April 30, 2023 “What brings you here today? It’s been quite a while since the last time we met.” “I miss my mom,” I blurted out, cutting right to the chase while sitting down tentatively.

“Oh, Ruth…” a rustle of papers as Dr. Jordan flipped back through her notes. “I didn’t realize…” “No,” I quickly clarified. “She’s okay. I mean, she’s not okay, but she’s still here.” She’s still here, I thought to myself. But was she really? The image of her being brought home from rehab via ambulette flashed before my eyes. The men carried the stretcher into the house while I stood in the background fighting a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. The woman strapped on looked more like my grandmother than my mother, her hair brushed back in a style not hers. I felt sick. What had happened to her? “Tell me about that, Ruth.”  My therapist flipped to a fresh page and poised her pen over it. Tell her about it? Which part? The part where I hadn’t visited her for months on end? Was I too frightened to see the deterioration? Too selfish to miss work during our busiest time of year?  Covid had spread like wildfire through her wing of the hospital. Was that a valid reason for not visiting or a convenient excuse? Dr. Jordan would tell me everything was going to be just fine and that my mother was going to regain her strength.  She would reassure me that I was not the world’s worst daughter.

I looked at my therapist who looked back at me over her glasses. The questions and scenarios ran all over each other competing for attention negating each other into silence. I simply had no words. *** May 20, 2023 “I had to lock myself in the bathroom to cry my eyes out. She called me out on that when I went back into the bedroom.” “What did she say to you, Ruth?” Dr. Jordan asked me as she crossed her legs at the ankle. “Why are you crying, little girl?” I did my best to imitate my mother’s voice, the emotion of the memory threatening the dam to burst yet again. I laughed a shaky laugh to chase away the sadness. “Why were you crying?” Dr. Jordan pursued my mother’s question, putting me on the spot to pinpoint a range of emotion. Why?

“Go away, I don’t like you,” rang in my ears as if I were in her bedroom at that very moment.

I didn’t blame her, didn’t take it personally. It wasn’t me she disliked but rather her situation. Who wanted to helplessly allow others to take care of their basic needs? Where was the dignity in being washed and changed into a clean diaper? It was more than I could bear for myself or for her. I sat on that chair, that old familiar but yet uncomfortable beige chair, lost in thought. *** June 4, 2023 “Yesterday was one of the scariest days of my life.” “Tell me about it.” For once I was ready to speak, ready to spill my guts to my therapist. I needed to unload. “I tried to force my mother out of bed. I told her repeatedly you can do this, rah, rah, rah.  I was her cheerleader. She begged me to leave her alone, but I refused to give up. She didn’t want to disappoint me, so she slowly sat up on the edge of the bed with my encouragement.” “That’s wonderful, Ruth.” “I thought so at first, but she was so weak she fainted. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she went limp, falling backwards on the bed while I screamed in panic. I begged her no, no, no, wake up, wake up, wake up while she slid off the bed and onto the floor in a heap.” “What did you do?” “I screamed for my stepfather to come in, and he called 911. I sat on the floor with her holding her upright until the paramedics got there.” “Thank goodness she was alright. That must have been very scary for you, Ruth.” “It was all my fault. I’ll never push her like that again.” “It wasn’t your fault. You had the best of intentions.” “I thought it was the end happening right in front of me. It was terrifying. All I could think of was no, not now, not here, not on my watch.” I was sure I had lost her. Again I wondered why I had restarted my visits with Dr. Jordan. What was it that I was seeking? My mother wasn’t getting her strength back as I had hoped. Perhaps I needed the coping skills to get through the unimaginable yet inevitable next chapter. *** July 16, 2023 “We finally got her the lift. I despise it beyond words.” “Why is that, Ruth?” “It helps us get her out of the bed and into the wheelchair so at least she’s not bedbound all day. But there’s this moment where she’s swinging in midair with her arms and legs dangling all over the place until she’s lowered into her chair. It’s heartbreaking.” “It’s a means to an end, Ruth. It’s helpful.” “Yeah, but to see her screaming like…” I wanted to say like a wild animal, but I couldn’t bring myself to make that comparison. She deserved more respect than that.

We sat quietly.  Dr. Jordan allowed me to process my thoughts and share what I was able to. The silence was comforting. The tears had started to dry up, the constant nausea had lessened over time.

My mother wasn’t coming back. *** August 18, 2023 “We celebrated my mom’s birthday the other day,” I reported to my therapist. “How nice! Did you enjoy it?” “I did. She seemed to have a wonderful day.” I thought back to the afternoon spent on her sunny deck, the lively conversation reminiscent of earlier days. “Ruth, I’m so happy to hear that.” “I mean she was completely confused with her facts slip sliding all over the place. She knew me then didn’t know me. Was I her mother, her daughter?” “How did that make you feel?” “I’ve gotten used to it. I suppose you can get used to anything as it becomes the new normal. She smiled a lot during lunch and enjoyed her birthday cake. We had a few laughs while she blew out the candles.” “So why do you look so sad?” “I’m not. Not really. It was a good day filled with special moments.” I thought back to kissing her on the cheek when I said goodbye. She told me to call her when I got home, which was exactly what my mother had always said before the nightmare started. It was a while since I had that anchor and felt secure. I was cared for. I mattered. I wasn’t floating in the abyss all alone. As I had opened the front door feeling like a daughter again, I heard in the background, “Who was that lady?”

Stepping through the door I had let out a small sigh, but surprisingly I didn’t cry.


Priyanka came to know that her friend’s husband was admitted into Yashodha hospital for dialysis. Since the hospital was near her home at a walkable distance, she thought of visiting her. She bought some fruits and went to see her. At the hospital at every point she had to enquire and go further. She had to enquire and find out the floor number, room number, visitors’ timings, any do’s and don’ts’... She had to enquire where was the lift and get there. She came out of lift and looked for the room where her friend’s husband was admitted. There was no room number. Nor the patient’s name on the door. She learnt that not all patients require room for whole day. For routine quarterly check-up a few hours of stay as in-patient was sufficient. Any vacant room would be given to the patient. Priyanka’s friend’s husband had come for Peritoneal Dialysis. He was doing it himself routinely at home. Occasionally, he needed to have check up at the hospital. A nurse was passing by. Priyanka asked for the specific room where she was required to go. The nurse simply waved her hand towards a door. Priyanka went in as directed. No that was not the room. Neither her friend nor her husband was seen there. Some total strangers, ---- may be a mother and her daughter --were there. Daughter was the patient and mother, a care-giving attendant. Priyanka realized that she came into a wrong room. When she was about to go back, the elderly lady called her and told rather warned her that a dialysis patient should not be given any fruit. Priyanka was aware of that. She politely replied the old lady that the fruits were meant for person taking care of the patient and not for the patient. Fruits were meant for her friend. “The dialysis patient is anyway being taken care of by the hospital, whereas, the attending caregiver is left to fend for oneself.” Of course, a food court and a canteen were available in the hospital. She came out and found her friend walking towards the room. She hurriedly went and caught up with her. After an update of ‘what is what’ and ‘how do you do’ a little more time on exchange of pleasantries, Priyanka thought it better to leave. Hospital was not a coffee shop where anybody would like to sit and chat for longer duration. Moreover, her friend also had to wind up and leave. Priyanka chose to visit her friend at the hospital for two reasons … to enquire about her husband’s present health condition and another reason was that it was easy for her to see them here rather than at their residence, which was quite far from her place. Priyanka took leave from them and left. When she came out, she accidentally turned towards the wrong door into which she entered first Elderly woman on seeing her, called her in. Then she said, she had one more patient in the same hospital, but in another wing. He was not related to her. He was their neighbour. Presently he was undergoing treatment and the response was poor. He needed blood transfusion. Stock of bottle of his blood group was not available in the hospital readily. They had already placed an indent to local blood bank and supply thereof was awaited. She said, “It is painful to see him groaning in pain. Reason for calling you is … if you know anybody who can donate blood, it will be very nice. He and his mother will be ever thankful to that kind soul.” Priyanka said, “Why anybody aunty? Even I can donate blood. I belong to the universal category of blood, which normally is acceptable to any one in need of. Moreover, blood donation is a very noble act. I will be happy if I can be of any use to your neighbour. Let the doctor decide if my blood is suitable to the patient. First let us go and see the patient. I hope your daughter is comfortable now. How long has she to be here?” The two ladies were talking and walking towards the ‘blood-thirsty’ patient. The patient was asleep with his face towards the wall. In a low hush-hush voice aunty was telling Priyanka about his sickness, his parents’ agony, costly treatment, his self-pity and so on. Every now and then he would say, ‘what sin did I commit? Whose curse is on me?’ Aunty sympathised him, “More than his sickness, his self-pity and depression were worst killers. No medicine can cure such patients. I wish and pray that he is able to overcome his depression. Sooner the better.” Even though aunty was talking a in low voice, in decibels not more than a whisper, it was enough for the patient, Shukla to turn around in the bed. Priyanka missed a beat for a second. ‘This man! The Least I expected to see him in the hospital’. Aunty introduced Priyanka as a prospective blood donor, thinking that it would cheer him up and boost his confidence. Priyanka nudged aunty, “Let us go. He may be tired.” When they came out of his room, aunty made wry faces at Priyanka and said sarcastically, “Earlier you were making tall sermons on blood donation and was offering to give blood. You were posing as though you were a goody-goody soul. When time for action came, you simply backed out as if nothing happened. You funked. Funny people!” She continued and was murmuring to herself ‘cheap stunts for popularity’ and something more like that. Priyanka bade good bye and left in whiz. Next day, Priyanka bought a few varieties of fruits and came to Yashodha hospital. She straight went to see Shukla and spoke to him soothingly. She came out along with the nurse and had latest updates on his health condition. Later, she told the nurse that she was keen on donating blood even if did not suit this patient. It could be useful for some other needy patient. Nurse was looking at Priyanka, as though something unusual happened. It was a common practice among nurses to offer blood to patients in times of emergency but not any normal human being coming forward to do so. She took Priyanka to the Blood bank unit in the same hospital and came back. Priyanka finished giving blood. She then came to see aunty. When she gave the bag of fruits to aunty, she taunted. “Why? You think that fruits are better than blood in helping the patient to have a speedy recovery? And you don’t have to be afraid of pricking your skin. Is it not?” Priyanka was cool. “Aunty fruits are not for Shukla. The hospital takes care of its patients. I brought them for you. By the way, I am coming from Blood bank counter only after donating one unit of blood. Yesterday, I did not want to give blood for a different reason. I was in bad mood. If the body does not cooperate, it is difficult to get the proper vein.” Aunty saw that there was a small plaster in her elbow joint. Still not believing her, aunty asked, “Yesterday you were in good spirits when you were talking with me here in this room. But later when I took you to see Shukla, you turned pale and you funked. Mood change!  Why bad mood then?” “It is a long story, aunty. If you are not getting bored, I can tell you. This Shukla is your neighbour now. For me, he was a long-last friend. For him, I am a long-lost foe. Many years ago, we were living in Pune in the same colony and we both went to same school. He was very jealous of his classmate Sudheer. Sudheer would come first in the class and Shukla’s parents used to get angry for Shukla not taking interest in studies. Sudheer was studious and Shukla was not. His parents always compared him with Sudheer and criticised him. So, Shukla thought of a crooked plan to steal some of Sudheer’s note-books just before exams and in the absence of important notes, he would not be able to study and who knows! Might fail also. Instead of keeping the stolen books with him, Shukla asked me to help him by keeping them with me. Even if anybody suspected Shukla, they could get nothing from him and he would escape punishment. Up to this his plan was okay.” Priyanka kept telling further. In my younger days I was a timid girl. I never ventured to do any mischief nor play any adventure. When I declined to cooperate, he got angry and beat me. I became his enemy. He was afraid that his hideous scheme would be exposed now to all. He gave me two more blows for that. In that scuffle I fell down and broke my leg. I could not write exams. My parents were quite upset. They warned me, no-no threatened me. They strictly told me not to have any contact with him. I got well but one year of schooling gone. Later we got drifted apart and we never met again until yesterday.” “When I saw him yesterday, though I was reminded of that bad incident, I felt very sorry for this fellow and was full of sympathy. I went home and offered sincere prayers. I was worried that he should not believe that it was my curses which are the reasons for his sickness. He was already in self-pity and because of me it will shoot up. That was why I was in a hurry to go. Today I went to see him just to assure him that I was not here for any revenge or retaliation. I wanted him to understand that I was not his foe. Whether I am his friend or not, he may decide. Certainly, I am not his foe.” “One good news aunty. In the Blood bank-counter they said they are getting his requirement and may be by now they received also.” Aunty said convincingly, “Now I understand why he was in tears and was repeatedly telling, ‘I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have been so rude.’ I am happy Priyanka that he is getting his unit of blood. He will get well soon. I am happier still that his mental sickness also will be cured. When he will be discharged, he will be a fresh and a new guy.” Aunty was sure, very soon he would be fit physically and mentally. Certainly.


