Pandi struggled to fall asleep. The mosquito net his parents had given him when they packed him off to the monastery was riddled with holes. A mosquito landed on his arm; he lifted the net and shooed the insect away. After surviving a month in the monastery, he felt other things calling him. It was time to leave.

Pandi left his quarters quietly and walked down the trail to where he had hidden his lay clothes. After changing out of his saffron kasaya robes into jeans and a t-shirt, he began winding his way down the mountain trail. It was a long walk to Kathmandu, and difficult to navigate in the dim light of dawn, but at least it was all downhill. Several times along the way, stones came tumbling down the scree slopes behind him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being followed, yet there were no signs of goats or people. As Pandi descended, he thought about a talk that abbot Batsa had given the young monks about straying from the monastery. ‘The city is full of temptations. Temptations fuel desire. Desire is the cause of suffering. It is a counterproductive place to be for one who wishes to follow the eightfold path. If you are in any doubt, ask yourself—do you want to be free of Samsara, or not?’ Life is imperfect and involves suffering , Pandi thought to himself. If my journey through Samsara takes longer, I do not mind. I need to see what I am missing. After journeying down the mountainside for several hours, Pandi arrived in Kathmandu by mid afternoon; feet coated in fine brown dust. He began searching for work right away, hoping for a job with food and board like the monastery had provided. He was a cook at the monastery, but none of the city's eateries had an appropriate vacancy.

Pandi was drawn to Kathmandu by the experiences that were available to him now that he was of age; cigarettes, strip clubs, and drinking. He longed to be around lively and interesting people that were the polar opposite of the humdrum hill-folk he grew up around. When he came across a neon sign in a quiet back street, he felt excited at its prospects. The sign read: ‘Lord of the Drinks—The 52nd best nightclub in the world’.

Pandi found the entrance to the club and stood outside, psyching himself up by puffing out his cheeks and slapping the air out of them. He pushed his weight against the door, but it held fast. The club would not be open for another few hours. He was about to leave when a voice from a window on the first floor shouted down. ‘Are you the drinks man?’ Pandi hesitated. ‘Umm, yes.’ He had never touched a drop of alcohol in his life. ‘Just a second. I’ll be right down.’ When the club owner opened the door, she appeared terribly beautiful to Pandi. He hadn’t so much as laid eyes on a woman during his month as a monk and women in the city were very sophisticated . ‘Where’s your truck?’ She asked. ‘Um, I don’t have one.’ She sighed and flicked her long black hair back. ‘So you’re not a delivery driver. Why are you impersonating one then?’ ‘Do you have any jobs available?’ Pandi asked. The club owner looked Pandi up and down. She seemed impressed by his sturdy stature. ‘One of our bouncers left last week. Are you any good with security?’ ‘I’ve guarded a monastery,’ Pandi said confidently.

‘Well, you’re a good size. Maybe a bit young, but you look strong. Come in and I’ll show you around.’ The 52nd best nightclub in the world was bigger than the monastery's temple. Pandi marvelled at the domed ceiling, criss-crossed with disco lights. Onstage there was a DJ booth and a smoke machine with built in lasers. As Pandi followed the owner to the bar, his sandals got stuck to the sticky floor. He shuddered at what Batsa would say if the monastery floors were allowed to get as filthy as these were. The owner cracked open a cold bottle of beer and handed it to Pandi. ‘I’m Bhavi, by the way.’ He took a big gulp; it almost fizzed out of his nose. ‘Pandi.’ He said, coughing up froth into his mouth. Bhavi smirked. ‘We need security in the basement club. Come on.’ She beckoned Pandi and led him down a staircase to a club named Medusa. It was far more chic than the boilerplate nightclub upstairs. Curved booths encircled several pole-dancing podiums, and the lack of sticky laminate flooring was pleasing; the deep pile carpeting could have been considered a trip hazard.

Bhavi, with her slender fingers, drew Pandi’s attention to a gold plaque on the wall. ‘Before I consider you for the role, you must read and understand the club rules.’ Pandi craned his head forwards and read aloud. ‘Please refrain from making eye contact with the dancers. Anyone found to be doing so will be ejected from the premises.’ This was familiar etiquette to Pandi; monasterial rules stated that there was to be no eye contact before noon. ‘That’s something I know how to uphold,’ he said. Bhavi looked pleased. ‘It’s been our ethos for years, and the girls prefer it this way. It works best for the customers, too; it adds a layer of novelty and mystique.' Bhavi placed her palms flat on Pandi’s chest, as if reading him. Having never had a job interview before, he wondered if this was standard practice. Bhavi closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘I think you’ll fit right in, Pandi. Can you start tonight?’

Entranced by Bhavi, he said, ‘yes.’ *** With an advance from Club Medusa, Pandi purchased a crisp new suit. When he arrived ready to bounce, the edges of the podiums glowed neon pink, and the freshly cleaned poles sparkled.

For Pandi, the anticipation of seeing a naked woman for the first time made him sick with excitement. When he was introduced to the dancers, they adored his kind and chubby face. Lola ran her fingers over the stubble on his head. ‘Don’t worry, you’re a bouncer. You can make eye contact with us,’ she said, ‘it’s essential for things to run smoothly. You’ll enjoy it here. Men always do.’ Pandi was in paradise; happily watching the girls get ready in their dressing room. If there were women in the monastery wearing these kinds of outfits, no chores would ever get done , he thought. Lola explained to Pandi how she would alert him of any rule breakers with a signal. ‘If I want rid of someone, I’ll point to my eyes, then to the man, okay?’ Pandi was well aware that he had been treated like a king after coming in off the street. But once the doors of the club opened and a group of brash, half-cut men arrived, it changed the easy-going feel of the place. As Lola walked to the podium, her face hardened like a fossil. Her happy-go-lucky energy subsided when she began writhing urgently. Pandi thought that years of crude remarks must have taken their toll on her and he felt guilty for enabling the interaction. But he didn’t need to feel sorry for her; she knew what she was doing. She had donned her armour and was conducting a business transaction; even though the men were becoming increasingly unpleasant, Lola performed perfunctorily. Pandi’s excitement about seeing his first pair of breasts in an erotic context had reached geriatric flaccidity. He’d become a cog in a machine that benefited no one. It dawned on him that the strippers, the patrons, and anyone who had ever dreamed of visiting a club like this—including himself—were all disgraceful. He began to feel ashamed that he had acted on his wanton impulse to visit the city. What would Batsa say if he knew he was here? At midnight, the obnoxious group of men were still going strong. To Pandi’s surprise, they hadn’t broken any rules and had avoided making eye contact with the dancers. When each of the girls had done a stint on the podium, Lola returned with her desperate gyrations. Pandi was trying to avoid looking at her body by gazing into the middle distance. She began pointing her chin in his direction and giving him the signal. As he walked cooly over to the table of steaming drunk men, Lola repeated the signal, pointing at the man with the shaved head. Pandi put his hand on the back of the man’s shoulder. ‘Sir. Come with me,’ he said firmly.

The man refused to budge. ‘Oh please . Come on. Who can resist those eyes?’ ‘It's time to leave,’ Pandi asserted. The rest of the men were in hysterics. ‘There’s plenty else to look at, Batsa,’ one of them said. ‘Why bother with the eyes?’ The ocular transgressor stood up, pressed his palms together and bowed at Lola. ‘You have a beautiful soul. I saw it through your windows.’

Lola frowned as she slid down the pole, upside down; she was unable to hear the man’s compliments over the loud music. It wasn’t until Pandi had herded the man upstairs to the quiet of the cloakroom that he realised exactly who he was. By the green glow of the fire escape light, Batsa smiled shyly.

‘Batsa?’ Pandi asked. A four-to-the-floor disco beat bled through the wall from the club next door. Batsa lowered his head and placed his palms together in greeting to Pandi. ‘Evidently, my talk didn’t dissuade you from leaving,’ he said. ‘Now we have both strayed.’ ‘My mentor,’ Pandi said, pushing the fire exit open, ‘you have to leave.’ ‘Wait; my bag.’

Batsa took his canvas bag from the cloakroom and followed Pandi out of the air-conditioned club into the alley; the night was hot. ‘Tell me, what benefits has your excursion provided you?’ Batsa asked.

