# Boiler Room **A high school girl bullied for having an abortion finds refuge and a new friend in the boiler room of her school. But when the kids at school find out, her trouble only gets worse.** *Written by Gregory Patrick Travers* Slut. Whore. Baby killer. The horrible names they called her and their cold, piercing stares remained burned in her brain, playing over and over in her head on repeat. When she was in class, when she was at her locker, when she was in the bathroom--there was nowhere Stacey was safe. Even the teachers at St.Mary’s seem to follow her with their eyes when she was in the hallways, standing at the threshold of their classrooms with their arms crossed, looking down on her. The librarian scanned her books a little slower than she did the rest of the students. The lunch lady splattered her mash potatoes onto her tray with a little more apathy than she did the rest of the lunch line. Even the creepy old janitor, who the children had given the nickname "Old Man Frankenstein", due to his limp leg that dragged behind him as he walked, seemed to stare at Stacey deeply whenever they crossed paths. And she could read their thoughts. They all were the same: *That’s the girl who had an abortion.* But it was on a cold, snowy day in February that a series of events were put in motion that would change the lives of everyone at St.Mary’s forever… The day started out quieter than most. Due to the blizzard outside, many of the students had decided to stay home, wrapped in a warm blanket, sipping hot chocolate and letting thoughts of tests and grades take a backseat to the pleasures of daytime television. But in the hallways of St.Mary's, those who were forced to attend their classes that day did so with heavy feet and little patients. Stacey walked toward her chemistry class, her books close to her chest and her eyes on the floor. This way she could protect her books from being swatted at while avoiding the rows of eyeballs lit up on each side of her like lights on an airport runway. If Stacey had been looking straight ahead, she may have seen the three girls approaching with Stacey dead in their sights. It was Tori, honor student and captain of the senior girls' volleyball team, and her sidekicks: Sarah and Veronica. Knowing how the girls felt about her, Stacey would have perhaps avoided the brash shoulder that came her way when Tori blew past. “Watch it, slut,” said Tori. Stacey’s books fell to the floor. A group of kids, boy and girl alike, started to gather around them with grins on their faces. Sarah and Veronica were showing teeth. Stacey kept her eyes on the floor, knelt down and started to pick up her books. “Real mature, Tori,” said a boy from the crowd. Stacey was surprised to look up and, of all people, see Logan Davis coming to her defense. They never talked. Stacey didn't even know he knew she existed. He was a popular hockey player and she was just…Stacey. Naive, stupid, Stacey. He knelt down beside her and helped her gather her books. The crowd disbanded. Tori and her sidekicks walked on. “Hey, grade eleven math. I’m in that class too,” he said. Stacey pulled herself from the floor and looked up to see Logan's well-chiseled face and beaming blue eyes gazing back at her. She hated jocks but always thought Logan was something different. He was kind. You could see it in his smile. *A smile will get you every time*, she thought to herself. But she remained cool as ice. “Uh…yeah. I know.” “Don’t mind Tori,” he said as they got to their feet and he handed her back her textbook. “She can be a real devil sometimes.” “Thanks,” said Stacey, tucking her hair behind her ear before returning to a double handed squeeze on her books. “Can I walk you to class?” Logan asked. Stacey almost didn’t understand the question. “Uh…yeah. Sure. Thanks.” As they walked, Stacey could once again feel the stares burning a hole through her back. This time though, they were all thinking about something else. They were thinking the same thing Stacey was thinking: *What is Logan doing walking with* her*?* Logan didn’t seem to notice. Stacey guessed he must be used to it. He got looked at a lot, too. “Today’s the first playoff game for the hockey team,” he said as they went. “I play on the hockey team.” Stacey couldn’t help but roll her eyes and grin ever so slightly. “I know. You’re wearing the team jacket.” He looked down at his red letterman. “Oh yeah…” he chuckled. “You ever come watch?” She told him she hadn't, but that was a lie. She had been to a game once before, with Steve. The night that changed her life forever… Steve had snuck in a small flask of vodka and they passed it back and forth, high up in the stands. To keep warm, he said. By the third period the contents of the flask was gone, and so were they. Going back to Steve’s car seemed harmless. The backseat seemed exciting. But three weeks later, it all came crashing down. Everyone knew Stacey’s name after that. The girl who aborted her baby. The family cast out. The friendless. The unloved. And as for her babysitting career, the one thing she actually enjoyed in her dismal teenage years, no one in town was about to hire a baby killer to look over their precious gifts from God while they were away. “You should come,” said Logan, breaking her from her trance. The invite stunned her. Every fiber of her being told her to say no. But that smile of his. Those kind blue eyes. *There really was something different about him*, Stacey thought. “Sure,” she said. And for the first time in a long time, Stacey smiled. At lunch, Stacey would eat her sandwich and fruit in the boiler room below the school. For one thing, it was by far the warmest place in the institution in what was one of the coldest winters in years. And for another, it let her eat in peace. There was no one watching, no one pointing or snickering. *Having people stare at you while you eat is like having people stare at you while you pee*, she thought. It's perverted. It was nice and quiet down there, with the exception of the whoosh from the water pipes and the random hisses and clanks that always followed. Even the reject *sounds* of the school found their way down to the boiler room for a little escape from the busy bodies above. Their sporadic company gave Stacey comfort and put her at ease. Warm and quiet. Just the way Stacey liked it. As she drained the small carton of its last drops of chocolate milk, she heard the faint jingling of keys. Then came silence for a moment before the jingle of keys returned once again, only louder this time. The jingles soon were accompanied by a gritty scraping sound, like something heavy dragging on the floor. Someone was coming. Stacey's first instinct was to hide behind the boiler, but she had burned herself on it her first time down and didn't want to live through that pain again. Before she could think of another plan, a figure, hunched over and pale, emerged from behind a row of pipes. *Old Man Frankenstein.* Surprisingly, Stacey was relieved it was him. At least *he* was harmless. The principal, on the other hand, was just looking for a way to suspend her from school. She relaxed and went back to her sandwich. “What are you doing down here?” he grunted. He pointed at her with the wrench in his hand, his limp leg dragging behind him. “Eating my lunch,” Stacey replied simply. “Well, I can see that,” said the custodian, not very amused at her reply. “You’re not supposed to be down here. It’s dangerous. What’s wrong with the cafeteria?” “It’s even more dangerous for me up there.” Deciding to carry on with his business anyhow, Old Man Frankenstein headed to a long vertical pipe near the boiler, grunting as he went, muttering something Stacey couldn’t understand. “Besides,” said Stacey. “It’s nice down here.” “It’s too damn hot…” Stacey watched the old man struggle to turn the valve on the pipe. After some harsh coughs and some sweat, he managed to get it going. Stacey's first instinct was to applaud the man, but she was still holding her sandwich. “I don’t know…I like it,” she said. The old man spun his head around and yelled at her. “Now, I’m serious! You can be badly hurt down here, you need to get gone, ya hear?” Stacey didn’t budge. “I know…burnt myself pretty bad on that boiler.” She pointed to the mammoth metal keg-barrel casing, with all its dials, valves, and industrial bolts. “That thing’ll getcha.” The man retreated back to his pipe. “You’re damn right. That thing will burn a face clean off.” *What a strange thing to say*, thought Stacey. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you?” she asked, swallowing a mouth full of PB and J. “How come you ain’t scared of me, like the rest of those students?” he asked her abruptly. "Why would I be?" asked Stacey, wishing she had have made that carton of chocolate milk last a little bit longer. Peanut butter was sticking to the back of her throat. "Most of you are. I hear what they call me. Old Man Frankenstein. They look at me like I'm some kind of freakshow." “Are you?” “Most underpaid freakshow in all the land, then, I suppose.” “I know what it’s like, you know…to be looked at like a freakshow.” “Is that why you’re down here?” Stacey nodded, biting into her sandwich. “And what makes you so scary?” he asked. “You don’t look that scary to me.” Stacey was surprised he hadn't heard. *What's one more?