad smile. It was in this house that the young lad, Taghi Khan Farahani, would grow up, be educated, and become Amir Kabir Naghashbashi-- one of the greatest Prime Ministers Iranians would ever know.

She was proud of her Jad, (great grandfather), her blood, dating back all the way to the profit, and her heritage. They had educated young Taghi and forever changed the course of his life, presumably for the better. Hesitantly, she wondered if it was not some of Taghi/Amir Kabir’s sins that brought about all the tragedy in her life.

Amir Kabir was known as the Iranians’ first reformer. As a ruler he attempted to modernize Iran. First, he took notice of how European powers had intervened in Otooman affairs. So, he removed any possible grievances before a foreign power could claim to be their “protectors.” He was an intelligent man, a highly revered man. Probably due to his roots, he did a lot for most minorities, including Christians and Zoroastrians.

Still in all of his glory, it is his sin, of which Ezzat was sure God would not forgive, he was responsible for the death of 20,000 innocent people of the Bábi faith. Bábism, the faith that professed that there is only one unknown and incomprehensible God. A God which manifests his unending series of manifestations. The faith was founded in 1844 and flourished in Persia, the faith that became the principles of modern day Bahai religion. Amir Kabir regarded the followers as a threat and repressed them until the execution of the Seven Martyrs of Tehran and the execution of the Báb himself--the herald of the Baha'i Faith.

Surely, she thought, this mansion and her family as guardians of Amir Kabir were cursed from the heartbreak of the Báb due to his actions. She did not consider herself to be of the superstitious disposition, but what else was there?

In the last year of his life, Amir Kabir was exiled to Fin Garden in Kashan and murdered by command of Naser al-Din Shah Qajar. She wondered, what if her grandfather had punished him that day, instead of letting him study? What would have his fate been? And the faith of those innocent 20,000 people he killed? She was lost in thought when Asgar Aga approached and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“As God is my witness, I tried to tell your father, Aman Allah, that you and your sister deserved a chance at education, just as if God had blessed him with a son. You had an astronomical promise, Kanoom Jan. If only your father had taken the time to pay attention to my humble request, you would be the first female Iranan prime minister Kanoom Jan. I am certain of it.” He called her Kanoom Jan. A term of endearment, also to say “dear.” She leaned over and kissed Asgar’s old cheeks. The dear old man. It should be noted that she was not fond of men often, but he was an exception. Many of her childhood memories included him and his kind gestures. The day her mother died, she ran out to the field and cried her eyes out. Asgar Aga was also fond of her mother. She had always been kind to him and his children. He brought her mother’s favorite horse, gifted to her from Bakhtiar, to the field, and they rode together for hours in silence.

Her mother was a stunning, sweet, obedient and fragile wife. It was said that when she would enter a room, men and women alike would be mesmerized by the refined movements of her soft body.

Ezzat resembled her beauty immensely, but not her personality by any means.

After her death, Ezzat took the role of a mother for her younger sister until her father, as was expected, decided to take on a second wife, a simple commoner this time, no traces of nobility, nor beauty, neither in her blood nor actions. Ezzat would never dare to tell him how that really made her feel. Seemingly, her sweet mother was so easily forgotten.

Upon the birth of her first child, also a girl, the commoner, knew she had to quickly get rid of any female attention, towards Ezzat and Azam. Not when their mere presence was a constant reminder of the elegance, and purity of their mother’s blood. At ages 8 and 4, she hurriedly married Ezzat and her sister off to their cousins. Even though, under Islamic law, they were not yet of age to marry. Neither had experienced menstruation. The stepmother cared little and Ezzat was married to her 25-year-old cousin and Azam to his 20 year old brother. Neither given proper time to grieve their mothers’ death, they would be sent to live with their new husbands, the children of their mother’s sister, and their aunt Talabeh in Tehran. In such a small period of time, the girls had lost their mother, their home, their family, and their life as they knew-- it all to be,

a man’s wife. Now here she was, 24 years later. She was there to pay respects to the father whose orders had shaped her life, and a destiny she had not desired. There grows the seed of her bitterness, not towards her father, a man that she respected, but towards the culture. The male dominated world that imposed such a lack of choices on her. That only saw her worth as an exceptional cook, and nothing more.

She was the mother of five children, three boys and two girls. What a good, dutiful wife she was, surely he would be proud.

To think, if someone had taken a chance on her the same way Mirza took a chance on that servant boy years ago, where would she be now?

She walked slowly to her room and wiped the tears away. She attempted to put on some makeup. She needed to give her most dignified face to the servants. After all, with her stepmother dead, as the oldest daughter, she was there as the lady of the house today.

She sat in the room, appreciating her surroundings. The archways resembled mountains and pillars to the side of each with as much mass and height. How can something this large and beautiful not be made by nature? So exact and by man’s hand. Everything looked the same, though the walls had been freshly painted.

The Persian rug on the floor was the same as she remembered. It had been a gift to her grandfather from King Fath-’Ali Shah Qajar, who in turn, had gifted it to her mother on their wedding day.