Change is inevitable “What is it about parties that intrigue and excite people? And why are those people considered boring who do not attend parties?” Deepa, debating with her office colleagues during lunch hours.

Deepa held an esteemed position in a bank in Bangalore and admired and respected by her colleagues for her cordial attitude and kind personality. An introvert who preferred her own space and privacy and looked for excuses to stay at home whenever any friend called her for an outing. She liked her own company. She watched movies alone, even eating out all alone, and was a solo traveler too. The office staff was planning a farewell celebration for Nitish, who had got transferred to Jaipur from Bangalore and was leaving this weekend. Nitish and Deepa have worked together for 2 years and had turned into good friends. Their personality was just contrary to each other, yet they always backed each other on the personal and professional front. Deepa was extremely sentimental when she heard about his transfer, but tried not to reveal it on her face. Nitish asked her, “Hey Deepa, you seem thrilled on hearing the news about my transfer. Are you so fed up with my antics?” Deepa, confused, thought about how and what to respond to. She hesitated and replied, “No, my friend, nothing like that. But I am happy for you as you always wished this and this is an opportunity for you to grow.” Nitish seemed annoyed with her reply. And he just left her cabin saying nothing. During lunch hours that day, Nitish did not accompany her for lunch. Deepa thought maybe he requires some privacy, so she too did not call him. The staff discussing with each other “Hey Deepa, why don’t we organize an adieu for Nitish this Friday. Suggest some good joints where we all can spend time with each other and also have wonderful food.” Deepa was silent, and everyone looked stunned. Archana, her colleague, and friend, exclaimed, “Why are you quiet? I realize you are unhappy that Nitish is leaving us but we should send him off with pleasant remembrances, isn’t it? And since you are one of his good friends, you recommend what should be gifted and which place he would like?” “You guys choose. See, I am not into parties and all, so I cannot suggest anything. I mean, the last party I attended was in school.” Deepa, in an unsettled tone, left without finishing her lunch and went back to work.

The next morning, both Deepa and Nitish just wished each other and went to their respective cabins. None of them uttered a word to each other. She was constantly thinking about what to tell him and how to console him, as she was not good at communicating emotions. She could not concentrate on her work. They did not have lunch together that day. Deepa called Archana to her cabin and asked, “Tomorrow is Friday. You were saying something regarding the farewell party, na. Anything decided?” Archana said “No Deepa. If you also suggest it would be much better” Deepa then offered the option of a good rooftop cafe which was Nitish's favorite. “What about the present?” Archana exclaimed. “That I will take care”. Deepa said. Archana, grinning “Oh, so someone is completely eager to attend a party, it seems” “No no. Not at all. You know I hate parties. Anyway, I am not attending,” Deepa, still in a confused state of mind. Archana, shocked, “What are you saying! He will be really disappointed if you don’t attend. And it is his last day in the office tomorrow.”

Deepa kept quiet. Then she prepared a list of the cuisine to be served at the party and asked Archana to call the cafe and make the arrangements. “Please ensure that Nitish is not informed of all this. Let it be a surprise for him.” That evening, after office, Deepa drove down to the cafe, which was fairly far from her residence, and had a discussion with the manager regarding how the place is to be done up and which flowers, etc to be used. She had taken utmost care that everything should be as per Nitish's liking. Then she ordered a beautiful big heart-shaped cake and asked the shop to deliver to the cafe at 8 pm the next day. She was just concerned about the gift, as she didn’t even have an entire day to get that designed. It was Friday. Nitish's last day in office. Both Deepa and Nitish were avoiding each other for the past 2 days. Nitish looked sad, and he came to Deepa's cabin to wish her. She wasn't there. He loudly asked the staff, “Where is your Madam Deepa?” “We don't know, sir. She has informed nothing,” they exclaimed. Nitish wanted to call her and shout at her furiously for her behavior. In his mind, “Today is my last day in the office and she has disappeared without even uttering a word? Now I won’t speak to her ever.” He decided not to call her. Archana saw Nitish was really upset. She went to his cabin and tried to console him, but he was not in a mood to listen to anything.

Meanwhile, Deepa had taken an off just to arrange the best gift for her best friend so that this day becomes memorable for him. She called Archana and before she could say anything Archana interrupted, “Where are you? Don't you today is his last day in office and he is really upset. Are you coming to the party or not? And what about his gift?” Deepa asked her to calm down “Archana, I am on leave. I had some personal work and I am feeling sick too. I won’t be able to attend the party. Please ensure that all arrangements are made in the cafe. And yes, I have ordered the cake and gift. This is the cake shop number. Please call them and confirm. The gift part will be taken care of before Nitish arrives.” Archana, totally astonished, “Why you are doing all this when you can’t even attend one party for your friend's sake. Do you have to be so adamant every time? And there are only known faces at the party, so you won’t feel out of place, I promise you.” Archana tried to persuade her somehow but Deepa had decided not to attend the party as she was feeling sad and distressed at the same time in attending a party after so long. It was evening and as the party time was nearing, Deepa was getting calls from all her office staff, but she did not pick any calls. She knew that her behavior was strange. All kinds of concerns were making her anxious- Will Nitish call me? Will he ever talk to me again? Will I lose one more good friend? She also tried to console herself at the same time. “No, nothing can affect our friendship. Even if I don’t attend his party, he will understand as he knows I detest going to functions and parties.” It was 8 pm and one by one, all the attendees were arriving.

“Who is informing Nitish?” one colleague asked. Then they were gossiping “Deepa is there na, she will take care.” To everybody's shock, Archana told them that Deepa is not attending the party, and she suddenly realized that Deepa had told her to arrange a cab to pick Nitish. She had totally forgotten about it. When she was about to call the cab, she saw a message from Deepa which read, “I have arranged the cab. Don't worry.” Archana thanked her and again requested to come to the party. Meanwhile, Nitish was packing his things, unaware of the party. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and he saw Deepa standing at the door with a big and beautiful bouquet and a sorry message card. Nitish got really emotional and couldn’t contain his tears. He just hugged Deepa and cried a lot. Deepa consoling him “Nitish, stop sobbing. It does not suit you. First, get dressed and please wear something nice. We have to go somewhere.” “Where?” He asked. “Don't ask any more questions, We don’t have time. Just come along with me. I am waiting outside in the car.” Till they approached the cafe, Nitish kept asking her that what is all this about but she kept absolutely quiet. He mentioned “Hey this is my favorite cafe. Why have we halted here?” Come with me. Deepa, holding his hand, took him to the rooftop where everybody was looking forward to the party to start. “Hey, guys. See who’s here.” Deepa, totally enthusiastic. Nitish couldn’t believe his eyes. Such beautiful decorations all around and a huge poster with his name and photo saying “We will miss you.” “Thank you all.” He said. Archana came running to Deepa and stated, “You are such a devil. And all this time you were constructing a drama saying you don’t like parties, etc.” “Archana, I had decided actually not to come to the party. You know how antisocial I am. But when I thought about all the memories we have shared, a thought crossed my mind- that I will repent this moment forever if I cannot be with my best friend on the last day.” Archana was in tears.

