           As trash collection truck driver Tommy Robinson sat down for his second cup of coffee in the break room of Atlas Disposal Services he tried to again rid himself of the stench of packing other people’s discards into his truck.

           “Thought I had gotten used to this rotten job,” he said, “but this week tops them all. Today, while tooling my way through the overprivileged Watchung Mountain suburbs, I stumbled over a doubled-packed trash bag–knocking it across the roadside on Commonwealth Turn.      “For the third time this week what spilled out stopped me in my tracks.       “Of course, in 30 years of this so-called profession, both in hotsy-totsy suburbia and in the crappiest areas of the Garden State’s urban ghettos, discovering plastic hypodermic needles used to help heroin addicts to get their latest high should come as no surprise.       “The size of this week’s discoveries knocked me off my feet–I found hundreds of narcotics injection tools on the property of estates in one of New Jersey’s, and the nation’s, most high end suburbs.        “Couldn’t let this just pass as a normal run, so I looked up my customer registrations as soon as I got back to the garage. The mansions from which I made these collections during the last few weeks belong to some of the top surgeons in the county’s top-of-the-line medical center. These guys, even if they were stupid enough or had fallen so far, should have known better than to so carelessly dispose of the evidence.       “I’ve heard that kids from down the hill have begun using the driveways of these showplace homes as shooting galleries because they believe the bigshot MDs who live in the palaces at the top of these long driveways either can’t see all the way to the bottom of the hills or don’t care to bother with the riff raff, just as long as we come along twice a week to clear away the evidence, but you would think the local cops would have busted the addicts and pushers by now and brought the bigshots the negative publicity they avoid like the plague.”       Turns out the mansion owners knew more than Tommy imagined–they, in fact, supplied the “product” needed to continue the local drug trade–from the hospital’s own dispensary.        “Even with the six-figure salaries, these physicians couldn’t afford to maintain these elaborate homesteads on the hills, buy uber-luxury cars every year and hold their wild parties every week. These extras required substantial extra income. That’s why the doctors signed on as suppliers to the local addiction-production industry.         “I have a few friends in law enforcement that are so scared about payback for opening their mouths. They told me the heroin pipeline operators have carefully mapped out their strategy, up to now, including payoffs to law enforcement to keep their operation secret, and undisturbed.”           After watching the drug pipeline feed the destruction of too many lives in his town, his neighborhood and even in his own family, the sanitation man decided to cut off one of the tentacles of the octopus.          Tommy pledged to work for the rest of his life to save the lives of kids like the ones who had wasted away in the ghetto and now laid dead along the roadways on the fringes of one of America’s most wealthy areas.

         Additionally, the drug plague had claimed the life of his 17-year-old brother, Jimmy, only five years before.          Jimmy had fallen prey to the glitz and glamour of the fast life promised by the merchants of death, who had persuaded him to inject their poison into his veins. Finally, he could not escape the iron grip of the deadly narcotic.          Thinking back to the suffering of his brother, Tommy told his co-workers, “Kids from areas like my old hood should no longer have their lives wasted away so that some uber-rich suburbanites can destroy these children to allow the pushers and their supporters to reside in palaces at the top of the hill and clmb to the top rung of the social ladder.”

          Six months later, with his retirement from the sanitation industry,Tommy used a good chunk of his lifelong savings to help permanently shut down the drug pipeline. Careful investment had resulted in a nestegg amounting to about $1 million.           He used his savings to establish the Recycling Human Potential Foundation.

The organization worked with the top educational and medical minds in the country to offer to pay for complete rehabilitation services and full tuition at a community college for any youth who signed an agreement to bring one other addict into the program once they graduated,             The former trash collector also enlisted the help of the Drug Enforcement Administration in breaking up the corruption-laden hospital-law enforcement chain.

         The DEA gave the destruction of the drug supermarket its top priority, setting up a huge interagency task force to cut off the tentacles of the far-reaching operation.          Hundreds of federal agents from across the country joined forces with Tommy, his fellow foundation leaders and right-thinking hospital administrators and local law enforcement to cut off the corruption and stop the flow of narcotics down from the hills into the nearby city’s ghettos.            They busted narcotics operations at every level, arresting pushers operating in palatial estates, darkened alleys behind police stations and hospital dispensaries. Even their expensive luxury automobiles and other millionaires’ toys financed by the operation did not escape the long arm of the law.            Those involved in pedaling the poison didn’t go down without a fight,

and Tommy suffered a number of severe injuries and close brushes with death at the hands of the gangsters’ enforcers.

      Yet, he and his foundation didn’t give up. They rescued over 200 youngsters over 10 years and resolved to continue the fight until they saw the drug lords locked behind the bars of the state prison or a federal penitentiary .             The drug cartels recruited an army of attorneys in an effort to tie up the work of the foundation and its law enforcement partners in the courts.

            Breaking through the legal spiderwebs created by the pushers and their supporters,Tommy and his partners refused to surrender. After many months tied up in litigation, they saw far more success than any previous effort to rid the area of the narcotics plague that had controlled it for decades.              The former trash collector felt Jimmy smiling down on him as he led his foundation in recycling many previously hopeless victims of the heroin trade into productive human beings and disposed of the trash that had destroyed his brother and so many others.


We don’t know what’s the matter with me, but we know why I’m in bed and not at work. I lie here staring up at the white gotelé ceiling, but I can’t be sure it’s white; I can’t be sure of anything, really. Maybe the ceiling is like the green curtains that still glow purple no matter how hard I look; I could glare a hole through these dreadful, frenetic curtains, and they would never be green. I glance up at the lifeless clock on the wall, the limp hands forever indicating six o’clock. I don’t know why I still look, why I anticipate change. How long was I asleep? Beyond the swirling purple of the curtains is a rose sky, and clouds already trimmed with orange; so much for a nap. This would interfere with my sleep again, and a sleepless mind wanders, a sleepless mind invents, a sleepless mind sees what isn’t there. The purple curtains, for instance. John said he’d filled the room with calm colours since my episode —that’s at least what he called it—but all I see are nauseatingly bright ones. There’s a portrait, for example, in a banana yellow frame, and the woman’s electric blue eyes sicken me. I removed her from the wall last week and shoved her in the wardrobe, but John wasn’t pleased. We can’t always change our environment, he said, but we can change our reaction to it. I try to will myself back to health; I try to see green curtains where I see purple ones. It’s very scary up here in my head where I can’t trust anything. I don’t recall there ever being anything wrong, really, but I suppose one hits a breaking point. I’m reading a book called Self-Discovery which argues that one cannot exist in a vacuum; one’s existence is confirmed by collective perception, and we must know ourselves not only in isolation but also in company. It then goes on to discuss meaningful encounters , and there’s one particularly enlightening part. I pluck it from the bedside table and flick through it—don’t you love that sound? the rustling pages? —and here we are: “…transformation is indicative of an encounter which is still taking effect.” My relationship with John is one such encounter. He continues to challenge me, and I know that I’m growing as a result. He’s uncovered so many parts of me I didn’t know were there, he’s shone a light on all my misconceptions, and he points out when I’m being irrational; all this, and he’s supported me through my episode —I still shy away from the word—both emotionally and financially. It’s this latter which humiliates me, for I’ve always been independent. Independence, however, is toxic when it prevents us from seeking or accepting help. John says it’s OK to focus on my mental health before returning to work, but there’s a nagging urge within that resists this dependence on him. I don’t like when he raises his voice, though, so I’d rather not mention it. Sometimes I think he’s the problem, that he’s trying to trick me, but that’s why I’m here, in bed, staring at the white gotelé ceiling and stroking a book cover. It’s fun to play with the senses, with perception, but I think I go too far sometimes; I sense what isn’t there and create a world which doesn’t exist. That’s what he calls an episode , a paranoiac episode, not that he’s a doctor. But he’s right in that I’m the problem, and I have enough self-awareness to acknowledge it and take accountability. I ruin everything with my insecurity and lack of trust; I interpret everything, even help, as manipulation. It’s no wonder John is struggling, and I’m ashamed to put him through this. Can you imagine offering someone genuine love only to have them study it like a specimen under a microscope? I don’t know where my suspicion stems from, but surely it’s a defence mechanism; perhaps I think myself unworthy of love and thus doubt it. I can’t be sure, but it’s not John’s responsibility to navigate my trauma. He loves me, and I’ll keep reminding myself until it sets in. The real world is not divided into mortals and monsters, and it’s unfair to project my insecurities onto him. I decisively repress the paranoia because I owe it to him, I owe it to myself, and we deserve to be happy. It might also help with the stress, and maybe this rash will finally clear up, maybe I’ll stop hyperventilating, maybe the migraines will subside. It’s insane how the mind plays tricks on us, and how said tricks manifest physiologically. I try to will myself back to health; I try to see green where I see purple. Those piercing blue eyes on the wall follow me to my desk; I can feel them like darts in my back. I resist the urge to hide her in the wardrobe again. I don’t know why John makes such a big fuss about it—it’d be just a small concession—but he’s a little stubborn sometimes. You’re the one making a big fuss about it, he says. Maybe I’m insane—well, I mean, yeah, I’m the one at home—but if you find a portrait unsettling, where’s the harm in removing it? And now we’ve assigned it so much disproportionate significance that it’s taken on a life of its own. Every morning I wake up to those electric blue eyes on the wall, and it’s ridiculous how much I hate it, how much I hate this stupid blue-eyed woman watching me. But I think, maybe, it’s because of what she represents. But John’s adamant about a lot, about me getting better, about changing our response to the environment when we can’t change the environment ourselves. We can, though, and if not, we can remove ourselves from said environment. That’s at least how I see it. We magnify everything, don’t we? All this over a bloody portrait that holds no sentimental value to either of us. But it’s the principle, he says. God, I always fall down this rabbit hole. It’s not that I’m ungrateful, it’s just that… I don’t know, but see, I can’t even trust myself to think the right things. John’s been encouraging me to write again, but how am I to write when I can’t trust my own perception? Still, I flip open my laptop with the little hope I can muster. The limp hands on the wall still indicate six o’clock, but beyond the purple curtains is a sky dusted with paprika. *** The moon hovers above red toffee clouds, and the sky melts from red to purple. I’ve always loved describing things. Well, I used to, until I learned my descriptions didn’t quite make sense. I hear John pull into the driveway, the brakes, the pop of the car door. I scamper down the hallway and swing open the screen door. He looks up at me from the lawn as he closes the mailbox—a rusty creak —a few letters tucked beneath his arm. He’s tired, and I swallow my excitement like a gobstopper. I glance down at my bare feet on the dusty veranda and hop onto the doormat. Welcome Home. “Long day?” I ask, as he climbs the porch stairs, wood creaking beneath his weight. “Long day,” he says, leaning in for a brief kiss. I step aside, back into the hall and into the coatrack which wobbles an instant. It’s hard to always contain my enthusiasm, but I know it’s overwhelming. John dodges me, and I follow him into the kitchen where he tosses the keys and mail into the cane basket atop the microwave. He turns around to embrace me, heaves a long sigh, and rests his head on mine. I waited all day for this, for his warm embrace, for the familiar scent of sweat and cologne, for the scratch of his beard against my forehead as he plants a kiss there. I could collapse here, now, in an odd desperation; and I sigh, I melt, I tremble in his big, tender arms. This is my safe space, this is home, and I could cry from this strange sense of relief. We withdraw, and he nuzzles my cheek, my nose. Oh, that familiar scratch, that familiar cologne. “I wrote today!” I say. Surprise flutters across his brow. “I’m proud of you,” he says, then opens the fridge. “Did you buy more pesto?” No, I didn’t, but I remain silent. “That’s OK,” he says. “I guess I’ll just have mi goreng again.” I watch him enter the living room and kick off his steel caps. He drops onto the couch, snatches up the remote, and with a click he’s awash with light. Voices trickle into the kitchen where I turn on the kettle and fish noodles from the pantry. He said he’d buy the pesto, didn’t he? I know, I know; it’s not worth worrying about. This is what I mean when I say I perceive what isn’t there; I saw something in his surprise, a micro expression that betrayed anything but pride; and I heard a complaint in his reassurance, impatience in his fatigue. No, we don’t know what’s the matter with me. I drain the noodles, rip open the sauce sachets and squeeze them into the bowl. “You coming?” calls John, an arm slung over the back of the couch, and I watch him for a moment; I watch the white light from the television flash across his wide eyes and raised brow. I try to see a smile where I see a smirk; I try to see green where I see purple.


