“Through ups and downs, together stick the Browns.” That had always been their motto. It started during the depression, when Mother and Father were still around. After so many days of struggling for just enough food to keep moving, they had to find some way to try and hold themselves together. And so the saying was born. Over the next few months, the line would make an appearance in the midst of tribulations and struggles that somehow managed to bring the family closer than they ever were. Crammed together in their studio apartment, they shared laughs and smiles that were such a contrast to the world outside. And even with the little they had, they were happy. Then Mother and Father died. No one really saw it coming. The fever spread before anyone really knew of its existence. One day they were heading to the square to get the family’s allowance of flour, and the next they were wasting away, foreheads damp and hands clammy. That left just Nancy and Corbin. The Browns. Each of them worked whatever jobs they could get their hands on, even if it meant trying to figure it out as they went. And they somehow managed to scrape together enough money to get by. They still spent every evening together in that old studio apartment, sitting on the floor as they told each other stories about their days. They shared laughs. They smiled. And they knew that they only had each other, and that was okay. The economy was beginning to stabilize, and Nancy was able to get a permanent job as a waitress at one of the reopened diners. Corbin kept working side jobs whenever he could find them, bringing in enough to even buy some nicer things like new shoes and jackets. And the Browns stuck together, and they were okay. “I don’t know what I did to deserve such an amazing job like I have,” Nancy said one night. “What do you mean?” Corbin replied. “As much as we went through, as hard as you worked, you deserve it.” Nancy flashed him a soft smile and they left the topic alone for a while. Nancy kept working, from sunup to sundown, at that same old diner. Corbin spent most of his time in the apartment, but he still occasionally picked up jobs here or there to make sure their ends meet. It all worked well until the day rent came, and Nancy came to realize that the tin jar they kept their savings in was far too empty. “Corbin, did you use any money?” She asked. He was allowed to spend, of course, but they had a mutual agreement that they were to inform each other of where their money went. Nancy handled the bills and Corbin handled the home, so each had their fair share of expenses. “I bought groceries the other day,” Corbin said in between sips of soup.

“Fifty pounds worth?” Nancy asked, eyebrows raised. Corbin seemed completely unfazed, watching the liquid slosh around as he stirred his soup. “Prices have jumped over the past couple of days. Should drop back soon though.” Nancy sighed, running a hand though her blonde hair. She had Father’s appearance when it came to her hair, but everything else about her looked just like Mother. Her brown almond eyes, her high-set cheekbones, her small lips. The resemblance was almost disturbing. Corbin, however, did not look much like Mother or Father, showing only minimal signs of either of them in his features. His eyes were blue, much different from Mother’s brown and Father’s green. His face was somewhat round, but still had shape. The only true give away that he was the son of a Brown was the line that creased in his forehead whenever he smiled, and only Nancy got to see that side of him. “I’ll have to see if I can take up more hours at the diner,” she said, massaging her temples. It was obvious from the shadows under her eyes and the softness of her voice that she was already exhausted, but she did not have much other choice. “And I’ll see if I can find more work,” Corbin said, a hint of disappointment buried in his voice. “And through ups and downs, together stick the Browns,” Nancy whispered to herself. She barely got her bowl to the kitchen sink before she collapsed into her cot in her corner of the apartment. Corbin pittered around for a while longer before seeking refuge in his own corner. With Nancy out, he did not hesitate to slip the flask out from under his pillowcase and take a few heavy swigs of the bitter fluid. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and flopped back. He stared off at the ceiling, mind lost in the abyss of his thoughts. The guilt settling in his gut seemed to become less noticeable with each sip of alcohol. So when the small bottle was dry, he slipped it back into its hiding place before trying to fall asleep. As with every other morning, Nancy rose before the sun to get ready for work. But when she did, she found herself heaving the previous night’s dinner into the toilet. After coming to the decision work was out of the question for today, Nancy grabbed a bucket and went back to her cot. She curled on her side, the anxiety of missing a day’s pay and the nausea creating a horrible concoction of discomfort. No matter, she eventually fell back asleep. When Corbin woke, the sun was directly in his line of sight. He sat up, feeling the pains of last night’s sins pounding in his head. With a groan, he pulled himself up and was surprised to see Nancy still in bed. Upon seeing the bucket, he chose to leave her be on the assumption she felt ill. With her being home today, Corbin knew he would need to actually go out and at least make a sorry attempt at finding work. He slipped on a clean shirt and trousers and made his way out of the apartment. At about noon, Nancy woke again to find that her nap had rid her body of the misery of sickness. She saw that Corbin had gone out, so she took it upon herself to try and wash sheets since she was home. She pulled her covers off of her mattress first, tossing them in the washing tub. She then walked to Corbin’s corner to grab his sheets. She never really looked in his section of the house, so she decided to take a quick glance as she started disrobing the bed. The only things really in the corner were a small clock and an old family picture. As she shook the pillow from its case, a loud crash bounced off the walls of the apartment. She looked to the floor to see shards of brown glass that had fallen from under the pillow. She stared at the shards on the floor, knowing exactly what they were from. She lowered herself to the floor, peeking under the edge of the cot. As she suspected, a lineup of other bottles and a wad of money were hidden just out of sight. She brought herself upright, sitting herself on Corbin’s bed. “And through ups and downs,” she whispered, trying not to let herself choke on her tears. “Together stick the browns.”


CHARLIE O’BRIEN, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR - II [4]. Charlie’s secure satellite cell phone rang, and as always it rang to “ Private Eyes ”, of course, what else would a real-life private eye have for a ring tone? Charlie always loved “ Hall and Oates ” the fantastic singing/songwriting duo from Philly ! “I see you, you see me, watch you blowin’ in the wind, when you’re making a scene, oh, girl, you’ve got to know, what my head overlooks, the senses will show to my heart, when it’s watching for lies, you can’t escape my Private Eyes .” On the ring tone were these words: “You play with words, you play with love, you can twist it all around, baby, that ain’t enough ‘Cos girl, I’m gonna know if you’re letting me in or letting me go, don’t lie, when you’re hurting inside ’Cos you can’t escape my Private Eyes.”

Charlie just loves that tune, he really does. He also loves Philadelphia, and he calls his gorgeous model like looking wife, his ‘Philly girl.’ On the other end of the phone was Don Barnes , the OCSD Sheriff and Chief Coroner. He was just checking in with Charlie and Sarge and wanted to know what kind of condition our condition was in with regard to our investigation. Charlie responded to the Sheriff, “Sadly, Sheriff, we have not taken down the bank- robbery gang yet, but trust me Sir, Sarge and our A-Team, and I shall, and you can take that to the bank.” Just as soon as Charlie got off of the phone with the good Sheriff, ‘ Private Eyes’ began singing to him once again. It was Captain Danks, Sarge and Yvette’s boss at the OCSD on Santa Ana Street, in Santa Ana. The Cap wanted to know the same thing as did the Sheriff and he got the same answer from Charlie, that is to say, “Nothing yet Captain, but I will definitely keep you posted, rest assured of that.” Charlie just had a thought, a brainstorm as it were in his opinion anyway, he decided to call the excellent RCSD (Riverside County Sheriff and Coroner), Chad Bianco . He and the good Sheriff had worked on several criminal cases in the past. And Charlie held him in high regard. Charlie spoke just as soon as the Sheriff answered his personal cell phone, “Sheriff I was wondering if I could borrow one of your good deputies, perhaps a weapons expert, to assist us with our nightmare bank-robbery investigation?” Sheriff Bianco , replied immediately, “I’ve heard and read about the heinous bank robberies in L.A. It is very high profile out here in the I.E. ( Inland Empire ) because we are right next door to L. A. County.” Then he hesitated, then he continued, “Of course, anything for my old P.I. compadre . And I will let you have my undersheriff for up to six months, he is the best man that I got amigo, how about that?” Charlie was shocked, he really was, then after he gained his composer, somewhat, he said, “Sheriff I cannot thank you and the RCSD enough, and I shall return the huge favor sometime in the future when you need a hand with one of your investigations.” He also told Sarge, “You know my son, everybody needs milk. You and Yvette and your whole family should be drinking milk every day. Look at how healthy I am and I have been drinking lots of milk my whole life. But I still like a good cold Coke or Pepsi Cola every now and then.” Then just before he took his first bite of a French Curler (or his Chocolate Long John or his jelly-filled glazed donut) his cell rang once again, it was ‘ Sergeant Kevin Lybrand’ and he was calling his man Charlie to get an update on their investigation. Charlie very quickly took a bite, a big bite of the cruller, and a big gulp of milk and replied, “Hey Kevin, what’s happening my friend?” Then he added, “Kevin I am right in the middle of an important phone call, can I get right back to you after I finish my three donuts, oops, oh, I mean my long distant phone call?” Kevin, laughed and then laughed some more, then almost gagged with laughter and then finally spoke, “Charlie ole man, go right ahead and finish your three donuts, oops, oh no, I mean your important phone call, and then call me back, OK?” Kevin added, “I just talked to Hong Kong ‘Triade’ gang members, scary, very scary individuals with lots of tat’s (Tattoo’s), all over their bodies as well as their faces and on top of their shaved heads.” He then added some more, “The leader of the gang, which had five members, was named ‘ Vicktor Karchenco’ and he was big, and he was vicious and, he was most definitely deadly.” Then he thought for a second, and added some more: His nickname was the ‘ Fisherman ,’ and the reason for that name was that if you cheated him, or disrespected him, or if he just did not like the way you looked, ‘he would put you to sleep with the fish.’ Then Kevin asked Charlie, “Do you remember the God Father movies, Charlie?” And Charlie replied, “Yes, Kev I saw all of them, actually several times.” Then Charlie said, “Good work Sergeant Lybrand, very good work. You just got us our first concrete lead on the bank robbers.” Then, “Hit some ‘hot spots’ while you are still there in Chinatown and turn-over some rocks and see if any low life illegal Ruskies (or Commie Pinkos , as I like to call them) turn up. Remember Kevin, ‘ head on a swivel ,’ like Sarge always says.” After Kevin’s call, and taking some, or a lot, of his stomach medicine for his GERD, Charlie called Sarge. He was down in Korea Town, around Pico and Alvarado area. Charlie told Sarge that he loved Korean people as they were almost always very honest and honorable individuals. However, “Just ‘sniff’ around a little bit and see if anything, or anyone, ‘ smells .’” Sarge quickly responded, “10-4 Jefe, you know that I am on the job, and remember old man, be careful out there and watch your back.” Sarge loved our man Charlie but he just could not help himself teasing him every chance he got. Then Sarge thought, and decided to add, “Charlie, old man, sometime let’s, you, Yvette ‘Marie’, your lovely wife, Lynn, Kevin and his wife, and Captain Danks and his wife, all get together and fly down to my and your favorite place, Ensenada, Mexico.” And, he also stated, “And, Jefe , we could all sing ‘ Kum ba Yah’ on the way down there. And eat a ton of excellent real Mexican food (comida) on the jet plane. Also, you could tell us some of your well known ‘war stories.” Then he laughed, again. Later that same day, Charlie caught a call from Billy Thieme , an old friend who lives out in the Valley (San Fernando Valley). He used to work for the LACSD (Department) in the ‘rough and tumble’ Firestone Division in the Norwalk, Dairy Valley, Hawaiian Gardens, and Bell Gardens. Charlie knew that there was a very large Russian enclave who lives in and around North Hollywood. Most of them were here legally and they came to the U.S. to get away from the Godless Communists , however, lots were not, and they were former FSB [KGB], same people, same faces, just a different name. The restaurant’s name was the ‘ Little Odessa’s Russian Community Lounge.’ Billy knew some Russian friends who frequented that place. His friends overheard some tough and nasty looking guys in the corner one night. According to Billy’s friend, the leader of the ‘pack’ was a scary, very scary, looking man named ‘ Vicktor Kharchenko ,’ cousin of the very infamous ‘ Decebal Stefan Emilian Matasareno’ half of the North Hollywood ‘Shoot Out’ meth-head duo back in the 1990’s. . The other half of the quite deadly duo was “ Larry Eugene ‘Murph’ Phillips , Jr.” And it just so happens that he was one of the infamous ‘meth-head’ bank robbers back in the 1990’s that took down the Bank of America branch in North Hollywood. That was the worst botched bank robbery in US history. Charlie turned on his cell phone to the itune feature and looked up one of his all- time favorite blues songs, “ Boom, boom ” (boom, boom) by the incredible Mississippi Delta bluesman , ‘ Mr. John Lee Hooker.’ It started out like this: Then our man Charlie called Jan Smoker , and asked her to call her old CIA friends and see what they could find out about our ‘Fisherman’ and his Crew. Jan is so fast and efficient, that she called Charlie back in only four hours. She started out by saying, “Charlie my good Hijo , my CIA contacts at the ‘ Agency’ said that the Fisherman and all five of his evil cohorts, were all former FSB (formerly known as the KGB) members. The same mean and violent type people, same scary looking faces, same snake-like whisper voices, but just different names.” And then she looked at her notes, and started speaking again, “These are bad dudes, real bad dudes, Charles, so ‘keep your head on a swivel’ as Sarge likes to say.” Charlie was shocked at how much Jan found out in so little time, he replied, “Thank you ever so much, very important news from ‘your voice to my ears. And remember careful is my middle name.” Jan laughed, and laughed, and then laughed some more, then answered, “Sure, Charlie, sure you will, old man.” Then Jan had a big smile on her face, and hung up her secure cell phone. [5] Charles Warner Kennedy (Charlie) O’Brien, is a Dreamer , he truly is! [6] On weekends Charlie drives his Classic 1964 Chevy Impala two-door hardtop. This beautiful ride has been completely restored to the original condition. He just loves classic cars and he has owned several of them over his life time.