All of them enjoyed their food and drinks and had a good time together.

“Ok people. All of you please leave your food and drinks aside and join me to present a beautiful gift for Mr. Nitish, who will leave us in a few hours’ time but will not be leaving our hearts.” Deepa presented the gift which she had specially made for Nitish. She herself had prepared a beautiful photo frame hand-painted and with a collage of all the photos comprising lovely times in office with all the colleagues- happy, sad and all emotions just flashed as they relived the moments. Nitish. spellbound, “I am not in a situation to say anything. This is one of the best days of my life and I will never forget all of you, ever. Deepa, this is so thoughtful of you. You have made my stay worthwhile.” It overjoyed Deepa to see Nitish's reaction and was fully emotional. “See, because of you, an anti-social element like me attended a party after so many years. You always used to tease me, isn’t it? Frankly, I really don't know whether I will attend more parties but anything for my best friend and colleague. I hope you get what you deserve and we will always be there for you.” The party ended with everyone posing for selfies and smiling and hugging each other. Deepa was dropping Nitish back home, and she said “I am really sorry for my behavior for the past few days. I was just totally confused about my feelings and just did not know how to tell you I will miss you a lot. You have given me so much happiness in such a brief span of time.” Both of them hugged each other and bid goodbye. Deepa, on the way back home, thought “Attending parties is not that bad like I had believed all these years.” She kept looking at all the photos repeatedly and dozed off weeping and thinking about how the next morning will be without Nitish in the office.


I am from a tiny town in the middle of nowhere in Kansas. It is nice here, but this winter my family and I decided that in the upcoming summer we were going on a trip to Florida. We get to stay at the beautiful, tropical, and colorful beaches for an entire two weeks. Since I am lucky enough to have a summer birthday my mom, my two brothers and I go on vacation as a family every year around my birthday. I am fifteen, Craig is now eighteen, and Lane is eleven. One of our cousins, Leslie, who is twelve, recently moved closer to us with her family. Over the last year, Leslie and I have strengthened our relationship. I decided to ask mom if Leslie could come with us on this trip and thankfully my mom and Leslie's mom both agreed to let her come.

The time finally rolled around where we were getting ready to head out for the tropical vacation ahead. The trip would take approximately twenty-one hours, excluding the time spent at stops. Even though we had three potential drivers, we did not leave until Mom got home from work around three o’clock. We decided to stay at a hotel that night. We stopped at a fast food restaurant for dinner near the eastern edge of Arkansas then checked into a hotel. It was around ten o’clock. My favorite part of staying at hotels is always swimming before we go to bed. We all got our swimsuits on and headed straight for the pool. We did not have much time to swim because the pool closed soon, but we still had fun. The next morning we packed up our bags, and right after breakfast, we headed for Florida once again. None of us kids got much sleep that night, so we slept in the car for a couple hours while Mom was driving.

We finally made it to our resort in Florida. After getting everything gathered up, we brought all our belongings into our rooms. It was a little house with three bedrooms, a living room, and a small kitchen. The boys got one room, Leslie and I had another, and Mom had the last. The first day we did not have much time for anything big, so instead we just went exploring around the water by our resort and went swimming. Soon it became supper time and had started to get chilly, so we went inside and ate. At dinner, we were discussing what we should do tomorrow and decided that we would explore the city, find some elegant restaurants to eat at for the next two weeks, and find some exciting activities we could do together.

The next morning we headed out. The first thing we did was find a place to eat breakfast. We knew we could not eat too much, because if we did, we would be miserable walking around all day. Our next stop was the mall. Since we all have different interests, we split up. The boys headed to look at games and sporting stores, while us girls went to look at clothes. We made a plan to meet up for lunch at the food court. We had only been separated for about half an hour when we heard an announcement telling everyone to go home immediately because there was a blizzard headed our way. Some people did not believe this, as it was the middle of summer in Florida. We did not rush, but we gathered our things to leave. A few minutes later, we exited the mall. We did not see the boys anywhere, but we knew the storm was going to get intense quickly, so we needed to hurry back to our resort. Mom figured that Craig knew how to get back to the resort, and keep Lane and himself safe. As we predicted, the storm rapidly began to worsen. Snow was blowing faster than anyone could even imagine. The few trees in town were bending so far over they almost touched the ground. Business owners were letting some people in to stay safe then began boarding up windows and doors. Mom, Leslie and I were holding on to each other as tight as we possibly could trying to make it somewhere safe to hide out from the storm. It soon got to the point that I could not see anything. Not even Mom or Leslie only six inches away from me. The wind was strong and we were dressed for tropical weather, not a snowstorm. We could not hold on any longer and Mom got separated from Leslie and I. When we realized it was just the two of us, we both felt instant fear. What would we do? Would we survive? Are we going to make it back to the resort? What about Craig and Lane?

At this point we had no idea where we were but we knew we had to get out of the storm. Leslie and I managed to get in a tiny alleyway between two buildings where the snow could not get to us. It was better here, away from the wind, but of course it was still cold as we were only in shorts and t-shirts. We walked away from the street to get further between the two buildings and found three other people hiding out from the storm as well. They did not talk much but I could tell they were kind hearted. They offered Leslie and I a blanket to help keep us warm. The five of us gathered close to keep each other warm with our body heat under the blanket as well.

The next morning we awoke to a small dog climbing on our blankets. The storm had settled. The dog was shivering. Leslie and I decided to go looking for the rest of our family. The dog followed us through the snow, everywhere we went. We decided to give him a name. Loki, we liked the name and the dog seemed to come when we called him by it. I was a little afraid we would get too close with Loki. We would have to go back home, Mom would not want us to bring him back to Kansas with us, but right then I was just focused on finding my family. Leslie and I were walking through the town, trying to think of somewhere they could have been. Luckily the snow was compacted so we could walk on top of it without hardly sinking at all. We had been walking for a while. Loki was still right behind us, as he had been since that morning. Leslie faintly heard a voice shouting from a house down the road. She asked if I heard it. We both turned and looked around. Four houses down from where we were standing I saw Lane. We ran as fast as we could to hug each other. I now could relax a little bit knowing that we were reunited. Lane asked us about the dog and we told him his name is Loki and that he had been following us around and we grew a bond with him. Lane has always loved all animals and him and Loki instantly bonded. We followed Lane into a house where he had been staying overnight. As we entered there stood a woman, a man and their son named Kai. Lane told us all about the night he had, staying up late playing games with Kai. Leslie and I got a nice breakfast while at the house then got ready to go searching. The next journey began. Now that we have all, even Loki, got a nice breakfast and some warmer clothes, we are on our way to find Mom and Craig. It was not too long after searching that we found Craig. We ran to Craig as soon as we realized it was him. He was by himself in an old, closed building. It looked a little scary but it kept him out of the storm. He said he was thankful to be out of the snow and wind but he was pretty hungry. We had brought some extra food with us from Kai’s house that we gave to Craig. Once again after resting for a bit and introducing Craig and Loki we headed out in search for Mom. It was getting later in the day and starting to warm up.

Craig had said that he saw a small church the previous night that was helping people and maybe Mom had found her way there. We ventured through town and found the church Craig was talking about. We tried to open the front doors but they were boarded shut. We walked around and found a side door, but this time we knocked first. A middle aged man came to the door and asked if we needed help. We told him that we were looking for our mom and think she might be there. He let us in and showed us where all the people were staying. Along the back wall we spotted Mom. We ran up to her and she was obviously extremely happy to see all of us. Again we introduced Loki. Mom had never been the biggest fan of animals but she also grew a bond with Loki. Together we all headed back to the resort that was only a ten minute walk from the church. We ended the trip early and got ready so we could leave for home the next morning. The time had finally come, I had to convince Mom to let us take Loki home. I made a slideshow of reasons he would benefit our family. My hopes were that Mom would realize how much I wanted Loki to come with us. I convinced Craig, Leslie and Lane to also help me present it to mom. After a lot of talking and debating we finally got her on our side. The next morning we loaded up the car and headed home with Loki. The five of us decided we would spend the next summer at home and just enjoy eachothers company.


