Life can teach lessons even in a pseudo-casino, like Not Vegas.

 ‘Not Vegas’ was once a private veterans club in the outskirts of Cleveland, OH. But over time fewer and fewer military men and women joined the club and it had become a social club that basically opened its doors to anyone over 21. The new owner changed the name to ‘Not Vegas’- supposed to be the closest thing to Las Vegas one could get in Ohio. It had one major reno in the building's lifetime and in its prime was a bright red brick building with white pillars wrapped in swirling neon lights and the inside had shiny bar tops and leather stools with a red-velvet carpet to make anyone feel like a VIP.

Now, the brick was weathered and faded into a murky maroon with black and green mold spots. The pillars were faded off-yellow with rusty brown spots and the neon lights didn’t work all the way. The tables and bar counters didn’t gleam anymore, and the red carpet only looked red when the table legs got moved for vacuuming.

The only thing similar between real Vegas and Not Vegas was that you got lost in a time-warp. The lights were kept dim and there were no clocks. Every two hours there was a different drink special so happy hour lasted all day. Even the patrons were mostly just regulars who appeared stopped in time.

The two workers seemed lost in time too. There was 60-something year old Tina-she changed her age every time she was asked; one day she was 64 and the next she was 61. Tina kept her dyed almost white-blonde hair in tight perm curls and wore mint-green eye-shadow with platinum pink lipstick. She was skinny and her skin looked like aged leather. Tina also never wore shoes; she wore various colors of slippers. Tina had been spending the week bestowing her bar-tending knowledge onto the new hire, Darby.

Darby was 19 and kept her virgin brown hair in a perfectly set high ponytail and dressed in 90’s prep-school chic with black wedge heels or ankle boots. She wore silver-rimmed glasses and wore mascara around her hazel eyes. She’d worked in service before, so the training was coming easily to her. It was mostly just memorizing where stuff was stored at this point.

Darby took the opportunity of low patronage on a Tuesday evening to ask professional questions to Tina. She always felt it important to ask her in-interview questions to the trainers to see what differences there were in the answers.

“What’s the hardest part of the job?” Darby asked, with her hands clasped behind her back. She had an air of professionalism that bordered on snobby.

“Not being able to stop the gamblers” Tina answered, anchoring one elbow to the rumbling dishwasher top.

“What do you mean?” Darby asked. “Why would we want to stop the gamblers? Isn’t that how this business makes money?”

“Money is a necessary evil but sometimes you wish you could tell someone ‘Stop. You've lost enough money; go buy groceries instead’”. Tine replied.

The dishwasher stopped and Tina handed a worn hand towel to Darby. They both began drying the glasses inside.

“Why can’t you?” Darby wondered.

“We have no legal leverage. Legally, I can cut someone off from drinking too much. They start acting differently, belligerently or unwell, I can deny them another order. But if someone spends their last dime...I have to take it.” Tina shook her head.

Tina turned and gestured to a woman seated at the far side of the bar who looked like she was in her mid-forties. She had a pile of pull-tabs in front of her, with a pained expression on her sunken face. The poor lighting wasn’t doing her any favors.

“See her? That’s Donna Bickley” Tina said and then crooked her finger to Darby to follow her into the office.

The office was as dingy as the rest of the building, but the overhead light was bright to the point of blinding when going in from the bar. It was a small closet that had a metal desk shoved against the back wall, with a safe on a table to the left next to a filing cabinet and a cork-board with notes and lists to the right. A small, black plastic waste basket was under it on the floor.

Tine pointed to a typed list to the furthest left of the cork-board. The top of the paper was titled ‘Unacceptable Checks From the Following’ and then a list of names under it.

“We aren’t allowed to accept checks, due to them bouncing, from these people. Read the third name down” Tina instructed.

Darby leaned a little and studiously looked at the third name.

“Donna Bickley?” she asked.

“Uh-huh” Tina said with her tongue between her teeth on the right side. “Donna is almost completely ruined as a person and we, as in the club, helped her do it! And we can’t help her.” she sighed deeply with another head shake.

“She doesn’t look ‘ruined’ to me; and how is that our fault anyway? How can she keep coming here nearly every day if her checks bounce? Doesn’t that mean she has no money in the bank?” Darby wanted to know.

“I-it’s not directly ‘our’ fault; people do it to themselves. But she borrows money- her sister, Madelyn Dusk, won’t speak to Donna anymore because of how much money Donna’s borrowed from her and her husband.” and despite being in the office, Tina lowered her voice “Donna’s husband and her are separated because she can’t afford her side of the divorce and her husband, Dave, refused to pay for it for her. She drained their joint bank account and didn’t get bills paid. She borrows from the bank. And she has a trail of other people, family and former friends, to whom she owes money; including her children.”

“How do you know all that? Surely Donna doesn’t tell people that stuff” Darby asked in shock. Darby would have been beyond humiliated to have a check bounce.

“It’s a bar in a small town-people talk. People tell bartenders and hairdressers everything.” Tina replied.

They walked back out to the bar area and continued drying the glasses as they talked in hushed voices.

“But why?” Darby asked.

“I think it’s because we see people at their worst. Bartenders see people get wasted, act a fool, vomit on themselves and stuff like that. Hairdressers see people with straggly hair and then see them with foil-rolls in and so people are already in a vulnerable state, so they unleash.” Tina shrugged.

“IF I was her family or friend, I wouldn’t loan money for gambling” Darby declared quietly.

“Often, they didn’t either. Not intentionally. She’d say ‘oh I need money for this bill, I’m not getting paid until this day and this thing is due’ and they gave her money for those bills. And then instead, she comes in here. She’s a gambler. Not like Donald Marny” Tina tossed her head in direction to a older, 50-something man in a deep blue suit with a light blue button up shirt sitting in the slots area.

He had salt and pepper hair, olive skin, and was hunched over one of the six slot machines against the opposing wall.

“Wait...did you ‘Marny’? As in “Marny and CO. Clothes’?” Darby asked, jolting her head up to see him, eyes darting between him and Tina.

Marny and CO. Clothes was a high-end fashion retailer.

“The same. That’s Co-owner, Donald. His brother, Andrew, is the fashion designer and Donald does more of the business-end of things. Donald can afford to go to real Las Vegas, but he likes his home-town-vibe and he’s not a ‘gambler’” Tina explained.

“Wait-what do you mean he’s not a ‘gambler’? He’s a person who gambles” Darby shook her head at Tina in confusion.

“Honey, that’s the textbook definition” Tina said, tossing the hand towel over her shoulder and closing the now empty dishwasher with her foot. “But in the business, there’s ‘players’ and ‘gamblers’ and both spend money on games of chance, but they are not the same”

“Okie, so what’s the difference?” Darby queried, carefully folding her hand towel and setting it on the countertop next to the dishwasher.

“The difference is one chases their losses and the other doesn’t” Tina replied and started checking the coolers to see if they needed stocked.

Darby followed behind her. “What does that mean?”

“Chasing your losses means, you’ve lost more than you intended and then you gamble more to try win back to break even instead of gain.”

“Well, I don’t think anybody ‘intends’ to lose; they realize it’s a very real possibility but” Darby shrugged with her face wrinkled in confusion.

Tina walked Darby to the center island counter of the bar area. In the center lined up were six acrylic boxes with openings cut out of the fronts. They were filled with pull-tab gambling tickets. You unfolded the three or four pull-tabs and if you found the picture on the inner fold, it had a winning amount usually $25-$100. If it was a winner; each box could hold 4,000 tickets and out of 4,000, only five were winners.

“No...no no. ‘Gamblers’ do NOT realize or even contemplate that they’re going to lose, possibly all their money. No matter how many times it happens. They’re always shocked and feel betrayed when they lose. And people like Donna think it’s ‘unfair’ for people like Donald to even win on a $2 scratch ticket. But that’s why it’s called ‘gambling’. We all know gambling isn’t designed to be ‘fair’, but gamblers think if they pay out x amount, they “deserve” at least that much back.” Tina raised her thin, drawn on brows for emphasis with an eye roll.

Darby continued to stare at her in disbelief and befuddlement. “That....makes no sense” and her crossed over each other like a ref calling a bad play.

“Gamblers don’t make sense, honey. Logic doesn’t exist. Only their game of choice. They keep thinking ‘I’ve spent this much money, I’ve lost all this, so I’m BOUND to win BIG if I just play one more time’. They pay whatever to get one more chance because that next chance is the winner. They’re superstitious beyond belief too.” Tina went on “You know how a person pays, say. $20 for tickets and we give them 20 tickets at a dollar each? Like, we count out twenty tickets and put them in these little baskets and carry it to the patron?”

Darby nodded. Each acrylic box had a stack mini basket on it for the bartenders to count tickets into so the bartender didn’t have to cup a bunch of tickets in their hands.

“If one ticket falls out onto the counter as we’re counting, Donna will snatch it up and buy it right away. Because THAT ticket is a winner. It doesn’t matter that in YEARS, a winner was that dropped ticket once and every other time it’s been a loser, that one time was enough to convince her” Tina said, tapping the tip of her coral painted nail onto the counter.

Darby could only blink behind her glasses.

“Oh, honey, that’s the tip of the superstitions” Tina assured her. “I’ve had patrons ask me to ‘stir the tickets in the box’, go to the far-left corner, or only get the tickets that are right up against the edge. Some people only want the white basket, or the blue basket. They’ll only get tickets in sets of 5 or only out of the even numbered boxes” she made a revolving motion with her hand.

“Mm” Darby bit the inside of her cheek and blinked again.

Tina full shrugged, palms facing the ceiling. “It happens. They are very superstitious.”

“But if something only occurred once and every other time it’s not worked...” Darby pantomimed balancing with her hands.

Tina pursed her lips, closed her eyes and shook her head. “If it worked ONCE, it will work again” she gave an exaggerated smirk and then looked around to see if anything else needed doing.

“But not everyone. The ‘players’ don’t do that?” Darby asked as if she wanted it to be true but didn’t believe it.

“Heh, some players have superstitions; they just admit defeat and know to throw in the towel.” Tina replied.

Darby glanced towards Donna. “And we can’t stop them?” she asked quietly.

“Not unless they run out cash.”

Tina then started showing Darby where they kept the recipes for fancier drinks that they rarely but occasionally got asked for and showing her where the supplies for said drinks were stored.

All of sudden Donna shouted, “You have GOT to be F***ING KIDDING ME! 200 tickets and NOTHING?!”

Tina and Darby looked over in time to see Donna burying her eyes into her palms and her fingers digging into her hairline.