Do you remember that great old 'Motown' song, " Charlie Brown " by the fabulous Coasters ? Charlie just absolutely loves Barry Gordy's Motown Music, he truly does.

Charlie and his lovely, model-looking-like wife, Lynn, just saw the fabulous 'Smokey Robinson .’ It was just an unbelievable performance and just to make it even more memorable, Mr. Berry Gordy (yes, the man himself ) was in the audience. How cool is that? Smokey and Barry live in the same theater. WOW.  People love to sing, "Here comes Charlie Brown, " whenever they see him.

Once again, and out of the blue , Charlie was hailed by his ever present and always within easy reach, cell phone. As you already know, his welcoming ring tone is “ Private Eyes ” by fantastic Philly boys, ‘Hall and Oates.’ On the other end of the line, was LT Yvette ‘Marie’ Murrieta, Charlie’s beloved Mija (adopted daughter). He was always so, so very happy whenever she called him, he really was. She was also known, when not ‘on the job’ as Mrs. J. J. Hernandez, the Sarge’s wonderful and very brave, wife. She was, as you know, a Lieutenant at the Orange County Sheriff’s department in the O. C. Also, Charlie likes to tell everyone, and I do mean everybody, that she is the better half, a much better half, and then he always adds “by far.” Whenever anyone tells Sarge what Charlie says, he always responds, “Charlie is right for once in his life, Yvette is the better half, no disagreement on my part about that, none at all.” LT. Yvette was doing some R and R (Research and Reconnaissance) on the ‘ Fisherman’ his Russki thugs, for the A-Team. And she ran across some very interesting ‘dirt’ about them and she thought that Charlie would want to hear about it, a-sap.  Yvette spoke as soon as he answered his cell and she said, “Pappy how are you doing? Good I pray, Sarge and I want to have you and Mama Lynn, over for dinner soon, real soon.” “And I will make my famous tamales , enchiladas, and burritos, and tacos too. Of course, with Mexican rice, beans, Sarge’s BBQ corn, and lots, and lots of hot flour tortillas.” She continued, “Plus as usual, I will make you a big family style taco salad, one of your favorites I know.” LT. could almost hear Charlie salivating over the phone (he is such a foodie, she thought to herself), so she added quickly, “Calm down Jefe, we got a vicarious bank robbery crime to solve first, then we eat, fiesta, and then eat some more, alright?” And.

And this is what the’ three ‘Amigos’ (Yvette, Sarge, and Charlie) found out that most of the good and law-abiding citizens of Los Angeles County do not know. Alex Villanueva, the Sheriff and Chief Coroner, of all of Los Angeles County, which is one of one of the greatest and largest Sheriff’s Departments in the whole country, the LASD Department, told Charlie and Sarge and LT Yvette, the brief (very brief) history of his excellent and dedicated department, and this is what he told them : [7] LASD Alex Villanueva , Sheriff, LAPD Michael Moore, Police Chief, and our man, Charlie the world famous, PI, were driving on the 10 (Santa Monica) Freeway, as it intersects with the log-jam 110 (Harbor Freeway) near downtown Los Angeles. They were riding in Charlie’s new BMW, which he likes to call Black beauty III, because he has had three of this particular model 750IL, and they were all beautiful black in color. Alex said to Charlie, “Hey, my amigo, let’s turn on your car stereo and listen to some tunes. I think that my compadre here, Chief Moore, likes the blues just like I do, and I recall you telling me that you love ‘John Lee Hooker,’ the great blues master.” Michael leaned over and turned the volume up loud, real loud and at the same time opened up Charlie’s cool sun-roof so that everyone in downtown LA could hear the great Blues music along with them. Then Alex said to Michael, “If we get pulled over for loud music, by the LAPD, can you flash your badge so that our friend Charlie does not get a ticket?” The Chief laughed really loud and then responded, 10-4 Sheriff.” And Charlie yelled to Alex, louder Sheriff, turn it up louder, let the gang bangers know that the new L.A. Sheriff and the new L.A. Police Chief are in town.” L.A. Bank Robbery Suspects Charlie called Peggy and Ron Edwards , Jan Smoker, and LT. Yvette Marie, and asked them who were the prime ‘person (s) of interest’ in the terrifying and accelerating Los Angeles (the bank robbery capital of the world) robberies? This is the list that they came up with, and told Charlie that this was just a preliminary list, and that there very well might be several more criminal organizations and or individuals to be added at a later date. 1. The Russians: Vicktor Karchenco (aka the Fisherman ); Alexandar (Alex) Kopiyka; and, Boris Omsk ‘Big’ Tvershaya. All of these despicable, and murderous individuals, were ex- FSB (formerly the hated and greatly feared- KGB) officers. They stole a lot of money, gold and silver, and a ton of weapons when they left their former ‘handlers.’ 2. The Deadly Hong Kong Triad: Formerly known as the “White Lotus Family” (San Ho Hui). And thought to be over 250 years old! 3. The North Korean Criminal Organization: Known as “Kkangpae Communist Society”. Also, they are said to be part of the North Korean Mafia, and the Japanese Yakuza. And; Charlie told LT. Yvette Marie, that he really liked Korean (South Korean) people. They have a great, honorable and very ancient culture, are very polite, and very respectful. They are also highly intelligent people and their children love to learn and excel at school. Then Yvette said to Charlie, “My favorite Jefe ever, I love Korean people just like you do. And also, I love and I know you do too, the Korean people in the North. They are treated so inhumanely and terribly, and yet they endure and they survive.” 4. The world roving Romanian Gypsyies : Known all over the world by the name, “The Emil Matasareanu gang.” [8] Charlie said to OCSD LT. Yvette Marie, “Mi’ja, wonderful daughter of mine, do you remember the very popular hit song by Randy Newman, ‘I Love L. A’?” Yvette immediately replied, “Si my great Pappy, I remember it well, me and all of my friends in school, went around singing it all of the time, back in the day.” Charlie said let’s play it on my iPod just for the fun of it, get Sarge on your cell phone speaker so he can sing along with the two of us, alright?” She laughed and then laughed some more. She has such a marvelous laugh , Charlie thought. Yvette started to laugh, again, and Charlie asked her what was so funny? She responded, “My Jefe, do you know how bad my beloved husband’s voice is? I love him dearly, as you know, but he really cannot sing very well.”


“No, I will become the leader of the world with or without you!” “Audrey, please!” “No! If you won’t help, then GO AWAY!” “Fine! Do whatever you want! Don’t come crying to me when you’re in a jail cell screaming for help!”