‘None, that I can think of,’ Pandi said. ‘It wasn’t what I thought it would be. These false fixes don’t bring me happiness. I don’t think I would have been satisfied with any amount of pleasure.’ ‘Very wise,' Batsa said. 'Please, do not tell anyone at the monastery of my behaviour. I would be embarrassed.’ ‘I understand,’ Pandi said. In the darkness above the city skyline, Pandi tried to pick out the mountains and the monastery, but the light pollution was too strong. ‘I think I’ve seen all I need to see. Shall we get out of here?’ ‘Yes, let’s get a taxi,’ Batsa said, as they began walking down the street. ‘If we hold each other accountable, we’ll never return to places like these.’ ‘Ah! My suit,’ Pandi said, grabbing his lapels. ‘I have to return it.’ He thought of the jeans and t-shirt he had left in the dressing room among the stripper’s g-strings and stockings, but didn’t want to face going back. He wasn’t supposed to have kept his lay clothes when he joined the monastery and didn't want Batsa to see them. As if reading Pandi’s mind, Batsa unzipped his bag and handed him a set of kasaya robes. Pandi noticed that they didn’t smell any different than his own robes; in fact, they fit so perfectly that he was convinced they were his own. As he brushed a dusty mud patch off the robes, he had the notion that Batsa was the invisible goat that had followed him down the mountain. Batsa took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one up. ‘Care for a smoke?’ He asked, as if tempting Pandi with one final test. ‘No,’ Pandi said. ‘I’ve gone off the idea. They smell awful . Can you put that out, please?’ The corners of Batsa’s eyes creased when he smiled. ‘Of course. They taste horrible. Come on, let's walk to the taxi rank.’ *** Pandi wisely decided to keep his dalliance with Club Medusa secret from his parents. He and Batsa entered a pact of secrecy. When they disembarked outside the monastery by the faint light of dawn, Pandi left Batsa and went to look for the kasaya robes he had hidden a day earlier. The robes were nowhere to be seen; Batsa must have collected them in his bag and followed Pandi. At sunrise, Pandi joined the fresh-faced monks in the temple as Batsa took to the altar and began incanting. Pandi tried to atone for his setback by concentrating deeply on the words and meaning of the prayers, but the familiar feeling that he was being watched returned. He dared to glance up fleetingly, and saw Batsa watching him. As the room of monks chanted, mentor and mentee locked eyes—the only heads upright in a sea of bowed ones. They exchanged a smile with a sentiment known only to the two of them; ‘No more bending of the four noble truths’. Pandi bowed his head and focused.


                                TEA FOR ONE OR TWO                  I grew up watching a lot of movies and I knew that stories based on true events were mostly made up for entertainment, so I had no reason to believe them, but they were entertaining so I always liked watching them. Movies like The Amityville horror, Sybil, movies about people suddenly going crazy and so on. They made me laugh at those who thought those things and events were real. I never took them seriously, at least not until one day I realized that I was not alone, and it was not just me .... living in me.       I was having my morning cup of tea as I usually did every day before I left for work. I was sitting at my little table in my little apartment. I had just finished my first cup of tea and was about to get up to have another. Another one of my self-made flavored teas that was in my mind the talk of my neighbors, because one cup I know they most likely said, was never going to be enough. My tea had to be the best because I was the best.       As I rose from the table, I heard loud and clear somebody shout the word "NO!"  I turned around towards the living room because it sounded as though the person shouting was right near me. I laughed and said to myself “I hope nobody is about to get murdered. Or come up missing”         I will admit that it startled me at first, but I figured between my thin apartment walls and the usually loud boisterous guy upstairs, it was probably just him shouting at his kids again. So, I just continued towards my kitchen stove which was only a few feet away from the table I was sitting at.  As always, I stopped in front of the mirror that was on the closest door to make sure that my well-kept hair, looked well kept. Ok I was vain, but this was my life, I thought.         As expected, every strand as usual was all in place. After all I did have to go to work soon, and I always looked good for work and no matter who agreed with my dress style I knew I was dressed to kill.   As I looked in the mirror, I again heard loud clear "No" but this time it happened as I was looking straight into the mirror and what I saw caused shock and fear to suddenly go through every bone in my body with a rush that almost knocked me backwards.  I damn near fainted at what I saw, my lips before my very eyes had involuntarily moved and I read my own lips as they had formed the word connected to the shout I had just heard.         My first thought my mind quickly came up with, was most likely was an effort by my mind to help keep my sanity. I thought that maybe the man upstairs who hated me, who I had argued with on many occasions about the noise, had somehow gotten into my apartment and somehow put some hallucinate drug in my precious tea. Maybe that was a thought because one night I had dreamed that he did that or maybe because I knew the man didn’t like that his wife had on occasion, innocently had a cup tea with me before I left for work, after she had dropped her kids off at school.               But if it wasn’t him, was what I saw in the mirror an illusion or like in those movies I laughed at, some force or someone within me finally coming out at this time, with no fear of me having the strength to fight back, to prevent me from becoming a whole them. I found myself walking toward the teapot again, but it wasn’t really me, I no longer wanted to. He or it was taking over, I felt it, it was happening quickly and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.               As I watched my body being controlled by another I realized after he reached the cabinet over the stove, that he wasn’t going to get another cup of my fine tea. This son of a gun reached and grabbed the coffee.  I never drank coffee, and it was only around for visitors. This is one reason I felt and knew that this was the beginning of the end of me, the me the world knew.               I probably will never know how or why this has happened to me at this moment and at this time in my life at the age of 45. Was I always destined to only live what was maybe half my bodies life as me?  Unfortunately, it was, I know because he told me so. The voice I heard within me when it spoke again told me loud and clear that together we will become him, and I would be no more.

There is no doubt that he had been waiting in my mind and body for this time to come. He had to know that my mind and body had been weakened from the pressure of my job and the pressure of just being me. I know now that I should have kept those appointments with the psychologist, maybe the doctor could have helped me stay me               Still Its strange that the final thoughts of mine were not about the conflict within or the hostile takeover of me during my morning cup of tea nor were they about me watching myself go upstairs and change into clothes that I would never have worn to work.  My thoughts were about knowing that I’ll never ever enjoy another cup of my wonderful tea again and neither would those who had the pleasure of tasting it before.  If I must guess, I would have to believe that from now on, they will be trying and tasting some good ass neighborly coffee, instead of my tea.  I just don’t feel or think that things will ever be the same, because I’ll never be me again.