KEYNOTE CATASTROPHE J.D. McDonald Shortly after I published my book on raising quail, I was invited to be the keynote speaker at a Bird Club. The event took place in a town located four hours' drive from my home. Since we were unfamiliar with the city, Karen, the club's representative, suggested we meet early at a local restaurant near the main highway. She invited us to grab dinner there and then follow her to the event. Karen said that the club would cover the cost of dinner for my husband and me before the meeting. Because Karen was in the process of moving to a new home, she told us to scan the parking lot when we arrived and look for a white pickup truck loaded with various household items. She also mentioned that if we ran late, she might go into the restaurant and secure a table for us. In that case, we should look for a "Mutt and Jeff" pair, explaining that she is very short and would be with another club member, Jane, who is exceptionally tall and walks with a cane. Finding them sounded simple. Since it was a long trip and we weren't sure of the exact location of the restaurant, we left earlier than necessary. As it turned out, we needn't have worried; the restaurant was easy to find. We arrived at 5 p.m., leaving us thirty minutes before our 5:30 p.m. meeting. At 5:15 p.m., we noticed a tall, solitary woman using a cane making her way toward the restaurant door. It seemed like she was looking for someone, so we quickly got out of the car and hurried toward her. Excited and a bit anxious, we asked, "Are you Jane?" She matter-of-factly told us she wasn't Jane. Apparently, our sudden, unexpected approach panicked her a bit because she lifted her cane slightly off the ground in a defensive manner. We apologized and returned to our vehicle. We sat there, craning our necks in all directions, searching for our hostess, until finally, at six o'clock, a white pickup truck struggling under the weight of what seemed to be an entire household of boxes and furniture raced wildly into the parking lot. A short woman burst from the driver's side and ran toward the restaurant. Catching up to her, we confirmed it was Karen The other club member, Jane, the tall lady with the cane, was a no-show. We enjoyed a nice dinner, although it was rushed due to our late start. After dessert and coffee, Karen handed the waiter a credit card to pay the bill. Unfortunately, the waiter informed her that the restaurant didn't accept that card. Since it was Karen's only card and we wanted to avoid washing dishes to pay for our meal, we used our credit card instead. Karen was upset but mentioned that the club would send us a reimbursement check in a few days. As we stepped outside, Karen told us to follow her to the community center where the bird club was meeting for my speech. Despite the debit card glitch and the late start, we remained optimistic. However, that feeling waned when Karen drove out of the parking lot at mach-one speed, leaving us struggling to follow her through the dark streets of an unfamiliar city. Karen, an experienced rush hour driver, expertly navigated through traffic, weaving in and out of lanes and driving like the Tasmanian Devil. Her taillights blended in with the others, so we could only follow by catching occasional glimpses of her massive load of belongings. Unfortunately, we lost sight of her when a large truck cut us off, and we were lost.

After twisting through a maze of random turns and doubling back several times, we found the community center by sheer luck. We rushed through the door in a frenzy at 7:15, just fifteen minutes before my talk was scheduled to begin. Surprisingly, Karen appeared unfazed by losing us in traffic. She was sipping coffee and calmly chatting with club members. On the other hand, my husband and I felt like we had just taken part in a high-speed car chase. Karen smiled warmly when she saw us arrive and introduced us to the club president and secretary. They informed us that the D.V.D. Player I would be using for my presentation was not working. However, they assured me they had called for a backup unit, which would arrive in time for my talk. Karen then took the D.V.D. I brought and placed it on the old player. It contained a slide show of the quail I would be discussing.

 By 8:00 p.m., the backup unit had yet to arrive, and people were restless. Maybe it was my nerves, but I sensed a massive walk-out was about to happen. Even though I was discussing quail, the theme for that night's meeting was "Bring your Parrot." Every member had their parrot with them, so there was an overwhelming crescendo of parrot caws and screeches followed by flapping wings and loose flying feathers. Occasionally, a rebellious parrot would leave its owner's shoulder and fly crazily about the room. The commotion caused by the flying birds and the overwhelming din of the club members as they chatted with each other and with their birds was unsettling. The player had not arrived by 8:15, so the club president decided to start the scheduled raffle. This caught the club members attention for a while, but I grew increasingly apprehensive and nervous with each passing minute. The new equipment finally arrived at 8:30 p.m. It was delivered by the club president's son, who seemed to be in his early twenties. He quickly dropped it off and left without setting it up. The arrival of the equipment briefly relieved some of my stress. I wanted to give my talk and go home. I'd had enough chaos for one evening. But there was yet another delay. As the minutes ticked by, it became increasingly clear that no one was familiar with the new equipment. I watched as several people attempted to connect various cables, none of which fit. At this point, I had a pounding headache and a dry mouth; the precursor to a migraine. Amidst this chaos, the president took the stage, praising my expertise with quail. It was clear he was stalling. Then, a voice from the crowd announced that the projector was finally ready. The president thrust the microphone into my hand, and I was on stage. Weak applause went up from the weary and restless group, and I thanked them for asking me to participate in their club meeting. For my introduction, a photo from my D.V.D. showing a basket of baby quail was supposed to appear on the large screen behind me; it didn't. Instead, a loud scream from the speakers filled the room, and scenes of a gruesome horror movie appeared. It was more than I could handle. All the blood rushed to my head, and I had to grasp the podium to keep my legs from buckling. I croaked, "That's not

my D.V.D.! It's not mine!" Could anything else go wrong? Of course, it could. The man operating the machine couldn't figure out how to shut it off until it was too late—much, much too late. The club members saw about two minutes of the grotesque show , that to me felt a lifetime. The young man who delivered the projector must have been watching that movie when asked to deliver the equipment to the club. Either he forgot to remove it, or it was his way of getting back at them for making him give up his evening's entertainment. I suspect the latter; that would explain his leaving in a hurry and not setting it up. Before the clamoring stopped, someone crept on stage and whispered, "I know we scheduled you for an hour, but can you cut it to thirty minutes or less?" I wanted to make it a lot less. I wanted to leave right then, but I tried to be stoic. As if all that had gone wrong that evening wasn't enough, the stress and my allergy to parrot dander triggered a minor asthma attack, and I could barely breathe, let alone talk. My voice vibrated so badly that it sounded like I was trying to speak while roller skating over a washboard sidewalk. Someone handed me a tiny paper cup of water, which, with my shaking hand, I managed to spill over my notes, rendering them useless. Looking back, I'm still unsure what I said during the talk; it felt like I was babbling and rambling. I stumbled through it without the aid of the slide show presentation and rushed off the stage in less than fifteen minutes. A few days later, I received an email from the club apologizing for the chaos and inviting me to speak again in two months. Unfortunately, I am busy that night, whatever night it might be. My days of public speaking are over for good.


