Toys littered the living room floor, the Christmas tree stood undecorated in the corner and none of the presents were wrapped. And yet here I was pulling out butter and flour and eggs trying to make Grandma’s famous candy-cane cookies. Soft and sweet. Red and white dough twined together and shaped into candy canes. Dusted with crushed starlight mints and pearl sugar.                I flipped through Grandma’s recipe cards, yellowed with age and speckled with food stains. Every recipe written in Grandma’s fancy cursive. Every “i” dotted and every “t”crossed with a swirly flourish, but no candy-cane cookie recipe to be found.                It had been six weeks since her beautiful soul floated off to heaven and my heart still ached with missing her. Making one of her signature desserts might help my heart to heal.                The doorbell rang and my older sister, Kailey, burst in. Her arms overflowed with presents and her hair looked like a messy birds nest on top of her head. “Help is here!” she said. “Where are the munchkins and the hubs?”                “Dan took the kids Christmas shopping to buy me a present.” Tears threatened but I wouldn’t cry. I’d cried enough the past month to sink Noah’s ark.  “Quite frankly, I needed a break. Everyone keeps trying to cheer me up and I don’t want to be cheered up.”                Kailey gave me a one-armed hug. “You poor thing. I’ll be sad with you if that’s what you need. You were always so close with Grandma Kay. I can’t even imagine how you feel.” Kailey tossed a bag of red and white starlight mints on the counter. “Should I preheat the oven? Where’s the recipe?”                “I couldn’t find it. It’s not in the recipe box she left me.”                Kailey shrugged. “No worries. I can Google a recipe.”                My throat felt tight. “No, I want to make Grandma’s recipe. Her. Exact. Recipe.”’ I paced back and forth in the kitchen. I had to remember. “I guess we’ll have to wing it.”                “Isn’t that you always do with your life? Wing it?” Kailey asked.                “Ha ha. Not funny.” I closed my eyes and pictured Grandma’s hands unwrapping two sticks of butter and placing them in a red mixing bowl. Her birthstone ring would glisten in the kitchen light, an emerald for me, a sapphire for Kailey.                “Two sticks of butter!” I tossed them on a paper plate and popped it in the microwave for 30 seconds.

               “I can’t believe you’re going to microwave the butter!” Kailey said. “Grandma always left the bowl on the counter for what seemed like days before making the cookie dough.”                “I remember,” I said. “The secret to soft cookies is slow-softened butter.” I removed the paper plate from the microwave and poured the butter into a bowl. “But we’re winging it, remember?”                I pulled out the canister of sugar. “You don’t remember anything about the cookies? At all?”                “Maybe a little,” Kailey said. “I do remember dipping a cup in and out of the sugar canister. It seemed like I did that maybe, three times? The cup wasn’t very big.”                “Yes, I remember that too. So maybe it was a half cup measure? So about one and half cups total.” I measured the sugar, added a teaspoon of vanilla and cracked an egg into the bowl. “You can mix it now if you want. That looks about right, don’t you think?”                “We’ll see.” Hailey turned the hand-mixer on high and swirled it around the bowl. The beaters clinked on the sides while the mixture grew frothy. The scent of vanilla wafted into the air.                My chin shook and tears welled. “I can’t stop crying. Everything I see or hear reminds me of her. Even the smell of the vanilla.” I took a deep breath. “I just remembered how you begged and begged to taste the vanilla. Grandma told you it tasted awful, but you wouldn’t listen.”                Kailey chuckled “Yes, I remember now. I snuck a sip from the bottle and spit it out and Grandma said, ‘I told you so!’ She laughed so hard she snorted.”                Kailey measured some flour and a pinch of baking powder. “I guess we can tell how much flour to add once we see the consistency. Then, we can add it little by little?” She dumped the flour mixture into the bowl with the mixer still churning at full speed. A cloud of flour puffed into her face and hair. She coughed and wiped the flour from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Well, that was not graceful.”                Kailey looked so funny with flour everywhere that we both broke into laughter. I full-on snorted when Dan and the kids walked in.                He surveyed the kitchen and the two of us laughing. “Looks like things are going…well?” My kids, Kevin and Kacy, joined in laughing with us.                Kevin asked, “Can we help?”                “Aunt Kailey looks like a ghost! She’s all powdery!” Kacy said.                “Of course you can help,” I said. I divided the dough into two big chunks. “Kacy, you can add red food coloring to this half and knead it into the dough.”                I handed Kevin a rolling pin. “Kevin, you can unwrap the starlight mints, put them into a zip-top bag and then pound them with the rolling pin. That used to be my job.”                “Cool!” he said.                Dan put on some Christmas music and made hot cocoa. We all rolled pieces of dough into red “snakes” and white “snakes” and wound them together forming candy canes. A sprinkling of crushed peppermint mixed with pearl sugar was the final touch.                While waiting for the cookies to bake, we all shared stories about Grandma Kay.

               “I remember when I tried to teach great Grandma how to play my video game,” Kevin said. “She drove the car across the tops of the houses and through the farmer’s fields. She just laughed when I tried to help her.”                Kacy didn’t want to be left out of sharing a memory. “I colored pictures with great Grandma Kay one time. She colored the people’s faces purple and pink. She said those were her favorite colors and she could color the people however she wanted.”                “Remember her fudge?” Dan asked. “So chocolatey and delicious. She said she always made it for me because I was her favorite grandson-in-law.”                Kailey punched Dan in the arm. “Hey, you’re the only grandson-in-law.”                The timer dinged. I pulled the tray of cookies out of the oven. The cookies had spread so much they looked like pink blobs. They were all stuck together almost covering the bottom of the pan.  You couldn’t even tell they were supposed to be candy canes and the peppermint and sugar had fallen off and burned.                Dan sensed something was wrong and came into the kitchen. “I can’t do anything right!” I cried. “I wanted these to be perfect for Grandma Kay’s memory.”                Dan took me into his arms. “What would your Grandma Kay do if this happened to her? Seriously. Think about it.”                A memory came to me. “Remember the time when the fudge wouldn’t set? Grandma didn’t panic. She just poured it over bowls of ice cream.” She always made the best of a bad situation. Something I needed to learn.                “She would laugh?” I asked. “And we’d eat them with a fork I suppose…”                                                                        **************                After the Christmas season flew by in a blur, I found a recipe card in the recipe box that I had missed. It was folded in half and lying flat under the other cards. Written in her fancy, swirly hand, it said, “ It’s the memories you make that count…not how good the cookies taste or how beautiful the gifts are wrapped or how fancy your tree is. Memories are what bring us together and that’s why I didn’t leave you the candy cane cookie recipe.  Remember, it’s not the journey or the destination…it’s the memories you make along the way.