The first time I saw Jen, she was coming down the path from Loorsey Hall just after second bell. She was laughing at something another girl said when they were passing, and her joyful smile and bouncing dark curls caught my attention. I smiled back as I approached her. When we made eye-contact, she recoiled and stepped off the path to give me a wide berth. I was used to the older girls looking at me like that because I was a freshman and a scholarship kid, and I knew just how to handle it. “Good morning,” I said, not losing the smile. “Do I even know you?” she snapped. “Who are you to look at me like that?” Absolutely no one, that’s who, and I knew it. No one at all. And that might well have been the end of it, only Marci saw it happen. I was still defiantly grinning through my hurt when I looked up to see her standing outside Loorsey Hall, waiting to walk with me to geometry. “Hi, Jerry!” she said, looking as always like she wanted to hug me, which I wished she wouldn’t. She was my best friend so far at this place, but a girl shouldn’t tease boys like that. “Hey, Marci,” I said. “Did you finish the homework?” “Took me three hours, but it did,” she said. “Sorry you had to meet Jen.” “Who?” “The girl you just passed outside,” she said as we made our way up the stairs to the math hall. “She lives in my hall, and she treats all the freshmen like that, Jerry. It was nothing personal, all right?” “It sure felt that way,” I admitted. “It’s like, yeah, I know I’m –” “Don’t say it, Jerry! You’re not a loser from the slums!” I swallowed hard and smiled at her. “Thanks,” I said. “You’re right, my neighborhood isn’t a slum, it’s about four blocks out of the bad neighborhood. But that’s a lot closer than most people here ever get.” “Oh, you’re not kidding!” Marci was a full-ride kid like myself. She got it. “But that doesn’t make you a loser, all right? You ought to be proud you got here. You’re not a bigshot like the other boys!” I was sure I felt my face flushing as we made our way to our seats. “Thanks, Marci.” Now I did kind of want a hug, but Ms. Rawlings stepped in at that moment and anything like that was off limits. Two months in to my first term, I had a wonderful coping mechanism when it came to people like Jen: blind fear. I’d been an underachiever when I was younger, but the misery of public junior high school had quite literally beaten some sense into me. I wanted out of that nightmare, so I’d worked my tail off and made almost straight A’s, and ended up with a full scholarship to the snootiest boarding school in the state. It was stuffy and snobby and I got a lot of dirty looks from the likes of Jen who somehow knew I really didn’t belong there – and for all that, I loved it. Losing my scholarship meant going back home and public high school with the same kids who’d made my life so miserable before, so I’d never once been tempted to slack off. That day was no exception, and I had no trouble focusing on the latest proofs and theorems. Math had always been my weakest subject, but I was holding my own in it for once. It helped that I had a free period just afterward when Marci and I could go work on the homework together while it was all still fresh in our minds. When that day’s forty-seven minutes in purgatory were over, I didn’t even have to ask. “Please tell me we’re going to go get a coke and work on this!” she said as soon as Ms. Rawlings set her marker down. “Yes, please!” I said. “You know, I was looking at my average last night, and it looks like I can swing a B in this class if I get at least a seventy-five on all the tests left.” “Oh, stop, Jerry!” Marci said, hugging her books and grinning at me. “You’re not going to lose your scholarship! You’re doing great!” “You’re sweet,” I said, wishing it were warmer out so she wouldn’t have to button up her coat over her uniform. She’d told me more than once she hated skirts and tights with a passion, but she looked great in the preppy getup all the same. Of course I hadn’t told her that – she was my best friend and there were lines you never crossed – but I couldn’t help looking forward to enjoying the view when we got to the grill. “So are you going to the dance on Saturday?” Marci asked as we made our way through the late-autumn morning. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I mean, I was just reminded of what the girls here think of guys like me.” “Don’t let Jen get to you!” Marci said. “I told you, she’s a creep and a snob!” “I guess,” I said. “But look, I know where I stand in a place like this. What’s the point in looking for romance, you know?” “No.” Marci sounded as close to angry as I’d ever heard her. “No, Jerry, I don’t know!” The grill was crowded as always, but we welcomed the bright light and the warmth and I welcomed the surprise of a booth opening up just as we came in. “Wow, our lucky day!” I said. Marci handed me her books. “You grab it. My turn to pay. You want to split a bagel this time?” “Sure,” I said, and I had all but forgotten the morning’s angst as I staked our claim to the booth. I had just enough time to take my coat off and get settled with my geometry book open to today’s lesson when I heard the barely-familiar voice. “Yo, dude, this is our booth!” I looked up to see Jen, looking even more disgusted with me than last time. “Excuse me?” “It’s our booth!” she repeated, pointing a thumb over her shoulder at two of her friends, who were looking just as annoyed and superior as she was. “Well now, I don’t see your name on it,” I said with the politest smile I could muster. “And I was here first.” “I was here first,” Jen mimicked. “You’re a freshman and you look like you take a shower maybe once a week! I don’t know what ghetto you came from, but if you won’t go back there, you can get out of our seat anyway. Upperclasswoman’s privilege!” “I read about that in the orientation booklet,” I said. “It doesn’t exist! It’s just a prank people like you always play.” “That’s right, Jerry,” came Joe Ralston’s voice over my shoulder, and I was relieved to see my dorm president approaching. “Jen, he’s called your bluff.” “Who asked you, Joe?” Jen said, just as Marci arrived with our drinks and the promised bagel. “Marci?!” Jen added. “What the fuck are you doing with this drip?” “This drip is my best friend, and all he did was smile at you this morning,” Marci said. “What’s your problem?” “Oh, you like the charity boys, do you?” Jen said. “What did you just say?” Marci had just sat down; now she jumped back up. Jen laughed. “Oooh, a freshman girl’s threatening me! Marci, you don’t know who you’re fucking with, you know that?” She gave me another glare, and when I didn’t budge, she finally turned to go. But at the last second, she swiped at our tray and turned it over, spilling pop and ice all over my geometry book and notebook. “Happy studying!” she chirped as she and her friends strutted off. “Oh my god, Jerry, I’m sorry!” Marci pulled as many paper napkins out of the dispenser as she could, and helped me mop up the mess. We were still dabbling at my damp book when Ms. Toscano, the faculty chaperone, turned up. “Jerry!” she snapped. “You’re going to have to pay the school back for that book, you know! Scholarship kids never respect property around here!” “It was me, Ms. Toscano!” Marci said. “I slipped and spilled our drinks. It wasn’t his fault!” “Oh!” To my disgust, Ms. Toscano looked a lot less upset. “Sorry, Marci, but do try to be more careful next time, all right?” “Yes, of course.” As soon as we were alone together, I opened my mouth to say thanks or sorry or both, but she waved me to silence. “Don’t mind her, French teachers are always weird. But I’m sorry about your book!” “Looks like my notes’ll survive once the paper dries,” I said. But of course our study session was put off for the time being. Rumors travelled fast on our little campus, I’d already learned that. So I wasn’t surprised when I arrived at lunch after fifth bell and my roommate, Kent, greeted me with, “You and Jen, huh?” “Heard about that, did you?” “Heard you thought you could be friendly with a junior girl,” teased Jesse from English class. “Who the heck do you think you are, Jerry? Forget you’re a charity boy?” “Dude, don’t use that word!” snapped Kent. “And what’s wrong with being polite with a girl anyway?” “Nothin’, as long as you remember your place in this school,” Jesse said. “But you’re no good at that, Jerry,” said Matt from the next floor in my dorm.  “Don’t you know who Jen is? Honor roll, drill team, orchestra – she doesn’t need you nipping at her heels!” “Just what do you assholes think I did, anyway?” I asked. “I heard you asked her out,” said Jesse. “And I heard you stole her snack at the grill,” Matt said. “That’s no way to treat a lady, Jerry.” “Guys, leave him alone,” Kent said. “He’s had a rough morning and it’s none of your business what he said to Jen.” “That’s just it,” I said. “I didn’t say anything to her except good morning, and no, you can’t take my table.” “Sure, dude, sure,” Matt said. One thing about being the humiliated one of the moment in that place: it never lasted long. By the end of classes that afternoon, some boy I didn’t even know had started crying in algebra class and that had taken over as the hottest news of the moment. I bought a new notebook at the campus bookstore and met Marci in the common room of her dorm – where boys were welcome under the watchful eye of the housemother – and we got through the homework after all. My math book was wrinkled and still a bit damp but still readable at least.

Neither of us mentioned the morning’s altercation, even when Jen herself put in an appearance just as we were finishing up the last problem. She gave me a dirty look, but then looked at the housemother and spun on her heel and left. For all that had happened, she was cute. I hated myself for thinking so, but she was. “By the way,” I said as we were packing our homework away, “I forgot to ask, are you going to the dance?” “Well,” Marci said. “No one’s asked me. I guess I might go on my own, but…” “Hey, no shame in that!” I said. “Maybe I will, too.” “You mean you are going after all?” “Well, you’re right,” I said. “I ought to stop telling myself I’m a loser, you know? So maybe I will. Maybe I’ll see you there?” “Hope so, Jerry.” For some reason she looked sad as she said it. As much as I told myself I didn’t want to go to the dance, the idea got more appealing as the weekend approached. On Thursday I went to town and got my hair cut. Jen’s comment about how often I showered had been eating at me. I showered every day, thank you very much, but somehow I never felt as clean and beautiful as the others. The haircut helped a little with that, anyway. So did ironing the blue suit my mother had insisted on buying me, and which I hadn’t had occasion to wear yet. When Saturday afternoon rolled around and the dance committee was at work, I’d given up on pretending I wasn’t looking forward to the dance. Maybe I’d even dance with Marci if she didn’t think that was too weird. That thought had me too worked up to go on studying by mid-afternoon, so I put my sneakers on and ventured outside for a walk in the brisk wind. Plenty of others were out and about on the quadrangle, but I didn’t feel like chatting with anyone – after all, what if I let something slip about Marci and she heard about it? – so I walked around the dorm and down the hill to the End of the World, as the woods on the far edge of campus were known. All too appropriate given where my mind was wandering, for rumor had it most of the students only ventured into the woods to fool around. Of course I’d never do that to Marci, but it didn’t hurt to imagine. Imagining is just what I thought I was doing when I first heard the shrieks. “No! Stop it!” I had just long enough to wonder what I was imagining being told to stop doing, before I realized the shrieks were real. “No! I said no! Get off me!” It was real, and I knew that voice. Jen. Once I knew it was her, it only took a second more to spot her. I spotted the two guys first, since one of them was standing over her and the other was kneeling on her back. Thirty feet or so ahead of me and well off the path, they hadn’t spotted me. They looked like her class or maybe even seniors, either of them easily big enough to take me. I didn’t give that a second thought as I broke into a run. The one who was standing saw me first. “Get lost, kid!” he growled. “You leave her alone!” I shouted. “The fuck’re you gonna do about it?” demanded the other one. He got off Jen’s back, and I had just enough time to see her pull her skirt down and scramble to her feet before both guys rushed at me. I don’t know which one of them hit me first, but he easily put me on my back. One of them pinned me there and was just about to punch me in the face when Jen grabbed at his arm. “Get off him!” she shrieked. The other guy grabbed her and threw her aside, but not before she kicked the first guy in the balls. He rolled off me and curled up, and I reared back and kicked his friend while he was focused on shaking Jen off. I got about halfway back to the edge of the woods before they tackled me. Then I don’t remember anything but a lot of unholy pain until a few other guys got there and pulled them off me. Next I remember Jen saying, “Thank you,” as the others helped me off to the infirmary, and the dean of students interviewing me in my bed while the nurse cleaned my scrapes up. I remember apologizing for not knowing their names, but I guess the dean did know them. Naturally I decided against going to the dance after all, only the guys at dinner told me I just had to go. “You’re the hero today, if you don’t milk that for all it’s worth, you’re crazy, dude!” Ken told me. “Girls like a guy who looks a little roughed up,” Jesse agreed. As I stepped into the auditorium in my blue suit, my wounds dressed but visible, I wondered if Marci had heard about what had happened. She had. “Jerry!” I heard her squealing at me, but didn’t get to see her right away because she buried me in her arms. “I am so proud of you!” “Well, thanks,” I said, pulling back to see she was in a lovely blue dress I’d never seen before. “I just – I hope anyone would’ve done what I did, you know?” “I hope so too, Jerry. But you did it!” “Thanks. Listen…I’ll understand if you don’t, but…do you want to dance?” “Of course!” She grabbed my hand and led me out onto the floor. We’d barely made one round when I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, Marci.” It was Jen, looking miraculously immaculate after the afternoon’s mishap. “I’m cutting in. Upperclasswoman’s privilege.” The look on Marci’s face just about broke my heart, but she did let go of me and back off. I said, “No, you’re not cutting in,” and I reached out for Marci’s hand, which she gladly took. “Jerry, you’ve got to be kidding!” Jen said. “After what you did for me this afternoon, you won’t dance with me?” “That’s right, I won’t.” I tried to take no pleasure in the look of outrage on her face as I waltzed Marci away. Tried, but failed. “Thank you!” Marci said. “I hope you don’t mind me saying I’m surprised!” “I don’t blame you,” I said. “But you were right. It’s not me who’s the loser here, is it?”