The scene played in Audrey’s mind as she shaved the last hair down there. I don’t need her. I’m doing just fine by myself; the global economy is up. I passed many laws, helped to maintain peace across the globe, and banned the use of fossil fuels around the world. “Madam, you got a call on line two.” “Thank you.” She stood up as her assistant walked out. Audrey shuffled her naked body over to the phone and pressed two. “Hello?” “Hey, darling! How’s the leadership life treating you?” her mom asked. “It’s going great! I just signed a couple bills that expedite the development of solar roads and raise the minimum wage!” “Oh, that’s so great, honey! Your dad and I couldn’t be more proud of you!” “Has anyone whistled at you, yet?” “Dad!” “Oh, I’m just kidding!” “If anyone does, I’ll beat them up!” Audry said. “Atta girl!” he replied. Audry chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t. I’d just ignore them and walk on.” “Yeah, that’s probably the best thing to do. Your mom and I raised you right.” “Well, thank you.” “If you need anything at all, give us a call, OK?” Mrs. Turner said. “Alright, I will.” “Well, I have chicken pot pie to make and you probably have political stuff to do, so I’ll let you go, now,” Mrs. Turner said. “OK, I love you, Mom.” “I love you too! Bye, honey!” Audrey hung up. She looked out the window and smiled.

Carrie slammed her locker and carried her U.S. history textbook down the hall. “Hey, Carrie,” a chubby boy said and her mind flashed back to the jerk who locked her out of her own house at the party. “Keep it together, Carrie.” She made it to the last room. She walked in and took her seat in the front row.  The bell rang. “Hello everyone, I hope you’re doing well,” Ms. Huffington said in her slightly raspy voice. She brushed her long blonde hair back, walked to the board, picked up a blue marker, and wrote while she talked. “Your reading assignment for today is page one fifty-three to one sixty-three.” Carrie turned to chapter ten, section two: The Road to World War I, and began reading. She tried concentrating as the book talked about some dude named Franz Ferdinand, but her mind was somewhere else. She put her head down and started sobbing. “Carrie, you OK?” a black-haired girl asked. “Yeah. I’m fine.” She wiped her tears and looked at the page. Her eyes welled up and she sniffled. “Carrie? What’s wrong?” Irene asked, sitting behind her. Now, she has a heart? After she helped Audrey strip? “I… I… I gotta go. Excuse me.” Carrie got up and left. She rushed down the hall and then into the bathroom. She opened the first stall, walked in, laid her head against the wall, and cried. Oh, Audrey! How could you do this to me? I thought we were friends. She wept and remembered the good times they had together: swimming in her pool, shopping at the mall, giggling at cute boys while they were being stupid. How they went to movies, sharing large popcorn as they laughed, cried, or rolled their eyes. Doing homework while gossiping about who went out with the popular girl. Was that all a lie? She couldn’t believe Audrey would do something so crazy and turn on her. She thought she knew Audrey, but… “I guess not,” she said as tears fell on the floor.

Audrey stared at a bust of Susan B. Anthony in her office. What would she think if she was alive today? Would she be happy that a young woman practically united the world? She remembered how Anthony helped create the International Counsel of Woman. Audrey, herself passed many laws, including the Equal Pay for Everyone Act and the Abortion Act. She already did a lot for the world. She smiled. I guess the world just needed a woman to run it. Realizing she had been stuck inside all morning, Audrey said, “I’m going for a walk, Zexado.” “OK, I’ll come along,” Zexadao said and followed her out. “This is the life, eh? Walking outside in the nude enjoying the warm sun...” “You said it!” “I just love this!” Audrey twirled around. “I’ve made a difference in the world and I’m only sixteen!” “Yeah.” “And it’s all thanks to you!” “You’re welcome, Audrey. It’s been a pleasure working for you.” A blue cloud appeared and evaporated. Then, a bird creature stood in front of them. ” Ah, Mokopai, how was Jamaica?” Zexado asked. “Awesome! I partied and ate Rice and Peas, Callaloo Coco Bread... and more delicious food!” “Good, good!” “Wait, you just took a vacation?” Audry asked. “Yeah,” Mokopai replied. “Seriously?” “Yeah, I brought back some ganja. Want some?” Audry felt weird. Why was this demon offering her drugs? ‘No, that wouldn’t be professional.” “OK, but if you change your mind, call me,” Mokopai said and pantomimed holding a phone up to his ear. “Uh, pretty sure I won’t.” “We’ll see...” “What?” “Nothing.” “OK, then, well, I’m gonna continue my walk now.” “Ooh, can I join?" “Suuuure?" “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I mean, yes, you can join me.” “Great!”  Audry continued walking. “So, tell me about yourself,” Mokopai said. “Excuse me?” Audry stopped. “I wanna know about you. You’re the Leader of the World, you know? “Well, um… I was born in California. I have no siblings. My family moved here when I was seven because mom got a job as a nurse. Um... I love history! I was taking AP U.S history two before I became World Leader and had to quit regular school.” “Cool, cool. I had five siblings, but my momma sacrificed four to Erebos, Ruler of the Underworld.” “I’m sorry?” “It’s OK, I don’t really remember them. I was only one year old.” “Oh.”  Mokopai checked his watch. “Shit! I’m late for something! See you later.” “OK... bye, I guess?” A blue cloud, appeared and sucked the bird creature up. Hmm, what’s he up to? Audry pondered.  “…And, so we must continue moving forward as a planet. Thank you.” Claps dominated the conference room as Audrey smiled. The room emptied except for one.  She came up as Audrey put her notes away. She took a deep breath when Audrey looked up. “Hi,” Carrie said. “Hi,” Audrey replied. “Can we talk?” “Go ahead.” She crossed her arms in front of her bare breasts. “This is weird. You became a nudist and the ruler of the world!” “Hey, I’m not a ruler!" “Whatever, my point is I’m worried about you.” “For your information, I’m doing great! I’ve never been happier in my life!” “That demon guy is planning something.” “Bullshit! It’s been six months, and he has helped me out so much. If he were to do something, he’d done it by now.” “What kind of logic is that? And, what about your parents? Are they happy with your decisions?” “Yes, they called just a short while ago and told me.” “Told you what?” “They were proud of me.” “Oh, so I am the only one who’s crazy?” “I suppose so.” “Do you know how much you’ve hurt me?” “Why can’t you be happy for me?” “Because this is INSANE!” Carrie yelled. “Oh, so I’m insane, now!” Audry shot back. “I didn’t say that!” “You said my choice is insane, so I must be insane.” “Audrey...” “I’m just some crazy naked bitch to you, now.” “Why are you doing this?” “I love being World Leader!” “Why did you choose to become a nudist?” “Why not? Zexado said I could do anything I want, so I choose to go nude.” “Is this some kind of weird revenge on those jerks at the party?” “Not anymore.” “What do you mean?” “I was going to have them stripped naked and burn all their clothes, but I realized it would look bad on my image.” “Your image?” “As World Leader.” “You care only about your image?” “No, I didn’t say that.” “But you did.” “No, I said it would look bad on my image.” “And that’s all you care about? Your image?” “I don’t need to justify anything to you.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I love my new life. I’m helping the world, and people like it. They love me, Carrie. Can’t you be happy for me?” “That’s it! I’m through with you! Live your damn wonderful life! Just remember you lost your best friend!” Carrie ran to the door. “Oh, yeah, well, fuck you!” Carrie stopped, ran up to her ex-friend, and punched her. Audry placed two fingers on her lip and looked. Blood was on her fingertips. “You... you hit me…” She stared at the girl she had known since kindergarten. “Zexado!” He materialized beside Audry. “Yes, madam?” “She punched me! Arrest her!