T’was naught but great misfortune that led my carriage’s wheel to shatter just short of journey’s end. The long ride from Essex to the Whitlingham estate had been long and fraught with all manner of discomforts, leaving one quite longing for an evening of soaking in warmth of a wonderful lavender tub. Alas, such wonderful fantasies turned to bitter longing as we struck a gastly rut but mere miles from the gates. I cared little to spend such a villainous autumn evening shivering beneath my jacket until a labourer could be found to repair the carriage, thus I made a bold decision to wander hence and find a tavern for the night. My coachman told me of a village a mile past - a whole mile! I thought to myself - and we resolved to meet again upon the morn to resume our journey. As I began my long foray into the twilight, I found myself wondering whether that crafty coachman would relieve me of my belongings in the small hours, or whether I would return to no carriage at all. My legs, as sturdy as they are when we engage in a good hunt, were not built for such long distances afoot, thus my soles were worn and blistered by the time the twinkling lamplights of a small township came into view. Night had fully fallen, casting a dark shadow and bitter chill across the green fields and hedgeways. As I pulled my jacket tighter around myself, I was appalled by the state of travelwear. Was that a rip in my fine cuffs? A scuff on my boots! Such trials as this would make for fine retelling the next I travelled to the London clubs, but I must say, I was presently rather unkeen on the whole affair. I found a small tavern, a shabby inn named the Candle and Canton , and inquired about a lodging for the night. “Not ‘ere gov”, said the barkeep, rubbing his meaty hands together, “I’m flooded with a party off the highway. But, I hear old Sampson there has a spare bed to share. Why not make an inquiry?” He gestured across to where an older gentleman sat nursing a rough flagon of watery beer. He struck me as a weary fellow, with dark shadows under cold grey eyes, under thickset and bushy brows. His hair was matted, his lime-green tunic barethread and holed in parts, but what struck me most were his shoes. Despite being the image of rural peasantry, truly unlike my normal acquaintances, the old chap wore the most striking set of crimson riding boots. They were high to the knee of rich leather, bound with delicate black thread stitching and a sturdy sole. In all my years had I never seen such a wondrous set as those there on the feet of a tumbled-down fellow. Perhaps then it was my wandering gaze that drew his eye, or perhaps he’d simply heard the barkeep’s booming tones across the floor. Nevertheless, his eyes set about micheviously twinkling as he appraised my clothing. “Ye wanting a bed, eh?”, cackled the old man. He seemed to grow with excitement. As his eyes thawed, never before had I seen such an intese, yet gleeful, stare. “Ha! Old Sampson will give ye shelter if ye ask him of it. Never leave a lad of finery out in the cold, that’s what I say! What be yer name, sir?” “Gideon”, I managed to stutter, quite caught off by his sudden change. Before I took all leave of my sense of etiquette, I added, “at your service, master Sampson. Your offer is most kind, though I’d hate to intrude…” “Ye be a strange sight in these parts, master Gideon. Where ye be a-going to, huh?” I told him of my errands, and of the company expecting me at Whitlingham Hall. I didn’t care for the man’s questioning, or how he seemed to appraise me like I was a particularly fine mare at the races. “All these folks of leisure and wealth, yet never do they come of down to chat with us humbler folk. Y’er a rare one you are, master Gideon”. He finished up his drink - a foul smelling concoction that reeked of a violently strong liquor - and reached for an old wooden cane propped against the wall. “Let us not delay young master, let us not indeed! The night is drawing long and we best be getting you comfortable. You shall stay with me this eventide! Come now, come along!” I shot many desperate looks about me, for someone - anyone - to offer me an opportunity to excuse myself, yet I felt the hope dimmed as I caught upon stony faces. I felt a deep unease in my stomach at being left alone with this man, yet it simply wasn’t done to refuse such an offer of hospitality. Unless I quite fancied a night in the warmest nearby ditch I could find, I would need to accept with whatever grace and humility I could muster. I faced Sampson with a thin smile. “Lead ahead, good sir. I shall accept your generous offer”. The old man grinned a crooked smile. I followed him from that small tavern, and together, we wound through the village. My spent feet hurried to keep up with the quick clip-clap of the man’s cane on the cobbles. Sampson was spritely despite his age, as if taken by new purpose. As we walked, my eyes returned to his exceptional boots. How had Sampson - unable or unwilling to patch even the clothes on his back - come by such a fine and marvellous pair? I simply had to ask. “I say, Sampson, your boots are most exceptional. How came you to acquire such a pair?” “Thank ye lad. Found them in a field, would you believe”. I did not. “Really?”, I asked. “Is true, young master. Musta fallen from some wagon passin’ by. Ol’ Sampson didn’t have a pair at the time, see, so he hoped they wouldn’t mind meself putting them to good use”. The further from the village and its flickering lanterns we travelled, the rougher and narrower the trackway became. We wound this way and that until I was quite sure I’d be lost without Sampson to guide me. I shivered in the frosty night air, jumping with fright as a fox barked somewhere nearby. By contrast, Sampson seemed as comfortable as if walking on a bright summer day. Presently, as we rounded a cluster of beeches, I heard the gentle splash-splash of a brook. We picked our way along its edge until a glimmer of flickering lights appeared ahead of us. What emerged from the darkness was a battered old water mill. In its day, it would have been a delightful two-story structure of half-timber and stone with its sturdy water-wheel rotating gently in the current. Now the mill slumped towards the river like a drunk, gnarled wooden beams leaning at odd angles and the wheel turned no more. Dark ivy snaked across the walls, I dare say holding the stonework together better than any mortar did. The door was a crooked oaken slab, the hovel’s windows shattered and repaired with scraps of soiled rags. I felt my stomach drop. Surely, this couldn’t be our destination. “Welcome sir”, said Sampson with a flourish of his cap, “to my most ‘umble of abodes. She ain’t much sir, but she’s done right by me and she’ll do right by you”. The unpleasant, sour mingling of unwashed flesh and fish greeted me as I stepped through the door. Straining against the impulse to gag, my eyes strained to make out the strange twisting shapes cast by the dancing candles tied from the rafters. It was as if someone attempted to bring their life into the bones of a long deceased creature. The house was a single stretching room filled to bursting with all manner of old and cobwebbed machinery from the mill’s days of activity. Here and there, pieces of furniture had been squeezed into the clearer spaces of the floor. There, on one side of the room, was a table and set of chairs squeezed in a small alcove formed by a grind-wheel and a large cog. A wooden cot rested on a higher wooden platform above a pile of old barrels. The air tasted bitter of iron and rust and mold. Sampson set his cane against wall and clapped his hands together. “Come this way master Gideon. Careful now, mind those gears there. Strip the skin from yer shin at the sligh’est touch, they will. Come now, sir, let us show you to yer lodgings” Never before, and never again, will I see such a man, who walks with the assistance of a cane, spring about a room of ancient and silent machinery with the grace of a boy several decades his senior. He danced about the room, tugging blankets from unsuspecting corners, laughing all the while, and assembled them into a corner that I assumed would become my bed. It certainly lacked the comfort I was used to, yet to have a pillow of duck and eiderdown seemed quite unlikely indeed in this place. I kept my eyes fixed on Sampson all the while. The more his antics defied my expectations, the harder it became to shift the growing gnawing sensation deep in my chest. I jumped as suddenly Sampson cried out. He threw his arms in the air, “the fish!” he groaned. “Yer call yerself an ‘ost, Sampson you goose. Beggin’ yer pardon sir, I’ve shown the most terrible of manners. Wait here, get yeself all comfy like. Yes, sir, like that, let me pull out a chair for you. That’s it. Make yerself at ‘ome, and I’ll be back shortly with our supper”. I found myself bundled into one of the two chairs by the fire, before the old man headed out through the door once more. I was alone in a stranger’s house. Invited indeed, but not at home. I was deeply troubled by my surroundings. The shadows seemed to draw closer, as if each contained some hidden miscreance looming over me. I knew not the way back to the village, not even how to find my broken carriage again. I was truly alone. Alone but for Sampson. Sampson! The old fellow had done me no harm, yet I felt a great unease from his manner. So quick to draw a gentleman of good standing to such a remote location. I again found myself dwelling on his shining red boots - those boots that stood apart from all I knew about him like an urchin at the races. He was hiding something, of that I was sure. What else was he hiding? I rose slowly, careful not to make a sound lest Sampson overhear. Though it might have been the rudest crime of etiquette, I simply had to know what else the old man was hiding from me. I began to explore the shadowy mill, clinging to the darkness like a common thief. I searched through alcoves, behind the husks of machinery and behind piles of barrels, looking for - no , knowing - that some secret lay hidden here. My foot clunked against something hard and heavy on the bare stone floor. I looked down. A large metal ring. A ring attached to a trapdoor. I almost found myself wishing my instincts had not been so correct. I pried open the trapdoor, carefully, carefully lifting the heavy wooden boards until it was wide enough to slip into. Bracing myself and offering a silent apology to my dear launderer, I crept down the hatchway. Beyond the trapdoor was a set of stairs. The light was almost blinding after so long in the dingy candlelight upstairs. Lanterns hug from shepards hooks on each way, revealing before me… my goodness! A hoard. A loot hoard. Piled around the space, as large as the mill above, were items of all manner, shape and size. I saw wicker baskets, ceramic pots, an old chaise lounge with a red wine stain, three rugs with intricate and careful designs, a dozen wonderful ballgowns, a bathtub cracked and chipped with a thousand holes, travelling trunks, crystalware, butler’s jackets and bellboys shoes, teapots and shoes… my goodness so many shoes! From galloshes and slippers to boots and dancing flats, there seemed to be dozens, no, hundreds, of them! “Ah, ye weren’t meant to see this, young master”. I whipped about, finding myself face-to-face with Sampson. He stood plainly before me, a large fish in his hands, his face a mixture of surprise and confusion. My mind raced. How had he acquired all this? My suspicions rose tenfold in that moment, and I found myself turning angrily on the old man. “See here, sir. I shouldn’t be ungrateful for your gracious offer of shelter this night, but I should say I find this… this … to be very unexpected indeed and I should jolly well like you to answer my questions. Who you are, where did this come from and what do you intend to do with me?” Sampson’s face dropped. He regarded me as if I had struck him, his eyes wide and lip quivering as the fish trembled in his hands. His energy seemed to sap away, his shoulders hunching so that he seemed smaller than before, lending me the impression of simple old man. An old man I’d just turned on. Who held a fish he intended to cook for me. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I’d committed the most greivous sin and spat in the face of his hospitality. Here was a man, who’d done naught to me but kindness, and here was I, challenging him on his motives in his home he’d offered to me for the night without any question of payment. A low sob escaped Sampson’s mouth. He slowly fell to his knees and let the fish fall to the cold stone floor. “Oh, young master Gideon. Beggin’ yer pardon sir, but I don’t mean no ill to you, not at all sir. I….”, he stumbled over his own words as he choked back his tears, “its just me out here sir, just me. I’m an honest man, I am, and a lonely one. I’m sorry that I gave yerself cause for doubting meself”. I took a step towards him and offered him a hand. Sampson looked up at me with those grey eyes, took my hand and pulled me into a tight embrace. To my utmost surprise, I did not flinch or attempt to pull away. I put my arms around him. It mattered not that he was unwashed, or that he might stain or crumple my clothing. We stood there, all notions of class or rank forgotten. We broke apart. “Thank ye, young master. Ye’re a rare one”. “Please, master Sampson, I should be the one apologising and seeking your forgiveness. I was wrong to make such gastly assumptions of you”. I looked down at his shiny crimson boots, and across to the collection amassed behind him. “Perhaps this was in a field too?” Sampson nooded. “Used to be a time when the old Whitlingham family from yonder estate would just leave their unwanted goods out in the fields. I just collect it, I do. Some things I find a new home for, others I give away to those in need or use to fix up the mill. Some of them”, he gestured to his boots, a mischievous smile creeping back onto his face “well, sometimes there’s no harm in keepin’ sommit fer meself”. I found myself laughing. Sampson joined in. “Good fellow”, I said, “you are a strange, but wonderful individual. Please allow me to start again”. I took a step back, and bowed low. “My name is Gideon, and may I trouble you for your hospitality this night?”. Sampson’s face lit up with the biggest grim. “Ye be very welcome, master Gideon, very welcome indeed sir! Come upstairs, what is mine is yours!”. We climbed up into the mill once more. Sampson cooked his fish over the roaring fire. For the first time in many years, the mill was flooded in its light; a beacon amidst the dark night beyond its slumping walls. Sampson came alive once more, never once needing his cane nor losing the boyish grin on his face. I must confess, I slept most excellently that night. The next morning, Sampson and I walked the short trail back to the village. It was my turn to lead him to where my carriage awaited us and usher him inside. I gave the call to the coachman, and once again, we were off. It was past time, I thought, that the Whitlinghams met the man with the red boots.