It was an 1834 Tabriz made rug. Hand woven, intricate detail, heavy even by sight. It filled the room as much as the air did. In the middle of the room, a tall peak to show the main entrance and on either side, sprawling horizontal-length to create an open square. To look out from the entrance, the courtyard right in front, and on either sides of it the house stretched out like arms.

She had imagined this moment so often, the day she would come back home. The day she would dare to look her father in the eyes and ask him why. Why had he not allowed her to study? Why had he sent her away so quickly?

Her father’s burial was to take place that afternoon. She knew what would follow next, the respectful visits from the villagers, the male descendants of her Jad pouring in, the state lawyers coming to settle accounts, sale of the house, and the many lands her father owned,

the division of the assets, the small family quarrels that would surely follow,

she and her sister, would certainly be left with nothing, after all they were only women. She had no interest in any of it.

She looked outside of the windows at the stupendous view. The majestic look of Safikhani Mountain on one side and Meyghan Lagoon on the other. How perplexing it is to feel so despondent while bearing witness to such beauty.

She straightened her back, took a deep breath, and

knew in her heart that this would be her last stay in this room, in this house, but Arak would always remain an important part of her being, no matter where she landed. After all, at age 32, she knew exactly who she was, and what her purpose in life was. She knew she would never again, allow a man to dictate her destiny. She was Ezzat Sadat, the daughter of Aman Allah Ghaem Magham Farahani, and of Banoo Massoumeh Dadgar,

the legendary beauty, whose family had ruled over the Baktiari lands for over a century.

Their stories and legends, and the consequences of their actions, would live on, long after this house would be gone. Although this room, with all of its beauty, would be a permanent fixture in her memories. That was all that mattered.


The power went out. Again.   Sally fumbled around for the matchbox on the counter and clumsily struck a match on the rough side of it. The little flickering light swallowed up most of her tiny dark apartment in a faint orange glow.

Stupid power grid. What am I even paying taxes for?   They said they shut the power off because of the snowstorms. Personally, Sally thought that the power company was just incompetent and couldn’t fix the lines fast enough, but saying that wasn’t going to help anything.

They could’ve at least waited until I finished making my coffee. Gosh.

  She stood in front of the mirror above the couch, the match in her right hand, while she fixed her frizzy ginger hair with her left.

  The bags under my eyes are so big they could carry groceries. Gosh. I look like a walking corpse.   Well, as long as it’s snowing, I’m not going anywhere.   She was startled by the loud buzzing of her ringtone. She reached down and felt around for the top of her flip-phone sticking out of her back pocket. She flipped it open and answered it.   “Hey, Sally Watterson here.” Sally sandwiched the phone in between her head and her shoulder and walked over to the kitchen counter, emptying the half-made coffee in the pot with one hand and carrying the match in the other.   “Weather’s pretty bad out there.” The voice on the other end said, distorted by the buzzy sound quality.   “Huh, no kidding.” As she reached over to turn off the faucet, the match fell into the sink and fizzled out. “Dang it.”   “Sally, light another match. I can’t see you.”

The voice was strangely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Who is this?” She walked over to the counter and set the empty coffee pot down.   The person on the other end laughed sweetly. “Sally, it’s Kevin, remember?”   Kevin? Kevin. Oh my gosh.   Sally dropped the phone and the matches, frozen in panic.

  “Sally? Sally, are you there?”   She blinked twice, her breathing sporadic, and knelt to the ground fumbling around for the matchbox. It was much harder now to actually find it because of the pitch blackness in the room and the furious shaking of her hands.

  Her hand seized the small rectangular box and one of the matches scattered across the floor, and in one swift motion she struck it and illuminated the room again. She could now see the phone on the floor, and reluctantly she reached down and picked it up.   She swallowed a large breath, thinking maybe that might steady her voice. “This isn’t funny! Look, I don’t know who—”   “Hey, I can see you now!”   She spun around again, holding the match a full arms length away from her as if it would ward off whatever devil was on the other end of the phone. Shaking, she rose to her feet.

  In the mirror above the couch, she could see a shadow on the wall behind her. It wasn’t hers. It was shorter and thinner, and etched out of the wall in a deep black that defied the light of the match.

Holy crap.   Sally hung up the phone and flipped it closed. It didn’t do a thing.   The shadow stepped out from behind her. “Hey, Sally… it’s been a while.”   Sally turned. The shadow seemed normal in all other respects, it was connected at her feet and stretched all the way up the wall. But when it came to the shadow itself, it seemed to elude the matches’ glow and move as it pleased.   None of its features were detailed. It didn’t have an expression. But the way that it moved, the tone of its voice was radiantly alive in just the way Sally remembered.   It was unmistakably Kevin.   “What on earth are you doing here?”   “I’ve been here. I’m just never able to talk to you.” Kevin kicked sheepishly at the floor, but there was no sound.   “What– why?”   “Well, you never use candles or matches. That’s the only way you can see me,” Kevin said, picking a discarded match up off of the floor and setting it gingerly on the counter. The match seemed to be levitating. “And I never called because I didn’t think you’d answer the phone for your dead childhood friend.”

