I looked at my watch, "what could be taking her so long?" I sigh "I hope she's okay." I plop down in my good ole recliner and kicked my feet up on the coffee table. Honk! Honk! "Oooh!" I screached almost jumping out of my skin. "I don't know why she does that to me everytime." I shook my head and grabbed my purse off the counter and sauntered out the door. My granddaughter sat in the driver seat of her black 1998 Honda civic in my drive way, she looks up and smiles as she sees me. "I'm sorry I'm late, I over slept as usual." She shrugged, "that's alright lady bug you're here now aren't ya?" Tissshhh! A loud crashing sound came from the back of the house, glass no less. I threw my arms up above my head caught off guard by the ruckus, "what the crap was that!?!" May yelled, clearly ticked off. She threw her car door open, slamming it shut behind her. "Now be careful, you don't know who's back there it could be unsafe just hold on a second!" I hollered "Damn girl" I sighed as she took off running toward the back through the gang way, I quickly shuffled after her. "HEY! Come back here!" She screamed, "what the hell is wrong with you!" She chased after someone that I could see running down the alley. "Just let them go! It's alright, it's just a window it can be fixed, get back here girl!" I yelled. May turned around and jogged back to the house her cheeks scarlet from running. "All I know is it was a girl looked like she was around my age, I can't believe she tried to break in your house!" She gasped catching her breath. "You don't know that that was what she was doing, innocent untill proven guilty, you know that." I nudged her in the side with my elbow. "Yeah well usually If someone breaks one of your windows they're trying to get in or they're a kid throwing rocks and she's clearly not a kid playing around." She frowned. "Oh well we have somewhere to be." I said, "we'll clean this up later, let's get going." I grabbed my Bible from the book shelf and made my way out to the front porch and sat down on my porch swing, the swing my daddy built when I was just a kid. I put my reading glasses on and got ready to spend some time with the good Lord as I swayed back and forth enjoying the cool evening air. I was just about to the second verse of the book of Job when I heard a can rattle across the cement in the backyard. I sat up straight and put my book down "Here we go again" I whispered to myself. I got up and slowly walked around back I was shocked to see a young girl huddled over my trash can I use for soda cans, "Ohh." She jumped as I startled her "I'm so sorry, I was just coming back to leave some money for the window I broke yesterday all I have is 25$ but you take it please, I was just looking at your cat in the window yesterday and I fell into your window on accident, I got scared and took off when I heard yelling. I didn't mean to cause you any trouble ma'am." She sputtered out as she twisted her fingers together in front of her and stared at her feet. "I see, yes that baby in there has to be the most beautiful cat on God's green earth, I believe you alright." I took in her appearance all at once, I hadn't noticed her tattered jeans and holey shirt and her shoes that were falling apart at first glance. "Here take this money, I know it's not enough but it's all I have." She sighed. "Why was you so interested in peeking in on my kitty cat now?" I smirked. Her eyes grew wide as she began nervously "I love cats they're my favorite animal, borderline crazy cat lady I guess, I lost my cat 2 months ago and yours looks just like her, so I couldn't help but look closer." She said kicking dirt off her shoe. "Keep your money honey, my husband already has glass from another house we used to live in, back there in the garage, so we won't be needing to purchase a new window. " I handed her back the twenty dollar bill and the five ones, I glanced at the crease of her elbow as she reached out to grab the cash, she had obvious bruising and many track marks like freckles on her skin. She noticed me looking and hurried up and snatched the money back and wrapped her arms around her body, as she stood there hugging her sides I decided to ask her if she wanted to come sit with me on my porch swing and have a glass of iced tea. She nodded obviously some what leery of what my intentions were. We walked around front and I slid into my side of the swing and she followed suit. I looked at her and said "Are your mother and/or father also addicts? I asked a little worried of her reaction. She slumped her shoulders and sighed, looking back at me "Yeah, no neither one had a drug problem, my dad used to drink when I still a baby, but my mom got tired of it and told him it was either her or the alcohol, and well he quit drinking, he's been sober ever since." She stared at her hands folded in her lap. "My brother is an addict, well all 3 of my brothers are addicts, technically the 2 half brothers are alcoholics and my full brother is a junkie, just like me." She shook her head. "I'm sorry to hear that, usually the parents have a problem that they pass on to their kids, so how did you start all of that?" I asked with great interest. "I don't really know, to be honest, like one day I was with 2 friends and they had a small bag of weed and a pipe made out of metal pipes from a kitchen sink they made, and we chose to try to smoke it." She grimaced and shook her head staring off towards the street. "That was the begining of the end, it instantly hooked me, I was changed forever that day at the park at the top of a plastic slide hiding from view so we wouldn't get caught and get in trouble." She explained. "I guess I was just meant to be a drug addict, because after that one hit of smoke that's all I could think about, it's all I wanted. I didn't want to be sober or clear headed and clean I wanted to be high." She picked at her nails and bit her hang nail as she shrugged her shoulders. "I don't even know why I'm telling you all this, it's not your problem ya know, I don't like to talk about it." She said. I put my hand on her shoulder and patted her a couple of times. "Honey sometimes all we can do is talk, talk about the hard stuff, the misery, and the pain. It's when we don't talk about it that were letting poison seep into our bones and rot our souls." I smiled at her. "I asked because you look like you need someone to talk to, and I think I am that someone. That is if you want to, I'm all ears, no judgement here." I said as I lifted my hands up the palms facing out dramatically. She smiled and sipped her tea finally as she sat back into the swing and relaxed her shoulders for the first time since I caught her in the back. "Why do you put needles in your arms? Aren't you afraid you'll cause damage to your body one day by accident?" I asked worriedly. "Yeah, yeah I do worry sometimes, but it's never enough for me to actually stop doing it." She sighed. "It's funny, the person that showed me how to shoot up for the first time told me before she showed me how to do it that, that she didn't like to be the person that helps someone start shooting up." She snorted. "Yet she still stuck that needle in my arm and stripped away my only grasp on getting clean." She spit through her teeth as she talked, "I lost my boyfriend, my home, my son, my dignity, and my self worth that day in that car that was parked behind her cousins garage in the alley on 14th street." A tear slipped down her cheek as she struggled to steady her breathing to keep from crying. She wiped the tear away angrily. I sighed, "I'm sorry you've had to discover one of life's many spiritual wars. Some of us are destined to suffer more so than some people, while others live carefree lives." I looked at her and gave her a look of empathy. "Exactly!" She forced out rather quickly, "I'm cursed, and my life is never going to be the way it was before I took that first hit of smoke, I'm ruined. And there's nothing I can do about it." She hiccuped holding back tears that threatened to spill over her eyelids. "Ya wanna know why I asked you to sit and talk with me?" I questioned her kindly. "Why?" She asked, "Well honey, I too am one of the chosen ones who knows many miseries and has suffered a many a decade or two maybe three or four. I saw myself in you when I found you around back tonight." I smiled as my voice cracked a little. "My drug of choice was crystal meth, but I did just about everything there was as long as it kept be from being sober." I said. I know exactly what you're experiencing because once I was a junkie just like you, with bruises and track marks that marked my skin, my arms, legs, and belly would be covered in unsightly black and blue from breaking blood vessels putting needles in my skin over and over again desperately trying to find blood in that syringe. I was also diagnosed with anxiety, depression, schizo affected disorder, and schizophrenia caused by the stimulants no less. But I've struggled many times with my burdens. But I never gave up hope." I smiled at her and patted her shoulder once again. I can't tell you why God wrote our stories this way but there's undoubtedly a purpose for every painful thing you experience. Don't ask me what that is. Only you and the Lord can figure that out together." I said as I looked up at the sky. The stars were starting to poke out behind the clouds that painted the night sky. "Ya know what? Hold on just a second, I have something you might like, it may give you reassurance when you're feeling hopeless some night." I said as I stood and made my way into the house. I hurried upstairs to my jewelry chest I kept tucked away under my bed, I opened the lid and found the false bottom underneath all my trinkets and sterling silver. I opened the bottom and pulled out the Platinum skeleton key, not just any skeleton key it was one my great great great grandpa gave to my grandma when they married. On top of the key where the usual half moon hoop would be, two little cat ears as well as whiskers on each side laced the top of the key in the shape of a cat's head with diamonds for the eyes and smaller diamonds for the whiskers. That key was the apidamy of strength. You might think it's silly a key with a cat as the handle but just like my grandma she was a crazy cat lady she'd move hell and earth for her kitties, I too have the cat lady gene and would die to save my Lil Buns anyday. I walked back out on to the porch and sat down, I smiled some what sheapish, you said you were admiring my Lil One in the window so much so that you could have been injured breaking the glass." I smiled and laughed a little bit. "Hold out your hands" I told her. She held out her hand in front of her and opened her palm I placed the key in her hand and closed her fingers around it. "This has been in my family for many generations us Yates women fancy ourselves cat conaseures you could say." I laughed. She looked down at the little key and she grinned from ear to ear, "Oh how cute is that!" She exclaimed with pure enjoyment washing over her words as she spoke. "A cat once saved my life, she was all I had when I lost everything to my addictions. That baby was my soul, she kept me here when I was ready to be done and pass on." I smiled. "She looked at me surpirised, "it's the cat in the window, isn't it?" She asked curiously. "You betcha, now I'm going to send a cat with you that can hopefully be of some comfort when you're fighting a battle that seems like it will never end." I said as I stood up and walked to the front door. "Well honey I'd better be off to bed, I need my beauty sleep." I winked as I made my way into the house. I smiled as I walked in and saw my husband fast asleep on the couch. The man that never gave up on me. That man let me bring my Lil One home with me that day I finally decided to get clean and come back home.


SORRY RUNNING LATE. BE THERE SOON.

Mark stared at the text message as though it was in a foreign language. Then he forced himself to count backward from ten, to slow his breathing. What else was going to go wrong today? He gave a thumb’s up, letting Veronica know that it was fine. He was fine. Even though he didn't feel it. He’d spent hours preparing this picnic. Everything needed to be perfect. A perfect, memorable day that would live in the history of their relationship long after the last sips of champagne were sipped from the beautiful, engraved flutes. Mark frowned, thinking about the glasses. The engraver had thought Mark had said “B” rather than “V”, so now Veronica’s glass had the wrong initial. But it would be okay. Veronica had a great sense of humor.

He got up and paced, careful to avoid the flowered tablecloth on the ground. The picnic was spread out under a large oak tree in the prettiest section of the park. The sun played tag with some thick white clouds. Cotton ball clouds, Beatrix used to call them. Birds chirped in the branches of the trees, chatting about their days, maybe making plans for the evening.