They hadn’t really spoken in years beyond the neutral, ‘Pass the butter?’ or ‘Seen the remote?’ You know, just the facts, Ma’am. Remote indeed. Imagined slights had met stern challenges and the marriage slid downhill from there. The smoldering tangle of ancient wounds and recriminations defied restoration to simple civility. An un-squelched, unashamed sharing of thoughts and opinions could not happen. A guarded truce remained. Gone were the days of affectionate banter. Oh, for a wry story or an ironic observation. Over years, unresolved anger and long term resentment had calcified into unmoving trench warfare. Who knew faces could actually freeze like that? It defied belief they’d raised two more-or-less sane kids to adulthood. At this late date, attempts to ‘have it out’ threatened to dredge up remains of battles best left submerged. Neither remembered how or why it turned sour. They’d found a balance. Maybe not a happy one, but it worked for the most part. The calendar’s pages kept turning. It hadn’t always been so. They’d had fun. They’d played. Had Bill pulled away? Had he wearied of feeling rejected? Had Angie sought other’s affections after sensing his disinterest? That no longer mattered. Thankfully, the slog from morning coffee to lights out had replaced those exhausting early struggles for ‘who’s on first.’ Each carried wounds. Each bore scarred emotional. Each elected for less drama over risking the shards of peace talks gone south. And, after all, they knew each other. Does anyone expect that the new face with better moves doesn’t also wield a mean right hook? ~ They rode to the airport in pre-dawn silence. Safety motivated the silence that ruled their lives. Why was she was going? It was expected. She hated flying. He knew that. It wouldn’t look right, her not being at his work conference. So there she would be. When he announced the trip, he said she’d have her time. He’d be busy. He wouldn’t be in her way. As if ‘her way’ was the consideration. She would show her face and withdraw, presumably to socialize with the other wives. Did the other wives live lives like hers? Surely, the husbands, like interchangeable Lego blocks, shared much in common. At the airport, Bill parked the car and pulled the carry-ons from the trunk. He preceded her through security. Angie found him reading the paper in an end seat at the terminal. She parked herself near-by. They were early. They didn’t talk. She left. He paid no mind. Shops were opening. Magazines begged for attention. Coffee beckoned. It would be a long flight strapped in a seat. She needed to walk. At the kiosk, ahead of her, a family offered a peek into another life. The youngsters made random orbits around their parents who bantered the nutritional advantages of pumpkin-spice vs. caramel flavored coffee. It felt like a bad Hallmark TV movie. Yet Angie didn’t think they were acting. Angie ordered hers black with a splash of half-n-half. Cappuccino for Bill. The line crept. What if they boarded before she returned? Would he notice? Or wait? Carrying her coffees she headed back to the terminal where Bill read his paper. Feeling overwhelmed, she sat and watched the steady stream of travelers pass. ‘ Just for a moment ,’ she thought. ‘ Where does everyone go in such a rush? ’ She realized they actually knew their destinations. She was the clueless one. She couldn’t fathom how she got there today. Not to the airport, but her whole life. Had she sleep-walked for the last twenty years? And awakened to this? She returned to the terminal. When she handed Bill his coffee, he smiled. “Thanks, Ange. I thought you’d flown the coop.” “And here I doubted you even knew I’d left.” “Oh, I know. I always know.” They got in line for boarding. Bill sipped coffee and stared in silence. Angie wondered that so many can be herded through hours of mind-numbing tedium with nary a peep of protest. “It astounds me how millions of travelers actually reach their destinations. They munch handfuls of pills to quell their anxiety, so they can spend hours in line after line. All to strap themselves into sardine cans for hours more.” Bill murmured a vague agreement. She continued, “It’s insane to worry. I’m sick of it.” Bill stowed the carry-ons overhead. They steeled themselves for the long flight. The commotion died and everyone found their seats. The plane taxied onto the tarmac. Announcements were made. Soon, they were airborne. The flight went as expected. Bill watched the clouds drift by. Passengers distracted themselves with snacks or videos. No place for the claustrophobic. Angie dozed. Turbulence jarred Angie out of her stupor. Bill noticed her stirring. “Point of no return…” “What?” “Terminology… We’re closer to our destination than to the starting point.” She tried to make sense of this. ‘ What an ominous name for such a mundane concept. ’ She looked about. A stewardess made her way down the aisle collecting trash. Another jolt sent the stewardess into passenger’s laps. Screams erupted. A sickening groan from the fuselage matched the yaw in the plane’s axis. More screams. A passenger sailed over heads, hit the bulkhead and fell. Lights flickered into darkness. More screams. Oxygen masks dangled. The Captain’s voice on the intercom broke up in static. Chaos bred chaos. The plane shook like it would come apart. Lights flickered. Now smoke. No place to hide. The plane leveled. The vibration subsided. The lights returned. The intercom crackled. Groans replaced screams. A baby squalled. Angie grabbed him. Their eyes met. She’d never seen him afraid. Shouting through the hysteria, she gestured. “You called it, Bill. No turning back. Don’t leave me alone. Cling to me. Not the past. Share the future we have… seconds? Minutes?  Can we do that? This is us. Here and now. Be kind. Be kind! Our lives depend on this. Reclaim us. Each moment is lost. But we’re not lost. We’re together.” She lost her voice. Bill looked at her tenderly. “Of course.” She rasped, “Promise?” He covered her hand with his and nodded. Things were calming. The smoke began clearing. She looked about in amazement. Would they be okay? A smatter of applause passed through the cabin. She leaned in. “I swear Bill, if you go back on your word, I’ll see you in hell.” He looked her in the eye and said, “Not if I see you first.” They fell into embrace, laughing until tears flowed and kissed as if it were their first.


After four full months of careful planning and diligent preparation, the Apple Festival of the city of Georgia has finally begun and it will be a fun day and as the son of the owner of the most important pastry shop in the city we are on the foot and leg to finish the preparations and it is baking all the apple pies that will. The festival is very large, I see it is bigger than last year, there are more than 300 vendors and exhibitions and includes stalls selling candles, handicrafts, wood, and food items and exhibitions of metal and glassworks. Fried and baked apple pies and other apple recipes are also the faces of the festival in Georgia. On the day of the holiday is all dedicated to the competition for the best apple pie and you find a lot and a lot of stalls and you have to be careful not to mix your shop with another and put and display your goods in it instead of your store at your stalls must be distinguished from others as a sign. Everything was going well and ready for the show for Lucas 'father to call out," Lucas, Lucas, is it already, son?" "Yes, dad things are fine" Lucas's father was very worried. He desperately wants to win this year over his rival, Mr. Sharma. Lucas, a boy at the young age of 23, blond hair, green eyes, and light brown hair. average height and worked as a director for sugar and flavoring specialized in making sweets and all kinds of bread, which is owned by his father, but retired after fats became responsible adores profession even though he studied architecture at the University. ##### Lucas went to the center of the festival and started to display their Apple products of all varieties of pies, baked goods, cakes, tart, jam, and everything related to apples, and it resonated if the audience gathered in front of his booth and he is in the midst of the fun of selling and displaying the products noticed that the booth of their competitor Mr. Sharma And it looks like the competition between them is going to be fierce, and Lucas should have acted to draw more attention to our products. Made a girl from the store, and asked Apple Pie test I ate a piece and said " yummy already soggy state meet I was curious to know how to bake "

Lucas " it's a family secret, this is my grandmother's recipe, my grandmother's grandmother, my father's grandmother's from Switzerland and I've mastered cooking apple pies with a secret ingredient "

Lucas admirably looked at the girl, contemplating the details of her face and the agility of her figure.  It's cool. it goes smoothly in your mouth, Mira.