As we sit in a movie theater eating the snacks that we brought. My mind fills with words I can't fix my lips to say. It's Saturday night & I am on a date with a boy from school. He isn't just any boy. His name is Ethan Pollock. I've had a crush on Ethan since the 6th grade; we are now sophomores. During science class, he asked if I would like to go to the movies on Saturday. Without a doubt, I excitedly said yes! Now here we are. In a movie theater watching the movie "13 going on 30" I stare at him as he sips on his coca-cola drink. then his eyes latched onto mine & for a few minutes, we stare into each other souls. when the movie ended he & I sat in his car in the movie theater parking lot. "Did you have a good time?" He asks me as his blue crystal eyes shine when he looked at me. "Yea it was a great movie." That's not really what I wanted to say to him. I wanted to tell him how much I liked him since I was 12! & how I wish for this date NOT to end! "Good, glad you enjoyed yourself" Ethan turns the key that is in the ignition. then begin to drive out of the parking lot. "Where are we going?" I asked. "It's late I was going to take you home." In my head I say. No, I don't want to go home. I wanted him to take me to the nearest lake so we could make out & watch the full moon. But, instead, I said "Ok" Ethan parked his car in front of my house. while I sit in the passenger seat with a head full of words that I wanted to say, but just didn't have the guts to SAY them. "This was nice, Laura I hope to do this again someday" "Yea" Ethan reaches for my hand, nervously I allow his hands to touch mine. "Do you feel the same way?" He asks me as he gently touches my hand. "Um, I think this was a good date." here I go again saying shit that I don't want to say. I mean really? What is it with me?! My body language came off weird to the point Ethan became uncomfortable. "I think I should go now. I'm feeling exhausted." I say while removing my hand from his. "Ok yeah I guess I'll see you in school on Monday" That was a lie after the date, Ethan, & I had. I never heard from him again. It's been 2 weeks since our date & I haven't received a phone call from him. I mean I saw him in the hallways in school, & science class but he never acknowledged me. I mean I could understand, during our movie date he was throwing himself at me & I didn't even try to throw myself back. Now, do you guys see where I'm coming from? This story isn't just about Ethan. It's mostly about me not being able to speak my mind properly. Ethan is just ONE of the characters in my narrative. During the lunch period, my best friend Oriana & I talk about trying out for the cheerleading squad. "Do you think that we are good enough to be a cheerleader?" Oriana asks as she sips her apple juice. "Of course we are!" As Oriana speaks, Ethan walks past our table without giving me any eye contact. "Did you hear about who's Ethan dating?" Oriana ask me. "No" although I did hear a rumor that he was dating Leslie Palmer the cheer captain. But instead, I pretended like I didn't know. I thought that would make Oriana stop talking about Ethan. Instead, she kept the conversation going. "He's dating Leslie Palmer. Isn't that weird?" "Not at all" You can tell by my tone of voice that I was crushed by it. But the expression on my face said otherwise. "It isn't? You two were just on a movie date like 2 weeks ago." "Well, I've moved on as he did. It's no biggie." I then stuff a French fry with ketchup into my mouth. I didn't tell my friend that the reason why Ethan stopped talking to me was ALL my fault! I just couldn't fix my lips to say how I truly felt about him. I mean maybe it's for the better. Saturday afternoon, Oriana & I decided to go to the mall. when we arrived at the mall, the first place that we entered was a makeup store. A store that we could try all different types of lipsticks & foundation. Oriana picks a bright red lipstick that she begins to try on while looking at herself in the mirror. I on the other head try on eye shadow. Oriana turns to me with bright red lips & tend to ask me what I thought about it. My first impression of the lipstick was something, Ronald McDonald would wear With a crooked smile, I thought how embarrassing the lipstick looked to be. My friend smiling waiting for me to give her my true opinion of it. I simply say "it looks good." Oriana hugs me as her bright lipstick hurts my eyes. As we walk around the mall guys & girls stare at Oriana's hideous lipstick. "What's everyone staring at?" I wanted to say the hideous lipstick that you chose to put on your lips. then I thought that would be too truthful to say. "Idk, but let's get going my mom is outside for us." Later on that day in my room. I lay on my bed while reading a book. I could hardly read the book because my thoughts were so loud. why can't I just say what I'm thinking? What stops me from saying all of the words that my mind fixes for me to say? What if I need some sort of counseling? The next day these questions still filled my head while I sit in science class bored. As I think about what I should do with myself. The classroom became quiet to me. As Mr.Rudolph stands in the front of the class his lips move but I hear no sound. I look around the classroom & I see Ethan with Leslie. His arms wrapped around her. His eyes sparkle as he looks at her, the same way they did when he & I were on our date. Shortly after this day, I got a rude awakening for my poor verbal communication. It happened during the sophomore dance. Oriana & I are in the girl's bathroom in school putting on our makeup, as we prepare for the dance. We laugh & take photos while glitter is all over the sink tops. "I have to use the bathroom I'll meet you in the auditorium" Oriana says while entering the bathroom stall. "No way I'm not entering the auditorium without you." I say while playfully banging on the door. "Just go!" Oriana says while laughing. I leave the girl's bathroom & begin to walk to the auditorium. As I walk closer & closer I began to hear dance mix music. When I opened the door to the auditorium I see kids my age laughing, dancing & sipping on the punch. As I look around I immediately started to feel excited! The music was great! The colors of dresses & tuxedos filled the place as if it were a rainbow after a storm. I began to dance in the middle of the floor by myself until I saw Oriana enter the auditorium. I excitedly waved at her. She waved back. As we start to walk closer & closer to each other I saw the toilet sheet hanging from her butt. Instead of thinking like I usually do. I automatically ran to Oriana to prevent embarrassment. but I was too late, everyone started to laugh & point at the toilet sheet that was hanging from her bottom. Oriana realizes what everyone is laughing at & ran out of the doors of the auditorium. I try to run after her until I accidentally ran into Ethan. "Oh, Im sorry!" I say while backing away from him. "Why are you in such a rush?" Ethan asks "Because Oriana needs me" I tended to walk away from him until he said something harsh to me. "Why are you so weird Laura?" "What?" I say while crossing my arms against my chest. "I said why are you so weird?" "I don't have time for this! I have to find Oriana!" "Oh, she's gone probably hiding from you! Im not surprised if you knew before she entered the party that she had a toilet sheet hanging from her bottom!" "You don't know what you are talking about!" I walked closer to Ethan & pointed my finger aggressively against his tuxedo. "I do! I mean why did you think I stopped talking to you? Huh? It's because that night after we watched the movie you were acting so strange in my car!" "Ethan I can explain that." "Oh yeah when? It's been a month! I thought you liked me as much as I liked you! Since 6th grade I liked you! & when I finally had the opportunity to try to express my feelings. You pretend like you didnt care!" "Ethan it's not that I didnt care--" Ethan interrupts Laura. "Do you think that I want to be here with Leslie? No! I wanted you to be here with me! Dancing with friends, drinking punch!" As Ethan goes on & on I see Leslie standing behind him with tears in her eyes. "I have to go find Oriana!" I run through the halls leaving Ethan. "Where could she be?" I say to myself trying to find where Oriana ran off to. Then the light bulb shined above my head like a halo when I realized exactly where she might be! The art room! Oriana's favorite subject was art so I knew that's where she possibly could be. When I opened the door to Mrs. Gartfield's art room there was. Sitting up against the wall pouting. On the wall above her were pictures of drawings. I sit next to her gently against the wall. I reach for her hand. "Are you ok Oriana? " "No, I feel humiliated!" "Don't be! Things happen." "Yea but why did it have to happen during our sophomore dance?!" "I don't know why things happen the way they do, they just do!" Oriana removes her hand from mine. "Look Oriana are you gonna sit here in this dark room & pout? Or are we both gonna go back to the dance?" "Are you crazy?! Im not going back in there?" "Why not?" "Because people are gonna laugh at me!" "So what if they did! We came here to dance & enjoy being sophomores; soon to be juniors!" Oriana looked at me with a frown. "Don't look at me that way.  Im being serious Oriana! Let's to the bathroom & fix yourself up & return to the dance! You cannot let them think that they've won!"