Mark looked over the picnic area one more time. There was the large basket he’d borrowed with the proverbial loaf of French bread sticking out of the top. Grapes, crackers, caviar, and cheese were laid out on a green vintage plate his mother had loaned him. Chocolate-covered strawberries graced another plate and a flask of hot coffee was nestled in the basket along with two insulated cups from his camping supplies. A large arrangement of pink tea roses and Veronica’s favorite flowers–Queen Anne’s lace–sat in the center of the picnic cloth. Perfect .

A plane passed overhead and Mark glanced up. He wondered if Beatrix was on it. She was scheduled to come home today. What would it be like to come back to the States after eighteen months in the South Pacific? Jarring, probably. Disconcerting. Good thing he hadn’t gone with her after all.

Mark continued to pace around the picnic cloth, then ventured further out, onto the wide sidewalk that crisscrossed the park. He didn’t want to go too far, didn’t want squirrels running in and gobbling up their lunch. But he needed to get everything worked out in his mind. Walking helped.

They’d eat first. Enjoy some of the champagne. And then…Mark patted his pocket. The hard, square reassured him. The ring was still there. Safe.

He glanced at his watch again. Twenty minutes late. A hard kernel of irritation formed in his gut but he pushed it down. There had to be a good reason. She’d probably gotten caught in traffic. Or had to stay late at work. Veronica’s boss was a jerk who didn’t appreciate her. Mark pictured him waltzing in with a file at the last minute, giving Veronica some urgent project. He imagined her looking longingly at the door, shoulders slumping as she realized she’d be late. Poor Veronica .

He walked back to the picnic spot. A flash of movement–something skittering from the cloth and toward the big oak–caught his eye. He broke into a run just in time to see the striped bodies of two chipmunks race up the tree. Glancing at the picnic, Mark groaned. They’d gotten into the bread, nibbled off the end of the crusty loaf. And was that…pawprints in the soft cheese? Hurriedly, he scraped the tainted cheese away and replaced it with a fresh supply. Veronica didn’t really like cheese much anyway. Or bread. But he’d wanted to make the picnic traditional, wanted it to be just right. It looked like things he’d seen in movies.

Another glance at his watch. Twenty-eight minutes. “I’m here, I’m here!” Veronica’s voice cut through the birdsong and the muted sound of traffic passing on the busy street above the park. “I’m so sorry, Mark.”

He turned and watched Veronica, breathless, approach. She looked…disheveled. Her normally perfect blonde hair tumbled from its clip and her face was flushed. Her pencil skirt was askew, the zipper which he was pretty sure was supposed to be in the back, was over her left hip.

“So sorry,” she said again. He hugged her, a cloud of her expensive perfume engulfing him. “It’s all right,” he murmured, running his hands over her back and nuzzling her neck. “Did you have to stay late at work?”

“Oh, um, yeah.” She pulled away, her brows pulled together. “Fritzi needed me to dictate a recorded call for his meeting tomorrow morning. I don’t know why he couldn’t have told me before four o’clock, but,” she gave a little shrug. “You know how he is.” She laughed but it sounded forced.

“Well, now it’s time to relax and enjoy yourself.” Mark flourished his arms, as though the picnic was a bull and he, a matador. “This is for you.”

Veronica bit her lip. She looked from the picnic to Mark and back again. “Oh, wow. I’m…wow. Mark, I didn’t expect–”

“Please, sit,” Mark took Veronica’s arm and walked her to the picnic. She hesitated, glanced at him, and then slipped her shoes off. Tucking her feet underneath her, she sat at the tablecloth’s edge. Mark sat across from her, extracted the bottle of champagne, and pointed it at her with a grin.

“To my beautiful Veronica and our future.”

“Oh, wow,” she said again. Her eyes filled. “Mark, I really didn’t expect this. When I said I needed to talk to you–”

“I know, I know. You weren’t expecting a spread like this. I wanted to surprise you.”

“But–”

“Shh. We'll talk, I promise. But right now, let me get you something to drink. And eat. You must be starving.”

Veronica stared at him like he had two heads as he handed her the nearly-full flute of champagne.

“Sorry about the initial–that was supposed to be a ‘V’."

“What?” She looked dazed. Fritzi and his stupid last-minute projects. Mark would make this afternoon special though, in spite of the obvious stress she’d carried with her from work.

“To us,” he lifted his champagne glass at her.

“Th–thank you, Mark, this is,” she motioned with her glass at the picnic. “So unexpected.”

He sipped his champagne, the bubbles pinging uncomfortably in his empty stomach.

“What would you like?” He grabbed a china plate and filled it with strawberries and a glob of caviar as requested. They ate in silence for a few moments. The sunshine on his shoulders was warm, the scent of the flowers on the cloth fragrant, and Veronica prettily nibbled her food. Just like he’d imagined. Except for that whining sound. Mark looked at the bouquet.

“Oh no,” He swatted his napkin over the flowers.

“What?”

“Hornets, I think. Or wasps.”

He swatted again. Three of them flew away but seconds later, five more replaced them.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Mark’s napkin attacked again but when he brought it back toward him a sharp stab of pain exploded on his forehead, directly between his eyes. Yelping, he jumped up, clutching his forehead.

“Did you get stung?”

Hopping backward, Mark didn’t see the short railing that protected the nearby flower bed. He crashed over it and onto the ground before Veronica even had a chance to stand up. Laying among the pansies and petunias, Mark heard laughter.

“Bro, did you see that? What a klutz!”

Mark rolled onto his side, shook his head, and tried to get to his feet. Two boys about ten years old had pulled up on their bikes to see the show. One of them had a camera pointed at Mark.

“Hey,” Veronica waved her hands as though shooing a dog. “Get out of here!”

The boys continued laughing but climbed back on their bikes. Mark heard one ask the other, “Did you get it all?” but couldn’t hear the second delinquent’s response.

Great.

“Are you okay?”

Struggling to his feet, Mark nodded. He felt a little dizzy and the bite throbbed. “I need some dirt,” he mumbled. Scooping a little from the flower bed, he spit in it, making a thick paste. “What are you doing?” Veronica asked.

He spread the mud paste over the bite. Within seconds the burning pain had subsided.

“Why did you do that?” She asked again.

“It’s to get rid of the stinger. Something in the dirt helps get it out. My Nonna showed me when I was little. I used to help her in the garden a lot and…” his voice drifted along with his train of thought, as he saw the picnic. Two dogs chased a neon green tennis ball that bounced directly toward the basket.

“Oh no.” Mark ran back toward the picnic, but it was too late. The first dog, a medium-sized black one with a mohawk of grayish hair leaped into the air to catch the ball. The second dog, a large white one, ran straight, right underneath its companion. It didn’t seem to notice the food or tablecloth or basket until it tripped on the plate of cheese and landed with a soft “woof” in the bowl of caviar. Lazily, it licked this until its friend got to his feet and the two started wrestling over the bread.

“Hey!” Mark yelled and ran toward the dogs. Their owner was nowhere to be seen–or had gone in the opposite direction to avoid a confrontation, Mark thought–but he managed to scare the dogs off. Not before one grabbed the ball and the other the rest of the bread though. Broken crackers and smushed strawberries littered the tablecloth. The champagne bottle was tipped on its side, the cloth underneath it soaked.

Mark wanted to yell, to chase the dogs, to shake his fist. Instead, he looked at Veronica. “I’m sorry.” The mud on his forehead cracked as he spoke, little flakes of dry dirt cascaded down in front of his eyes. “This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

Veronica had a hand over her mouth. At first, Mark thought she was crying–her eyes were damp. But then he realized she was laughing.

“I’m sorry, Mark. This was such a beautiful….gesture.” A laughing wheeze came from her chest. She valiantly tried to turn it into a cough. “Can I help you clean…” Another burst of choked laughter. Then a snort.

Mark wanted to see the humor in it. He wanted to laugh along with her– ha ha ha, what a story this will make –but all he could think of was how perfect this was supposed to be, how much time he’d spent to make it just right. What was he going to do? Re-plan the entire event? Come up with a whole new way to make this the perfect engagement?

No. He’d do it anyway. Ask her. The picnic didn’t matter. They’d look back on this years later and laugh about it. Well, sure, Veronica already was but… Mark took a deep breath and dropped to one knee. He pulled the small black box from his pocket and cleared his throat.

“Veronica, I didn’t mean for the picnic to turn out like this. But life is unexpected right? Things happen that we can’t predict. And I know that you’re the woman I want to share all of those things with–the good ones and the bad. The predictable and unpredictable.”

Veronica had stopped laughing but still had her hand up to her mouth. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

“Veronica, will you marry me?”

A whining buzz came from behind Mark. Further away a kid cried about ice cream and a dog barked. Time stopped. “Oh, Mark. I’m so sorry. I–I can’t marry you.”

He remained frozen in place. He couldn’t move. The buzzing grew louder and then Mark felt a sharp, burning pain on his right shoulder and another on his neck.

Yelping, he swatted at the wasps. Veronica hurried to his side and waved her hands around him, trying to shoo them away. Arms flailing, Mark accidentally smacked Veronica in the head at the same time her fist connected with his chin.

“Oh ow! I’m sorry–”

“Sorry, I–”

Mark ran from the ruined picnic and toward the fountain in the middle of the park. He heard Veronica’s footsteps behind him, her voice telling him to stop, to wait. A toddler splashed in the fountain’s basin and beyond him, a gull washed its feathers. Ignoring the sign that said, “Stay out of the water,” Mark jumped in. It was icy. He let the water wash over him, barely submerged, and closed his eyes. Veronica yelled something but under the water, everything was muted, hard to make out. Maybe he could just stay here, he thought. Forever.

*** “Hey, your mom said I might find you here.”

Mark looked up from the park bench where he’d been sitting for the last–what? Two hours? Three? He’d lost track of the time. But the sky was turning that pearly blue-gray it does at dusk. So, a while then. He’d been here a while.

“She told me…well. That you might need a friend,” Beatrix said, settling herself beside him on the bench.

“Hey, B.” Mark’s voice sounded reedy, thin. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to the airport today. I had…plans.”

Beatrix shook her head. “It’s fine. My parents were both there and Matthew and Jake. They’ve gotten so big since I’ve been gone, it’s hard to believe…” her voice faded away. “I’m so sorry, Mark. About what happened. Veronica…I know you really loved her.”

Mark shrugged. True. Now though, he just felt hollowed out. Like Veronica had taken his mother’s melon baller and scooped out his heart and everything else. He hadn’t cried. Hadn’t gotten so angry he’d broken anything. Not when Veronica had told him she couldn’t marry him. Not even when she’d said that the reason she’d wanted to meet him this afternoon was to break up with him. It wasn’t him, it was her , blah, blah, blah. She never meant to hurt him but she’d met someone else.