 Thank you. may I meet you, Lucas. Meera Sharma is Mr. Sharma's daughter. "Mr. Sharma's daughter, but I've never seen you, I know him very well," Lucas said. "Yeah, I was studying at University and finished it this year," Mira "And what did you study? "Lucas.  Myra's " tax lawyer ". Good. good. I studied architecture, Lucas.  Are you Mr. Perry's son, Mira? " Yeah, Lucas ". Lucas. "But I don't understand why all this competition between my father and your father," Mira track. "Doesn't it look kind of silly to you," Mira said. "Not! Whoever makes the best pie wins and gets the award and good customers all year, and I'm keen to win this year. "Lucas. So you're endorsing your father for this competition, Mira. "Yeah, you're talking to the CEO of a sugar and spice shop, and we're the one winning the competition this year."Lucas

"Do you think so! We are the ones who will win, " Mira replied confidently as she looked at Lucas and surprised her heart palpitations every time she looked into his eyes. Mira is twenty-five years old, a smart and Funny Girl with long curly hair, brunette skin, and blue eyes, and since she is mixed-race from an African mother and an Indian father and her grandmother to her Dutch mother, making an apple pie is very easy for her. #### The sweet confrontation between the two bakeries raged and Lucas and Mira decided to raise the level of confrontation by giving a gift to everyone who stumbles and buys a pie. And at midday and it was time to rest, and in the next garden Mira headed for a comfortable lunch, and while she was away from the right patch to sit, I bumped into someone, and as soon as she turned around the uncle of the silence in the place, and the eyes converged, and he sailed, too, in the blue and green of their eyes, and "watch out for you in front of me" and his cheeks are very red. Mira stammered and surprised herself she experiences a new beautiful feeling on her not felt before she shook her heart and ignited a fuse for Lucas and he also, but they remembered the competition of course and it seemed clear the desire of one of them to kiss the other and melt it has developed rapidly. "You have to hold on, Mira, hold on, please. oh, your good-looking Lucas, like I've known you for decades, and I haven't seen you for two hours. damn, I wish I could eat your lips," Mira said.  "It's Okay I was just looking for a special patch to sit down and see I didn't find it, I'd better go home."  I'll show you a beautiful place that you're surprised to find here, that no one knows, Lucas. He held her hand gently and her heartbeat rapidly. "I know exactly what's going on with me when I'm sweating and I'm not running," Mira said. And then they penetrated between two bushes, and if a hidden place between them seemed charming, with a small waterfall and a distinctive green and a small pool of water, it was charming, and Mira was amazed at its splendor. " "Where Are you going to sit, I think it's right here, or it's not right, Mira." "Lucas, wait, mind you, you show me the place, you walk away and you leave me alone here," Mira. I thought you wanted to be alone here, Lucas. "I was really planning it, but now that you're there, things might be different," Lucas replied, then sat down and the silence between them again, and they talked together, "thank you for " Mira and Lucas at the same time. "Calm down, Mira, hold on. relax you. oh, my God, what's happening to them ". "What's wrong with you, Lucas? did thee cat eat your tongue for all this hesitation?" Lucas in himself looked at each other with endless passion and adoration, realizing that they had fallen in love with each other.  Well, how about you try our apple pie, Mira. Taste Luke's piece of the pie and marvel at the splendor of her " Mmmmm delicious, really delicious, but how do you tell they felt a little bit of cinnamon with the tart taste I think of ginger and..... "Lucas. "The secret of my family won't move arrival, my maternal grandmother, a Belgian original art recipe from her family after they migrate to America. "Really good taste. that's why you beat us last year, Lucas. "Did we win over you last year, imagine I don't know about it, but when did the competition between our bakeries start?". "I think since'  maybe four years.". "Since we moved in, it's weird, I haven't seen you for once, and we live in the same neighborhood," Mira said.  I've seen all your family members, Your Mother, your father, your twin sisters, your brother, even your aunt, who visits you now and then, and I'm completely unaware that you're there, Lucas. "I also didn't even hint at you by mistake and I know almost all of your family and also by name John, Harry, Tara and Melanie, I even walked into your bakery and bought two delicious chocolate cupcakes and didn't see you." "Isn't that weird! ..؟؟……." Said Mira. "But why are you surprised not to recognize me after all this time! " Lucas. Mira was surprised by Lucas ' question, which they gave her a quick kiss, and she answered.

"Did you know the answer now, we have to go now it's time to announce the winner," she said. They walked away together and their families bragged about their harmony. "It is now time to announce the winner of the best apple pie award at the festival after a fierce competition in which two contenders for the title reached a sugar and spice bakery for Mr. Perry's family and Mr. Sharma's family with their Indian bakery," said the festival presenter. "This year's winner ...!!!!! A tie is a tie for the bakers this year and the winner will be distributed equally between them and thanks to everyone's participation in this festival for the weekend. The competition ended with the bakery tied and Mr. Sharma and Mr. Perry shaking hands after Meera and Lucas convinced them to end the competition. Mira and Lucas befriended, got engaged, and finally got married. It was love and bread.


“I see your order information,” said the woman on the phone. “Not to worry, the two bridesmaid dresses were successfully returned this morning. The wedding dress is still on its way and should arrive by the end of the week. We’ll give you a call when it gets here.” My head tilted slightly; did I miss something? Why were my sisters’ dresses returned? It made no sense. “I’m sorry,” I said, trying desperately to come off as unconcerned by the earthshattering update she had just given me. “To confirm, you said the dresses were returned

today ?” “Yes, we called your bridesmaids yesterday evening to let them know the dresses had arrived and this morning the two young ladies came in and let us know they would no longer be needing them. We were able to do a refund for them, no problem.” I was stunned. I could feel my heart drop to my stomach. I knew my wedding was hard on my family given our dysfunctional dynamic, but I had not expected something like this to happen.

“Is there something else I can help with today?” the woman asked cheerfully.

“No,” I said quickly. “Thank you so much for the update. I look forward to getting my dress soon. Thank you.” I hung up the call and sat frozen at my dining room table where my wedding plans lay sprawled out before me – vendor business cards, bride magazines, spreadsheets on my laptop, sample fabrics, and of course my cute little coiled planner book specially purchased to document every moment of my happy journey to the altar. Except this news didn’t feel very good.

Ever since my parents’ divorce, my life had been constantly surrounded by family drama. It snuffed the life out of everything. As the eldest daughter, I often found myself stepping into the mothering role to subsidize my sisters’ needs whenever I could, even though I was only a few years older than them myself. It was mostly a one-way relationship with them and over time they had developed the expectation that my purpose was to serve and protect them all the while I was left out to fend for myself.

I didn’t mind, most of the time, I loved my sisters and was happy to provide for them some of the comfort and support I so desperately craved. But as a result, it was mostly a lonely life growing up, which is why when Art, my fiancé, stepped into my life and later proposed I was ecstatic.

Finally, I had someone in my life who saw and loved me for who I was rather than what I could do for them. When Art placed that ring around my finger and asked me to marry him, I felt the healing and transformational power of love wash over me like magic. We had already been living together for some time, but I had the feeling that my life was going to change, I was going to change.

Art and his marriage proposal made me want to be better, to discard that tired persona of good and obedient daughter in favor of my strong and authentic self. I knew he valued me, admired the person I was and believed in who I could become. His honest love helped me believe in myself too. Sometimes you need someone in your corner to fully bloom into yourself and live up to your God-given potential. I had thought my sisters were in my corner too. Thought they were happy for me, glad to part of my wedding but this news about their returned dresses was very concerning. Had I been naïve to believe they would support me during this important time of my life?

I didn’t want to run to Art with this issue just yet, I felt ashamed and wanted to find out what was going on with them first. A bad feeling sat in the pit of my stomach as I texted them both in a group message. To: Meli, Emily Did you return the bridesmaid dresses?

Why didn’t you tell me? What’s going on? I waited. My heart beating hard. No answer. Art, who had been playing video games in our bedroom, came out to check on my progress. He knew I was calling the dress shop for an update. “What did they say?” he asked. “Any good news?” It had been 20 minutes since I had texted my sisters and even though the message indicated it had been read, I still didn’t have a response from them.

“Is everything ok?” he asked noticing my worried expression. I started to cry. ***

Days later they still hadn’t replied.

“No, they never answered my message, never called me back, nothing,” I told my dad over a tearful call. “They just ghosted me.” “But what happened?” my dad asked. “Why did they return their dresses?” “I have no idea,” I said. “I keep trying to figure it out, but nothing makes sense.” “Maybe your mother put them up to this, you know she hates that you still talk to me.” “I don’t know, that’d be pretty low even for her.” “I haven’t talked to either of them,” dad said. “So, I don’t know what’s going on with them. I mean, you know how it is with me; ever since the divorce your sisters hardly speak to me.” “I know dad. Things are always difficult with our family but truthfully, I don’t want you to get involved. I know your relationship with my sisters is hard enough as it is, I wouldn’t want this to make things worse between you and them.” Even though I had no answers from them, I suspected the real reason my sisters had betrayed me was because they were jealous. Jealous they weren’t the stars of the event, that all eyes wouldn’t be on them for the night. Jealous that they didn’t have serious boyfriends of their own, a relationship with a partner where they were taken seriously. Jealous that I, who had been like a mother to them, wouldn’t be at their beck and call anymore. I was sad for them, for what they had done, for what they would miss. Sad for me, for the deep wound of sisterly betrayal, for the permanent scar their actions would leave on my heart. I cried for days. It was a hard truth to face, to know that I couldn’t count on my sisters to be there for me on one of the most important days of my life, to know that they couldn’t be happy for me.

Finally, my wedding day came and when I slipped into my dress in full hair and makeup, my transformation was complete. I had been right to believe that Art’s marriage proposal was going to change my life, that this event was going to help me become a stronger and more authentic self. I saw it on my face in the mirror and felt it in my beating heart.

I knew what really mattered on this day and all the ones to come. Life wasn’t about all the people who hadn’t been there or all the things you didn’t have. It was about counting your blessings in spite of it all and rejoicing in the present with the ones you love. The moment arrived, the time to walk down the aisle. I stood confidently with my arm around my father’s arm, the coordinator fluffing the dress around my feet.

“Ready?” she asked. I nodded and the doors leading to the wedding bower swung open. I saw all the happy faces of friends and family looking back at me with Art waiting at the end of the aisle that was lined with blue candle cacti and pink bougainvillea pedals sprinkled along the way. The harpist began to play the “Wedding March” and I commenced the procession toward Art.

I knew life was full of ups and downs with surprises around every corner and I was thankful to have Art in my life, a man I could go through it all with. He was the man I loved and was happy to be marrying. I knew it was going to be a good life together.