Dead childhood friend. -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-   Sally and Kevin had been neighbors since Kevin’s family, the Colbys, had moved in when they were both three years old. Their houses faced each other, and between them was a wide, stone-gray street. Their kingdom.   Sally’s mom had always said to be careful when they played in the street. But they’d done it for years, and nothing bad had ever happened. Mom was crazy. She didn’t know that Sally and Kevin were invincible.   Sally soon found out this wasn’t the case.   It was a warm evening in early July. Sally wanted to run one last race before they had to say goodbye for the night, so they hauled their bikes a few houses down and lined up in between the two mailboxes, the designated starting line.   “Ready? Three… two… one!” -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-   “You died, Kevin. You died. I was there.” Sally’s voice was cut out by a sob. She wiped her face on her sleeve unceremoniously and cleared her throat.   “Gosh. How are you here?”   Kevin danced back across the wall and stopped right in front of Sally. “I told you, I’ve been here. This whole time.”   Sally stared at Kevin, or rather, this construction-paper cutout of him on the wall. She could see it. His messy blonde hair and brown eyes. His freckled face and innocent smile, complete with braces and teeth that dipped just below his lip.   She had ignored and avoided any memory of that face for eleven years.

  Distressed, Sally blew out the match and threw it on the carpet. She only had a few seconds of silence before her phone vibrated in her back pocket.

  Reluctantly, she answered.   “What was that for?” He chirped on the other end, childish offense in his voice.   “You don’t understand,” Sally’s eyes flickered around the walls. Without the match, she was surrounded by black on all sides. “I already got over it. I already did all the stuff they tell you to do when a person dies.”   “Like what?”   “Like, accept the fact that they’re gone and you’re never gonna see them again. Like that.”   “Well, I’m here right now,” Kevin said. “So whoever told you that stuff is wrong. You should be happy.”   “I’m not happy! You know why?”   “No. Really, I don’t.”   -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-   Kevin bolted ahead of her, but Sally wasn’t far behind. She had lost quite a few of the races that day, something Kevin loved to tease her about, and she was determined not to lose this one.   They had just passed the Fitzgeralds’ house, Kevin’s neighbors. Kevin’s house was the one right before the turn. The finish line.   Headlights.

  A bright red car flew around the turn, heading straight for Kevin and Sally. Startled, Sally swerved, hit the curb and fell off of her bike, landing on the Colby’s front lawn.

  -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-   “I— I don’t know either, Kevin.”   “Well, there’s your problem.” Kevin teased. “Now can you light that match, please?”    Sally flipped the phone closed and scraped the match on the rough side of the box, igniting it. There he was, plastered on the wall.   “What do you want from me, anyhow?” Sally flopped down on the couch across the room from the shadow, raising the match up to illuminate the room.   “I just want to talk to you,” Though Kevin’s smile couldn’t be seen, it could be heard in the upward movement of the tone of his voice. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

He says that as if he hasn’t been dead for eleven years.   “Anything in particular?”   “I do have a few burning questions.” Kevin sat down on the floor.   “Lay ‘em on me.”   “Well, back home you always said you’d love to move to a small town. Like the one you’d go to over spring break to visit your Grandpa.” Sally stared at Kevin. She knew where this was going.   “So, why’d you move to Chicago, of all places?”

I had to get out of Pennsylvania.

“Oh, you know how it is…”   That neighborhood. That street.

“You graduate, you’re in your twenties…”   I couldn’t stand the emptiness.

“Some things just change.”   -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-    “Sally. Sally, honey, wake up.”   Mom.

  Sally was lying on the couch in Kevin’s living room, the lights off. The only light was the glow of the dying sun, bleeding over the horizon.   Mrs. Colby was standing in the doorway, her hazel eyes glittering with sudden misery as she stared out the window at something in the street. The telephone cord was wrapped around her arm, the phone pressed against her face as black mascara tears ran down her cheeks.   “Please, come as quickly as you can—”   Sally sat up and stared out the window, realization slowly dawning on her. A glimpse of a twisted red bicycle and Mr. Colby kneeling on the pavement was all she caught before her mother sat in front of her and blocked her view of the tragedy unfolding in the street.   “Sally, it’s going to be fine.”   It was obvious it wasn’t. Mom had that same look of regret on her face as Mrs. Colby. Her eyes shining with diamond tears, her pupils dilated in terror.   In her heart she knew, but by four o’clock the next morning it was confirmed.   Kevin Colby was dead.   And to Sally Watterson, now 23, it was still an open wound.  “Things like what? You haven’t changed all that much.” Kevin said, his head cocked slightly. “You’re just… older.”   “And you’re not.” Sally paused. “You should be. You should be here. You should be alive, Kevin.”   “Look, Sally, it doesn’t really matter—”   “I feel like I stole this from you.” Sally rose to her feet, gesturing around at the walls of the apartment. Kevin mirrored her on the wall. “High school graduation. My first job, my first kiss. This life in this city. Everything I’ve done and everything I’ve had feels like I stole it from you.”   “Sally, thinking about it over and over again is gonna get you nowhere. Believe me.”   “You don’t understand, Kevin! I can’t! I can’t live like this!”   The smell of smoke. Sally looked to realize the match wasn’t in her hand anymore.

I dropped the match.   The russet-red carpet caught the embers, its burnt-out color suddenly turning a dangerous orange.   Sally ran for the sink, snatching the coffee pot off of the counter and stuffing under the running faucet until the water rose to the top.