Nada leaned back on one of the extravagant cushions decorating the couch, more European than her father would’ve liked but one her mother insisted on, waiting. Her lower back ached from the bolt upright posture she assumed as she curled her lip at her guests' tardiness. Although according to her mother, she waited thirty-six years and could stand to wait a century more for her suitor to show.

According to her mother, this was her last chance. That didn’t mean she was going to ease up now. She ran over what she knew of the man, which was slim to nil. She didn't even have a name. Though, Nada never did like to background-check her suitors, she was more than comfortable in allowing her parents to vouch for his decency and trust her first impression. Lest she loosen her tight hold on her heart in face of his achievements before meeting him, a particular rabbit hole that spewed hellfire and shrapnel. I’ll double-check the contract, Nada thought rapidly, barely resisting slotting her worn thumb through her teeth, agree to let him take as many wives as he wants after me if it means keeping my job, make sure he doesn’t try to swap the contract with a fabricated one like that wretch Waleed did, argue for my work even if it costs me the marriage. She was dimly aware of her cousin stopping by right before the suitor arrived, offering comforting homicide if he tries to pull anything on her. Her father rushed in immediately afterwards, adjusting his ghutra as he took his seat beside her, and soon after the man and his father entered. Nada thought her heart had long stopped skipping with every new man that came asking for her hand. Until she actually saw him and thought: Ah. Shit. - Jamal knew when an angry woman stormed into his office asking who the hell was the new guy in charge of editing the research findings that he could’ve fallen in love with her. “That’d be me, Missus Boss Lady,” he drawled, raising his hand an inch. Her eyes were furious as she stomped over to him, scolding him on professionality and similar Western ideals. He followed the hands liberally gesturing in outrage and knew that yes, he could definitely fall in love. Wow , he thought, staring up in wonder at her angry proclamations that she should fire him. Wow . And so Jamal didn’t stop at off-hand witticisms in his editor’s note, but went off with mad serenades of hilarity, preening every time she marched into his office. Pretty soon, his charm won her over and she started to hold the elevator for him, a huffed laugh and eyes twinkling amusement his reward for a night’s travail in orchestrating the perfect ‘that’s what she said’ joke. And it was when she rapped her fist on his desk on her way home with his revision tucked into her bag and said, “You’re losing your wit, employee,” that he gladly fell off the edge. Then he heard she was unmarried the same moment he realized her parents were still searching. And it took little planning to tell his sister to pass the word onto Nada's mother at Nada's cousin's marriage that he'd be interested, with them replying 'how about Monday?' Jamal barely held back from telling them he was good any day and arrived with his father almost too punctually at the family's mansion. He calmed his pounding heart as he was led into the lavish sitting room, eyes immediately going to his Nada trying to school her expression into neutrality at the sight of him. She has black hair , he mused in quiet wonder, drinking up her features and finally painting a picture of his love, having never seen her face uncovered. He barely dragged his attention away from her to incline his head in a nod after his father introduced him to Nada's. A lumbering man with a beard that scratched his stomach and the hands of an army redneck that could crush his skull in one hairy, sweaty grip. Jamal wasn’t intimidated, though. He knew the man couldn’t risk chasing him out like all the others that flooded in when Nada was twenty and adorable. "Yes? And how are you?" He asked her smoothly in charming tones after their fathers put their meddling to rest and leaned back to watch the two birds dance around each other. She turned red, out of what Jamal liked to think was attraction to his attractive air, "Fine, and you?" she squeaked, tone incongruous with eyes that sent pointed daggers his way. Jamal raised an eyebrow back. Despite what Nada thought, Jamal wasn't stupid . He knew the slightest suspicion of the Hamdi's clan estranged daughter having the slightest unprofessional relationship with any male would cause outrage. On the ride over, his stomach clenched as he mulled over the best that could happen, them disowning her, to the worst, her lovely head burning on a spike. But he didn’t let go of things easily and didn’t really believe the lie that acting required years of practice. He did realize, sitting there, that telling Nada beforehand would’ve helped them both in that regard, but she only really talked to him once every blue moon and he couldn't very well catch her alone with her brothers prowling the halls like confused bulldogs. But Jamal trusted her enough to know that she wouldn't throw them both under the bus like that. Trusted her enough to know that she would play along until they found themselves alone and she could scold him thoroughly and lovingly. Only if she accepted, he reminded himself. And gosh , how much he wanted her to accept. - Omar had problems with his problem child, Nada, named after delicate morning dew twinkling on gossamer, but was everything but. She had asked, fourteen and fairy-light, "Baba, can you please, please let Fahad lend me his science textbooks? Please? I just want to read them." Fine , Omar had thought, no one wants dumb women nowadays, let her educate herself. And he held his middle son by the hair until Fahad agreed to provide their crown jewel with all her heart’s scholarly desires. Then she turned eighteen and denied her first marriage proposal, "No, Baba, I don't want him, not before I graduate. I'll die of grief if not allowed to finish college. And besides, would you settle for anyone less than a prince for your Nada?" This is fine , Omar mused, scratching his head at her whispered denial, pressuring her is no-good with Allah as my witness . And he chased out the slobbering dog out of his house with the calm air of a man whose daughter still had enough suitors for a sizable army. Then she, twenty-three and still serving tea to a father instead of a husband, demurely requested, "Baba, light of my soul, my nearest gate to heaven, I have too much free time and you have too many empty plots of land. Can you, please, consider lending me one? And wasn’t the prophet’s first wife one of Mecca’s richest merchants?” Fine , Omar conceded, despite his wife’s windmill gesticulations of disapproval, let her pull her own weight , and when she told him she wished to start a research center instead of the expected minimarket or laundromat, Lieutenant General Omar Hamdi waved his hand and so it was. Then she was twenty-nine and sobbing for forgiveness at his feet, and his hand was poised to strike the one child he had never beaten, “I had to employ those men, Baba, it was the only way to gain recognition. And- and we enter through different doors and I never truly mingle with them outside of the lab. I don’t even know their first names!” Fine , Omar relented, fury huffing out his nostrils, fine fine fine. But he still demanded she employ his lazy, useless sons in whatever job those poor sods were capable of, ignoring her pleas of scientific minds and intelligent researchers . She could have them lick the floors clean as janitors, for all he cared, just not be there alone with strangers following her beck and call. And so with all these problems that would’ve been resolved if only she was more like her cousins, he was quick to raise an eyebrow when he heard the news that some kid who worked at a certain research center was asking for her hand. “Don’t even imply something like that, Omar,” his wife squawked, “Not with her brothers there, at the most, he noticed she was unmarried and decided to go for her to alleviate his position. Not anything dishonourable.” His wife having thus definitively squashed his suspicions of some shotgun marriage, went back to giving him an overview of the man’s background, family, and miscellaneous bits of gossip she gathered from her all-reaching network of housewives. He wasn't all that convinced when he was face-to-face with him and the poor kid couldn't keep his eyes off Nada. Despite what his daughter thought, Omar wasn't stupid . She couldn't pull a fast one right in front of him and expect him to yield like he always did. Omar squared his shoulders, narrowing his eyes at the two, military-trained senses searching for any red flags. The kid's father, a man that Omar could imagine himself dining with, flicked his eyes at Omar and Omar nodded, allowing the kid to address his daughter. He pounced on the chance, blabbering, "Yes? And how are you?" And Omar could tell that there was no secret liaison from the way Nada turned an irritated pink, an all-too-familiar segue into her leaning over and saying, No, Baba. "Fine, and you?" she coldly replied and Omar leaned back, awaiting the signal that allowed him to kick out whatever trash crawled to his doorstep, already dreading his wife's frustrated midnight weeping. - Years ago, Layan’s grandmother held her hand and hissed to her the universal truth, “All men are snakes.” And then Layan’s grandmother subsequently passed away. Layan recalled those words frequently even though she was a simple girl with simple girl dreams of marrying rich and early. She was everything but her cousin, Nada, who went around spreading propaganda with a spoon about the importance of being career-focused and entrepreneurial. Layan was the simple type of daughter her uncle would’ve preferred. Of course, her plans of simple womanhood were accompanied by the realization of the simple woman fantasy of milking your husband like the cash cow he was before, at the slightest breath of trouble, go running to your father and uncles and hustling half his fortune and the kids while your men exact merciless lawsuits, European-style. “You’ll fall in love with him before you get the chance,” Nada remarked knowingly, as if she was a proper consultant on the subject. Layan remarked as much from her lounge on the bed, lazily staring up at her cousin biting her lip in order to eclipse the smile that always arose when she read through her reports.