Sinarta is my hometown. It is a small town on a hill that overlooks the Grange Valley on one side and Lake Naples on the other. On the shores of the lake are flower plantations. Sometimes a cool morning breeze carries the scent of myriad flowers to the inhabitants of Sinarta. It has often been said that the day Bobby came to town, a jasmine-scented breeze was blowing from the lakeside. It was a cold day in February. Most people were indoors, watching Netflix and drinking hot fluids. Anyone who had business to do outdoors was heavily clad in jackets and trenchcoats and sweaters and scarves and gloves and boots. I was among the first people to see Bobby. Initially, I thought he was crazy. He was standing outside the Town Hall, besides the statue of one of our town's revered heroes. He was in a white shirt, a pair of black cotton trousers, and black loafers. He was leading a one-man protest. Bobby had come from Foota, another small town about 40 miles from Sinarta. What Sinarta and Foota had in common was that they were the two biggest, most developed, economic giants, in Kwani County. Sinarta Town hosted the headquarters of Kwani County at the Town Hall. Foota had a fairer climate at all times of the year, which could explain Bobby's outfit that day. The day Bobby came to town was on a Thursday. I remember that particular detail because on Thursday we always have a FIFA tournament. My friend Jack and I had gone to the central district of Sinarta to play against a few opponents from a neighboring school. Jack was my roommate and we had spent a lot of nights together practicing. We beat them in all matches, and put down our PlayStation controllers 500 US dollars richer. Jack and I decided not to split the prize money. "Let's spend it together," I proposed as we left the tournament room. "Spend it how?" Jack asked. "We buy a PS5 and use the remainder to pay for electricity tokens," I answered immediately. "Of course," Jack replied as a matter of factly. We were in such high spirits that he had even forgotten that our consoles were ragged and we were on the verge of a blackout. As we hurried off to the superstore with 500 dollars in our pockets, we met Bobby. He was standing alone on the steps of the Town Hall demanding that the Internet be made a social right. As we were walking past him, he shouted at us and summoned us to him. "Maybe he has something important to tell us," we both thought as we walked towards him. He began his speech by introducing himself as a social entrepreneur. He said that he started a bunch of technology startups that had made him a lot of money. His latest innovation was a social media application that gave users total anonymity. The County Government of Kwani had refused to grant his company operational license. The application had also been blocked by the same County. I interrupted him to ask him why the government would do that. He told us that the current regime had mismanaged public funds and engaged in corrupt practices. He had been one of the people that had exposed them. He had done it virtually anonymously. I remembered that that expose had made news some time back. The newspapers had reported that someone of unknown identity had released classified documents implicating the members of the current regime. However, the case had been dismissed in the courts after the Kwani County Government officials had used political muscle to intimidate the High Court judges. Was he "Whistleblower X"? I wondered. He told us that the same government he was trying to expose had retaliated by banning his social media application. The government was afraid that his app would be a tool for political opponents to organize themselves. They were hell-bent on impeding public communications and keep themselves in power. "They intercept all of our communications, you know?" he said. He had me convinced. Jack also seemed to be on the same page. Bobby wanted us to join his protest. I had listened to his message and bought into his vision. I now understood that technology can be a democratizing influence. That is why our apparently corrupt and autocratic government was trying to shut it down. I decided to be a critic of the government. On that cold Thursday in February, the three of us walked into a Bistro and ordered hot coffee for each of us.  We told Bobby about our tournament and the prize money. His eyes lit up. He laid a plan for us. We told him we would not spend the money yet as we thought about his proposal. We would get in touch. When we got home and discussed Bobby's plan, we knew one thing for sure. This plan was going to land us in hot water. We rightfully called the plan Bobby's Trap. And yet we decided to go ahead with it, come what may. We called him two days later and told him that we had agreed to create an animated web series and sponsor it with the prize money. The web series would be titled 'The Rude Rebellion' and would be heavily critical of the wrong-doings of the Kwani Government. "Remember, you are crossing a line here boys. Once you start this project, there is no turning back. Are you boys sure about this?" Bobby asked over the phone, which was on the loudspeaker. Jack looked at me and nodded in the affirmative. "Yes, Bobby. We are willing to take our chances," I responded hurriedly. "Okay then. I will link you up with a good animation design agency. They have competitive rates. Ask to speak to Lilian...tell her you are Bobby's friends...she will get you preferential treatment...(pause). Anything else?" Bobby's voice came over the loudspeaker. "Nothing for now. We will keep in touch," I replied. "Keep my name out of it," he said before the line went dead. In a few seconds, I received a message with the agency's address and contact information. I dialed the number and it was picked up after three dials. I asked to speak to Lilian. The Customer Service agent told us that she was not available at the moment. She would be back in the office in an hour's time. I asked to speak to her Secretary. I was transferred to her secretary who had a warm voice. I booked an appointment with Lilian in one hour. We met with Lilian in her office and told us we were sent by Bobby. She recognized the name immediately. Apparently, she was a co-founder in one of Bobby's startups. "Whats the series going to be about?" she asked after the small talk. Jack had prepared a pitch already. "It going to be focused on how our leaders clearly are using internet shutdowns to stifle criticism, maintain their own political control, and use selective digital disruptions to harm particular geographic areas or stymie political opponents," he said. We handed over the script (which had been done by a hired freelancer over the internet) and the schedules. She went over everything and after ascertaining that all was fine, she told us to wait for six weeks. We paid the rates with our remaining prize money and went our way. Six weeks later, we released 'The Rude Rebellion' and sent the streaming links to Bobby. According to our plan, we would finance the production and he would promote the series anonymously through a third party. He did not want to be directly involved in this because, in his own words, he had 'more to lose ' than we did. It was true. He had already suffered enough of a setback with the ban of his application and didn't want to endure more suffering at the hands of the government. Although we were in the same struggle, we had more anti-fragility and robustness as we were mere upstarts who might gain a lot in terms of money and fame if our series became a success. We had no downside. "The Rude Rebellion" went viral. The plot and the graphic aesthetics gave it an appeal, but it was the content of the series that stirred feelings of discontent among many. Among the key-to-actions was using a VPN to access Bobby's application. People converged in the application and started venting pent-up anger and exasperation against the government. It was these stirred-up emotions that were later manifested in organized protests. Where one man had stood alone, where we three had met, now the same place hosted a multitude of angry protesters. And Bobby watched in anticipation to see whether the government would acquiesce to pressure and lift the ban on his app. We also watched in awe and disbelief. We couldn't believe our eyes. Could a few people spark something this big? I guess that's how things work in Bobby's Trap!


The gypsies played their hip-throbbing tunes on this fine evening, hired by the groom out of respect for his elders. No wedding is complete without Romani music, they thought, as the fast-paced rhythms mixed with raki cajoled the younglings into shaking their bodies with an exuberant lack of coordination—a dance best described as pulsing mini-seizures. Of course, some of the kids and men were crafty with it, synced with the notes, dancing on beat to make quite a show, drawing claps and roars from the onlookers. This idea of grandeur originated from times of solitude and stigmas when one man couldn’t inquire a woman for her name, except at events such as these, where slipping away into the crowd proved easy and useful. This is how Sharani and Mustafa had met, the groom’s parents. Dancing teens, musicians blowing on clarinets, confetti-spreading kids, and a large man holding a camera fit for his size—all overlooked by the couple’s innocent-white table. Hazan and Nazli had known each other since high school; he was senior to her by three grades, although older by two years. They started dating when Nazli graduated, and the wedding came not long after. Seated next to them were Filiz, the groom’s sister, and Halim, her betrothed. They flirted in a parading fashion. Halim flaunted his bourgeois roots by consuming expensive red wine together with Filiz, the only ones to do so, and laughed vociferously at her remarks. “He can’t tune down for even a second!” rebuked Hazan into Nazli’s ear. “Someone should have reminded her to dress more appropriately! This is my wedding, after all!” she hissed back, sneaking a peek at Filiz’s velvet gray gown with pleats that formed a flower, a flourished rose. Hazan's brow furrowed at his wife-to-be's rude comments. He grabbed a cup, his hand shaking slightly, and downed the drink in one gulp. A grimace flickered across his face as the liquid burned its way down his throat. The singer of the brass band halted the music and approached the couples. “Time for a dance, applause for the celebrants!” he cried, rallying the spectators. Hazan stumbled, leaned on the table, and kissed Nazli’s hand before leading her into the center of the now-empty dance floor. He sported a cream-toned three-piece suit, with a black stowed handkerchief. Complementing him, she wore a simple snow-white gown, stretched over her décolletage, adorned with golden jewelry. Hazan pressed her to himself, holding her by the waistline with one hand, and locking palms with the other, they danced,  semi-rhythmically to the song. Filiz's eyes narrowed as she watched Hazan stumble on Nazli's dress. “He is stepping on her dress, the drunk fool,” she muttered under her breath, tapping her foot. Halim placed a hand on her knee, attempting to still her restless leg. “Let them be, love,” he said, his voice soothing her irritation. “This is their day.” The attending crowd gradually fell into silence; roars muffled, and chit-chat whispers disappeared in a gust. To an outsider’s eye, they would seem miserable: a drunk speeding up and pausing mid-dance, and a woman whose bitter smile soured. But this was tradition, with only one rule forbidding one to not be blackout drunk, so that one can still perform his manly duties. As the song ended, a new one began, a less formal one but still composed for couples. Mustafa led Sharani to accompany the celebrants first, followed by Kalim and Afize, the bride’s parents. Halim, confident in his timing, ready to interject themselves now, darted up, pushing the table aside and spilling the wine, dotting red on the innocent-white tablecloth. Filiz frowned deeper. He kissed her hand and led her to the dance floor. They weaved their bodies into one, moving tenderly like waves on the sea. Unlike them, Hazan and Nazli resembled ripples, clashing with another dancing couple every two minutes. “You are as drunk as my brother, spilling wine on their table!” Filiz taunted. “Drunk on love and lost in your beauty!” He laughed cheekily. She looked away, and he took the opportunity to land a sly kiss on her cheek. “The boys will fix it, don’t worry!” he added, nodding towards the waiters. The boys began toiling away, throwing everything they could to remove the stain, but it persisted. Lucky for them, the tablecloth stretched longer than the table and gently rested on top of the pavement. They moved it a bit, and voila! The spillage was hidden successfully! Filiz watched the servants clean up the spilled wine, a small smile playing on her lips as they worked. Glancing over Halim's shoulder, she noticed Hazan's sweat-soaked face and vacant eyes, while Nazli's gaze seemed to linger too long on Halim, her eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. “Halim, she is watching you,” she whispered. “Had I known then the circumstances that I would be cursed with, my love, I would not have done it.” His eyes locked on Filiz’s tender face. “I know, I don’t blame you…” Their movements slowed, yet still languid. “My mind is troubled, love. What if tonight, there is a problem?” She stared at Halim, her eyes shining, reflecting the full moon on their damp surface. “Don’t worry, love, as long as he is drunk, no one will know!” He reassured her, landing another soft kiss on her clavicle. “She seems a bit…Full? Nazli was always a thin girl.” Filiz narrowed her eyes and observed Halim in suspicion. In silence, they danced, swaying from one side to the other and spinning flawlessly. The men couldn’t see them, but the signs spoke to Filiz. “Please… Filiz, you know it has been a long while!” He reassured her. The enlarged breasts, constantly leaning her head on Hazan, the mess she left yesterday, and the way she avoided alcohol… Filiz suspected Nazli. The signs were there, but she relieved herself, calling it stress, the weight of the wedding. “Your parents are a nice bunch, love! I am glad to have finally met them,” Halim pulled away Filiz from her worries. “They are, mostly. Although, I am afraid for my father, his sudden hair loss and how thin he became in such a short time!” “It comes with age, love. Do not worry yourself,” he whispered, gently patting her back as he hugged her. “His eyes have changed…” “They seemed fine to me. A happy bunch, him and your mother. I hoped mine would attend, but alas…” “Have you inquired about me?” She frowned. “Are they still against our marriage?” He pulled himself back to meet her eyes. “They are not against you, love. They are against this! Anything but traditional, they hate this music and the aura it radiates.” “They deny their roots then. We shall speak of this later.” “I do hope Hazan finds the happiness he seeks in Nazli.” “Oh, please. His love is for the bottle, and she still clings to yesterday’s events. Misery clouds trail them,” she hissed. “You are always skeptical of him. Give it some time, he will change…” The music swiftly adjusted into the rhythmic traditional type, and the couple went back to take their seats. “He has to…” Halim muttered.