This isn’t going to work, is it?   Sally stood there in the living room, the coffee pot filled with water.

Gosh.

Shattered glass on the floor. The coffee pot in pieces.

Oh my gosh.

The temperature and flames rose. Sally’s back against the wall, the tremendous light casting a dim shadow behind her.   “Sally, I’m here.”   The air became hazy with smoke and the brilliant orange fire engulfed and illuminated her powerless apartment. The flames clawed at the carpet, growing ever closer to Sally, enlightening her mind with one last thought.

Kevin was there. He had been all along.   Then, as if on a cue, Sally’s vision went black. -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-   “Excuse me, ma’am?”   Sally’s eyes flew open and in one sudden instant, she tried to recount everything that had happened. She looked around, bewildered.   “Ma’am! Ma’am, calm down, it’s okay.” Her eyes caught on a man in a blue uniform right in front of her. She was surrounded by people.

My neighbors.

The smell of smoke lingered in the air.

My apartment.

“Ma’am, you’re okay,” the officer continued, as Sally slowly came to the realization that she was sitting on the sidewalk.   “No. No I’m not.” She felt the matchbox in her back pocket. “Not yet.”   Sally flew to her feet and dashed into the alley, snatching the matchbox out of her pocket. She struck the match on the side of the box a few times before it finally lit.

  And there he was.   In the darkness of the powerless city, the match seemed to illuminate the universe. Both stared at each other in sublime silence for a few moments before Sally finally dared to speak.   “Thank you, Kevin.”


Harlow The building’s old. Decrepit. Unremarkable in every sense of the word. And yet - something about it makes me wistful. Nostalgic, even. But I can’t quite place what that something is.

We walk through the doors and into the lobby, my backpack slung over my shoulder, suitcase trailing behind me, the broken wheel making a click-clack sound as it jostles around on its hinge. I glance over at Thomas. His face is passive, his eyes pointed down towards the carpet that might have been white once, but I know him - I can tell that he hates the place from the slump of his shoulders and slight quirk of his eyebrows. Well, there goes the hope that he might like it here.

I get our key from a balding, red-faced man sitting at the clerk’s desk. “Fourth floor,” he says tiredly. “Apartment E. Stairs are through there.” He gestures towards a metal door speckled with rust.

“No elevator?” mutters Thomas under his breath. I shoot him a dirty look that he pretends not to notice and walk through the door. The stairwell’s dark, damp, and smells like broken dreams. I like it.

We lug our suitcases up the four flights of stairs. Thomas stops a few times to catch his breath, but I keep going, anxious to see our new place.

When we finally reach the fourth floor, I open the door leading off the stairwell landing and enter a narrow hallway lit dimly by deep-set lights in the ceiling. I fumble in my sweatshirt pocket for the key, open the door engraved with the characters ‘4E’, and turn on the light.

The apartment is empty and dusty. The yellowish-tan wallpaper is peeling at the corners, and the windows are covered with dirt. The distinct smell of mildew hangs heavy in the air. But, somehow, I feel like I could belong here. And it’s then that I realize why this place fills me with longing: it reminds me of my childhood. It reminds me of how it feels to be home.

Thomas The apartment’s horrible, even worse than that sorry excuse for a lobby. I can’t look in any direction without seeing something wrong with it - peeling wallpaper, grimy countertops, dust-covered window sills. I look over at Harlow, though, and she’s walking around in a sort of trance, like this is some luxurious penthouse or something. I just don’t understand what she sees in this dump.

It’s true, I grew up pretty well off, and although she doesn’t mention it much, I know she wasn’t exactly wealthy as a kid. Maybe this is what she’s used to or something. But - this place? This is the apartment she’d found for us? Sure, it was cheap, but it isn’t even worth the small amount we paid for it. I’ve already told her my parents would buy us a nice place if we asked them, and we could pay them back once we started our jobs. She wouldn’t hear it. Well, she’s always been the independent type. It’s one of the things I love about her. But, still.

We set our bags down and walk around the apartment. There’s four rooms: a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and living room. Not much, but enough. It would’ve been fine, if the place wasn’t so gross .

“So, Harlie,” I say cautiously. She can have a bit of a temper , and I don’t want to test it by telling her outright that I hate it here. “Where’d you find this place?”

“Some website,” she says absentmindedly, running her hand along the bedroom wall. “Why?”

“No reason.”

She sighs. “C’mon, Tom, I’m not stupid. I know you hate it. But can you just try ? Please? We’ve already bought it and everything.”

“I don’t hate -” “Yeah, you do,” she says, folding her arms with a smirk.

“No, I don’t.” I say, setting my jaw. Sometimes I think we’re both too stubborn for our own good.

“Yeah, you- you know what, I’m not gonna argue about this.” She turns and walks back into the living room.

We’re going to go shopping for furniture and supplies tomorrow, but tonight we’ll have to sleep in sleeping bags. We order pizza and eat it on the floor, relishing the greasy-fingered feeling that we hadn’t been able to find in the college cafeteria. We eat in silence for a while, until Harlow says, “We’ll clean the apartment up tomorrow. Okay? It’ll be better after that.” “M’kay,” I say thickly, my mouth full of pizza. She gives me a small smile.