Despite what her cousin might think, Layan wasn’t stupid . She saw how her toes curled and her hands clenched and she heard the trill of a giggle that always threatened to emerge. "He just reviews the papers and edits them and sometimes he makes witty comments, that’s all,” she replied, feigning nonchalance. All men were snakes , Layan didn’t say because Nada’s mother, Rama, already entreated her not to stoke the fires of her daughter’s independence. And also because Layan was horrified by future visions of her dear cousin being that one hag living underneath the staircase with no children to carry her home.

So Layan kept her truths to herself. Until she spotted Rama advertising her daughter like lamb on the market at her wedding . She dug her nails into the groom’s knee and vowed to never forgive this offence. “I will never forgive nor forget,” Layan announced a week later, marching into her Uncle’s villa. Only to be hushed and ushered forcibly into a sitting room, which was no way to treat a bride with honeymoon sores! She huffed, shifting one of the ornate divider panels surrounding the sitting area and glared at her dolled-up cousin. “I will never forgive nor forget,” she started before noticing Nada’s stiff posture and gritted teeth. Layan softened, marching over and unceremoniously plopping down next to her, if only to prove that honeymoon sores were a myth and Nada should know better than to listen to the household help.  “I’ll be behind the panels, give the word and I’ll launch at him with a butcher’s knife,” she assured tenderly. Nada shook her head once, eyes sharper than the horse bust welcoming visitors in the hallway. Layan’s hand entwined with her cousin’s for a moment, “I’ll be there either way,” she promised right as the doorbell sounded. Layan assumed her stealthy position, careful not to lean too much onto the panels lest they collapse, and listened. The snake and his father introduced themselves unremarkably. A research assistant when Nada should’ve been married to princes , to sultans . “Yes? And how are you?” The snake, Jassim or something plebian like that, asked with a distinctly slimy voice. Layan vehemently wondered if he had a nasal issue, she hoped he had a nasal issue and suffocated on it. “Fine,” Nada tiredly replied in a resigned tone that chilled Layan with its implications, “and you?” And Layan stilled, her sky falling around her from the realization that while she wanted her married as much as the next relative, she was never truly prepared to let her go. Nada was supposed to be the one that broke through, the supporting pillar that reassured you you didn’t need to sell yourself if you didn’t want to. Nada was supposed to be always there .

Layan reached for a vase but got silently taken done by Rama’s lackeys before she could embarrass herself with battery. Then Layan broke her promise and was escorted out with news her husband was on the way.

Later, while the dry Arabian landscape swished past the passenger window, she rubbed at her dry eyes and vowed to present Nada with the shiniest gold at her wedding. Glaring abandonment issues thus placated, she fiddled with the radio, searching for a music station when her husband caught her hand over the armrest and stroked slow circles into her palm.

Stop trying to seduce me! Layan wanted to scream hysterically because she had a three-step plan for him, but she just couldn’t seem to pull her hand away.

- Rama Bashaar, mother of Zayn, wife of Lieutenant General Omar Hamdi, Rapunzel of Damascus, was above scrounging for suitors at third-rate party halls with new money aiming subtle jabs at her age. She told her husband as much while she clasped on heavy earrings, sitting on the edge of the bed preparing to leave for that fool Layan’s wedding. He threw an arm around her waist murmuring, “that’s our Nada” and chuckling. “Fine, but don’t come crawling to me when she asks to fly to the moon,” and with that Rama threw her veil over her elaborate braid and set out with the distinct dread that she’d be coming home emptyhanded. But by the end of the night, she was thanking Allah that she wore her best. Now it was up to her fool daughter not to make a mess of it. “Mama, please ,” she snapped, leaning her head away from the brush that was dabbing blush onto her cheeks.

Rama hushed her, clutching her by the chin and tilting her head this way and that, “This is your last chance, my heart, don’t squander it.” “Even though,” her daughter retorted, always obstinate, always disagreeable, “I’m not going to nod and agree to everything like a sheep, I’m not relenting because there’s no one else.” Rama clucked her tongue, sashaying out of the room with a swish of her hair, her daughter following and ranting about her rights or something along those lines. “And so, Mama, I cannot and should not be backed into a corner like this, I can refuse like I did all the others-” Rama turned on her, pointing a crooked finger at her and hissing, “No, you’ll listen to me for once, and not sacrifice the opportunity of a family for your ideals,” she straightened, shooting a look of distaste at the maid that scurried by, she was getting too old for this. She breathed in right as Nada opened her mouth, cutting her off, “You embarrass me, Nada,” she said in a quiet tone meant to cut. It did the trick and Rama walked away, leaving her daughter stabbed and bleeding in the hallway. Rama had better things to oversee. There had to be the finest choices of both spearmint and peppermint tea, for one, the dates had to be curated by the best eye, and the coffee presented in the finest thermos. The only thought she spared for her daughter's feelings was sending Layan her way. When the doorbell finally rang, Rama called out for her husband. He shouted back, hurrying past her. Rama briefly tsked at the short, dark hairs peppering the front of his collar from his shave before deciding to let that particular dog lie as the men were let in and she went to wait in the next room. Rama controlled her meddling for as long as she could before she gave in, eavesdropping through the cracked open door just in time to catch Nada's exchange with the suitor's. "Yes? And how are you?" "Fine, and you?" "Perfect." Rama didn't know whether her daughter thought she was stupid and frankly didn't care, but she heard something in those words that took her half a century back to her own betrothal. And she wasn't a smiling sort of woman but the one that split across her face would've made anyone bet that she was as she huffed, Finally .


You step from your cave and stand on the edge of the mountain slope. You stretch the sleep from your muscles as the sun climbs upward. Moment by moment, the sun burns away the morning fog and the island below is revealed. The curtain of gray fog peels away. You stand at the island's highest point and look down into the valley. The river glimmers as it catches the first rays of the sun. The jungle is a mural of lush shades of green. Orchids, plump fruits, and multi-colored parrots lend pops of bright color to the canvas of vegetation. You unhurriedly pick your way down the mountain to drink from the river's clear water. Then, in a single bound, you leap across the river to the banana grove on the other side. Standing at your full height, you reach forward and pluck a bushel of bananas from the top of the nearest tree.

