“Don’t you want a spoon for that?” Jada peeked up at her junior varsity teammate, Kristin, sitting in the bleachers above her and shook her head. While she waited for the most valuable player, Evie, to shoot the ball, Jada sat on the bottom row and licked the chocolate off the lid of a pudding cup. With her wrist, she pushed black tendrils that had escaped her ponytail off her cheek. A stream of other girls treaded sluggishly out the gymnasium doors, hair frizzy and faces shiny with perspiration. See ya guys, my mom’s here, good luck on the test tomorrow… Orange, evening light came through the windows above the upper deck seating, illuminating “divisional champ” banners and reflecting off the dark scoreboard. With the basketball between her palms, Evie spun in a circle. Then, she crouched low and sent it in an arc toward the basket. It fell deftly through the hoop.

Jada rose, leaving behind the full pudding cup and lid. Evie passed the ball to her. “See if you can match that.” Her narrow face was still flushed from the day’s drills. Jada, short and a total sideliner, spun around and shot the basketball. It deflected off the rim and back toward her. “ Damn. ” “Ooh, so your first letter,” Evie said, smiling triumphantly. She wiped her forehead with a slender arm, looking buttery smooth under the lights. Jada rolled her eyes. “ Firscht letter muh muh mya.” Evie laughed. “How many letters do you have, Eve?” Kristin asked as she pulled up her crew socks, stained yellow from sweat. “The first.” “A P?” “A P.” Jada toyed with one of her new earrings while she studied the hoop, trying to come up with something Evie would have no chance replicating. But that seemed next to impossible. “Are they sore?” Kristin asked, watching Jada twist the stud. “A little.” A lightbulb went on in Jada’s head. She stood on her tippy toes and tried to make a basket. It hit the corner of the backboard. “Ugh. Here.” She tossed the ball overhand to Evie and leant her space. Finding a spot just ahead of the free throw line, Evie squatted and wet her lips. "They look really good on you,” Kristin called down to Jada, giving her a thumbs up. She seemed more open now that she’d started shaving her arms; a thing Jada thought was a little odd but acceptable. By doing it, she'd shed the nickname “tarantula” as well. Jada beamed. “Thank you.” “What made you decide to get them?” Kristin asked. Jada shrugged. “A lot of reasons.” Certainly, Kristin could understand a few of them. “How long do you have to leave them in?” Evie asked as the basketball sank through the net.

And Evie could understand the others. “Six weeks, I think,” Jada said, hands on her hips, chest rising and falling. Evie walked over with the ball. She gave Jada a once over. “Can you keep up with it that long?” The girls locked eyes. Jada yanked the ball from Evie’s wide hands. “Sure, I can,” she said. Evie pointed at a spot on the court. Taking Evie’s place, Jada bent her elbows, searching for the right angle. She imagined the ball leaving her hands and going through the hoop. The stinging in her earlobe made it a little harder to concentrate. Nonetheless, the ball danced around the rim and went through the net. “ Yes! ” “How long?” “What? Six weeks,” Jada repeated, snatching the ball as it pitter-pattered along the court. She began formulating her next shot while she licked the cocoa off her molars. “How long will you keep them in though?” Jada looked sideways at Evie and swallowed. “As long as it takes," she said and prepared to shoot. “Just don’t take them out too soon,” Kristin inserted. “Yeah, Jada, don’t give up too soon,” Evie said, pacing behind her. “You want to look pretty, right?” “Yes, but….” Jada straightened and touched the earring again. Her lobe felt warm and puffy. “They—" “Does it hurt?” Kristin asked, seeing the wince on Jada’s face. Jada tried a shot from beneath the basket and missed. Her shoulders sank. “Only a little,” she said. “I’ll get used to it.” “It’s okay to take them out and give up, you know,” Evie said, grabbing the ball before it could spring away. “I know. But I won’t,” Jada asserted. “Ah, Jada, don’t give up, they look great! Plus” —Kristin raised a finger in point— “you’re not supposed to take them out if they’re infected, just so you know.” “I won’t,” she restated. I’ll stop. Her mom had threatened to take her to the psychiatrist the next time she caught her licking the seasoning off potato chips and throwing whole bags in the trash. So, she'd moved on from chips and started hoarding pudding cups under her bed. Kristin said, “I can bring you some rubbing alcohol or cotton balls if you don’t have any.” Jada plopped down on the bleachers and licked the remaining streak of chocolate from the lid. “No.” Evie said, “I can bring you some sugar-free gum,” and dribbled the ball. Jada imagined a mallet whacking her like a mole into the ground. Smack, smack, smack , until a buzzer rang, and Evie won a prize. Kristin’s face contorted with confusion, so deep it looked as though she’d just gotten a whiff of something rotten. “What? Does putting gum on your ears really help? Is it the menthol?” Jada sat the clean lid aside. “I don’t know.” She’d been trying “chew and spit,” but nothing had changed. Not that she could see anyway. Evie stood on one leg like a flamingo. “Try this.” She shot the ball, her shirt bunching around her shoulders. The ball rolled around the rim and dropped inside. She made a chef’s kiss. With the ball under her arm, Jada stood on one leg. In her head, she prayed she could make the basket and prove something to Evie. Wobbling, Jada sent the ball sailing past the backboard and into the seats. She cursed. “That’s an I!” Evie said, scrambling up the bleachers. “That was a great shot,” Jada called to her back. She couldn’t let herself seem like a sore loser. "Only one letter left, Jada,” Evie said. She tossed the ball down to her. “Did you do it because there's someone you want to impress?” Jada caught it with a thud. “What do you mean?” “Your earrings.” “I’m doing it for me.” Evie almost kicked the pudding cup on her way down the bleachers. Her legs seemed to stretch to infinity. “And the team?” Jada moseyed to the free throw line. “Yes.” “Do you ever wonder if it’s enough?” Kristin said, “I don’t know, I think once is enough. They’re cute. There’s no need to go overboard.” Flaring her nostrils like a bull, Jada jumped and let the ball fly. Swish! She raised her arms in celebration. "Coach should really put you in more, Jada,” Kristin said. Her cheeks pink, Jada backpedaled to give Evie room on her turn. The ball hit the edge of the backboard. “Okay, now I have an I,” Evie said, bending over to pick it up as it rolled along the court. “It’s okay. You just about had it,” Jada said. Evie chewed her lip while she looked for an angle to shoot from. “How many times a day do you clean them anyway?” she asked. “What?” Evie pulled on her own lobe. “Probably three times. Maybe two.” “So, after every meal pretty much?” Evie asked, her brow raised. “Twice a day,” Jada said, her gaze fixed on Evie. Evie appraised her equally. “You could get away with only once.” "They might not heal,” Kristin argued meekly, but her voice had no volume in the other girls’ ears. "If I were you, I’d consider even skipping a day,” Evie added, turning her attention to the hoop. “Let’s see who really deserves the last letter.” “Yeah, let’s see,” Jada said, feeling hot with emotion rather than exertion. “See who oinks,” Evie teased. She tilted her head to the side in thought. “It has to be something tricky...” Kristin piped up, “Ooh, I know! Do it with your shoes off.” “No, that’s dumb.” Kristin pursed her lips. “Oh, I know. Do it…with your—” “Do it with your shirt off.” Evie’s head snapped toward Jada, who stood at the sideline with an impish smile. “That’s not something you can do in this game. This isn’t padiddle or something.” Jada could hardly believe it had been her own voice that she'd heard. What confounded her more was how the color seemed to leave Evie’s face and the way she moved the ball in front of her stomach. “I’m just joking,” Jada said, the playful smile leaving her lips. “No one else is around,” Kristin said with half-suppressed laughter. “So, why not?” Not being one to turn away from a challenge, Evie let go of the ball and grabbed her shirt by the hem. Jada could not make sense of what she saw. When Evie lifted her shirt, Jada did not see her hipbones. Instead, she saw Evie's stomach spilled over the waistband of her shorts like slime. Always chomping at the bit, holding out for a chance to be included, Jada could not turn away from the game. She followed suit. Her stomach protruded past her waistband like the back of a spoon. Suddenly, they were on the same team again. Evie shot the basketball, and it bounced off the rim. She caught it and handed it to Jada. "Here you go." Jada stood close to the basket and tossed the ball up with little effort, so it rebounded off the backboard. It rattled the rim when it scored. As she moved away, the cool air tickled Jada’s bare skin like tissue paper. "Nice job." Taking her place, Evie lobbed the ball upward. It shook the backboard and rolled around the rim. But it toppled off the edge and plunked on the court. Jada stood with her arms at her sides, unable to come up with an expression. “Good game,” Evie said, shrugging into her shirt. “Nice game, you guys,” Kristin said, z iippp ing her bag. Jada hurried to put her own shirt on. "Good game." “See you at practice tomorrow,” Evie said as she gathered her things. She paused. "Thanks for playing, Jada." Jada nodded. Jada started to say goodbye but couldn’t get the words out. Evie quickstepped out the double doors. The evil spirit of the game had been exercised. After throwing her bag over her shoulder, Jada picked up the pudding cup and breathed in the cocoa. “Oh, Jada?” Kristin said, meeting her at the doors. “I just thought. I'm a little worried." Jada frowned. "Yeah?" "You might want to talk to Coach about your earrings. She usually doesn’t let us play with jewelry in.” Jada cupped her sore lobe. “Oh. Right.” “She might make an exception for you though. You’ve gotten better since the season started, I have to tell you.” Kristin smiled. “You and Evie are gonna carry us.” “If you say so.” Jada dipped her finger in the pudding. She sucked the sweetness from her tongue. If “spit and chew” didn’t help, maybe it was about time to try something else. “Okay. Check it.” Jada stepped a few yards away from the trashcan at the entrance. Kristin leaned on the doorframe. “Let me see it.” After a few more tastes, Jada aimed for the trashcan and tossed the cup. It missed, and the remaining pudding splattered on the lacquered floor with a pop of the plastic cup. “Ew!” Kristin shrieked, backing away from the mess. “That might have been easier if the cup was empty.”