Afterwards, we watch a movie on my laptop, huddled together against the wall under a blanket, the computer halfway on each of our laps. It’s nice, just being alone together. We didn’t get that very often at NYU.

When the credits start rolling around 10:00, Harlow turns her head towards me. “Let’s get some sleep, okay?” “It’s still pretty early,” I tell her with raised eyebrows.

“Trust me,” she says with a rough laugh, “you want to be well-rested for tomorrow. We’ve got some hard-core cleaning to do.” “If ya say so.” “I do say so.”

I smile and kiss her on the cheek.

Later, when we’ve brushed our teeth and are tucked into our sleeping bags, I decide to ask her one last time. “Harlow, I know I already mentioned it, but you know my parents could buy us another place, right? Until we make some of our own money.”

“Thomas, no . We talked about this.” I can almost hear her scowling.

“Yeah, but . . . c’mon, Harlie. Look at this place. Could you just tell me why you won’t ask them for help?” “ I think this place is great,” she says angrily. “And I’m not going to have your parents taking care of us like we’re still kids. We’re not kids, Thomas. We haven’t been for a long time.” “I know that,” I say. I realize it’s no use arguing with her. She’s made up her mind. I turn over and, eventually, get pulled under by the heavy tug of sleep.

Harlow I wake up to a loud shout. I sit up straight and look over at Thomas. He’s sitting up too, his back rigid with fear, waving his hands violently in front of his face. “What?” I say, panicked. “What’s wrong?”

His face wild with fear, he points to a tiny spider I hadn’t noticed, crawling across the floor. “That thing- that thing landed on me!”

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing, so hard that I almost fall over. He stares at me. “It’s not funny !”

“You should’ve seen yourself!” I say, wiping my eyes. “The look on your face-” I dissolve into laughter again.

He scowls, but I can see that he’s not really angry. “You’re not being very mature ,” he says, running his hand through his dark, sleep-tousled hair.

“Eh, screw maturity,” I say, standing up to get ready for the day.

While I’m brushing my teeth, Thomas comes into the bathroom. There’s a hard look in his gray-blue eyes that scares me a little. When he looks like this, there’s really no stopping him from getting whatever it is that he wants.

“ Harlow ,” he says.

I stop brushing. “Yeah?” I say through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“I just went into the kitchen. And it’s crawling. With. Ants.” His voice is as hard and stiff as a board.

I shrug and go back to brushing. “So we’ll buy some ant traps at the store.” “You don’t understand, Harlow,” he says in a low voice. “They’re everywhere . We’re infested. We need to leave.” “Since when are you so afraid of bugs? The spider, and now these ants- what’s up with you, Tom?” “What is up with me is that this place is disgusting, Harlow. You know it is. And I promised myself I wouldn’t mention it again, but if you would just let my parents buy us a place-” I spit the toothpaste into the sink and glare at him in the mirror. “Thomas,” I say warningly. He usually stops when I say his name like that, but this time he keeps going.

“ No , Harlow. We’re leaving. And it doesn’t matter if you don’t want to get help or feel like a little kid or whatever, because this isn’t just about you, okay? I get a say in this, too. And I say we’re leaving . I don’t get why it’s so hard for you!” “No, Thomas!” I’m shouting now, but I don’t care. I’d rather do anything than become someone like that. Someone like his parents. Someone like him - although he’s mostly different. But I can’t tell him that. I can’t tell him the truth, but I can tell him to stop asking for it. “We are not leaving. End of story! I don’t care if you’re afraid of some stupid ants. We. Are. Not. Leaving.” I turn and storm out of the bathroom, not staying to hear his response. And I don’t stop - I leave the apartment and walk down the hallway into the stairwell. I lean my back against the wall and sink to the ground, throat burning from shouting, heart aching from refusing to tell him the truth.

But I don’t know how I could possibly do that.

Thomas I stand there in the bathroom, still staring at the place where she was brushing her teeth a couple minutes ago. What’s wrong with her? Why is she so against my parents helping us? What could she possibly see in this place? I run my hands bewilderedly through my hair and stay in the same spot for a while before going after her.

I find her in the damp, smelly stairway, sitting with her back against the wall. “Hey,” I say, helping her up and taking her face in my hands. She doesn’t avoid my gaze - she looks straight at me, and in her dark eyes I see an intense sort of fire, something I’ve never seen there before. It makes her look wilder. Freer. Beautiful. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know,” she says. “So what’s wrong?” I ask her.

She shakes her head and backs out of my grasp like a stray dog trying not to be captured. “I just can’t do it.” “Do what?” “Get help from them. Live in their world. Your world, I guess. I can’t do it. I can’t.” “I don’t get it.” “Of course you don’t. You grew up like that. Always having whatever you wanted, whatever you needed. I didn’t grow up that way. And I can’t pretend to be like them when I’m not. What I’m saying is I can’t be a rich person, okay? I can’t be one of them. And your parents hate me Thomas. You know they do.” “They don’t hate you, Har. And we don’t have to be like them.” “Yeah, we do. If I ask for help from them, I’ll get used to luxury like that. I’ll lose everything that makes me myself . I’ll become one of them. I can’t do that. It’s the worst thing that could happen to me.” And it’s in that moment that I realize everything she’s been going through. Horrified at the idea of asking them for help, not because she’s stubborn, but because she’s terrified to lose her identity.