Adrian woke with a hangover, and with the morning sun hitting him full on in the face through the lounge room’s bay window, needling his eyes like so many white-hot skewers. He pulled the blanket over his head and tried to block out the light, along with the feeling like his cranium was going to split open and his brain was going to ooze out of his nose and ears. But the blanket did little to help. In truth, along with the pounding in his head and unrelenting assault on his senses, he felt overheated, sweat-less, and delirious with a notion that he would like nothing more to plunge himself into the river that ran behind his friend’s house and drink it dry. Corey, the friend Adrian had been staying with during his separation and subsequent divorce from his wife, had been gracious enough to allow him to crash out on the leather couch in the lounge room for the past few weeks as the divorce was finalized. The house was large and rustic, airy and open, and settled in amongst the copses of tree far enough back from the main road to provide a secure sense of privacy, while also being near enough to the thoroughfare to cause envy in all those who drove past on their daily commutes. It was, truth be told, too large for one man and Adrian couldn’t help but feel that it was lonely in its extravagance, though pleasant in the aloneness he could experience at any hour of the day despite the knowledge that his friend was never more than one or two rooms away. Adrian kicked the blanket away and groaned as he sat up. Where it had managed to make contact with bare skin, the couch’s leather peeled away with a sucking sound. What he needed right now was coffee and a lot of it. He padded around the couch across the lounge room’s large area rug and stepped off onto the cool hardwood that tied all the rooms in the house together. The kitchen was a straight shot and he followed his shadow past the central island to the counter top on the far side where the coffee machine sat. He switched it on and it gurgled and dripped and started to infuse the air with a bitter smell that he sorely could not live without this morning. In the meantime, he went over to the sink and filled a glass to the brim with room temperature tap water, downing it with one long gulp, and then doing it again. He also snapped a banana from the bunch hanging on a hook in the middle of the island and mashed it into his face. Despite how awful he felt physically there was still a growing sense of excitement within him as he realized what this new morning was bringing with it. Thankfully, he’d set up the SLR the night before, before he and Corey had soaked themselves in alcohol and sponged it up with a ‘Congratulations on Your Divorce’ cake, and he now pointed it at the couch he’d slept on the night before, crawled back beneath the blanket, and did a re-enactment of himself rising from his slumber on that new morning. He then turned the camera around to the bay window and filmed himself passing in front of it in shadow. He performed both of these actions a few times each to make sure he had enough coverage, and by then the coffee machine had finished spitting out its life-saving nectar and he rewarded himself with a cup. He felt the steam from the coffee on his face, the heat on his knuckles where they grazed against the mug’s ceramic—tasted the lashing bitterness as it flowed past his gullet and coated his throat; listened to the birds in the trees outside performing a lively orchestration of the dawn’s chorus—and everything was still for the moment. “Morning,” Corey croaked as he emerged from the farther reaches of the house and hobbled his way over to the coffee machine. Adrian raised his cup and muttered, “Morning,” past it before taking another sip. Corey’s eyes were small and tight and he grimaced as he filled his own mug and tried to take a few tentative sips from it before the coffee had gotten a chance to cool. He then rummaged through his cabinets and drawers for a bowl, a spoon, and a box of sugary cereal. The bowl and spoon he threw onto the table, dumped the cereal into the bowl, and drowned the cereal with milk before plopping himself down before it. He spend long moments crunching meditatively before regaining enough of his vigor in order not to appear as if he were about to keel over at any moment. “So…” he spoke, “today’s the day.” “Today’s the day,” Adrian agreed. “Nervous?” Adrian shrugged, but he said, “A little.” Corey crunched some more, then he stated, in a way that was not open to argument, “You’ll be fine.” Adrian sighed. “Yeah.” He then turned around and looked out the kitchen’s window, toward the pole barn garage that sat next to the house, tucked a little farther back into the trees than the house was. The doors on the garage were closed, but in his mind he could vividly see what awaited him on the other side. He’d spent three years constructing the…. Even now, he wasn’t sure what to call it exactly, even to himself. The best way he could describe it was as a cabin-on-wheels, which was a pretty fair assessment, honestly, but lacked the “oomph” he desired when telling others about it, particularly his audience and anyone he might meet in the future. A “rolling habitation” had been offered up by one of his fans, and while he wasn’t against using the term he knew that the words would sound ridiculous the first time he uttered them. Up to this point, he’d referred to the construction as “The Project”, a name which stuck (at least for him) and which brought with it the kind of seriousness and self-importance he otherwise felt he lacked in every other area of his life. Three long years to arrive at this moment. Even now it felt like nothing more than a pipe dream. Though, perhaps, it’d been even longer in the making. Almost ten years to the day, he’d married London, his now-ex-wife, and had gone to work for her parents’ company. While her father had informed Adrian that he would need to start from the bottom and move up like any other employee, the older couple had been gracious enough to provide a house and the furnishings to go along with it for the newlyweds. And then, later, a new car for Adrian, to replace the older-model, banana-yellow Datsun he’d been driving previously, which had stuck out like a sore thumb next to his wife’s black Benz parked in front of their white-picket-fenced, all-weather-aluminum-siding-ed, quaint, little starter home. He’d loved that car. He’d bought it at seventeen with the money he’d earned from a summer job and taken pride in fixing and maintaining it ever since. But, at his wife’s parents’ behest, it was gone just like that, to be replaced with a Porsche that, while fun to drive, didn’t have that homey, lived-in feeling he’d enjoyed so much with the Datsun. He should’ve never let that car go. And true to his father-in-law’s word, Adrian did start out at the bottom of the family-owned company, though he did sense that he was given preferential treatment, being the bosses’ son-in-law and all. He was promoted in no time at all, and given responsibilities, and promoted yet again. London, obviously, had been working there for some time already and was well on her way moving up through the ranks herself. Meaning, she was higher up in the company than he was, and would remain so throughout their marriage; and, in all honesty, she was far more upwardly mobile than he was. Though he wanted to keep an open mind about it, it did bother him that, as the man, he was not the breadwinner in the home. He cared far too much about it for far too long. To recall it even now made him ashamed. But it worked out in the end. The promotions kept coming, but he began to refuse them. This was maybe five, six, years into the marriage and the bubbling vat of discontent that he realized he must’ve felt since day one had grown too hot and sulfurous to ignore any longer. The marriage had begun to smell of rotten eggs. The grave looks of disappointment on his in-laws’ faces too long and drawn to go unseen. Even London herself had taken to berating him for his lack of ambition. He’d found himself in a dire situation with seemingly no way out. “I’m going to head out to the garage,” Adrian announced, and gave a head-nod to Corey. He brought the mug of coffee with him. He exited from the kitchen through the side door and stepped out into a warm spring morning. Out here, the birds’ shrieks and chirruping was cacophonous, and the air was alive with the smells of verdant vegetation, muggy with the mists that rose off the mud-brown river. He raised the largest of the garage’s bay doors, and there it was—“The Project”—looking ridiculously alien with its white-and-black cab facing him, which was dwarfed by the peaked-roofed, all-wood construction that sat just behind it. Inspiration had struck in the form of a YouTube binge. He’d somehow managed to happen upon a few of those travelogue channels. They were all so self-sufficient, rugged and tanned and bright-eyed, callouses on their fingers. Each day was a new adventure, it seemed; something always breaking down, a freak storm that had to be faced, food-poisonings and twisted ankles and flaring tempers. But most importantly, there was the thick grease of freedom smeared across every inch it, a duty to the highest Being: the Self. He’d fallen in love with the notion almost immediately. Luckily, he’d saved tens of thousands of dollars at that point—he’d had nothing else to spend it on—and he’d quickly arrived at the idea that he would buy a box truck, strip away the cargo container from the back, and build a small, narrow, wooden cabin over the chassis instead. It was an absolute insane idea for him to have, but once he’d had it he couldn’t let it go. He just needed somewhere to store it while he worked on it. That’s where his friend, Corey, came in. He’d first met Corey while working at London’s parents’ company, another sad sap just as disinterested with rising through the ranks as he was, though Corey had the good sense to get out much sooner than Adrian did. He’d left the company about eight years before to pursue an education in law, and somehow the two of them had continued to keep in touch during that time, trading texts back and forth to each other every few months. Adrian only had to ask to use Corey’s spacious garage in order to find a home for “The Project” and he was good to go. Or almost. In order to do it “right”, in order to do it “properly”, he needed something more than just “The Project” itself. He needed to document the journey. And, seeing that he’d be pouring all of his savings into building the thing, he needed capital to fund the start of his own YouTube channel, “By the Back Ways”, to kick-start it if you will. So he created a Kickstarter and set the goal at $5,000. This, he informed his backers, would allow him to purchase all the necessary equipment—the cameras, tripods, microphones, etc.—as well as hire a graphic designer to create the channel’s logo and, most importantly, to pay for a editor to sort through the footage and make something watchable out of it. Adrian wasn’t going to bother trying to fool himself into thinking that he knew the first thing about creating compelling content. And, luckily, the Kickstarter not only reached its goal in a matter of just a couple of weeks, it finished with double the asked for amount, despite Adrian never promising his backers anything more than a YouTube channel chronicling his attempt to make a traveling abode; despite being upfront with the fact that, unless there was actually an audience for it, the channel would be short-lived. “By the Back Ways” was not short-lived, though it could’ve easily died during the first few months. Adrian had underestimated just how much it would cost to hire a knowledgeable editor and even with the extra money he had to play with his funds dwindled with frightening rapidity. In addition, YouTube’s algorithms were not kind to him, which made it impossible for him to quality for their AdSense program during those first few months, and the money he earned when he did finally quality was only a pithy amount, besides. Though it made him feel beyond guilty to do so, Adrian found that he had to plea with his viewers for even more money. He set up a Patreon and this time he actually came up with tier rewards for the most generous patrons, such as exclusive live-streams of the build-in-progress, little rubber key-fobs with the channel’s logo printed on it, and, for the most insanely generous patrons, the promise that “The Project” would come to visit them, so long as they lived somewhere within the continental United States (he would’ve restricted it to only the contiguous U.S., but there was something very appealing about taking the cabin-on-wheels up into the snows of Alaska). This created a relatively steady stream of income to keep the channel up and running, and from there it was pretty smooth sailing. Of course, things only worsened more and more in his personal life. With the “The Project” well under way all of his free time was readily spoken for and any inkling he might’ve had to apply himself at his in-laws’ company went right out the window. London thought it was a foolish endeavor and belittled both it and him to no end. Adrian found every excuse he could to go to Corey’s and either work and film, or just hang out with the burgeoning lawyer. Somehow, even with how bad things were during that time, it didn’t occur to Adrian to pursue a divorce until Corey brought it up; and even then it wasn’t something that he gave serious consideration to start with. “Divorce is like giving up,” he’d told Corey. “I don’t want to give up just yet.” Corey could only shake his head sadly. During the previous year Adrian’s home life had only grown more and more claustrophobic, until he was afraid to even breathe if it might set London off on telling him how much of a failure he’d become. He’d even willingly started sleeping on the couch most nights so he wouldn’t have to feel like she was fuming at him even in her dreams. In retrospect, he knew he’d left it for much too long, but unlike the excitement and drive he felt for “The Project” he could feel no similar drive to end his marriage and he only walked toward that dawning notion with tentative steps. It wasn’t until “The Project” was nearing completion and he had to consider how he would support himself while out on the road that Corey came to him with the magic word. “Alimony.” “Alimony?” “Yeah, you do realize that London makes more money than you do, right?” Corey’s eyes shone with impish gleam. “Of course!” “Well…if you two were to get divorced she would have to, you know, pay you alimony.” “Really?” “Yep!” He wore a malicious grin. Adrian thought about it. “You know,” he said, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re really into the idea of me getting divorced.” Corey, so reserved otherwise, laughed maniacally. Now, here Adrian was, out of a job as soon as he informed his to-be-ex-wife of their divorce, out of a home just as fast, but fortunate enough to see a sizable payment coming his way each month as soon as the ink dried on the papers. Corey, acting as Adrian’s divorce lawyer, would receive London’s payments and deposit them into an account that Adrian would be able to access from anywhere. He was set. All that was left was to actually begin the journey. Adrian unlocked the driver-side door on the cab and climbed in. On the dashboard were two mounted Go-Pros, one facing forward and one facing back toward the driver’s seat. He switched on the one facing back and set it to recording. He also picked up a handheld audio recorder from the passenger’s seat and switched that on and started it recording as well, then placed it on the dashboard alongside the camera. Adrian took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and gave a single, sharp clap to his editor would be able to sync up the audio and video later. Then he spoke: “This is it,” he said with awe, “this is where it all begins.”