* she thought. “I had an abortion.” He stared at her for a moment, the same way he would stare when they passed each other in the halls. Then he snorted and shook his head as if a fly had flown in his face, suddenly becoming stern. “If you ask me, you all are too young for that kind of stuff. Now, you’re gonna ruin your life acting like that, ya hear me?” Stacey immediately regretted opening up to him and shoved what little of her sandwich was left into her lunch bag. "Forget it. Never mind. I'll leave you to your precious boiler room." She put her lunch bag in her knapsack and threw it over her shoulder, hurrying past the old man. “Wait…” he said. But it was too late. Stacey was gone. \*\*\* She could see her breath. Stacey sat in the chilly stands of the hockey rink, blowing into her fist, yearning for the radiating heat of the boiler room. But when Logan skated onto the ice and waved up to her, she felt herself warming up pretty quick. A few rows to her left, sitting behind the visitor net, Tori and her sidekicks, Sarah and Veronica, were sitting with some of the football team, watching the game. Tori had been cheering Logan on as his shift took the ice, but when she saw how he waved to Stacey, her cheer turned to a scowl, and her focus shifted from the game to a different type of competition. Stacey pretended she didn’t notice. But seeing Tori in such a state put a smile on her face that she just couldn’t get rid of. Stacey kept her eyes on Logan, amazed at his athleticism. His speed and grace made the other team look slow and sluggish by comparison. Stacey could hear his blades scraping into the ice as he zigged and zagged through the other team and then, with the grace of a ballerina, spun around a defenceman and let off a hammering slap shot that whizzed right over the goalie's shoulder and exploded into the mesh of the top corner. The crowd cheered. Stacey cheered. Stacey was one of the crowd. After the game, Stacey waited for Logan at the hot chocolate counter like he had asked, her heart racing as if she had been out there on the ice herself. When he came out from the change room, wearing that red letterman, hockey bag hanging off his shoulder, and a grin that showed off his dimples aimed right at her, she felt a tingle in her belly. She hadn’t felt that tingle in a long time. She wouldn’t allow herself to. Not after Steve. *But Logan's not like Steve*, she lectured herself. *Logan's different*. “Glad you came,” he said as he approached. He was moving slower now. He put his elbow on the counter and leaned. “How was your first hockey experience?” Stacey relaxed. “A little frigid. But not bad.” “Maybe we can get you warmed up. A few of us are going to Pinz to bowl some games. Jerry’s got a fake ID, we can get pitchers.” He motioned behind him to the group of kids by the arcade game; more letterman jackets and a group of girls, including Tori, Sarah, and Veronica. “Thanks. But I should probably be getting home. I have to babysit my little brother.” Stacey didn’t have a little brother, but it rolled off the tongue pretty smoothly. Logan understood. “Okay, well…see you in math, I guess. Thanks for coming.” Stacey watched him jog back over to the group who seemed relieved he was coming back alone. Everyone piled out of the rink, except for Tori, who hung back and waited until her friends were outside before she walked over to Stacey and said, “You know he’s just paying you attention because he knows you’re an easy lay, right?” Tori left her alone with that thought and walked away with a satisfied smile on her face. \*\*\* Stacey sat in the boiler room, finishing the last of her sandwich, when the old custodian limped out from a set of pipes, his one leg dragging behind. But she knew he was coming. She heard those keys jingling a mile away. This time he didn’t look upset to be seeing her, nor did he break into a lecture about why she shouldn’t be down there. He just went about his business like she weren’t even there. Stacey wondered why that seemed so odd to her and then realized that she could not remember the last time someone ignored her presence. She was almost offended by it. “Come to give me more lectures?” she asked, watching him fiddle with the wrench on some bolts. He shook his head a bit but said nothing. focusing hard on the bolt lodged in the grip of his wrench. “Are you tightening or loosening?” she asked, now a spectator at the event. “Tightening,” he coughed back between grunts. Stacey nodded as if impressed at his answer. "I'm more of a loosener, myself. But that's just me." The custodian gave up on the bolt, took a big breath out and rubbed the wrinkles on his forehead. “I don’t know what I’m doing…I’m not really doing anything. This bolt doesn’t need to be tightened. I just…” He kept his eyes on the floor, almost embarrassed to look up. “I just want to say, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. Anyway, that’s all I came to say. Enjoy your lunch.” He turned away and headed for the exit. Stacey called out to him, feeling guilty for instigating. “Wait, man! You don’t have to go just yet. You can chill.” He stopped and grinned, which made the lines on the side of his face curl and crease. “Chill? In the boiler room? Fine choice of words, kid.” “I’m sure you’re not that busy. Come chill, keep me company.” “I don’t think that’s allowed,” he grunted. Stacey was having fun with him now. “Come on. Do you seriously want me to only know you as Old Man Frankenstein? What’s your name, dude…or sir? Do you prefer dude or sir?” “My name’s Will,” he said. “And what’s yours? Besides Sad Lonely Girl?” “Sad Lonely Girl. I like that. My name is Stacey. As in, ‘Did you hear? *Stacey* had an abortion.’ And other famous phrases.” He raised his wrinkled palm. “Stacey will be just fine. Don’t have to add all that, now.” Stacey liked Will right away. It was nice to have someone to joke with. You don't realize how much you miss the little social interactions when you're isolated, even a thing as simple as joking around. And she knew it was probably just as nice for Will to have someone to talk to as well. She asked him about his limp, how he got it and where. He told her it was a war injury from his tour in Vietnam. Stacey was amazed and felt embarrassed and ashamed that she used to see this man as just a creepy old grump. People are so easy to judge and vilify from afar, it's only when you get close do you see that we're all just human beings. We all have stories. Good ones and bad. He asked her if she was ever planning on eating in the cafeteria again. "I'm actually thinking about bringing a bed and a TV down here and just moving in. Stay here forever," she said slyly. His expression was flat. “This is not a place for a young lady.” “Well, it’s safer down here. Trust me.” He paused to collect some thoughts. “Our past--” “You have any kids?” Stacey asked over him. Will bowed his head and said, “I do. A daughter. Somewhere out there. You actually remind me of her quite a bit.” “Somewhere out there? What, is she, like, in the navy or something?” “Her mother took her from me. The war…messed my head up something awful. I came back a…darker person. It’s probably better this way.” “That’s terrible, I’m sorry to hear that. If it makes you feel any better, it kind of helps to hear how I’m not the only person who has it rough. Puts things into perspective, you know?” “Our past makes us what we are. But we have the power to choose what that is.” "Like, learn from it, or let the loneliness, shame, and hatred consume you, kind of thing?" He seemed almost entertained. “In so many words.” "Well, take your own advice, dude. Did we settle on sir or dude? Go see your daughter. Be less dark. It's your daughter. You're supposed to do anything for your daughter! You would sail the seas for her! You would kill for her!" Her momentum halted. “Sorry,” she said, deflated. “It’s none of my business. But it would probably mean the world to *her, too*.” Will, who looked a lot less like Frankenstein and a lot more human-like, beat the wrench softly on his palm, then turned around and slowly limped away, the one leg dragging behind, scraping on the concrete. She felt she overstepped, but maybe, she hoped, her words might have helped him out in some way. It seemed like they got through. Stacey stayed a while longer and listened to the wish-washing of the pipes. If she closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the boiler radiating on her skin, she could pretend, if only for a moment, that she was on a deserted beach somewhere, lying in the sand, watching a sunset, and listening to the waves crash in and out. She could escape from this cold, cold winter at last. Then she packed her things and headed for the stairwell. When she turned the corner into the corridor she ran smack into the brick wall that was Logan Davis. Before she stepped back and saw his face, she saw the “L.D.” embroidered on the breast of his red letterman. “Logan…What are you doing here?” He grinned. “So, is this where you’re eating your lunches now? I just saw Old Man Frankenstein come up from here. He wasn’t groping you, was he?” “No.” “Good,” said Logan. He put his hand on her waist and pulled her close. “That’s my job.” He leaned in for a kiss. Stacey turned her head. “Stop it, Logan. I need to get to class.” He squeezed tighter. “Come on, Stacey. I know you like me. You can spare a few minutes.” She tried to press herself off him but he was squeezing too tight. “I’m serious, Logan! Let me go!” He kept going, “I know you want it, Stacey. I know you like to fuck.” Stacey managed to wiggle an arm free, wound up and smacked Logan hard across the cheek. He let go of her immediately and grabbed the side of his face, which was quickly turning red. “You bitch!” he cried out. “What the hell is wrong with you, huh? You some kind of dyke or something? You’d rather be down here with Frankenstein?” “His name’s not Frankenstein, okay? It’s Will. And don’t you ever touch me again, you jerk, or I’ll have your name in the papers and it won’t be for scoring a stupid goal!” She pushed passed him and ran up the stairs. Stacey never ended up going to class. Instead, she locked herself in a bathroom stall and cried. \*\*\* “I heard you and Old Man Frankenstein got it on in the boiler room,” teased Tori when Stacey passed her in the halls the next day. “I know you like older guys, Stacey…but wow,” giggled Sarah. “Someone tell Rick James there’s a new Super Freak in town,” laughed Veronica. Stacey kept on her way, paying them no mind. But it was clear that the atmosphere around her had changed. The students were still staring, that much was the same, but now instead of scowls and resentment, it was giggles and smiles. Not welcoming smiles, but patronizing ones. Humiliating ones. She heard whispers as she walked. “Franky fucker” was the most common. Stacey put her head down and picked up her pace. The stares and laughs were coming from all around her now. It was suffocating. She needed to get somewhere safe, quick. “I heard you made out with the janitor,” said one of the boys from the football team as she turned a corner. Stacey’s teeth clenched and her fists tightened. She was furious. Not just at the students, who were so eager to gang up on her and strip her of any little dignity she had left, but at herself, for thinking Logan was anything different from any other high school boy. A liar and a jerk, that’s all Logan was. She was determined to let him know just how she felt about him the second she saw him in Math class that day. If he thought that slap in the face was bad, he was in for a rude awakening. But when she got to Math class, Logan’s desk was empty. Stacey didn't eat lunch in the boiler room that day. She didn't want to give the student body any more ammunition. But if she had, she would have found a body sprawled out next to the boiler in a red letterman jacket, the face unrecognizable from all the bubbles and scars that had disfigured the skin when his face was pressed against the steaming keg-barrel. Pieces of flesh and blood were still dissolving on the hot metal surface. Though, if Stacey turned the body over and looked at the initials embroidered on the red letterman jacket, she would have seen the letters ‘L.D.’ and beside the body, she would have seen a discarded wrench, stained in what looked to be crimson paint, and a pair of footprints in the same shiny, crimson shade leading away from the pool of blood. One of the shoe prints was normal and defined, and the other was shapeless and streaked, like a limp leg dragging behind, scraping on the concrete… The End.