The ding-ding-ding of the car’s door chime turned to a bassline in my head. Rhythmic, mathematically built for maximum danceability. Enough to make my ears pulse with each new addition to the dozens of dings before. Like a concert from the parking lot, reverb echoing in straining ears and hearts begging to thump to the cadence if they could simply get close enough to catch the beat. Rainwater rested like glass on the pitch-black pavement, late October’s fallen leaves dappling fluorescent orange against the shiny nothingness of an oil-slick surface. My measured breathing joined the door chime, briefly altering the beat. Just enough to snap me out of it. Unhook the seat belt, grab the purse, and get inside. Easy peasy. I reached for the button, but couldn’t make the move. My icy fingertips had nothing to do with the cool air that threatened to turn from rain to frost in a blink. A prickle of goosebumps ran along my arms, down my back, and straight to my toes—all warning, not a hint of excitement. Eva wouldn’t recognize me. Not anymore. It was ridiculous to imagine that out of a couple hundred people crammed into a sleepy hotel conference room, she’d pick me out of the crowd. Not without the spiked collar and fishnet sleeves. I was nobody without eyeliner to rival Robert Smith (after Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me made it big). Just put a fake name on the traditional “Hello! My name is...” sticker and hide the sucker behind my coat collar. Incognito. About as incognito as those letters I’d shoved into her locker. Heartfelt musings. Deep secrets. Promises to work up the courage to admit my identity. She was into it. Letters passed through the minuscule vents of dented metal doors without a word between us. I’d seen the excitement, actual joy, every time there was another note from her secret admirer—a lift in the corner of her mouth that was only for me. For my notes. Everyone else got the toothy supermodel smile with forced crinkles perfectly framing her brown eyes. That was the version she showed them, but I knew her true smile: Lips pressed tight into a lopsided, upturned curve, a little squint, and a wrinkle in her nose. That was the one I waited for. It was heartachingly beautiful the way she chewed her thumbnail after tugging open the corner of each perfectly folded bundle. Watching her eyes track the page gave me nearly as much of a thrill as slipping the square into her locker. Each passed note left me wondering if it would be the one that outed me; if it would be the time the secret slipped. Even if she watched for me to open the locker to retrieve her notes, just like I waited to see her reaction, she never would have caught me. The locker’s former occupant, Julian Rodgers, had moved the second week of school and they never re-assigned it. His anger at attending a ninth school in his four-year high school career was my gain: The bottom of his top locker never quite sat right after he put a fist through it, so notes tucked inside his dropped ever so conveniently into my bottom locker. I hadn’t gone to great lengths to hide my identity. I hadn’t shared it, either. Where was the line—and what was the balance between right and wrong? Would she have sent responses if she knew who I was? Would she have considered how well we got along, the way we knew each other, how we’d probably finish each other’s sentences during a face-to-face? I could feel the abyss in the center of my ribcage where the pressure of coming out collided with the fear that she’d reject me. Which was I more afraid of? Watching dressed-up thirty-somethings stroll, carefree, across the parking lot was about all I could bear. Reminiscing wasn’t on my agenda for the night. They could giggle and toss stories around, rehash homecoming nights, football games, homeroom, and skip day. I’d been too busy keeping my chest from caving in from the grief to join in the shenanigans. Not that I’d have been welcome. Chants of ‘Tori can’t get a man, that’s why she’s a les-bee-an’ still rang in my ears fifteen years later. I never found out who’d told her, but the notes stopped coming. Instead, I’d received the mocking echo of my own words read dramatically over the intercom during morning announcements, until someone from the office left the microphone squealing in their takeover attempt. Individual notes photocopied and plastered across walls, tucked away in lockers, and handed out at parties. Nothing but a joke, and they’d all laughed. Eva’s eyes were always downcast after that. They’d never fall on me for long, and for what? Fear that I’d make a move? Drag her down with me into my own little hell? My head, heavy as the hurt still held in my heart, flopped onto the headrest. With courage enough built up to tear out of the parking lot without looking back, I turned the key, threw the car into gear, and backed out of my parking space. My exit plan didn’t account for the crunch and jolt of backing directly into a light post. A string of profanities accompanied me out of the car and into the parking lot to assess the damage. Hanging bumper, busted tail light. Nothing a little insurance couldn’t fix. I made a beeline for the driver’s seat, but a voice cut through the raindrops, sparking heartstopping panic. “Tori?” Though her voice pitched upward, there was recognition in the tone. “Tori Jones?” The options were lie or run, and I was never a good liar. I tugged the door shut hoping she’d assume I didn’t hear her. Maybe we’d go on living our lives, ships in the night and all that. Before I could hit the gas, she was tapping on my window. An escape now would look like exactly that: running away. I lowered my window and looked up at her from my seat. Eva. Her understated turquoise dress played beautifully against her brown skin. The thought of her prom gown—nearly the same color, but two-piece and sequined—curled up in the back of my mind and settled in for the long haul. “Hi.” I looked past her instead of at her. Keeping the street lights in focus became my lifeline. If I could see the lights, I wasn’t getting lost in her eyes. She greeted me, then waved her hand to the side—a gesture that usually had an introduction attached. The idea of meeting her handsome husband and hearing about their perfect life together sent ripples through my stomach. I plastered a smile on my face and swallowed back the quiver that threatened to take up residence in my lower lip. “Meet my date,” Eva said. A woman stepped forward; cropped black hair, a swipe of glitter across eyelids, dangling earrings, and a black wrap dress stopping at knee length. “My ex-wife, Diana.” Eva pressed a squeeze into the woman’s hand. “I couldn’t bear to come alone. Deal with all of those guys from the football team again? Not on my checklist for this decade. She agreed to be my bodyguard for the night.” I huffed a laugh through my nose and nodded a greeting. “This is Tori,” Eva said, holding a palm in my direction. A speck of dark nail polish had jumped the cuticle, marring her otherwise perfect hand. I focused on that, a distraction to keep my mind off how casually she tossed my name into the conversation—and the flash of recognition in her companion’s eyes when Eva said it. “Are you here with your girlfriend? Wife?” she asked, glancing around. “I’m not really the relationship type.” I bit my lower lip as the confession slipped. Diana chuckled. “Eva, either.” Eva shoulder-bumped Diana and spread her hands, teeth gritted against embarrassment. “Stop it,” she whispered. Car doors slammed and enthusiastic greetings filled the parking lot as more guests arrived. Chest bumps and hoots of excitement echoed off buildings and pavement, once-close circles of friends becoming tight-knit again, even if only for a night. Disappearing into the darkness was impossible now that I’d been spotted, but the pressure was off. I could hit the bar without watching my back. Maybe even take care of the busted bumper after I’d drowned in nostalgia. “Well, if I’m going to do this, it’s got to be now. Before I completely lose my nerve.” I climbed out of the car, smoothing the wrinkles from my skirt. “Want to bet the band is the same one from prom?” Eva asked. “Want to bet the quarterback asks if I’ve finally switched sides?” I lifted a playful eyebrow to soften the edge in my voice. Diana leaned in and whispered in Eva’s ear. One corner of her mouth turned upward. “It seems my bodyguard has another assignment for the night. Any chance you’re available to provide security detail for this event?” My throat had gone dry. Stroll into the reunion with Eva, like nothing. Like my letters hadn’t been stapled to bulletin boards and tucked beneath windshield wipers. “It wasn’t me, you know.” She searched my eyes. “I had no idea it was you, not until it was too late. The rumors, I’d never have…” Her sincerity was like a bullet train hurtling through my chest. Somewhere deep down, I’d already known. “Hey,” I said, offering a bent elbow. “Let’s give them something to talk about, then.”