I can’t pretend to know what that’s like. But I can try to understand.

Harlow When I finally tell him the truth, I can see the understanding in his eyes. It’s like he’s seeing me for the first time. I can tell that he gets it.

And he steps forward to wrap his arms around me, holding me tight in the stairwell of broken dreams.


The tree was dying. It knew that it did not have much time left. The season had been dry and other, bigger trees in the forest had used up most of the nutrients and moisture that were still left in the soil around it. It was still a thin and small trunk with only few branches and shallow roots. It lacked the resources to compete with the bigger trees around it. What use would it be to struggle against that already decided fate? Every day was just one day closer to the inevitable end. But one day a stranger came to the forest. A human. The tree did not know humans well. They rarely visited its part of the forest. On the rare occasions one found their way here they did not stay long. This day too the tree expected the human to leave after a brief look around. But that is not what happened. With wide eyes full of wonder the human took in the vibrant environment. It seemed to be fascinated by all the trees and flowers that grew here. And then the human‘s gaze fell onto the dying tree. With browning, too dry leaves and in some places almost naked twigs and branches it was not pretty to look at. The tree was sure the human would soon point its attention to the prettier and healthier plants around it. Instead the human stepped forward and touched one of its dried out branches with gentle fingers. It took out some kind of container from its pouch and slowly started pouring the liquid from it on the dry soil around the dying tree. Water. The human had given it water. The tree soaked it up as fast as it could. It wasn’t quite enough but it was more than it had gotten in what felt like a long time. A fighting chance. Hope. The container was empty now and the human put it back in its pouch. It looked reluctant. Then the human made some noises that the tree did not understand and left. It was a short encounter, but it had fed the tree‘s dying flame of hope a little. The water had not been much, but it was enough to tide it over for just a bit longer. It had a chance now. And unexpectedly the human visited again. And again and again. Each time bringing water with it and one time even some fresh, rich soil that it put around the tree. With the human‘s help the previously dying tree began to flourish. On the outside not much difference could be seen yet but the changes were happening. The tree had fanned out its roots. It was growing them deeper every day in order to have a stable base for the future, with better access to the nutrients deep inside the earth. It was also growing little buds, where flowers would bloom in time. There weren’t many yet, but they gave hope for the future. One bud was almost ready to bloom. It was hidden behind some leafs though so it wasn’t directly visible. One day the human came by again but didn’t act like it normally did. The human sat down on the ground with their arms slung tightly around themselves. Water started leaking from their eyes and desperate noises escaped their throat. It sat there like that for a long time. The tree did not know what was wrong with this human. It did not understand the behaviour the human was showing right now. But the tree knew one thing. It wanted to do something for this human that had done so much for it. With much effort it rustled some of its leaves. Some of them fell to the ground in front of the human. The human looked up startled by the sudden noise. A beautiful, vibrant flower bloomed, no longer hidden by leafs. The tree had poured all the resources it could muster at that moment into that flower. This flower was all it had to give. The humans eyes grew wide and the water stopped leaking from them. A big smile formed on the human‘s face. With gentle hands it touched the vibrant flower, careful not to accidentally damage it. "Thank you" Even though the tree could not understand the human language it understood the message the tried to convey. The flower was the tree‘s thank you and the human had understood. Sometimes with just a little help life found a way to persevere. And as long as there was a little life left there was hope. The human stayed with the tree a long time before going away that day. And the tree knew that the human would always come back. As long as there is life there is hope.