If Peter thought that forgiveness, or anything like it, would ever be on the table of reconciliation between them, he was wrong. Fucking wrong. The word Asshole! wasn’t descriptive enough to embody the feeling that came spitting out of her mouth during the mediation session. Like tiny venomous toads, the words leaped from her lips. Peter didn’t deserve a pardon; it was her time to get even. The hard way. The way that made a person wonder what the hell he had been thinking and wishing that he could just go back in time and say no when it had been so easy to say yes. Nobody would ever describe Liv as the victim type. Liv understood that the world was governed by a set of unwritten rules, and she knew how to play by them, within reason and when it suited her means to an end. Liv always passed Go and she always collected her $200. If her opponent had a hotel on Boardwalk, Liv would always land exactly one square past Go on her own Mediterranean Avenue ( Sorry, sucka!) . Liv knew how to bend her luck and she knew how to stay out of jail. Anybody who was remotely acquainted with Liv would say that Liv was a sore loser. Liv took no prisoners, and she had big feet for kicking ass. What one might describe as mercurial , Liv preferred the use of assertive or confident to describe her personality. If people didn’t like her brand of kick-ass, that was on them. Not on Liv. People needed to buck up and be less sensitive. Liv knew that at every place of employment or at every party, there was “a Peter.” Liv had met Peter at the company’s Christmas party. He was married to Lisa at the time. What made it all the more shameful was that Lisa was seven months pregnant. Some people just don’t know how to play by the rules, Liv thought. It’s on them. But later, when Liv married Peter, Liv became a different person. She was no wimpy wife who attended holiday parties at her husband’s workplace in a garish Christmas sweater, not even trying to hide her whale of a uterus. Instead, Liv was the CEO who handed out the holiday bonuses with the firm handshake she was known for and the one who directed the caterers to open another case of champagne. Liv was in charge. And she liked it that way. After their wedding day, Peter’s confusion over Liv’s sudden coldness turned into resentment and, eventually, apathy. Liv had warned him and there had been no gray or fuzzy associated with how Liv felt about the same thing happening to her as what had happened to Lisa. When Peter decided that it was time to “do a Peter” (as Liv liked to call it) again, Liv knew it was time to take action. Not just a mincing baby step – the kind like all the self-help gurus claim to be the secret to making a tiny tweak in order to have a successful life. No, tiny tweaks weren’t in Liv’s living lexicon. Liv took big, gallumping giant steps that were meant to intimidate and to conquer. To win. At any cost. So, why was everyone surprised when they heard that Liv only took one day away from her duties at the company to see to the details of her husband’s funeral and to grieve? What a shame it was, really. So young. And so good looking. Don’t you remember how good-looking he was? He could have been on the cover of GQ . Not to be mean, but Liv isn’t all that good looking under all of that make-up and designer clothing. She actually has kind of a horsey face, don’t you think? Good luck on finding someone else who is as good looking as Peter was. Wasn’t he married to that really pretty girl who used to work as the night cleaner until they got married? Liv didn’t care. Liv did what she had to do to take care of Liv. If someone else couldn’t see this and understand this, it was their problem. Not Liv’s. Liv knew that it wouldn’t take her long to resume some semblance of marital status. After all, her trust fund disbursements depended on her being married, and she wasn’t going to abdicate her inheritance just for a naked ring finger on her left hand. Liv knew how to do this. She knew how to pick and how to glean. She only had nine months to fulfill the stipulations in the trust. Nine months – how long it takes to grow a baby inside a human. Nine months was plenty of time. The holiday party was only three months away and Liv suspected that Benoit in accounting was suffering marital distress. She only had to look up at him during a meeting and feign tears of grief over her loss of Peter to see the concern in his eyes. Yes, that’s right, Benoit. I am a damsel in distress. Save me and save my trust fund. Liv decided that she was going to suggest (insist) that all employees not bring their significant others to the holiday party. She would use the excuse that it was vital that the company act like its own family. She knew that this would produce a gagging gesture from the majority of the employees, but she knew that some of them wanted to believe that they were part of something bigger than just a greedy corporation that pollutes rivers and chugs smog into the atmosphere. Let them come up with their own suspicions. Liv was above them all anyway. Liv looked up. There was a man in an ill-fitting suit swinging open the door to her office while saying to Liv’s admin assistant, “This’ll only take a minute, Toots.” Liv jumped up, sending her chair bouncing into the wall behind her. She demanded what the hell he was doing in her office unannounced, when he flashed a gold badge at her. Liv sat back down, nearly missing her chair. The detective told her that this wasn’t going to take long and he beckoned to two uniformed officers in the waiting area. He rattled off her rights, produced a pair of handcuffs, and asked Liv to turn around, telling her, “Liv Adams, you are under arrest for the murder of Peter Long.” Liv looked at the detective and she felt the cool fall breeze coming in through the open windows of her fourteenth-floor office. She thought she could smell burning leaves mixed in with the exhaust from the traffic below. Liv had always hated that her office was, in reality, on the thirteenth floor. The builders simply didn’t have the cojones to call it for what it was. Bad luck could be turned into good luck if you had what it takes to get it done. And Liv had always had what it took. Liv walked to her window and opened it wider. She looked down at the traffic below, the cars inching along in the early morning rush hour traffic and inhaled the tang of the crisp air. She heard the detective ordering her to get away from the window and the squeak of rubber soles on the blond oak floor from the officers. Liv looked back at her office, so tastefully appointed with all the iconic features that her designer had assured her would scream Money! to potential clients. Liv ignored the detective. Liv lived by her own rules. She acted accordingly.