Tina and Darby exchanged a knowing glance of empathy.

Just at that second the slot machine area started exploding with flashing lights and a loud robotic “Winner!” “Winner!” “Winner” over an alarm-like sound. Donald was clapping and cheering.

Darby and Tina jerked their heads to watch Donald’s celebratory dance.

Tina nudged Darby’s arm and gestured her head towards Donna.

Darby subtly glanced back to look at Donna.

Donna was fuming, her eyes wide and glaring daggers in Donald’s direction.

She angrily held out a $50 dollar bill between two fingers with one hand and ordered more tickets from between her teeth as she used her other arm to shove the opened losing pile of tickets to the counter’s edge.

Donald came over with his coins to the other side of the bar to cash out.

Darby looked at Tina.

“That’s why it’s called ‘gambling” Tina said again.


My brother is talking about the Phillies and how much he hates them. Of course, Bobby loves the Phillies, which is why he can muster such hate. “Get rid of all the overpaid assholes and start from scratch,” he’s saying, sipping his high gravity beer. At the other end of the table, Kip is shaking his head. He’s a Pirates fan. He doesn’t understand how Ron can hate a team that is five games ahead in their division, while the Pirates languish at the bottom of the NL Central division.

Kelly, a massage therapist whose trade doesn’t allow for sufficient yakking, is talking Kip’s ear off, though, so he is unable to chip in with his opinion. The poor little guy looks at me helplessly, and I shrug and sip my IPA, glancing discreetly toward the table to my left, where my lover is having a very hushed exchange with a woman older than either of us.

All of us are over fifty. Most of us are over sixty. My lover’s husband is almost seventy. What has happened to us? When they find out about what we’ve done, people will say I was just trying to stay young. Well, of course I am. They aren’t? Look at the cars they drive! How often they visit the spa! They’re trying to elude Father Time just like anyone else. It just so happens I’m having a lot of sex while doing it. My lover — let’s just call her Juanita, for now — is having a deep conversation. Her back to me, she and the older woman are hunched toward each other, their noses about a foot from each other. They’re either talking about an affair or some embarrassing deformity or bathroom habit. My lover is so close to me I’d be able to tap her shoulder if she wasn’t so bent toward her table mate. It’s weird, and I have to get up and walk away, even though my glass is still a third full. I take care of that, guzzling the rest as I make my way to the counter. There, I look back, and see Juanita and the woman stealing glances at me. Hoo boy . I am the topic of their conversation. Didn’t we have some sort of tacit agreement that we’d clear it with the other before spilling beans? You’d think that would be implicit — which is one of the hallmarks of tacitity. But then I remembered Juanita’s shock and embarrassment when I told her I had told my tennis partner, who knows a lot of people she knows, about us and our six-month-long affair.

I should stop drinking beer while I play. I do it because it helps with the yips. Yet, as I’ve since learned, yips can be helpful. It’s not always good to feel calm and comfortable. Discomfort happens for reasons, and one of them is to ensure one doesn’t go blabbing intimate details to someone who could take them and make things extremely uncomfortable to one.

I chastised myself for blabbing, and then then calmed myself with the reminder people aren’t as obsessed with me as I am. But then Mike told someone, and that someone — who had heard of me — blabbed it to someone else, and before anyone could do anything my lover’s husband, Roy, found out about it. You would think that someone who presents as a peaceful man, a gentle giant, would abhor violence in any form. But no. Roy came over and punched me in the nose, adding that I should stay away from Juanita.

And I did just that, mostly, but chance meetings in bars cannot be helped. So there I was, ordering my second beer and surreptitiously watching my lover spill beans on someone I didn’t even know. An old lady, at that.

I saw her look at me, then swivel a bit to see someone entering, then fix a somewhat horrified gaze, which she directed back at me, who turned and realized it was Roy coming through the door. As for Juanita, she met Roy’s eyes, hers got big and looked at me, which directed Roy’s gaze to me before I had a chance to race to the side exit or bathroom. Roy looked kind of like Roy Clark — hence the name, I guess — but far more hulking. Roy Clark, to my knowledge, never chased a man into a bathroom. Roy Axton did. Or almost did; I was able to shut and lock the door in time. Roy pounded on the door, shouting, “Hey! Hey! Hey!” I didn’t answer. It didn’t seem like a question. I heard Juanita’s voice, and then it seemed Roy’s “Hey!”s were directed at her. But their intensity was subsiding, and then I heard nothing. Maybe a muffled sob. I drank my beer, half sitting on the sink. I hoped by the time I finished, all of this would have blown over.

When I eased the door open, no one was there. I walked with some trepidation to the bar area. No one was talking. All were looking at me — except for the old lady Juanita had been talking to. Neither my likely former lover nor Roy were in sight.

Bobby motioned me back to the table, and I went. “Who was that guy?” he asked.

“Oh. You know. Someone who has it out for me, I guess.” “I wonder why,” said the old lady to whom Juanita had been talking. Everyone at our table turned to look at her. She didn’t look back, just kept sipping her beer and pretending to look at her phone. Maybe she was.

“Nutcase,” I muttered, then issued an uncomfortable laugh. “At least I don’t hide in bathrooms,” she muttered back. “Koo-koo,” I muttered, tapping my temple. “Koo-koo.” My table of friends and family took this in as if they were watching a ping pong match. Table tennis.

“Do you two know each other?” interrupted Kelly, the garrulous massager.

“Nope,” the woman replied, still staring at her phone. “Don’t want to,” I retorted quietly. “Well it seems like you do,” said Kelly. “You’re like an old married couple.” That broke everyone up. And got me a little mad. “ You’re like an old married couple,” was my attempt at a zinger. The other patrons had lost interest by this point, and had returned to their meaningless banter. I ordered another beer, this time from a manager who eyed me with seeming contempt, and when I returned to our table, the old lady was in my seat, talking with Bobby. Not knowing what to do, I stood next to her, sipping from my glass and looking around as casually as I could.

“So maybe that’s why he ‘has it out’ for your brother,” she was saying. “Oh, as you can see,” I said sarcastically, “she knows everything about it.” Fortunately Kelly had diverted everyone else’s attention toward a story about a massage client who had, during the course of a session, achieved a partial erection. Normalcy had returned to the table. Bobby looked up at me, hurt in his eyes. “Well she sure knows more about it than I do.” “No!” I cried. “Bob. Look. Can we get a table, just you and I?” “I’ll leave,” said the woman, getting up.

“Only five minutes late,” I said. “Thanks nevertheless.” “Don’t talk to me, lover boy,” she sneered, and walked out. I noted her easy, strong stride and wondered if she was really old at all. Perhaps just prematurely grey and self-righteous. I sat down. “What did she tell you?” I asked Bobby. “That you’re fooling around with a woman whose husband is partially retarded,” he replied. “What? That’s ridiculous!” “That she could be married to a retard?” “No! Well…yeah.” My mind was sent reeling. I thought about Juanita’s house, and the signs that had been there. The alphabet magnets on the refrigerator, and the childlike drawings around it. Their only child was in her twenties. Roy had…mental deficiencies? “Sounds like you too have never met,” observed Bobby. “No.” Not really. I helped him carry in some groceries one time. There were bags of Funions and Uncrustables. A bottle of Yoohoo. At the time, it had made me wonder.

“So,” deduced Bobby, “if you steal her away from the retard, won’t it be on you to take care of him, or at least find some kind of home for him?” The thought of it — the messes, the folding of laundry (underwear!), the Funions, the Yoohoo — descended on me like bricks of rain. Brickdrops.

“Surely he has someone who….” “Who what? Will take him in? At his age?” “Maybe their daughter.” “Oh, nice thing to spring on a kid just starting out in life.” I finished my beer and walked home. It’s funny how quickly things can change when one learns the truth. Or lets the obvious truth finally sink it. I texted Juanita that we were done. I meant it. I had lost my true love to a retarded man. A better man.