“Yeah. It sucks,” he said.

Beatrix rested her head on his shoulder. She smelled exactly as he remembered, a mix of patchouli and vanilla. He glanced at her. She was tan, her hair longer and worn loose not in the braid she usually had. Her glasses were gone, he realized. It made the sprinkle of freckles on her nose stand out more. And her eyes…He glanced away and then back. Beatrix smiled. Her eyes were the same warm brown he remembered. Only, had her lashes always looked like that? They were long and thick, practically touching her cheeks when she glanced down, tugged at her shorts.

“Want to walk?” She asked and pulled him to his feet without waiting for his answer. “Come on, you’ll feel better.”

He fell into step beside her.

“You know, there is a possible silver lining to the Veronica situation.”

Mark doubted it. He walked woodenly beside Beatrix.

“What?” He finally asked, more to keep the conversation going than anything else.

“You could join the Peace Corps now. Remember all the plans we’d made to go together?” Beatrix squeezed his arm. “They’re looking for people where I’m stationed.”

Mark mumbled “hmm".

“Just think about it. I know it’s too soon now, but I’m home for another four weeks. I’ll keep working on you,” Beatrix laughed. She stopped walking and pulled Mark to a stop too.

“You’re too good for her, you know. I always thought that.”

Had Beatrix’s eyes always had those gold flecks in them? He cleared his throat. “But you liked Veronica.”

Beatrix made a face. “For your sake. I always thought she was a little flighty. And stuck on herself.”

They walked again. “Anyway. I know you don’t want to hear it now but I'll give you the standard parent advice. You’re young. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, yada, yada, yada. Better to find this out now than after you’d married her and had kids together.”

“She didn’t want kids.”

“See? One more reason not to like her. But I guess you could’ve gotten a dog or two. That’s kind of the same thing.”

Mark chuckled. “She didn’t like those either.”

Beatrix rolled her eyes. “Are you serious? What exactly did you like about her?” Then before he replied, “Don’t answer that.” They walked in silence for several long minutes.

“I’ve missed you,” Beatrix said. “I’ve missed you, too,” Mark said. And he realized suddenly just how much he had.

“Can we stop talking about Veronica now? Because I can’t wait to tell you all about the village I’m working in. You’d love it. There are these mountains, Mark, they’re gigantic. And the beaches near the coast are completely unreal…”

As Beatrix tried to distract him Mark realized he’d put everything on hold–his interests, his friends, his life, really–to accommodate Veronica. They always hung out with her friends, met with her colleagues, visited the museums and art galleries and posh clubs she wanted to go to. Maybe Beatrix was right. Maybe it was time to remember what he wanted. Who he was.

“...and then there are the people themselves. They're the most generous...Hey,” Beatrix grinned up at him. “What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing. Just…possibilities, I guess.”

Beatrix laced her arm through his. “I like the sound of that.”


“Claire and Patrick are getting a divorce,” Marge said, over the sound of the weatherman’s predictions for the day. “What was that?” her husband, Ron, answered. “I said Claire and Patrick are getting divorced. Apparently, they’ve been sleeping in separate rooms for years.” “Oh dear,” Ron said, “Would you like cream or sugar in your tea?” “Just some sugar. But can you imagine? Married for thirty years and throwing in the towel? I mean, Patrick was far from perfect, but Claire had her own fair share of nut-so moments over the years too.” Her husband mhm-ed from the kitchen, measuring out the sugar with his surgeon’s precision. “I wonder what made them decide to give up,” Marge mused, shifting her large bottom in the chair so she was facing Ron directly, “The kids have been gone for years. It’s not like either of them are eligible anymore. Don’t you think comfort is worth staying in a marriage for?” Ron turned, carefully walking the tea over to the table. “Perhaps they wanted to find their true shot at love?” he said, before turning back to the kitchen to fix his own coffee. Marge’s blood chilled. “But what’s love got to do with it?” she scoffed, ignoring the cold pit in her chest, “It takes a lot more than love to make marriage work. You can have oodles of love and still end up sleeping alone.” “Perhaps they were tired of staying for comfort,” Ron guessed, setting his mug slowly onto the kitchen table, and then sitting with agonizing slowness. He and Marge had both slowed much over the years. Marge remembered when they first married, and Ron would dance her around the kitchen each night while she tried to cook dinner, both laughing until tears streamed down their faces. After the kids had been born, the dancing had slowly faded away. Dinner couldn’t be burned, and it couldn’t be late. A lot of things had faded as the years passed. Marge’s beauty for one. “Do you think it’s because Patrick didn’t find her pretty anymore? Claire was always such a darling thing, but the chemo left her different after all.” Ron pursed his lips, “You said they hadn’t shared a bed for years. It sounds like a deeper problem than chemo.” Marge sipped her tea, then cussed when she scorched her tongue. Her impatience had always been her downfall - but when had she started calling it impatience rather than eagerness? “I do suppose a lot of things can build up over the years,” Marge said once her tongue had cooled, “But still, the timing seems odd.” Ron shrugged, sipping his coffee. Was he a little distant today? Their mornings had seemed less talkative recently. And he seemed more eager to finish the shopping than he used to. To get out of the house… “Maybe there was someone else,” the pit in Marge’s stomach widened, “Maybe Patrick, or Claire, had already found someone else to be with and that’s why they abandoned the other.” “I would hardly call an amicable divorce abandonment,” Ron said, his eyes now on the television, the pretty young news anchor talking about the recent shooting in Illinois. Marge glanced at the thermostat, wondering why the kitchen suddenly raised goosebumps on her forearms. Was a window open? Did Ron turn down the heat again? “So you agree that if there was someone else, it’s okay for Patrick to leave as long as Claire is okay with it?” Marge asked, sweat beading at the collar of her shirt. Ron shrugged noncommittally. “They are both adults, are they not?” Marge’s heart fluttered, and her chest tightened. When was the last time she and Ron had gone to bed together? Always one of them had something to finish. Often Ron wished to read the new medical journals before bed, and did so in his study so the light didn’t bother her. But what if? What if he wasn’t reading the medical journal in his study? “Still,” Marge said, sipping her now cooler tea again, “Thirty years of marriage abandoned for nothing. You and I aren’t far off from that.” “No, it’ll be what? Twenty-six, twenty-seven next fall?” “Twenty-eight, September 8th,” Marge supplied quietly. “Ah yes,” Ron reclined slightly, eyes still focused on the pretty news anchor, “Twenty-eight. It seems like yesterday I met you at the barbershop.” Marge blushed, remembering how she’d met Ron, young and dashing, as she swept the floors in her uncle’s shop. “We’ve both changed so much since then,” Ron mused, “I barely even recognize myself in the mirror these days. And you as well - three healthy children takes its toll.” The kitchen seemed to drop another degree, and Marge busied herself with straightening the place mat in front of her, the daisy pattern entirely her own choice. She barely asked Ron’s opinion on anything these days - she assumed if he wasn’t happy with the décor - with anything - he would have told her. But what if she was wrong? “How is your sister doing?” she asked off-handedly, “Her divorce was finalized not too long ago.” “Ah, Izzy is great. She’s got a new beau and seems very happy. I’m very glad she got a second chance,” Ron smiled, but still didn’t quite glance away from the TV. “Yes,” Marge said, beginning to pick at her nails now, “Second chances are good to have, if needed… I’ve never been fond of needing them, myself. Much rather make the right choice the first time.” “Yes, well, a lot of choices seem like the right choice at the time.” Marge flushed, and she stared at her reflection in the mirror above the kitchen sink. Her hair was dyed a faded rust color now, wiry and short as many women her age wore it. Her skin, once youthful and sun-kissed, had folded in on itself, marked with liver spots and crows feet. It sagged slightly over the collar of her shirt, and she knew she sagged a lot more when she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror before hopping in the shower. She wondered if Ron looked at how much time had changed her. She was impatient, grouchy when things changed. She had always thought of him as mellowing her out, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had told him that. She couldn’t remember the last time they had sat down to have a real conversation without the TV playing noise in the background, and Ron usually not looking at her. Maybe he didn’t want to look at her. Maybe he did see the changes time had made, and decided he didn’t like them. Maybe they were only a short step away from separate beds, and then separate lives entirely. Marge swayed as the earth fell away beneath her, and she weakly said, “I don’t want a divorce.” Ron looked at her, holding her gaze intently. “I don’t want a divorce either. What makes you say that?” Marge coughed, the kitchen now hot enough to make her upper lip sweat. Had she imagined it? The distance stretching between them? Had it simply been what she used to think? A comfort of two people who knew every inch of the other, and not an ominous warning of a piece of paper declaring their marriage void? Embarrassed, Marge glanced at the TV, and sipped her tea, though it was still too hot on her tongue, “Shame about that shooting, ain’t it.” Ron let it drop - maybe he was glad to let it drop, never much of a gossip himself - and nodded solemnly, “Yes, mighty shame it is.”