My teeth chatter and bones rattle beneath my big wool coat. I didn't layer nearly enough to wait outside this Target for what feels like an hour. Really it has probably only been about thirty minutes. Time truly freezes when you're frozen. I am packed in against the entrance like a last minute toiletry stuffed inside a suitcase, bursting at the seams. At this point, I don't even remember what I came here for; do I even have a plan? The bundled-up ladies next to me equipped with Venti Starbucks lattes seem to have a whole itinerary. I envy their foresight, especially the latte part. "What do you get the man who has everything?" I hear one of the ladies ask rhetorically. "A bigger TV," the other shrugs. I laugh along with them as if I am somehow in on the joke. We have all been standing here so long together, bonded by the experience of torturing ourselves for the chance at a good deal. I glance down at my phone for the time. The doors should be opening any second. My mind flashes back to images of news broadcasts detailing the trampling deaths of Black Friday shoppers and store greeters. The fear of becoming the next casualty sets in. Suddenly there is a quiet amongst the crowd. Everyone is positioning themselves with the seriousness of runners at the starting line of a marathon. A thin teenage boy in red appears through the glass, jangling keys. He unlocks the door and the floodgates are officially open. Shoppers spill into the store like a plague of locusts. I am not trampled, but squeezed between other sweaty bodies until I am finally inside. Everyone is swarming frantically, but I stand there dazed and overwhelmed. What am I even here for again? A gift for Will. Taking the latte ladies' indirect advice, I head to Electronics. Will definitely already has not one, but two TVs, and they seem to be just fine. But maybe the one lady was right, maybe he could use a bigger TV. On the shelf in front of me is one TV, it seems to be the last one, unless they have more in the back. Afraid to hesitate much longer, I   pull it down from the shelf and nearly fall over from the weight. I didn't even bring a shopping cart with me to put this in. Poor planning yet again. I stand there with the TV next to me in the floor of the aisle, looking around for someone in a red shirt who could maybe help me move it. I turn back to see one of the latte ladies lifting the TV into her already brimming shopping cart. "Hey, I was going to buy that," I protest, with very little fight. "Me too, baby doll," she says in a sickeningly sweet "bless-your-heart" tone. She makes an aggressive u-turn with her shopping cart and speeds off, probably on a mission to take the last KitchenAid mixer from the appliance section. I am left standing there in Electronics, stunned like a kid who just dropped her ice cream, still without a gift for Will. I wander the rest of the store looking up and down each aisle for ideas. At this point a lot of the shelves are missing product, so there isn't much left to choose from. They are out of his size in the flannel shirt he would like, no more W's in the monogrammed coffee mugs, they don't even have his favorite candy in stock. Feeling the pressure to make this painfully disappointing experience worthwhile, I grab some on-sale kitty litter and cat food and checkout. On the way out I pass the latte ladies waiting in line at the in-store Starbucks for another round. I hope their husbands like their newer, bigger TVs. Back in my car as I wait for the heat to warm up, I feel the chill of not just the air, but the emptiness left behind from my attempt at participating in this whole Black Friday charade. As I mourn my time wasted, I realize that is really the only negative. Will doesn't want or need a TV, or any of these big ticket "doorbuster" items the ads manipulate us into thinking we need. Will isn't that kind of guy anyway. He isn't the guy who has everything, nor does he want to be. He has everything he needs, and doesn't want much more than a new record for his collection, or tickets to a soccer game. He loves whales, music, and traveling to new places. It doesn't cost much more than time to think outside the brick and mortar box. Sure, lots of people do want a new TV. But what is better than opening a gift to find something that really is in essence, you? It is human nature to want to feel "seen." What better gift can one give than that very feeling? We all deserve a little extra thought and effort from time to time, especially those we love. Especially Will.


The following is an absurdist story I wrote in five minute intervals as I waited for my boss to finish talking to clients. I mow lawns, and just like Dillan, discover all kind of strange objects hidden in the grass. Hope you weren't expecting a happy ending.  Dillan hated mowing the Petersons lawn. It was always grossly overgrown no matter how often he mowed. Pulling into the cracked concrete driveway, Dillan parked his car and pulled the mower from the trailer. There's always things that get caught in the mower, fumed Dillan as walked the mower through the broken hinged gate. Last time it was a high heel, the time before a doll head. How does it all get there? Pushing the mower through the knee high grass felt like wading through quick sand. The grass was so dense Dillan had to rip some out just to allow the mower to spin freely and start. In the corner of his eye, Dillan saw a curtain in the house move, although it was difficult to see anything through the cobwebbed window. Probably a squatter, Dillan thought to himself as he began shoving the mower inches at a time. Apparently the previous owner went to jail for murder, although some people thought he was never caught. Of course the authorities would not say that, even if it were the truth. Nobody liked the idea of a murderer on the loose, and Dillan did not like the idea of mowing his lawn. When the mower caught and stalled for the fifth time, Dillan took off the catcher and threw it across the yard. Instead of the quiet landing in the cushioning grass, there was a clag of metal against metal. Dillan waded through the grass towards the catcher. Two steps before he reached it, he kicked what felt to be a solid metal dome. Curiosity replaced the pain in his toes, and so Dillan began eagerly ripping the grass to uncover what was beneath. Roots crisscrossed, making it impossible to target one ropey length of grass. When he fell back yanking a two meter green rope from the grass, Dillan went back to the car to find secateurs. As he turned his back, what Dillan had thought was but a green rope began to slither away. With the secateurs in hand, a hole grass was quickly cut through the grass netting. Snip after snip the object beneath began to reveal itself. First to emerge from the grass was a handle, which wrapped around the metal manhole. Dillan grabbed the handle and heaved it clockwise. At first there was a squeak, then a groan as the lock gave way. When he turned the handle all it could go, Dillan pulled up. It took three goes until he found where the hinges were. On the forth he pulled so hard that he fell backwards, leaving the solid metal lid to fall inches away from his leg. Dillan stood up and brushed rust debris from his hands. He looked around the backyard to see if anyone was looking, then he looked down the tunnel he had just uncovered. A cool breeze blew from inside, calling him. Just one peek, thought Dillan, and then I'll get back to this lawn. One careful step at a time, Dillan descended down the tunnel, away from all light. Any second now, he'd touch the bottom. Any second. The deeper Dillan went into the tunnel the more his curiosity grew, as did his fear. He saw the dot of light dissipate from above. He should go back. But he must almost be at the bottom. By the time his foot hit cool earth the dot of light had disappeared completely. Dillan wandered about the chamber feeling for a wall. Once he circled the room thrice he began to panic. There was nothing here but darkness. His heart began to race as he ran, arms flailing in front of him. All logic had left him and claustrophobia set in. "Help me!" Screamed Dillan, "help me, please!" Dillan ran about the room and screamed until his voice grew raw. Hours past and there was no reply. Dillan might of slept but it was impossible to tell whether his eyes were open or closed. The only sense of time he had was waiting until his voice would recover so he could scream for help again. \*\*\* Above ground, Dillan's voice could be heard by those who lay awake in their beds. One person to hear him was a boy who lived at twenty-eight Evergreen Drive. The boy called police and drove with them around the neighborhood, trying to locate the voice, but it wasn't coming from any particular direction. "It's coming from underground," he explained, but was quickly dismissed as crazy. "How could a voice be coming from underground?" said he policeman. And so, the boy did the same as anyone else would who have experienced the extraordinary buy did not have logic on their side, he spoke no more of it. The screaming continued for the next few nights. The voice grew raspy, as if the owner had gargled nails. "Help me!" it screamed, "help me please." If only there was more to the message, a clue as to how to help him. One night, the boy went to bed and no longer heard the voice. He was not sure whether he felt relieved or guilty that he could not help in time. End \*\*\*  This is in part a true story. I was the boy who heard the screaming from underground. It happened for a few nights when I was about seventeen. I heard it for those few days alone and never again. That was six years ago and I've moved houses twice since. I always thought it was just me, I just heard something. One day my brother, who at that point was sleeping in my old room, said he also heard screaming, the same as I had, coming from no particular direction. The story of Dillan was my attempt of reconstructing what I thought could have happened.