“Yela?” A woman in black business slacks and teal silk top looked at me. “Yes?” “You can follow me.” So I did. We left the testing room of plain walls and hard chairs. As she introduced herself as a nameless director, she led me through wandering hallways. We had been walking through this maze for ten minutes, when we arrived at two wooden doors and she said, “Welcome to the Gut Camp!” I followed her past the gates four times my height and was greeted with a garden of trees, flowers, rocks, birds, butterflies, and ponds. Somehow when the doors shut behind me, all other noises disappeared. I only heard the fluttering of wings and the trickle of water. “Yela,” she started. “Your gut tested so well during the entrance exams. We think you would thrive as a part of this program.” At 18, every citizen of Wastan completed in-depth personality tests to determine how they would best benefit society. I could’ve been placed with the Heart or Brains or Brawn schools, but I was assigned to the Gut tribe. We were picked for our instincts, not our digestive health. She guided me through a tour of the place, while painting daydreams of me leading national and global initiatives. As others passed us, I noticed creatures following them. They acted like dogs but didn’t look like them. One creature didn’t look like any other. Some were big, and some were small. Some slid, and some flew. Some drew me in, and some inspired me to look away. “Yela.” We stepped onto a platform of a gazebo-esque structure. It looked wooden, but it felt like clouds under my feet. “I’d like you to meet your companion. This is Hunch.” She stepped to the side and revealed my creature: a purple bowling ball with eyes, a mouth, paws, and feet. “I’m pleased to meet you, Yela,” they spoke. I gasped. “I’m sorry.” “No worries,” they said. “Meeting your companion for the first time can be shocking.” They bowed with the little neck they had. “Yela,” the director chimed in. “Hunch represents your purest intuition. They will support you through your training and career as a leading mind and decision maker. In 15 minutes, you two must pass the gut test.” “What’s the gut test?” I asked. “You and Hunch will be interviewed and measured for compatibility and cooperation. It’s like a routine doctor’s visit, nothing to worry about. Plus, the connection should come naturally for the two of you.” I looked at Hunch, and they smiled at me. “I will leave you two and return in 15 minutes for your exam.” As the director nodded and glided away, a bird-like creature landed on her shoulder. I wished my companion could fly. I kicked the air, as if a rock was at my feet. I walked along the gazebo’s edge and looked over at Hunch. They were still. “So how exactly do we prepare for this test?” “We must trust ourselves.” “Have you done one of these before?” “No, I was created to pair with you and no one else.” “Really? How old are you?” “Age does not concern me.” I scoffed and dragged my fingers across the bars of the railing. “Assuming that you have not been around long, do you even know what you’re doing?” “One does not know. One simply does.” “Unbelievable,” I scoffed. “Hunch, you’ve got to give me more than inspirational quotes.” “Greed makes one foolish.” “Ridiculous,” I laughed and threw up my hands. “Can I get a new companion?” “No.” “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” “My name is Hunch.” I looked at them and their stone-cold, serious face. No quivering smile. All business. “This must be a mistake.” I strode around the garden, arms swinging. I scanned for the director. I exhaled like a peeved dragon and strode some more. I heard a noise behind me, like a helicopter rotor spinning. I looked over my shoulder to see Hunch pattering a few yards back, like the toy group contestants of a dog show. I rolled my eyes. How was that thing designed to help me pass this test? Just then, I spotted the director. Despite the tranquil surroundings, I ran across the garden. The helicopter behind me picked up speed. Once I got to her, I said, “Director,” and paused to catch my breath. Then, I heard a shaky slide whistle below, and at my feet sat a panting Hunch. I shook my head. “Director, there’s been a mistake.” “What kind of mistake?” “Hunch can’t be my companion.” “But Hunch is your companion.” “No, Hunch can’t be. We don’t get along.” “That’s common for a student’s first meeting with their companion.” “But,” I replied, as I dug around my brain for a rebuttal. Then, a high-pitched gong rang next to my ear. I looked up to see the director’s assistant holding a four-inch gong and mallet. “It is time for your gut test,” the director said. “Now?” I questioned, as Hunch began to hum. “But we need more time.” They followed the director and assistant, leaving me behind. “We can’t go now.” They walked toward this wooden beast of a structure, like the queen gazebo, decorated with vines and flowers. “We won’t pass.” Despite my reluctance, I was pulled forward by the director’s drive. No eyes looked back at me. Not one of them glanced over their shoulder. Then, I tripped and fell into a flower bed. As I spat out petals, I brushed dirt off my jeans. I looked up to see Hunch shaking like a dog that was caught in a rainstorm. “Hunch?” “Yes?” “Did I trip over you?” “Yes.” “I’m sorry.” With my hands dangling, I let my arms rest on my knees. “It was merely an accident. Rising again will be a testament to your persistence.” They held out their hand-paw hybrid. I scoffed. “How can you help me up? My microwave’s taller than you.” “I believe I can. I feel I can, so I will.” They stretched their arm out to me. I sighed, grabbed their hand, and was pulled up. It was smooth, unlike a yank. Hunch managed so much strength that I almost fell into the next flower bed, but I remembered my balance and strength this time. I turned around and looked at Hunch smiling. “Woah, how did you --” “I already told you,” they said and shuffled to meet the director. I shook off more dirt and nerves, while running and catching up. Making sure I could see Hunch ahead of me, I walked onto the platform. The director sat in an empty chair between two other officials. They all had an air of earned importance. They looked others in the eyes, despite the difference in position. It was as if there was no hierarchy. Hunch stood before the panel and nodded to the spot next to them. I hurried to my place. We bowed to the panel. They bowed in return. “Hunch,” the director started. “Do you trust Yela?” “Yes,” they answered with the little chin they had held high. “Yela, do you trust Hunch?” I used my peripheral vision to check in on them. Chin still as high as ever. I answered, “Yes.” “Yela,” she said. “Do you trust yourself?” Unaware that I’d be tested on myself, I was thrown a surprise party without any streamers or cake. I gawked like a fish out of water. Everyone looked at me, but Hunch stayed forward. That nub of a chin did not falter. Noticing a new warmth and moisture in my armpits, I stuttered, “I think so.” Equipped with invisible magnifying glasses, everyone leaned in, but no one said a word. There was nothing like silence that made me want to fill the space. “I’m pretty sure I do. I mean I do. I do trust myself. Most days. Almost always. You know, humans. We mess up. Like last week! Last week, I spilled coffee on my mom’s couch. That was stupid. She was mad. Oof, she was mad.” “Yela,” the director grounded me. “Yes, ma’am?” “Do you trust yourself?” There was nothing like someone repeating their question that made me doubt myself. “Director,” Hunch said. “May I have a moment with Yela?” She nodded. Hunch turned to me, and I knelt down. “Yela?” “Hunch?” “Do you believe you can trust yourself?” I looked at the waiting panel and turned back to my companion. “I think so. I just hate having the focus on me.” “That’s right. You should focus on yourself.” I shook my head. “Hunch, that’s not what I --” “Thank you, Director.” They ended our conversation and turned forward, leaving me to pick up my jaw and rise again all on my own. “Yela,” she started. “Do you trust yourself?”  When I was a young girl, I believed I could fly. I would sprint, flap my arms, and jump from anything I could. I once made it to the roof of our house, but my mom spotted me before I could make any big moves. I believed I could, and for a second -- leaping from a tree -- I was airborne. “Yela?” “Yes!” I shouted, inspired by the internal monologue that no one else heard. “I apologize for the outburst, ma’am.” “It’s alright. I like the enthusiasm.” She smiled. “I will ask again. Yela, do you trust yourself?” “Yes,” I answered with a chin high like Hunch’s. Our army of two was ready to take on the world. Just then, I felt something wrap around my leg. I looked down and saw Hunch hugging my calf. “Are you alright?” “I am proud of you.” I smiled and felt like flying again. “Yela and Hunch,” the director said. “You have passed your trust test. You are free to go, but please stay close.” Hutch tightened their grip on my leg. “Thank you, Director,” I bowed. “But what am I supposed to do now?” “Whatever you’d like, until you are called for your next exam. It won’t be long.” She and the other panelists bowed and left for other business. I looked down again. “Hunch?” “Yela?” “Are you going to let go?” “I do not want to let go of this feeling. Not yet.” They snuggled and squeezed. I smiled and looked up to the sky filtering through the roof’s beams. One day, Hunch and I would learn how to fly.


The summer’s sun disappeared and the world turned a dark shade of blue until it eventually settled into a profound black. It was night. The stars lit up the sky and gave the moon a pleasant company. They twinkled, and it almost seemed as if they were telling each other stories across the cosmos. The air smelled of fresh pine trees and the hair on Marla’s arms stood up as the wind brought the smell into her nostrils. On a hill not too far away from her shone a golden light: the Starlight Carousel. Its light shone brightly and confidently into the night, illuminating the dark sky for those lucky enough to see the carousel. The carousels light was not for everyone to be seen. You had to believe in it; have hope. But Marla’s days had long been deserted by hope. Her heart was a massive stone that she carried around with her every day. Shadows accompanied her daily, watching her every move until she felt like one herself. Only at night, when it was dark, did the gentle light of the Starlight Carousel seem to take some of the weight off her shoulders. Marla often wondered how she was able to see the bright lights of the carousel. It was said to be a celestial portal to one’s destiny that unveiled snippets of what lay ahead of each rider. A small glimpse of the future. The ride was exactly three minutes long. A short, yet profound journey through the veiled corridors of the future. The carousel appeared on cloudless nights only. It absorbed its energy from starlight, directly from the universe. The carousels appearance was a breathtaking one; a true feast for the eyes. The horses, sculpted from shimmering silver and adorned with jewels that sparkled like captured stardust, seemed to come alive under the moonlit night. Each horse bore a unique expression, as if mirroring the varied facets of the human soul. Marla took a step towards it and could hear a soft melody start to come through. She couldn’t even decipher the instruments that played in this symphony. It was as if it was crafted from God himself. She hesitated for a moment, slowing down her steps towards the carousel and shifting her gaze between the carousel and the sky above them. She was not sure if she could take the step. Can I take the step? The legends might be nothing more than tales spun from the threads of fantasy, but the inexplicable pull of hope tugged at the edges of her heart. So she decided to take a look into her future. Just a small peak… As she approached the carousel even more its melody became clearer and louder. Marla mounted on one of the horses and held onto one of the golden poles to her right. The carousel began moving instantly, rotating gently as if it acknowledged her presence. It acknowledges my presence? The air crackled with a subtle energy and she could feel the crackles in her soul, as if she had become a part of the cosmos itself. With every rotation, the carousel turned faster, carrying her in to the heart of the universe. The world around her blurred, all that could be seen around her were the strings of lights drawn by the stars due to the speed of the carousel. Marla felt as if time and space got swapped. The melody intensified even more with the speed of the carousel and the only thing Marla could think about was to lift her head and look at the sky; just look at the sky, Marla. The stars formed constellations that pulsed in the rhythm of her heartbeat. Marla recognized the true colors of the dark sky. It enlightened her that darkness was also made of components and that it could not exist in isolation; instead, her shadows were made of the same fabric as this darkness. Suddenly the carousel slowed down and came to a halt under a particularly bright constellation above her. Marla felt as if she could look at every decision in her life from every possible perspective there was. As the celestial melodies curled around her, a vision unfolded—a vision of a life not dominated by shadows but painted with hues of hope and renewal. The cement in Marla’s veins dissolved, turning a deep red colour. The burden that weighed heavily on her heart began to lift, the stone within her shattering under the gentle stroke of starlight. The individual pieces of the shattered stone of her heart floated and formed shining stars in the sky. They joined the constellation, completing it into a single true cosmic panorama that took the air from her to breathe. Just breathe, Marla. The stars formed a word. Clear and bright, it shone down on Marla so that she could not help but feel it deep in her soul, in every pore and every cell, as if it were engraved in her DNA; hope. What does hope feel like, Universe? Hope is the melody you can hear humming in your ears, the orchestra inside of you that never falls silent, even if you can’t hear it at that moment. Hope is an emotion that forms in your body as if it was a gentle wave; Hope is love that blossoms from the depths of your heart, just like flowers do every spring. Hope is sadness, a thunderstorm that passes over a city and submerges everything, because the only logical thing to do when you are sad is to just let it wash over, allowing grief to drown everything, right? Am I right, Marla? Hope is anger, like a fire that impulsively burns everything down and leaves nothing but steaming ashes. It’s not even the anger that will hurt but the raw reality afterwards.. Hope is the beat of your heart that keeps beating rhythmically, pumping life into you every day ensuring that you’re here; present able to feel Can you feel it, Marla? And Marla could feel it. She heard the orchestra inside her and realized that the carousel was quietly spinning on its own axis.

She felt the waves inside of her chest. They watered the flowers, made them bloom and the world shine the brightest colors Marla has ever seen. Only to drown them after a thunderstorm; because that is the only thing that seemed logical to her at that moment. And then she felt everything burn inside her. She felt hot and wanted to tear off her clothes.

Fire.

There was fire everywhere. The carousel was burning, and Marla was burning with it; she was the ignition Ashes; ashes everywhere. What have you done, Marla? I am living, universe.