26th June 2020, 10:32 AM: Harry is watching TV in his house. He is a magician and lives alone in a cooperative housing society. He is sitting on his couch and playing with his mobile. On TV, the news appears that a thief has escaped from the jail and is on the run from the police. Suddenly, someone knocks on his door. Harry opens it. He sees the same thief. At 10:40 AM, The police who were chasing the thief reached the housing society. Inspector Ramesh talks to the secretary of the housing society who informs them that the watchman is on a leave and there are no security cameras in the building. However, police find a CCTV camera in the street outside the housing society. The footage shows the thief entering the housing society. The police check the whole place. They go inside every house and search for the thief. No one opens Harry's house when the police knock. The police get suspicious and break open the door. At 10:50 AM, they enter the house and see Harry tied and gagged in a chair. The wardrobe in his bedroom is open. Harry tells Inspector Ramesh that the thief threatened him with a knife, tied him and stole 1.5 lakhs money that was in his wardrobe and left the house. Police then search outside in the streets but couldn't find the thief. The media mocks the police brutally. At 2:00 PM, Inspector Ramesh is suspended as the thief escaped the jail while he was on duty and he failed in catching him. Later that day, Ramesh goes home and is very depressed. He locks himself in his room and keeps thinking about the case. He is very desperate to solve this crime. He remembers that the CCTV footage in the street showed the thief entering the housing society but not leaving it. He suspects that the thief is still in the housing society and most probably in Harry's house. He tries to know more about Harry through the internet. He finds out that Harry is an expert in Escapology. He is convinced that Harry is lying because he could have easily freed himself when the thief tied him. He also finds out that many of Harry's shows have been cancelled and he is not a very successful magician. He believes that Harry cannot possess 1.5 lakhs and he is lying. 27th June 2020, 10:00 AM: Ramesh reports to his senior's office the next morning. He tries to convince him that Harry is lying. However, his senior Aakash rubbishes Ramesh's claims. Aakash tells him that Harry was tied by ropes instead of chains. He is only trained to free himself from chains with the help of a hook. Further, Harry was threatened by a knife. So it's possible he was nervous and couldn't free himself. Also, Harry has given a statement that he took a loan from a Government Bank for his next show and this has been confirmed by the Bank. This is how he had 1.5 lakhs in his wardrobe. Ramesh is told to leave the police office as he doesn't have any solid proof. He returns to his home as he had failed again. The case has been handed over to many officials. It has been shifted to many different departments. Many elaborate Inquiries and meetings to solve the crime have occurred. The thief's associates were caught and interrogated. His bank accounts and cash withdrawal were traced. 'Wanted' posters for the thief have been circulated within the country and later to overseas countries too. Spies have been set on Harry. But all of that was a dead end. It's been a year. The search for the thief and money is still continuing and this has become one of the most discussed cases among the police, public and media and yet it is not solved. However, the secretary of the housing society is happy that the government installed CCTV cameras inside the building for free. It turns out Harry got addicted to online gambling games during the lockdown and he lost a lot of money. He had taken a loan of 1.5 lakhs from the government bank but was unable to settle it as many of his shows were cancelled due to fear of the spread of the virus. Harry killed the thief the day he saw him and hid him behind a mirror in his bedroom. The mirror was one of his artefacts that he regularly uses in his magic shows. He then opened the wardrobe door, tied and gagged himself and feigned a crime scene. The corpse of the thief still lies behind the mirror. The case has made Harry very popular. Media had hailed him as a hero since according to them, he remained calm when the thief broke in. His debt is cleared because the government spared his loan as his money was stolen and couldn't be found by the police. He is now a successful magician, married and has two kids. Meanwhile, Ramesh became addicted to alcohol. He was arrested for beating his wife and daughter. In the jail, his mental health began to deteriorate. He was soon shifted to a mental asylum where he committed suicide.


Kari Michaels just quit her job. Again. Mel would be here any moment and Kari dreaded revealing the news to her older sister. If Mel knew, she’d never agree to their road trip and Kari needed this trip.              Their plans had been in the books for eight months, since their mother’s funeral. Kathy’s dying wish was for her daughters to reconcile and visit their favorite vacation spot from when they were children and still best friends.              Kari had her doubts about the reconciling part, Mel always seemed so disappointed in her. If she added the little tidbit about quitting her job, Mel would feel justified in her opinion. According to Mel, Kari did not live up to her potential, but how could she live up to a sister who made all the right choices and wasn’t afraid to point that out?              Kari put her bag in the hatchback of her car and looked at the time. It was unlike Mel to be late. Moments later, Mel pulled up in her sporty SUV with her long blonde hair all blown out and her make-up perfectly applied.              “You’re late,” Kari couldn’t resist pointing out.              Mel just shook her head and didn’t take the bait.

             “I’m here now,” she said, looking as if her mind were elsewhere.              They had agreed to take Kari’s little Toyota because it was so much better on gas mileage, so Mel put in her two large suitcases, which sat next to Kari’s one overnight bag. Melissa Michaels was high maintenance whereas Kari tended to be make-up free and down to earth. They were like oil and water – the two sisters, but it hadn’t always been that way. When they were kids, they’d been best friends, preferring each other’s company over their friends.              It wasn’t until their teen years that they began to drift apart. It was about the time Mel had met Greg, who she later married. That summer her sister had changed. Mel hadn’t always tried to be perfect. Kari could recall her sister’s infectious laughter and adventurous spirit. Kari missed her.              “I’ll drive first,” Kari said, getting in.              “Sure,” Mel responded without an argument. Normally Mel liked to be in control and in charge.              “Should we get Slurpee’s for the road?” Kari half joked, remembering how their mother always began their trip with Slurpee’s.              “Let’s do it,” Mel smiled, which was the last response Kari expected.              What was up with her sister?              They hit the convenience store and came out smiling, with their large drinks. Maybe this trip would be better than she thought.              “Remember when that guy cut off mom and she got so mad she threw her Slurpee on his pristine white car?” Kari recalled.              “And then he chased us for a few miles before Mom lost him,” Mel added, laughing.              “Mom always had such road rage,” said Kari, taking a large gulp of her cherry cola Slurpee.              “We were lucky,” Mel pointed out. “I don’t think I’d do that nowadays. People are likely to have guns.”              “Yeah, but it was fun then, when we didn’t know any better.”              They got on the beltway heading south, each content with their own thoughts, as Kari maneuvered around the busy traffic.              “I brought some of Mom’s Cd’s,” Mel said, taking them out of her large designer handbag.              “Whatcha got?” Kari wondered, surprised by her sister’s sentimentality.              “Neil Diamond, Elton John and the Eagles,” she held up the albums.              “Oh, Mom loved Neil the most,” Kari said, unused to going down memory lane with Mel, who always seemed to be looking forward.              “Neil it is,” Mel said, sliding in the Cd. Neil Diamond’s deep, sultry voice crooned through the speakers.              Kari was immediately hit with nostalgia. It felt like having their mom in the car with them.  Kari blinked away her tears, not wanting Mel to see her so vulnerable, but Mel was looking out the passenger window, deep in thought.              Had Mom been right? Could this trip bring them back together again? For the first time in years, Kari felt hopeful.              The traffic made the Outer Banks feel so far away, but Kari couldn’t wait to dip her toes in the sand and explore the little cottage they used to stay in. Would it be the same?              Melissa cracked her window and let the warm, summer air blow her beautifully styled hair into a mess. Kari couldn’t recall ever seeing her sister so relaxed.              “So how have things been?” she asked, sensing a change in her.              “Fine,” Mel answered, distractedly. She turned up the volume, virtually cutting off further conversation.