DSCT-4639X **TIME:** 14:49 PST **DATE:** 12/04/2089 **LOCATION:** \[REDACTED\] INTERVIEWER: The time and date is 2:49 pm, March 12, 2089. Hello, \[REDACTED\]. How are you today? \[REDACTED\]: Eh, same as any other day. Just surviving, you know? INTERVIEWER: Do you mind if we record this conversation? \[REDACTED\]: Doesn’t make a difference to me. Y’all would probably record it anyways even if I said no. Just don’t put my name in it, yeah? INTERVIEWER: Alright then. Let’s get started. Why don’t you tell me about the facility you worked in. \[REDACTED\]: What is there to say? We all know what it was. A research centre where the last smart people on earth could study the asteroid that wiped out Asia. Hell if I know why. In my opinion, they should have just left the damn place alone. INTERVIEWER: If you felt this way, then why did you choose to work there? \[REDACTED\]: Choose? Ha! You think I chose to work there? I guess \[REDACTED\] did a good job at covering up what they were doing there, huh? No, I didn’t choose to work at that godforsaken place. No one did, except for maybe the researchers. Everyone else was there because they had to be. INTERVIEWER: What do you mean by that? \[REDACTED\]: I mean that we were all prisoners. The research facility was just another work assignment. The conditions weren’t great, either. When we weren’t working, we were locked in the housing sector or held in cryo. Depends on how well behaved you were. If you were good, you got to sleep in stasis until your next work detail. If you were bad, you spent that time waiting. I wasn’t that great. Spent a lot of time out of cryo. INTERVIEWER: What about the facility itself? Can you describe it? \[REDACTED\]: Sure, though I’ll tell you, I didn’t see very much. Only the housing and mining sectors. That’s the only places we were allowed to go. The researchers were kept in their own private wing. So. The facility. Well, the housing areas weren’t all that bad. You slept in a room with 5 other people. There was a space to sleep, work out, and eat. The living conditions weren’t terrible either. The walls were made of plastacrete, like everything else in the place, and it was warm enough. The cleanliness of the rooms depended on those living in it. If you wanted a clean room, then you had better convince your roommates of that too, cause there sure as hell wasn’t anyone cleaning up for you. Now the mining tunnels? Those were a different story. They were mainly tunnels back through the rock, with metal beams overhead for support. It was hella scary in there, cause there were no lights and you had to use your own flashlights to see. There were different branches of tunnels everywhere that just lead into darkness. It was better for us, though – me and my squad, I mean – cause at least we were allowed to talk. The miners were restricted to silence, probably to stop them from talking up an escape plan. Man, I felt bad for those guys. Nothing we could do for them though. Poor bastards. INTERVIEWER: How would you describe the relationship between the security teams and the prisoners? \[REDACTED\]: During work details? Pretty much nonexistent. We were really only there to prevent them from trying to revolt. But when we were off duty, everyone mingled together. I mean, none of us wanted to be there. We were all in the same boat. INTERVIEWER: I see. Why don’t we go over the events leading up to the shutdown of the facility? \[REDACTED\]: Goddammit. I knew you were going to ask that eventually. Well, no use delaying it now. *Subject is shaking his head.* We were out on a regular work detail. There were ten of us, four guards and six workers. As usual, they didn’t tell us much about what we were going into. We had heard rumors, though, rumors of something new. Apparently, something had gone wrong with the mining crew before ours. They - they hadn’t made it back out. This was nothing new though, as rumors were commonly circulated among the guards and prisoners. Most of them were usually made up to scare people, so I didn’t pay much attention to them. I guess you can see how well that turned out for me. The expedition started out fairly normally. We entered our descent pods, and we started going down into the asteroid. I did notice, however, that we were descending much lower than usual. Normally we head down to about 600ish meters below the surface, but this time we went quite a bit lower. I think it was about 950 meters, almost a kilometer. I didn’t even know that we could go that deep. When we got to our platform, the doors opened to complete darkness, which was quite unusual. There’s normally some kind of staging area before the tunnel entrances, but I guess the previous group hadn’t – or couldn’t set that up yet. Our briefing cards said we were to head to tunnel L-32, but there were only a handful of tunnels, probably because we were one of the first ones at that level. Some of the older, shallower levels have tunnels all the way around the descent shaft. This one only had three or four, right in front of us. We found the right entrance marker, and headed in. One of the guys in my squad, Rob, had the idea to drop chem lights behind us, just in case. We were in a yet unmapped network, so if the tunnel branched, we’d know which way to go. We were making pretty slow progress, mainly because the tunnel was pretty narrow in some sections, as it hadn’t been widened and refined by hundreds of mining crews, like some of the shallower routes. It took us almost an hour until we reached the first obstacle. There was a pile of rocks blocking off the passage, a cave in probably caused by the asteroid shifting and settling in the earth. Not a problem, we had blasting equipment with us anyways, so it didn’t take long to clear out the route ahead of us. When it was clear, we continued on through the tunnel, until we reached something . . . strange. At first glance, it appeared to be the end of the tunnel where the last group had gotten to before returning, but upon closer inspection we noticed a small hole in the bottom left of the wall, large enough for a man to crawl through on his belly. This was peculiar because mining crews were only sent out with blasting equipment, pickaxes, and an automated jackhammer, none of which would be able to create the vent-sized tunnel we saw. Rob, being the daredevil he was, volunteered to head in to check out where it went. We tied a rope around his leg so we could pull him out if he got stuck, and Rob got on his belly and crawled down the passageway. As we waited for Rob to report back, I looked around at the tunnel around us, and that’s when I saw it. Jammed in a little indent in the rock, out of the way of our lights, was what looked suspiciously like a human foot. Or what was left of it. It was cut off right below the ankle, covered in blood, and with three toes missing. I could even see what appeared to be a scrap of leather on it – the tattered remains of a boot. At that moment, I knew something was horribly wrong. I pointed the foot out to the other guys, and they crowded around me trying to take a look. In their eagerness to get a better look at my discovery, no one was watching the rope, the rope that Rob was attached to. By the time we looked back, the rope was gone. We shouted down the tunnel, but there was no response. Suddenly, there was a shuffling sound coming from the hole. We shouted again, but still, no confirmation that whatever was making that noise was Rob. The sound got louder, getting closer, and we all stood in fear, awaiting whatever was going to emerge from the tunnel. The shuffling was creeping ever closer, closer, closer . . . and then it stopped. We all stood for a moment, waiting for it to start again, but it didn’t. I told the others to get behind me, then took out my penlight and crouched down at the level of the tunnel. Looking inside, I saw nothing at first. Then I clicked on the light. Lying there, not 4 feet away, was Rob. Or, at least, a gruesome approximation of Rob’s face. His skin was pulled to tight across his features, and his mouth was stretched in a too-wide grin. I leaped back with a shout of fear, stumbling back into the other guard behind me. The shuffling started again, but faster this time, and more frantic. The Rob-thing’s face emerged from the tunnel, followed by the rest of its body. It almost looked like Rob, almost, but I knew immediately that whatever that *thing* was, it was not the man I knew. It stood there, hunched over, staring at us with that horrible grin. We were all too scared to move, and we stared at it just as it stared at us, stuck in a stalemate. It all fell apart when one of the workers lost his nerve and tried to run. Just like that, the stalemate was broken, and the thing that was once Rob rushed forwards. I’m telling you, I’ve never seen anything like it. Before I could even react, the thing had pounced on the man next to me. It bit down on his throat, and I heard his agonized scream reach a ringing peak, then gurgle to a stop. Luckily for all of us, one of the miners had more presence of mind than any of us, and he slammed the spike of a pickaxe into the side of the thing’s skull. I – I can’t get the image of what was once my friend lying on the floor. *Subject is cradling his head in his hands.* INTERVIEWER: If you killed it, then why did the facility need to be shut down? \[REDACTED\]: Killed it? Oh no, we didn’t kill it at all. Not even close. Whatever’s down there, it wears the bodies of its victims. We watched this black sludge flow from Rob’s body to the poor guy who got his throat ripped out. I swear to you, that man was dead. I swear it on my life. But he moved! I saw it with my own eyes. And I know they saw it too. That’s why we all started running back down the tunnel towards the descent shaft. We managed to blow the tunnel behind us and cause a cave-in, but the falling rocks killed another three guys. We had to leave them behind, but I don’t regret it. Not one bit. If I stayed, I wouldn’t be talking to ya now, I can tell you that. I’m sure of it. They would have turned me too. Although maybe I should’ve stayed. Perhaps that would have bought the facility more time. Cause what followed us up the shaft, it - it wasn’t human. Not anymore.