I had been lying in bed for a while, watching the sun rise and shine through the window, reflecting off of the face of my wife. She had always been so bright and cheerful, the definition of a sunny attitude. I slipped out of bed, slid into some casual clothes I had left on the floor and slinked out of the apartment. It was a warm spring morning. April the fifth, the day of our wedding anniversary. Our first wedding anniversary. I was going to make sure it was a very special one. I walked down to the corner store and popped in. I ordered a coffee and a ham and cheese panini. On ciabatta of course. It was her favorite breakfast, after all. Simple and easy, as things should have been. Down to the bus stop I went, munching on breakfast. Dan was there, a neighbor three doors down from our apartment. He was looking at me like he was trying to figure out what to say, then decided not to say anything at all. “Morning, Dan,” I said to him, after gulping down the last mouthful. “How’re you, today?” Dan asked, not looking at me. “I’m alright,” I replied. “Got a lot of shopping to do today. You?” “Same, the wife sent me out with a honey-do list,” Dan said, letting his sentence trail off. I snickered, ”I know how that can be.” The bus pulled up, people shuffled off and on. I saw Dan take the first empty seat, right between a sleepy teenager and stern looking old man. I walked to the back and took an empty bench to myself. The bus trundled off down the street. Looking out the window I saw people bustling about in that big city way. We had moved here six months ago, and I still wasn’t quite used to all the commotion. The constant sounds, the way people look past one another, destination being the total focus. As I watched I looked for the journey people. The ones who relished in the now. It was usually couples. There was a pair, I saw, across the street. They were having breakfast. Sitting at a small table in front of a cafe. She was talking animatedly, all smiles and glowing. He was just nodding, smiling and caressing one of her hands in both of his. Further down the street was an older couple. I often wondered if an elder had reached their destination, how long ago that was, or how much further they had to go. It was refreshing though, seeing the older couple. Sitting on a park bench, watching the world go by and just enjoying each other’s company. It was the simple things. The bus stopped in shopping district. I got up and made my way to the front. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Dan said to me as I passed by. I gave him a smile and thanked him before I walked into the street. Other people jostled past me as I turned right and headed for the book store. It was a small store. The front half was dedicated to merchandise, the only thing keeping the store open. It had dingy yellow lighting, a maze of old wooden bookshelves and a musty smell. I loved it, almost as much as my wife. It was almost lunch time, but I wasn’t feeling very hungry. I wandered off into the maze and got lost in the titles. Here were the political thrillers. There were the biographies. I ran my hand across a shelf of children’s books as I walked past. I wondered about a child of my own, what they might be like. I turned a corner into the science fiction section. There was a cleared space where another shelf would have been. Instead it was inhabited by plush reading chairs and a small coffee table. A small, secret place. Squirreled away from the bustling world outside. My wife often came here when the waters would get too rough, and needed a place away from the sea of people outside. For a while, I let myself get lost in the pages. Thumbing through this. Glancing at a synopsis of that. Sitting, then wandering, then sitting again. Eventually I found a nice dystopian thriller. My wife loved that particular author as well. She would go on about how he waxed philosophically, using the narratives as creative illustration. I was just happy reading something with action and well described food. She never let me live that one down, always poking fun at my weird tastes. I bought the book, paying extra to have the cheery cashier gift wrap it. “She just loves these kinds of thrillers doesn’t she?” I vaguely recognized the girl. Usually I just passed her by, heading for the next destination with my wife. “She sure does,” I replied to her. “Well, tell her I’ve missed seeing her. It’s been a while since she popped in.” I smiled, “sure. I’ll do that for you.” After leaving, I walked back down to the bus stop. It was a short wait for another long ride. On the way, I people watched some more. School must have been out for the day. I saw a teenage couple, all yammering, stammering and full of awkward. It was cute. You could tell they had recently started their journey together. Their only destination being in the other’s eyes. I hopped off the bus at the next stop and started the next long walk of my own journey. Half way there I stopped by another corner store. I bought the biggest, most garish bouquet of roses they had. I resumed my walk. The sun was getting low in the sky as I crossed the street. Passing through a large wrought iron gate, I made my way down a grassy lane. There was a large oak tree with a bench underneath it. I sat down, set the gifts aside, held my face in my hands and felt the tears begin streaming. It was a quiet heaving and sobbing. Once I gathered myself together, I wiped my nose and looked up at my wife’s headstone. I got up and walked over to it. I knelt in the grass and placed the book up against the stone. Someone had emptied the vase I had left there, so I filled it with the bouquet. I laid a hand on the ground I knew her to be under. “Happy anniversary,” my throat seized up. “The girl at the bookstore misses you,” I choked out. “I saw Dan today, he seems to be doing well,” I mumbled, watching a tear, then another roll down my nose to patter on the grass. I thought back to six months ago, when we first moved to the city. Neither of us wanted to live in this place, but it was the closest medical center that was capable of treating her cancer. The treatment was supposed to be simple, but there were complications. In the end, she had lived two months longer than expected. I remembered trying to enjoy every single moment I had with her. Even bald and emaciated, her smile shone bright through my memory. My ray of sunshine. I don’t know how long I sat there. My legs ached and I thought my heart would give out. It had long since grown dark, and cold. Both in the world, and in my mind. Hunger began knocking at my door. I stood up and breathed deep. I looked out across the small lake in the cemetery. The moon was a pale reflection dancing on the water. I thought back to the picture of my wife on my night stand. A pale reflection of the sunny smile I’ll always remember.


Although they are inarguably one of the most popular bands in the world today, in 1994 the Slack Magnets were playing their first string of shows in small venues scattered in and around Milwaukee, usually as an opening band for other relatively unknown indie and punk rock groups. Legend had always held these shows were sloppy and erratic, as the members were 'primarily drinking partners who formed a band when we ran out of things to talk about' - according to guitarist and vocalist Eric Borders. It may have taken them a few years to get their act together as composers and performers, but as archivists they never missed a beat. From the very first show, and each one since, the Slack Magnets have recorded every performance they have even given. Last year the band released their career-spanning box set 'Idle Gimmicks' which included a vinyl pressing of the third time they ever took the stage, which was in late June at The Chuckaluck in Madison, Wisconsin. The live recording, which was released in its glorious unmastered rawness, confirmed the inebriated swagger of those early outings. While the album is a great time capsule of the mid-nineties underground music scene, and a peek into the early days of rock royalty, the Slack Magnets' performance is too chaotic and disjointed to be enjoyed as anything more than a historical novelty. In fact the shining moment of the entire half hour performance comes when an audience member inextricably screams "Bro my balls!" in between songs; which has spawned merchandise, memes, parodies and even a number one hit by the band in the wake of the trope's popularity. Since then thousands of people have come forward claiming to be the Bro-My-Balls-Guy, but none of them have provided any evidence to support their allegation. Only a few of them have even been verified to be plausible, but the mystery of who said it and why has been one of the great cultural conundrums of the twenty first century. For her thirteenth birthday, Charlotte Meyers' father had promised to take her to a concert of her choice, and the eclectic middle-schooler chose Weezer. As luck would have it, Weezer were scheduled to perform three weeks after her birthday in Chicago, and her father agreed to make the two hour drive from Edgerton, Wisconsin so she could attend her first rock concert. Unfortunately, on the day of the show, Rivers Cuomo had succumbed fully to a nasty case of influenza, and the event was called off eight hours before it would have started. When Charlotte heard the news on the radio it broke her heart. She had anticipated this night for months and now she would have to wait weeks or months for a make-up date, if there would even be one. Her father promised they would go see her favorite band as soon as it was possible, but also offered another option in the meantime. They could drive up to Madison the next day and catch an all ages show at one of the many dive bar clubs the college town had to offer. He made some calls and confirmed that there was a show featuring bands that neither of them had ever heard of, but which even a thirteen year old could attend. "On the way to the show I pretended to be excited for my dad's sake, since he had gone out of his way to give me an experience, but in my mind it seemed like a poor substitute for what was supposed to have been the greatest night of my life. But once we got inside The Chuckaluck, I was completely thrilled. It smelled like smoke and alcohol and danger. I instantly realized how much cooler this was than some giant events center where basketball games were played." Charlotte was reluctant to share her story for fear of not being believed, but after finding some photos she took at the show that she thought had been lost years ago, she reached out to The Whirling Pebble to share her memories and solve the mystery of the Bro-My-Balls-Guy once and for all. note: The Whirling Pebble has confirmed the authenticity of these photos, which clearly show Charlotte and her father, as well as the Slack Magnets. Former employees and patrons have confirmed the venue appears as it did during that time period. The band themselves believe there is no doubt that this picture is from that specific show. "The Slack Magnets opened up the show that night, becoming the first band I ever saw live, and from then on they were my favorite band. Weezer was out. I saw them two more times that year and many more times over the years to come. But that first show is etched into my memory in the same way some people remember every detail of their wedding day or 9/11." Charlotte can remember precisely the events that led up to the now famous mic bomb. "There was this guy, this very drunk guy, and he was dancing around like an idiot. I don't think he was even into the music, he just wanted to be part of the spectacle, so he was going out of his way to act flippant and unruly. My dad kept trying to move us further away from him, but no matter where we went he eventually made his way close to us. Not on purpose, but just as a matter of doing his whole wild boy routine. At some point he decided to engage in some situationally inappropriate skanking, flailing his body around like some misplaced rudeboy, and in doing so ended up unintentionally swinging his fist right into my dad's crotch. That is the point where you can hear him yelling on the record." Of all of the theories to emerge in regards to the incident, so far as I can tell, nobody has ever suggested that genre-defying ska dancing played a part. Yet the inebriated absurdity of the entire situation seems retrospectively appropriate, considering where the band itself was at in their lives and career at the time. "My dad actually pushed the guy to the ground. By the time the dude got back up and started threatening my dad, the lone security guy had arrived to deal with it, and promptly escorted the dancing nuisance out of the show. Afterwards, between sets, he came over and apologized to my dad for letting things go so far before intervening." As far as she knows, her father's testicles were not seriously injured in the making of the infamous incident. "He had a great time, too. It must not have bothered him because he spent the next several years enthusiastically escorting me to dozens of shows that he seemed to enjoy as much as I did." Charlotte's father passed away in 2016, three years before his exclamation of pain became a legendary footnote in rock and roll history, but she says he would have appreciate the Bro-My-Balls -Guy phenomenon. "My dad would have gotten a huge kick out of it. It was a great memory for both of us, and he had a better sense of humor than anyone else I have ever met. And knowing how much amusement it brought everyone would have made him incredibly happy. It was one small groin punch for dad, and one giant leap of joy for mankind." R.I.P. Arthur Meyers 1958-2016 The Whirling Pebble, Issue 587, December 2020


“Lizzy!” Momma shouted at me. I was running out into the field. All four legs at max speed. The wind was pushing against my face and the wheat was barely getting caught in my fur. I was running to the forest, which Momma always said wasn’t safe.

The forests are separated into two, the wildlife, and the big tall animals. I can’t remember what these animals are called, but they only have two legs and wear stuff over their fur. Humans? Something like that.

I was a curious pup. My siblings and I don’t like being in the same old places. We want to explore, but Momma hates it. Mrs. Grizzly says it drives her nuts! I get to the opening of the forest, but I hesitate. I look back, but Momma isn’t in sight. I take slow steps into the forest, scared that a possum might jump out on me, or worse, maybe a human!