"Are you coming tonight?" Memory asked. An innocent question that signaled an alarm to every cylinder of my brain. My breathing accelerated, I knew what I had to do. A battle between what I wanted and what my brain would allow. I wanted to go out. I wanted to be seen and heard and felt. I wanted to dance and sing on tabletops and be a star but that’s not me. It was never me. It was her.

Everyone wanted to be Memory’s friend and for some reason, I can’t articulate, she wanted to be mine. Before I met her my world was so cold and when I kissed her she became my own personal sun. She lit my world on fire and I threw myself into her flame to keep her warm. If she is the sun then I am the moon bringing light to the darkness.

We met last year at a bar. She sang karaoke and I attempted to become one with the wall but she noticed me. Our own game of hide and seek. I always hid and she always found me. She pulled me into her circus, and oh how I wanted to be her freak. I am an enigma only revealing my shrouds of mystery behind closed doors. And just like the moon, I had a tendency to drive people crazy.

You would think for the amount of money we paid for this hotel room the covers would be soft. Though unlike me most people didn’t stay in bed for the entirety of their vacation. I threw the scratchy tan cover off. My first strike in a war against anxiety.

Just say yes Helena, my brain screamed. You can’t stay in the hotel every night. You can’t keep avoiding this. You have to ask her. My mouth opened and retracted almost instantaneously. A vibration built in my chest threatening to swallow me whole. My fingers pulled at my chocolate-colored hair. A sad attempt at distraction. The derealization of reality.

Memory shifted her weight from one foot to another, waiting on my answer. Had a few seconds passed? or a few minutes? I admired her patience and the way she never pushed me. She was always there offering comfort. Even if I was acting like a melodramatic mental patient, she didn’t seem to mind. We were polar opposites but she was the only person who ever got me. Her head tilted, blocking my mortal enemy, also known as a lightbulb. A dim luminescent light glowed through her perfect jet-black spiral curls, outlining her silhouette.

The first time we went out in public and she grabbed my hand an older Christian lady told us we would burn in hell. I stepped back into the closet. Memory laughed it off and jumped on a float at the Pride parade. I am so afraid that if I don’t go out she will leave me behind. That night I decided I wouldn’t let mental illness win.

“Yes.”

I closed my sketchbook and walked to the mirror. My space buns were an adorable mess. I took off my oversized black sweater and threw it into the corner. I couldn’t hide my scars forever. A cheeky smile overtook my face. Why had I spent so much time hating myself? Letting the world tell me who I was supposed to be or what I was supposed to wear. Who I was supposed to love.

Memory’s emerald green eyes softened. “Are you sure?” No one knew about my battle with a razor blade but her. When she found out she made me promise to never hurt myself again. I kept my promise and she bought me a new sweater so I didn’t have to feel self-conscious about my scars when I went out.

I threw a Xanax into my mouth and took a gulp of soda. “I’m sure.” *** I jumped into a puddle destroying a reflection of the moon. “Where are we going?” I asked.

She pointed, “To the moon.” Memory had always loved the moon and I vowed I would give it to her. No more waiting, or holding back. Tonight I will give her the moon. One stair after another each foot effortlessly flowed in front of the other. The ghosts of everyone who had entered this stairwell flooded my mind. Where did they go? What had they seen and left behind? How many first kisses and last glances had these walls seen? We reached the top and a sign on the door read exit only. If this hotel had a heart would it spill pages of heartbreak on how it too had been abandoned.

My mother left me when I was six and I spent a lot of time loathing women until I discovered I loved them. I loved them in a way society taught me was wrong. I loved their eyes and their smiles and their curves. I loved the way they tell you they aren’t hungry and steal half your food. Magical, mystical creatures.

Memory straightened her pink mini skirt and opened the door leading me to the rooftop access. The wind whispered but I couldn’t discern its secrets and I hoped Memory never figured out mine. I was tired of keeping her a secret. Keeping us a secret. I never knew my father but I would like to think he would have approved of our relationship. Tiny bumps took over my previously smooth twenty-something-year-old skin. My teeth chattered and I regretted my decision to leave my sweater behind. “Aren’t you cold?” Memory scrunched her nose and put her arm around me. “A hoe never gets cold.” She gently placed her oversized cheetah print purse on the ground. “Help me move this couch closer to the edge.” We placed our hands behind the moldy maroon couch and pushed our weight into it. It screeched across the pavement without much force. I wondered who had sat on that couch and how it got there. A warm, happy sensation coursed through my veins, slowing my heartbeat down. My anxiety medication had started to kick in.

We stopped a few feet from the edge. Tiny lights that represented people zoomed around town. Humans always had somewhere to go or something to do. Memory pulled out a small black cover I had once seen her use as a cape when she was plastered. She unraveled the cover revealing a small bottle of red wine.

She draped the cover over the couch and grabbed the bottle. “How many people do you think have had sex on this couch?” I broke into a high-pitched laugh at the preposterousness of it all. So many people die never having lived at all and here I was with the girl of my dreams breaking the law and making a memory I knew I would never forget.

We sat on the couch, wrapped in her secret cape drinking wine straight from the bottle. Tonight the world couldn’t touch us, tonight the world was ours. I nestled myself into her arms, taking in her scent. She smelt of hopes and dreams. I grabbed the back of her head pulling her in closer. My lips met hers and somewhere in the middle, we found love. “I love you,” I said.

“I love you too Helena.” I took a deep breath and tried to form the words. The words I so desperately yearned to ask her. I had tried again and again but tonight I would tell her how I really felt. Everything could go wrong with this one question, but everything could go right.

I pulled a ring out of my pocket but not a normal ring. It wasn't a diamond or sapphire, but a piece of the moon. I placed it in her hand. "How’s forever sound?" A single tear fell from her left eye as she placed the ring on her engagement finger. “Forever sounds fine.”