ather got me a journal today. I have been practicing english for almost a year. He says writing down on paper will help me practice better. I think I am doing good so far. Teacher says I am the best in my class. I want to be a writer some day. I think words are the most important thing. But mostly I want to impress them when we get there. I am very nervous. I will write before I sleep every day to make a rootine, because consistency is important. **F**ather told me we are getting very close. I already know what I will say. "Hi. My name is Jyarykzey, but you can call me J. It is very nice to meet you. What do you do for fun?" And they tell me all the funnest parts about their lives. We will laugh and they will love us and accept us. Father tells me to stay quiet though. He says to let the grown ups handle things because it will be tents when we get there. I don't understand this. **F**ather told me we are arriving tomorrow. I am very nervous but excited! What will it look like? How do they show love? I hope they are nice. Out of my window I see a huge world with rings around it. It is so beautiful. I don't know if I will be able to even sleep tonight! **W**e arrived today. I don't like this place. I am confused. I am sad. I was told they would hug. I tried to hug and they hit me. They put me in a cage. They took my journal, but a man came to me later and gave it to me. Maybe he is one of the good ones. When we landed they circled around us with big guns. We didn't even get off the ship for hours. And I didn't see any tents. I still don't understand that. I will try to sleep on this floor but it will be hard. I hope father can convince them we are just lost and desperate so we can live with them. **F**or a while I thought I would be here forever. I spent the whole day in this dim room with nothing but my journal. A plate slid into my room with some of their food on it. It wasn't very good. The man came back and helped me practice sentences on the back pages. That was nice of him. I asked him when I can leave this place. He said "Maybe soon. We were not expecting you. Understand that we are just being cautious." I told him I don't want to hurt anyone. None of us do. We are just lost and desperate. He said "I know" and he hugged me. He is a good man. **T**oday was a good day. They finally let me out. I found my father with the others. We got into a big line and got onto buses. We drove for hours through a big, flat, sandy place. My father told me we are in a place they call "New Mexico". I wondered where all of the people are. I assumed they were in Old Mexico. We arrived at a place with many small buildings and two large buildings. The bus driver said "Welcome home". It doesn't feel like home. But if it is my home then I will love it anyway. **W**e moved our things into a small building with two rooms. It is just me and my father so it is not too little. I was just happy to have something soft to sleep on. My father spent a couple of hours reading directions for the food. He opened a bag of something square and put it in water. He used a large metal box to start fire under it and the water started smoking. After a while, he scooped out the square and it was strings now! It was magical. He put a powder on the strings and stirred them. It was AMAZING. I am so full and so happy. **T**he others don't seem happy here. I think they miss home. I miss it too but we had to start a new life somewhere, and this life is fine with me. My father told me "I'm sorry but all we have is Ramen and water". I pieced together that Ramen was the strings. I told him not to be sorry. If this is all they eat here then I am very happy to share their culture. I am enjoying this life but the others aren't. I also want to meet people. I was so excited to meet all kinds of people. **T**he others are getting sadder and sadder. It makes me sad. Tomorrow I am going to try to bring them happiness. I heard that people were good, so I will go find some good people to spread happiness to them. I see cars sometimes outside of the walls. Maybe I could get one to stop and take me somewhere with people. **I** did it. I found a loose spot in the wall and squeezed through. I waved at a car and they stopped. I told them to take me somewhere with people and they said to get in the back and don't move around too much. It is very small and dark back here. I am bouncing around and I am uncomfortable. It will all be worth it soon. **I** don't know where I am. I noticed something hanging in the back of the car and I pulled on it. The back swung open. I tried screaming but I don't think he heard me. We hit a big bump and I bounced out of the car. It hurt a lot. I have been walking all day and I don't see anything but dirt and hills. It is getting very dark. It is getting very cold. I'm scared. **A**fter walking for most of the day, I saw a big building in the distance. As I got closer, I could see more and more buildings. It's a whole city! I made it into the city as the sun went down. I walked through the streets and everyone was staring at me. I heard something loud and fun and couldn't help myself from walking towards it. I walked into a building and everyone was jumping around. Lights were flashing and everyone was smiling. I jumped around for a bit but nobody wanted to jump with me. Maybe you only jump with your friends. I went over to where people were sitting down and drinking colorful drinks. I sat next to a lady and said "Hi. My name is Jyarykzey, but you can call me J. It is very nice to meet you. What do you do for fun?" Her eyes grew very wide and she said "I don't think you're supposed to be here". I said "But it seemed like fun. Where should I be?" and she said "with the others". I didn't say anything. She was right. I don't belong. Then she said "You seem nice though. Do you want to try this? My name is Sam, by the way" as she held her drink to me. I tried it and said "I don't like that very much". She said that not many people do at first. She told me it was dangerous for me to be around people but she won't say anything and I could stay with her tonight if I wanted. She took me to her home and showed me where I could sleep. She said "goodnight, sweet dreams". I said "goodnight Sam. You're one of the good ones". Today was a very good day. **S**he told me to stay inside today and don't break anything. She told me I could look at her stuff though. Her bathroom was filled with things that smelled so great. Her shower things smelled like her, which I didn't understand but I liked it. In the room I slept in was a big black rectangle. I looked around it and noticed some buttons on the side. After pressing all of them, pictures came onto it. A man was speaking to me about the others at my home. He said one has escaped, and if you see them you should call the police immediately. I don't know what the police will do to me but it makes me nervous. Maybe they are the bad people who put me in a cage. Sam got home later in the day. We talked about what life is like here and what life was like where I used to be. She told me about her people and I told her about mine. She told me about good people and bad people and how you never know what someone is until you meet them. I told her that I'm glad I met her. She said "I'm glad I met you too" and hugged me. Sam is so nice. I showed her my journal and she said my English is getting better. I told her I want to be a writer. She said "I think you will do great things one day". She went to her room for the night. I'm glad we came here. **S**omething exciting happened today. Well, not for most of it. I spent most of the day watching the screen. It doesn't seem like many people want us here. I think if they got to know us it would be different. Sam came home and sat on the couch with me. I told her I want to learn about love. She looked skeptical but then explained to me how some people connect very well and that some people are so special to you that you will do anything for them. They make you feel better than anyone else could. She said this can be misinterpreted though. She told me stories of a man who cheated on her. I told her I don't know what that means. She explained to me how love is emotional and physical. If it is only physical then it is not love. She looked at me, looked down and giggled. She asked "how do you have sex?" I looked at her confusingly and she said "Like, reproduce. Make babies." I held up a finger and she laughed again. I couldn't tell if she was mocking me. She could tell I was a bit offended and asked hesitantly "Could you show me?" I had never done this before, especially with a person, so I was a bit standoffish about it. She said "it's okay, I won't hurt you". I held her hand up and brought my finger to hers. Her eyes rolled back and her head leaned back too. I closed my eyes and continued. Afterwards she said it was like magic. She said she knew everything I knew, everything I wanted, everyone I care for, and all of my dreams. She thanked me and told me to sleep in her bed tonight. She got in the bed and pulled out a rectangle. I asked her what it was and she said "It's a cellphone. I'm setting an alarm for work". **S**am rushed out of the house this morning shouting "I'm late! I'm so fucking late!" I wonder what she does for work. I went back to the screen to make sure nothing bad has happened to the others. While the man was talking about some crazy guy blowing people up just because he could, I heard something buzzing in the other room. I went to see what it was and noticed it was her cellphone. She must have forgotten it. I look at the screen and it was someone writing "Baby I miss you. when will I get to see you again?" She must have not seen her father in a long time. Then the phone made a different noise and it was him again but a new option popped up, "answer". I hit the button and heard someone repeatedly saying "hello?" I said "Hello!" He said "Who the fuck is this?" I told him to call me J, and that I've been staying with Sam the last few days, and that I'm sure she missed him very much. I decided I want to help her reconnect with her father. He said he'd like to meet me. I asked where and he told me he would like to take me hunting. I heard that going hunting with fathers can be a good bonding experience, and I could tell him how great Sam is and how they should see each other more. We are going tomorrow morning. I didn't tell Sam when she got home because I want to surprise her. I am so nervous but so excited! I hope he is one of the good ones.