When Richard mentioned going out for dinner on Friday, Leslie was more surprised than excited. Richard rarely made any plans for the two of them. She couldn’t remember the last time that he’d spontaneously suggested anything. Their marriage was in a place her mother warned about the night before the wedding. Mom said that marriage wasn’t a bed of roses, and there would be times when life was stale. But Leslie believed with all her heart that her marriage would be different. But that was fifteen years ago. Life threw them a lot of curve balls. Two stillbirths and three miscarriages finally convinced them they wouldn’t be parents to any natural children. When Leslie asked Richard how he felt about adoption, he told her in no uncertain terms, “No.” So, the dinner on Friday was a big deal. Leslie found herself humming unexpectedly over the next few days. On Wednesday, after work, she took herself shopping. Twirling in the deep wine dress, Leslie glimpsed the girl she used to be in the tri-view mirror. She was happy to see her figure was almost as lithe as she was in high school, and her stylish haircut framed her face just right. Paying for the new item, Leslie felt a lift in her heart as she walked out to her car. She thought to herself, “Maybe we are heading into better times. Mom said that things would go up and down over time. This might be an up that I’ve been waiting for.” Friday finally came, and Leslie was impatient to get home. It felt like all the cars ahead of her were moving along at a snail’s pace, and she wanted to lean on her own and shout, “I’ve got a date tonight – I want to get HOME!” But she controlled herself and arrived home at the same time it always took during the Friday evening commute. Richard wasn’t home yet, so she treated herself to a bubble bath before getting dressed. Leslie called out, “Alexa, play Spotify ‘Absolute Faves.” Alexa told her it would be so, and her favorite music filled the bathroom. After setting an alarm so she would have time to dress and carefully apply makeup the way Richard liked it, she slipped into the water that wasn’t too hot but still soothing. Leslie let her muscles relax. She wanted to let go of anything else in her head. She wouldn’t think about work, and the past would stay in the past. Tonight, was all about the future. A future with Richard she wanted with all her heart. Before her alarm sounded, Leslie heard the back door open as Richard entered. He called, “Hi. I’m home.” “Hi back. I’m just getting ready. You do not know how much I’m looking forward to tonight. What restaurant are we going to? You made a reservation, didn’t you?” When the words came out of her mouth, Leslie wanted to take them back. She belittled him with that comment, and she regretted it. He constantly asked her to give him some credit, and she just proved she didn’t trust him to take care of the details for tonight. As Richard entered the bathroom, he spoke tersely. “Yes, I made a reservation, and no, I will not tell you where we’re going. You must wait until we get there.” Leslie smiled to herself. “So, he’s going to be playful. Oh, this will be fun. Everything in our marriage will turn around now.” Richard waited in the living room as Leslie put the finishing touches on her hair. She could hear him jingling the change in his pockets, and she knew he was becoming impatient. She took one more look in the mirror over her vanity and grabbed a wrap that complemented the new dress perfectly. Her work was worth the time. Richard’s face lit from within when he looked at her. He cleared his throat before he spoke. “Well, it looks like we’re ready. After you, miss.” And so, the evening was off to a wonderful start. Leslie felt nervous in the same way she did when they were dating. She stole brief glances at Richard as he drove, and though she couldn’t discern his feelings or mood, she told herself he was as happy as she was. The French Gourmet was one of the most expensive restaurants in town. As the car slowed in front of the restaurant, a valet approached, and Leslie watched in disbelief as Richard tipped him and handed over the keys. She began to reach for the inside handle to her door and stopped herself when she saw Richard standing next to the car and reaching for the lever on the outside. “Why, thank you, kind sir.” “You’re welcome. A pretty lady shouldn’t be opening her own door, now, should she?” Leslie loved this, Richard. He was the man she’d fallen in love with sixteen years ago. He was attentive and loving. Her head was spinning with joy, and she felt her eyes sting as tears of joy rushed forward. She was careful to keep Richard from seeing the tears, and as they walked into the restaurant with the Maître de taking them to their table, Leslie felt like she was in a dream. When they were seated, Richard asked, “Is it okay if I order for the both of us? They have a great seared steak here, and I think you’d like it.” “Of course, Richard. That sounds good.” And even as the words fell from her lips, Leslie felt the antenna come up. “ When was he here? How could he know anything about their steaks? Somethings up.” The kernel of fear that his words started in her belly grew as the evening went on. Leslie did her best to enjoy the wonderful meal, but this Richard wasn’t the one she knew. No, this Richard was more verbose. He knew more about the town they’d lived in for years. She wondered when he’d gone to the place he spoke about. He worked ten to twelve hours a day all week and often went in on Saturdays. “When did he have time to ‘discover’ all these places?” The fear turned into a caustic acid, and Leslie knew something terrible was coming. And she was right. It showed up with the dessert cart. “Oh, why don’t you treat yourself, Les?” The use of her diminutive name scared Leslie for some reason. It didn’t sound natural as it fell out of his mouth. It felt forced and conniving. “I really don’t feel like dessert tonight. Maybe we should get home.” “No, not yet. I need to talk to you about something.” She held her breath. “Oh, well, tell me.” Richard drew a deep breath. Leslie could tell he was struggling with the words in his head as they fought to come out. “Ugh, I have to tell you that I’m leaving.” “Leaving? Like on a business trip?” “No. I’m leaving you. I’m not going to live in the house anymore. I’m moving tomorrow." A buzz started at the back of her brain and grew louder as it filled her mind. "Moving? Tomorrow? But where are you going?" Richard had the good grace to flush as he spoke the following sentence. “I’m moving in with my girlfriend, and I’m serving you with these papers tonight.” She watched him take carefully folded papers out of his breast pocket. He opened the creases and lay the document in front of her. Spots formed in front of her eyes. Leslie grew fearful as she felt herself leaving conscious thought. And with that, she fainted. Life would never be the same.


TALK ABOUT ATTRACTION OF OPPOSITES Alan Ross <alanzip@gmail.com> 3:36 PM (11 minutes ago) DIALECTICS AND THE ATTRACTION OF OPPOSITES. Or SHANNON and SOCRATES I stayed with my grandkids in Dallas, over the Xmas holidays. I had hoped to jump on a plane to visit my ex-wife and two daughters in Maui, but somehow the airport game did not appeal to me, which in hindsight was a smart move. (Did everyone and their baggage finally arrive at their destination, I wonder?) Seeing the airport chaos it invoked. I think I made a wise choice. Shannon also invited me to spend the holidays with her in New Jersey. And being a Brit who left London many moons ago. (Where warm weather is a luxury, rarely enjoyed) I decided to stay put in my small pad on Venice Beach and spend a very quiet uneventful holiday with Ricky, my grandson. Now Shannon is a beautifully attractive Brit, who left the old country about the same time as I did, in the sixties, when it was much simpler to gain American citizenship, (just a couple of forms, a routine physical and the welcome mat was virtually waiting for us as we de-planed). The holidays are always a time for deeply engrained memories. From the time my elder sister Barbara dispelled my belief in Santa Claus, (But introduced me to dialectic thinking). This was a lot to take in before the age of five, but it made a lot more sense to me than an old bearded gent dressed in red, toddling down our chimney with a few toys. My elder sister Barbara was my early mentor, as there was very limited schooling  in the war years. I remember her doing her homework and mixing her  lemon cake batter at the same time. “Listen Brother , I have an opinion or I say something important, like an edict or statement, that’s called the thesis, then If you or someone argues, opposes or improves it, that would be called the antithesis, from which a new statement or position is arrived at, that would be called the synthesis. See it’s all a matter of threes, like act one, we’re born, we live a good productive life, act two, and then we retire and die, act three. Or like birth or electricity, you need a man and a woman for birth, and you need a positive and negative charge to make electricity happen.” She didn’t care that I was four, going on five. But somehow it sunk in and made a primitive kind of impression. (Plus, because I listened, she let me lick the mixing spoon) Such was my brilliant sister, (Rest her soul) “It all comes in threes.”  She said. “Just like the three points of the triangle.” It's truly amazing how our brain associates our thoughts to various scraps of information. An odd piece of wrapping paper, for example, gives me a mental pictures of rising from an Everest mound of wrapping paper under the Christmas tree, as our two excitedly screaming daughters enjoyed and embraced their presents, and our one-eyed, honey brown mutt Pablo, pawed the paper off his new squeaker toy (How he always found his wrapped gift, was always beyond our ken), at the ungodly hour of six in the morning. Ah memories forever cherished. And yet— The memories of Shannon at last Christmas, stayed well to the forefront of those with my early Venice family. How so, and why, when I knew it was a relationship that was never meant to be? But I’m getting ahead of myself. That’s how it is with me. Why my over-active mind keeps me awake until the wee small hours. And one thought is uppermost, how this reminds me of that, and another pathway in my overactive brain gets another rethink. Like I know that a few days with Shannon in New Jersey would engage me in the most marvelous sexual activity I had ever experienced in my young life, for after all I am a very young man who has been on this earth for a verrrrrrrrrrrrry long time. (One does not talk years numbers in the biz of Hollyweird ).  Although it always amazes me how the highways and byways of the brain stir up memories, like the connection to Shannon, when I slept in my granddaughter Miranda’s den,  which she gracefully turned into my bedroom when I paid her a visit in Dallas last summer.. I marveled at the magnetic doo-dahs on her desk. One of them was a miniature ball in the shape of the world floating in mid-air. The inventor had figured out the perfect balance between the negative and positive poles and the small globe of the world was thus held in space in the middle of the protruding arms barely an inch to spare between the upper and the lower. I thought then how totally symbolic this was to my relationship with Shannon, that opposites are in fact necessary. That the Socratic theory of dialectics, was perhaps nature’s way of promulgating diversity in the human species. How strangely symbolic, even though I know that firstly must come the spiritual, (The look, the meeting of the eyes, the merry twinkle that says so much, then the physical, and of course the mental, all the necessary elements),