Vera felt the familiar presence. The sense that she was suddenly surrounded by a sort of energy. The knowing that someone else was there with her. “Good evening, Joe.” Conversation not through words but through feelings from the heart. Impressions, colours, images and understandings. There was a taste, and a faint smell of a food that she almost recognised but couldn't quite place. Maybe salty. She knew it, but at the same time she did not know. In her mind's eye she saw him cooking, or perhaps eating, a delicious meal. She smiled, thanking him for sharing his moment with her. “I'm only sorry you're not with Her.” Sent out as a sadness and a sympathetic wish. The response was the same abyss he showed her every day. An empty, lonely, space he longed to fill. “I'm trying” she felt back to him, her heart breaking as it always did. The impression of flowers. Yellow, pink, red and purple roses and tulips; and another plant she did not know but sensed its greenness and refreshing smell. And a feeling, was that satisfaction? Of a day's work well done? The gardens were often different. New colours, smells and images emerged with the changing seasons. But everything else remained the same. The food, the little white cat and the walk by the river. Occasionally a faint sensing that there was music, but not enough to make out a beat or a tune. A monotonous existence, felt Vera. A sorrowful and lonely repetition, each day the same. Nothing moving, nothing changing; and always surrounded by that thick black cloud of loss and loneliness. “I promise I'll find Her.” This was how every communication ended. Each day Vera recommitted to her vow, and pictured how wonderful it would be if he could reunite, just once more, with the woman he missed so much; to say a proper goodbye and get his final closure. There was just one time when he showed her what had happened. Once was enough. Two cars, one swerving. Wheels screeching... and then black. Darkness, a gaping hole, death, destruction, anger, loss, grief and fear; followed by the loneliness and the need to be with her again. The feelings and the visions were almost too much for Vera to take in, but at that moment she realised and understood the depth of his longing and the importance that they would be reunited. That was when she made her promise. I'll find that woman if it's the last thing I ever do. Each day she lost hope and each night she renewed her vow. The fearful and angry looks, the threats and the accusations of madness ceased to matter every time she felt Joe's emptiness. Perhaps , she thought to herself, I need a better strategy. In this crowded world of non-believers, just asking around is basically asking for trouble. ~*~ Robert could have given her everything she needed, if only she wasn't so good at her job. He entered her office a new client; who, it turned out, was going to be what Vera jokingly called a 'one hit wonder'. “I've always been a believer.” They'd barely said hello. There was something about him, Vera felt. She couldn't have said what it was, but something different or...special? A different kind of energy, or was it familiarity? He was in his mid sixties, she guessed. Getting older, but still able-bodied and he appeared to be healthy enough. Friendly and clearly open-minded. Nervous but enthusiastic. He seemed to be with it in his mind, always a positive sign, and he wasn't hiding the desperation. There was always desperation by the time they got to her. “I've always known, but I just wasn't ready to see” he said. Vera nodded, this was common. Usually they would go through some sort of process before they found the courage to actually remember. “I expect you understand” he continued, “More than the non-believers anyway. I saw a woman, a medium, she said I have a grandson. I knew it! I always felt it! And she confirmed it for me, she said he's waiting. So that's why I'm here. It's time. I need to find out what happened and to move on. I need to see my little grandson.” “A grandson...upwards?” Vera asked. She had heard that there were people who could connect with spirits in the Real Afterlife but she had never met anyone with a story that sounded genuine. Despite her daily contact with Joe she wasn't sure if she believed it possible to communicate in the opposite direction. “It's always been there,” Robert continued, “the sense, the feeling, that there was a little boy who isn't with me now. I just knew it! I used to think he was around here somewhere. That's what started me off at my job. But when I didn't find him, I began to wonder if he'd gone straight over to the other side... and then she found him! He's there and waiting! So now I'm ready. Whatever it was that happened, I'm ready to deal with it, and to find him.” “Your job?” “I'm a detective.” he said proudly. “A what?” “A detective. I hunt for missing people. If someone feels that another person they know is also stuck here, but they can't find them, I track them down and reunite them. And I have to say, especially given the nature of this kind of work, I'm pretty good at it.” Vera's heart jumped. Wait she said to herself. Give him his session first. She pushed back the excitement as she led him into his regression. It was quick, clean and easy. He was already disappearing as he came back. Fading away, but now radiating peace, love and acceptance. “It was a crash” he said, “my daughter was driving. She was always doing her hair in the mirror instead of watching the road. It used to drive me crazy. She never listened to her grumpy old dad. Archie was in the car, he was only a baby. She wasn't looking and another car came. We swerved but it was too late. Four people died.” He was dissolving with every word. Thinning. Dispersing. “I made it as far as the hospital" He went on, “And it wasn't the crash that killed me, it was the anger. I just couldn't accept that she'd done it, that she was so stupid. I couldn't forgive her. He was just a baby!” Now just an impression of an impression, barely perceivable. “But I saw it differently just then, and now I understand it. That's why I've been stuck here, I needed to forgive her. And I can do it now, of course. If it means I can see Archie again then of course I forgive her...” He was gone. Another successful transition. Vera just wished he had stayed for a few moments more, a few moments to answer her now burning question. Are there any other detectives? Where can I find them? ~*~ It turned out that detectives were relatively easy to come by. The Vagueness was like that. One saw things when they believed and wanted to see them. Time after time new clients would tell Vera that they had never noticed her office until the day they were ready. As soon as there was a genuine desire to remember their life, there she was, in the same spot they had passed by every day. That's why this is the Vagueness, thought Vera, it's not really anything, certainly not anything solid. It's just....vague. With five detectives on the mission, Vera then contemplated contacting the Real Afterlife. She felt less sceptical and more hopeful since hearing Robert's story. She was curious. “Regression therapy?” The kind, ethereal-looking woman seemed more interested in Vera's own story than in what she was asking her to do. “Is it as scary as they say it is? I've always been interested, but there's a part of me that just doesn't want to know.” She seemed a little embarrassed. “People ask me all the time. 'Miriam' they say, 'if you can really speak with the other side and it's as wonderful as you say it is, then why don't you just pass over?' But the truth is I'm scared to know why I got stuck here. That side looks a dream, but I don't know if I can face whatever it is I need to let go of.” “It's normal,” Vera said calmly, “You'll do it when you're ready.” “Have you?” Asked Miriam. “Have you done it?” Vera sighed. “Many many times” she said. “But I seem to be a rare case in that I don't ever remember anything. Not the tiniest thing or single piece of information. All I see is black. I keep doing it but nothing ever happens. And I know it works, I've helped so many people remember what they need to know and move on, but it just doesn't seem to work for me. I don't remember anything of my life at all,” she went on, “you know how some people have a kind of feeling? A sense or impression about something? Who they were, what they did or the people around them? Just a feeling? Well, I have nothing. Everything I know about Earth I've heard from my clients' memories; and from Joe, my friend there that I talk to. He's the reason I came to you” She paused for a moment. “Actually there is something,” she said thoughtfully. “I've always felt that everyone has this, but there is a feeling, just a feeling, that I had a life. That there was something there. In fact I'm certain of that. I just can't remember what it was. And I know, I've always known, that here isn't the right place but that there's a reason for me to be here. That's how I found my job, because I had that feeling about there being something else. “I sometimes wonder though,” she continued, becoming absorbed in her own thoughts, “if it's all about Joe. He misses his Wife so much and I've promised him I'll find Her. I often think about that, that it could be why I'm here. That once I find Her things will change. I don't remember a time when I didn't speak to Joe. I've always been looking for Her. “But I've been having new ideas, new ways of seeing things, and this is where you come in. I'm beginning to wonder if his Wife isn't in the Vagueness at all, if maybe when she died she passed all the way over. Do you think you could see?” “Of course I can try to speak to her if she's there. Do you have a name? Or any information about her? Who she was? What she looked like? Her personality?” “That's why this is so hard. Joe's own name feels so clear, so certain when he shows me, but he's given me nothing about Her, all he ever shows me is the space she left behind. I don't have any actual information about who she was as a person….she died in a car accident, that's all I know.” “I'll do my best then.” Miriam closed her eyes and went silent. After what felt to Vera like a much longer eternity than the general eternal feeling of the Vagueness, Miriam's eyes re-opened and she shook her head. “I'm sorry,” she said, “Maybe if you could get some more information I could try again for you though.” Vera thanked her and turned to leave. “Wait,” said Miriam “Before you go...I think I'm ready to book a regression.” It took Miriam four sessions and a little time in between each one to process the new information. An unfinished book, just two chapters to go. She laughed at the irony of it. “It was about the Afterlife” she told Vera after her final regression, “and it was my life's work. My understanding of the spirit worlds and what happens when we die. Forty years I was writing, researching, obsessing. I swore to myself I would finish it if it was the last thing I ever did.” She was laughing, crying, sighing and fading all at the same time. “I suppose all I can do now is let it go and move on” she laughed, as she joyfully disappeared. ~*~ Despite never getting any closer to finding Joe's Wife, Vera persisted with her search. Her encounter with Miriam ignited her curiosity and she began seeking everywhere. She went to churches and meditation groups and attended all kinds of strange spiritual rituals and ceremonies, prayer groups and soul purifications. She began to follow unusual superstitions and attended some quite bizarre seances to connect realms and dimensions she'd had no idea about. Some things, she was sure, were made up flights-of-fancy. Wishful thinking. Tall stories or solutions to boredom. But with every experience something changed inside of Vera. A new perspective or an understanding, a different way of being, a brighter and more fulfilling Vagueness. Her favourite thing was the Earth communication group, where others, just like her, spoke with people, animals and even plants in the living world, and through this built up their understanding of where they once were. “They're the believers from that side,” said Nick, a fellow communication enthusiast, “and they try to find us. They want to speak to us, and if we listen to them they'll keep coming back. They're fascinated by us, as we are with them. It's just a shame we can't see everything. It's so vague here. But I keep on trying.” “I think it's wonderful!” Said Vera, “How much I have learnt from them. Things I could never have known and don't remember. That they have bodies, and there are objects, and meanings, and time, and breath, and...life! And all of the stories and possibilities that happen there. Really, it's quite incredible that they can show us this. And that even though we don't remember, we can still see something, and kind of know what it might have been like there.” Her Vagueness; filled with her search, her work, her new friends and the constantly new experiences; began to feel very different. She noticed it gradually, something other. Unusual. Something she thought she had maybe felt before, but certainly not here. Perhaps from another time. From life? She wondered, with a little excitement. It's happiness she realised. I'm happy. I like how things are, and even though there are some things I still don't know and still need to find out, I don't mind any more if nothing changes. I'm just fulfilled by my own existence. I'm happy! ~*~ Joe had never missed a day. She felt his absence. He could be busy, or just late... She was doubtful. Something was different. The room felt strange without him. “Joe?” She sent out the feeling, “Are you there?” She pictured him dozing off in his armchair, the white cat curled up on his lap. Peaceful and cosy. That has to be it, he's taking a nap. Something changed. She couldn't place exactly what but the feeling in the room was different. There was a presence, a feeling. A knowing that someone was there with her. It began as a faint shadow, slowly taking form in her own armchair. An old man. Old but still familiar, still clearly the young man she suddenly remembered she had loved so much. “Joe!” She gasped. “Vera!” He smiled, “You waited for me! I knew you were, every day I spoke to you, I knew you were waiting.” The memories were flooding back and Vera froze, stunned. “It was me!” She said, “Your Wife...it's me.” Joe laughed. “Of course it's you, there was no one else. I couldn't...I missed you too much. But I had a great life, really, I couldn't have asked for more. I became a little bit famous with those songs I used to make up, and had some wonderful times travelling, exploring, singing...the only thing missing was you.” Vera looked confused. “But you were always in the garden,” she said, “Whenever I saw you. And you were so sad, all I saw you do was eat, walk and pet the cat.” “ Your garden, remember” he said gently, “I kept it for you and I always thought of you when I was gardening, I planted all of your favourite flowers, the roses and the tulips, year after year. I made sure it stayed beautiful, in your memory.” Memories . Now it made sense, and Vera was remembering everything. Their first dance together, the first kiss and the wedding. How she had desperately wanted her own garden and he'd bought the big house she really wanted, just for that. The little white kitten she hadn't yet chosen a name for. The long walks by the river, the expensive meals out that had become a regular treat. “I remember,” she said, the last fragments of information filtering in, “I understand it now.” Joe's eyes were soft, loving, delighted to see her again. He took her hand and she felt herself fading away with him. They had been walking alongside the river, speculating on the Afterlife, telling stories of spirits and wondering what would really happen after they died. “Whatever it is,” she said “I won't go without you, I promise. We'll go there together.” That was when he had knelt in the grass and opened the box with the diamond ring. The memory passed and they were disappearng. Moment by moment, dissolving into the place that came next. Together.