When did she stand tall !! When she was on the Mountain or When she stood on the beach, When on the Earth. Space nor Time was the Matter – She rose. Which mountain did she want to climb, Yonder or Near ! Within or without, Reflection or the Shadow Everywhere or Nowhere !! She rose. Was there a mountain, It was just the other dimension. Eelin had decided to climb the mountain in the green valley - Mt. Zenith. She hesitated to venture alone for it felt a million years away. She wondered if she could ask Aari to accompany her? She smiled to herself at the thought of him – his name meant “mountain of strength”. Aari would ridicule her and laugh loudly she assumed. Eelin and Aari had been friends forever. Eelin was always perplexed with time so million was a big deal for her. Aari on the other hand was largely confident because he was in blissful state. He was at the other spectrum – carefree and simple. He never pondered about the so-called complex facets of the Universe and beyond. That he left to Eelin. He teased her about the “thought face” she wore, whenever he had the chance. Her brows were constantly furrowed. To Eelin every atom was connected and every meeting with creatures small and big had an inner depth and dimension. Eelin had moved to where they lived now from a small hill town. When she was young she was never cognizant of her surroundings nor the space she lived in. But somewhere along the time they had moved here she could feel the process within. This place was teaching her, twisting her insides. Often times she felt to escape into nowhere. An invisible momentum kept her fuelled up and moved her. She would tell Aari, she was unlearning more than learning anything at all. Her entire being was being shaken. Things and ideas were being tossed out of her system ruthlessly. Just when she felt she could relax, this adventure by nature of climbing had skipped along, challenging her to wake up and move. She always thought to herself – “Yes this is it.” And then Eelin would be shaken up. No respite from the lessons tossed at her. She would never realise that all of those thoughts were to prepare her for the long haul until that incident. Where people did not see any connection, Eelin could see a colossal network, enmeshed with gems of insights. She floated in the knowledge of unlearning. Layer after layer peeled off each and every time there were bursts of starry insights. But the peeling seemed infinite. Because waves of delusion slapped her as though she was the barrage. They came in multitudes and her gates could not control anything at all. Eelin was ruminating while sitting on a rock beside the lighthouse and looking far out into the horizon. She had chosen to climb Zenith to get to conscious thoughtlessness. The rationale was where action began, thoughts would end. The more she reflected on the idea, her urge intensified. But it seemed extremely far-fetched. The inaction was pulling her down. It was as though an invisible person was holding her back with a string and when she wanted to let go, it drew her back. There were more insights to come from a sort of unified field. And now for that small incident. When it happened, she went through the motions mechanically. People around her were concerned for her attitude and response to it. But for her it was alright. She neither could explain why she behaved that way nor wanted to as well. Many times she really wanted to be alone. But the layered politeness was a garment that time had cloaked her with. And recently she had become too cautious around people. Though she felt they were her reflection. She was coming to those subtle but deep revelations on her own. And Aari was the first reflection. A free-flowing individual, the other side of her. But Aari had always been that person – no attachment to anything, anyone. He was just present. Secretly she wanted to be Aari. That would be another layer to peel. So Eelin had to climb. The incident was an alarm – a nice musical and gentle one at that. The people she was born with this lifetime around had left. Vanished – tasks done. Could it be just that she had to unlearn? That would be ultimate sacrifice just for this tiny being. She felt too important, another judgement she passed. That subtle alarm was her wake-up call. She had ignored the connectedness of all of the happenings prior to that day. Though her view shifted on its aftermath. Eelin was able to infer how all of the events around and within her were interconnected. Yes, but she chose to come out of all of it. So she had to climb. Her vulnerabilities – again the moss that had gathered deep inside her came to the surface. Where she had pretended that it did not exist, now was out in the open. It stunned her out of the blue. She was not prepared to see it till that time. She could not feign ignorance any more. When the incident happened, it was a mundane and regular affair. Gradually it dawned on her that it might have seemed that way on the top. Her inner vision cleared. She was wearing those cool, rose-tinted glasses till then. The green valley mountain – Zenith was beckoning her. But moments of “WHAT IF” hung in front of her line of vision. A constant reminder of her unsurety, a constancy of self-doubt – the procrastinating version of Eelin. The pretexts were being swept away. The elastic band holding her back was withering, tired of her plans to get out its hold and sway. Eelin had asked Aari to accompany her. But he was nowhere to be found. She was in a quandary whether to climb or not. But Eelin chose to climb Zenith, just her. She was in mid-way point. Aari or not, she had to keep moving up to transcend the peak. She was decluttering and needed to keep up the pace to walk over the Mons.


“What is all this fuss and bother about?” the owner of the demolition company complained. “It's just another big, old, ugly, worthless building. It's empty and not earning anything . A parking lot would at least bring in some money.” “We don't need to be a town of almost nothing but parking garages and parking lots, Mr. Young,” the mayor retorted. “Wasn't that the lesson that Seattle had to learn so painfully? Why must we repeat what they had to go through? We already know what their result was.” Mr. Young sighed. “And what, pray tell, was their result?” “A beautiful old –” the mayor began. Mr. Young looked triumphant. “Ah-ha! See? You even admit it!” She gave him a tired look. “If I may continue, please?” “Fine,” he replied. “But don't expect to change my mind in the process.” “I'm not sure anyone, short of God Himself, could do that,” the mayor said. “As I was saying: A beautiful old hotel, instead of being saved for posterity as a historic landmark, was demolished, to be replaced by a parking garage. It was only after that happened that people in the city woke up and decided that they weren't going to let that happen anymore.” “How many times did it happen before that, I wonder?” Mr. Young asked. “Too many times,” the mayor replied. “And that is the main reason why I refuse to let it happen again here. Take your equipment and business elsewhere. Maybe some other town or city doesn't care about its past, but we care about ours.” “You're a bunch of damn idealistic fools,” Mr. Young said. “I offer you something that'll make your town money and you chain yourself to a sinking ship instead.” He shook his head and sighed. “You'll never learn.” He turned and left her office, slamming the door behind him. “No, Mr. Young, I don't believe you will ever learn,” the mayor said sadly. There was a knock on the door moments later. “Back so soon, Mr. Young?” the mayor called. The door opened slightly. The head of the Chamber of Commerce poked her head inside. “Actually, it's Nora. Could we talk for a bit?” “Sure,” the mayor said. “Come on in. After all, it's not as if I have any important duties to perform.” Nora entered, softly shutting the door behind her. “Was that Mr. Young who just stormed out of here?” The mayor sighed. “It was.” “What in the world made him go ballistic?” Nora asked. “The fact that we're saving the Dandridge Hotel, not letting him demolish it,” the mayor replied. Nora stared at her. “You're what? ” The mayor nodded. “Don't you think it should be saved, either? Doesn't anyone care about history anymore?” “Kris,” Nora said. “We've been friends for a long time.” “Since at least First Grade,” the mayor said. “I saved you from getting bullied and nearly got suspended for doing it. Thank goodness you spoke up for me.” Nora smiled. “You still remember that.” “Of course,” the mayor said. “Why would I want to forget how we first met?” She sat down in her chair behind the desk, then gestured at a chair across from her. Nora sat down and said, “The downtown area isn't doing as well as it used to.” “You don't have to show me the Chamber's statistics,” the mayor said. “I'm well aware of it.” “And yet you defend saving the Dandridge Hotel,” Nora said. “It's one thing to try to find a way to increase business in a bad economy, it's another to toss history on the bonfire or the rubbish heap,” the mayor said. “It's not exactly Gettysburg or the Lincoln Memorial, Kris,” Nora pointed out. “The downtown's businesses have been steadily vacating and moving to the shopping mall outside of Dandridge,” the mayor said. “Some have even moved entirely out of this county. You'd think we had some sort of commercial plague infecting the downtown area.” “And you don't think that more parking would cure it,” Nora said. The mayor shook her head. “I know you mean well. I know you want this town to be better off than it is. So do I. But not at the cost of yet another demolished historical building. I need a different kind of solution to the problem.” Nora was silent for a while. “Maybe we should have a fundraiser,” she suggested. The mayor tried not to stare. “I'm sorry, but could you repeat that? I thought you suggested something that didn't have to do with demolition.” “I said maybe we should have a fundraiser, Kris,” Nora said. “All the proceeds going to the downtown area. We could call it the Downtown Dandridge Renaissance Project.” The mayor didn't quite laugh. “All these months … and suddenly you turn around and suggest something that doesn't include the demolition of yet another historic building. Are you sure you're still my friend Nora? You don't sound like her.” “I'm not joking,” Nora said. “We could even hold it annually like the street fairs in other places.” The mayor steepled her hands in front of her chin, interlocking the fingers. “How soon do you think you could get the ball rolling on this?” “Give me enough helpers, I could get plans started this afternoon,” Nora said. The mayor smiled. “You're on. Anyone in this building who wants to volunteer is free to do so. Likewise in the Chamber of Commerce. And, who knows, we could even invite Mr. Young to the fundraiser. To show him what can be done when one thinks positively instead of negatively.” Nora stood up but didn't leave yet. “What if he turns down the invitation?” The mayor also stood up. “Maybe you