Why then,  I wondered, in my case, did the physical predominate? To say we were ill-suited is a vast understatement. In fact, it was as she later admitted, her mistake. And what a marvelous mistake it turned out to be. She had answered the wrong personal ad in the L.A. Times. (They were most popular in the 70' and 80's. Sadly they are published no more). I couldn't have been more specific when I wrote my

Men Seeking Women ad . Ex-Venice Brit hippie (Right brained kinda writer) seeks ex-flowerchild. Let's get in touch. Shannon who had just had cataract surgery meant to answer the ad just above mine, which when I read it, was. in my estimation, strident in tone and to the effect written by and from a decided left-brain accountant. She replied to my ad with a short letter, including her phone number, informing me she was an ex-pat and lived in West Hills, some forty driving minutes away from my home in Venice. She included a picture, a most attractive lady. strolling through London’s Piccadilly Circus, arm in arm with an older gent. (Her ex). After my short poetic reply, I received her next note inviting me for dinner the following Thursday. One phone call later, with a well accented English accent, she informed me she would leave the front door unlocked and would be waiting poolside with hors d‘oeuvres. So, hippie-like I of course opened the door, walked through her polished hardwood oak hallway, into a neat oak and tiled kitchen, took off all my clothes dropped them beside the screen door, took a quick look in her direction and dove into her beautiful pool. I quickly surfaced at the deep end, and sure enough there she waited before me with a glass of wine and a tray of assorted goodies, including toasted lox and cream cheese fingers.  "I expected nothing less from you" were her first words, as she threw a lavender perfumed towel over my shoulder. It was followed by a delicious, broiled salmon dinner as we casually talked about changes in the old country and the rampant inflation, especially. when they changed to the decimal monetary system. We soon realized in the ensuing couple of hours that this was a total personal mismatch. Here was a West Hills stately home, decorated modern style, complete with projection tv, oak and marble countertop and every piece of furniture seemingly expensive and well matched. Nothing seemed to be working in our conversation. We both realized we had far less in common when our conversation dwelt in impersonal inanities, yet we both affected the compromise of genial common sense and kind words. She of course was on the defensive when she realized she had answered the wrong ad.  AND YET---WHAT NOW?

 I of course called the following day with highly infused thanks for a lovely evening. She ended the brief conversation when she said; “I couldn't believe it, when I saw you dive into my pool completely naked.”  Then a long telephone pause.  “But I'm glad you did and I would like to reciprocate, but there would be too many observers at your pool, especially on a sunny weekend, with the vastness of the Pacific Ocean, so I suggest you return here on Saturday evening if you have nothing on." She had no need to elaborate.  And the following Saturday evening I of course repeated the procedure of Thursday night. The difference being, when I arrived at the small food laden table beside her pool, there was no lady to greet me, but there was a note on the lavender perfumed towel, directing me to the bedroom upstairs. (It was as if she had a prescience knowledge of my lingerie tastes and as she later informed me, that after a marriage in which much needed romance was severely lacking, her physical desires had been left simmering on the back burner. But later over a marvelous paella dinner, when the ensuing conversation meandered into politics, (my least favorite subject), I knew there was no future when she aired her most definitive views on the pros and cons of marriage and stated emphatically that Donald Trump was the new savior of mankind. I knew then that any hope of a totally full relationship with any sort of future was doomed. When on a later date I refuted the prospect of marriage, she informed me she would sell the house and move to her daughter’s family in New Jersey. But ah what remained was an unforgettable two thirds of that bountiful triangle and a beautifully enduring long-distance friendship. BUT  I am still alone on Venice Beach, waiting patiently for the emergence of the synthesis. Abraham Alan Ross. alanzip@gmail.com 310-579-1646 ReplyForward


The third time I saw Max, I heard his laugh for the first time; it came floating through the air until it pounded in my temples and made a breeze flutter through my eyelashes. All of us girls would sit side-by-side on the bleachers. We made a point to share an entire jar of peanut butter and a sleeve of crackers. We would just pass the peanut butter jar from one to the next down the line, absentmindedly. All of the girls were fused to the bleachers, silent, staring, while I would sit there and write. They all had this look on their faces of mischievous intrigue, except Jane, as her boredom was beginning to escalate.            "There they go, running in a circle again, yay," Jane barely emoted from her sneering lips, “Goin’ round and round.” She made a circle with her fingers. "Big deal."            "Yeah," Laura mused under her breath staring straight ahead unmoved, "super…lame," she attempted to mimic Jane’s bored tone but was unconvincing.            I looked up and turned my head to look at Laura and tried not to laugh at her with my mouth full of crackers. Laura’s body made a sharp twist, "Joanie, quit bogartin’ the peanut butter," she growled with hunger as she grasped the jar out of my hand.            "Sorry." I faced forward again, squinting, trying to see where she was looking. Then, once again, Max was running out ahead and caught my eye. Just then, the sky opened up and it started to rain. The girls squealed and ran inside. I didn’t stir; I just sat on my notebook, put my hood up and put my hands in my pockets.            The fourth time I saw Max, was one of those rainy days. The team would keep running until it became too rainy to see, then they would move from outside into the quad. The girls would run out ahead of them, but I would follow behind. Jane thought I was nuts for staying behind and she sometimes would run from me to escape the rain, but still shouting my name with a frustrated groan. “Joanie! Joanie!” Even on what we all thought would be the clearest day, it had started to rain. The guys and girls had all rushed inside and when I finally arrived as well, I got an intense whiff of fresh rain mixed with sweat. I watched them all as they instinctively paired off, flirting, sharing towels, shameless. I looked for Max, but he was nowhere to be found.            The fifth time I saw Max, was the day after Jane gave me his phone number. That day Jane said she was too tired to run, so I went by myself. None of the other girls showed either. Embarrassed, I just sat on the bleachers by myself. My eyes circled the track and I noticed none of the other guys showed. A lightning bolt of realization struck me and split me open: it was just me and Max. I saw Max’s steely eyes flash to the sideline and lock on mine as he ran by. He was at once a blur and then when he looped around again was still. Up close, he looked so familiar to me.            Who was this blonde know-it-all running over to me? This can’t be Max. Who is it exactly, and why does he look like someone I’ve met before? No, it’s Max, it’s Max. Of course, it is. Oh, look at him that sure is Max. And he is running over to me, though, why? Why am I overthinking this? Not since Charlie had anyone mystified me so much.            "Hey, you're Joanie, right?" He pulled his eyes from mine and they traveled about my face as he was still gasping, out of breath.            "Mmhmm, that's me…Joanie." I nodded and swallowed all of my thoughts, trying to forget them.            "Yeah, Jane told me about you." His smile was warm, but it startled me.            "She did," I sputtered this, uncertain. Jane talking about me wasn’t always a good thing.            "Yeah, she said you guys have known each other a long time, err something, I don’t know sometimes when she talks, my ears close."            "Oh,” I sighed, relieved, “Yeah, well… yeah. A long time.” I acknowledged this as I looked away from him, finding it disquieting to be held in his gaze. “Too long.”            "Cool." He smirked and held back a laugh.            "Max, right?" My eyes were pulled into his again.            "Right," a nervous chuckle replaced his heavy breathing.            "She gave me your number, Max." I shrugged as if I needed to apologize but that it was Jane’s fault. He was silent, and still seemed to be studying my face. I blushed and wondered what more there was to see. “Is that okay?” I gushed with a laugh, filling the silence.            "Oh yeah, she told me," he reassured, “You haven’t called yet, though.”              I swallowed air like I was choking, “Well, I could give you mine err-"            "-Just call me soon, Jo-we'll talk."            Max looked at me in that moment as if he realized who I was, and, briefly, had an unnerved expression. He caught himself with a judicious smile and ran back to the track. I was left standing there, in shock.            “Well, well.” Gabby taps her pencil on her pad and then to her lips.

           “Yes” My eyelashes flutter as Gabby brings me back, and I ruminate with a groan as the gray walls come back into view, “Well, well.”

           “Did you realize at the time,” she breathed out her curious thoughts.            “I know, everyone wonders how I didn’t know who he was. He looked different, and I mostly saw him from afar," I laugh at the thought. "And Charlie had been on my mind, always, but I hoped that Max would help me forget.”            “Did he?”             “He would try.”            “Did you form a friendship then?”             “…With Max?” I smile. “Of course.”            “But I mean to say, was friendship on your mind, in that moment?” She looks puzzled. I look at her puzzled and say nothing. “Was he a bit of a letdown to you,” she urges.            I shrug. “Sometimes, maybe.” I nod then pause, thinking, “No.” The word is as delicate as lace and I feel it twist around my heart.             “Phew,” Gabby sighs as she continues to write, “Interesting.”

           “It was what it was.” I sink backwards again into the couch and begin to drift. “I thought: ‘anything to bring us closer.’”            “Yes, what an odd pickle you faced.” Gabby blinks at me, as the word pickle hits my brain. She says it so innocently, with her gentle British lilt, I fear she is mocking me, and the entire story. And why not? It was a silly, childish flirtation that happened eons ago, sure. But a pickle? I squirm uncomfortably.            “A pickle?” I pretend to startle out of my dream and laugh, “That’s putting it lightly.”