A loud, drilling noise rings in my ears. What was that horrible sound? I trotted over to the sound, and hid behind the trees. There it was, a human! The human was sitting in this big drive-y thingy. “A little deeper!” One of the humans shouted. The man nodded and kept drilling. “Ah, there it is!” He shouted, as the tree came crashing down, pulling a couple other trees down with it. They all cheered, then hit their paws together. Is that a paw five? Cool! But not cool at the same time. I ran as fast as my little paws could go, back to Momma.

I had forgotten how mad she was but I put that aside. This was more important. “Momma! Momma!” I howled, out of breath. “My little cub decided to come back? What’s wrong pup?” She asks confused, sitting on the log covered in leaves. I layed on my back, twisting and swerving into the leaves. “The humans t-they were drilling the t-trees!” I managed to say, out of breath. “Did they fall?” She asked worriedly. “Of course they did, Momma!” I bark, jumping onto all fours. She turned her head to Mrs. Grizzly. When did she get here? “You knew this time would come Sarah.” Mrs. Grizzly said sternly. Momma huffed. She got up and her tail stood in between her legs. Momma wasn’t happy. “Well, I guess we shall have a stern family talk, why don’t you call her brothers and sisters? Dinner is almost prepared and your father will be here soon.”

“Poppy, Jackson, Violet, Cooper, and Oliver! Dinners ready and Mommas just about to give us a stern talking to!” I said catching up to them at the creek. “Coming!” Barked Violet. “Seriously?” Asked Cooper. “Just five more paws?” Jackson and Oliver asked, throwing rocks into the creek. “Guys-” I started. But I didn't finish my sentence as they were all already running. “Wait up!” I howled as I started chasing after them.

“How was Tod Class?” Momma asked Papa. (That's a boy group in fox language!) “Why it was just alright Sarah! How were the pups?” Momma stared me down. “Why they were just pleasant.” I smiled at Momma, but she gave me that look saying I’d have to pay her back. Papa turned to all six of us. “How was your day pups?” He asked, taking a bite of the leaf and stem salad. “Great!” “We threw rocks in the creek!” “I saw a blue jay!” “Me and Poppy played tag in the grass!” We all barked at the same time. “Woah woah woah. Slow down pups!” He smiled. “Well, from what I’m hearing you had a excellent day! Now enough howling, why don’t we dig into this lovely salad?” He asked, his eyes falling to Momma. She blushed.

Everyone was asleep except me. I wasn’t tired, and my eyes wouldn’t shut. I was too worried about the trees, and the humans. Momma said that they might come for us, and what if they did? The wind whistled, and the moon shimmered in between the trees. I layed on my bed, but it wasn’t right. I turned around to my siblings. They were all asleep. I walked over to the end of the forest, hearing the owls snore. I looked at the field, it was empty. Not even a sound of crickets. The drilling had stopped, but the big drive-y thingy was still there. I trotted over, across the field, and punched right at it. Nothing happened? It was bright yellow, and stared at me, but had no eyes. I could just sense it.

“Marks eh?”

“Yeah man! I think some animal got at it!”

“Those creatures. Think they own everything.”

“Probably a bear.”

“No, a coyote!”

My ears perked up. They wouldn’t suspect me, would they? Clack. I jump around to see Papa trotting over. “Where were you!” He shouted. “You had me and your mother worried! You shouldn’t be out here it isn-” he couldn’t finish his sentence. “Get them!” A man shouted. “Run!” Papa shouted, getting hold of the fur around my neck. He panted, running as fast as he could, getting out of the man's sight. The man had a gun in his hand, and we all knew that wasn’t good. “Papa! What’s going on?” I shouted over the sound of his paws against the ground. I knew what was going on, but why? We were running, and he pulled the trigger.

Boom. Papa stopped, his body dropping to the ground. “Little fox too slow for me eh? See Jerald, I don’t miss a single shot.”’ He said brushing off his shoulder and walking away. “Papa!” I shouted, and then I saw it. The blood dripping from this leg consistently. “No! No, this can’t be. I-I didn’t mean to..” How could I do this? It was all my fault! I shouldn’t have left!

“Momma!” I howled running back to the forest, my legs pumping with pain. She looked at me worriedly. “It’s Papa! He’s been shot!”

I leapt straight out of my bed. Was it all just a dream? Maybe I was seeing into the future. I wasn’t sure what just happened. But I knew that I had to protect my family from the humans.


So there I was, stuck in the blistering heat and a sweat-soaked summer dress, standing only fifteen feet from the sweet, sweet sanctuary that was Little’s Mama’s Big Ice Cream Shoppe—the only ice cream shop is town when the small was more than half a gallon of ice cream plopped onto a skinny cone that would scream under the weight of it if it wasn’t an animate object. But alas, there I was, foiled by my own shoes. Melted into the freaking street. “I told you making your own shoes from recycled plastic was a bad idea, Pele,” My girlfriend, Bianca, called from the safety of the sidewalk with a cocky grin. “This is fine!” I lied as I tried to take a step. “Totally fine.” Bianca swayed to the side with a hand on her hip. “Just admit you were wrong and I’ll help you.” “I can handle this,” I said. The last thing I wanted was admit I made another stupid mistake and have Bianca hold over my head for the next six months. Like that time

I adopted a baby crocodile, only for him to destroy all my furniture within an hour. Or that time I tried to climb a fifty foot pine tree with a Batman grappling hook I bought on EBay. Or that time I choked on the plastic ring that came from six packs after purposefully eating it to prove that sea turtles were drama queens. Or that time—you know what? I think you get the idea. “Just get your adorable ass over here before they run out of ice cream.” I gritted my teeth and yanked upward. My arms flailed as my shoe stayed firmly planted, but the momentum nearly knocked me over. “Working on it…” “Wanna hear a joke?” “Not really.” I crouched down and started untying my boots’ laces as part of Plan B. “Okay, so here it goes.” I rolled my eyes. “Why didn’t Pele cross the road?” “I don’t know.” Yes I do. “Why?” “Because her shoes were melted to the middle of the street!” Bianca bent over cackling to herself, almost earning as many weird looks by passerbys as I was. Boot One, untied. She waved her hands as she straightened up, taking deep breaths. “Okay, okay.” Bianca wheezed. “I have another one.” Halfway, through Boot Two, I said, “Go for it.” “Knock knock.” “Who’s there?” “Not Pele because she’s stuck in the middle of the street!” Somehow, she cackled even louder this time. I stared at her a little out of the corner of my eye, half expecting a witch hat to summon forth on her head to compliment her crazy witch cackle. Hands on her knees, gulping down the hot, summer air, Bianca asked, “Okay, but seriously, imma head inside because my clothes are saturated with sweat. Do you want anything?” “Freedom!” I shouted as Boot Two’s laces fell to the ground. “Oh? So you do want my help?” I grinned. “Don’t need it.” Slipping my right foot out of my boot, I waved it in the air at Bianca. She pinched her nose and gagged. “Stinks.” “You can’t even smell it from over there. Now, behold my masterful Plan B.” And like the idiot I soon realized I was, I put my right foot with its thin sock shield directly onto the pavement. The pavement that was hot enough to melt my shoes. Yeah. “ Youch !” I hollered as I brought my foot up my chest, clutching it like a badly burned baby. The bottom of the sock had completely burned through. “Got any more brilliant ideas, Pele? Or does Plan C stand for ‘Can you please help me, Bianca, because I was wrong to make my own pair of shoes without any knowledge or experience on how to make shoes?” Gently, I set my right foot on top of the abandoned boot. “ Never .” Bianca shrugged and headed inside. “Suit yourself.” With a devilish grin, she added. “I sure hope they don’t run out of Double Trouble Chocolate sundaes before you get inside.” “Bianca, no please, you know that’s my favorite,” I cried. The door ringed as it shut behind her. “Bianca!” “Great,” I muttered to myself. “Now what do I do?” My eyes widened as I spotted a car barreling towards me. “Hopefully avoid that car.” I tried to leap off the shoes, but my left foot got stuck in my boot and my right fizzled like an egg in a frying pan the moment it touched the pavement. “ Frick fracking’ fudge! ” I cursed as I stepped back onto the boots.

Glancing back at the car, I gulped. Maybe a hundred feet from me now, the driver still hasn’t noticed me or slowed down. Meaning it’s either I burn the soles of my feet off or test my luck to see if I have the laden superhuman ability of durability to withstand being hit by a car. I pinched myself and yelped. Definitely not the second one. “Bianca!” I screamed as I flailed my hands in the air. “You win, okay? You were right. This was a dumb idea.” Twenty feet. “But if you don’t help me, it’ll be my last dumb idea. Bianca!” “Oh, sweet lord chocolate,” I said as I faced the car about to kill me. Suddenly, I knew what it felt like to be a deer caught in the headlights. I clasped my hands together, “Oh sweet lord chocolate and God I guess, if you can get me out of this, I swear I’ll donate to whatever deer charities there are.” I covered my eyes, not wanting to see the Death Mobile about to kill me getting closer and wanted for it to be over. Except… it wasn’t? Removing my hands, I patted down my body. It’s alive? And in one piece? My eyes darted up at the driver and I recognized that guilty smile. “Benny!” I shrieked at Bianca’s older brother. “What the frick frackin’ fudge are you doing?” “Sorry,” he mouthed. Without further explanation as to why he almost-killed me, Benny pointed over at the ice cream shop and I turned. Standing there with a Double Trouble Chocolate sundae, a mint milkshake, and the biggest sugar-packet-eating grin I’ve ever seen was Bianca. “Who was right, again?” I flushed red. And saw red. Embarrassed and angry, I yelled at Bianca, “What the frick frackin’ fudge, Bianca? You sent your brother to almost-kill me?” Benny rolled down the window and Bianca handed him the desserts. “ No , I sent him to make you think he was gonna kill you so you’d admit you were wrong. Totally different.” I rolled my eyes. “Oh, yeah, because that’s so much better.” “It’s it though?” She scooped me up in her arms, high above the burning pavement. Pouting, I crossed my arms and looked away. “Oh come on, don’t be like that. I bought you a Double Chocolate sundae, with an extra scoop.” My head snapped back to face her. A greedy smile filled my face. With a peck on her cheek, I said, “All is forgiving, my darling girlfriend.” Bianca laughed, then swooped down to kiss me. Mmmh, she tasted like chocolate. Wait a minute, she tasted like chocolate. “Did you eat some of my sundae?!” As she set me down in the backseat and took shotgun, Bianca said, “Maybe a little.” Jaw dropping, I said, “Then nothing is forgiven!!” Bianca laughed, and handed me my ice cream—with a slightly smaller extra scoop. I dug in. Alright, maybe she’s a little bit forgiven.