Billy,a widow,living with her four kids in a small town.She typified a poultry farm business.Billy ,after seeing off children to their school, along with Mrs John get towards work and busied her self till late evening.It was a dark and precipitating night ,they all were home and watching precipitation from the big Windows.Somebody pell mell knocking the door.Mrs John opened the door, subsidising a young man with a brief case in hand,jumped in and said, "fairly passing through, precipitation took me". Billy frowned little when she glared a brief case and a young fellow,but she allowed him step in. Introduced himself as “Vicky “.Billy liked his appearance and kept her coffee in front of him. Vicky went towards wash room .In the corridor he saw pictures of Mr Wulmer and Billy." Are you once a model and the other gent is the famous film Director Mr Wulmer,am I right”?.Vicky quickly said all this.”Absolutely right “ ,Billy answered smiley.Vicky quickly opened his brief case and put out an old magazine ,”Mam, your old pics,”Oh my Lord,after twenty five years I’m seeing my pictures”.Billy Wulmer,a thunder in the City,Billy as a silly,types of pics were there in a mag.”Mam,I discovered you after twenty five years,your life had so glamorous and taste,and Vicky commenced with the interviewing her.Vicky left and promised to come again in two days for more particulars.Vicky ,after two days came ,along with his team to quiz her.”My sweet heart,are you arriving day after,ok,Who is this coming with you” what are you talking about “ok,I would give you my concent after seeing him"."My daughter is arriving home for holidays ".She told Vicky .The phone call got her thinking.”My daughter,she is in college,coming with his proposed husband day after “Billy said"You are also invited on dinner ,definitely come .“.She invited Vicky.Billy and Vicky were sitting in the lounge,her daughter,"Robia" and her proposed husband stepped in.Billy became disturbed when she saw an aged man ,not suitable for her daughter ,sat beside.”I’m Robert Harry,Director in Foreign Services,.Next week I scheduled for South Africa for two years,so I wanted to marriage this Sunday and also take Robia along".Billy confused looking towards both of them.”But in a short notice how it could be possible,it needs time".Billy became disturbed.”It would be a simple arrangement".Robert answered smartly.”You are such a smart and cute, Vicky,delighted you are proposing Robia,she is a quiet sweet girl,is he your father Vicky.?”Mrs John frantically narrating all thi .”Mrs John,please ,you are talking without knowing the facts,Mr Robert is the proposing husband of Robia".Billy said in little rashed manner.”Oh,I’m extremely sorry and Mrs John hurriedly left the room.After dinner Mr Robert aparted.”Robia,He is more of your age,you will regret later".Said Billy in a polite way.”Mama,I’m in love with Robert,He is well established”.Answered Robia.Billy phoned Vicky to pick her for the party.They both participated well establishedly .Some body took the Mike and request Billy to sing.Billy astonished heard her name,she was not expecting part of the crowd now she thought people have forgotten her.She looked towards Vicky and said “Today I’m rebirth because of this boy,Vicky,Vicky I love you”and kissed him.The media shooted to shoot the scene.The media became active and flashed news in sensational style. Breath breaking news"Star born again” and the news stripe encircling on the Screens. Back home very late.kids and Mrs John were all awakened watching them.Billy and Vicky purporting outwardly,sitting in red sports car.Vicky held her hand , kissed on lips and cheeks hotilly.When is your next arrival".?Asked Billy romantically.”Day after to complete the interview,your previous interview was warmly welcomed.”Answered Vicky.”You dunno,you are still young and electric.I wanna make you a star again.Vicky further said.”You know Vicky,Im happy in my life,I won’t need billions to grow up my kids,I wanna give them a decent growth,mind one thing Vicky,don’t fall in love with me" and they both laughed.The kids along with Mrs John,sprinted to their rooms.Next morning Billy didn’t go to her farm,she woke up late in the morning only Mrs John went to work.The kids oddly acting towards her mother.”Billy ,kids not expecting this from you,typified last night,you are their ideal,they take you as a star of the other world,not of this world.”Mrs John said all this blunt and in open way.”Mrs John,there is nothing like this,I’m matured and I know that I have to raise the Children “.Said Billy calmly.”You were a star of past ,now you are only a Widow mother,that boy is smart and tricky ,lest he should ........“.Mrs John stopped saying further and went out of living room.”I’m delighted watched your mother on media,give my blessings.You know she has raised my prestige and class,you would amaze ,she is now again rising not like a star but like a sun".Mr Robert said all this to Robia on the phone.Robia also felt proud but she repeatedly thinking about Vicky and her mother's romance.All the neighbors gossiping about the romance on newly horizon.Sometimes ,at night when they both arrive in the Street,everybody used to stare them.”Beat your drum inside your house to spare the neighbors”,Mrs John tried to alarm Billy.Billy became super bold when she heard of Mr Robert's remarks about her.Now,Vicky became active member of their family.He now trying to use his influence to brought Billy to starlings life.Billy again rising as a super star after twenty five long years.Vicky wanted to make her more obliged.”Vicky,sometimes I stunned to think “Why are you doing all these efforts for me"?Asked Billy astonishing.”Billy,I’m in love with you”Vicky said like a shooting training.”From the last so many days,I was realizing,you are falling in love ditch,but you know I’m not fond of money making and don’t want to go back to that fictitious lighting life ,I will give my final to you soon “said Billy by dropping from the car.As she opened the door Robia, continuing upheaval.”Mama,you are in love with a boy,not matured ,you are making fool of him,using him,You are a mature woman and he is an amateur lover".”This what I was trying to say that day that Robert is not your age,you both have a long distance of age as ours,I did all this only to show you while act”.Billy said." I realized mama,I was wrong ,Robert is not of my age.”Robia said.Billy busy talking with Robia,door opened , Vicky came in and desperate kissing Billy.Billy tapped him and said “Vicky I’m not your age,we would only be good friends not good spouse”.They both naively deeming towards Billy.Billy Smiled and said"Every cloud has silver linings". The End.......'............Springs for life".


For the third time, Reilly’s phone slipped off the table and hit the floor, with a dramatic thud that seemed to say “you failed!” once again. She sighed, picked up the phone, repositioned the selfie circle light attached to it, and checked the timer on the photo setting. Carefully this time, she leaned her phone at an angle she thought would make her face look skinny.

She swiped the mode to “Portrait” setting, and mentally prepared herself for her best smile in 3,2,1….. Finally! A picture she can work with. She had been setting up her Facespace account for days, and the picture of herself was the final touch.

She had worked meticulously creating her profile. Her hometown was boring, so she filled in a more exciting one several towns over. Her job was nonexistent since she was only 14 and couldn’t drive herself to one, but she filled in “Accountant”. Why not? Seemed like a cool job. And she was getting good at making a perfect account here, so “accountant” was fitting.

It took two years for Reilly’s mom to finally agree to let her have her own Facespace account.

“You’re too young! You see everyone you know in school anyway!” she’d tell her. Over and over again. Reilly was tired of the same excuse.

“Mom. ALL of my friends have had their own accounts for YEARS now! I’m THE most uncool kid in school because you’re so overprotective!” Reilly had argued back. But, to no avail. The answer was always no.

Reilly’s mom told her the Internet was a dangerous place and blah blah blah. Reilly knew how to be safe, not give out personal information to strangers, all the things her teachers have been telling her for years. They even had a program at school about “The Dangers of the Internet”, and Officer Richard (who was Gary Richard’s dad), came in and presented an entire PowerPoint presentation on the topic. It took up Reilly’s whole Algebra class so she felt it was definitely worth it.

When she went home that day, she told her mom about the program, and promised on her dead goldfish Barry’s grave that she would be safe online. Still, the answer was always no.

Until now.

Reilly stared at the picture she had just taken. The Portrait mode had blurred the background of her bedroom wall and poster of a kitten with a donut. That was probably a good thing. She made a mental note to get “cool” posters.

The picture still wasn’t right. She opened it in another app, PicEnhancer. She set the filter to brighten her skin, darken her eyelashes, and shrink her nose. There. She stared at the new image of herself. Something still seemed off. She saved it, then opened it in another filter a user had created. It was called Moonlight, and gave a darker background, making her face stand out more. The blurred kitten and donut were completely indistinguishable now. Her hair looked lighter against the dark background. Better.

Reilly tapped “save”, then saw another filter on the home screen to the app. This one was called Starlet, and made puffy full lips. She adjusted the shade of her lips to a light red, and adjusted the flush of pink on her cheeks. While she was there, she dragged her cheekbones higher. She felt a little giddy with excitement. Her picture was starting to look so amazing! She wondered how many friends would like her picture. And if Nick would comment on it. He said “hey” the other day when they passed in the hall, and Reilly felt her heart begin a gymnastics routine in her chest. She managed a “hey” back, complete with an almost imperceptible head nod of casualness. She was trying to sell the nonchalant acknowledgment of his existence, and in doing so, tripped over nothing just as he rounded the corner. That was a close one.