“Fancy Meeting You” Squinting into the sun as she got off the Greyhound bus, Jenna adjusted herself to the temperature immediately getting consumed by the hot Florida humidity. Being it was October and the air was already turning crisp when she had boarded the bus in the Port Authority of New York to arrive here in Venice Florida for her tropical getaway. True Venice Florida was not Bermuda but being that Jenna had never been so close to the warm breeze off the ocean, or smelled the saltwater freshness of the air, this was paradise.

Jenna was immediately removed from this feeling of all-consuming joy when she felt the rather hard push of the person behind her.” Move lady”, the rather dirty man said as he pushed his way past her to get off the bus. Jenna could smell a combination of pepperoni and alcohol as the man walked off towards the terminal doors to the bus station. Jostled but not too beat up the trip had been a long one, 27 hours crammed on a bus with a few stops in rural America in between. Jenna wasn’t sure where the rude man had been coming from but understood his need to get off that bus. Adjusting her glasses Jenna headed towards the terminal door behind the fellow, albeit rude, traveler. Immediately upon entering the bust station Jenna was taken aback by the abundant presence of armed officers. As Jenna proceeded to the baggage claim gate an office dressed in black combat gear and with just as an intimidating German Shepard walking at his side looked her way and walked toward her. Jenna, having always found herself an animal lover, was not feeling keen towards an encounter with this particular K-9.

The Officer strode past Jenna with an air of authority that it seems only Southern officers can emit. The dog no doubt noting Jenna’s fear looked her way ever so intently emitting the tiniest of a growl. Jenna took the final few steps to baggage claim, grabbed her black nylon travel bag, pulled up the handle with just a little too much force, and headed towards the exit sign. Without looking back and feeling just a little nervous from her past five minutes, Jenna stepped back out into the Florida heat. Even in October Venice Florida being closer to the equator than her hometown Bath Pennsylvania was registering at a humid 98

degrees today, whereas home was registering 42 degrees on the home screen of her phone. Clicking on her e-mail icon she pulled up the confirmation e-mail she had received from,” Bargainvakay”.

She scrolled to the location on the e-mail of a link to a GPS directional app that would give her the way to the Bed and Breakfastl she would be staying in the Lillytrip. Pressing the walk option as this was a budget vacation, she was happy to find it was a 20-minute walk from the bus station. Taking in a deep breath of the sea air Jenna turned to her left and proceed down the sidewalk past other fellow travelers each off to their own destination. Putting on her sunglasses, travel bag rolling behind her she was taken in with the scenery.

Everything here was different, whereas Bath Pennsylvania had a hard stone feel to it this town felt open in its layout. Track homes were replaced by terracotta homes each with its own characteristics. Where trees her way were beautiful in their own way with the foliage, the feeling that looking at palmtrees created a warm fuzzy feeling within her that no orange leaf ever had. Feeling spirits improved it was not long before she saw the sign for the “LillyTrip”. An oval wooden sign with the word LillyTrip handpainted over a Lilly with a frog jumping over it. Not that Jenna was a snob in the least but this was a little too down-home rustic for her liking. Behind the sign sat an old three-story house. From the look of the dilapidation of the yellow paint, the owners clearly weren’t putting revenue back into the place. For 25 dollars a night, what did she expect though? It wasn’t as if she were spending 500 a night to stay at the Manaco a beautiful mansion of a place she had passed on her walk and googled to pass time.

Heading up the stone walkway she had trouble rolling her bag over the uneven stones jutting out of the ground. “Careful ur step”, a deep southern voice called out to her as the screen door with a ripped screen screeched open with hinges that desperately needed to be oiled. Shuffling more than walking an old man emerged onto the old wooden deck. “Aint had a mason out here in a while, walkways kinda tricky”. Jenna saw what appeared to be a man well into his sixties with the look of one that had spent their life in the sun. His face looked like it pucked when he smiled and it seemed like he was missing a few teeth. “Hi”, Jenna said as she lumbered up the remains of the walkway. “I’m Jenna, I booked a room with you for the weekend”. Taking care not to fall as she carried her travel bag up the rickety stairs.

“Ahh, sure we was expecting you, come rite in Lil Mam”. The man said as he stepped out of the way so Jenna could enter. “Welcome to the Lillytrip”. Jenna’s eyes adjusted to the dim light within, seeing that the interior was as eroded as the exterior. Old couches and an even older rug appeared to be the lobby of sorts. Not sure what to make of it all she turned to the man and said hesitantly, “Doesnt do the description on Bargainvaykay justice”. “Yup”, the man said, “we sure proud of the place”. Extending his hand toward what appeared to be the stairway upstairs. “We just got done remodeling the upstairs, changed the single rooms to bunks to make it a hostel was my grandson’s idea. Said we bring more people offering cheaper rates”. “What”? Jenna said with great agitation. “What do you mean hostel? This is not a bed and breakfast”?

The man, squinting a little with his left eye said “Bed and Breakfast, well we aint been that for a year now, redid the place to bring in young travelers like yourself”. Lips curling up into a smile he began to laugh. “You thought you was gonna be staying at a Bed and Breakfast for 25 dollars a night”, slapping his knee. Jenna feeling like a fool for not realizing that 25 dollars a night was a bargain for a bed and breakfast cursed herself for booking her travels through a place called “Bargenvakay”. She knew she should have trusted her gut and not booked at a place that didn’t show pictures of its rooms. “Don’t worry” the old man said, “Feller you bunkin with seems real nice, from up north to like you, a Yankee”. Laughing again releasing a little spittle.

“What do you mean bunking with”?”You mean I am sharing a room with a man”? Jenna could barely contain her anger. Not only was she completely fried from the grueling Greyhound ride to Florida, but now her accommodations were at the LillyTrip hostel, not the LillyTrip B and B.

Instead of unwinding in a nice bath and taking a nap in a comfy bed, she would be showering and crashing on a bunk bed. Not the dream vacation to the paradise she had envisioned all those days working longer shifts just to save a little to go on this vacation.

“Lets get ya all checked in”, the old man said as he walked toward a desk cluttered with papers and mail. The man sat down at the desk and opened a laptop that lay next to a mound of papers. “Now if I could just see your credit card”.

Hesitantly Jenna reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. She didn't really want to stay at this hostel however what choices did she have, she had a small budget for this trip and she wasn't going to be spending much time inside anyway. She had come to experience the beaches not a room. Just then Jenna heard the screeching of the screen door behind her. “Ah”, the old man said rather happily, “There is your roomie now”.Jenna turned and before her stood a rather handsome man, he looked somewhat familiar. “Jenna, this is Trever he is the gentelman you will be sharing your room with”. Trever stepped forward and extended his large muscular hand, “Trever Smoten, nice to meet you”.

“Trever Smoten”, Jenna exclaimed then it registered why he looked familiar. “Trever, it is me Jenna, Jenna Higgins from Bath high, what has it been 8 years since you moved away”? “Jenna Higgins”, Trever raised his arms in a hug. “This is a wonderful surprise”. Jenna returned the gesture and she was enveloped in his embrace, strong arms around her. Jenna had not seen Trever in years and he looked good. All of a sudden some time at the Lillyttrip hostel was just what she needed. Dislodging from his embrace Jenna turned to the old man, reached into her wallet, and took out her credit card, “I would love to stay”, Jenna said with more emphasis on the love than she meant. Yes, a week in tropical Florida was just what she needed. THE END


TW:References to death January 3rd, 1945 Dear Mama, How are you doing lately? I was informed not too long ago about Katō-san's sickness, I and my friends are keeping prayers for her. Sadly I forgot what they said it was, but I hope she recovers swiftly. But again, how are you? Did you make that special soup for Papa's birthday? Were you able to get the ingredients? I know how much I fantasize about your cooking while laying in my barracks. I always go on to my comrades about how great all of your food tastes. One of my friends in specific, Kota can't wait until he comes back, he tells me he must come over, and he'll eat until he's sick! Also, how is Kiseki? I hope he has begun eating again, I really want him to do better, I couldn't imagine life without him. Remember back when he was only a puppy, and he stayed with me in bed when I was sick with the flu? I was just thinking of that this evening, every time my fever would rise, he would come and lick my forehead. Believe it or not, I miss Kiseki's licks. Oh and, Mama. Do you remember the recruiter I told you about? Asking me and the other airmen to join the Kamikaze? Our training is said to begin in a few days. I am utterly anxious and excited at the same time. Kota signed up as well. I am unsure who else has, but everybody around here is talking about it a lot, it makes me wonder what could be awaiting. With love, your son, Akatsuki January 10th, 1945 Dear Mama,

Today is Wednesday, and training has begun. Now I realize the weight of it all. I am sorry for the pain that may come with this but know it's for you and Papa. Training is a bit harder than anticipated but nothing I cannot handle. Today our rations were smaller than we originally hoped, but I managed enough that I didn't feel too hungry. Earlier this morning I was rebuked by our sergeant for writing haikus on the top of my bunk. Remember the one you made for me?

Clouds acherontic A little, brave tiger stands despite the mountain It has always been my favorite of yours. It always makes me feel like I am closer to you Mama, even in these dark times of war. But don't worry, I will make sure to honor you, Papa, and the family. Just know that someday, I will be Eirei. And perhaps I will be enshrined at Yasukuni. Also, how is Katō-san? I recall you saying that she hasn't recovered much. Don't forget to mix the medication with Kiseki's food. I remember you telling me that he is doing better with said medicine. If you can, please send a photo of him, it would make me very happy. Love, Akatsuki February 11th, 1945 Dear Mama, I am sorry I haven't written you in quite some time. I have a hard time squeezing in these letters with training. But know that I do think of you every day I am here. We were told that training was to last thirty days. so only one more day and I should be out. Then I will be able to send you more letters. I assure you, Mama, I will try and get a photo of me once we graduate. I would love for you to see me in my uniform.