I stepped out into the bright sun~~ ~~~~~~~~ ”Come on, help me,” my sister whined as I threw my bag into the front seat of the car. I looked over to her, throwing a smirk in her direction as I watched her struggle. ”Seems like your managing just fine.” I worked to hold back a laugh, she would surely be mad at me then. But I didn’t want her to be mad, I was in a way to good mood for that. We we’re headed to a secret place, a remote place. A literal island. It was my favorite camping trip of the year. It was the only time of year that my uncle and aunt came down from Washington state. My mom and my uncle are sister and brother, and this trip has been in their family for about four generations now. So its a big deal. “Help me!! You fool,” my sister continued to complain. I rolled my eyes, but walked over to help her throw her bag in the car, also. “We aren’t quite ready to leave yet, I’m running to Walmart-“ I said the name with a groan, it definitely wasn’t my ”go to” choice of store- “with Tim and Britt to get some things for our trip. So maybe don’t wait in the car,” I reminded her. She groaned. “I know.” I nodded, walking away. I saw my aunt and uncle’s white rental car pull up into the driveway and I hopped into the back seat. My uncle is quite the character. That’s one way to put it, at least. On our drive to Walmart, he drove down the wrong side of the road to enter the parking lot, lucky nobody was coming. We just had good laughs. “Are you trying to kill us before the trip?” me and my aunt laughed. He gave a playful scoff, and laughed too. Oh boy, I thought driving was interesting with my uncle. Well, I have never been shopping with him. My aunt went to go find her own things, so I was left to following my uncle around. We we’re headed back and forth forever, talked about “Cheap-y,” which basically was “cheap,” and “tp,” in the same word. But I didn’t realize other people were listing to us until this lady told us where the toilet paper was (we needed disposable stuff for our trip)… so embarrassing. We checked out, and waited for my aunt, but we had lost her. We waited at the checkout forever, and she thought that she had lost us, so she was at the car, and oh boy, did we laugh. After that whole Walmart fiasco, we headed home. Then we were on our way, to the special, once a year, island trip. It was a three and a half hour drive. But it was all good, I made a playlist for trips like this. We cranked up the tunes and we were off, “like a heard of turtles,” my family would say. I chuckled to myself as I thought about my family, quite the group of people we are. Finally we made it to the pavement end. We turned off the music, rolling down the windows, just listening to the gravel beneath our tires, the birds chirping their music in the distance. We made it to the landing. We were almost there. It took forever to unload the boat and the canoe and pack it all. Oh wait, this is the best part of the adventure. There was barley any water in the channel, so we had to walk through, thigh deep in nasty, smelly, squishy muck- mind you- we were also surrounded by horseflies and mosquitoes. “So fun.” But when we all got in the boats, all we had to do was paddle. Me and my mom were in the canoe, my aunt, uncle, and my sister, all in the boat. We made it around that last bend, and we saw it. The island. The pine trees stood tall-well most of them, the ones that weren’t leaned over-they loomed out over the glass lake waters. There was six swans in the distance, and a loon call. My anxiety, worry’s, fears, problems, they all seemed to dissolve in the beauty of this place. This was finally a place where I was out off touch from humanity, a place without judgement. Humanity is pretty messed up these days, so I was finally glad for this. I have been waiting two years for this. We didn’t get to go last year because of Covid. But even now, I couldn’t worry about the worldwide virus. It was like my mind wouldn’t even let me think the thought. We paddled along, then finally, the tips of our boats hit hard ground, making the crunching sound of rocks and sand from underneath it. We carried all our stuff up, and I immediately threw off my shoes. I let my bare toes touch the old pine needles on the ground, letting them get dusty with dirt. We set up the tents, and I just… cried. I don’t know what set it off, but it was all so overwhelming. I hugged my mom, then I heard my aunt call, “group hug!” and I was being surrounded. I let myself be surrounded though, it felt nice. ”Fishen’ time?,” my uncle asked me. I wiped a tear away from my face, chuckling and nodding. My uncle, my aunt, and I all climbed into the boat after grabbing the tackle box and fishing poles. I caught the first, and only, fish so far, and it was a huge Northern. When we pulled back in, rain clouds started coming from the West, and we pulled up to the island. My uncle started a fire, but I stayed by the shore. The sun was starting to set, and it was my favorite time of day. The clouds started to turn into various shades of pinks, purples, and blues. I was covered by the shade of the pines, so I took in a huge breath, smelling the pine and the camp fire. I exhaled, taking a step, right into the last light of the day. Letting the small gust of wind tousle my already messy bun, and I sighed, closing my eyes. This… this was the way to be.


A Moment in the Wall Berlin. It was still hard to believe he was taking her to Berlin. A city she’d always wanted to visit, and around her favorite time of year made it all the better. The weather was windy and cold but Terry never minded it. The sharp bite brought back memories of her as a child, playing for hours in the snowbanks in her neighborhood outside of Chicago. She could hear the sounds of half-frozen snow crunching under her flower-print boots, the wet smack of a packed snowball hitting her in the head, her friends giggling as she shook the powder and ice from her hair then prepared to retaliate. She must’ve spaced out momentarily because the next thing she saw was Roger’s brilliant green eyes full of amusement. Shaking her head, Terry coloured red, causing her boyfriend to laugh. “Having a nice daydream, love?” he asked, taking hold of her hand and joining the baggage check line. “I was as a matter of fact.” She flexed her fingers that had begun to cramp from holding her carry-on. “I was remembering how my friends and I would play in the snow back in Chicago.” They moved forward to have their suitcases weighed and boarding passes checked then proceeded through the security checkpoints and off to the International Departure Lounge. The couple still had about two hours before their flight, so they found a spot at one of the many bars and ordered drinks. “This is the first time I’ve flown since me and Dad moved over here.” Terry said. “Hell, that was nine years ago when Mom died.” Roger held her hand. “I’m right here with you if you need me.” He kissed her cheek. She smiled. “I know. Truth be told, I don’t recall much of the flight. Mainly take-off and landing then we were here.” She sipped her Margarita, enjoying the sour taste of tequila mixed with citrus. “Be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit nervous about it.” “Nothing to be nervous about. Once you’re in the air, you’ll get comfortable before you know it.” Roger reassured, sipping his martini. “Of course, I fly on just about a weekly basis, so I’m used to it.” “You’d have to be. Be pretty difficult to get to gigs on time by boat, train, or auto.” “Gets me back to you faster, too.” “Now you’re trying to make me blush!” And it worked too. Terry felt the redness creep into her cheeks again, making Roger chuckle and wink. She dove into her drink, maybe a little to recklessly. “Okay.” She set the glass down gently. “Might wanna get an appetizer or something before boarding. Don’t need to be drunk when we touch down.” “It’d help you sleep through the trip. And you always look pretty when you sleep.” “So, you’ve told me.” Picking up the menu, she ordered something that’d fill her up but wasn’t too expensive. She could only imagine what Roger was spending for this month-long trip. ‘But he does make a lot of money nowadays.’ She thought. ‘Although this is one hell of a Christmas present.’ Her salmon bruschetta showed up ten minutes later, which did the job of dulling the effects of the tequila. Roger watched her as she made short work of the food and couldn’t help but think how lucky he was to have met her. Sure, she may have been more than a little obsessed with the 1960s and his grandfather’s former band when they’d met but he didn’t care. Terry was smart, beautiful, and his. Subconsciously, the bassist rested a hand on the small box in his coat pocket. If this trip went as planned then she’d be his forever. He had to do it right though. He’d talked the decision over with his grandfather before planning this surprise and the elder Waters had told him, ‘You’ll know when the time is right, my boy.’ ‘Big help there,’ he’d thought at the time but now it made sense. He’d wait until the perfect moment. Maybe one of the Christmas Markets? He checked his watch. “If you’re finished, we should head to the gate. They’ll be calling boarding soon. Got your bag?” Terry lifted the black-and-purple laptop bag. “Let’s go.” The pair headed for their gate as the airline employees were calling first and business class passengers to board. “Good timing.” She said as they approached. “We should be next on the list.” While Roger was already shelling out a lot of pounds for this, she knew first class seats were out of his pocketbook. The only way that would’ve happened was if the record label was paying for it, and they sure as hell weren’t footing the bill for a holiday. She didn’t think about it anymore as they handed over their boarding passes to be verified, walked through the tunnel and onto the giant aircraft. They found two seats together that looked like they should’ve been in first class but were at the front of economy. ‘Guess he did manage to spend a bit more on comfort. He really is spoiling me with this.’ As the rest of the passengers boarded, Terry looked out the window one more time. Her excitement was building again. She was really going to Berlin! After landing at Flughafen Berlin Brandenburg, security, customs, baggage claim, and the transit train ride were little more than a blur as Terry was trying to take it all in at once. The effort made her tired and a bit dizzy as she made herself sit still in the metro car on the way to the hotel. The transport was packed with travelers from all over, coming in to visit the famous Christmas Markets. She wondered then how far in advance her boyfriend had been planning this so they could spend a month’s worth of time there without having to jump from one lodging to another. “What’s on your mind, love?” Roger asked, causing her to look at him. “Wondering how much time it took you to put all this together.” “It’s been in the planning stages for a while. I had to pick the best time to execute it, and when we finally got a long enough break from touring figured out, I started setting everything in motion.” He smiled when she raised an eyebrow. “I’ve had this in mind ever since you told me you wanted to come here for Christmas one year. You said you wanted to see all the stands and shops, and maybe even the remnants of the Berlin Wall.” She blinked, not realizing he’d paid that close attention to what she’d said. Remembering that conversation five years ago, she’d thought she was talking about a pipe dream. ‘Well, he proved me wrong.’ “ With four weeks here, it sounds like we’ll be able to do everything we want and then some.” ‘You have no idea.’ He thought, checking to make sure the box was still in his pocket. The train slowed a bit as it took a series of corners and curves then stopped in front of the Mercure Hotel Berlin Mitte. Several passengers grabbed their luggage, Roger and Terry included, and shuffled off the transit before it could take off to its next stop then moved quickly to get out of the cold. “This place is beautiful, in a steel-and-glass modern sort of way.” The young redhead said, admiring the lobby before walking to the check-in desk. As Roger conversed with the clerk in German, she looked around a bit. Modern as it may have been, whoever built the hotel attempted to insert a sense of warmth with hardwood flooring, wood paneling on one wall, and light-colored bricks on another. ‘It’s got me entranced, that’s for sure.’ She thought, hearing what sounded like a welcome from the clerk then Roger was guiding her to the elevator to head to their room. They were on the 14 th floor, and temporary living space was as inviting as the lobby. The colors were warm, with bits of cool mixed in with artwork hanging on the cream walls, wooden furniture, flat screen television, and queen-sized bed with fresh linens. “Wow! I could get used to this.” Terry set her bags down and flopped onto the bed. “Think we could move in here?” Roger laughed. “I don’t think they’d give us an extension, love.” He yawned. “What you say to some sleep then an early breakfast so we can see what markets are open tomorrow?” She nodded, got up to move her things then they got ready for bed. Both drifted off rather quickly, exhausted from the traveling they’d done. For the next two weeks, the couple traveled from one Christmas Market to another, admiring the craftsmanship of the toys and gifts, sampling the holiday treats, and drinking more than their fair share of mulled ciders and wines. One night, Roger had drunk too much of a local dark beer, and Terry had to ask a few locals to help her get him in a cab to get back to the hotel. The people who’d helped didn’t mind; the men were astonished that an ‘English boy could keep up with them,’ as they put it, and said they should come back for Oktoberfest. Terry exchanged email information with the men and their wives, thanked them profusely then got into the cab with her drunken boyfriend. He’d slept most of the way back to the hotel then passed out as soon as they got to their room. The next morning, they stayed in while he nursed a hangover and spent half the day apologising to his girlfriend. At the beginning of week three, they decided to take a break from the market hopping and took in some of the historic sites and museums. The weather had turned from windy and bitter cold to overcast with some snow starting to fall, creating slush in the streets and ice on the walkways. The couple found warmth inside as they opted to spend the day at Museum Island, admiring the art collection of James Simon, and learning about early mankind in the Museum of Prehistory and Early History. After spending the day walking and viewing everything from art to artifacts, Roger wanted to make one last stop at one of the many gift shops before they went to dinner. Feeling exhausted, Terry decided to wait for him on a bench just outside the store’s entrance. While she waited, she texted her Dad, keeping him updated on what they were doing and how much fun they were having. She said she wouldn’t be home for Christmas but would make it back before New Year’s Eve so they could go ice skating at the Natural History Museum ice rink. After a few minutes, she got a reply saying that he was glad they were having fun and staying safe. Her Dad was looking forward to the skating and even suggested asking Roger if he wanted to come along. Terry wrote that she’d ask him, said ‘I love you’ then put her mobile away as her boyfriend was exiting the gift shop, holding a bag with the Museum Island logo on it. “Ready for some dinner?” “Am I ever! I’m starving!” He shook his head, his long brown hair brushing his shoulders. “Woman, you are a bottomless pit! It’s a wonder I don’t go broke feeding you.” She took his arm and they walked outside. “It’s a wonder you don’t go broke spoiling me the way you do.” She glanced at the bag. “What’d you get, anyway?” “You’ll see when we go to The Wall.” It was another six days before they visited the Berlin Wall, almost at the end of their holiday. They had seen all the beautiful Christmas Markets they could get to, walked the museums and historic sites but saved one of the most memorable pieces of history for last. The day was cold but clear, so they decided to walk the twenty-five minutes from the hotel to the spot of one of the last remnants of the Cold War. When they arrived, there weren’t many travelers; maybe one or two other couples, a few residents walking their dogs, but other than that, the place was deserted. ‘Perfect,’ Roger thought, walking hand-in-hand with Terry up to the broken barrier. The few pieces that were left standing were slowly crumbling away, by time or by those looking to own or sell a piece of history. ‘People just can’t leave well enough alone, can they?’ He thought bitterly, setting down the bag he was carrying and gently running a finger along the concrete. A bit fell away from his touch, dropping to the walkway at his feet then bursting into dust. “Humbling in a way, isn’t it?” He looked at Terry. “To think of how many people died while trying to get to this side of the wall. Makes me wonder what I would’ve done had I lived then like I’ve always wanted to.” “I’ve often wanted to ask my grandfather what it was like to play a concert here. It must’ve been a highlight in his career but I never got up the nerve to ask him.” Roger felt a tear in his eye but blinked it away. “Enough gloominess. We should make this a memorable moment for ourselves.” He reached into the bag and took out what looked like a brick but it had a cap on one end and when opened, was hollow. “Is that what you bought from the museum gift shop?” He nodded. “I wanted us to put our own little time capsule in the Berlin Wall before we left.” “Are you sure we can hide it well enough so it won’t be disturbed too soon?” “It’s constructed to blend in.” He took two more things from the parcel. “Here’s what I’m putting in.” He held a sealed copy of Pink Floyd’s Piper at the Gates of Dawn and a hand-written letter. “Hmm… can’t say I was expecting this but I do have something I can contribute.” She reached around her neck and unclasped the emerald pendant she was wearing. “This was my mother’s. She gave it to me before she died. I think passing it along to a future generation is the best thing to do.” She looked at the letter. “You wouldn’t happen to have a pen on you, would you?” Roger handed her one from inside his coat, along with the letter. She quickly wrote on a blank part of a page and gently tore it off then carefully placed the necklace and note into the hollowed brick. Adding his small piece of history, Roger sealed up the capsule and, looking around to make sure no one was focused on them, he gently placed the faux brick inside the Berlin Wall. After looking at the spot for a few moments, Terry spoke up. “Never thought I’d be putting a time capsule inside of a monument, much less this monument. Thanks for bringing me here, Roger. This was a fantastic holiday.” “It’s not quite over yet.” He reached into the bag once more then, turning to face his girlfriend, he took a knee in front of her. “I was waiting for the right time to do this and I believe it’s now.” Terry’s eyes shimmered with tears as she knew what was coming. “Teresa McKenna, will you do me the honor of being my wife?” He opened the box to reveal a silver ring with an emerald set in it. “Roger, nothing would make me happier than to marry you.” He slid the ring on her finger then stood up to kiss his fiancé. As they held each other, a small bit of applause could be heard around them. A few tourists also visiting the Wall had overheard the proposal and offered congratulations. The couple disengaged and gave a bow, earning a few chuckles. Terry glanced at their brick in the wall then at her fiancé. “Best holiday ever.”