When you have eaten your fill, you amble along the riverbank until you come upon your kin. They make room for you as you plunge into the river. Even at its deepest point, the water rises to just above your abdomen. You are the biggest creature on the entire island. Three times the size of Old Silver, the largest of your kin and leader of the troop. Deep within yourself lives the impulse to challenge Old Silver. This is followed by the urge to find a mate. As you always do when these thoughts enter your mind, you push them aside. Old Silver may command the troop, but you hold dominion over the entire island. Finished with your bath, you head deeper into the jungle. Snagging another fat bushel of bananas, you climb into the stout branches of the island's largest Kapok tree. You lay with your back against a high branch, lazily munching on bananas as scraps fall into the tree's twisted roots. You fall into a light sleep, shielded from the heat of the day by the leaves' thick shade. You awaken to a distant thumping. It's not the villagers summoning you. It’s not late enough in the day for the chorus of their drums, the heat of sacred fires. It’s too early in the season for their yearly sacrifice. This sound is new and unfamiliar. You climb higher up the tree and peer through the canopy. In the sky above, you see a large shining creature. On strange swirling wings, the creature descends. You leap from the tree and make your way through the jungle, weaving around tree trunks and tearing your way through the foliage. You move quickly in the direction of the creature as its odd, thumping cry grows ever louder. Hidden in the shadows and masked by razor-tipped fern leaves, you watch as the creature lands. The creature is covered in a hard, dark shell. You remain hidden, sizing up the creature, gauging its weaknesses. Suddenly, the sides of the creature open and two humans step out into the clearing. They are unlike the other humans you have seen on the island. Totally different from the natives who live on the island's far coast. The natives are small with dark, uncovered skin. These humans are tall, their skin light as the clouds in the sky. Only patches of their skin peek through the sand and river mud colored coverings they wear. You watch as two men join a third in the shade at the other end of the clearing. They hold a flat square between them. It crinkles as they look over it, jabbing it occasionally with their pale fingers. That's when she steps around the side of the creature and moves further into the clearing. Stunned by the sight of her, your breath catches in your throat. Her hair falls over one shoulder, shining in the tropical sun. Her lips a deep red, her eyes a vivid blue. She moves across the clearing like the breeze blows through the trees. She carries a small dark object. Occasionally, she lifts it to her eye. When her face is covered by the object, the world seems to dim as her beauty is obscured. She turns toward where you stand in the shadows. She raises the object again, pointing it in your direction. You expect to hear the click the object has made every other time she has raised it. Instead, the woman holds it in place. Then she lets it hang from a strap around her neck and squints into the trees. Your eyes meet hers and you hold your breath, sure you will see fear cloud her perfect features. The women the villagers offer you always scream and cry, but not this woman. She smiles at you and your heart leaps. Moving slowly, you push fronds and branches out of your path as you approach the woman. You step into the clearing and stand before her. You are heartened to see that she seems as in awe of you as you are of her. You dip your head to better stare into her eyes and she bows hers slightly in return. You sit on the ground in front of her and offer her your hand. She runs her fingers along the wrinkled skin on your palm and smiles. Her hand moves onward, stroking the soft black fur on your forearm. Her touch is soft and it sends a fiery heat coursing through your veins. You are so enamored with the woman that at first, you don't notice a slight pinch in your shoulder. Using all your willpower, you pull your gaze away from the woman and glance at your arm. A strange barb sticks out of your shoulder. As you watch, two more barbs sink into your side. You turn back to the woman and see that she has stepped back a few paces. Her attention is on the men. She waves her arms in their direction. You follow her gaze and see the three men have moved around to the other side of the flying creature. They hold long tubes that remind you of the natives’ spears. You watch as the men raise the tubes and point them at you. You stand and roar at them. Your cry echoes through the jungle, sending birds scattering into the sky. You charge the men and puffs of smoke rise from the tubes they hold. Seconds later, you realize three more barbs have plunged into your chest. You race toward the men but soon become unsteady. You wobble on your feet, your head swimming. Your vision blurs and burns, as if you have been staring into the sun. You turn toward the cover of the jungle as your limbs begin to feel heavy. Sleep overtakes you and you fall forward into the dirt. You wake up in darkness. Your head is fuzzy. You stand and the ground rocks beneath you. You inhale and the air burns your nostrils. Sea salt mixed with dank wetness and a heavy, choking stench. You walk forward and smack your face against an obstacle. You reach out and wrap your hand around something that feels like a vine but is harder than rock. You check your surroundings and find that you are surrounded. Hemmed in, you strike out, rattling the hard vines and slamming your fists against them. They prove too strong to be bent or broken. Light floods the area, momentarily blinding you. As your eyes regain their focus, you see the woman standing in front of you. She speaks in soothing tones and although you cannot understand what she says, you are comforted by her soft voice. Without the sun passing overhead, it’s impossible for you to measure time, so you have no idea how long you spend in the dark room. The woman visits you often and brings you food and water. When she's not around, you fight to keep anxiety from overtaking you. You become restless as you wait for the woman to reappear. Simply thinking of her fills your heart with warmth. She is the first human who has ever been kind to you. She carries no weapons like the natives who once hunted your kin. She carries only warm tones and luminous smiles. The natives offered you their sacrifices out of fear. She offers you her attention out of love. Day after day, your devotion to the woman grows.

One day, the water she brings you tastes funny. The woman sits by your enclosure with a small rectangle in her lap. She looks down at the rectangle and the music of her voice washes over you as she speaks. Your eyes begin to droop, your muscles relax. Soon, you fall into a deep sleep. You wake up to the whispered chorus of many different voices. You look around and notice that you are still in the enclosure of hard vines, but you are no longer in the dark, dank room. Hanging in front of you is a stationary waterfall. It is a deep red color. It ripples back and forth slightly, even though there is no breeze. You hear murmurings from the other side of the waterfall. An unseen multitude of voices that puts you on edge. You smell unknown floral scents and unrecognizable musk. Without warning, a voice booms forth, assaulting your ears. Your ears continue to ring as the voice fades away. The waterfall splits apart and you are blinded by bright light. It's as if the sun itself is shining directly onto your face. Your ears are assaulted by gasps, cries, and screams. Smaller lights add to the dazzling radiance. Brilliant flashes leave spots dancing in front of your eyes. Desperate to escape the burning lights, you turn your head to the side. That's when you see the woman. You see that she is standing next to a man. He has his arm around her, but she keeps trying to pull away. He holds her tight against his body. He tries to kiss her and the woman squirms against his grip. Rage overtakes you and you let loose a primal scream. Taking a few steps back, you launch yourself against the hardened vines. A horizontal bar gives way and a tall, rectangular section swings open. Free of your enclosure, you charge forward. With one mighty swing you knock the man against a wall. Then you kneel in front of the woman, looking her over to ensure she is unharmed. A deafening blast rings out and searing pain flares across your back. Your gut fills with fear, not for yourself, but for the woman. Spotting an opening to your left, you scoop the woman under your arm and flee. You emerge into a world unlike anything you could have ever imagined. Impossibly tall, sleek sided mountains rise up on all sides of you. Big as you are, you feel dwarfed by how the mountains obscure the sky. Strange, fast creatures speed past. Their eyes lighting round swaths in front of them as they hurtle onward. Panicked, you run forward, still clutching the woman firmly but gently against your chest. You begin to scale the nearest mountain. Its sides are smooth, but you soon find you can climb the equidistant ledges that protrude from its surface. Gripping the ledges with your feet, you push off and grab the next ledge with your free hand. Ever higher you climb. Finally, you reach the top. You grip a thin spire at the mountain's peak and set the woman down on its summit. Now that you have a moment to rest, you become aware of the burning in your back. Blood seeps from your flesh and pools around your feet. The woman looks at you and you are glad to see that she looks concerned but not scared. She pats your arm, strokes your fur. You allow yourself a few moments of calm. Then you hear a buzzing sound approaching in the distance. Soon, large airborne creatures are whizzing by your perch. You swat at them, but they remain just out of reach. Minutes later, one of the buzzing creatures flies too close, dragging a strong gust of wind across the top of the mountain. The gust pulls the woman off the edge and she begins to fall. Thinking of nothing but the woman, you leap forward. You catch her with one hand and grab the side of the mountain with the other. You hoist the woman back onto the mountaintop. Seeing she is once again safe; you try to pull yourself up beside her. Your hand slips on the slick blood. You lash out desperately, but your hands come up empty. You stare into the woman's eyes as you plummet downward. Her face moves to the forefront of your mind as the wind rushes past your ears. It is the woman you are thinking of when your body slams into the ground. She is the last thing you see as everything fades to black.


The beautiful white dress was hung on the door. Makeup was being applied and hair was being done. The room smelled of lavender and hairspray. Bridesmaids giggled as they also prepped for the big day. The dress was ready to be put on. Everyone was gathered for more pictures. Bouquet in hand and- “Professor Davis, are we free to leave after the exam is complete?” A student waved her hand through the air.

Erin was brought back to reality by the student in her last lecture of the day. She caught herself admiring her engagement ring that Costas had given to her in October.

“Yes, bring the exam to my desk and you may leave.” Erin said this with a smile. She felt guilty because many of the students stood up and walked towards her, exams in hand.

Erin is a psychology professor at University of Michigan. She graduated from the university too and it's where she met her fiance, Costas. Costas is a kinesiology professor at Michigan State University. He had finished his education at UofM and eventually moved on to teach at his rival school. The two had been together for 5 years, Costas finally proposed on Halloween of last year and they were to be married next month.

Professor Davis’s class was nearing the end as 1-2 students were still taking the exam for the end of the semester. One student finished his exam and left and 5 minutes after the next one followed.

As Erin left the classroom, she twisted her ring with her index finger with a slight grin on her face. She walked to her office that was down the hall, grabbed the rest of the exams from her drawer and headed to the elevator. Her next stop would be the Chinese food place across the street from her house and then home.

“Honey, I’m home.”

No answer followed. Erin went to the living room, which stood empty all except the furniture. She made her way to the kitchen and set down her bags, the kitchen stood empty also.

“Costas, I got dinner. Your favorite, Chinese Food.” Erin frowned, there was no answer. Erin took a plate, spoon, and wine glass from the cupboard. She grabbed a bottle of wine from the wine rack and then scooped the food onto her plate. The door knob rattled and opened with a creak. Erin’s attention snapped to the door and excitement filled her. “Erin, are you home yet?” Costas peeked his head in the doorway. “Yes, babe. I’m in the kitchen. I went to the Chinese place and got your favorite.” Costas entered the house and walked into the kitchen. He kissed Erin and went to grab a plate and a beer from the fridge.