In a place that doesn’t exist, in a time that didn’t happen, eight friends that never met sat around a campfire, telling stories. The topic of their discussions this time was world creation , or how the world came to be . “Ah, that’s an interesting topic indeed,” said an elderly gentleman with white hair and a lush mustache. His eyes were fixed in some distant point inside the dancing flames, as he prodded the question with his mind, squatting by the fire. “Would someone else like to go first on this one? I need some more time to think it through.” “Sure,” said a tall and slender man with long straight hair. “I can go first, if it’s alright with the rest of you?” He looked to his companions. Nobody complained, save for a man in his middle years, wearing a mighty black beard and a green turban cloth, who grumped a sigh. “Somethign wrong, Muhammad?” “Not at all,” the man replied. “It’s only natural that the son of god goes first on this topic.” He raised his palms to reinforce his words. “I’m just a humble messenger.” “Not this again,” sighed another man who sat in a wheelchair by the fire. His voice did not come from his mouth, but rather from a device connected to his brain, which made it sound electric. “Can’t you two just get along? You’re both wrong anyway.” “Stephen!” exclaimed a fifth man, sitting between the wheelchair man and the moustache man. He wore a vintage black suit and had a strong german accent. “Show some respect, will you?” The man in the wheelchair mumbled something. “So, can I begin then? Or would you like to go first for a change, Muhammad?” “Nah,” Muhammad waved his hand. “Is what you get for being nearly 600 years late to the party. Take it away Jesus.” Jesus nodded and cleared his throat. “So, the topic of world creation. As we all know, in the beginning, there was darkness. Then, came a voice. My father’s voice. And he said; let there be light !” The flames burned brighter for effect, sending a column of sparks up to the heavenly night skies above. “It took my father seven days to complete everything. First he divided the light from darkness,” said Jesus, pointing up at the stars. “Then he created the oceans and the land,” Jesus stomped his foot. “He covered the dry ground with plants. Then he went on to create the Sun and the Stars, providing light and energy for his new creations. Next, he created birds and sea animals, and after that he went on to create land animals and all of you, human beings.” He eyed the fellow who sat furthest from the fire, the flame’s shadows dancing on his face. “Well, except for you . I’m not sure how to classify you. But anyway, when all that was done, on the last day, he rested. And it was good.” Stephen couldn’t help himself. “Why did he do it in such an order? Wouldn’t it be better if he created the stars before he created plants? That way photosynthesis could begin uninterrupted.” “I’m sure he had a good reason for it,” Jesus said. “My Father never did anything that would not have a purpose.” “I fail to see that reason.” “Alright,” the man with the german accent jumped in. “You’ll get your chance, Stephen. Let’s listen to Muhammad now.” “Ugh,” Stephen commented. “Your last name should have an extra -ing to it, since you’re so Bohr-ing !” “If you won’t contain your snarky comments until all of us are finished, I’ll turn your voice off!” That seemed to help. “It’s alright,” said Jesus. “I wasn’t offended. Please, let’s not chastise one another here. We are all grown men, having an interesting discussion by the fire.” The men murmured and the atmosphere lightened up again. “I will be next then,” Muhammad said and stood up. He cleared his throat and eyed his audience. “My friend Jesus told a good story. He got most of it right, but there are things where he could improve. Here’s what really happened. “God, which is one and only, Alah, created the whole universe. From a single unity, he made everything, in one cosmic explosion, that Stephen there would call the Big Boom-” “Big Bang !” “Whatever. God said; ‘come together, willingly, or unwillingly’ and they all came together willingly and thus stars, planets and the moon were created, following the natural orders He assigned to the universe. You see Jesus, God only took six days to create the world, not seven .” “That’s what I also said,” said Jesus. “Six days of work. One day of rest.” “Hrmf, fine,” Muhammad sighed. “Well then, God did not create all species separately and individually, as Jesus claims. He created life and seeds for it, and life evolved on its own, following his guide. Only man was an exception to this. God gave special gifts to man and thus made him separate from his other creations.” “What about the Earth?” asked Stephen. “What about it?” asked Muhammad. “How did Alah create the Earth?” “He didn’t,” Muhammad explained. “The Earth came together willingly, following the laws he set for the universe.” “Clever,” Stephen commented, but did not hint as to whome it was aimed at; Muhammad or Alah. “That is all I have to say,” said Muhammad. “Thank you for sharing,” said Niels Bohr. Then he nudged the man squatting next to him. “Ready yet, Einstein?” The man with the white hair didn’t respond, as if completely involved in his thinking. Bohr turned towards the others. “Best to give him some more time. Would anyone else like to be next? Since we’ve started with religion today, perhaps you, Budda? Or Mukutu?” Budda opened his mouth to say something, but he didn’t get the chance. As soon as Mukutu heard his name, he stood up. He was a short man with thick black hair, and chocolate skin, coming from a secluded little tribe in Africa, consisting of probably no more than fifty people. “I tell story of how world is,” he said, his accent thick, but understandable. “I Mukutu, from tribe Tukibaka. We believe there be two great Sky Serpents up, in the heavens, one gold and fiery like Sun, the other silver and cool like Moon. They fight for dominance over sky, each night and day. At night, Moon wins, but in morning Sun wins. As they fight, they bleed and make oceans and rain. They cut chunks of their flesh with their claws and make earth and mountains. We, Tukibaka, rose from their flesh and we drank their blood. Once one Serpent kills the other, the end of world.” He then landed back on the ground, legs placed in front of him, touching the soles of his feet together. The rest of them were silent, even Stephen had no comment to make. “Thank you Mukutu,” finally said Bohr. Mukutu smiled, showing his teeth as a sign of acknowledgement. “Buddha?” All heads turned to the handsome young man, who sat cross-legged next to Jesus, wearing a vivid orange robe. His eyes were closed and he wore a serene smile on his face, his hands resting in his lap. “Buddha? Would you share with us how you think the world came into being?” The man took his time, looking as if he was in deep meditation, before he finally opened his eyes. He rubbed them with the back of his palms and yawned. Jesus and Muhammad looked at each other.

“Were you sleeping ?” “I’m terribly sorry,” said the Buddha, smiling. “But the fire is just so nice and cozy. And your voices are deep and pleasant to hear, especially yours, Mukutu.” “We were discussing how the world was formed,” said Stephen, his electronic voice scratching. “Would you care to share? Today , perhaps, so I can be next?” “What’s the rush?” smiled Buddha. “Reality isn’t going anywhere.” He raised a reassuring hand before Stephen could object. “I promise to be short.” “Let’s hear it then.” The Buddha looked at the fire and remained seated, motionless. The reflection of the flames danced in his eyes. “The world is .” That was all he had to say. Jesus and Muhammad nodded and contemplated those simple words, and Bohr also wore an expression of insight. Einstein was still deep in thinking and Mukutu smiled. The figure who sat furthest from the flames, as if not wanting to be illuminated, didn’t show any signs of interest in the conversation at all. Only Stephen had to object. “Yes, the world is. We know that. How did it come to be?” “That is a fascinating question!” the Buddha said.

“Would you care to give your answer?” “But I did.” “That was not an answer,” Stephen objected. “It was just a stupid and obvious statement.” “Stephen, Christ almighty! ” Bohr exclaimed. “Yes?” Jesus raised his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way… Stephen, would you stop insulting people already?” Stephen rolled with his eyes. “Bohr-ing!” “Eureka!” Einstein exclaimed all of a sudden. Bohr jumped up and nearly kicked the old genius in the fire. “Don’t scare me like that!” “I have found it!” Einstein proclaimed, raising a finger up and eyeing the men by the fire. “Found what? Your sanit-” “Gravity! Relativity! The universe is static in time and possesses an uniform distribution of matter on the largest of scales, therefore making it a spherical spatial curvature! It all makes sense! All we need to do now is introduce a cosmic constant, which will serve to determine-” He froze in mid sentence. “No, wait. That’s stupid. I didn’t account for redshift and rate of expansion…” “Well, do you have it or not?” pressed Stephen. “Can I present my theory now?” “I don’t know,” said Einstein. “I just don’t know…” He shook his head and smiled. “The universe is a mystery!”

“Not really,” said Stephen. “Here’s the real version of how the world came to be. Listen closely.” “This is gonna be good,” Jesus whispered to Muhammad who chuckled. Mukutu showed his white teeth, indicating he was listening closely.

“Basically, it’s all matter and energy, randomly interacting with one another, interconnecting and forming into solid objects. At the beginning, as far as we know, there was the Big Bang, a cosmic explosion that sent all matter and energy out into the universe. Slowly, over time, millions and billions of years of it, the matter randomly formed into stars and planets, which arranged themselves into solar systems and galaxies. One of such galaxies is our Milky Way and one of such systems is our solar system. “4,6 billion years ago, our planet Earth was formed from the stellar dust and gas, randomly orbiting the Sun. The conditions were just right for the planet to be big enough to hold an atmosphere, but not too big to become a gas giant. Our distance from the sun is ideal for life to have evolved and the presence of water was also very fortunate, to support life.