There was a screech echoing through the air with a ferocity that surely no mortal had heard, much more like the sound of a thousand demons crying out in pain all at once than anything else it might otherwise have been. Andrew stood still, frightened. He had never experienced such an ear-splitting sound in his short nine years of life and he almost certain never would again. His older brother, Braydon, had assured him for repeated years that this night was the one night humans could count on demons and vampires and werewolves and everything evil to roam the world after dark. Perhaps he had finally strayed too far from his older brother, left the protection of his guardian for precisely long that a demon was swooping down to fly away with him. Slowly, Andrew turned to look behind himself, first his head turning, his eyes catching a small rush of costumed people rushing forward from the sidewalk. Intrigued—curious—Andrew allowed his torso and then his full body to turn around. With a sigh of relief, Andrew realized there was no monster behind him. There was nothing more than a group of people gathering, huddling around together on the road, the bright lights of a car shining on them, parked nearby. Shrugging his shoulders and turning back around, Andrew began to skip to the house he had been heading toward. It was the house with the huge waving ghost in the front yard, and a couple of scary-looking statues with flashing lights illuminating their twisted faces. Andrew wasn’t afraid though, because one of the other kids who he had bumped into at the house he had just left had told him this house was handing out full-sized candy bars ! He began to half skip, half run toward the house, excited at the prospect of getting one single bar all to himself, or maybe, just maybe the nice old man who lived there would be enthralled by his Spider-Man costume and give him—dare he think it?—two bars all to himself.

Of course, if he got two, he’d give one to Braydon, because he knew Braydon hadn’t wanted to take him out trick-or-treating again. His older brother had told him this was the last year they’d go out together, so Andrew wanted to make the most of it. Next year, Braydon had told him, he’d have to go out with his friends from school instead of out with his big brother. Andrew had to make this year the best year yet! Andrew swallowed a soft yelp as he rounded the corner leading up to the front porch of the house. There, hidden behind a bush, was yet another statue, this one of a very tall, imposing figure wearing a hockey mask, a bright, shiny blade in his hands. Not quite looking up fully, Andrew looked through his eyebrows and up into the dirty mask, staring into the black eyes shadowed behind it, waiting. The flashes of white light that pulsed from time to time as if a silent storm was rolling in made it appear as though the statue was moving, but the eyes never blinked, never even moved. Shaking his head finally, Andrew let out a small chuckle, realizing that this too must be a statue. Turning, he hurried up to the porch and knocked on the screen door. Barely a moment passed before a jovial old man with graying hair and thick, black-rimmed glasses opened the door, a giant bowl of full candy bars easily visible in his hands. Andrew’s eyes grew wider as he stared into the orange plastic bowl. They were all there: all the big names in candy, all the chocolates and chocolate peanut-butters and chocolate crunches! They were all there! Oh, which one to ask for? Would he have a choice? Did it even matter? This was a full bar of chocolate! “Hello?” The old man seemed confused. Opening the screen door, the man stepped out onto the porch, still clutching the bowl in his hand, arm wrapped about it, holding it close. “Hello? Is there anyone here?” “Me, sir!” Andrew called out. “Trick or treat!” The man looked right over him though, not even looking down at him, not even acknowledging him. Andrew was nearly four feet tall! The man should be able to see him. He wasn’t that small. “Here I am, sir! Down here!” Andrew called out again. “Hmmph. Guess the trick’s on me,” the man said before turning back and heading into his house, the door closing behind him. “What?” Andrew found himself asking aloud. He reached out and knocked on the door again, certain the man had simply failed to see him. This time the old man opened the door with a hint of annoyance, and no sign of the candy bowl. Looking out through the screen, again passing right over Andrew, the old man called out, “That’s enough of that! Stop trying to play tricks on me!” With a slam, the door was closed again. Andrew furrowed his brow and stared for a good couple of minutes at the door, hoping the man would return, but eventually he gave up, dreams of a full bar of chocolate dashed by the rude old codger. Shoulders slumped, Andrew headed back down the path away from the house, ignoring the menacing statues and ghostly decorations surrounding him. Maybe he wouldn’t go trick or treating with his friends next year. Maybe he wouldn’t go trick or treating ever again. Kicking his shoe on the sidewalk, he turned slowly toward the next house on the block, looking down at the cream-colored pavement as he walked. He carefully avoided stepping on any of the cracks in the sidewalk for fear of breaking his mother’s back—something else Braydon had assured him was necessary, particularly on Halloween—and decided he’d try again. Looking up as he reached the next driveway, he noticed the house lights were off. He quirked his head to the side, confused, because although he hadn’t really acknowledged it as he went to the scarily decorated home, he had been certain this house had been lit up too. Another moment, and he realized none of the houses nearby were lit up anymore, not even the house with the old man. Up and down the street, there wasn’t even a sign of life. No kids, no costumes, no people, and no candy. Just darkness, broken by the street lamps. Houses in shadow, much more gray and eerie than they had been moments before. A small wave of panic began to wash over Andrew as he looked up and down the street. Braydon! Where was Braydon? He could feel his own lips quivering and his eyes starting to water a little as he realized he was alone. He’d never been alone outside before, not this far from home. “Braydon!” he cried out. “Braydon, where are you?” There was no answer. But a light across the street went on. The brightness of the porch lamp drew Andrew’s attention immediately and he looked up to see the front door of the house open. A kind-looking woman with deep mocha skin and long, braided hair stepped out onto the porch. “Come here, little one,” she called out to him. There was something soothing about her voice, something that Andrew instantly trusted, and so he wiped his tears. Looking both ways before he stepped into the street on the off chance a car might be coming, Andrew rushed across and over to her porch. There, she awaited him, her arms wide. “Come, little one, do not despair. Everything will be alright.” As she wrapped her arm around Andrew, suddenly he felt very safe again. He looked up into her cinnamon eyes and smiled. Reaching down, the woman wiped away the last of his tears. “Oh, dear child, this must all be very confusing for you. But do not worry. Time is endless.” “Wha…?” Andrew stopped himself for a moment. Now that she mentioned it, he really was confused. “What’s going on?” “You are dying.” There was a truth in the woman’s words, but Andrew couldn’t quite understand what she was trying to tell him. Of course he knew what death was. He’d lost a hamster and a couple of gold fish and, well, his grandfather, too, but he thought death was a lot scarier than this. “Shouldn’t I be afraid?” “Oh, no, child.” The woman’s face lit up with a bright smile. “People have had me wrong for ages. Always running around holding some large blade, dressing in moody robes, snatching souls and the like. Or worse. Some gave me ugly jackal heads. In the end, I am never quite what they expect. But then, dying is not quite what they expect either. Death is all about second chances, my child, but you first need to learn what went wrong.” “What did I do?” The question crossed Andrew’s lips without hesitation. He knew it had to be something he had done wrong. As he looked up into the woman’s eyes, he could see his own red and blue and black costumed face reflected in the blackness of her eyes, and then he remembered. Before he could give that memory much thought, much less give voice to what he recalled, he saw the woman nodding. “Yes, my child, that is it. But see, in this case, your life is not yet over. There is more yet for you to do, a long life to live, and so you must return with the knowledge of what you have done wrong.” “How?” “You will know.” She released him from her warm grasp and took a couple of steps backward, placing a hand upon his head. “Never forget this chance you have been given.” “Who are you?” The woman threw her head back and let out a hearty, friendly laugh. “Oh, child, I have been called many things. Thousands of years ago they called me Osiris. Some call me Death. Others Thanatos. So many names. These days, I prefer a nice, short name. Just call me Siri.” “Thank you, Siri,” Andrew said, smiling, feeling a warmth flowing through himself. “Wake up, buddy, please, wake up!” It was Braydon’s voice calling to him, and suddenly Andrew found himself in his brother’s arms. There was a group of people standing around him, a few on their phones, all of them looking down at him with concern in their eyes. The car… The car with the bright lights was there too, and Andrew suddenly remembered with clarity what had happened and threw his arms around Braydon’s neck. “I’m sorry, Bray! I didn’t mean to! I shouldn’t have run off like that! I just wanted to go get the candy bar!” “It’s okay, buddy,” Braydon said with a smile. There were tears running down his cheeks, his green eyes filled with joy. He pulled off Andrew’s mask and mussed up his hair. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you coming, I’m so sorry.” Andrew turned and saw a man, older than Braydon but definitely not as old as the old man he had seen at the scary house. He had a pale complexion, his face wrought with concern. “I should have been paying more attention,” Andrew said, looking away and into his brother’s chest. “I’m sorry, mister.” “Let’s just get you checked out, okay?” the man said. Andrew nodded, but he knew he would be okay. The kind woman—Siri—had told him so. He knew what he needed to remember. There was only one more thing he wanted. “Can we go trick or treating again next year, Bray? I promise to be good.” “You bet, buddy. You bet.”