We've been practicing our maneuvers and tactics with gliders, though, sometimes we don't have enough fuel to confidently fly about. Training hasn't let up anymore or less since the beginning, and I am really missing home. Some of our fellow comrades graduated sooner than us, and I never got the opportunity to say goodbye. Last night I found Mako crying on his bunk. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me that he was missing his Chichi much so. Which reminds me, don't forget about Valentine's day, that's coming up soon, and it is Papa's favorite holiday. I know Papa is normally picky, but I am sure he will understand with the rations. One thing that's for sure is, I know I would be pleased with any of your foods Mama. I will try and send more letters Mama. I love you. Akatsuki P.S, tell Ogawa-san that I offer congratulations on her daughter, Azami's graduation. February 18th, 1945 Dear Mama, They allowed me to write you now as I don't think I will have much time to do so in the future. Today is Sunday and the sky is cloudy and appears rather stormy. You know my fear of storms—they are forcing us to fly in these conditions anyway. They're saying the war won't wait on storms. Mama, the training is getting worse now. And though they told us training would only last for thirty days, it has lasted much longer and I don't know when it might end. I must confess I am feeling less and less zealous about this now. All I want is to come home, pet Kiseki, hug you and Papa. Walk to the market and come back and help you make Miso soup. Have Papa tell us stories about how he served in the Great War, then go to sleep. Oh, how I miss the good days, back when you used to tell me stories and tell me all sorts of Haikus. I still occasionally write, or quietly cite my favorite haiku here when I am feeling sad, though sometimes it doesn't stop me from shedding a tear or two. All I want to do is be home Mama. but I am really unsure if I'll be able to. I wish I could write to you more Mama. but they are rushing us. They are teaching us things now that make me question. They are doing things that I must confess, I didn't expect. I don't know, and when I say this, I do so with a heavy heart. I don't know when I will be able to write you next. Know that I love you, and please give my condolences to Katō-san for the loss of his wife. I will miss her greatly. With much love, Akatsuki March 11th, 1945 Dear Mama, Today is Sunday, training has finally ended. We were given our ceremonial uniforms, white scarves, and headbands inscribed with "Kamikaze" on them. We are back at an Airbase, but I am unsure if I can tell you where. We were told to study the tokkōtai manual, which we did so carefully. We made sure to read from front to back and from back to front. I and the other airmen are joking a bit, but the laugh doesn't feel real Mama. I read your letter saying that you did everything you could. I just wanted to let you know, that I don't hold you to blame for the passing of Kiseki, maybe it was just his time to go. I am also happy that you sent me his collar, it was the same one I picked for him a while ago. I will miss Kiseki, I did love him very much. Akatsuki March 20th, 1945 Dear Mama, Today, our officer came in and announced the pilots chosen on the papers, I was on that list, Mama. I know I should feel honored, but I can't help but cry. I just want to be home now, but that is a decision chosen for me. Do not fret for me Mama, I am doing my duty. For country and for our family. I am sorry for the pain I know will be caused by this, please offer my love to Amida, I know she would be pleased to hear it, especially with the loss of her brother, Mako. Did I forget to mention? Mako was sent out last night, he told us to eat his meal as he wouldn't be able to. It's mildly hard to ignore it all, as every day, another one of those faces that I see in my barracks is being sent out, never to be seen again. There was one fellow in specific that left a mark on me, I believe his name was Hachiro. The officers had to drag him out as he was crying too hard to stand. The suspense is heavy in the air, it feels like a blanket. I am sorry again, Mama. I feel you are the only one I can speak with. Kota got his Senninbari and composed a poem, so I imagine it won't be long before he is sent out as well. I met another pilot who's Mum has the same name as you! So that put a smile on my face. Also, please don't tell Papa just yet that I was listed, I am not ready for it. Love, Akatsuki March 29th, 1945 Dear Mama, Today is Thursday and it's rather Sunny. I've met a fellow airman, his name is Eiko and he's really nice. He tells me stories that his father told him, and it helps me take my mind off of things. Although tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday, do not worry about getting me anything. But if you really feel the need for a gift, I would love one of those little knittings you used to make for the kids at school. Could you make a tiger one? I've always loved tigers, and you told me I was your little tiger cub. I haven't asked in a while. But how are you? I hope the food poisoning didn't hurt Papa too bad, I know his immune system isn't the best. Also, please wait until Papa is fully recovered before you tell him about how I was listed on the paper. I don't want him to panic too badly. Me, Eiko, Genkei, and a few others held a small, personal moment of silence for Mako. Kota can't sleep as he's too scared. I too, am scared, Mama. I try to ignore it but I can't. I can't sleep either. All the thoughts just keep popping into my head. Somehow Eiko acts like he's thrilled for what's to come. I just can't grasp how. Akatsuki April 5th, 1945 Dear Mama, Today is a bad day. When I awoke, it was the officer announcing that Kota has been chosen for the next flight, and not long afterward Eiko had to go as well. Oh, Mama, I can't sleep, I can't stop crying anymore. What am I to do? All of my close friends are gone now. All I am left with is my own thoughts and this pen. My hands are shaking almost too badly to compose this letter. Mama, I just want to come home. I miss you, and I am scared. I am thinking of the old days again, remember how you used to sing me to sleep? What I would give to reexperience that again. Again, I love you, Mama. I miss you soo much. Love, Your son, Akatsuki April 6th, 1945 Dear Mama, Mama. This very likely might be the last letter you hear from me. But know that I love you and Papa very much. The officer came in and announced who is to go out next. Mama, it was my name he called out. Mine. Mama, I am soo scared. I am unsure if I can do this. I mentioned in an earlier letter, that I realized the weight of it all, but now I truly do. The Senninbari you made me has arrived. I also wrote my favorite haiku you made me on my scarf, I will be wearing it in flight. Mama, I love you. Tell Papa I love him too. I am sorry, sorry for the pain this causes. Know that I love you and Papa so very much. Your loving son, Akatsuki


“Olive, maybe we could brainstorm about some normal activities you can participate in. I think you are probably ready. How do you feel about that?’

I am fairly confident she is not supposed to use the word normal in her sessions but I let it slide. Today is our twenty-sixth meeting. I have shown up at her office for half a year. Of course, I did not have much of a choice but I still made the effort to be here on time and never laughed at her ridiculous questions. I had only rescheduled one appointment over the past six months and that was because I had to take my fish to the local veterinarian. In hindsight, I should have just gone to the appointment. The inept vet refused to treat my fish. It died the next day so now the vet was to be blamed for Goldie Hawn's death (the fish, not the person) and my perfect appointment streak. At any rate, I thought Therapist Morgan may do something special for our half-a-year anniversary but there was no sign of a celebration. Maybe she forgot. I need to remember that not everyone is as thoughtful as me.

I glance around the office. I take a moment to examine the diplomas on the wall. The writing is overly aggressive swirly letters so I can not tell what school is listed. Looking at the ratty office furniture strategically placed in the small office on the wrong part of town, I am fairly confident those diplomas had been printed off the internet. Not that it mattered. I did not choose this office, I was assigned to go here. But over the last twenty-six weeks, there was a familiarity that had developed. I even began to look forward to seeing Therapist Morgan each week. Each week, she said to just call her Morgan without the Therapist but I still preferred to keep it professional. I realized just how familiar this place had become eleven weeks ago. I walked into that old bookstore on 84th. As soon as I stepped foot inside, it hit me.

“Excuse me..” The lady behind the desk had glanced up. She had a red bow in her hair. She was too old to wear a red bow in her hair like that but I did not tell her. I remembered what Therapist Morgan had said. Some people would not appreciate my help.

“Yes?”

“Your bookstore smells exactly like my therapist’s office.”

She had just stared at me. Some people can not take a compliment. Therapist Morgan taught me that too.

“Olive?”

“Hmmm”

“Did you hear me? What do you think of participating in some sort of event? Maybe inviting some people from work? The holidays are coming up. I think this may be a good opportunity to tiptoe back...socially.” I nodded. She was making such an effort so I smiled at her. I have been practicing my smile in the mirror every day. Smiling is probably the most complicated thing we do and most people do not even practice. Of course, it was typical of me to take on more responsibility than most. So, for at least twenty minutes each day, I stand in front of my mirror and work on my different smiles. There is the pity smile, the happy smile, the giving smile, the seductive smile (not that I have any plan to use this one), and the interested smile. I make sure never to show my teeth when I smile. A dog had growled at me when I was seven. It snarled and snapped and chased me half a mile back to my house. Since I do not want to look like a snarling dog, I only smile with my lips closed, as it was intended.

I gave Therapist Morgan the giving smile. It seemed appropriate here.

“I will think about it.”

And then I was quiet. Most people say they will think about things but do not really mean it. They use the words as a way to end a conversation. I have learned this through many of my own encounters. When I say I will think about something, I do it right then. There is no reason to be rude and keep people waiting. Therapist Morgan understood this about me so she was quiet too. Bless that woman. She may not understand anything about the actual art of psychology, but she was trying.

“Okay. I think I would like to try it. What normal activity do you recommend?”

Therapist Morgan flinched slightly when I said “normal”. I think she realized she should not have used that word. Truly, she learns just as much from me in these sessions. I wonder if she ever goes home and considers how much I have helped her over the past twenty-six weeks.

“Umm...well, let’s see. Christmas is right around the corner. What about a gift exchange?”