“How was your day, babe?” Erin said this shyly. “It was great, terrific.” Costas said this with sarcasm and a sly grin. Erin put her head down and finished eating her meal in silence. The relationship had been rocky since they got engaged. Costas had been distant and mostly absent from the home. Erin was ready to be a bride and had attended her many wedding events with her mother and with Costas’s mother. They had together picked the flowers, church and banquet hall, and the cake. Costas had been busy with conferences and interviews with major basketball and baseball teams for the position of athletic trainer.

Erin had finished her meal and went to the sink to put her dishes down. She walked over to her bag, took the stack of exams and papers, and sat down. She proceeded to pour another glass of wine. “Would you like another beer, dear?” Erin asked “No, God Erin can’t you just leave me alone. I work hard all day to teach these stupid students and then I have to come home and be interrogated by you. Just leave me alone. I would like a little peace and quiet now and then you know.”

Erin proceeded to sit down across from her husband almost on the verge of tears, she grabbed the exams and started to grade the exams.

She loved her fiance dearly and wanted to do whatever had to be done to keep him happy and nonviolent. She loved the old him, the Costas who bought her flowers and chocolates, and took her to Greece for her birthday when she turned 30. Costas had saved her from her past. The past involved being beaten by the person who was supposed to be her unspoken savior, her father. Her father had beaten her until she was 10 years old and her mother had known. She spent most of her childhood hiding her bruises and her adolescence was filled with flashbacks, depression, and anxiety.

She had grown up in a toxic home environment and now she was being put in the same situation with the person she loved the most in the world. Costas had hit her a handful of times, but she had told no one of this.

“Erin, have you packed my bag for my next interview.”

Costas said this with irritation in his voice. “No honey, I’m sorry. I’ll get on it as soon as I can.” Erin put her head down and proceeded to grading the exams.

“Did you not hear me? I said to go pack my bag for the next interview.” Costas said this with rage in his voice.

“Okay dear, I’ll get to it after I look over some of these exams.”

“I said go pack my bag. NOW BITCH!!” Costas said this with fury in his voice and smacked Erin in the face.

Whimpering she said, “Okay I’m sorry, I’ll go upstairs and get to it.” Erin had tears in her eyes and started going to the stairs that climbed up into the second floor. She proceeded to the bedroom, went to the vanity and looked at her reflection. She saw tears streaming down her face and an almost purple bruise forming on her cheek. She put her head down and began to cry. She didn’t want this life, the life of a battered wife. She wanted happiness and family but not with a man that was going to be violent with her and maybe their children to come. She thought to herself, How do I get out of this? How can I end this without getting hurt again? She heard steps coming up the stairs and quickly ran to the closet to look for ties, dress shirts, and dress pants. She scurried around for the items as she heard steps in the bedroom now. Costas poked his head around the corner with remorse on his face. She could see it now from where she stood. Erin began to walk to the hall closet to get the small suitcase. She was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, she flinched but turned around to face Costas. He guided her to bed and they both sat down. “Erin, I’m so sorry I hit you and yelled at you. I didn’t mean it. I just have all this anger and work is stressful. I need a change of scenery, I’m hoping these athletic trainer jobs will come through and we can go somewhere new and start over again just like the old times.” Costas said this with his head down.

“I don’t think you're sorry because you keep doing it. You keep hitting me and you know what happened between my parents and what happened to me. I’m not your punching bag, you need help. We don’t need to get a change of scenery, you need to straighten this problem out. I love you so much but you decide to hurt me when something doesn’t go your way and I am not okay with that.” Erin was choking back tears. Costas kissed Erin at first on the lips and then on the forehead. She smiled at this with tears still streaming down her face. Costas looked at Erin and her pain and his face turned down. He wiped her tears with his sleeve.

“I’m going to go to an interview in Los Angeles this weekend. Going to be interviewing for the Dodgers and the Lakers. When I come home we will talk again and I will look into anger management.” Costas said this with his head down. Erin finished packing Costas’ bag and went back to her place at the kitchen table. She grabbed her wine glass and refilled it until it was almost to the top, and then went to the stack of exam’s in front of her. She heard steps coming down the stairs and she straightened herself and took a swig from her wine glass. Costas had made his way down the stairs and back into the kitchen. “Honey, I’m going to be leaving for the airport in a bit. Would you like to see me off?”

“I have all these papers to grade. Exams and I have to do all of them for eight different classes.” Erin motioned toward the pile of papers. Costas put his head down and grabbed another beer from the fridge. He stood silent and made his way back up to the bedroom. He was ashamed for what he did to his wife and felt regret deeply. He finished packing everything else that he would need. He picked up his phone, car keys, and his luggage and descended upon the stairs.

“Erin, I’m leaving for the airport.” Costas called from his position by the stairs. “I’ll see you when you get back.” Erin stood from her seat and crossed the living room. They embraced and gave each other a slight kiss.

Costas left and Erin was once again in the still, silent house by herself. She finished the bottle of wine and got through one class of exams before retiring to the couch for her alone time. During this alone time that she had she would watch television, go on social media, or invite friends and family over to drink. Today she brought her laptop with her and decided she would write her wedding vows. She had written a rough copy when Costas had proposed but she wanted to change them now. She began typing: “Costas, When I met you, you were a blessing in disguise. As many know, my childhood was not the most pleasant. Costas you saved me, you grabbed my hand, put it in yours and you guided me from the dark to the light. You showed me what love is and that I deserve as much as I can get. Flowers and Chocolates were a plus. Just being you was a gift.” Erin began to cry again. She had begun to picture herself standing at the altar, ready to give herself to Costas. She could picture his smile and the tears that would fall from his eyes as she said these words but also her recovering tears from the vows he would have just recited. She felt bad for the news she was going to maneuver into her vows. She was going to break her silence of being a battered fiance and how Costas had been hurting her for months. It would not only hurt his feelings but also the pockets of those who would make the day beautiful for her. She would be hurting her friends and family but she needed this for herself. She needed her peace and had to face the fact that Costas wasn’t the man for her. She continued: “Our tiny life that we built in a matter of years was more than I could ever ask for. In Greece you told me that you wished paradise was forever and when I’m with you it is at least for a little while. Since our engagement that man ceases to exist. You have made me, my younger self. I thought you were a different man, I thought you were my guardian angel sent to me from the heavens. You have changed, and if I had a part to play in that I deeply apologize. Costas, I will not marry you today or any other day. Just a few weeks before we stand here you hit me and I decided that the life I want and the life you want are two different ideas. I can’t be with a man who chooses over and over again to be abusive and demeaning to a woman or their soon to be fiance. I am sorry Costas but I don’t love you anymore and I deserve more.” Erin’s eyes were now puffy and the words on her screen a blur. The keyboard and mouse was littered with drops of water that fell from her eyes. She closed the laptop shut and began sobbing. She sobbed until her tears halted and all she could do was sit wide-eyed staring at the ceiling. She could feel her world coming apart. She wanted Costas to be the man that she fell in love with but unfortunately she knew he would never be that man. She soon would recover from her sobbing and turn on the television to find endless romantic comedy movies and reruns of Criminal Minds.

Weeks had passed since that day, Costas had begun to fly back and forth to California for the job as Athletic Trainer for the Los Angeles Lakers. He was excited to meet some big time players and be alongside some of the best in his field. He hadn’t seeked help in his situation and had still been violent with Erin. She had developed bruises along her torso and arms, she would hide them with long sleeves and makeup on those that would show. Their wedding was now days away. This life would be gone for the two of them and they would be able to develop new separate lives.

Days had now passed and their wedding was here. Erin’s mom had been crying most of the day. Bridesmaids had been in and out of her house all day. They had been hungover most of the time they were getting ready. They wore pastel green bridesmaids dresses and everyone’s hair was the same. It was everything Erin had dreamed of but it wasn’t her wedding today, today was the day she would lose everything. She would practically be disowned by the people who spent money for her and would lose the once love of her life. The day commenced and it was finally time to walk down the aisle. She was ready with a bouquet in hand. Her mother smiled through tears as she put the crown atop her head and gave her a kiss on her cheek. Erin was ready, she joined her uncle Henry at the double doors that lead to the entrance of the church. They both walked arm-in-arm down the aisle, Costas stood at the altar in a black suit. Erin began to get nervous and tried looking back at the people in the pews with smiles and tears in their eyes. She kept her eyes front and attempted to focus on the task at hand. The priest had finished his sermon and it was time for the vows. Costas had gone first and Erin was up, she took a breath and recited her vows. By the time she was done she was afraid to look up at Costas. She did and she started crying. Costas stood shocked and Erin’s mom and Uncle Henry had anger on their faces and had risen from their seats. Erin turned to her bridesmaids, and apologized, giving each of them a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She walked to her mother and did the same. Uncle Henry and Erin’s mom had followed her back down the aisle. Years had now passed, Costas had moved to California and Erin moved to Maryland. Costas was a successful athletic trainer with the Lakers and had found another woman, her name was Penelope. She never found out the reality about how the relationship between Erin and Costas had ended. She too had become a battered woman and Costas took no mercy, he never got the help he needed. Years would pass before he ever would. Erin had gotten her doctorate in Michigan and found a job helping veterans at Walter Reed medical center. She had found a new friend group and along with them she found a nice man. His name was Xander and they had been living peacefully. He had proposed at a Baltimore Ravens football game and knowing her history the engagement lasted for two years and they finally married in April. They were both happy together. Erin had found peace and love with Xander and the two were expecting their first born. Erin was comfortable and happy with her new life and was thankful for her bravery to leave her threatening relationship.