Slump Alicia slumped down on a chair after the last dance of the day. She was a hip-hop backup dancer that was doing a tour with Little Iné, currently the biggest rap/hip-hop singer in the world. She was doing a tour across North America, and they had just arrived from New Jersey, heading up toward Maine. Alicia had always wanted to visit Boston from when she was 9 years old, because of the giant libraries and museums. She was kind of a nerd. Anyways, here she was, 8 years later, in Boston, but for a completely different reason. When she was 9, she expected herself to be in Boston for school, not a backup dancer for the biggest singer in the world. Not that she was complaining. Alicia loved dancing, she started doing it from when she was 5 years old. Then, she was doing ballet. Ew. So girly. She switched to hip-hop when she was 7 because it’s more sophisticated and challenging.

Alicia forced herself to get up, so she could wash the makeup off her face and go to sleep. Opening the door to the tiny bathroom in the tour bus, she turned on the sink and splashed icy water onto her face. She rubbed the waxy makeup off her face and looked at her face in the mirror. Her green eyes stared back at her, with her chocolate brown hair framing them. With her makeup gone, her acne popped out like a neon sign on a black background. After drying her face, she went to her room in the humongous tour bus, changed into her fuzzy cotton pajamas, and went to sleep. In the morning she stretched her arms out, yawning. It was the weekend before Christmas, which meant a lot to Alicia. The whole week she had been doing a whole 45 minute - 1-hour dance routines, 3 times a day. Two days of rest with no dancing sounded like pure heaven. Once Alicia got up and changed into sweatpants and a hoodie, she walked out into the breakfast room at the other end of the bus. More like the buffet room. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were basically just a buffet in the same room, with appetizers, main courses, desserts, and snacks changed to fit the meal. Today, Alicia wanted something sweet, so she got a breakfast that her dad would not approve of at all. Alicia grabbed 2 medium-sized cinnamon rolls, a nice greasy sausage, complete with a tall glass of orange juice. Not dad-approved at all. She found a table where her best friend, Rachel, was sitting. Alicia landed next to Rachel when she was having a conversation with Vivien.

“...so when she sang ‘behind’, I completely lost my footing and went the opposite way we were supposed to go.” Rachel laughed, Vivien smiling while sipping her chocolate milk. Rachel talked a lot; more than the average human being. As Alicia sat down next to her, Rachel said, "Oh, Alicia! Perfect timing! I was just gonna tell Vivien about how Harvard’s library and the Museum of fine arts are open today to the public!” Rachel clapped with excitement since she knew how much Alicia loved libraries. “When can we leave?” asked Alicia. “An online brochure said that they’re open from 8 am today, so we can leave after we finish breakfast!” Rachel responded, sounding like a hyper puppy. Vivien checked her phone. “It’s 7:59,” she said. Rachel’s eyes lit up. “Oh GOODY!” They all laughed, making Alicia choke on her non-organic orange juice.

As Alicia went back to her room to brush her teeth, she compared the scene outside to the tour bus. Outside was a winter wonderland, complete with the glowing Christmas lights everywhere, like colourful fireflies. Inside, it was a mixture of grunge and Polly pocket aesthetics. Who knew those two went together. The walls and hallways were a dark purple, with black and bright blue embellishments on the walls. There weren’t any Christmas decorations because the maintenance crew didn’t want to pay extra time and money for them. The rooms were a cheerful, synthetic pink, with purple decorations, which made the rooms look exactly like a Polly pocket toy, with Alicia as the doll. She wasn’t exactly judging Little Iné’s taste of accessories, but Alicia will one day ask her about the Polly Pocket stuff. Maybe Little Iné loves Polly Pocket. Who knows. After changing into a more…. presentable outfit, Alicia met her friends outside of the tour bus. “...and then I slipped this way, and everybody was staring at me!” Rachel finished, laughing so hard her esophagus might fall out. Vivien waved me over. “Ok, where are we going first?” asked Alicia. “Well, the brochure said that the museum closes at 2 pm, but the Harvard library closes at 6, so we better go to the museum first,” said Rachel. Alicia nodded her head. “How are we gonna get there?” Vivien asked. “I think it’s close enough for us to walk,” said Rachel. “About a 20-minute walk.” She pointed toward Simmons University, showing us the way we had to walk. “Ok, everybody got their stuff?” Alicia asked. Vivien and Rachel nodded. “Let’s go!” A big white structure towered over them. On the sides, there were bare shrubs covered with snow and little blue Christmas lights drape over the branches. A giant rusted statue in the middle of the courtyard shone in the sunlight, with pockets of snow scattered throughout. “...” Vivien opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything, taken aback at the sight. “Wowee wow wow,” Rachel said, walking in circles and almost falling into a bush.

Creak “What’s that?” Alicia asked, now wary of their surroundings.

Hello Alicia turned and noticed that the creaking sound was the statue, its head now turned toward the group of girls.

Run now, or else Rachel turned toward them and yelled,” What is happening?” over the wind that was picking up mysteriously. You haven’t ran yet? Guess I’ll have to destroy you Vivien’s face contorted into confusion. “Destroy us?” Alicia shouted, over the now hurricane winds. All of a sudden, a red laser shot out from the eyes of the statue, burning the spot right in front of Alicia. “AHHHHHH” Vivien screamed, just running away from wherever the nearest burning hole was. Another laser shot at Rachel, burning the heels of her shoes. “AHHHHHH” Rachel screamed, imitating Vivien. They aren’t gonna be of much help, thought Alicia. While running around the courtyard, she had a lightbulb moment. Alicia ran to the back of the statue and grabbed something out of her backpack. A hair straightener. What girl doesn’t keep a hair straightener in their backpack? Alicia chucked the hair straightener at the statue’s head, making a loud CLANG! sound. The statue’s head fell off, slowly rolling its way to Rachel’s feet.

She looked at Alicia in awe. “W-w, h-how..?” Alicia bent down, picked up her hair straightener and waved it at Rachel. Vivien said,” Ohhhhh.” So obvious right. Once they gathered their stuff and Rachel’s heel stopped having a meltdown, they walked into the museum. Alicia glanced behind at the statue. Its head was right back on its neck, the same as when they had got there. No lasers, no creaking sounds. Alicia thought, Hmm. Probably waiting until another group came along. Then they strutted into the Museum of Fine Arts.

After coming out of the museum right after noon, Alicia thought about that statue again. I wish I could just have a peaceful Christmas for once, she thought. All the practicing, conditioning and exercise wore Alicia to the core, so for Christmas, all she wanted was peace, quiet, and rest.

Rachel called out,” It’s 12:30 pm. Wanna get lunch?” Vivien’s hand shot up. “I would like a Big Mac, medium fries, and a large Coke,” she said, hugging her stomach. Rachel painted a disgusted look on her face. “You can have that if you want, I’m having Greek food. What about you Alicia?” Alicia thought for a moment. “Hmm, I’ll have some Korean Barbeque.” Rachel nodded while Vivien started towards a nearby mall. “Ok, so does everyone know where Harvard is?” Rachel asked. Alicia nodded, while Vivien gave a shaky thumbs up. “Everybody meet in Harvard Square after lunch, okay?” Rachel asked, confirming their plan. Both Alicia and Vivien’s head nodded. “See ya!” Rachel called, now racing Vivien to the mall. Alicia smiled, took a deep breath and sprinted after them.

 Once Alicia’s stomach was full of Korean BBQ, she walked about 20 minutes to the front of Harvard University. It kinda looked like a mini White House, but with red bricks, and students out on the front lawn. A black sign in the front said ‘HARVARD BUSINESS SCHOOL’ in big white lettering. Alicia spotted Rachel and Vivien near the doors. She ran up to meet them while Rachel was telling Vivien yet another of her dance failures.