           “Oh, Joanna, I apologize,” Gabby sighs and eyes me as she lifts her pad again to write on it. “Do go on." The first time I called Max, my fingers were trembling. It was that afternoon, just after track practice, when I knew he would be home. There was something about that exchange that altered my image of him. He seemed like he was getting himself together now that he was literally running with the elite. He wasn’t bored, pitiful, or lost. He intrigued me, but in a way that made me excited to get to know him. Still, I had this lingering feeling that I was forgetting something, or someone.            I sat, my knees bent, all curled up in the spare room on the sunken-in white couch and stared at the elevated phone buttons. "I'm going to use the phone for a minute!" I shouted to no one. We had one phone line. We didn’t even have call-waiting yet. I didn't want to be interrupted as I so often was. I, again, stared at the buttons. I thought about whether or not it would behoove me to memorize his number. I could throw away the incriminating piece of paper with Jane's loopy handwriting on it. I ran my fingers over the buttons once more tracing from one number to the next making invisible circles, so many circles. 4368899.            “Easy enough,” I took a deep breath and dialed, “Right?” The phone rang once and then a click.            "Hellooooo?" a chipper voice answered, "This is Brenda, with whom am I speaking?"            "This is, uh, Joanie, from school, I was calling for Max-"            "-Oh," Brenda supposes, "You were calling for Max?"            "Yeah, he's friends with a friend of mine, is he home?” I paused, panicking, “If not I can call back later-" Friends with a friend of mine, god.            "-Oh no, no!” she retorted reassuring me, “Don't be in such a hurry to go, I'm sure Max would love to hear from a friend…of a friend at school." Pfft. "Max, are you at home?" Another pause, "Oh, hold on dear, here he comes."            "Is this Joanie," the insistence of his voice startled me.            "Yes," I breathed through my words as if I had been the one running, "Hi, Max?"            "I'll take this upstairs!"            "Max?"            "Just a sec-" his words bit. After a long pause and a click, a familiar sound whispered through the phone. One I hadn't heard in a year and a half. "Joanna, this is Charlie," his whisper sounded like the breeze over the bay.            "What?" I felt my heart shake and rattle like it was hollow.            "It's me, Charlie, well for now," he continued to whisper, like he was abducted and frightened.            "What? Charlie?" I gasped a laugh, "Max, what are you talking about?" My eyes blurred and my head swam. I kept telling myself it would all make sense soon, and then I felt a brick sink deep into my stomach. I waited for laughter, but it didn't come, "Is this a sick… joke… look, did Jane put you up to this, because she never knew him, I knew him, and it's just uncool to do this to somebody!" My voice started to crack, “I’m hanging up, now!"            "Wesley, it's me!" he insisted, almost hurt, “Please, don’t go!”            Shocked, I twisted the phone cord around my finger. I didn’t know what to say, and then all of those little moments of things he did, and said, came flooding back.            "I knew it, I mean, I knew it-"            "-You did," he gasped, gutted.            "Yes. Of course, well, no, of course I didn’t!”            He laughed, “What?”            “I mean, I wasn't sure. I mean, I just assumed I was going crazy," I sighed and gnawed on my pointer fingernail.            "Well, the therapists say that's what I am,” he laughed to himself, "Well, they don't say it but it's written down in the books-"            "-Charlie!" I couldn't help but giggle his name, as I'd done so many times before. Still, the girlish way I did it, embarrassed me, "You're not supposed to look at those-"            "-I know, it's Max who looks." He grunted this as if he disapproved. I paused again, for a moment, in final realization that I was once again talking to Charlie. I, then, paused in realization of the mess I was in.            “Hmm,” Gabby stabs the air with her interruption, and I open my eyes again. “I wonder why Charlie was so eager to tell you?”            I sit up, still struggling a bit to shake the fog. “I just thought we were the best of friends and always would be. I felt that way since the day we met.”            “Tell me about that day, Joanna.” Gabby sits back in her chair and I settle into the couch again.


For the longest time, my life was not fun anymore. God knows I tried, and believe me, I did ask Him. In return, He confirmed that I had given life all I could, but still, I lost almost all relevance I once had in this world. For a very long time, I lived in that kind of house that every mortal soul would try to avoid. You know the type, broken windows, squeaking doors, an old tree in front of it with huge sweeping branches. The wind howling through the cracks in the walls as if the yeti himself was living there. Whether it was winter or summer, old leaves would be flying around, a single broken streetlamp decorating the sidewalk. You’d think people would be afraid to enter this kind of ruin, that they’d be scared because they thought I would be waiting for them. Of course, I would be, but you’d better think twice if you believe that will scare anybody off in this day and age. People don’t believe in the likes of me anymore. It was hard at first, that is true, and for a long time, I had forbidden myself to believe it, trying to ignore that cold reality that my time was over, but I have come to accept there is no way around it anymore. I just do not exist in their world. Period. They come, their phones held upright, ready to film whatever I might do without giving me any credit for it. A window that closes because I slam it shut, they film it and think it was the wind. Every creak, every shifting object within this house, they claim as the work of mother nature. An abandoned chair with three legs falling over, they record every damn little detail, but still, it is not me that caused this. It is the missing leg and gravity that did it. It’s NOT! Some weeks ago, a couple of them even got mad because I did not wait long enough for their cameras to focus. ‘What kind of ghost are you?’ they shouted and laughed. ‘How on earth can you expect us to make a perfect TikTok video if you just don’t wait for us to be ready before you do whatever you want.’ For a moment, I was completely startled by their reaction. I froze. I did not know I still could do that. That thought froze me again. It had been a while since I last experienced that state of immobility that prohibited my body from moving. Nowadays, those very feelings make me smile, but back then, I had no urge to put something that used to resemble a smile on whatever remains of that once good-looking face. And I was pretty handsome. Sorry to say it myself, but no one else is around anymore to confirm this. When I finally recovered from my state of paralysis, I had a closer look at the couple that had entered that house. They did not look afraid at all. A GoPro in one hand, the man holding the latest iPhone in the other, the woman holding the most fancy Samsung, equipped with cameras I had never seen before. Multiple lenses pointing at me, it gave me the shivers. They both had that look in their eyes that I have never come to terms with. Not in my former life, not since I have moved to the other side and people come and visit me less often, but still, I’m pretty allergic to that kind of people. You have seen the type. They know everything. Just every single thing. They rule the world. At least, that is what they think they do. Most importantly, they don’t believe in anything they have not invented themselves or for which they have not found any proof in the pool of information they consider to be the truth. And nothing but the truth. I don’t exist; I’m not there. They say. They honestly believe. Whatever happens in this house is the consequence of a natural action. Action and reaction. Newton’s law. Plain physics. That is what they believe. It makes their remark that I had to wait for them to get their cameras out a bit strange, but I have learned that there is no logic in this kind of people anymore, having lost every connection with the real world. They will say whatever fits their reason. No need to be … well, logic. That makes it very hard for me. Because I’m not to be explained by any law of physics. I’m … No, later. As I was saying, we were in one of the almost destroyed rooms, where I had done my best to convince them that it was high time to be scared, but to no avail. So, I decided it was time for something new. Next-level shit, as some people like to say. I don’t say that. I never did. Not back then, not now. I don’t believe in swear words. I was brought up to be nice to everyone. That’s how I always lived, but now I have decided that this does not apply anymore to those who came to visit me. So I took a deep breath or something that came the closest to that physical action I used to perform on a somewhat regular basis, and stepped in front of them. I have been quite reluctant to show myself in the form and shape that these days is mine, but they gave me no choice, the anger coursing through me taking hold. You must know, anger has become a rare emotion since this house has become my home, all the more reason why it hurt. I am not supposed to become angry anymore. I have earned my rest and peace. I am not supposed to be bugged so much by those infidels who think they can barge in and ruin my peace of mind. So, I stepped in front of them and did what I had been practicing for a long time but had not shared with any living soul yet. I showed myself. For a moment the man and the woman stood still in the middle of the room. For a very brief period, something that - at least that is how it looked in my mind - came close to being scared was visible on their faces. Their breathing stopped. A sensation I vaguely remember. But then they restarted gasping for air. A good fortune I was never granted, but I have come to terms with that. They beamed with joy and excitement, a sight only further fuelling my anger. ‘This is it! We have found one. Yes, they are real! Told you so!’ he shouted. ‘Film it. Film it!’ What? It? Why do they refer to me as ‘it’? I’m not an it! I’m not that character from Stephen King! That is a whole other level of what is roaming around these places, and I don’t like those types. They are not nice. And when I say not nice, I mean really not nice. Once I saw an it-like type, it gave me shivers. I ran as quickly as I could. It was not exactly running I did, but you know what I mean. But back to the story at hand. So they were thrilled to their … I don’t know what. They were laughing and clapping their hand with joy. Like little children, only they were old. Not as old as I am, but way past childish behaviour. They kept on going until suddenly they stopped. As if they had agreed to laugh for two minutes and then had to start doing something else. By that time, I regretted so much I had shown myself to them, but I did not think of disappearing again. At least not yet. They stopped laughing, and before I could even say boo, they had pointed all of their devices at me. When I was still roaming around on the floors of this world, the cameras I knew could never make any clear picture of the likes of me. What evolution they have made! I could see myself on the screens when I flew around the place; it scared me. That was not what I wanted to do. My plan completely backfired. I know I said earlier that I used to be quite good-looking, but the image I saw on their tiny screens did not make me happy or impress me with its beauty. That was not the worst of it, however. I’m beyond being vain and feeling the need to worry about my looks, but what did bring quite some discomfort to my mind was that they still were not scared of me. At all. They could not care less that some white, transparent … thing was floating around above their heads. And I did try to make my way around their stupid heads multiple times, but it had zero effect. They laughed and filmed. I floated around until I could not take it anymore. I was exhausted and hid myself from them. And you know what? They did not even notice! They were doing things on their devices, tapping on the screen, writing, and drawing. I heard them shouting that this was the best TikTok they had ever made. What the … is TikTok? They laughed this reel would bring them thousands of views and make them famous. I have no idea what a reel is, nor who would be viewing them. I only know by now that many people did get to see me in some form and that this news spread far too fast and wide. As said before, I’m not that vain anymore, but to be honest and without feeling the need to take any or too much credit for this, how could they say this without giving me any recognition for it? They weren’t even interested in me anymore. I just sat there, watching them, looking overly excited as I had never seen any soul in my entire existence. Look, I don’t want to be childish about any of this, but still, that is not the worst. I know it is my fault, I should have known better than to show myself to this kind of people, but now the house I have lived in for … I think over a hundred years, is not mine anymore. It is constantly swamped with others who want to see me. It is haunted by men and women who want to experience firsthand what it feels like to see a ghost come to life. Once or twice I have been tempted to do it again when some mortals who seemed okay came by and patiently waited. Especially when they genuinely looked scared. Those rare times, I wanted to go out in the open again for a moment. But then I thought to myself: don’t do this. They will film you like the others did, like those two zombies that started all this! Then, it will only get worse. Then, this house will be haunted forever, there will be no place for me anymore; only mortals will occupy every single spot. No. It is over for me. I give up. I have to stop; I want to retire, although I do not know how. I did ask Him one of the last times we met. He just shrugged and smiled. He silently looked at me for a long time, and then, with a voice that was filled with pain, He said: ‘Now you know how I feel.’ I did not understand; I asked Him what He meant. He sighed and pointed over His shoulder to a man sitting in the chair to the right of His throne. ‘Once I showed myself to those people, not in person but through my son, and now those humans keep on haunting me and want to see me again. They will do whatever they can to achieve that. They start bloody wars and kill each other because they believe those actions will bring them closer to me.’ He shook his head; a sad look was showing on His face I had never seen before. ‘You should have known better than to show yourself,’ He continued. ‘Just as I should have known better. If I had stopped after having created this world and had left those humans to do their own thing without that constant urge to please me, everything would have been so much better. I did not understand that at the time, and maybe I have been subject to a little vanity as well when I created those humans in my image, but if I had known back then what I know now, I never would have let them know I existed. They would have been on their own, and I would have been at peace.’ He sighed and looked away. I wanted to ask more, but He clearly did not want to talk anymore. I felt sorry for Him. But then I thought: He really should have known better. After all, He is the creator of this all. If He can make this kind of mistake, why should I feel bad for doing the same but on such a small scale that it just does not matter in the bigger scheme of things? Not even a piece of dust in His story. Suddenly, I felt better. If someone of His character and skills can make the same mistake as me, then I must not be that dumb after all. I felt relieved, but the house I had called home for a very long time was not mine to live in anymore. It hurt, but I left the house and moved to another ruin in another town. It took a little while to get used to, but now I’m pretty happy, and I can tell you, I will never show myself anymore to anyone being so dumb to come in. I don’t regret my stupidity anymore; I’m pretty happy again and live an easy … well, sort of life. It is good the way it is. I remember the look on His face when I told Him that I had moved on. I felt surprised at the look of regret He showed; even a little jealousy was visible, I thought. ‘If only I could do this as well,’ He said. ‘But I made a promise to those folks.’ He grunted. ‘I would take care of them forever.’ He looked at me with a strange look in his eyes. ‘Forever is such a … long time.’ He banged his fists against each other, a lightning bolt landed on earth. ‘If only I knew someone who could change that.’