Dan was really regretting wearing a Santa hat to work. Most of his colleagues had smiled upon seeing it. Chief Collie had even complimented him on it, and she was a notorious grouch. Feeling adequately whimsical and jolly for the twenty-third of December, Dan slung his bag over the back of his chair at the desk he shared with his partner. “You know there’s a dress code, don’t you?” Detective Liu said without looking up from his computer. This reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected, but put a damper on Dan’s good mood anyway. “I’m aware, yes. One that allows, on cold days, for a hat or beanie.” “That’s not a beanie.” Liu’s lips pursed when he glanced up to glare at him. Dan smiled sweetly. “It is, however, a hat.” He already knew what Liu would say next: that a Santa hat was not in the spirit of what the police dress code was referring to. Dan would respond with, well, that sucks, but a Santa hat still doesn’t technically break the rules. The two of them would then be sufficiently annoyed with each other to start their morning, like they did every day. Tony Liu was probably realizing the railroaded nature of this conversation at the same time. He narrowed his eyes, snorted with derision, and returned to his desktop. The projected conversation had not been had, and yet it had its effect nonetheless: the two of them were annoyed with each other, and they could start their morning. So, Dan was regretting wearing the hat. Liu’s gaze (usually delivered from an infuriating two inches above his own) had a preternatural ability to make someone feel exceptionally stupid. Police work around the holidays consisted largely of investigating robberies. Two had happened in Dan’s district just last night; understaffing guaranteed that one of them would be assigned to Liu and him. Sure enough, there it lay in his inbox. Liu hadn’t said anything about it, though he’d certainly already seen it. For all his pomp and pretense, he could be a stubborn ass sometimes. “Gripe about my hat all you want, but these interviews aren’t going to conduct themselves.” Dan tapped his pen to the side of his monitor. “I’m driving,” Liu gritted out. That was fine by Dan. # It was exhausting, being Liu’s partner, though not unproductive. Liu, though prickly, was efficient and thorough. He had the tact of a bulldozer, but Dan had the requisite charisma to pick up the pieces afterwards. “You didn’t have to insinuate that the robber was her son-in-law,” Dan pointed out when they climbed back into Liu’s car. “The robber is her son-in-law, Nuñez,” Liu replied, unaffected. “She was going to find out sooner or later.” Dan sighed and looked out the window. He agreed that the son-in-law was the best suspect, but it hurt him to think about family conflict around the holidays. He wished the world could live up to the harmony and goodwill that his childhood nostalgia implied. “You buy into the whole Christmas thing?” Liu asked, gesturing to the Santa hat. It had been tastefully discarded on the dashboard before they’d gone inside. “So do about three billion other people,” Dan pointed out. Stubborn, he put the hat back on. “You know what I mean.” Dan was not strictly Christian– “raised Catholic” was what he said when people asked, and that got his point across. But he still cherished his Christmastime memories: picking out a tree with his sisters, making tamales with his abuela, caroling around the neighborhood.

Things were different now. He and his siblings were grown up. They couldn’t recreate the family Christmases of old: most of them had their own families to tend to. Dan wouldn’t even get to see his family this Christmas: he was working the twenty-fifth. It would make no sense to make the twelve-hour drive round trip just to see his parents for dinner and leave again. He had been trying to convince himself he wasn’t bothered by it. Finally, he said, “I guess I do, sure.” Liu, in the corner of Dan’s eye, executed a perfect hand-over-hand left turn. “You don’t?” Liu shrugs. “It was never that much of a thing for me.” “Oh.” That could mean any number of things, Dan thought, but he felt to ask for clarification would be to pry. “But it sounds nice, in concept.” Dan hadn’t been expecting that admission. He wasn’t sure how to respond. “It is,” is all he could manage. Liu’s distaste for things (eg. uniforms worn without ties, small dogs, being called by his first name at work, and Dan’s existence in general) tended to be quite unilateral. No exceptions or concessions would be made. Dan had been expecting him to be the same way about Christmas, and this surprised him. Maybe (only maybe) there was more to Liu than the dismissive autocrat Dan took him for. It would require further investigation. They drove the rest of the way to the station in cautious silence. Liu had been right: the son-in-law was the robber. Larcenist, technically. Dan didn’t enjoy arresting him. Detective Liu did it with vigor, as if he had been personally wronged by the crime. Both he and Dan had paused when they saw the perpetrator’s daughter, wide-eyed and afraid. “Call your wife,” Liu said brusquely and shoved the man towards the squad car waiting outside. He turned away, jaw set. “Took your sweet time,” Liu spat when Dan finally left the house. Was he insane? “She was barely four, we couldn’t just leave her.” “It’s not our job.” His voice dripped with something acidic. “It was twenty minutes, quit acting like I shot your dog.” “That’s not the point.” Eyes locked ahead, Liu turned the engine over with more force than necessary. “Then what is?” Dan turned to face him. “Tell me, Detective, what is the point, since you’re so much better at your job than I am?” “The point–” Liu, affronted, met his gaze– “is that you don’t take any of this seriously. It’s all a big joke to you. Oh, let’s wear a costume to work! Let’s play babysitter! It’s not like there are actual crimes happening right now that are our responsibility!” Dan opened his mouth, but Liu wasn’t finished. “You are so fucking embarrassing. I wish to God I didn’t have your dead weight to drag around.” The silence that followed was oppressive. Dan swallowed, trying to calm the furious tremor in his hands. “Well,” he said finally, “you can quit dragging me around, then.” He took one last look at Liu. The detective’s face was stone-solid. Dan tore his gaze away and climbed out of the car. Later, when Dan was washing his face before bed, he thought back on the argument. He hadn’t allowed himself to before; not on the cold, livid walk home, not while he sat at the kitchen table afterwards, staring at the wall. It only served to confirm everything he thought about Detective Liu. Stuck-up, frigid, and focused on all the wrong things. A miserable hermit. Dan rinsed the soap off with cold water, because he was getting angry about it again. Whatever. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and he wasn’t working, and he wouldn’t have to see Liu. # The next morning brought for Dan peace, merriness, and the Great British Bake Off. He was working up the nerve to attempt his own angel food cake– a doomed endeavor– when the doorbell rang. Dan frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Could it be, perhaps, that his parents had decided to make the drive up to Chicago after all? Had they even convinced his sisters to come, too? He muted the television and dared not to hope. Maybe it was another package, or a bouquet of flowers, or something to indicate he was being thought of, though in absentia. He opened the door to his apartment. It was no relative, postman, or caroller. Dan’s brain took a second to process. “... Liu?” he said, dumbstruck. “Hi. Dan.” Liu stood at the threshold wearing only a t-shirt and jeans, which was as casual as Dan had ever seen him. He looked apprehensive, but not in the critical way he usually was. Something about him felt off. Liu never called him by his first name. “How… can I help you?” “I– can I come in?” Liu asked, and Dan didn’t know how to say no. Normally, the two of them got on like a cat and a bathtub, and Dan was unprepared for the day the cat showed up in a swimsuit. “Sure,” he supposed. Liu walked in, taking in Dan’s apartment like it was a tourist attraction. His gaze, when Dan met it after shutting the door behind him, was vulnerable. “I think something happened to me. Maybe I fell or something.” Liu fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “You think? What does that mean?” “I… have a bruise.” Liu indicated to his temple. “And I can’t… I’m confused. I know who I am. I’m not crazy. But I can’t… remember anything else? I don’t know what I do for work, or who you are, or the password to my phone.” He held up his cell, which, as stated, was locked. “You’re the only person whose address I could find in my house. It was on an envelope or something. Could I maybe stay? For just a little bit?” Dan crossed his arms, trying to take in what he was being told. If this was an act, it was stone-cold and convincing. But Liu certainly wasn’t the type to pull practical jokes. “Sit down,” he said eventually. He checked Liu’s head, and there was indeed a nasty bump there. Dan had a little bit of medical knowledge: he checked Liu’s eyes, his nose, his breathing. Everything seemed normal, but he was no expert. “We should get you to a doctor.” Liu shook his head. “I don’t want to.” “This could be serious.” “I–” he looked on the edge of panic. “I will. But not yet. Please?” Dan stopped in front of the freezer, where he was en route to secure an ice pack. Liu had never, in their entire careers together, said please to him. He had to admit: despite the circumstances, it was a bit intoxicating. “Tomorrow, you will go to the doctor,” Dan decided, settling on a pack of frozen peas. “Today, you can stay here. Just today.” Liu– get this– smiled. “Thank you,” he said in a rush of breath, and Dan just about keeled over. Normal Liu said thank you even less than he said please. Dan applied the ice pack to the injury. “Hold this here. Are you hungry?” Later, Dan was cleaning up the last remnants of breakfast when he noticed Liu lolled to one side. Panic struck him.