“.. so then Hannah stumbled over me and I almost fell onto Little Iné!” Rachel finished, Vivien smiling. Alicia said,” So Rachel, wheres the library?” “You think the library is gonna reveal itself?” Rachel asked incredulously. “We have to go find it!” Vivien raised her hand. “This place is huge. How are we gonna find it?” She asked. “There’s something called exploring, if you didn’t know.” Rachel said, gesturing toward the doors. Alicia grinned and sashayed into the University. After wandering around for so long, Vivien spotted the library. “Guys, it’s over here!” She yelled, running into a room with giant oak doors. Alicia ran in after Rachel, looking up in awe. Bookshelves ran endlessly around the circumference of the room, different colours of book spines staring back at her. Desks lined up in the middle, with some students studying with earphones plugged into their ears. Peaceful. Quiet. Perfect.

CRASH What is happening? thought Alicia. BOOM Let’s hope it’s not another statue, thought Alicia. POW The doors broke down, revealing a bronze statue that was 6 feet tall, standing in the doorway of the Harvard library.

I will destroy you, if you are Neil DeGrasse or not. Who said anything about Neil DeGrasse? Alicia thought. “Everybody, get a book!” Rachel called. Alicia raced to the closest bookshelf and grabbed a book called ‘Encyclopedia Britannica’. How nice.

Alicia recognized the statue from the courtyard. John Harvard, she thought. John wasn’t very friendly. He tore parts off from his bronze body and yeeted them at us, keeping us busy so we didn’t get crushed by a leg. “Woohooo!” Vivien yelled, tossing a book thicker than Alicia’s Encyclopedia at John’s face.

You fools! Only one thing can destroy me: acid! Why would you reveal your weakness to your enemies? Alicia thought. “ORANGE JUICE!” Rachel howled. “What?” Alicia yelled over the commotion. “Orange juice is acid! Somebody go to the cafeteria and get orange juice!” Rachel bellowed and chucked different horror books at John’s nose.

“Already on it!” Vivien screamed and waved a full jug of Tropicana Orange Juice. Rachel grinned. “Open it, and throw it at John!” she yelled. “Alicia, keep him distracted!”

On that, Alicia threw her Encyclopedia Brittanica at John’s eyes, scrambling to find more books. Thankfully, there was a stack near her, so she went through them as fast as a squirrel with acorns. Once Vivien and Rachel got the jug open, Vivien hefted the bottle up into the air, splashing onto John Harvard’s face.

Nooooooo! His bronze figure melted into a pile of liquid, enough to make thousands of pennies. “Rachel ran over to Alicia. “Great job!” she said, high-fiving each other. Vivien started chugging the leftover orange juice in the jug. Alicia and Rachel grimaced. “Vivien looks hungry again. Is it ok if you stay here while we go to the mall again?” Rachel asked, keeping an eye on Vivien. Alicia nodded. “Ok, see you back at the tour bus!” Rachel exclaimed, running over to help Vivien.

When Rachel and Vivien left, Alicia walked over to one of the bookshelves to pick out a book.

Harry Potter Already read that.

Chronicles of Narnia Finished. Artemis Fowl Haven’t read that yet, Alicia thought. She slid the book out of its place among the others. “Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer,” she said aloud, reading the back cover. She took the book to a mahogany couch, got comfy, and started reading.


Shruti’s legs devilishly dangled from the stone ledge. She swung them in small circles like coffee stirrers blending in some half and half. Her eyes followed the stoned walkways to a set of regal stone stairs that existed only at prominent government buildings and Ivy League campuses. She made eye contact with the statue of Alma Mater, her hands upraised as if to ask her, “And what will you bring to enrich us all?” Two degrees and seven years later, she didn’t have an answer. “Shruti!” “Hey, Miles.” His lanky figure towered over hers despite her perch, his hug nearly dropping her from the ledge. Shruti jumped off before she could fall, suddenly embarrassed that she only reached the beginning of his chest. She felt shorter than she remembered. “I missed you.” “I didn’t think you’d actually make it.” “I’m offended! When have I ever flaked?” “On about almost every phone call the last year!” “Phone calls are different than meet-ups.”  “Shall we?” Shruti was already walking on auto-pilot to her favorite pastry shop and Miles obediently followed, excited to be on someone else’s turf. Shruti Davis and Miles Li. Together, they used to joke, they made a full Asian. Her first name and his last name signaled “otherness,” and his first name and her last name were cloaked in privilege, or as Miles used to say, “white in disguise.” Shruti’s mom and Miles’ dad both international college students that found a way to stay in the States. Their white parents falling deeply in love with someone their grandparents didn’t approve of. Both understood what it was like to be half accepted and half unbelonging. Yet, their upbringing yielded very different outlooks. After experiencing her race coming before her qualifications, Shruti did everything to be mainstream and successful. She wore pencil skirts to her law office and refused to wear henna. She never mentioned bilingualism on her applications and straightened her hair. But Miles? He joined affinity groups and packed bento boxes for lunch. Munched on seaweed snacks in staff meetings and took advanced Korean classes in college. His confidence frightened Shruti, but emboldened her, too. She was always envious of the easy way he carried himself, as if the world should mold to him than the other way around. “Wow. You’re an Ivy Leaguer now.” “Have been for a while now.” “You’re forgetting your state roots.” “As if Berkeley wasn’t top-ranked.” “And soon you’ll be making that big New York salary getting people off for white-collar crimes.” “How’s that big fancy tech company of yours? Still convincing people vaccines cause autism?” “Hey—those algorithms only generate what they’re fed.” Shruti rolled her eyes and shoved him aside, walking faster ahead of him. Shruti turned and shouted, “Have fun testifying in court!” Miles looked down and winced, but Shruti assumed the gust of wind was to blame. “I missed you, Shruti Pebbles.” Miles caught up and loosely hung his arm on her shoulder. “Fuck off, Miles.” “Nice shorts.” It was a tepid day in New York, but as a girl from Orange County, Shruti protested a climate too cold by exclusively wearing shorts when the weather inched above 60. Shruti instinctively looked down to see what was on her. “Wow, didn’t even realize I was wearing these.”  ------------------------------------------------------------- Shruti wore a fitted halter neck crop top now dyed orange and pink and teal. Her jean shorts were ripped stained either making them impossible to resell or markedly more expensive—time would tell. Miles’ hands hovered the small of Shruti’s back. It tickled, but she wouldn’t admit it. She left Miles believe that her small giggles were a symptom of her infatuation. They were coming back from Paint!, an event where undergrads squirted paint out of dining hall ketchup and hot sauce bottles. “That was such a rip off Holi.” “Yeah? And what are you going to do about it?” “Continue feeling frustrated but refuse to do anything about it because most people are unwilling to participate once you attach a culture to it that isn’t mainstream.” “Wow, all in one breath.” Miles tugged at her belt loop and they continued walking, Miles a graceful lead and Shruti simply following cadence. Their naivete still engulfed them, drowning in an ocean of idealism not yet shattered by the reality that all couples either break up or one half perishes. They defiantly spread saliva on public sidewalks and joined hands as if in a daily parade of affection. There were dozens of other students smeared in paint ahead, behind, and to the sides. Shruti watched them lazily branch off into boba shops and fast-food joints, wondering which impulse they’d give into first. Shruti was about to surrender to a Thai restaurant before she saw a few chess boards waiting for a few bored passerby. Shruti stepped out of Miles’ embrace and landed on a stone bench, waiting for an opponent. “I told you I grew up going to chess tournaments, right?” Miles asked. “I vaguely remember. I’m just not sure you live up to the title.” “Well, I’ll give you the advantage. Play white. You can start first.” For every ninety seconds that Shruti used, Miles used eight. He barely glanced at the chess board with every move which infuriated Shruti, making her resort to tactics of distraction. Shruti leaned forward on her palms, widening her eyes and looking into his. Miles mimicked her, resting his elbow on the table and cupping his own chin. “Having fun, Shruti Pebbles?” “Mildly.” As soon as she moved her knight, he took it without breaking eye contact. “Still?” “Slightly less.” Miles laughed and waited for her to play. She moved a measly pawn and asked, “So what’s your master plan?” “To win.”      “Not for this game. For life.” “I’d like to change some things. Maybe disrupt the social order.” “Very leftist of you.” “Just trying to fit in with California.” “No, seriously. What do you want to do?” “I’m not sure exactly. But I do want to defy people’s expectations.” “Again, vague.” “Again, your bishop.” Her stolen pieces were starting to form a mob on the side of the table, outnumbering the two black pawns and a rook.         “Tell me, Miles. Sure, you’re studying computer science, but there’s no way you just want to code for a big company all your life.”         “I think tech is fascinating. I’m just not sure I find it fascinating enough to want to succumb to the corporate structure. Maybe if I can use tech to show people there’s a lot they’re missing.”         “You love risks, don’t you?”         “Checkmate, babe," Miles said, twirling her king piece between his fingers.   -------------------------------------------------------------         “You’re favorite pastry shop, I’m assuming?”         “I used to eat my weight in rainbow cakes every weekend morning while sifting through my case book.”         Everything was packed together, much like everything in New York. Luxury was marked by space, whether it be vaulted ceilings in SoHo or restaurants with enough space for waiters to do traditional wine pours.         The old couple ordered and found a table tucked away by the door, a gush of air bringing goosebumps to their skin every time a customer walked through the door.         “Don’t take all my pastries!”         “Hey! I’m the guest.” But Miles reluctantly surrendered his hand away from Shruti’s plate stacked with a tower of various cookies.         Of course, Shruti had thought about them finding their way back to one another as all people reminisce about young love. She hoped one day they’d relocate to the same city and run into each other in a bar and suddenly they’d fall into the same easy rhythm that only previously existed because of the simplicity of life at eighteen.         “You never did tell me why you were in town.” For once, Miles did not snicker, smirk, or smile. He looked away and chewed meticulously, until he could no longer procrastinate answering the question. He reached for a napkin and wiped the corners of his mouth, finally putting his hands palm down on the table in front of him. Shruti thought, this is the moment. The monumental affair when Miles would tell her he was engaged or dying or madly in love with her. She let herself hope that she’d receive the buried fruit of a declaration of love. Miles leaned forward, so far that she could see the crease between his eyebrows, the thickness of his glasses’ lens, and the little dimple on his cheek. She wondered if it would be inappropriate to lean forward and hover closer, so distracted that she barely heard Miles when he whispered— “Shruti, I need a lawyer.”   -------------------------------------------------------------       Shruti was packing her things one last time, as were most of her friends, each in a different house painted a bright shade of the rainbow. She and Miles were armed with rolls of packing tape, busying themselves with the boxes in front of them instead of the many other decisions that lay ahead. Twenty-seven minutes of silence transpired where only the crackles of unwound tape interrupted the air. Shruti felt like if she acknowledged that she was moving, she would acknowledge the cluster of decisions, goodbyes, and heartbreaks that came with graduating. “I’ll hold you back,” Miles said. Shruti didn’t immediately register that her boyfriend had spoken. It took her three more boxes of tape to realize that he was talking about her, about them. “What does that mean? We went to the same school. You’ve got a job with a 401k lined up.” “That’s not what I’m worried about.” “My parents even like you and they don’t like anybody.” “I won’t hold you back like that.” “Like what?” “The superficial version of me, I agree, is compatible with you.” “Stop speaking like a fucking horoscope. You don’t think I see you for who you are?” “I think I hide a lot from you.” “How do you think I’m supposed to interpret that?” “I’m an idealist. You live here, in the world. You agree to its structure and that you have a place in it. Me? I’ll never have a place.” “That’s some bullshit, Miles. You’re working at one of the biggest tech companies in the world!” “And then what?” “I’m not sure! We’ll figure it out, you and me. Maybe I’m the idealist!” “Shruti, trust me. We won’t work. You’ll see.” Shruti responded through the clatter of the packing tape on the floor and Miles kept boxing up the last of her things. ----------------------------------------------------------------         Shruti fell back on her chair and pulled her arms inwards, crossing them across her chest. She felt angry, a sense that she was being used. The only reason Miles was in town was to network, to climb up a ladder that he would pretend he didn’t care about.         “Lawyer? Why a lawyer?”         “I’m in some deep shit.”         “What do you mean? What did you do?” She whispered forcefully, hoping the words would land with the same punch as a shout.         “Some illegal activity,” Miles returned casually.         “Miles, not so loud!”         “Don’t worry. Crowded places are safest to chat. No one is really listening. Stop talking.”         Miles was right. The entire pastry shop sounded like a YouTube video of coffeeshop ambient noise. Merchants talking to customers drowned out by small spoon percussion on mugs. Bathroom door slamming and shuffles of people leaving and newcomers hovering over tables. Those alone wore noise-cancelling headphones and others were too preoccupied by their partner’s chit chat to pay any attention to them.         “Fine. But tell me what happened.”         “I can’t really. You’d be an accomplice. And I need you to be my lawyer.”         “Give me a hint.”         “I leaked some information.”         “How much?”         “Enough that I violated some contracts. Hopefully enough to stir up something. People deserved some truth.”         “All right, so you’re Edward Snowden?”         “But much less political.”         “Miles, this is a big deal.”         “I know. But if it’s fine. I wanted this.”         Shruti finally understood. He was right. She overlooked what this man had been trying to tell her for years. He was always going to make a choice that put his lofty ideals first and everyone else second. He had never graduated from those early-formed convictions about the world that most young adults shed with their first few paychecks. “Miles. You have to go.” “Where?” “Run. Where do rich people gallivant off to to avoid taxes?” “And let people forget me? No way. I’m going to make everyone watch this trial and face what’s been hidden.” It was one final act of martyrdom. If he wasn’t going to escape the country, then at least propel his college girlfriend’s career while he sunk some formidable foe.         “Fine, but you still have to go. You haven’t hired me yet.”         “Touche. Thanks for coffee and the pastries. Looks like your firm pays you decently.”         “Don’t hug me. It’ll look suspicious.”         Miles instead squeezed her hand under the table and said, “See you soon.”  -------------------------------------------------------------         Shruti went to her Greenwich Village apartment and sank into her pearly white bed without a shower. She slept fitfully, a 7:30 alarm rousing her slowly. A Sunday morning was her favorite time of day, and she refused to ever miss it. She cinched a robe around her waist and wandered off to the Juliet’s balcony, relishing in the quiet that only ever struck New York City on Sunday mornings.         Sirens blared in the distance and Shruti counted in her head, anticipating when they would shrink back away into the atmosphere. But they kept encroaching until Shruti saw a squad of cars surround an apartment building across the street. Shruti debated heading inside, but human nature urged her to gawk.         Six minutes later and her college sweetheart was manhandled out of the building. Shruti gripped the railing, worried she would fall over and tumble seven stories down. She closed her mouth and reached for some sunglasses on her dresser, knowing that the press wouldn’t be far away. Her instinct to protect Miles left her with a warning not to be recognized, but not one to look away. Miles looked up and imperceptibly winked in her direction. So agile that Shruti would swear it was an aberration if she didn’t know him better. She blinked hard, convinced that if she shut her eyes long enough, she would still be in bed. She opened her eyes to the same stare, though he had no idea if she was watching. With a half-smile, he mouthed “I feel alive.” Shruti smiled and shook her head, walking away from the window. She clicked on her espresso machine and waited for the phone call from a holding cell.