Zack looked at the demon girl as Addie flew past him and got slammed against the wall like she was a pillow. She morphed back into her human self as she slid down the wall. Addie didn’t look so hot; you could tell that several of her ribs were broken, she had a busted lip, and was coughing up blood. Zack had to tap into the pen’s powers to save her even though he would have to give up being human. It was a bad course of action but he didn’t have another plan and wouldn’t be able to make one in time for Addie’s sake. Zack’s eyes darken as his fingernails grew out like he was Wolverine. Zack turned to the others, “We have to help her!” Zack exclaimed as he rushed over to Addie. Cody, Liz, and Simon pulled out their pens and looked around for cover. Cody, Liz, and Simon started to use the floor as paper, but before they could start to writing,, the white wolf howled, and a blue mist rose from the floor broads. Liz and Tina saw their father, in the flesh, standing in front of them along with Artie and Ethan. Cody and Simon stared, wide-eyed at their mother, who had passed away six years ago. Dan and Maddie saw their families, the ones the killed welcoming them back with open arms as if they had just had a little fight and they were still alive. Harper saw Angel and Lason in one piece. When Damian, Zack, Krystal, and Katrienna looked around the hallway, the only humans there were the gang, Addie, and the wolf girl. Black ink figures stood in front of them like sirens, trying to get them to come towards them. Zack looked back at them, “GET THE PENS!” Damian bolted to Liz and picked up the Pen of Character. Krystal went for Simon’s pen. When Krystal took the pen it moped into a sword. Katrienna tried to get Cody’s but he was surrounded by the ink monsters, making it impossible for her to get near him. While the other worked on trying to get the pens, Zack went full beast mode on the white wolf while Addie tried to catch her breath...

The white wolf’s fur was now bloody and big chunks of it laid scattered around her body. Zack stood over the corpse while the others tried to help Addie to her feet. Addie started to take the pens back, but then stopped in midthought. She looked up to Liz, Cody, Harper, Dan, Simon, and Maddie with glass-like eyes, “I think we should break the remaining pens so they can’t fall into the wrong hands,” she said looking towards Zack as she continued, “Let me have the Devil’s pen so I can be bound to it, so I can fight my own battle.” Zack quickly replied, glaring at the others so they wouldn’t say anything and keeping his eyes away from Addie, “It was destroyed when you vanished.” Addie nodded but didn’t say anything else. Tina spoke up, “Um, I’m bonded to the pen of death, but is there a way that it can be undone?” Addie shook her head, “Each pen is different; each one has its own soul and power. If it was the devil’s pen, for example, it would be easy to remove from a that I created, but if it was me or someone else it would take a while. Unfortunately, death is permanent.” Addie turned to the others, “Would any of you like to be the bridge between the pens?” Simon was the first one to step forward, then Dan and Harper. Adaline smiled, “Good, now there’s a pen in each world.” Cody looked at Addie, “What about the Forgotten’s pen?” Addie sighed, “She still needs a home and wants to keep her memories locked away, so the pen will stay with her.” Adaline looked to the others, “Let’s go home.” ...

Zack smiled as the final bell rang, letting everyone know that summer had begun. It had been two weeks since everyone had gotten back to their own world and life was getting back to normal. Adaline had been accepted into a high school writing workshop for the summer, leaving with a big smile and hopes to try to cheer Tina up and find Ethan, who didn’t pass on. Zack knew lying to Addie about the devil’s pen was dumb but he didn’t want her to worry about him. He had gotten pretty good at hiding the red eyes, but some days he looked like a corpse; his eyes would be sunken in and he would be paler than heck, but when people asked him about it he would just say that he was under the weather. He had gotten used to seeing horns on his shadow and seeing the demon girl everywhere, but he didn’t know what to do. Then the idea hit him; Tina might be able to help him. Little did he know that a new adventure just around the corner… The tree stood alone on the hill that looked out to the sea. This tree had seen it all; love, lies, betrayal, and death. It stood over children playing in the grass, brothers at war with one another, lovers that now are one, and the tree stood strong yet always alone, ‘til one night when a girl about 15 carved her name into its bark. The girl’s tears hit the ground as the tree stood shakily above the girl’s head. The girl made a necklace out of rope, and the tree bowed its branches. The girl hung as the tree shakes in the wind. The wind blew through the branches making a silent cry for the loss of life. Let us have mercy on the crying soul. As the tree looked out to the sea, a boy about 15 came with flowers. The tree stood still as if in shock. The boy visited the tree every day. As the years passed, the boy grew and went to fight another nation. The tree stood alone for five years until a family came by to lay the boy at rest. But loyal still they held right as men of righteousness like the boy to fight and die for the banner of their country. And how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his gods? The town’s folk named the tree “The Weeping Tree”, for it had seen pain and loss. This tree now looks out to the sea in hope of a better world. In the tree’s world, a land of prosperity that will escape the eye of a stranger, the cry for a homely proverb is unyielding. Many have broken faith because of the unholy wars. A girl’s voice started to sing as the wind picked up. The tree stood five feet away from two women. Both young and beautiful, yet one better than the other. “BANG”. The singing stopped as one woman fell to the ground.  Man is the only animal that kills for the sheer joy of it. Blood is spilled and yet the tree lives. The blood of mankind cries out from the ground. As it once was in Egypt. “And there was a great cry in Egypt for there was not a house where someone was not dead,” says the prophet.  This tree longs for the light but it is surrounded by darkness. The wind carries the cries of children who fear dark while men fear the light. As the prophet John has written,“ in this is the judgment: the light has come into the world and people love the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil. For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come into the light lest his works should be exposed.” This tree needs light just as the children need it. Children like trees planted by streams of water that yield fruit in its season and their leaves do not wither away and all that they do they prosper. When I was a child; I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I responded like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways. But in the eyes of a child, the greatest of all things is love.  That heart of a dream that once sang in the tree’s life, died as the reckoning of man takes the dreamers among the wicked. Can’t we dream the tree’s dream of a better world where death cannot reach the children of love? What a dream it would be, the dreamer’s dream of hope. The tree dreamed a beautiful dream. The dream was about a garden where children played among the flowers and war was no more. Weeds don’t have dwellings among the garden. It wanted to live in the dream but it looks out to a nightmare that can’t be controlled. The sea grew ill and the sky turned evil. The tree’s world grew ill as the tree lived. The sky sent demons that wiped out the land and made the land shook in fear. Man gave birds armor, the sky demons, and the sea illness. Men of evil made the tree’s world take a turn for the worst. The prophet has written, “So will Babylon, the great city will be thrown down with violence, and will be found no more. And all the nations were deceived by your society and there was found the blood of the prophets and the saints and all who have been slain on Earth.” The earth grew weaker. A curse on nature cast by men of evil has descended upon the world. Listen all, to the tree’s story. Will you hear the despair of the affected? Will you strengthen their hearts? Will you incline your ear to do justice for the fatherless and the oppressed so that man who is of the earth may strike terror no more? Darkness has fallen in paradise, and children cry out from their villages that lay in ruin due to man’s hate. The living need more prayers than darkness... A grim reaper sat beneath the tree, reading her lover’s last poem as she stood looking out to the sea. Tina read the Tree’s story many times since she had taken the book from the library from Wonderland but still felt empty. Addie said that Ethan deserves a second chance at life but didn’t know how to bring him back...