After a quick glance at the wall clock Abby re-read the flyer. A bolt from the blue it’d been the last thing she’d expected in the mail. ‘By now ‘ she mused ‘they’ll be packing out the hall of Barrett High the old alma mater and I wonder having hand addressed the envelope will Margaret aka Maggie be expecting it to have borne fruit? In the form of me ‘answering the royal summons.?’ Barrett High School Reunion Class of 86 We want you.....to join us for a weekend of fun and reminiscing. Culminating in a Saturday night ball. Followed of course by the usual dates, times, housekeeping and contacts. It was predictable that Maggie’s name would feature. As head of the organising committee no less. Except way back when you didn’t call her that. ” My proper name is Margaret. Maggie sounds so common.” Abby could still see Margaret Prince her newly assigned desk mate. A willowy six year old already with model looks. So prim, proper and with that hint of a plum in her voice as she laid down the rules of social engagement. Then turning to Abby after the teacher called their attention hastened to add. “Except I’ll let you use it, because we’re best friends. Only in private but....” Their friendship had been of the accidental variety. The kind that arose from mums socialising at playgroup and their kids (baby goats according to an older Margaret) being forced together. In their case Margaret had been the dominant one, with Abby content to follow in her wake. All the same they’d been happy years, the two families enjoying shared outings, their daughters close as sisters. Yet Margaret could be cruel, nitpicking in a way that eroded Abby’s confidence. Her own form of Chinese water torture...drip, drip...drip. ”0h look your dress has a rip.” ”Must you say eh? It sounds common.” ”Don’t say yuck. It sounds babyish.” Even as a child certain words were verboten and there were proper wayS to address people. Like Mother and Father for parents. Even her mum had to chuckle at that one. The recollection gave rise to a chuckle, as tick, tick around went the clock. Like the dancers at Barrett High’s Ball minus one. Sharing a bag of mixed lollies during a park outing Abby had chosen a sour one. ”Ooh yuck.”, she exclaimed spitting into her handkerchief. “Looks like you won’t be choosing that kind again.”, chuckled Margaret’s mum. Followed hot on the heels by a disdainful exclamation. “For goodness sake we’re eleven years old. Only babies say words like yuck and it’s not even correct English.” Her mum an English import had laughed. “Oh fiddlesticks to you too Maggie. I didn’t raise a toffee nose.” ”Muuuum”, a whine far more babyish than a thousand yucks. “You know I don’t like being called that in public. It’s common, and correct English isn’t toffee nosed.” ”Well I am English and no one back home put on airs and graces.” ”Oh muuum, you’re not being fair.” Then Mrs Prince laughed it off, in denial that by inaction they were raising a snob. Because getting her own way became the story of Margaret’s life. While her peers acquiesced for the sake of peace, Mr and Mrs Prince considered her their miracle, to be indulged and excused because of that. After their grown up birthdays or turning thirteen Margaret had confided that her mum had been advised to never get pregnant. “But she did and they had me.” The unspoken rider being that she was special, and in her eyes therefore entitled. Abby pictured Margaret (now Mrs Max Brent) sighing as she searched the gathering for Abby, the best friend who’d railroaded her plans. “I know”, she exclaimed now to the clock “how selfish of my dad to die in our final year.” They’d planned a future involving university and the obligatory Big O.E. Margaret had started working on an itinerary, and plans for their ‘uni wardrobe.’ There was a certain ‘Look’ they needed to achieve, impressions to be made. After prize giving she’d set aside a full day to come and give Abby a hand,” “Like I couldn’t even dress myself.” Then her father’s sudden death from a heart attack put paid to all that. With no life insurance her mother’s part time job in a cake shop didn’t cover all expenses. So Abby sacrificed her dreams, taking a job with the local greengrocer. It was an immediate start and though she hid her disappointment Margaret’s were worn on her sleeve. It still hurt to recall that conversation, ”A greengrocer’s, but you could do so much better. You were meant to come to uni with me.” ”I’m sorry but mum needs me. I have to help.” ”We were going overseas too. I even started our itinerary.” ”You’ll have to do it for both of us. Then you can send postcards and give me all the details when you come back.” ”That’s not the same. It’s just too bad your dad never had Life Insurance.”Q Even before Abby’s hand came up she knew she’d gone too far. The slap took both girls by surprise, but when Margaret stormed off Abby let her go. After all she’d come by to apologise and sit beside her at the funeral. They were best friends after all. Except the apology never came, and in the new year Margaret left for university. ’To have a life’, she told anyone who’d listen, after which her story floated back in bits and pieces. Mrs Prince shopped at the greengrocer’s, so Abby heard regular updates. Her new ‘cultured’ set of friends, an Arts Degree and eventually that Big O.E. with different travelling companions.. She’d met Art Dealer Max Brent on the U.S. leg. When he popped the question Mrs Prince held off the announcement until plans were underway. ”Just think”, Abby overheard her telling another assistant (following the slap she‘d pointedly avoided Abby) “if she hadn’t gone to that exhibition they wouldn’t have met. He’s a nice young man and the family simply love Maggie. The wedding’s in New York. Their Autumn not Spring would you believe?” Which hurt even second hand, The realisation that in Margaret’s eyes she no lomger even warranted a small note of the “Guess what? I’m engaged.” variety. Never mind an invitation to be chief bridesmaid. No doubt a humble greengrocer’s assistant didn’t cut the mustard in New York’s arty circles. Instead from where Abby sat she’d chosen four total strangers. No doubt all fly-by-nighters more concerned with image than the bride.As to the lovely boy and his family how could Mrs Prince be so confident when they’d never met? As to the present, Margaret‘s current prominence on the Barrett High Ball Organising Committee was thanks to local arty head hunters. By some recruiting miracle they’d succeeded in persuading Max to head a new Oceania Arts Commission. For Margaret the social come down would’ve been been compensated by the chance to lord it over local plebs. Like her committee ’drones’ who must’ve been in seventh heaven at acquiring a real New York socialite. Abby imagined that she would’ve eventually bored the pants off them with exaggerated ‘fairytales of New York.’ With apologies to the Pogues whose version she loved. Not to mention it being far more honest. As to the culture shock for Margaret when first confronted with trading New York for Auckland that would’ve been a definite ‘fairytale of New York.’ From the dark side. She imagined the tanty. It would’ve been priceless, though not for Max. It must have come as a shock to realise what a high maintenance wife he’d chosen. Yet she’d have given in for appearance’s sake. Divorce after all would hurt her image, especially back in good old En Zed. Abby imagined her pouting throughout the entire flight. Suspicions confirmed at a later date by Mrs Prince. Apparently on landing Margaret had insisted that he start house hunting right away, Insisting on the best possible address she’d agreed to a ‘nice place’ on a tree lined Parnell Street. One where ‘nice place‘ was a polite way of saying mansion. Max Brent deserved every sympathy. What a shock for the poor guy to discover just how literally his Kiwi dream girl took that line of the wedding vows that said . ’.......with all my worldly goods I thee endow’ Worldly goods a far cry from this run down but comfy flat above a shop. Yet Abby was content, for while it’d been delayed in her case happiness had come. The handwritten envelope had arrived earlier in the week. A departure from the usual bills and junk mail it’d caught her eye. Mainly because personal messages these days tended to be in email form. On closer inspection the familiar, flowing cursive had compelled her to read it. What contact she still had with girls from high school was through passing encounters or increasingly through this new online platform. Yet despite knowing her address Margaret aka Maggie had chosen not to visit. No doubt her present address didn’t measure up, like Abby’s husband Rob. A bookshop owner he’d been working for his grandparents when they met. She’d become a regular, graduating to wife when he inherited the shop. “Because now I’m in a better position to provide for a wife.” Which was nice in an old fashioned way but quite unnecessary. Before saying yes Abby made it clear that she intended to work in the business. The greengrocer was retiring, freeing her to come on board as an equal partner, by which time also her mother had rallied. Enough to manage her life, give her daughter away and hint at grandchildren every chance she got. Instead Abby took charge of expanding their online presence and coming up with fresh ideas to help keep the physical bookshop relevant. Like a series of Authors & Experts events. Perhaps she shock the socks off Margaret aka Maggie one of these days, adding Max Brent to that list. After all if they were thinking of expanding their Art selection didn’t it make sense to bring in an expert? For now though she was just content to be at home. Downstairs Rob would be locking up after late night. Then he’d climb the stairs, freshen up and they’d pop along to the Kebab shop for their usual Friday night treat. Which was far preferable to answering the royal summons. Besides which she mused binning the flyer Margaret aka Maggie was no longer the only one with a life. ‘By now the ball will be ‘pumping, but search in vain Maggie because you won’t find me there. I’ve got better things to do. Like eating kebabs with a gorgeous man, and maybe talking about starting a family.”