I always imagined that I would spend an awful amount of time during my twenties inside of museums and art galleries when I was younger. It was the activity that I looked the most forward to. I would think to myself, ‘ I could be there all on my own. I won’t need my parents or my older siblings to supervise me.’ I relished the idea of being around art by myself. There would be strangers in the building with me of course, but none of them would know who I am. There would be no one to distract me with their side conversations, no one to rush me to move on to the next painting, no one that would grow annoyed with how silent I became while I stood in front of a portrait.

Younger me was kind of a ninny.

Because oh, how much I wished I wasn’t alone right now. And I don’t mean alone in the sense that I have no family or friends who accompanied me today—I am the only one here.

“Who the fuck pregames before going to The Morgan?” I can hear the grogginess in my voice and for a second, I think I’m in a dream.

Younger me also failed to imagine I would be quite the drinker in my twenties.

I recognize that my legs are laid across the floor and that they feel like mush. I can feel the cool tiles against my back. I have to be kind of sitting up, right?

I turn my head to the right in slow motion. At least, that’s what it feels like. My eyes meet the lower half of a door and I can see what’s outside from the gap in between the floor and where the door ends. There’s a piece of dry toilet paper by my fingertips…so I’m in a bathroom stall. Shit. When did I go to the bathroom? Better question—How did I even manage to find the bathroom? Knowing what kind of state I must’ve been in before, I think that I don’t even want to know. I plant my hands on the floor and push myself to stand up. I’m still a little drunk, I see. After taking a minute to breathe, I push my hand into the pocket of my coat and thankfully find my phone. I turn it on to check the time and I feel a wave of anxiety run its course through my body. It’s four in the morning. I place my clammy hand over my heart and stare holes into my phone screen. I don’t see any notifications. No one called. No one texted. Which makes perfect sense, because I didn’t tell anyone what I would be doing today. Or yesterday. Whatever.

Well…at least nobody knows what I did.

I unlock the stall and pull it open at full speed. I’m met with a long mirror that rests above all the sinks. I put my phone back in my pocket and turn on the water. I lather my hands in soap and rinse it off. I splash the cold water on my face, not even daring to look at my reflection. With closed eyes, I grab paper towels from the dispenser and pat my face dry.

Feeling brave enough to face myself, I slowly move the now wet paper towel away from my face and open my eyes. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it surely wasn’t this.

I’m a big old scaredy cat. I shake my head and chuckle at myself. “I’m literally fine.” And I was. My hair was a little messy and my eyes looked very tired. The usual hangover look.

Am I even hungover if I still feel drunk?

“Why am I still drunk?” I know that I’m the only one in here, so it doesn’t fucking matter that I’m talking to myself. I push my fingertips to the back of my scalp and laugh anxiously, “Oh my god, I can’t remember how I continued to drink. Did I drink inside of the museum? How wasn’t I caught?” All of these questions and concerns were catching up to me quickly. It’s like logical thinking hit me out of nowhere because why was I feeling moderately calm up until this point? I’m in a bathroom—hopefully the museum’s bathroom—and I have no recollection of the events that took place before I woke up. This is possibly the worst place to blackout at.  I know that if I open the door and walk out of here, I will have a greater chance at piecing together what happened last night. However, I’m scared that I’ll find a large crowd of people waiting for me outside. It’s irrational, because it is dead silent. And it’s four in the morning. I don’t even think the security for this place is here this late.

Before I decide to walk to the door, I pull out my phone again. There’s a possibility I documented some of last night. I’m filled with nerves and excitement as I see my thumb hovering over the photos app, but it’s mostly nerves. I blow out a breath and press down. What… “The fuck?” I holler the rest of my thoughts out loud. I have to turn off the phone and march outside, an imaginary crowd of people be damned.

I immediately know where I am as I walk down the halls. Last night wasn’t my first time coming to this museum. I came here last summer and I knew I had to visit again. No other museum or art gallery had drawn me in this much.

No museum had spooked me this much, I now come to realize.

“I’m not going crazy. I’m not going crazy. I’m not growing crazy.” Who the hell was I fooling? I was going crazy. I AM going crazy.

Why in the fuck was the last photo in my gallery a selfie with the sculpture of St. John the Baptist?

AND WHY WASN’T HE A SCULPTURE? WHY WAS HE WALKING BY MY SIDE HOLDING UP A PEACE SIGN.

This couldn’t possibly be. I had to calm the thrashing of my heart against my chest. I kept on walking and opened my photo gallery again. The photo was still there and still very much SPOOKY. I stopped in my tracks when I saw that it was a live photo.

There’s no way. I held my finger down on the photo and I could not believe what I was seeing. It sounds so cliche but it’s true. I. Could. Not. Believe. It. There he was, St. John in the flesh. His white mouth curled up into a smirk and his hand flew up to his face to make the peace sign.

I don’t know how, but my legs managed to move me to the center of the room I entered. All of the paintings and the sculptures were…hungover. Oh my god, did I get them drunk?

What type of questions am I even asking? It’s so hard to argue with myself because I’m literally seeing it play out in front of my eyes.  I don’t think I’m drunk anymore. Is it possible to have so much adrenaline pumping through your veins that it cancels out the alcohol? Because I feel very much sobered up.

“You..” I whip my head down to see who was talking to me. My eyeballs damn ear popped out of my sockets. The man from Portrait of a Man with a Pink was looking up at me with bloodshot eyes. I can’t even say his name because he doesn’t have one! For fuck’s sake, he’s called the Man. “You need to get this to a very special person.” He was holding the damn letter or whatever people have guessed it was in the painting in his hand.

“I…well-” “Hey!” I gasped loudly and turned around with my arms up, like I was surrendering in a battle or something. I guess the security was here at this hour. “Young lady, you need to leave. Now.” I furrowed my brows and opened my mouth in bewilderment. Could he not see what fiasco was taking place behind me? “Can’t you see?” I asked incredulously. I heard my own voice and I was certain I sounded as crazy as I felt. I whipped my head around to point out the– They’re gone.