Jenson flipped a switch and the bathroom lights flickered to life, revealing her figure in the mirror. She chuckled at the mess her long hair had become in the night and set to work making herself presentable. Doubtless Gray would be sending his private driver to fetch her at any moment. As if on cue, the second she finished dousing her made-up face in setting spray, there was a knock at the door. “Ms. Bradley, are you ready? Mr. Covington said he requests your presence promptly,” Colin’s voice barely sneaked through the closed door. Jenson took one last look at herself before darting out the door and joining Colin at his sleek black car. She slid into the back seat and hummed to the radio on the way to Gray’s manor. If Jenson had her way, she would just take the bus. But Gray insisted that Colin be her transportation; he wanted nothing but the best for her. Gray swung Jenson’s car door open the second the car came to a stop. He barely gave her time to stand up before grabbing her in a warm hug. “Good morning, beautiful!” Jenson breathed in the scent of expensive cologne and cigars that always lingered on him. “Merry anniversary!” Gray laughed. “Merry anniversary to you, too. Though, considering we’re still not married, I’d argue you can hardly call it that.” Jenson rolled her eyes, knowing what was about to happen. Gray dropped onto one knee and pulled out a dainty velvet box. He flipped it open, revealing an ornate diamond ring. “Marry me?” “And ruin the rest of your plans for the day? I couldn’t.” Gray didn’t even blink before putting the box back and rising to his feet. “I suppose that’s fair,” he shrugged. Typically, proposals are a big deal. They involve careful planning, precise timing, and emotional reactions. Even for Jenson and Gray, there was a time in which that was true. However, Jenson and Gray’s relationship was nothing if not atypical. Jenson was a senior in college when she met Gray. She was studying abroad in Scotland, and Gray’s mother worked at her university. Gray followed his mother to work one fateful day, and knew the second he set eyes on Jenson that she was ‘the one.’ Of course, Jenson took a bit more convincing. She had a family—however awful they were—back in the United States, and she only intended to live in Scotland for a semester. Luckily for Gray, though, his charm and wit surpassed even his devilish good looks. He eventually won Jenson’s heart and she packed up and moved to Scotland. One would think moving to another country would suggest a great deal of commitment already on Jenson’s part, but this was not enough for Mr. Gray Covington. At his parents’ Christmas Eve party, exactly a year after his first date with Jenson, Gray proposed the first time. Everyone at the party expected Jenson to be thrilled when he pulled out the ten-grand engagement ring. Jenson knew she should have burst into tears and barely choked out an ecstatic ‘yes.’ But she couldn’t. Instead, she ran away. She found herself in the Covingtons’ garden and hid in the rose bushes. Once Gray found her, Jenson was sure he had tracked her down to ask her to leave. It turned out to be quite the opposite, in fact. Gray was certain Jenson was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. So much so that he made her a unique promise: every year on the anniversary of their first date, he would propose once for each year they had spent together.               Jenson and Gray got back into the car, and an hour later, they were walking along the beach; the green-blue sea roaring on their right, cliffs jutting into the sapphire sky on their left. The air was crisp and still. The cold was perfect. The fewer people nearby, the better. Jenson hugged onto Gray’s entire arm as they walked—she was cold, but she also loved being close to him. Something about it made her feel safe and at home. As they walked, Jenson caught sight of a white blur in the distance. The closer they grew to the blur, the more horselike it became. Jenson groaned internally once she could no longer deny there was a stunning white horse standing alone on the shore, his bridle fastened with rope to a massive piece of driftwood. “You did not.” Gray grinned. “Oh, but I did. Would you join me for a ride?” “You did not buy me an entire horse,” she continued, stopping in her tracks. “Love,” he chuckled, “I get the feeling you would have been more upset had I purchased one in part. Don’t worry, he’s hardly even yours. He’ll be boarded at my parents’ estate in Aberdeen, and you’ll never have to see him again if you so choose. But for this one day, would you kindly join me on the horse?” “You’re unbelievable,” she sighed, stepping toward Gray and the horse. He untied the rope and they climbed onto the horse’s back. His hooves crunch crunch ed through the damp sand as he pranced with Jenson and Gray along the beach. “It’s not so bad, is it, love?” “I wasn’t worried about it being bad , Covey. It’s just…a lot.” “Aren’t you always accusing me of being, quote, ‘a lot?’” “Yes, I do often make such an accusation,” Jenson answered with a smile. She had been meaning to say more, but a tiny flash caught her eye. Threaded onto the leather reins was a ring. It was made of white gold shaped like a vine with emeralds for leaves and amethysts for berries. A lot, indeed. “Well?” Gray prompted once he saw Jenson had noticed the ring. “You know the answer, Covey.” “You’re holding out for when things get good, I understand.” Jenson sighed and slid the ring further down the reins until she could no longer reach or see it, wishing the horse and the day would speed up. The stallion was collected further down the beach by some of the Covingtons’ People, and Colin was at the ready to take Jenson and Gray to their next destination. “What are you going to do to me next?” “I believe the question is, what am I going to do for you next. One way or the other, the answer is obviously lunch at MacGavin’s.” “MacGavin’s? Really? I thought they were booked until the new year!”   “Not for my darling’s anniversary, they’re not.” When they pulled into the parking lot, Jenson was confused to see that there wasn’t a single other car there. “I think they’re closed, Covey. No one’s here.” “Oh, I assure you, they’re open.” Gray hopped out of the car and opened Jenson’s door, grabbing her hand and helping her to her feet. “What a gentleman you are,” she said facetiously. Once they pushed their way past the heavy oak doors, Jenson gasped. The restaurant was cleared save for one table in the center. There was a dusting of fake snow over everything, white Christmas lights strung up everywhere, ornaments hanging from the crystal chandelier, and a half-circle of decked-out waiters flanking the table. “Lovely, isn’t it?” Gray asked as they made their way to the table. “It’s beautiful. How did you pull this off?” Jenson asked in awe. “Oh, I had to pull a few strings, but nothing is too much for you, love. Especially not today.” Once they were seated, Jenson cringed at the menu. “Gray, some of these things cost more than my car payment!” “I know, I know. Order whatever you like, love. And, for the love of God, stop thinking about the money. You know that’s not a problem with me.” Jenson nodded and hunted quietly for the cheapest option, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Once the food was out, Jenson ate quickly, hoping (surely in vain) to avoid whatever display Gray had planned. She had just swallowed her last bite when a violin cried out into the quiet. Shortly thereafter, a cello and an upright bass piped up and the trio flowed through a haunting melody. It reminded Jenson of a dirge her grandfather used to sing her to sleep with. Gray smiled warmly at her. “Do you like the music?” “It’s wonderful, Gray. What are they playing?” “Oh, it’s an original. Bradley in C Minor , I think it’s called.” “A song? For me? How long has that been in the works?” “Jenson, sweetheart, please stop focusing on all the specifics. Just enjoy the music!” Gray stood up and reached toward her. “Care to dance?” Jenson lit up. “But you hate dancing, Covey.” “Not today, I don’t. Come on, join me!” For the next several minutes, Jenson and Gray twirled and swayed to the music. Once one song ended, another began. Sometime into their third dance, a choir of angelic voices sneaked in with the strings. They were singing her grandfather’s dirge! Jenson felt like she could cry as Gray spun her into his arms. “This is wonderful. Thank you.” Gray stayed quiet, but Jenson could feel him smirking. Oh, well. He deserved some self-congratulations. It seemed like he finally hit the nail on the head. At least, Jenson thought so until it happened. Gray freed her from his embrace, and she turned to the table. She was startled by the richly dressed waiters from earlier. Each of the men got down on one knee and flipped open a little box, showing off five pure gold rings. “Get it?” Gray asked excitedly. “It’s like that weird Christmas carol!” “It is…,” she responded through clenched teeth. “Am I supposed to marry all six of you?” “I was hoping just the one, but I suppose we could figure something out. Is that a yes?” “No, Gray. That is not a yes. Can we go, please?” His face fell and he waved the waiters off. “Yeah, we can.” “Are you okay, Covey?” Jenson asked once they were in the car, leaning her head on his shoulder. He nodded. “I am. It’s just…it seemed like that was going so well. I thought I might actually get a yes this time.” Jenson felt the uncomfortable tightness in her chest she always did when Gray proposed. When he did a lot of things, really. She loved Gray deeply, but there was a reason she couldn’t marry him. She just couldn’t tell him that, or even put it into words for herself. “It was great, Covey,” she said after a deep breath. “Couldn’t bear to let the next two go to waste, I guess. Tell me we’re going home next?” “To your apartment, in fact,” he answered, back to his usual, chipper self. Once they got to Jenson’s apartment, she was confused when Gray didn’t head inside. Instead, he led her to the car ports behind her apartment building. He slid the door to her space open, and there was a shiny black Corvette where her car belonged. “Where’s my car?” “Love, I bought you a new one! I know you were saving up to buy it yourself, but I just couldn’t resist. Merry anniversary!” Jenson’s face reddened, but Gray didn’t notice. “And there’s more! Look inside!” Reluctantly, Jenson swung the driver’s door open. On the seat was an envelope with her name on it. “Open it!” She did, and she found a pair of plane tickets and a picture of a gaudy beach house. “We’re going to Hawaii! You told me once that you’ve always wanted to go. The house in the picture? I bought it for us! Won’t it make an amazing vacation home?” Jenson’s head was spinning. When she looked back at Gray, he was on one knee just as she had expected him to be. What she didn’t expect was the ring in the box. It had a platinum band, it was studded with pink diamonds, and the diamond in the center was bigger than her thumbnail. “Will you marry me this time?” Jenson had finally had enough. Gray had been spoiling her for five years, but this was too much. She was infuriated, and she was tired of swallowing it down. “Gray, I can’t marry you. And I don’t just mean not now. I mean not ever! I love you, I really do, but you’re too much for me. I’ve never minded that you’re wealthy, but…I hate the way you throw your money around! You’re always taking me places and buying me things, and I love spending time with you, and I appreciate the thought, but I can’t stand that you try to buy my love. You can’t buy my love, and you certainly can’t buy me. You mean the world to me, but this is all too much, and I’ve had enough. I hate that things have to end this way, but it is what it is. Just… go find someone who wants your money as much as they want you, I guess.” Gray looked like he was going to respond, but Jenson couldn’t look at him any longer. She felt tears about to pour from her eyes, so she ran away. She ran into her apartment and threw herself on her couch. Jenson was never much of a crier, not even as a baby. But as she bawled over her final words with Gray, she was convinced she cried every tear she’d ever held back. She fell asleep long before the tears stopped flowing. Jenson wasn’t sure how long she was out, but it was dark outside when she woke up. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then heard a knock at the door. “Gray, if it’s you, go away! I meant what I said earlier.” “It’s me. But…please let me in? I promise I’ll leave you alone after this if you still want me to, but won’t you hear me out first?” Jenson sighed. “Fine. It’s unlocked.” Gray slipped in and Jenson was shocked to see that he looked as awful as she felt. He joined her on the couch, and they sat in silence for a while. Jenson was tempted to rest her head on his shoulder like she loved to, but she knew she shouldn’t. The sooner she started letting go, the better. A while later, Gray finally broke the silence. “I know I’m a little…loose with my money. That’s how I’ve always been. Would it help you to know that that’s kind of my love language?” “What do you mean?” “Well, my parents were always travelling for work. They felt bad for me, so whenever they were home, they’d give me gifts to make up for their absence. I guess I figured the stuff must have been proof that they loved me, because nothing else was. So, you see it as throwing my wealth around, and maybe that’s what it is. But it’s more to me.” “Aw, Gray,” Jenson said, scooting closer to him. “I’m sorry about your parents. But having a reason doesn’t change anything. I watched wealth destroy my parents’ marriage, and I just can’t sign myself up for a life like theirs.” “Before I met you, I didn’t know how to express myself in any way other than big gestures. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve gotten better since I’ve been with you. I get too caught up in the big stuff sometimes, but I know even you have noticed a change in me. “I go overboard on our anniversary, but the fact that I don’t go overboard every other day of the year should count for something, shouldn’t it? I know when just a hug and kiss goodbye would be better. I like movie nights at your apartment more than private dinner theater dates. I can say I love you instead of giving you an exorbitant gift to try and convince you of it. “I know I’m just a spoiled rich kid. I’ve never gone a day in my life without more money than I know what to do with. But…Jenson, I would rather give up every dime I’ll ever have than to lose you. “I won’t be able to change overnight, but I promise you that I will spend the rest of my life trying to be everything you deserve in a man. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life, and I know you love me, too. If you could please just give me one more chance, I will do everything in my power to make it up to you. I can get rid of all the gifts, I can pawn the rings, I can donate everything to charity. I just can’t lose you. Jenson Selena Bradley, will you do me the honor of giving me forever to fix myself for you?” He pulled out a little plastic ball. Inside it was a pale green glow-in-the-dark ring. Jenson started crying again and didn’t bother to hide it. “Where did you get that?” she asked through her tears. “The quarter machine at the convenience store across the street.” “It’s awful.” Gray laughed as a few tears found their way to his eyes. “It is awful. I’m just trying to make a point. Will you please marry me?” Jenson wiped her tears. “Of course, I will! But I don’t think I can put that thing on.” Gray grabbed Jenson in a tight embrace. “I’m sure we’ll find a compromise somehow. I love you so much, future Mrs. Jenson Covington.” “I love you, too, Covey. Merry anniversary.” “Merry anniversary, love. I look forward to many more.” “Yeah, me, too.”