I shook my head aggressively. A gift exchange? Oh, this woman. Just when I think she is making progress. The last gift I gave was to Amelia and that landed me here. It had all been a misunderstanding, an overreaction, really. Amelia was my first friend. Well, I knew a girl named Barbara in grade school but we weren’t really friends. The teacher made her sit next to me. She smelled of peppermint and pencil shavings and had a nose that reminded me of a penguin. Amelia was different. I was working at Mercer’s Grocery in the produce section. The produce section was my favorite because I always enjoyed when the vegetables were watered. It was like a small celebration every thirty minutes which was something that never happened in the meat department or bakery. Since I had been unfairly barred from working in either of those anyway, I now spent most of my days in produce.

It was a Thursday at 2:12p.m. when Amelia walked up to me. I like to check my watch when important things happen. I think knowing the exact time of life-changing events is crucial in the scheme of things.

“Hey. I’m Amelia. I just started here yesterday and Bob said you could show me the ropes in produce?”

Bob. The manager. He had been kind enough. He had not fired me when I threw a steak at that woman (she deserved it) or messed up on the same cake decoration six times (Happy 12th Birthday Samantha is almost impossible to fit on a ten inch round cake). Now, he sent me Amelia so I decided to officially like him.

I smiled at her. Happy smile. No teeth.

“Okay, well, we do not have any ropes here that I know of but the watering is much more interesting than a rope could be anyway. It should start up in…” I checked my watch, “1 minute and 14 seconds.”

She had laughed. I am not sure why but I liked the sound of it so I laughed too. I had not spent enough time working on my laugh since I rarely used it but I barely worried about those details with Amelia.

After that, we talked each time we shared a shift. I had to work very hard to make sure I shared all of her shifts. One week, I worked 54 hours to the delight of my co-workers. They were always looking to get out of their responsibilities. But, on top of picking up shifts, I then had to determine which section Amelia was working in and switch with that person. Just convincing Bob I could handle the meat and bakery departments again took hours. Of course, I never told Amelia all of this. I did not want her to feel guilty that I was working so hard for our relationship.

We had coffee one time. It was from Mercer’s but we took our cups outside and sat on the employee benches. I had never done that before but I acted like I had so Amelia would feel comfortable. I had felt her becoming more distant lately. She had been giving Pity Smile more than Happy Smile when I saw her. I had wondered if she found out about all the work I was doing to see her and felt bad about it. So, I had decided to cheer her up.

“I got you something.”

I pulled the package from my apron and thrust it her way. At first, she didn’t take it. The sweet girl was worried she did not get me something. I edged it toward her again. Slowly, she picked it up and held it in her delicate, perfect hands.

“Oh, Olive, You shouldn’t have. I mean, really, I don’t...umm….”

I laughed. By now I had been practicing and had gotten very good at it.

“Just open it.”

She had gasped when she opened it. That is how I knew it was the perfect gift. A diamond tennis bracelet. The guy at the jewelry store had told me it was the best way to show someone how you feel about them. I had drained my savings but it was worth it.

“I can’t not accept this.”

She had pushed the bracelet back across the table. She stared at me for a moment, her mouth slightly open. No smile. And then she left.

I had to break into Bob’s office to get her phone number and address. It had begun to feel like I was doing all the work in this relationship but I still persisted. I remembered Mother’s words “Some people just can not accept love right away”. She had said that after she burnt a man’s house down. I think he was the 'some people'. I was sixteen and had not seen her for 8 months after that. She said she was in a place with others learning the same lesson. Some people, the good people, can love right out loud, Some people, the bad people, can not accept love.

Of course, I did not think Amelia was bad. She just needed my help to face her feelings. I called a few times to help her. My fingers had hurt from dialing but I kept going. She had been worth it. I went to her home but she must have been out, which is strange for 3:30a.m., but I did not know her schedule very well.

She stopped coming to Mercer’s. Bob told me she quit and I needed to leave her alone. This from unmarried Bob! Can you imagine? But, maybe it was time to let her go. I am not one to hold people somewhere they are not ready to be. I am way more civilized than that. Having good manners, I went to her house one last time to say good-bye appropriately. She didn’t answer. Mother had taught me how to pick a lock when I was four, just for a situation like this one. So, I let myself in so I could leave a note. Turns out, she was home and had called the police. I still do not really understand why. She could have just opened the door. After that, I had to enter some sort of plea arrangement. I had an incompetent lawyer that needed more help than he gave. In the end, I wound up with Therapist Morgan for a year, Bob fired me from the grocery store, and I never saw Amelia again. Mother was right, some bad people can not accept love.

But apparently, the Great Therapist Morgan had forgotten all this. A gift exchange was a terrible idea. Not everyone is ready to accept the thoughtful gifts of others. Still, she kept talking.

“Okay. What about a cookie exchange then?”

What was going on with this woman and exchanges? Although... a cookie exchange sounded okay. Mother used to bring me a cookie from her waitressing job occasionally and I remember how happy I would become when I saw the dark blue package and smelled the sweet sugary aroma. My favorite was oatmeal raisin. I was only allowed to eat half because Mother did not want a fat Olive.

Interested Smile. No teeth.

“Yes, a cookie exchange would be nice.”

I work at an accountant’s office now. I answer the phones, take notes at meetings, and organize papers. There is no water show every thirty minutes but I actually like my job. There is a new girl at work - Beatrice. I could invite her to my cookie exchange. My heart leapt slightly at the idea. Maybe this was not such a terrible suggestion after all. Bravo, Therapist Morgan. Bravo.

After my session, I went directly back to my house to work on the invitations. I had never had anyone over to my house before. It was actually Mother’s house but only I lived here now. Mother had died four years ago, two days before my 33rd birthday. Since it was just her and I, the house now belonged to me. Not that she would have wanted it that way but poor Mother did not leave a will so this was the way it was.

The house still looked as it did four years ago. An afghan thrown over the plaid couch. The dingy shag carpeting. The only thing that was different was I now slept in the four-poster instead of a mattress on the floor. Looking around, I knew what I needed to do. I went straight to the cabinet and pulled out that stupid tennis bracelet. I headed to the local jeweler and sold it for his first offer.

Over the next week, I made an appointment for new carpet to be installed, I bought a new couch to be delivered in four business days, and I purchased new dishes. I printed the invitations and handed them out. They had cookies on them to symbolize the exchange. I wondered if others would realize how clever I was. I gave out fourteen invites to people at work, including Beatrice, one to the man at the bank, one to the mailman, three to the garbage men, and one to the woman that walks her dog in the neighborhood. I had also asked Therapist Morgan but she told me she could not make it. Twenty people. Perfect.

The day of the exchange was very busy. I had forgotten to make any cookies in my excitement so I had to go to Mercer’s and pick up six dozen. Oatmeal raisin, of course.

At exactly 1:00p.m., the doorbell rang. Right on time. I wondered if all the people would show up at the same time. Getting twenty people though the door would be difficult but I will manage. But, as I opened the door, there was only one person standing there - Beatrice. I gave her Happy Smile. However, this one was so genuine, I may have used teeth. I tried to correct the issue right away so I don’t think she felt threatened.

I invited her in. She complimented the house. She placed her cookies on the table and glanced around, probably wondering where everyone else was.

“Everyone else should be here shortly. Can I get you a drink? I have Hawaiian Punch and hot tea.”

After a minute, she chose the punch. I know people like punch at parties. I was doing everything right. She probably thought I hosted parties all the time.

At 1:30, it was still me and Beatrice. We began eating cookies. She had also brought Oatmeal Raisin - homemade, though. Out of all the cookies in the world, what were the chances we chose the same one? I knew I had made a good decision inviting her.

We began talking about names. She got hers from some books by a lady named Beverly. I had never read them but I guess her mom was a fan.

“Do you know how you got the name Olive?” she had asked.

“Of course. Well, Olive was not my original name. It was Olivia. Olivia Marie Foster. But, after a couple of months, Mother changed it. She said I was dull like the color olive so now I am just Olive Foster. No middle name. Mother said only special people have middle names. She thought I may be special when she first named me but it turned out I was not. She had two middle names which, of course, made her incredibly unique.”

Beatrice stared at me. She did not say anything for a moment. Then, she spoke.

“Do you know there are over 500 different varieties of olives? Some trees take over 50 years to produce olives. There is one olive tree in the French Riviera that is 2,200 years old. The olive tree and the olive itself are some of the most unique, interesting things on earth. And you are named after them.”

I saw her blush, slightly but enough.

“Don’t ask me how I know that. I am a sucker for random trivia.”

I studied her for a moment. Beatrice. Wow. I wonder what kind of jewelry she likes.


By Wendy Kaminski Staff Writer First settled in the 1780s, the town of New Madrid, Missouri, appears charming but otherwise unremarkable. It’s a relatively small town of approximately 2,800 residents, a few shops, a small school and a boardwalk, all nestled atop an Omega-shaped bend in the mighty Mississippi River.

Located in the “bootheel” region of the Show Me State, this part of the US gets all four seasons, and though there’s no enticement here for investors nor industry, the residents are genuine, friendly and helpful. They are the perfect blend of Midwestern practicality and Midsouthern hospitality. However, there is one noteworthy thing in particular about this town: in 1811, New Madrid was the site of the largest-ever seismic event in the United States. The region is still seismically active, and if such an event were to repeat, it would cause the greatest financial disaster the US has ever known.

It would also cause something much worse, and for that reason, two dozen locals comprise the membership of a secret order which has volunteered its sacrifice for over 200 years in fighting a horror that few even realize lurks below.                                                                       ### In the dead of winter, 1811-1812, hundreds of earthquakes hit this part of the Missouri Territory. Most catastrophically, a magnitude 7.0+ earthquake centered on New Madrid completely destroyed the town and devastated surrounding areas for hundreds of miles. That same quake also caused lower-level damage across two-thirds of the US and aftershocks which lasted for months. It was so strong that it forced the Mississippi River from its bed: the event was described as unearthly sounds and visions from hell, the unholy damnation unleashed such that the entire river roiled backwards for several days and actually formed a new lake before the chaotic waters receded.

McInnery* was a boy at the time of that winter cataclysm, living a mile upriver on his family’s homestead, which was among the dozens catastrophically destroyed. While he and his sister both swore that they saw fearsome creatures of immense size thrashing within those waves as it was happening, this event was only a century removed from the Salem Witch Trials, and McInnery’s parents put a stop to such fantastic talk immediately.