Dumpster Drivers Patsy peeked out her blinds and grabbed her notebook. She watched the dumpster every night to make sure that people from other neighborhoods weren’t using the dumpsters. There had not been enough room in the dumpster for all the residents of the condo community to put their trash. And there were various and sundry rumors about strangers using the dumpster and or walking through the neighborhood at night. Patsy was determined to catch someone. She felt a rush of adrenalin when she saw a gray car pull up. Someone jumped out of the car and put a  Patsy grabbed her pen to write down the license number, but the driver had a temporary tag. There was no way to prove whether or not the person was a resident of the community. Patsy stared at the window again. Surely, she would catch someone or see something interesting. Patsy had lived alone all of her life. She liked living out in the county. She loved listening to the sound of cicadas, crickets, and watching the deer gather at night. The critters and sounds of nature made her feel a little more connected with the world around her.  She’d never been married and her brother was the only family member she had. She and her brother had been estranged for years. She’d moved into the condo neighborhood since the eighties and had been watching the dumpsters every night for the past decade. Anytime she saw suspicious behavior, she would call Condo Cathy, the President of the condo association and report her findings. Condo Cathy had recently changed her number, so Patsy called other residents. She felt like people tried to avoid her even though she was trying to do something for the community. It was a myth that the condo association didn’t want people under the age of fifty to move into the condo community, but children were prohibited, as the Condo Association wanted to prevent “certain kinds of people” from moving into the community. The two women were the youngest residents in the community, and Patsy needed to find out more about them. What if those two women were in some kind of romantic relationship? Yes, times were changing, but that was so unnatural. Patsy walked over to the window again and perked up when she saw someone’s headlights.  A young woman walked out of the car. It was one of the ladies who walked the collie! The woman was sobbing and put three garbage bags into the dumpster. The woman drove away. Patsy grabbed a flashlight, crept outside and walked over to the condo where the strange women were living. There definitely was a story there, and she would have so much to tell Condo Cathy. Patsy perked up when she heard a door slam. The woman she saw at the dumpster was throwing things. “Get out. Just get out!” she yelled. The other woman poked her head out the door. Patsy ducked behind the bushes. “I’m going to call the police if you don’t calm down,” the woman yelled. Patsy guessed the women were probably in their early forties. Her pulse was racing.

“I want you out,” said the woman who was at the dumpster. “All you do is stay in bed all day.” “I have fibromyalgia and my job is exhausting. I don’t need this stress in addition to everything else,” said the other woman. “Then leave.” The door slammed. The woman who had been at the dumpster went back into the house. She came out with another garbage bag and headed towards the dumpster. Patsy turned off her flashlight ducked again. She had to be careful about walking at night, as there were lots of copperheads. Patsy waited till the woman was half-way to the dumpster and than crept out from behind the bushes. The woman was sobbing. Patsy tripped over a pine cone just before she got near the dumpster. The woman looked over her shoulder. “Julie?” Patsy’s pulse raced. What if the woman was a psychopath? Would she hurt an elderly woman who meant no harm? “Who is there?” The woman took out a flash light. Patsy tried to hide behind a tree. “Who are you?” Patsy slowly emerged. “I’m Patsy. I live around the corner. I heard some noise and wanted to make sure everything is okay. “ The woman sniffed. “Everything is fine,” she said. “Well, I heard yelling and stuff. You okay?” Patsy asked. “Are you?” “Also, we have to limit how much trash put into the dumpsters cause they get full so fast.” The woman paused. “Well, I’m moving. And I’m having to throw out stuff.” “You’re moving? Didn’t you just get here? The woman took several deep breaths. “Things aren’t working out,” she said. “I’m sorry,” Patsy said. “My roommate is mentally ill, and she’s having a psychotic breakdown.” Patsy’s eyes widened. She wanted to ask the woman why she was the one who had been throwing stuff, but that might be dangerous. How could Condo Cathy let those kind of people into the community anyway? The woman started crying again. “I thought it would be good for us. We both have always lived alone. It’s hard to be alone,” the woman said. Patsy’s eyes watered. Now the woman was making a little sense. Even crazies needed company, but two crazies couldn’t make a well-be. “I’ve lived alone all my life. My Mama used to say being alone is better than being left alone. By the way, I’m Patsy.” The woman shook her hand.

“I’m Mary. It’s going to be expensive if she moves out. She’s paying part of the rent. Patsy wrinkled her nose. There was supposed to be restrictions on renters. She would have to ask Condo Cathy about the policy, as she didn’t want more rowdy neighbors, but she did feel bad for the woman. Her kind of craziness was starting to make a little sense. “But it is hard being alone. I keep myself busy. If you stay busy, you won’t feel alone. I’m part of the community watch.” The woman nodded. “Well, that’s good you’re busy,” she said. The woman wiped her eyes. “So who is moving?” “My roommate is moving out. All she does is sleep all day, and she’s about to lose her job. She’s missed too many days at work.” “How’d you get mixed up with someone like that?” “We met at an apartment complex. The rent kept going up, so we decided to rent a place together. She seemed to have it together.” Patsy nodded. “Well, you can’t always tell with people. Sounds like you’d be better off without her. It’s better not to get too involved with some people. I like my neighbors, but I keep to myself. You just can’t tell about people.” Mary nodded. Patsy looked up at the sky. The stars were so bright on such a clear night. Patsy had never paid much attention to the stars. She’d been too busy watching the dumpster. “Well, you’re better off not having a roommate if she don’t treat you right. And if you ever need company I live over there.” Patsy pointed to her condo. “Thanks. I guess I better be getting home.” Mary said. “Good luck,” Patsy said. Patsy watched Mary walk back to her condo. The woman looked so alone. Yes, it was good not to get too mixes up with people, but sometimes a person just needed to talk. Maybe Mary wasn’t really crazy, but the roommate was driving her over the edge. Bad company could definitely make a person crazy. Patsy walked towards her condo. After she entered her condo, she decided she’d get some sleep before sunrise. When she’d gotten into her bed, she’d wondered what her life would’ve been like if she’d taken more risks and allowed people into her life. But maybe there were worse things than being alone. At least she’d finally made a friend. sometimes a person just needed a friend and there was always hope disreputable people could find themselves and turn their lives around.