June 4, 2024  8:02 AM ARE ACTORS STEPHANIE SMITH AND CASEY REYNOLDS NOW DATING? Twenty-three-year-old actress Stephanie Smith is rumored to be dating her co-star, 30-year-old Steven Reynolds, from their new hit movie, It Takes Two to Tango.  Which would be sweet except that Steven Reynolds is currently married to 30-year-old Casey Reynolds, a high-end real estate agent. Celebrity Insider has included exclusive photos from a recent night, in which Reynolds is shown to be trying to sneak out of Smith's condo in the middle of the night.

June 4, 2024 11:07 AM STEVEN REYNOLDS' REPRESENTATIVE SAYS HE WAS HELPING A FRIEND A representative for Steven Reynolds, Jim O'Connell, has just gotten in touch with Celebrity Insider to inform us that Reynolds was at actress Stephanie Smith’s condo to help her with a personal issue. However, when we pushed further to inquire what the issue was, O'Connell said that he didn't want to violate her privacy. However, O'Connell indicated that Reynolds is happily married and would never cheat on his wife, Casey Reynolds. June 4, 2024  3:59 PM ACTOR'S WIFE DEVASTATED ABOUT VISIT BETWEEN HER HUSBAND AND CO-STAR Celebrity Insider has received word from an anonymous friend of Casey Reynolds’ that Casey is devastated after learning about Steven Reynolds's visit to actress Stephanie Smith's Condo late at night. “He never told her he went to her condo that night. She's completely inconsolable right now,” the friend said.

June 5, 2024  1:25 PM STEPHANIE SMITH THOUGHT STEVEN REYNOLDS WAS SEPARATED A source says that 23-year-old Stephanie Smith, actress of such movies as It Takes Two to Tango and Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, has told friends that 30-year-old Steven Reynolds told her he was separated. The source says, “Stephanie would have never gotten together with Steven if she knew he wasn't truly separated and intent on seeking a divorce. She feels humiliated.” June 6, 2024  10:05 AM ACTOR’S WIFE DEBATING ON WHETHER TO STAY OR SEPARATE Casey Reynolds has been debating whether or not to reconcile with her husband, actor Steven Reynolds. Two days ago, we broke the exclusive that Reynolds was seen leaving 23-year-old actress, Stephanie Smith’s, apartment in the middle of the night. Our sources say Casey Reynolds is unsure of whether she wants to work things out with her husband or separate, as there's a prenup in place. They have no kids.

June 6, 2024  4:05 PM ACTOR STOCKS UP ON WINE IN CASUAL OUTFIT

We caught up to Steven Reynolds at a grocery store in Malibu, but he was unwilling to talk to us. Reynolds had more than a few wine bottles, among other food items, in his store cart. Looks like Reynolds may be on his way to drown out his sorrows over his apparent affair with actress Stephanie Smith, as his wife is still contemplating whether to try to work things out or separate from him, according to our sources. Reynolds is seen here wearing sunglasses, shorts, a plain blue T-shirt, and Birkenstocks, trying to go for the casual look, but we know he must be sweating inside over the affair. June 8th, 2024  9:25 AM ACTORS SMITH AND REYNOLDS AFFAIR BEGAN WHILE FILMING MOVIE Twenty-three-year-old Stephanie Smith admits that affair with 30-year-old Steven Reynolds had been going on almost the entire time they were filming It Takes Two to Tango, which took four months to film. A friend of Smith's says that Reynolds pursued her and was incredibly charming, buying her flowers, taking her to dinner after they were done shooting for the day, and always complimenting her. “He didn't act like he was married and never mentioned his wife. Stephanie only found out he was married when his wife showed up to set, but even then he managed to convince her that they were separated. He's a snake and Stephanie wants nothing to do with him anymore,” the friend told us.

We reached out to Reynolds’ representative for comment, but haven't received any word back. June 9th, 2024  4:25 PM SMITH RUMOURED TO BE PREGNANT AND SOURCE SAYS REYNOLDS IS THE FATHER Allegedly, 23-three-year-old Stephanie Smith is pregnant, according to an anonymous source. She found out she was pregnant the night Reynolds went to visit her at her condo, which Celebrity Insider had brought the exclusive. Since she said she had only been seeing Steven Reynolds at the time, she knows the baby is his. Another source says, Reynolds doesn't want the baby because he realizes he wants to reconcile with his wife. If Smith has this kid, Reynolds' wife will probably never reconcile with him.

Too bad Reynolds can’t act his way out of this.

July 1st, 2024  10:25 PM STEVEN REYNOLDS CONFIRMED FATHER OF STEPHANIE SMITH BABY. WIFE SET ON DIVORCE If you've been following along, actors Stephanie Smith and Steven Reynolds have been having an affair ever since they were filming It Takes Two to Tango. Well, our sources inside say DNA tests have confirmed that Reynolds is the father of Smith's little one to come. Now that the test has revealed that Reynolds is definitely the father, Reynold's wife is intent on divorce. “She can't stand being married to him knowing that he's cheated – and now has a kid on the way with someone else,” a friend of hers told us, who wishes to remain anonymous. “She now knows it's over with him and she's 100 percent done with him.” September 5, 2024  11:15 AM SOURCE SAYS STEPHANIE SMITH HAVING BABY BOY Our source says that Smith is having a baby boy - and she’s thrilled. “She always knew she wanted kids, but didn’t think it would be this soon. She’s so happy to be having a little son - and she looks forward to co-parenting [with Reynolds],” the source said.

January 18, 2025  7:05 AM ACTRESS STEPHANIE SMITH GIVES BIRTH TO HEALTHY BABY BOY Approximately seven months ago, Celebrity Insider provided breaking news that Stephanie Smith and Steven Reynolds were involved in an affair. Now, Smith has given birth to baby boy Smith approximately at 2 am this morning at Cedars Sinai Hospital. Hospital sources say Smith’s mother was in the delivery room and helped to keep Smith calm as she delivered her baby boy. There were no complications and the sources say the birth was standard.

Smith and Reynolds’ representatives say that they are dedicated to raising their boy in a loving environment and plan on sharing 50/50 custody once their baby boy no longer needs to breastfeed.

January 20th, 2025 1:05 PM SAY HELLO TO COREY REYNOLDS-SMITH Actors Stephanie Smith and Steven Reynolds have welcomed their healthy baby boy, Corey Reynolds-Smith into the world. Even though their baby boy was a result of an affair, both parents are ecstatic to co-parent and show Corey the world. As to the name, a friend of Reynolds says they both liked the name and figured they would decide on a two-yes, one-no system. “They really want to co-parent well and make sure Corey grows up in a stable environment,” the friend said.

Welcome to the world Corey! October 27, 2025 3:40 PM STEVEN REYNOLDS AND WIFE ARE OFFICIALLY DIVORCED Thirty-one-year-old actor Steven Reynolds and his wife, Casey Reynolds, are now officially divorced. You may remember the saga of his affair between now twenty-four-year-old actress, Stephanie Smith, which resulted in the birth of their baby boy in January. According to sources, Reynolds felt awful for what he did and agreed to almost everything his now ex-wife asked for, although they had a prenup. ”He really wishes he could go back and make different choices,” a friend of Reynolds' said. “He's absolutely dedicated to raising his son with Stephanie, though.” November 10, 2025  12:20 PM ACTRESS STEPHANIE SMITH NOT INTERESTED IN DATING, ONLY FOCUSED ON SON Actress Stephanie Smith is focused on taking care of her son, Corey, stating she does not want to date until he’s of school age, according to an article from the November issue of People Magazine. From the article, she said: “I’ve had enough of dating for a while. Although I’m disappointed with how things ended romantically with Steven [Reynolds] and me, I don’t know where I’d be without Corey. Although it was a long, hard road mentally and emotionally to get here, I wouldn’t trade anything for Corey. He’s the light of my life.”