He and his sister kept silent as instructed, but as he grew into adulthood, McInnery took on the mantle of chronicler, delving into other accounts of that same event, seeking confirmation of the truth -- and find it, he did. Researching local legends, trapper lore, and personal correspondence as far back as the 1500s, McInnery also found that great upheavals in the New Madrid region happened with alarming frequency, always between October and February, and one thing was certain: the earth was birthing monsters. These were winter beasts, and their sightings were legion.

At least one extreme giant was even enshrined in the broader national conscience: Pepie, the Mississippi River monster of Lake Pepin, Minnesota. Pepie first appeared to the north several months after the 1811 event, miles upstream from New Madrid. Few made the connection, but McInnery was well aware of it and of what that might mean for another event. Though Pepie was not formally recognized and reported until 1871 at Lake Pepin, McInnery remained convinced of its New Madrid origin decades prior.** Pepie would not be the only giant creature unleashed: indigenous tradition reports huge river monsters centuries ago, and more contemporary reports exist as well, always in conjunction with similar earth-shaking events in New Madrid. McInnery was joined in his efforts at first only by a couple of trusted friends, but later by more, as a growing community began to understand and embrace the duty thrust upon them: a duty to combat this terror and ensure the continued safety of mankind. Thus arose the original society calling themselves “The Exhort.” As often happens, there was a split early-on: while some focused on McInnery’s cryptid research and chased information about the existing creatures, the core members and their successors focused their efforts on defense against future events. Antediluvian texts detail numerous epic creatures, and this branch of the order currently uses those data in simulation programs, analyzing what countermeasures might work against titans from earth and sea.

In discussing their history and strategies with me for this story, one Exhort advisor points to the USGS statistic that shows a 40% likelihood of a 6.0+ earthquake within the next 50 years at New Madrid. As a result of their decades of research, The Exhort believe that only a 5.0 or greater event is required to spawn a Pepie-sized creature: a 6.0 or greater event could spawn a creature 10 times more terrifying, should it occur. How does one battle these creatures, then? And would it be only one, or would we be plagued by numerous monsters, if another Big One hit? Smaller quakes up to 3.0 are regularly striking the site to this day – are those spawning smaller beasts? On these points, as well as on the finer points of defense, The Exhort members remain tight-lipped. While many have sought them out over the years to join their ranks, The Exhort tend to reject outsiders, who are often merely thrill-seeking: “We study more than we hunt, and we just prefer to choose our own company,” one member said, in response to my inquiry as to whether they might be interested in additional members. However, another cautioned, don’t let fear deter you from visiting their beautiful town, nor fret you while you’re there: “If you think you hear ominous sounds on the water, it’s not the creatures – it’s probably just the wind. These things, if you ever heard one, you’d know it, and as long as we’re on guard, you are never going to know that sound.” Rest assured, The Exhort is on the job, and I think I speak for us all when I say, “Thank you for that!”. —-------------------------------------------------------------- * Founder’s name was changed at the request of The Exhort to protect anonymity. ** There remains a $50,000 bounty on Pepie’s head to this day.


tw: death Why can't I see anything? Are my eyelids glued to my eyeballs? I try to force them open, but they won't budge. Neither will my hand as I attempt to lift it off the table to pry them open. Is this a table? Why am I on a table? Everything is dark, and I can't make out a thing.

Wait, I think that's a beep. There goes another. Slow and steady, patient, unlike myself. I want to, need to know what's going on. "Oh, Perdita," I hear. I recognize the voice. It's my mom. The one that was too busy to come to my birthday tonight. If that was tonight. I can't tell how fast time is moving, or if at all. Maybe it's officially 6:37, and I'm officially sixteen. Maybe Mama, my other, more caring mother, has made good on her word and let me drive to dinner tonight. I remember passing my permit test, but I can't remember if she handed me the keys. Did I order the lobster raviolis like last year? I feel her placing her arms around me, gently. Something is wet, and I can't tell if she's freshly showered, or if they're tears. Mom never cries. Mama is the emotional one. Where is she? Maybe she ran off for coffee, or to relieve herself.

My lips refuse to open. I shouldn't be surprised, as nothing else seems to be working, save for my brain, which has hauled itself into overdrive, trying to make sense of it all. "Baby girl, I'm so sorry," she says, and I'm pretty sure now that they're tears, because I can feel her eyelashes batting against my shoulder. It's probably smeared with mascara stains now. I want to ask her what she is sorry for. Mom also never admits her faults, and feeling remorse is one of them. This has to be huge. Did she glue my eyes shut? Some sort of accidental fake eyelash incident? Still doesn't explain the rest of my body though... "Mrs. Rowland?" There's a voice I can't recognize, but Mom must, because she's pulling away from my body. I want to focus, but I'm suddenly tired, abnormally so, given that it can't be later than eight, and I never can fall asleep before midnight. Is it past midnight? My focus leaves me and I accept the darkness. I let it encompass me for what feels like hours until I hear another familiar voice. "Deets, wake up, it's me." It's my best friend Emilia. I want to reach out to her, tug on that braid of hers, tell her that I am awake. Ask her to pry my eyes open so that everything isn't so dark.

I can hear my brain saying " Em ," but my vocal chords aren't relaying the message.

I can't hear any other voices, so I assume she is on her own. She's still only fifteen, so I'm guessing her mother dropped her off. Either that or her mom is off chatting with Mama. I still haven't heard her voice yet, unless she came while I was asleep. "You gotta wake up, Deets. I don't know what I'd do without you. I brought your favorite, lobster raviolis." There's the sound of a Styrofoam box opening, and the smell wafts underneath my nose. I'm guessing I didn't make it to dinner last night. If she could pry my mouth open and give me those raviolis, I could forget the panic that's settling in me. What the heck happened last night? Last I remember is Mom calling to say that she was stuck at work and couldn't make it. She'd mentioned something about a box hidden underneath the sofa. Did I ever open the box? She moves the box away from my nose to shut it. There's a loud sniffle, and then she starts talking. A lot. Emilia has a habit of word vomit when she gets nervous, to shut out all the negative thoughts. It's usually endearing, but today she's going on about some sort of accident at the four way stop by my house. Somebody ran a red light. There's one dead, and another in critical condition. I wish she'd change topics. That foreign voice enters the room again, and then my friend is gone, the raviolis with her. There's multiple voices this time, and I do my best to tune them out. I wonder if Emilia will eat my dinner for me. She knows I hate wasting food. But I know that she's on a low carb diet, because despite my protests, she thinks her badonkadonk has too much donk.

Her words, not mine. Time passes, and there's another familiar voice at my bed. It's Cam.

"It's funny, you know. I was talking with Milo a few days ago, and he was like, 'dude, you don't have forever ' and I was all, 'but I'm not ready, ' and now you're like this. He was right. I just wish he hadn't been so on the nose." I have no idea what he's talking about. What wasn't he ready to do? And what exactly was this? I've heard the word Doctor tossed around a few times, and I think this table is a hospital bed, but everything else is a blur.

A dark, confusing blur. "I guess it's not funny, ha ha, but ironic," he says. Cam is really bad with silences. Unlike his brother Milo, who only speaks when he has something to say. Which he must have, because he said that there wasn't forever. Forever for what? His lips on my forehead. It's a two second blip on my radar. "If you come out of this, I'm taking you to get those lobster raviolis. Not through that intersection though. Who knows how often he goes through that intersection. They still haven't caught him yet." It's that same story Emilia was telling.

He leaves shortly after, and Milo takes his place.

"Perry, hey." He strokes my hair back behind my ear. He hasn't done this in years, not since we were little, and my dog had to be put down. It soothes me, like before, and I want to lean into his touch. I can't see him, but I can picture his worried eyes crinkling, looking into mine. My eyelids anyway.

He grabs for my hand. "I'm sure by now Cam has told you about his crush on you. He's been dying to kiss you for years, Perry. I told him he needs to do something about it before someone else scoops you up." What? Milo leans up to my ear, his voice lowering to a whisper.

"Don't tell Cam, but I'm that someone else." Double what? He kisses my forehead, right in that same spot. I can feel the heat. It burns, and I so desperately want to open my eyes, just to close them again, with purpose. Nobody should kiss with their eyes open. But what about Cam? I don't want to hurt him. Where's Mama? She'd know what to say, but it's been a few days, and still no sign of her. I miss Mama. Visiting hours are over, and I'm alone again. No friends, no mothers. Just me, my thoughts, and that incessant beeping sound. I try to relax and sink into sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. Mama, where are you? Finally, a light. "Perdita, sweet angel," I hear. Suddenly I can see. It's Mama, and she's in a white gown. She never wears white. "Mama," I cry, finding my voice. My legs can move again, and I step towards her. She puts her hand out. Instead of it reaching for me, it's commanding me to stop. I'm hurt. "Don't follow the light," she says. I've been in the dark for so long that I want nothing more. The light, my Mama, what more could a girl want? Besides lobster raviolis. "Where have you been?" I ask. "I'm going to be away for a long while. One day you'll be with me again." "Mama?" "Don't forget that I love you, Perdita." She holds her hand up to her heart. "Stay strong, and remember Mama loves you. Now turn around. This isn't your light." There's a blinding light ignited behind me, and I drag my feet. I walk to the edge, and squinting, I can see Emilia over my bedside, reading a magazine. She's telling me all the latest celebrity gossip.

I close my eyes, and step into the light. I open my eyes. "Deets?" she interrupts herself. The magazine flutters to the floor. I blink. There's a panic of people rushing in. She picks up her magazine and steps into the hall, promising to return. She does, a long while later, with the boys and Mom.

Mom is in sweats, her hair in a knot. She's never this undone. "Thank God. I don't think I would have survived losing both of you." She crushes me in a hug, and it hits me. The white gown, the light. That car came at me so fast, I didn't know what to do. They hit us from the passenger's side. Mama didn't make it. I'm finally out of the dark, but in this very moment, one thing is true. I hate the light.