can persuade him to accept it. You used to be pretty good at that when we were in the same college sorority. Those pledge drives wouldn't have been the same without you in charge.” “I had some help,” Nora said. “Wise is the leader who realizes that they cannot do everything alone,” the mayor said. “Good luck and keep me informed.” Nora nodded. “Definitely.” --------- Back at the Chamber of Commerce, there was some surprise when they learned what Nora had suggested to the mayor. They weren't all convinced that it was a good idea, however. “But what if no one comes?” her secretary asked. “It's not as if we're waiting for the barbarians to come and take over our town,” Nora replied. Her secretary looked puzzled. “It's a reference to a poem by the Greek poet C. P. Cavafy, Waiting for the Barbarians ,” Nora said. “I read it back when I was in college. An entire city decides to do nothing but look impressive and wait for the barbarians to arrive and take over.” “Did they arrive?” her secretary asked. Nora shook her head. “And the city didn't know what to do anymore. They thought that the barbarians were some sort of solution.” “That's dreadful,” someone else said. “That's like saying lying down on a railroad track and waiting for a train to come and run over you is a good idea.” “Precisely,” Nora said. “We're not going to be like that. We're going to make something positive happen. We'll print fliers and hand them around. We'll also print posters and put them where they'll get the most attention. Whether anyone comes or not, we are going to hold our fundraiser. I don't even care if we don't raise more than twenty dollars. I want the event to happen, okay?” Everyone else in the room nodded in agreement. “Then let's start brainstorming ideas,” Nora said. “Fran, if you could bring in the whiteboard from the conference room and a felt-tip marker for me, that would be great.” --------- Mr. Young looked at the flier on his desk. “You'd think they were serious about this, Jack.” “They apparently are, sir,” Jack said. “Are you still going to try the legal route?” “Only if there's no other option,” Mr. Young said. “Oh, and one other thing,” Jack went on. Mr. Young waited. “You're invited to the fundraiser,” Jack said. “I'm what? ” Mr. Young asked in surprise. “You don't have to go, though,” Jack said. “It's not mandatory. But if I was you, I would go. Just to see what it's like. Who knows? It could be interesting. It could be fun.” “You sound like you'd like to go to it,” Mr. Young said. “I wish, but I have to work that day,” Jack said with a sigh. “What if we both went to it?” Mr. Young suggested. “But the work –” Jack protested. “Can wait until the next day,” Mr. Young finished for him. “At worst, this fundraiser will be a complete and utter failure. Then I wouldn't need to file suit against the town. I could just bring in the bulldozers, steam shovels, paving machines, and all the rest. I bet we could have a parking lot in place of the hotel in less than a day.” “And the hotel?” Jack wondered. “I could care less,” Mr. Young said. “My job isn't to save buildings; it's to demolish them. Just you remember that. You aren't a volunteer here; you're a paid employee. You want to keep earning a paycheck, you do what I tell you to do. Okay?” “Yes, sir,” Jack said quietly as he watched Mr. Young toss the flier into the nearest trash can. ---------- It wasn't just the fundraiser that got attention via the fliers and posters, it was also the preparations themselves. Passersby would stop and watch as one white tent after another was raised, with a pole at each corner. The white tents were laid out in a cross shape reminiscent of the Swiss flag right down the center of two cross streets. Downtown vendors, as well as out-of-town vendors, were encouraged to promote their stores as well as their wares. With any luck, they might even make a large number of sales during the fundraiser. They would keep half the money while donating, as agreed beforehand, to the fundraising committee. “I just hope it doesn't decide to rain or get windy on the day of the fundraiser,” Nora's secretary said. “Then we can move everything indoors and still hold it,” Nora said. “As my grandparents used to say: Always have backup plans.” “And don't forget to look in the rear-view mirrors,” her secretary said and grinned. “That's the idea,” Nora said approvingly. “Let's keep our spirits up even if Mother Nature tries to dampen them or even flood us right out.” “This is going to be fun,” her secretary said, almost feeling like a schoolgirl again. “It sure is,” Nora agreed. --------- The day of the fundraiser wasn't a sunny one. It wasn't rainy either. It was rather somewhere in between. Grey, overcast, and a little bit cold. But you wouldn't have known it from the excitement in downtown Dandridge. People came dressed for the weather and were determined to have a good time. Rather than fill the parking spaces along the curbs of the cross streets, there was a parking area across from the courthouse and shuttle buses that transported people to and from the fundraiser. More white tents were set up when even more vendors wanted to participate. The fundraiser area spread east and west, ultimately filling three intersections rather than the one that had been planned for. Thunder rumbled, but no lightning and no rain. Laughter would erupt each time thunder was heard. Almost as if daring Mother Nature to do her worst. -------- Mr. Young and Jack arrived a couple hours after the fundraiser began. They were pleasantly surprised to see all the activity, despite the weather. “It could've been pouring-down rain and they wouldn't have cared,” Jack said. “I never knew that so many people cared about the downtown area,” Mr. Young said. “That's the tenth person I've seen wearing a Don't Tear Down the Hotel t-shirt. Eleventh. Twelfth. Thirteenth. Fourteenth.” He gave up counting. “You still want to demolish it?” Jack asked him quietly. “That depends on how much this fundraiser earns,” Mr. Young said. “If they can raise enough to offset the cost of the demolition, then they can have their stupid hotel. I can always find something else that's far more worthless to demolish.” “I suppose, sir,” Jack said. “Maybe sometimes old buildings should be saved instead of destroyed.” Mr. Young jabbed him in the chest. “Careful. If you keep talking like that, you won't be working for me much longer.” “Maybe that's a good thing,” Jack said. “I've seen too many beautiful old buildings destroyed since my first day at the company. Some were –” He shook his head and shrugged. “Too late to mourn what's gone. But maybe it doesn't have to happen this time.” Mr. Young looked at him, then suggested, “Let's see if we can find the mayor and congratulate her and the Chamber of Commerce on their fundraiser.” --------- The mayor was helping sell bags of freshly cooked kettle corn and cups of hot chocolate. She saw the two men approach. They didn't seem to be unhappy with what was happening around them. “Glad you could make it after all,” the mayor told them. “Wouldn't miss it for the world,” Mr. Young said. Jack rolled his eyes. “It's amazing how many people came out on a day like this.” “It's about more than just the Hotel Dandridge,” the mayor told Jack. “We're hoping to create an ongoing fund so that we can save more buildings from being demolished.” “Where will the customers park, though?” Mr. Young asked the mayor. “Like today, they could take a free shuttle to the downtown area,” the latter replied. “Then we could even turn the downtown streets into traffic-free areas sometimes. Like they're doing in towns and cities in Europe. If they can do it there, why can't we do it here?” “Different kind of people, different attitudes,” Mr. Young replied. “Americans love their vehicles.” “They also love their towns,” the mayor said. “I haven't heard heard one single complaint about having to park across from the courthouse and take shuttle buses here.” “This is just one time,” Mr. Young said. “What if they had to do it on a daily basis?” “I think they would willingly adapt if they knew it was helping improve their town,” the mayor said. “Not everyone wants traffic jams and parking lots everywhere, you know. And if this sort of attitude spreads, there could be more towns and cities in America doing it.” “No need to preach to me,” Mr. Young said. “I have a business. I have a job to do there. Saving old stuff isn't part of the picture.” “Maybe that needs to change, then,” the mayor said. “You'd have to be very persuasive, ma'am,” Mr. Young said. “With something more convincing than bribery or tax loopholes.” “What would you suggest, then?” the mayor asked. “Something that might encourage you to refurbish and rebuild rather than demolish. Get enough customers interested in saving and you might have to change how you do business.” “Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Mr. Young said. “Let's see what this fundraiser brings in first, then see what can be done next or what can't be done.” “Fair enough,” the mayor said. “Now, then. Some kettle corn and hot chocolate for both of you?” “Yes, please,” Jack said. ---------- It was dark when the mayor stepped up onto the temporary wooden platform in the center of the fundraising area. The sea of faces turned to her, waiting and listening. The sea included the two men from the demolition company. “Excellent news!” the mayor called out. “Even with only a preliminary count of the money earned today, we have exceeded what we needed!” There was loud cheering throughout the crowd. Even Jack cheered. But he noticed that Mr. Young kept quiet. “If Mr. Young and his associate Jack would care to join me here?” the mayor went on. They did so. “Is this really necessary?” Mr. Young asked the mayor. “This could've been done more quietly.” “Of course it's necessary,” the mayor replied. “You need your money; we have your money and then some.” She counted out the money required and laid it in Mr. Young's hands. “There you go. The Hotel Dandridge still stands. Even more good news. I've filed papers to make it a historic landmark.” She noticed that he didn't close his hands over the money. “What's wrong? That's the correct amount. We double-checked.” “Keep it,” Mr. Young said, handing the money back to her. “You've proved your point.” “And the demolition of the hotel?” she asked. “Won't happen,” he replied. “I may not like the old hotel – and I don't – but I'd be a fool to destroy something that you've all tried so hard to save. The last thing I need is an entire town turned against me and my business.” “How do I know I can trust you?” the mayor asked. “When Christmas rolls around and you receive an anonymous donation to the Save the Historic Buildings Fund,” Mr. Young replied, “you'll know who it's from. That's how.” He smiled. “You know? You should do this every year.” “That's the plan,” the mayor said. “Good,” Mr. Young said. “We'll be here next year. And without any wrecking balls, bulldozers, or steam shovels.” “Promise?” the mayor asked. “Promise,” Mr. Young replied.