CW: bears and swears “You sure we’re going the right way?” Jon asks as the Land Rover bumps along the rutted dirt road. Though it’s only late afternoon, the tops of the trees stretch overhead, their limbs intertwining like fingers to form a dark canopy that filters out the light. “I’m fairly certain,” Andreas says, with a hint of a Swiss accent. “Though…” he pauses as he holds his phone closer to the Rover’s moonroof. “I’m not getting any signal here.” “Kara,” Jon says, glancing in the rear-view mirror to the red-headed, thirty-something woman the backseat. “What do the directions say?” Kara unfolds a piece of paper and scans it. Join the Dartmoor Company Retreat We’ve arranged an exclusive, private campsite, only 1 mile from the Cheat River launch site. Authentic backwoods ambiance on the border of West Virginia and Pennsylvania. Food, fun, and teambuilding, plus a wild ride on class IV rapids! Directions: Take Cheat River exit, Right on Hemlock Hollow for 15 miles Turn left onto dirt track (look for sign ‘Naskar Park’) for 5 miles “We’re going in the right direction, we passed the Naskar Park sign a while back,” Kara says, meeting Jon’s brown eyes in the mirror for a second, before he looks back to the track, slowing the Rover to make a tight turn in the road. “How many miles to you think—" “Shit!” Jon breaths out as he slams on the breaks. The Rover’s front bumper rests a few feet from a large tree laying across the track. “Can we get around it?” Andreas asks. “No. There’s not enough—” BOOM! “Christ!” Andreas says, his head level with the glove box as he crouches down in the passenger seat. “What was that?” “I think it was a gun. A shotgun,” Jon says, as he slowly sits up from his hiding place behind the steering wheel. TAP tap Heads swivel to the driver side window, where a gun barrel raps against the glass. “Eh, didn’t mean to scare you,” The man with the gun smiles broadly. His gaunt face is topped with a camouflage hunting cap and anchored by a wiry red beard flecked with grey. “You here for the campsite? It’s not far.” He says, slinging the gun over his back. “I’m Ned, the caretaker, I’ll take you there.” The Dartmoor team exits the vehicle, stretching after the 3-hour drive. They introduce themselves to Ned as they shoulder their backpacks. “What are you hunting?” Andreas asks. “Oh, well I wasn’t so much hunting, as protecting,” Ned says, as he climbs over the trunk of the tree blocking the road. “Protecting? What are you…” Jon’s voice trails off as he straddles the tree trunk. Four deep grooves, about six inches long are etched into the tree. Dark red droplets run from the grooves onto the ground. “What is that?” “Eh?” says Ned, returning to the tree to see what Jon is staring at. “Oh, well, that’s most likely Nokomis, the Werebear. She gets ornery during a full moon, like a werewolf. So the locals have taken to calling her the Werebear.” “Oh, right, of course. There’s a fanatical bear roaming the woods, near our campsite,” Jon guffaws as he slaps Andrea’s back. “This your prank, Andy?” “It most certainly is not.” Andreas says. “I already did my prank for this year, and it scored very highly indeed. This…” he points to the fallen log and bloody claw marks, “seems more like your kind of thing, Jon.” Jon scratches behind his ear, mussing his wavy brown hair. “Could be Kara.” “I told you, I’m not participating in your stupid prank contest. It’s so juvenile. I hope Andreas wins, so you’ll finally be dethroned," she says, mock bowing at Jon, “Captain Maturity.” They follow Ned for a few minutes until they reach a small campsite with a firepit and a six-person tent. “You can put your gear in there, “ Ned says, pointing the nylon dome. “Just make sure you don’t have any food or smelly stuff, like chewing gum or coconut-scented lotion.” “Is this the only tent?” Kara asks. “I was hoping I’d have my own.” “Uh, yup.” Ned replies. “Your boss said she’d join you tomorrow, for the Whitewater rafting. So it’s just the three of you in there for tonight. It’s good for camaraderie and team-building, is what she said.“ He continues, “It will be getting dark in a few hours. If you want, you can take a walk. Stick to the trail though, and be back before the sun sets.” They dump their backpacks in the tent and head down the trail, boots crunching the leaves and snapping small sticks. Kara inhales the earthy and slightly musty smell of wet foliage. "It's good to breathe fresh air.	" "Hmm. Yes, though it's not as pure as the air in the Alps," Andreas says. "That whole Werebear thing," Jon says, kicking a pinecone down the trail, "that's a prank for sure. And Kara, you only have a few weeks left to get your prank in. You must want to get Andy and me back for what we did." "I beg your pardon," Andreas says. "My prank was very tasteful, and quite beautiful." "I was picking fake snow flakes out of my hair and keyboard for weeks," Kara says. "It was totally biodegradable paper," Andreas says. "It's not as if I bruised your ego like Jon did. With that fake journalist interviewing you about your fascinating sourdough recipe." "Whatever, I'm not interested in your stupid games any....oh look!" Kara says, “Puffballs!” A cluster of spherical brown mushrooms, the size of small tangerines hunker on the right side of the trail, each with a black dot in the center of its dome, like a small puckered mouth. Kara picks up a stick and pokes at one. A sickly yellow-green smoke rises out of the black dot, spewing spores into the air. “Is that safe?” Andreas asks. “Yeah, I think so.” Kara says. “I mean, I don’t think they’re hallucinogenic or anything.” She rocks a rotting log with her boot. “As a kid I loved walking in the woods. Finding puffballs and weird insects, like roly-polys and thousand-leggers.” The log rolls aside, making doodle bugs and millipedes scurry for cover. The rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker on the trunk of pine tree is interrupted by an eerie wail, like a dove and coyote duetting in the distance. A flash of movement between the tightly packed pines catches Jon’s eye. “What was that?” he asks. “What?” Andreas and Kara ask in tandem. “You didn’t see it?” “What did it look like?” Andreas asks. “I only caught a glimpse. Looked like a person with dark, braided hair, wearing some kind of animal skin outfit, maybe?” The wailing sound echoes softly, again. “We should be getting back,” Kara says, “It’s getting dark.” When they reach camp, a crackling fire burns in the pit, sparks spiralling up to the full moon. Ned serves chili and cornbread on metal plates as they sit on logs circling the pit. Jon breaks out a bottle of whiskey, pouring large shots into tin mugs and handing them round. “How was your walk?” Ned asks. “Really good, I saw puffballs," Kara answers. “But we heard something strange, like sad singing, and Jon saw something that might have been a person, with a black braid, moving through the pines.” “That so?” Ned says. “Well, that was probably Nokomis, daughter of the moon. Pour me some more whiskey and I’ll tell you a story.” “Nokomis belonged to ‘those who keep records of a vision,’ the Chippewa, clan of the Nooke," Ned says. "They had travelled many moons from the Land of the Dawn, where the sun rises from the salty sea. Here they found fish, and deer and bear. On a full moon night, Abeque gave birth to a girl, Nokomis. Nokomis grew strong and tall, and talked with the animals in the wood, the birds, the stag, the bear. One day the chief said, 'she is a witch’ and he chased her into the forest.” Ned takes a slug of whiskey, before continuing. “He hunted her for seven nights. Then on the night of a full moon, he saw her standing in a small clearing, and readied his bow and arrow. Sensing danger, Nokomis shape-shifted into a bear. The arrow struck her chest, but did not kill her. Though she bleeds from her heart every full moon, and wanders the wood in a rage, seeking revenge on brown-haired men.” Andreas and Jon look at each other, wondering whose hair is browner. “Well, you’d best turn in, you have an early start tomorrow.” Ned says, standing up and handing them a flashlight. "I'll come back in the morning." Jon flicks the flashlight on, shining an unsteady beam toward the tent. He unzips the front flap and they duck through the opening. Kara, the last in, zips the flap as the men remove their boots. They sit on their sleeping bags drinking the last of the whiskey while watching the shadows jump and dance along the nylon walls as the fire burns lower. Eventually they settle into their sleeping bags and close their eyes. An hour later, Jon sits up quickly. “You hear that?” “Go back to sleep.” Andreas says, groggily, turning in his sleeping bag. Aaaa waaa aaah laaanaa layaa Andreas and Kara sit up, holding their breath as they listen to the strange lament. “It’s getting closer,” Kara whispers. A crack of branches breaking just outside their tent. A snuffling sound as something heavy paws at the ground nearest Jon. A hulking shadow stretches up one side of the tent, outlined by the dying embers of the fire. Steam rises in small puffs from the creature’s mouth, as its heavy, laboured breathing fills the ears of the occupants. "Land Rover, now," Jon says as he pulls on his coat and fishes in the pockets for the key. A thundering roar shakes the tent, filling it with the putrid smell of rotting flesh. Kara’s fingers slip as she tries to unzip the front flap. Jon's side of the tent shreds in long strips as four sharp claws puncture the nylon and draw downwards. "Kara, open the damn tent!" Jon screams as they huddle round her. She finally unzips the flap and they stumble over each other, running barefoot in the dark towards the Land Rover. The ghostly song follows them as they trip over branches and rocks. They reach the Rover and pile in. Jon starts the engine, turns on the headlights and backs down the narrow track. At last they reach the sign at the top of the road. Naskar Park In the backseat, Kara is laughing hard, doubling over. “Oh, oh man. If you could SEE your faces.” Andreas and Jon turn to look back at her. Then Andreas starts laughing. “What’s so damn funny?” Jon asks. “It’s an anagram,” Andreas says pointing to the sign, illuminated by the Rover's high beams. Jon considers the letters, arranging them mentally into possible words. “Shit," he laughs, “Kara's Prank."


The storm whooshed in. Waves surged up covering the beaches. Rain and sleet slammed the Oregon Coast rainforest wilderness. Wind roared. Douglas Firs swayed and creaked. Heavy rain hammered the roof.

Water drops hit the windows like bullets. My little blue cottage deep in the forest shook in the gales. It was a good day to stay home. But that is not how the day unfolded. What happened is absolutely true. This is all in my new book “Visiting with Sasquatch - And Other Surreal but True Stories from Mystic Beach on the Oregon Coast.” Here are the scenes and experiences of that day. After I typed up the story of what happened, I let my neighbor's 8th grader read it. I called it "The Rebuilt DeLorean Time Machine." She said, "Trippy! I love it!" Through the windows, in the dawn’s pink light on that day, I could see the trees moving in the storm, like silhouettes of mysterious creatures. Now the sounds of storm waves came as they exploded when they crashed nearby at Mystic Beach.

Each morning I walked there with my gifted dog. I felt wonder every day that an average person like me had stumbled upon such a remarkable four-legged companion, endowed with special abilities. We disappeared into the tendrils of fog and mist, emerging bathed in supernatural energies. Wading through tidepools , we felt the fantastical realms and portals reaching out to us.

I was trying to block out the storm sounds when Coos Bay Bear nudged me to wake up. Coos has psychic communication skills. He is ethereal and at the same time a physical being. Large, with black fur and flashing eyes, he is a hybrid dog-Black Bear-ethereal being.

We felt cozy and warm now. It was still dark as dawn approached. In the hours after midnight, I had already taken him for a moonlit walk in the backyard.

“What is the reason for this?” I said to him. “You were outside just a while ago.” Coos turned his dark, piercing eyes on me. I felt his mind tuning in for psychic communication, like a radio station. Next to us, we could see the little hologram of Breezy, the chihuahua who visited us from the Afterlife. She was curled up in the blankets the way she used to do it in physical form.

Her spirit would be invisible to us if she did not activate her aura glow. We loved to see her hologram aura dancing around here.

Then we knew she was dancing in the Ethereal World too. In the early dawn I wanted to stay warm under the blankets. The pair of dusky eyes that spoke “Coos Bay Bear language” appeared a few inches from my own greenish orbs.

I sighed. “Okay, we’ll get up in a few moments Coos,” I said. On the reading table next to my bed sat the books. At night I got to sleep faster by reading from printed pages. I had the books on my electronic device too. But I tried to stay off the screens later in the evening, so I wouldn’t keep checking internet algorithms and stats late at night. My own skills were modest compared to my friend who has a Phd. in Computer Science. But I felt a sense of wonder and pleasure when I got the code for html5, css3, and wordpress website plugins to function. On top of the stack sat the 1,000 page plus book titled “The Oregon Coast Almanac of Paranormal Activities - by  F. Herbert, Author of Dune” with it’s dog-eared pages from years of heavy use. Next to it waited “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Time Travel in the Galaxy.” It is the story of an earthling who was grabbed by her friend, who turned out to be an alien. They wound up as hitchhikers on the space-time traveling ship of extra-terrestrial enemy invaders. The early parts of the book warned that hostile aliens may try to torture prisoners. They force them to listen to bad poetry. It described the wails of pain and pleads for mercy by the suffering. I was glad to be forewarned. Hopefully, they were not referring to my own poetry, epic in length and brimming with advice. Another textbook rested on the table. It was “The Seekers Atlas to Worm Holes for Optimized Space-Time Travel – Get There Faster.”

For my studies of a British expert was the book - “Dr. Who’s Illustrated Encyclopedia for Beginner Time Travelers – Avoid Chaos, Use Steampunk Machines and a British Phone Booth for Time Travel.” I know you Dr. Who enthusiasts will recognize these travel methods. American time travel books included the great "Quantum Leaper - Zig Zagging Through Time and Ziggy's Best Advice." The rest of the library paid tribute to Ray Bradbury, H.G. Wells and other greats. A recent addition to my library included “Tourism in the Time and Space Eras – Improve Profit Margins in an Exciting Business Opportunity.” And finally, there was a copy of “The Physicists Formulas for Calculating Improbabilities that Happen Anyway in Time Travel – Accidental Landings in the Paleolithic, Dealing with Ice Age Landings, and How to Avoid Making Refunds to Time Traveling Tourists.”