Most people live their lives in the present: looking back on the past; trying to anticipate the future. My gift – my curse – is that I was fated to foretell what will be. But the gods have a cruel sense of humour, for they decreed that no one would believe me when I spoke of things to come. Back then, I was Cassandra: daughter of Priam; sister of Paris. To be honest, I didn’t need the gift of prophecy to see that my brother’s desire for Helen would end in tears. She was beautiful – “the face that launched a thousand ships” is how one of the playwrights centuries later described her – but she was also married: to Menelaus, King of Sparta. He was a good bit older than her: no doubt he was handsome once, but by the time Paris visited Sparta, Menelaus had run to fat and was losing his hair. Paris, on the other hand, was only 17: tall, well-muscled, and with a smile that would melt your heart. Helen was some 9 or 10 years older, with a daughter, Hermione, but that didn’t stop the two of them. She and Paris fell in lust straightaway, and he carried her off to Troy whilst her husband was still planning the welcome reception. Of course, it didn’t last: within six months, they were getting on each other’s nerves and all the rampant sex had dwindled to a half-hearted fumble every now and then when Paris was drunk. Still, it was an excuse for a war, and we all know how men love prancing about waving swords. All that was centuries ago. My brother’s bones have long since crumbled to dust and the city of Troy remains a fallen ruin. The world I wander through now bears little resemblance to the one I knew, yet the gods are as capricious as ever – especially, it seems, when it comes to love… I’m sitting at one of those cafes with the chairs and tables outside when I see him. Sunlight dances across his hair, turning it to burnished gold, and for a moment, I am back in the past, gazing at the face of my beautiful brother as he carries Helen inside the city. The feelings I experience right now are not those of a sister. Over the centuries, I’ve had lovers; and for every one of them I’ve looked like the girl I was when Apollo first took a shine to me. He cursed me with immortality as well as prophecy: I think he thought it amusing to imagine me weeping over paramours who grew old and withered away whilst I remained in my prime. That’s what you get for saying no to a god. This one, though… Looking at him is like a cool drink on a hot summer’s day. I know instinctively that his lips will taste like honeyed mead and that his skin will smell of spice and stardust. The thought of him turns my bones to water. And then a premonition ripples across my mind and I see him tripping over the feet of a blonde woman some tables away and quite literally falling for her. Sometimes, you have to defy the gods. As he passes my table, I manage to drop my phone at his feet. He and I both reach for it together. Our fingers touch; our eyes meet. The rest is history. At least, it should be. But the gods have a way of re-righting the future, and it was never their intention for me to be happy. For now, they allow a brief moment of contentment: the lull before the storm. “I’m James,” says my modern-day Adonis. “I’m Cassie,” I reply. From the corner of my eye, I see the blonde woman leaving. We sit there, drinking coffee and talking, until the sky gradually darkens and twilight weaves around us.               “Do you want to get something to eat?” he says.               The café closes at 6, so we find a Wetherspoons and an empty table and order salmon for him and salad for me. It’s as the waitress is bringing our meals that I experience another flash of the future: James choking on a fishbone. I know then that the gloves are off and the temporary reprieve is over. I manage to time it right so that I jump up from my seat to go to the loo just as the waitress is about to hand us the plates. The china spins as my hand catches it, and a salmon fillet slithers to the floor. (Aren’t fillets meant to be boneless? Is this another example of Apollo’s twisted sense of humour?)               James isn’t impressed with my clumsy behaviour, but how can I tell him I’ve just saved his life? (Men don’t really like it when women end up being the heroes.) He asks for another salmon, but that was the last one. He has to settle for a pizza instead, and I can tell he’s not happy. He cheers up over apple pie and cream, and the glass of wine probably helps too. I’m still finding my way round these modern dating rituals, but when he asks if I’d like him to walk me home, I realise he’s hoping for an invitation to see my bedroom. I’m hoping for a friendly flash of inspiration. Nothing. If Aphrodite wants to bless our union, she’s keeping quiet about it for the time being. We’re within a few hundred yards of my flat when the premonition hits me: a man with a knife is trying to rob us. When James fights back, the blade slices into him.               I’ve hardly time to rifle through my bag, looking for anything that can be used as a weapon. My fingers close around a perfume atomiser. When the inevitable happens, only moments later, I let our attacker have the full force of the spray, right in his eyes.               James stares at me: half-impressed; half-horrified. “Do you make a habit of fighting off potential muggers?” His other question hovers in the air unspoken: what would you have done if that had just been a harmless passer-by?               But I’m on too much of a high to care. Giddy with relief at having averted disaster for James three times now, I dare to think that maybe the gods aren’t going to ruin things this time.               “My flat’s just over there,” I say, taking his hand and beginning to lead him across the road.               Flash! This premonition’s stronger than any of the others. I freeze mid-step, my mind watching in slow motion as the car hits James.               “Cassie!”               Frozen to the spot in shock, I’m suddenly aware of the car hurtling towards me. I’m too surprised to move out of the way. I always thought I’d anticipate my own death.               But I’m pushed out of the path of the oncoming vehicle a split second before it reaches the spot where I was. The spot where James now is – or rather, the crumpled heap that he’s become.               It’s my fault. If I hadn’t stopped in the road to focus on my premonition, he wouldn’t have needed to save me. No one would have been hurt. An ambulance arrives about ten minutes later. James is still breathing, but his beautiful face is a mess. A blonde paramedic helps her co-worker lift him onto a stretcher. Her face is familiar, and then I realise where I’ve seen her before. She’s the woman he was meant to fall for earlier.               I watch as she sits beside him in the ambulance, stroking his hand and talking to him softly. It will be her voice, not mine, he remembers, and her face will be the first one he sees when he wakes up.               Like I said, the gods have a way of righting the future – and I know they’ll never write a future where I finally find love.


“I just need to get them to sign, then we can finally be done with this,” Kevin said to himself. He had just parked his car in front of the house. Not just any house. This was the house. Kevin worked for a real estate development company that was in the process of designing and building a new business and housing district in the area. The design was ready and approved and the community was looking forward to having a new area to explore in their city. They had everything they needed. Except… this new district would be going up in an area that was previously a residential area. The good news for the development company was that this area had seen a mass exodus in the last decade with few holdouts. The development company had “generously” offered every last person in the neighborhood a price that was well above market value and all of them had taken it. All except for one… Today is Kevin’s last chance to rectify this. “From what Tim, Jennifer, and Clyde all said, these people are a little odd, but I need to do whatever it takes to get them to sign,” Kevin mumbled to himself. As he got out of the car, Kevin briefly thought about the failures of his colleagues. Or, more accurately, former colleagues. Tim, the first one who had tried getting them to sign, gave up after trying for roughly six months. He got so frustrated that he came back one day and just quit. Jennifer, on the other hand, just moved away unexpectedly after trying for a few weeks, citing the same annoyance and frustration as Tim. Jennifer was on her last legs at the company and was a very odd individual, in Kevin’s opinion, so no one had questioned her departure. She would have been fired if she had returned empty handed since she had yet to make a sale or a signing. But Clyde… Kevin wasn’t sure what had happened to Clyde. He was a hard worker and they had sent him to close the deal a couple of weeks ago. After several tries, one day he had never returned. They tried calling the cops, but they said that he probably just left on his own and didn’t investigate at all. Clyde was single with no kids, so the police just assumed he took off on his own. Kevin had liked Clyde, for the most part. He had never spent any time outside of work with him, but the time at the office had always been pleasant.

The one time that stood out to Kevin was the Christmas party three years ago. Neither of them knew it, but he and Clyde had somehow been each other’s Secret Santa. They had never talked to each other besides the typical “How are you?” pleasantries you say day to day to people, so neither of them knew what to get the other. Kevin had mused about a tie or a coffee cup and his wife suggested that he get Clyde a sweater or “something cute.” Clyde knew that none of these suggestions would do, so he did the only sensible thing when not knowing what to do. He turned to alcohol. Kevin, a man in his late twenties, decided the safest thing was to get Clyde a bottle Scotch. Nothing too expensive, of course, but the gesture would be there all the same. His wife was a little apprehensive about the gift, but relented when he asked her if she had any other ideas. When the day of the Christmas party came, Clyde put his gift on the table like everyone else and joined in the office festivities. They were one of the regional headquarters of a national conglomerate, so their Christmas parties were always decent. It was still a corporate office, so nothing too exciting ever happened. Just some live music and a few holiday themed games. It was during the day around 2pm, they weren’t allowed a plus one, and they were limited to two drink tickets each. Kevin perused the drink selection as he waited in line. Like previous years, it was just beer and wine. Kevin was regretting giving the Scotch to Clyde. Not that it was expensive or anything. He just wanted it for himself after this disappointment of a Christmas party. When the time came for the Secret Santa gifts to be given out, Kevin waited for his name to be called. Clyde’s name was called before him and he waited until everyone else had their gift. Kevin went to get his and opened it as soon as the rest of the gifts were given out. When he opened it, Kevin was astonished that it was the exact same brand of Scotch that he had given to Clyde. When he looked around at who might have given it to him, he saw Clyde doing the same. They both held their bottles up and nodded at one another with a smile. Kevin then watched Clyde leave the party, Scotch in hand. Clyde was a simple man. A man in his forties with no wife or kids. No personal attachments that Kevin knew of, but he was damn good at his job. Clyde would constantly be able to close the difficult deals, so when this house was the constant holdout and no one else could do it, they called on Clyde. Everyone was shocked when he just… vanished. Kevin hoped that he was ok, but he had to focus on the task at hand. He had to get that signature because today was the deadline for the giant bonus they would give to whoever could get it. As Kevin walked towards the house, he looked around the dilapidated neighborhood and imagined that at one point it had been a lively place full of children playing in the streets. Times had been tough for their city, but this new development project was sure to turn things around for the entire community. Plus, it would mean these people, whether they were a little odd or not, would be able to start a life somewhere fresh with the large sum of money being offered to them. The house in front of him was surprisingly nice for the area. Most houses around him were smaller ranch style homes without much flare. This house was a little older, but it was two stories, had a nice porch with pillars on each side, and a decent sized garage with an attic above it. Kevin thought that it probably had a basement too. He wasn’t surprised that they were holding out if the house was this nice, especially if it had sentimental value to them. Before Kevin could knock on the door, it opened. “Hello! You must be with the development company!” Said a woman in her late fifties to early sixties. “Please! Come in! Come in!” Kevin stammered as he was hurried inside the house where he counted at least four other people, who were all hustling around carrying boxes and moving furniture. Kevin overheard someone yell that they needed to organize the truck in the garage again before putting anything else inside.