“Slowly but surely, as life began, it evolved into more and more complex organisms, totally at random, of course. From small bacteria to the first fish, from fish to the first amphibians, then tetrapods and eventually mammals and human beings. There’s no wuwu or magic involved, just accretion, evolution, and random fluke luck. And here we are.” “But, that is exactly what I have said!” protested Muhammad. “Only, you forgot to mention God, of course.” “I didn’t mention god, because I only deal with solid evidence and facts,” said Stephen. The atmosphere suddenly became very tense and Bohr quickly jumped in before words would become fists. “Thank you for sharing, Stephen. Now, since Einstein stated that he just doesn’t know, I will take the last stand on the scientific frontier.” He stood up. “Like my colleague said, it is a great mystery, this universe. And like Buddha said, it is a fascinating question, how did the world come to be? I spent my whole life trying to find an answer. And here is what I have found. “Everything is a cloud of possibility. Matter and energy, they both exist as pure infinite potential, until a decision is made for them to take one specific and exact form in the universe. I have devised a model that explains this in great detail, called Quantum Mechanics. Our Earth, as well as the whole universe, came to be in the exact same way; it existed as pure potential, until a decision was made and it became what it is now.” “Who made that decision?” asked Jesus, hoping the answer would be ‘your father’. “I don’t know,” said Bohr. “The craziest thing is, that the lab experiments tend to show it is us , humans, or any measuring device, that are the observer. And everytime we look, we cause the universe to be in one way or the other, but not both ways at the same time! Our observations collapse the field of possibility into a certain outcome!” “Yes! Exactly!” exclaimed Buddha and smiled. “I see that science is catching up to this. Good job!” Muhammad shook his head. “I just don’t understand, why does man go to such lengths to try and think up some reason for there to be anything but god.” Jesus patted him on the back. “So basically,” said Stephen, “you’ve joined their camp, Bohr? Talking about some godly decisions and potentials?” “Not at all, dear colleague,” Bohr said. “If anything, I believe I stand somewhere in between the two.” “Balance important,” said Mukutu and nodded his head. “Superstitious ignorance,” blurted Stephen. “Why didn’t we just play monopoly tonight? These conversations never get us anywhere…” An awkward silence fell on the group of eight friends. The fire crackled softly, forever sending its playful shadows dancing on their faces. Then, after some long minutes, Bohr finally broke the silence. “What do you think, Sauron? You’ve been awfully quiet this whole evening.” “I find your lack of imagination insulting, but am amused by your guesswork.” The dark lord of Mordor sat on his black mace with arms resting on top of his bent knees, staring intently at the fire, while remaining some distance from it. “Uh, remember me who invited him again?” commented Stephen. “I could perhaps excuse the others, but Sauron ? He’s a fictional character! He isn't even real!” “No more real than any one of us,” said Buddha, staring at his palm with some deep knowing, and his usual smile. He looked at Stephen. “And yet, he sits there. Just like you do. Would you deny this fact ?” Stephen blushed, caught in his own words. “Stupid zen people, twisting your every word…” “Well, how about it, Mr. Dark lord?” asked Einstein. “Would you humor us with your explanation?” “Yeah,” said Jesus. “We all shared our own thoughts. Don’t worry, we won’t judge you.” He looked at the rest of them, especially Stephen. “ Right guys?” They all nodded, including Stephen, who got a stern look from Bohr. “Very well then,” said Sauron, his voice booming from behind the crude iron helmet. “You are all mistaken in your musing, fools of men. Listen to this. “I am Sauron, servant of Morgoth, who was a servant of Iluvatar, the One who created the Valar. The Valar sang the world into existence and they shaped its lands, seas, rivers and mountains. They took care after the seeds of life Iluvatar had placed upon the world and also sowed seeds of their own. This is the short version. So I know what you are thinking right now; Iluvatar is a god who created everything. But no. This is false as well.” Stephen frowned, no longer able to contain himself. “Wait, you knowingly believe something that is false? Even Jesus doesn’t do that-” “Hey!” “-how deluded are you?” Sauron didn’t speak. He just stared into the flames and as he did, they grew stronger. The men had to back up as it became too hot to bear. And then, shapes began to appear in the flames. Images, and a face of a man, smoking a pipe and smiling benevolently. “Behold, my true creator,” said Sauron in a reverent voice. Jesus put a palm over his eyes. “Who’s that?” “Hey that’s Tolkien!” said Einstein, pointing at the image in the flames. “Look Bohr, the man from our own time!” “We already knew that,” said Stephen. “You are a fictional character, created by an author. This proves nothing.” “Yes,” Muhammad, strangely agreeing with Stephen. “Why do you break this illusion? Why not just say this Iluvatar created the world and let that be your belief? What is the point?” Sauron looked up from the flames and the image vanished. He eyed every single one of the men. “The point is that you all need to go meta on your beliefs,” said Sauron. “You who believe in a god and you who believe in physics. What if you’re also like me? Fictional characters, written by society, parents, education or indoctrination, to believe certain things that are actually illusions?” Buddha smiled and gave a nod to Sauron. The rest of them looked at him with confusion.

After a long and very uncomfortable silence Sauron sighed, disappointed with his friends’ lack of participation. “Where is that damn monopoly anyway? I want to purchase some lands and build my Isengards and Barad-durs on them!”


I was meant to meet Marley at noon. We had the whole day planned. We were having our first beach day of the summer. Despite the harsh temperatures and the fact that it was mid-July, we hadn’t yet had the pleasure of embarking on a journey to the sandy shores where the ocean waves licked at your toes and seagulls begged for a morsel of your lunch. We’d both been hard at work this summer at our respective jobs. I worked at a local restaurant where the onslaught of insane customers and tireless shifts was made up for by the astronomical tips I made on these hot summer days. Marley worked two jobs. One was at an ice cream parlor, where she scooped mint chocolate chip and raspberry sorbet for giggling groups of teens and adults with hordes of children in tow. Her second job was at a boat docking place, essentially a gas station for boats. Marley had no shame in wearing her skimpiest shorts, if they could be classified as such, and bikini top to the delight of the rich, old men stopping for a fill-up. Often times she made more tips than I did on a double shift at the restaurant.

But today was different. We had this day planned out for weeks now. We’d been saving up our time, making certain we requested this day off long in advance. It was gorgeous out. The local news boasted a blissful 75 degrees. I’d already had three people text me, begging me to take their shift, with half-hearted promises of “I owe you.” However, as I said before, today was different. Today was mine and Marley’s day.

The phone was ringing but no one was picking up. “Ugh, where are you?” I asked out loud, though I was the least bit surprised she was running late. She always did this. Just as I was feeling truly dejected, I saw Marley pulling up in her bright red jeep. I smiled to myself, giddy for the first time in a while. “It’s about time!” I exclaimed as she pulled up. Slowly though, my expression shifted from one of elation to that of pure annoyance. “Heyyyyy Suzie-Q!!! What’s up?” “Oh, hey Blake,” I forced a smile that was better classified as a grimace. “Marley, do you think I could talk to you for a second?” A brief glance at Blake sent him to occupy his time where he devoted studious attention to the grass blades growing through the concrete sidewalk. “Hey Suziekins, sooo I know this was supposed to be just the two of us, but Blake texted me out of the blue and he had the day off and-“ “OF COURSE HE HAD THE DAY OFF, HE DOESN’T HAVE A JOB!!!” I exploded in a huffed rage. “We planned this out for WEEKS, Marley. I was looking forward to spending some quality time with you!” “Well, you still can! It’ll just be the three of us, you’ll hardly notice Blake is there!” She smiled, giving me a doe-eyed expression. “I guess it’s better than nothing. I’m not wasting this day off, after all.”

I always succumbed to her wishes despite my own desires. she’s my best friend after all. “Alright, Blake!” called out Marley, “Get back in the car.” I took a step in front of the passenger side door, certain about one thing. “Back seat, Blake.” “Oooh Suzie-Q, I like it when you’re feisty,” Blake made a clawing motioning in the air as he hopped into the back of the jeep. “LET’S GOOO!!! Beach day!!” We all cheered in unison as Marley sped off down the highway. It’s often the things in life that we don’t expect, those little surprises, that make for the most interesting stories. I recall a time from years ago when I was just a child, playing in my backyard. I spied a monstrous-sized rabbit lumbering through the bushes and decided to follow it into the woods, thinking it might lead me to Wonderland. Instead, the furry beast led me to a little hovel where seven newborn bunnies snuggled together. Each was a little bit of wonder, though not the kind I had anticipated. A few seconds later, another little girl came running through the woods opposite me. She has on a sunshine yellow sundress with matching ribbons in her hair.

“Hi,” said the little girl, “I’m Marley.” “Hi,” I said tentatively, “I’m Suzie.” When we finally made it to the beach, it was mobbed. This was to be expected considering the perfect weather, on a Saturday, no less.

“Man, it’s crowded,” exclaimed Blake. “Don’t worry,” Marley smirked, “I’ve got this under control.” As I unloaded our things from the back of the jeep, I watched as Marley stripped down to a seductive red bikini. Her hours at the boat dock had paid off because her sun-kissed complexion only caused my pasty white skin to grow ever brighter in comparison. She left me and Blake behind, as she walked to the nearest lifeguard stand in what could only be described as a sensual walk. Didn’t she realize children were present?

The lifeguard hopped down from his post, shirtless and glistening. I couldn’t help but think of all the potential drownings or other accidents that may occur whilst his gaze was diverted. However, my attention was quickly overtaken by a rather lanky looking boy, running to catch a frisbee. Instead of successfully catching it, he face-planted into the sand, causing a burst of rapturous laughter from his nearby group of friends. “Alright guys, I got us a spot!” Marley exclaimed. She ushered us over to the lifeguard who was clearing a family of four from the beach, insisting that too much sun wasn’t good for the children. “I don’t feel right about this,” I said to Marley. “Which part? Me using my body for our benefit or helping that mother who obviously wanted to go home hours ago.” Marley quipped back. I let out of sigh of defeat and laid out my towel on the soft sand, eager to catch up on my summer tan that had yet to begin. “See you girls in the water!”