“Hey, hey, are you with me?” he said, already opening his phone to dial the paramedics. Liu’s eyes opened. “Yeah?” he replied. “I was just tired. I’m gonna take a nap, I think.” “Not a good idea,” Dan said grimly. “Not after a head injury.” “Oh.” Liu frowned. “I was… going to make some cookies. If you want to help.” Dan had not, in fact, been planning on making cookies, but it being Christmas Eve, it was the first brain-stimulating activity he could think of. He probably had the ingredients for it. Probably. “Oh. Sure.” Liu smiled, astonishing Dan for a second time. It was blinding. “My parents and I used to do that every Christmas.” “That’s good! That you’re remembering. And also that you made cookies,” Dan tried. It didn’t make sense, though. Liu had said Christmas was never “a thing” for him. Why would he lie? Just to keep anyone around him at arm’s length? And why wasn’t he with his parents now, if they all celebrated Christmas together. Maybe for the same reason as me, Dan thought with a grimace. Liu was not very good at baking, although it was hard to tell if that was him or the head trauma. There were only two of them, so Dan wanted to halve the recipe, but Liu kept forgetting and putting in the normal amounts so they just made a full batch. Dan wondered what the hell he was going to do with thirty-six sugar cookies. As he was adding the wet ingredients to the dry, Liu frowned. “My parents are dead,” he announced. Dan froze where he was setting the oven temperature. “Oh,” he replied, because what the hell do you say to that? “No, it was a long time ago.” Liu drummed his fingers on the counter thoughtfully. “Still sad. But at least I remember.” At eleven in the morning, Dan hadn’t expected that level of profundity. He nodded dumbly and started shaping the dough into balls. Well, it made sense that Liu didn’t want to talk about Christmas. Dan wondered reproachfully if his Santa hat shenanigans had been rubbing in what Liu lacked. Under Dan’s observation, Liu put the sheet pan in the oven with fighter-pilot concentration. “Do you want me to tell you about the things you don’t remember?” Dan asked once the timer had been set. “Or would you rather come to it on your own?” Liu shook his head. “I’d rather do it myself,” he replied. There’s the Detective Liu I know, Dan thought wryly. “Fair enough.” “Am I a… police officer?” Liu asked after a beat. “Close. Detective.” “Oh, good.” Liu grinned and squinted at Dan. “I’m going to remember how I know you, too. It’s just at the back of my brain.” “I know you are,” Dan replied, and he believed it. If there was anyone he knew who could mind-over-matter their way through a brain injury, it was certainly Tony Liu. Liu fished something out of his coat, which had been discarded over the arm of the sofa. A festive green envelope. “I was writing you a card,” he said simply, examining it. Dan failed to hide the shock on his expression. “You were ?” Liu handed him the envelope to see. On the back, sure enough, was his address, and inside, a card featuring a cheery cartoon reindeer. ‘Happy holidays!’ the card read. Opening it to the inside revealed that Liu had only gotten past the first two words: ‘ Detective Nuñez. ’ Very Liu-typical. No greeting, no first name, ended with an authoritative period. Well. Liu was planning on sending him a holiday card. Somewhere, pigs were flying. “That’s where you got my address,” Dan reasoned.

Liu nodded. “And why I remembered I’m in the police, too. No other reason I’d be writing a detective.” Sharp as ever. Dan shook his head, impressed. “Not bad,” he admitted, more willing to stroke the ego of this newer, nicer Detective Liu. Liu still puffed up a little, self-satisfied. “I swear I remember you,” Liu said again, chewing his lip, looking into the middle distance as if the answer would be written on the seventies-chic wallpaper. “You will,” Dan promised. Liu rewarded him with a small, trusting smile, and Dan’s heart melted a little more. # This isn’t so bad, Dan mused to himself while he dried the dishes. Liu was washing, scrubbing the bowls with the same attention to detail that made him such an effective officer. And an annoying-as-hell coworker. All things considered, Liu was a pretty good houseguest. Meticulously clean and quiet. When he had his own condition to focus on, he spared less brain power on criticizing others. At least, that was Dan’s running theory. Plus, it was nice to not be alone on Christmas Eve. He felt like he was actually helping someone. The lack of water noises from beside him drew Dan out of his train of thought. Liu was staring intently at something on the corner of the counter, just out of eyeshot. When Dan moved to get a closer look, he caught the expression of consternation on Liu’s face. In his hands he held Dan’s wallet– no, not his wallet. His badge. Liu tore his gaze from the wallet and stared wide-eyed at Dan. Then back to the wallet. Then back to Dan. Pure horror on his face. “Oh, my God,” he whispered. If Dan was honest with himself, his vindictive side had secretly been waiting for this moment. “Do you remember?” “I’m– Nuñez, I’m– in your–” he looked down at himself– “dressed like– oh, my God – I’m so– oh, my God.” And honestly, maybe Liu was right to be embarrassed. He and Dan were not exactly on “care for each other when sick” terms. But the whole situation was so… ridiculous that Dan couldn’t contain himself. He laughed, hard. Liu instantly drew into himself, defensive. “I didn’t– I’ll–” “Liu, it’s fine , I’m not laughing at you,” Dan placated, tears in his eyes. “It’s just funny.” “What’s funny?” Liu demanded. “You’re so… I had no idea you could be so nice. ” “I’m sorry? ” “You’re nice! You’re really polite, and you–” Dan burst into another fit of giggles– “you were writing me a card, Liu! A Christmas card!” “I am perfectly nice–” “No! You’re a controlling, hypercritical asshole! Right up until the point when you get clocked in the dome, and then you start baking cookies!” “The cookies were your idea–” Dan held up a hand to stop him. “Fine, yes, fine. Just, can we– can we be cool? I’m sorry I was an ass about the Santa hat thing. You’re a good detective, Liu. Can we just work together?” “We do work together.” “You know what I mean.” Liu sighed. “Only if we never talk about this again.” Grinning, Dan extended a hand. “Deal.” Begrudgingly, Liu shook it. His hand was surprisingly warm. Dan wondered why that stood out to him. “If we’re going to actually work together,” Liu relented, “You should probably start calling me Tony.” Dan’s smile widened. “Then let me give you a ride home, Tony.”


The worn, creased paper is soft against the rough pads of my fingers. Growing up, I’ve watched my dad fold and unfold this mysterious form of directions more times than I can count. Some are born with a sense of direction, like my father. I was not. Flipping it one way and then another does little to help with which end goes up. The lines cross, circle and swirl, blend and divide, and a dull ache forms in my head from staring too long. Is that a road or a river? A buzz in my pocket signals an incoming text, reminding me how easy it would be to let Siri guide the way. This is dumb. The man who donated to my existence thinks every eighteen-year-old boy should learn the art of ‘finding your own path’. We met an hour ago at the edge of town for breakfast and to discuss the instructions. Basically, I’m to find the circled destination without the use of my phone, avoid the interstate, and only ask a stranger if I’m desperate. So far, so good. No phone and no desperation. My beater truck now idles by the side of the road as I contemplate the next turn. A gust of warm air blows in through the open window and pulls my gaze to the burbling creek outside. Last night’s heavy rain moves swiftly downstream without hesitation, sure to arrive at its intended end. I’m glad someone knows where they’re going. The broken rays of sunlight glimmer over the surface of the water and a squirrel munches nearby on his mid-morning snack. I hate to admit the scenery is quite invigorating, and there’s no way I would have taken the time to notice if using google for navigation. Bringing my focus back to the task at hand, my finger follows the winding blue line that expires in a lake. River then. Which means I must be on the black line beside it. Good to know. Next turn is left, but in exact miles I couldn’t say. I missed that left turn. Oddly enough, I don’t care. Another opportunity will present itself shortly and I’ve enjoyed following alongside the shaded, curvy riverbank. My normal drive consists of air blasting and radio blaring, but today I’m content to let the sights and sounds of nature permeate my soul. It reminds me of family road trips—dad behind the wheel, mom making a game out of everything, and my brother and I fighting in the back seat. One particular canoe trip stands out of us drifting down river, finding crawdads, fishing, swimming, lunch on a sandbar, and hiking through the woods. I can still hear my mother’s yelp when a water snake paid us a visit. My younger brother snatched it up and we carried the thing around for hours, much to mom’s dismay. When your parents believe memories are more important than gifts, you have a lot of fun stories to draw from. Half an hour later and I’ve left the river valley and wound upward to the top of a mountain. Deciding to stop at a scenic lookout, my lunch is spread out next to me on a bench, I stare out across the expanse of treetops and fields. A turkey sandwich never tasted so good, and I wonder if I’ll be able to replicate said sandwich next month when I’m off at school. Mom has made sure to teach me the basics and I can find my way around the kitchen, but is anything ever as good as when your mom makes it? Doubtful. Anyway, thanks to her I won’t starve. Or have dirty clothes. With lunch out of the way, I make quick study of the route ahead, trying to memorize road names and numbers. I’m thinking the state line is fairly close, and then another hour should do the trick. I’ll drive right under the bypass, but won’t cheat so as not to disappoint the man who raised me. Integrity has been ingrained since childhood and modeled without fail. I realize I’m fortunate in the parent department, even if they’re a tad overprotective for a teenagers liking. After one last gander over the terrain and a restorative intake of summer air, I shove everything in the truck and take off for the final leg of the journey. According to adults, most of life doesn’t go as planned, and the last two hours have been proof of that. A wrong turn, turnaround, construction, and an elderly-driver later, and I’m finally entering the town circled in red. I pull over in the nearest gas station and slide the phone from my pocket. Since entering the city limits, I now have permission to enter the exact coordinates of our meeting place and give my brain a much needed break. I love you Siri. The pin pops up within a few miles of my position, causing a satisfied smile to break out on my face. I’ll be darn. I did it. The predetermined address is not what I thought it would be. I expected a restaurant or something along those lines. My father is seated on his hood, drinking from a Styrofoam cup, and gives me a thumbs up as I park beside him. The engine sputters in indignation when I turn the key and the door rattles its protest to being opened and closed. She’s old, but served me well today. I shuffle over to dad’s Camry as he slides down to greet me. His cheekbones squish his eyes together from a goofy grin. “You made it. How was the trip?” “Fine.” The eyebrows hike in high arches. “Just fine?” I shrug and kick at the pavement. He deserves more than that but I’m not good with expressing myself. “Yeah, it was kinda cool. There was some sick scenery and I only got turned around a couple of times. How long have you been here?” “An hour. I took the interstate.” Of course he did. “Sorry you had to wait so long.” He pats my shoulder, a proud-papa gleam in his eye. “No worries. The black sludge they call coffee kept me company.” I glance around the lot and wonder again why this spot. “What are we doing here?” “You’ll be driving back and forth to college so your mom and I thought it was time for a more dependable vehicle.” Now it’s my eyebrows that climb my forehead. “Are you serious?” His laughter comes out in breaths through the nose. “You betcha. They have some used trucks you might want to start with, in great shape and low mileage. But we can look at whatever you want. Within reason.” “Wow, Dad…I don’t know what to say.” “Thank you is plenty. We’re proud of the young man you’ve become and can’t wait to see what the next chapter holds. I have all the faith you’ll do great things. Now come on, we’ve got some cars to browse.” He spins on his heel and starts to walk toward the row of used vehicles. Making strides to catch up, I grab his elbow. “Hey, Dad?” “Yes?” “Thank you.” He nods in understanding. At least I hope he gets it. The man has spent eighteen years of his life investing in mine with little to no interest or return. Maybe someday, somehow, I can show him how much his sacrifices have truly meant and be the man he’s taught me to be. That in and of itself is a tall order but will no doubt lead to a life well-lived, and I’m willing to give it a try. By Carol Spivey