She was finally ready to upload her picture and activate her account. She felt a rush of adrenaline as she uploaded her picture into the Profile Picture spot on the page. Done.

Wait.

She scrutinized her picture. No. Not good enough yet.

Her chin looked ginormous in this photo. She went to another app, FaceErase, and shaved off the bottom part of her chin. In lifting her cheekbones earlier, her chin started to look disproportionally bigger. But now it’s fixed. Only…only now her right ear seems off. With another swipe over her phone, she minimized the size of her ear. That made her eyes look bigger. And that looked so Disney Princess! She swiped again and made her eyes bigger, and changed the color from her boring grayish blue to bright, almost turquoise blue. Just a little more darkening to her lashes and brows, and there! Perfect!

Reilly hit “replace” on her profile picture and added the new and improved version of herself.

She gazed at her picture, and thought how stunning she looked.

She wrote her first post. Then deleted it. Then rewrote it. Then deleted it. She wanted to sound equally cool and unphased by the whole thing. She wanted to avoid sounding like she JUST started an account, even though she did. She thought of something brilliant.

“Hey new account here, had to. You know, locked out of my other one. Add me here!” Now people would think she had to start this one because an old one got hacked, and they just didn’t know she had one before. Then the “friend spread” would happen. Facespace would start suggesting her page to friends of friends until she grew her list to a respectable size. If she requested friends, they’d see she was just trying to add after being locked out of her old one which was totally cool.

It was starting already! Notifications on her profile picture liking it. Friend requests on her list. And oh! A comment!

Reilly clicked her picture and read the first comment. It was from Amy, in her science class. “Gorgeous grrrl!”

Reilly smiled. She felt gorgeous. Another comment!

“So pretty!” From Megan, who rides the bus with her.

Reilly decided she could get used to this. She stared again at her picture and grumbled because it was time to go to school. She’d have to keep her phone in her locker til lunchtime, which would be pretty much an eternity.

*** In homeroom, Reilly looked around wondering who saw her new profile picture and account. The first bell rang, and she gathered her books to make her way to English.

“Hey. Saw your new Facespace account,” Nick said from somewhere behind her.

Reilly turned and immediately turned four shades of red.

“Oh! Yeah, I uh, had to make a new one. So annoying,” Reilly said, kicking at a rock that wasn’t there. Obviously, since they were in school. Stop being weird, she told herself.

“Yeah, it looks pretty cool. But, I almost didn’t know it was you. I mean, like, the picture and all,” Nick said, his eyes narrowing a bit and seeming to look closely at her.

Did he mean he liked her picture? He’s talking to her now, so it definitely got his attention. Maybe he realized how beautiful she was after seeing the new picture she created? “Well, I guess I just wanted to say…you know, the Internet is dangerous, Reilly. You might not like who you see.

“You mean ‘what’ you see?”

“No. I mean ‘who.’ See you around,” Nick said, as he walked away noticeably shaking his head.

Reilly stood there, as the late bell rang. She didn’t go to English, but rather to the bathroom. She stood at the mirror, and looked at her face. At her small eyes. Her big nose. Her short eyelashes and crooked brows. She thought about what everyone else sees when they look at her.

Reilly walked to her locker. She took out her phone, and saw she had 52 new notifications from Facespace. She opened the app, went right to settings, and deleted the account.

The internet IS dangerous. And maybe not in the way Officer Richard presented.


“What do you have there?” The voice brought the young man out of his scrutiny, and he was surprised to see a pretty woman seated on the opposite side of the table. He hadn’t even heard her enter the common room. Was this how college students always struck up conversations?            “Oh, uh, hello. I’m sorting pennies. My name’s Tom, uhhhh, what’s yours?” He paused awkwardly, unsure how to handle this intrusion.            The young woman smiled and tucked her long, brown hair behind her ear. “I’m Susan. What do you mean, you’re sorting pennies?”            Tom’s face brightened. “I just got a bunch of rolls from the bank, I go through them to see if there are any interesting ones in there! It’s like a treasure hunt, just with tiny pieces of money instead of gold or jewels.” He laughed. “Want to join me? I still have plenty left.”            “Not right now, thank you. Have you found anything interesting?”            He poked at the tiny pile of coins he’d set aside; after a moment, he handed one over with an apologetic shrug. “I’ve got a San Francisco, but that’s about it so far.”            “Really?” Susan looked at the penny briefly before handing it back. “What’s special about that? It looks like a regular penny.”            Tom laughed. “It pretty much is a regular penny, but ones made in San Francisco are kind of tough to find, so I keep them. Did you not see the mintmark?”            “Mintmark?”            “Here.” he moved eagerly around to her side of the table. “It’s the S right there, on the front of the coin. That means it was made in San Francisco.”            She furrowed her brow and squinted at the penny. “That little mark is all it takes to make it special?”            “Mostly, yeah! It’s the little things that make them valuable. A mintmark, a tiny error, a different date.” He grabbed a roll and held it out to her. “There’s other stuff that’s a lot easier to spot, if you want to look for those. Wheat pennies, foreign coins, things like that. You sure you don’t want to try a roll?”            “Well…” she hesitated, then smiled. “Sure, I’ll try one. Just tell me what to look for.”            They spent a couple of hours that afternoon going through the pennies, and Tom convinced Susan afterwards to join him on several other afternoons as well. Susan did not seem very interested in the pennies, and Tom often had to go through the ones she’d checked to find the things she missed. But he didn’t mind; he found himself becoming quite interested in Susan. Many little things about her drew his attention, like the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, or laughed when he tried to make a joke.            As the months wore on, the two of them spent more time together, and less time sorting coins. Tom still got rolls from the bank on occasion, to pick through if he was alone and got bored, but that happened less and less frequently. He actually stopped paying attention to coins altogether for a time, finding his attention utterly absorbed by this new friendship.            Eventually though, the burning flame of interest sputtered, and Tom and Susan found themselves drifting apart. Unsure what their hearts and minds were guiding them towards, they pursued different paths. They made other friends, and formed other relationships, and gradually saw each other less and less. Still, they kept in touch, even after they finally graduated and moved away.            The demands of career and life grew heavier for Tom, and his hobby became his only escape. He pursued it passionately, learning more about pennies, and getting better at spotting the little things that truly made them special. His small collection of rarities grew, growing quite valuable when he began snagging the occasional error coin. It was gratifying catching things he would have missed before, but he always had the nagging feeling that treasures had slipped through his fingers in his younger, more ignorant years.            One day, Tom dragged himself home from work and flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. He tried to drift off, but found himself lost in thought. It had been almost five years since college. Why, then, did his mind keep going back to Susan? Every day, she seemed to be haunting his mind. He wrestled with his confusion, and over the next few weeks found himself paying more attention whenever she posted something on social media. Seeing her online made him remember things about her that he’d forgotten, like her smile, or just her positive outlook on life. Little things, but they stuck in his mind.            When he saw that she’d returned from a long trip to Guatemala to help build houses for the homeless, he decided to call her. Not many people would volunteer to spend their summers that way, and it would be nice to get back in touch. Perhaps hearing her voice would straighten the confusion whirling in his mind. But even as he dialed, he found himself marveling at the woman she had become.            Susan answered on the second ring. “Tom! I haven’t heard from you in forever! How are you doing?”            His heart threatened to burst through his chest as soon as he heard her voice. He barely remembered what they said when they talked, but when they hung up, he was surprised to see that they had spoken for more than three hours. Three hours of little things, of tiny connections reforming.            They began calling more frequently, and each time they spoke, Tom’s confusion lessened. He eventually broached the idea of trying a long-distance relationship, and she agreed. The two of them called, wrote letters, and pursued each other with more intention than they had ever shown in college.            It wasn’t long before Tom knew what he had to do. Whenever he was free, he sorted pennies. He ripped open more and more rolls, returning more and more coins to the bank each week. Tom hunted almost obsessively, racing against the clock in his heart. An older wheat penny here, a rotated die there, he scooped up anything worth anything. After discovering that speculators bought older copper pennies, in the hopes that the government would legalize melting them someday, he began selling them in bulk instead of returning them to the bank. All the while, his tiny hoard of rare pennies grew larger, and his heart grew more anxious.            Eventually, Tom unwrapped a roll, and almost immediately pulled the final coin he needed. A 1914 wheat penny, in remarkably good condition for something from circulation. He’d found plenty of more valuable pennies in his years of searching, but this was the most special to him. He stared at the tiny coin in his hand for several minutes, absorbing the implications. It felt strangely light, for being the last piece of his puzzle. That night he cried himself to sleep, for what he was losing, and what he hoped to gain.            The next day, Tom took his entire stash to a coin shop, and haggled with the man until he’d gotten the price he wanted. He felt a heavy pang as he handed all those tiny, circular treasures over the counter, but he gritted his teeth and shook the man’s hand. The shopkeeper handed back 15 crisp, hundred-dollar bills, and Tom took them slowly. They felt so strange, these pieces of paper. There was no weight, no character to them, but he needed what they would provide.            Three weeks later, Susan answered a knock on her door, and was shocked to discover Tom standing there before her. He wore a three-piece suit and an enormous grin, and held a small bouquet of flowers. Susan blushed, and after a moment of standing there with her jaw dropped, blurted out,            “Tom! How are the pennies?”            He grinned wider, and held up another tiny, circular treasure. “They were great, but I realized I wanted something more valuable. I wouldn’t mind hunting for more treasures though. Care to join me?”