“Excuse me! Ma'am? What’s going on here?” Kevin asked, confused. “Why, my dear, I thought you of all people would know,” the lady said, with a toothless grin. “Me? Know what?” Kevin said, still not understanding. “Oh… I thought you were with the development company. Weren’t you coming to get our signature?” The lady said, innocently. “Yes, I uh… wait, you want to give me your signature?” Asked Kevin. “Of course!” Said the lady. “Great!” Kevin said as he handed her the clipboard. “On one condition, that is,” the lady said, holding up a finger. “You have to help us move some of our things into the truck.” “That’s it?” Kevin said with a sigh of relief. “And…” said the lady. “And?” Asked Kevin. “And! You have to eat a meal with us. It’ll be an honor to have you eat with us for our final meal here before we leave!” She said, slapping him on the back. “I would love to!” Kevin said, thinking that it couldn’t be this easy. The lady introduced Kevin to her husband, son, and two nephews as he helped them load the truck up with what was left in their house, which was just as spacious as Kevin thought it would be. From the front door Kevin could see the dining room in front of him. A lovely white staircase with a wood railing to his right. A doorway to his left that he assumed went to a family room. And a closed door to the right that was connected to the staircase. “Where does this door go?” Kevin asked as he was helping them move a sofa. “That’s the basement,” said the lady. “We don’t need to get anything from down there. Don’t worry about it. The final thing to load was the dining room table and chairs. The lady said that she wanted that to be loaded last so they could have one final meal. She ushered Kevin into a seat between her and her husband as she served Kevin his meal. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was delicious. Some type of meat, potatoes, glazed carrots, and some pie for dessert. Kevin thought that helping them move was worth it just for this meal. While they ate, Kevin told them about his wife, his work, and he asked if his colleagues had said anything about leaving when they were here. The lady, who had been the only to talk up to this point, said that she remembered Clyde had said something about needing a vacation. She wasn’t sure about the girl. The lady thought she was odd, so she wasn't surprised that she just vanished. “Well my dear,” said the lady, “I think it’s about time we get goin,” “Do you need help moving the table?” Asked Kevin. “Oh no, dear, don’t you worry about that. You’ve been more than enough help,” she said. “Ok, well, I better get going too. Thank you for the lovely meal,” Kevin said. “Don’t you want that signature?” Asked the lady. Kevin stopped. He had completely forgotten about the signature. He turned around and faced the lady with an embarrassed smile and said that he would love the signature. He said he wasn't sure how he had forgotten about it. More than likely it was because of the lovely hospitality and the amazing meal that she had provided. With signature in hand, Kevin wished the family the best of luck and headed towards his car. As he was walking towards his car he took his phone out of his pocket and started to text his boss that he had the signature. Before he could hit send, he started to feel lightheaded. He opened his car door, but didn’t have the strength to get inside. The world around him started to spin as he clung to the car door. Suddenly he heard voices ask if he was alright. It was the lady and her family. Two of the men put his arms over their shoulders and carried him inside as his phone dropped to the ground. The lady picked it up and followed them inside. “You’ll be ok, we just have to lay you down real quick. This normally happens at first, don’t worry,” said the lady. “Wha… what happens at first? I don’t understand…” Kevin said, barely able to speak. “Where are you taking me? What’s going on?” “Oh, my dear, we’re taking you to the basement. There you will truly start to understand,” the lady said with her toothless smile. The lady then opened the door as two of the four men carried him down the stairs into the darkness. Kevin’s world was spinning. He couldn’t tell up from down. The only two things keeping him from the ground were the two men holding him up. He felt ill. Like something in his stomach was attacking his entire body. Which was weird because the only thing he had eaten today was… “Did you poison me?” Kevin hoarsely asked. “Poison?” The lady asked, seemingly taken aback. “That was not poison, young man. That was your gateway into eternity!” As Kevin descended the stairs, the basement light came on and he saw the other two men standing there. They turned Kevin so he could see the entire basement. It looked like a butcher’s shop. Knives, cleavers, hammers, and all assortment of tools hung on the wall still. It seemed that this would be the last place that was packed up, not the dining room. As they walked Kevin over to a table, they turned more lights on and he saw something hanging from the ceiling. Or more precisely, someone. He squinted and saw more than just one. “Jennifer? Clyde? What have they done to you?” Kevin screamed in a hoarse whisper. “Oh, they can’t hear you my dear. Not yet anyway. Soon you’ll be reunited with them. Now, just lay on back and let this old lady take care of you,” she said, with a soothing tone. Kevin tried to struggle, but couldn’t. He couldn’t lift his arms. His head felt like it weighed a million pounds. He could barely even keep his eyelids open. “Why… are you doing this? You’re moving and you… you gave me the signature… I… I don’t understand…” Kevin kept gasping for air and could barely talk at this point. “Why?” Asked the lady. “You just were too tempting to pass up. We couldn’t help ourselves. You should have waited until tomorrow to come. We would have been long gone by then and you could have claimed our house without any effort. You are so selfish and greedy, just like the rest of them. We couldn’t just let you leave. We had to send one. More. Message.” Kevin continued his attempt at struggling, but he was far too weak now. His eyes were practically closed. He couldn’t talk. He could barely breathe. “Don’t worry. We’ll text your boss so he doesn’t worry. We’ll also text your wife and tell her you had to go out of town for a business trip and won’t be back for a while. That way they’ll all be oblivious to your current… circumstance.” Kevin is able to get out one more “why?” before finally losing the ability to talk. “Why?” She laughed. “I guess I’m just a little sentimental and just wanted to have fun one last time.” Kevin grunted in pain. He didn’t know what it was. Some kind of sharp pain in his legs and down his left side. “And don’t worry about us my dear. They won’t find you until well after we’re gone.” Kevin let out one final grunt of pain before finally succumbing to darkness.


On The Fifth Day Of Christmas I can't believe you did this, I can't afford another child. My divorce isn't even final for another month, Stacy would love to drag this through the courts. Miriam hung her head. She knew Michael wouldn't be happy but never expected a reaction like this. She didn't do it on purpose, she was on birth control. How was she supposed to know they weren't guaranteed to prevent pregnancy.

Miriam ran to her car with tears in her eyes. It was a shock to her also, but she was willing to look at it as a welcome surprise, not devastation as Michael was implying. She hoped he would sleep on it and realize how he overreacted. They were in a loving relationship, it wasn't like they were involved in a one night stand.

Morning came and Miriam waited for Michael's apology. Several days went by and she hadn't heard from him. She had never felt more alone in her life. She was three months pregnant and she hadn't contemplated going through it alone. Now she wondered if he would ever come around or it was where they parted ways.

A month went by without any communication with Michael and Miriam decided she needed a more secure job if she was going to be a single mother. She had a couple of years of college and needed only a few more to secure her degree. It was going to be tough to attend after the baby was born so she decided to cram as many classes as possible before. Her hometown of Athens, Georgia didn't have the curriculum that she desperately needed so she packed up her old car and headed out west to stay with her sister.

Colorado was beautiful. She had never been in such a winter wonderland. The lake at the end of their street was frozen and wouldn't thaw until summer she was told by the locals. If you looked up at the Rocky Mountains, at any given time you could witness an avalanche in a distance. The weather was bitterly cold but dry. Making a snowball was challenging, the snow wouldn't stick together, She guessed that was why the skiing was so good dry powder.

Living with her sister was enjoyable. They were only a couple of years apart and had grown up in Georgia where the weather was warm. Everyone was shocked when her sister came to dinner one Sunday afternoon and told everyone she had accepted a job at Breckinridge Ski Resort in Breckinridge, Colorado. The family was aware that she loved to ski and had taken several trips to Colorado with her boyfriend but no one expected her to move. Jessica and Matt moved together when she came but split up shortly after. The family was hoping she would return home to Georgia but her love for the mountains was too strong Miriam liked it but didn't think she would ever feel as strongly about it as Jessica. After she finished her two classes, she was planning on returning to Georgia hopefully before the baby was born. With the college loans, she had secured, she would be able to live for a couple more months before she had to get a full-time job.

Miriam's life was different than she had planned. She thought she and Michael would eventually get married after his divorce was final. She knew Michael while he and Stacy were together but she had no part in their break up. Michael caught Stacy cheating and filed for divorce. Miriam didn't start dating Michael until after he was legally separated and in the process. With the children's custody and property, the divorce had been drug out for three years. Miriam didn't understand how her being pregnant would have affected any of it. The divorce was almost final. Miriam wasn't going to lose any more sleep over it. She had cried to Colorado wandering how someone she thought loved her and would always be there would turn their back on her when she needed him most. She would be fine. She would raise the baby herself without his help. She knew she could, Miriam had always been strong, especially willed and she would do whatever it took to make a stable life for her and her child. Christmas was approaching and she would concentrate on that. Jessica had invited her to several parties as her plus one and she had turned them all down. After setting home staring at the walls on Christmas break from school, she decided to attend one.

With the ugliest sweater she could make, she went to Jessica's work party. The people were friendly and Jessica must have talked a lot about her because they acted as if they knew her. Craig was the first who came up to her and introduced himself. He was a lift operator and had worked with Jessica the whole time she had been in Colorado. He made it a point to get her food and drinks even though she told him she was fine. He was the sweetest man she had ever met.

Jessica's parties didn't stop. She took Miriam to one of her close friends gathering the following night. The same scenario with her friends acting as if they had always known her. Miriam wasn't sure she appreciated Jessica discussing all of her problems especially the one about the man she was in love with dumping her when he found out she was pregnant. Jess was the man of the night waiting on her and telling her how beautiful and glowing she was. She wondered if men were drawn to pregnant women. If they gave off some pherenome that made men find them more attractive.

Jessica had a lot of friends. The apartment complex, the grocery store, her gym. They all seemed to know about her poor sister. The last party the girls were invited to was on Christmas Eve. It was a special party with no ugly sweaters but holiday apparel. Miriam was six months pregnant now and most of her clothes were too tight so she went to the local thrift store to find a holiday outfit. After visiting three, she came across a gold taffeta skirt with an elastic band in three sizes larger than she normally wore and a black choker collar silk blouse. She looked beautiful. Her sister complimented her on how her complexion agreed with pregancy and how she had chose the perfect outfit.

After Jessica got ready in her holiday finest, the two arrived at the party fashionably late. The whole town would be attending this party. The tree in the town square would be lit and a live band was positioned outside by the gazebo during the ceremony. After, the function would be moved indoors to the Fire department activity building where food and drinks would be galore. Jessica attended every year and told Miriam what a festive occasion it would be. An open bar would benefit everyone but Miriam who only got to enjoy shebert punch.

Craig, the attentive Lift operator from the office party was the first to come and talk to Miriam. He told her that he had never been married but always wanted to and could see that she was in a difficult situation. Miriam was afraid where this was going. Craig continued to tell her that he would love to take care of her and her baby. Miriam thought that was the sweetest thing she had ever had anyone to offer but kindly turned him down.

The next suitor who had too much to drink was Jess, he approached Jessica earlier in the week and asked if she thought her sister would merry him. Jessica told him he was crazy. Too much alcohol made Jess forget what her sister had said when he knelt on one knee asking for Miriam's hand. Embarrassing, for Jess but Miriam quietly thanked him for being so kind but declined. Miriam's night wasn't quite over for she had two more proposals from men she had met through Jessica. All they could see was a damsel in distress. None of them considered how they would feel when the baby was born and realize they didn't even know her. Miriam had blushed several times that night and couldn't believe how caring Jessica's friends were and it helped her understand why Jessica chose to stay in Colorado.

When the night was almost over, Miriam was tapped on the shoulder as she turned around expecting another one of Jessica's dear, dear, friends. She burst into tears, when Michael dropped to the floor with a ring and asked her to marry him. He told her he was so sorry that he was shocked with the news, and when he tried to apologize she was gone. He said he was an idiot and hoped she would give him another chance. Miriam accepted his apology as he placed the ring on her left finger and the fear of the unknown evaporated as she realized she didn't have to do it alone.