Last night, propped up on pillows, with the earthly form of my real dog “Coos Bay Bear” and the hologram of my spirit dog “Breezy,” snuggled next to me, I was reading “How to Rebuild a Doc Brown’s Classic DeLorean Time Machine Using Scrap Metal – Travel Back to the Future or Ahead to the Past.”

For those who loved classic modes of time-space travel, Doc Brown’s style machine was the angular, gull winged car. The vehicle was created by an Italian designer and an American engineer from General Motors. Then Doc Brown customized it for time travel in his garage in Buellton, California. The professor’s sidekick, Marty McFly, helped make this popular in its day. Although it is a legacy method it’s still popular with afficionados. I favored more cutting edge modes of time-space travel. Although sometimes I used an antique blue lantern that cast a spell, too. But I loved the pictures of these old timey style vehicles blasting through time eras to the future and back. In the olden days of my grandma, they used machines for time travel instead of our modern day power of the mind. The charm of the old time travel vehicles persists. Today they were still built especially during recessions, by idealistic young scientists who gathered scraps of old metal, discarded nuts and bolts, and old automobiles to repurpose them.

Creative time travel machines made from recycled materials are displayed in museums today. The illustrations in the books had full color images with parts labeled and numbered bullet points for the directions. Right now, after my dog woke me up, he nudged me and used his teeth to give me a small type of love pinch on my arm to get me moving. “OK, you have my attention. You’re bored. We need to do something,” I said out loud.

“We need to go now,” I heard Coos Bay Bear’s thoughts come to me through his psychic communication. “What’s the hurry,” I messaged him.

“You’ll see,” he said. “Someone needs our help. We need to take a time travel trip.”

I knew Coos Bay Bear’s psychic abilities were able to hear messages from far away, even from space and distant historical eras.

Today, I wanted a time-out to recharge my batteries, and wait out the storm, but I knew Coos and and I would need to answer this call first. Looking out the window at the distant sea, I could see spindrift flying into the air from the waves atop the swells on the ocean. The tropical storm from the South Pacific, and the King Tides of winter, were combined. It made the ocean rush up onto the shores.  Waves tossed trunks of trees and logs bigger than telephone poles onto the beaches. I hoped today would not be similarly turbulent while we time traveled. Now Coos Bay Bear herded me along to make me hurry. I knew from our walks at Mystic Beach, where our earthly forms get lost in the magic of the mysterious marine fog, that Coos was more than a dog.

He had both an earthly form and an ethereal one. The DNA for his earthly dog form said Coos was blend of Australian Shepard, Border Collie, and Labrador Retriever. So he was a herding, fetching, swimming, curious, playful, determined, observant dog of stamina and deep mental abilities. My own DNA must have said I was an open minded earthling, ready for the adventures that Coos Bay Bear brought to me. Beyond his canine form Coos was a hybrid of other creatures too. I had seen him transform into his Black Bear self and a radiant aura of an otherworldly spirit often glowed around him. One time on the way back along the Secret Path a cougar who did not know us appeared on the trail. Coos Bay Bear grew quickly into a 10 foot tall Black Bear standing on his hind legs. His intense eyes almost drilled a hole into the Cougar’s eyes.

“Sorry, we haven’t met,” came a psychic message from Cougar. “Excuse me. I’ll be going on my way. See you another time.” The moment of tension was dissolved. We smiled at each other and nodded as we went our ways. Now as the translucent glows of dawn penetrated the curtains, Coos Bay Bear’s nose pushed against my arm. I reached out to stroke his soft, dark hair. His midnight eyes with starry lights were like laser beams going into mine with intention.

“Okay, Coos, I’m ready,” I said. I was wearing my time travel outfit and Coos had his tactical dog vest on too. My long pale hair was held in a blue scrunchy. I took time to add a little make up, even though probably no one would see me.

There is no wind in the time travel era-verse to blow your hat off, so I had my favorite beat up, gray poet’s fedora on with the colorful Peruvian, handwoven hatband. The description said it was made by a shaman in the Andes and this inspired me. A pale blue chambray shirt and faded blue jeans went with it. Long thin silvery earrings with a few beads hung almost to my shoulders. A necklace of tarnished silver beads with aqua and coral hung around my neck.

I wouldn’t be running on land but I still wore my black and pink jogging shoes because they are comfortable. Dressing creatively felt uplifting. I was ready for the day now. Coos Bay Bear had his tan K-9 vest that contrasted with his black Labrador Retriever coat. A patch on it said, “OTT K-9 Companion.” It meant Official Time Travel K-9 Companion. The storm abated and as the sky cleared Coos and I walked down the Secret Path to the Mystic Beach. This was a good place to start. We sat on a log washed up by the sea and began to meditate.

I could tell Coos was listening to psychic message hunches. I began to see a vision of space and a trip to look for a worm hole to speed up the time travel. Instead of a linear trip we could go in where space-time was folded and quickly get somewhere. We felt the time-space begin to spin. The surroundings became blurry like a French Impressionist painting by Renoir, with the lighting having a similar effect.

Grasped in each other’s arms and paws, we entered space to float and look for a worm hole so we could travel faster. As we spun through time, I heard clanging noises. In the distance was an old fashioned time machine made of a rebuilt DeLorean vehicle, with dented fenders, rusty scrap metal, and two shapes of beings in it. Sparks were flying, squeaking noises echoed, and something was malfunctioning – they saw us and began to yell and wave. Their legacy style time machine was rust colored with extra implements welded to it. I could see an old-fashioned dashboard and some vinyl seats that looked like beach chairs found at a junkyard. It was a real museum piece. But it had a sort of steampunk, artistic, abstract flair.

As they came closer I saw they were not from earth. Maybe aliens hijacked someone’s vehicle. Perhaps they too were looking for a good wormhole path to another time and place. Were they friend or foe? There is something we always need to carry on the time travel trips in case we need it – the antique blue lantern light with the etched glass – the one my father used to show us people from 100 years ago at our antique pine dining table. We can use an old fashioned spell from the blue lantern sometimes. It’s also handier than a flashlight when we need to see in the dark.

I lit the blue lantern and held it up to see the DeLorean time machine and its passengers better, through the twilight of the time travel spirals Alarm raced through me at what I saw. Instinctively I reached out to Coos Bay Bear and clutched him tightly. A glance at his eyes told me he was employing his Australian Shepherd-Border Collie laser eyes technique at the squeaking, rusty, grimy looking time vehicle that was approaching us. A ray of light came from it. A magnetic pull seemed to be activated, drawing us closer to them, or them to us. “Why isn’t Coos doing something?” I thought. My heart pounded. My throat grew tight. My face felt like a frozen mask. Horror filled me as they came alongside of us. They reminded me of wet, green blobs of slime or mold.

Were these the aliens that “Hitchhikers Guide to Time Travel in the Galaxy” warned me about? If they caught us would they torture us by reading bad poetry to us? Don’t judge, I said to myself. Remember “Hitchhiker’s Guide.” Pretend to use the “Point of View Gun” to see what they see through their eyes. I tried but could not access their psychic selves. They were trying to communicate, but I could not understand them. I could not hear or decipher their thoughts or their sounds. Their machine appeared to be falling apart. They must need new ways to travel. “What did they want?” A deep, low growl rumbled from Coos. I saw him transform into a full Black Bear size, standing almost 10 feet tall on his hind legs. He does not do this often and I love to see him do this. Coos activated his ethereal, paranormal self. He threw lightening into the air. It crackled. Then there were thunderous booms. With clangs, squeaks and groans of metal the newcomers machine wobbled and zoomed to a distance away from us. With the blue lantern glowing and Coos Bay Bear standing at full Black Bear height, growling, I tried again to hear the newcomers or see through their eyes. “Help,” came the message. “We can’t get out. Our time machine is broken and too weak.” “Is it a trick,” I thought? Coos spoke to me, “Beware of shapeshifting tricksters, Kristi Marie.” I stopped looking at them and focused on listening to the psychic communications. “We’re from the earth. We rebuilt this DeLorean time travel vehicle in our garage in Buellton, California. Something in it reacts with time-space and changes us into new forms.” Coos Bay Bear and I were experienced at transformations into other forms. We looked at each other. “What could be done?” we both thought. “Could we get them back home to the Buellton, California of their usual era?” “Okay,” I sent them a message. “Maybe we can help.” The magical antique blue lantern with the etched glass was still glowing.

“Come closer to this blue light to feel the healing spell,” I said. “Concentrate. See your real selves and your home.” As I watched, the blobs turned into human style beings. One of them had a mop of unruly white hair and bulging eyes. He looked like the epitome of a crazy professor. The other was a young man with brown hair and an innocent, youthful face. Above them a vision appeared of their home. It was a modest stucco home with a red tile roof. Sunshine painted the scene with warmth. Golden rolling hills with live oak trees under a sunny, summertime blue sky were behind the house. “Thank you,” the white haired professor type sent a psychic message. “I’m Doc Brown. Take care.” He turned to the younger man and said, “See Marty, I told you everything would be okay.” “Glad we could help. Our pleasure. Take care now,” I sent back. We waved as their vehicle and forms began to fade and dissolve. “It’s working!” Coos and I thought at the same time. With a clanging, and squeaking like rusty hinges, the old rebuilt DeLorean time machine vehicle disappeared from our vision.

Floating in time-space, I smiled at Coos. I was glad Coos Bay Bear had heard the fellow travelers call for help, when it echoed through time-space in the early dawn. Discovering Coos had the gift of hearing psychic messages with calls for help gave me new insight into my amazing companion. That’s my Coosy Coo…. the hero dog….Black Bear and mystical being hybrid. We cuddled up together, picturing home, and it seemed like only seconds before we saw the waves of Mystic Beach gleaming. The sky had cleared, the tide was low, and we waded out into the ocean under a sunny sky. Far out on the waves we saw sea lions rising and falling on the swells.

“Thank you Coos, for waking me up before Dawn today,” I said to him. He looked at me and his mouth opened into a wide angle with his lips curving. Coos did his trick where he sticks his ears out to the side and spins them like helicopters. His eyes twinkled at me in the sunlight.

We both began laughing.