             This puzzled Kari even more. Mel loved to talk about her perfect job and her perfect life. She wasn’t usually this closed mouth. Most of her conversations revolved around Greg, but so far, she hadn’t mentioned her husband once.              Kari let the songs and the memories flood her as the traffic let up.

             “I have to pee,” Mel spoke up after a while.

             “Me too,” Kari laughed. “I think there’s a rest stop coming up soon.”              “Remember how Mom always made our stops a game?”              “To see who could be done the fastest,” Kari recalled.              “It wasn’t until years later that I realized she hated taking the time to stop. She wanted to keep going,” Mel said.              “Then why did she ever give two kids Slurpee’s at the beginning of the trip,” Kari laughed, pulling into the rest stop.              “I don’t know,” Mel laughed too. “Who could figure Mom out?”              When Kari was finished, she checked out the vending machines, wanting something to munch on.

             “Beat you,” Mel teased, leaning against the car. “What took you so long?”              Kari held up her bag of chips.              “Aw, you’d better share,” Mel whined, trying to snatch the bag.              “Maybe,” Kari said, holding the bag away from her sister. This trip was going better than she had thought.

             As they got back on the highway, Kari sensed a camaraderie with Mel, as they shared the snack.

             “How was Greg taking it being on his own for the week?” Kari asked, as she stuffed a chip in her mouth. Her brother-in-law was a control freak, and always seemed to like Mel waiting on him.

             Mel just shrugged her shoulders like she could care less. Now Kari knew something was up. Normally Melissa worshipped the ground he walked on. It had been that way since high school when the popular jock had first taken notice of her.              Kari didn’t want to push her sister for more details. She didn’t want to disrupt the peaceful mood they were in, so she changed the subject.              “How about the Eagles?” Kari asked, after Neil Diamond had played through.              “Sure,” Mel said, changing the Cd.              After a while, Mel turned to Kari. “He wants a baby,” she said, looking so vulnerable and unsure of herself. There were worry lines around her sister’s perfect features.              “And you don’t?” Kari asked, shocked. “I thought you wanted a baby.”              There was a long pause before her sister answered in a soft voice.   “Not with him.”              “What?!” Kari almost shouted. She was dumbstruck. “What’s going on, Mel?” she asked, now clearly worried.              Mel let out a nervous laugh. “My life is a mess,” she confided. “I’ve made so many mistakes,” she sighed, looking like she was about to cry.              “Melly, what’s going on?” Kari asked, reverting to her sister’s childhood nickname.              “I wouldn’t know where to begin,” she admitted. “High school? I should never have married Greg. Or let him talk me into changing colleges to be near him. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know who I am without him?”              “You’re still my beautiful, adventurous, smart sister,” Kari told her.              “I haven’t been a very good sister in a long, long time,” she sighed, again. “And I’m sorry.”              “Well, we’ve both lost track of things,” Kari conceded. “But that’s what this trip is for, right? To get back on track?”              “Yes, it’s what I want,” Mel answered.              “Me too,” Kari said, glancing at her sister.              “I hope it’s not too late?” Mel asked. “I’ve pushed you aside for so long.”              “It’s never too late,” Kari stated with assurance. “Plus, it makes what I have to tell you seem small potatoes.”              “What?! What’s going on with you?”              “I quit my job again,” Kari admitted, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for her sister’s caustic remarks.              “Well good,” Mel said, instead. “You can do better. They didn’t appreciate your talent,” she said, with certainty.              “Who are you? And where is my sister?” Kari joked.              “I’m so sorry, I always made you feel like you weren’t doing enough,” Mel confessed. “You’ve stayed true to yourself all these years. Where I’ve let someone else dictate my life. I’m the last person who should be giving advice.”              “What are you going to do, Mel?” Kari asked.              “I’m leaving him,” she said, with tears in her eyes. “I should have done it a long time ago. I think when Dad left, I just wanted someone else to take over, so I gave Greg full range. Isn’t that awful?” she said, disgusted with herself.              “We were just trying to survive back then,” Kari pointed out. “We all handled the divorce in different ways.”              “I suppose you’re right. But now we can make up for lost time,” Mel told her.              “And this is just the beginning of our vacation. We have all week.”              “We have all our lives,” Mel corrected her. And they did.