And with a flash, Blake was gone. Marley turned to me, a slight look of triumph in her expression. “See?” she said, “I told you he wouldn’t be a problem.” “I guess so. But why did you have to invite him in the first place?” “I felt bad for him. He’s got no friends but us.” Marley sighed. “I wouldn’t say he’s my friend….” “Okay, Suziekins. Whatever you say.” I laid out on my towel in that hot summer sun, warming me from head to toe. The sound of laughing children and crashing waves cradled me into a soft slumber and my mind drifted to the goofy boy I saw playing frisbee when we’d first arrived. Just as my mind melded into a place of blissful existence, I felt something tiny and wet hit my back, and again. Oh no, I thought, was this perfect day ruined because of the rain, or was Blake simply standing over me, soaking wet from his trip in the water. And then I felt more drops that didn’t feel like water. It felt light and almost…cold. Maybe it was sand, being kicked up by running passerby. “Hey...Suzie.” I heard Marley but chose to ignore her, as I simply wanted to keep daydreaming about Frisbee boy. “OH MY GOSH GUYS!!!!!” Blake screamed at a volume that jolted me out of my sleepy state. “IT’S FREAKING SNOWING!!!!” I slowly turned over and watched in awe as tiny white bits fell lazily down and began to fall all across the sand. “What in the world…” I trailed off as there were really no words to describe what exactly was going on. How was it snowing in the middle of July? “Well, it’s kind of beautiful, isn’t it?” Marley smiled softly and stared out into the distance. All across the beach, the activity stopped. People just looked in wonderment as snowflakes danced through the air, landing on towels and beach balls, ocean soaked hair, and sun-kissed noses. And then, as if some mysterious presence had pressed play, people began to stir. Children danced around barefoot hopping in the sand, attempting to catch the snowflakes on their tongues. This included Blake, who ran around with his mouth agape as if he hadn’t had a bite to eat in days. I rolled my eyes but Marley giggled and hopped up to join him. Despite the intense heat from before, the snow began to accumulate the tiniest bit and I watched as Frisbee boy and his friends crafted golfball-sized snowballs. I lay back down, watching the snow drifting lazily towards me, certain that if I were to lay their long enough, no one could define me from the snow and the snow from me. Each time a snowflake hit me, my forehead, my arm, my toe, my nose, my whole body tingled as if to say, “Get indoors,” or “Put on a coat.” But it was not cold. The heat from the day still radiated from the ground. I looked to the sky and imagined I was in a snow globe. One moment, it was a perfectly peaceful day and the next my world exploded in a dusting of chilly, white fluff. I opened my mouth, eager to taste the chilly treat. As much as the sun brought comfort and warmth, the snow brought life and alertness. I was aware of the beauty of this moment, with no expectations of work, or family, or life. I could live in this unexplained moment, this unnatural phenomenon where I was neither the cause nor could I stop the occurrence. I simply had the joy of living and existing in this very weird moment in time. My mouth widened into a smile and I became giddy with joy. I jumped up, suddenly eager to join Marley and Blake in their pursuit of the snowflakes. My mind was set and I- “Oooof,” I raised my hand to my head, suddenly a little dizzy, barely registering a blue frisbee out of my peripheral vision. “Oh my goodness! I am so sorry!!!! My stupid friends threw it. Well, I’m the real idiot who couldn’t catch it.” I looked up to find Frisbee boy, smiling apologetically and offering to buy me an ice cream in exchange for not pressing charges for the damage done by his misguided frisbee. “Oh, it’s really okay!” I exclaimed, still giddy from the snow and frazzled from the sudden blunt impact. “Yeah, I guess snow and ice cream don’t really mix, huh?” He gave me that big goofy grin I first noticed when we arrived at the beach. “Stranger things have happened, I suppose.” I was smiling ear to ear and my heart thumped with vigor as if the rabbit from my childhood had made a guest appearance inside my chest. “I’m Samuel, by the way,” He stuck out his hand. I grabbed it, giving him a firm shake, “I’m Suzie.” It’s funny how life brings us just where we need to be. A day I thought I had certain control over; with my friend, the weather, and the perfect beach bliss, turned into something entirely new. It turned into something great. We must have the greatest expectations in life, but when life throws a curveball, or a snowball, in this case, we can only have even greater expectations for the journey and the wonderful moments these unexpected occurrences hold.


DELAWARE UNDER COVER Delaware became a high schooler to the nth degree long before she had a clue what that meant. Her math and physics teacher had a knowledgeable hunch that this girl was going places far beyond the average person in the room. He made sure to remind her at every opportunity to keep up and not give up. In her shyness, she could only smile, and nod to thank him for his confidence in her abilities. She never, ever, made herself the center of any conversation or the one to be singled out in class with having the right answer, which she always had without fail. Some days were so obvious especially in her physics class. The instructor would present a complicated question about something so simple in her mind. But she kept quiet to let others attempt the outcome. After class, her instructor would, on occasion, motion for her to stay. He grinned and asked, “You knew all along how this was going to end. Right?” Delaware shrugged and smiled her answer. Her family always knew and told her that she was gifted, but those ‘presents’ were ones she kept wrapped up and only for her to open on occasion. Math and science, physics and engineering, were the cast of characters in her quiet world. She called on them at all times and they pulled through with an insurmountable level of learned knowledge and a sure fire way to offer a solution to a problem. Sometimes, it was an unavoidable predicament, when she was asked in class to respond and she presented her answer with as few words as possible. She kept a quiet demeanor with an unassumingly soft manner at all times towards the others in the classroom.  A note to the teacher after class seemed the best way for her to not be rude. Then there were the others in the room who brashly took center stage with bravado, because they could, and with that claim to fame, ran with it. If she was like them in the real world, that she so dreamed of one day, then she would step up and challenge them to a ‘battle of the brains’. But, for now, she stayed stuck in her chair while certain ones flashed their popularity badges, as a reminder to one and all, who the most important person was in the room. If Delaware stood up to the minions, what a day that would be! There were only a few friends who really knew the real Delaware. She was happy with those girls because they were the same. No show offs or big pretenders, just real people. Sometimes at lunchtime they would try to get her to speak up over the chatter in the room to let everyone hear her speech of the day. “Please, please, please!” they prompted her but it was so out of character that she told them that was not her, and she couldn’t stoop to that level. Delaware did promise her friends, that maybe someday soon, she would have the guts to be loud and proud.  That would really be something. Something that she could leave behind before the year ended and to change the way others looked to her, at her, and spoke about her in the background with the others.

Today was the last day of the school week and Delaware was counting down the minutes for the sound of the bell to signify the end of the day, the week and the month, in that order. She couldn’t wait to get to her job and the new offer they asked her to take the lead in. Her real joy and happy place was as a volunteer in a position that she happened upon a year ago. Her family took her for a surprise birthday visit and outing. It was a mystery ride that took them just outside the city. As soon as they arrived, Delaware was smitten with the place. The sign said it all; Noah’s Ark Animal Sanctuary. She was so happy and in awe, and couldn’t have been more excited to visit. She stuttered for a moment in pure joy and tried to think of the best way to thank her parents. They could see her personality change and hoped that this would be a day to remember. How did they know? Delaware wanted to ask . This was a treasure beyond anything she had ever received. Animals were her passion; drawing their pictures, and reading so many stories and books with animals as the main characters. The world was opening up to her happy place. They exited the car, and before proceeding to the gate, Delaware threw her arms around her Mom and Dad. She sniffled a bit and whispered a quiet thank you. They looked to one another, then to their daughter, smiled, and knew this was it. This would make a difference in her life. Back to the moment and the school bell rang. The door opened and a crowd of students, quite thankful the day was over, stampeded out. The mini-van, and her ride to the Ark, was always parked away from the entrance. No one seemed aware, even with the logo on the side, of her stepping inside the vehicle or if they did, it was of no big deal because no one asked, since most were too busy on their phones. Talking their ears off about where she spent her off time would be her new claim to fame, when and if that day ever came. The driver, who always chatted with her and made her feel special, dropped her off at the front gate and she skipped into the main building, so happy to be here! She waved to security and they gave her a thumbs up to proceed and she happily went to change into her work outfit. A quick look in the mirror and off she went to find her mentor, Jody, and the job assignment of the day. “Someone seems very happy today!” Delaware couldn’t contain her bright mood and answered with glee, “YES, I am!” Jody asked her to have a seat while she went over the latest and newest and currently the most asked about event. “Delaware,” she began, “I have something to offer and I know you’re a good fit. What would you say about working with Picasso, our Bengal Tiger?” The information Jody presented was beyond an exciting moment for Delaware. She knew she needed to be quiet for a moment and nodded in understanding her role. Did Jody know of her passion with animals as she drew them in her daily journal and the tons of books she’s read with illustrations of every animal on the planet? “Before we proceed, please go on your walk about to see which animals need food and water. If you notice anything else, please make a note of it.” As she busied herself with filling their needs, Delaware could not keep quiet. The animals were her best friends who showed no judgment to her at all. Well, only if she had treats for them and took too long to toss them. Each alpaca, sheep, goat, miniature pony and potbellied pig had a name. She made sure she addressed each one, because by now she had a loyal following and most of them knew their names and would come when called. Well, except for the potbellied pig. His name was Sir Galahad and it seemed he would not come to the call of a lowly peasant, even one with a treat.  He only snorted, digging a new hole in the dirt and tossed the used tire a few times, reminding everyone of his regal upbringing. The conversations she had with them were priceless. She could only imagine what they thought of humans when they visited and wandered around the sanctuary. Alpacas: “Hey, man, got any weed? Been needing some more to make my day!” Sheep: “I only want to pull the wool over your eyes! Heh, heh.” Goats: “Ask me no questions, or I’ll butt you to the sky!” Miniature Ponies: “Don’t even ask me if I provide an UBER service. Sheesh!” Potbellied Pig: “To be or not to be, that is my question as thou am more noble than you!” She finished her chores and went to visit with Picasso. They had a very intense conversation, growled, and together came up with a plan. She would set up an area, visible from a distance for visitors as it would be a work area for the artist. Flinging paint was his game. And so it began. Picasso drew visitors and tourists from far and wide who took were in awe seeing the amazing art pieces created by a tiger! It was only one way that the sanctuary used creative means to garner donations. As the summer months brought more and more people, news media and TV people wanted to contribute their advertising ways to aid the cause and bring more awareness of the need for donation help. Jody asked Delaware to be prepared for this to happen. And that’s when she panicked. Her old self was now in competition with her new self. Before this was to happen, the two worked together to offset a potential setback. Jody totally got this young person’s vibe and they came up with a clever way to get around this moment. The news vehicles arrived and set up their cameras and lights. The animals were on edge with the attention of this caliber of noise. But it took a calm Delaware calling out each of their names to start this new adventure, with her mentor following behind, only to provide moral support if necessary. As cameras followed along, walking the various areas of Noah’s Ark Animal Sanctuary, the news person would ask questions and the answers would be as if answered straight from the animal’s mouths. It was hysterically funny, yet serious in the answers to those questions. The pressure was off and the final question to end the moment was asked straight to Delaware and not an animal. “What makes you want to help these animals when you could be doing something else?” All lights were on her and a moment of silence hung in the air. She could have gone on and on about her life and the ones who made her feel insignificant or pushed her aside over and over to reach a higher branch, but instead, she smiled and said, “Because animals make us human.”