“...Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” The pastor's words reverberated throughout the small building, louder and more clear than any of the others he had spoken that day. As Tristan looked at the woman holding tightly to his hands, he couldn't remember including that part in the vows. It was antiquated, out of date and something no one did anymore...right? But now, with the question hanging in the air like the scent of freedom and happiness, he was inundated with a thousand reasons why the people at the front of the room shouldn't be joined together for the rest of their lives... He looked out over the church, a droplet of sweat slipping down his temple. Scanning, his eyes at last landed on a slender form with long, honey blond hair. Tessa. His heart lurched at the same time that his mind sped backwards. He was six, Tessa five, and she glared at him with sparking blue eyes, her hands on her hips. “I'm gonna marry you one day, Tristan Rawlings, just you wait. And then you have to ask to kiss me first.” Tristan grinned. “That's not how it works, Tess. When we get married, I get to kiss you whenever I want.” Her hand tightened into a tiny fist, which she held up to him with a threatening glower. “I'd like to see you try.” He put his hand up to her fist and gently worked her fingers open until they were palm to palm. “I'm sorry, Tessa. I promise I'll ask next time.” With narrowed eyes, she squinted back at him, softening. “You better.” Memories filtered through like an old photo album, until Tristan, standing sweating in front of a hundred people, landed on another one in particular. Sweet sixteen, and Tessa Marlowe was the star of the hour, glamorous and glowing. Tristan watched as she blew out her candles and laughed, eyes sparkling, the dimple to the side of her mouth making an appearance just to stab him in the heart. Matty Jenkins put his hand on Tessa's waist, and looked over his shoulder to where Tristan stood in the corner of the room, hands clenched in fists at his sides. Matty's filthy paws shouldn't be allowed anywhere near Tessa, and Tristan knew a deep urge to remove both of them violently. It was later in the evening, when he overheard Matty informing the other guys of what he expected that night, that Tristan felt the urge spill over into a white hot rage that blinded him until someone much larger pulled him off a trembling, bloody lipped Matty sprawled in the dirt. Tristan's heart dropped when he saw Tessa, eyes wide with shock and concern. He was gonna pay for his loss of control, and only he knew how deeply. But then, to his confusion, she stepped towards him, her hand outstretched. He stood motionless, afraid any movement would wake her to the mistake she was making. Her fingers, feather light, touched his cheek, the skin hot where Matty must have got a swing to land before Tristan tackled him to the ground. Tristan swallowed, then spoke hoarsely. “I'm sorry, Tess. He just – he said – ” Her thumb brushed his bottom lip. “I heard what he said.” Her eyes, silver-blue in the moonlight, flicked up to meet his, and his breath hitched. Her lips twitched upwards in a smirk. “My knight in shining armor.” The smirk faded, leaving her expression open and unguarded. Then, with one hand on his arm, she went up on her tiptoes and leaned in, brushing her lips ever so gently over the bruise on his cheekbone. She stepped back, her hand slipping down his arm to join their fingers, and tugged him behind her as she stepped barefoot through the yard, past Matty with her chin lifted high, and away into the house. The party was forgotten while she smiled shyly at him and held ice to his cheek. Looking up into his face, she pursed her lips to the side in contemplation. “I don't know what I was thinking. Going out with Matty, I mean.” “Eh, we all make mistakes sometimes. I knew you'd come back around in time. I mean,” he forced a grin, even though her nearness was wreaking havoc on his pulse, “you did say you were gonna marry me one day.” She swatted his arm and laughed, even as her cheeks went pink. “Tristan Rawlings. I was five years old.” He caught her hand in his. “Five and a half. Plenty old enough to know what's best for you.” Eyes lowered, she giggled, but he could tell it wasn't a real laugh. With one finger, he tipped her chin up so he could see her face. “What's wrong, Tess?” She shook her head quickly, as though shaking off a thought, but he could see a glimmer of a tear in her eye. “It's nothing. Thanks, Tris, for being my friend.” In his teenaged mind, Tristan had felt those words as though she had slapped him. Friend zoned, and just as he thought he was getting somewhere. But now, after years with a dark haired woman who constantly made him feel that he would never measure up, he saw Tess's face through different eyes, and thought that maybe, just maybe, she had defined him as a friend purely to protect herself. He thought back to the night before, at the rehearsal dinner, where he had seen her slip away and followed her without even thinking twice. She moved quickly to the gazebo in the center of the grassy park, and stood with her hands on the railing looking over the water. The sun was setting in front of her, and made a halo of gold and pink around her, reflecting off the water to sparkle and shimmer in a frame that fit her beauty. Where had that thought come from? No sooner had he questioned his thoughts than his shoulders relaxed with the unequivocal knowledge that it was true. His best friend was beautiful. She always had been and he'd always known it. Just because he was set to tie his life to someone who would punish him for even allowing those thoughts to rise to the surface didn't make them untrue. With long, even strides, he made his way through the soft grass and joined her at the railing, hands in the pockets of his slacks as he leaned a shoulder against a post. When she looked up at him, meeting his curious gaze, his heart constricted in his chest. A tear, glinting in the light, trickled down her cheek, and she made no move to erase it. “Tess?” Her name was all he could get out, an uneasy feeling rendering his mind blank except for pain and concern. She smiled, and it was a knife twisting. “It's okay, Tristan. I'm okay. Just promise me something?” “Anything,” he breathed out. A dry chuckle was her first response. “Don't over commit, Rawlings.” “I trust you, Marlowe. More than anyone else.” She shook her head and looked back out over the water, a shuddering sigh causing her shoulders to tremble. Then she looked back over at him, and he was taken aback by the fury in her eyes. “You don't get to say that to me anymore, Tristan Rawlings. Not while that she-beast is in there waiting to swallow you whole.” He stood up straight and took a step back. “Whoa, Tessa, c'mon, that's not fair.” She took an aggressive step towards him and stabbed a finger into his chest. “No. It is more than fair. You know it as well as I do. You're just too blinded by propriety and what your mother wants to recognize it. Listen to what you just said to me. You're about to promise your life to someone you don't even trust. You're about to give your heart away to someone who you know won't value it and treasure it like the gift that it is. She's mean to everyone around you, Tristan. And even sometimes to you, she just covers it with just enough sugar that you're blinded.” She drew in a long, deep breath, closing her eyes briefly before opening them to look directly into his, searing his soul with the depth of sincerity and love he saw there. “So, promise me that you'll think long and hard about this tonight, about her. About love. Promise me you'll choose love, not obligation.” It was his turn to draw in a shaky breath at the enormity of what she was saying. “Tess, I – ” One corner of her mouth lifted and she moved her hand to cup his cheek. “It's okay, Tris. If you choose her, if she is what you truly want...it's okay. Really. I just want you to be happy.” Her hand dropped and she took a step back, the cold air rushing between them like a chasm. “I'm gonna head home now.” Desperation clawed at him, and he didn't even know why. “I'll see you tomorrow?” Her head tilted to the side and she looked up at him, eyes searching his face. “If that's what you want.” “Please, Tess. You have to be there.” He swallowed any more words that wanted to come before he started begging. Another searching look, and then she nodded. “I will. 'Bye, Tristan.” She turned her back to him and her sandaled feet made swishing sounds in the grass as she moved away with a jarring finality. Why did he suddenly hurt all over? And now, his eyes found hers across the heads of the entire congregation, and he was moving towards her, his feet carrying him as though his heart had taken his body captive. There was a rush of shocked whispers, his mother calling his name, his bride swearing and demanding he stop whatever ridiculous notion he had. At the back of the church, she stood by the door as though keeping escape close to hand. It seemed an eternity just to get to her side, not because of the disapproving stares and the recrimination that was bound to follow, but because he found that he had to be near her, he needed to touch her, to feel her heart close to his own. A foot away now, he held out his hand, and her fingers slipped over his palm before threading through his. “I choose love,” he whispered. “I choose you.” One tear trickled down her cheek and she let out a choking laugh as his thumb caught the silvery moisture before it dropped. “I chose you a long time ago.” “I know that now. It just took me a little longer to realize you felt the same as me.” With a glance over his shoulder at the fuming woman in white, he said quietly, “Let's get outta here.” “I thought you'd never ask.” She grinned up at him, and of one accord, hands clasped tight, they ran out the back doors. At the back of the church, after tugging the bow tie loose and flinging it into the dirt, he tugged Tessa closer and let his eyes roam over her face, lingering on her lips. “Tess.” “Yes, Tristan?” “As per my promise twenty years ago, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to kiss you now.” Her sky blue eyes held his gaze. “Can I say something first?” He swallowed. “As long as you make it quick.” Her breath of laughter was tantalizingly close. “I changed my mind. You don't ever have to ask me first again.” And so he didn't.