Riding the bus is like riding a bicycle. Once you get it down, it comes right back to you, no matter how many years have passed. I stood at the chilly bus stop, sharing a shifty silence with half a dozen commuters, all of us peering in the same direction and fingering our bus passes, or tugging at the zippers of our jackets. I felt myself slip into the old routine easily as if no vast moat of time sat between now and when I had ridden this bus almost every day, years ago when I had still been friends with Caroline. When Caroline was still alive. The news had come as a numb shock, like a poison dart taking me in the ribs. Someone posted something somewhere about a memorial service, and a few clicks later I was staring at a Facebook page riddled with posts about how much she was loved, how beautiful she was, how much they would miss her. There was a hollow lack of reality to interacting with her death through a screen. I scrolled through the posts in the same way I scrolled to the bottom of a recipe on the hunt for an ingredients list. Caroline was dead and no one had told me. Well, it wasn’t the most surprising. We hadn’t spoken in almost a decade. Our lives, once tightly wound around each other, had segmented and split, spiraling off in different directions with only the roots left in common. But the wound festered. I thought about her at night and in my warm car and while I washed dishes and any other time my mind was given the chance to wander. It wandered right back to her. By the time I found myself booking a plane ticket I had missed the memorial services. My hands planned the trip almost independently as if they had been conspiring with my subconscious and found themselves with a majority vote. I took a week off work and sat in my hotel room for a day and a half wondering what the hell I was doing before, again without my full consent, my legs took me down to the bus stop. I didn’t have to think. My body knew where to go. The bus was very crowded, and I had to stand near the front, swaying next to the driver and flattening myself against the rail as people got on and off. It’s a meditative thing, riding the bus to the very last stop. You get to see all these little slices of other people’s lives—the parts that they probably won’t tell anyone about when they get home because it’s just a tunnel between places. I watched a woman laden with bulging shopping bags deflate into a seat for several stops before she clambered off again, squeezing out between the backs of other passengers. I listened to a man talk to someone very loudly on a headset about his son. I eventually got my own seat, and then I watched the streets grind by, stop after stop, shop after shop, house after house, feeling that somehow centuries had passed, and simultaneously, no time at all. Many years ago, when I was a different version of myself, I did not take the bus alone. I had a very close friend with me, and we would make our way to the back where the seats are raised up a little and you can see the whole cabin. We would lean towards each other and laugh at the other passengers or about someone we knew, or listen to music, or draw on the same scrap of paper. It didn’t matter. It was ephemeral time-wasting while we sat in the tunnel between places. There was no meaning to the things that we said to each other or the jokes that we shared, but in the aggregate, they made up something that defined that time in my life more profoundly than the school I went to or the degree I was earning or books that I was reading.

Caroline was shorter and louder than me. She had much better taste in music, and she always had a terrible boyfriend. She had more friends too, but when we rode out to the pier together, just the two of us, it felt like we were the only two people on the planet. I could almost feel her in the seat next to me, like an old habit. The bus was coming to the end of the line, almost empty now, and I was a lone astronaut, wandering on abandoned terrain. The pier was not popular in autumn. The sky was a solid mass of grey and the water was angry and choppy. A solitary fisherman was casting hopefully into the black water as I crossed the boardwalk. The next bus would not come for at least forty-five minutes. A wave of hopelessness came upon me like a riptide. It had been a journey that I felt compelled to take, something my sleepless mind had convinced itself that I must do if I was ever to rest again but standing there with the chilly wind slicing at my face, I felt more frustrated and emptier than ever. From where I stood, I could see the little strip of beach where we had spent so many afternoons sunbathing. The tide was high now, playing violent peek-a-boo with the sand. Caroline and I used to pick up little bits of broken shell and sea glass, sparkling like treasure in the salty twilight. They never seemed to glisten the same way when we took a pocketful home, as if being separated from the sea stole some magic out of them. We would walk down to the end of the pier as we waited for the last bus and drop them off the side instead, back into the ocean so that maybe someday we could find them again. If I had been a better friend, I might have had some of Caroline’s ashes. I might have wished her a soulful goodbye and sprinkled her like treasure back into the waves. But I didn’t have anything like that. I didn’t know if she was ash or if she was preserved underground somewhere. I hadn’t even thought to bring anything with me. I wondered darkly for a moment if I should toss myself off the side of the pier and then swim to shore. That would at least give me something to do besides just standing there scowling at the ocean. I was halfway through deciding that the trip had been a colossal waste of resources, moments from calling a taxi to take me out of that place when a swish of movement and a squeal of brakes caught my attention. Another bus was pulling up at the stop. The wind picked up again and blew my hair across my face. I felt a few drops of rain come with it. I squinted at the bus, trying to make out its route and wondering if I should run for it before I got soaked, but it was already pulling away again, leaving a lone figure standing at the stop. I glanced away, pulling out my phone to call the taxi, but then I did a doubletake. There was something about the dark hair poking out from her hood, something about her stature, and the way that she leaned a little to one side that reminded me so vividly of Caroline that I took a few steps toward her. Like she was my reflection in a mirror, she stepped toward me as well. The wind was growing stronger and, while it was not raining in earnest, icy drops kept splattering against my cheeks and jacket. I gripped the wooden railing of the boardwalk, feeling certain I was mistaken but determined to see for sure, and the figure continued toward me, picking her way across the short stretch of parking lot and boardwalk, taking the same small steps that Caroline used to take. Her arms were wrapped around her body like her coat wasn’t warm enough and as she drew closer, I could see that her nails were caked with dark soil. A tendril of fear uncoiled itself right below my heart, but I was rooted to the spot. The girl with Caroline’s face stopped in front of me and said, with Caroline’s voice, “Holy shit.” She separated it out into three distinct syllables, just like how Caroline used to. Ho-ly shit. It was her. “What are you doing here?” I said stupidly. The roaring wind, the waves, the fledgling storm, they were all conspiring to confuse me. There was nothing but cold fog inside my brain. A small frown drew her eyebrows together. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You dropped off the face of the planet.” “I thought you were dead,” I said, again stupid. “Oh, yeah,” she said unconcernedly. “I’m buried not too far from here. Just a hop, skip, and a jump.” She took my arm and pulled me toward the ocean. I caught a whiff of chemicals and freshly turned soil. “Come on, let’s walk down to the end.” Have you ever walked through a house that you haven’t lived in for a very long time? You still know how many steps it takes to get to your bedroom, when to twist your hips to avoid the edge of the counter, which stair is going to groan under your weight. I still knew how to walk down the pier with Caroline. It should have been strange and surreal and scary to walk out over the open ocean with a girl who just climbed out of her grave, but it wasn’t. It was like riding a bicycle. “I’m glad I ran into you,” Caroline said cheerfully as we walked arm in arm. “But you picked a terrible day for it.” She squinted up at the squally sky, still spitting little bullets of rain in our faces. “I didn’t really plan it,” I mumbled. “I just tried to do what felt right.” She looked at me sideways. “Right. Same as how you ran away after college?”  “I didn’t run away,” I protested, flustered. “I got a job . ” Caroline shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. But I missed you, you know. I wish we had stayed friends.” Suddenly tears stung the corners of my eyes and something terrible was pushing at the inside of my mouth, trying to burst out through my lips, my nose, my tear ducts. I had missed her too, of course. Even before we stopped speaking altogether, I had missed her. Something changed, slowly, over many months. The trips to the pier had dried up in place of a dozen parties I wasn’t invited to. By graduation, our friendship was listing badly, and when I moved away it was as if it had never existed at all. Some friendships are like that, I had told myself. You set them down, but when you pick them back up again, there they are, no signs of decay. I turned toward her, not sure what to say, or even if I would be able to say it, but Caroline was smiling. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “It means a lot that you came.” “I’m sorry I was a bad friend,” I whispered, voice like shattered glass. “It’s okay ,” she said again, more insistently. “I’m just giving you a hard time.” We had reached the end of the pier and Caroline leaned out over the ocean; her arms splayed out on the wooden railing. I wanted to lean out over the edge with her and share in that feeling of wild freedom we used to revel in, but I had swathed myself in a cocoon of shame and trepidation and I hung back. She looked around at me and folded her arms. “So, what’s your plan?” I looked at her questioningly. “Well, you came all the way out here, I’m assuming because you felt bad, so what’s next? What now? What feels right ?” There was a hint of mockery in her voice. It was the same tone she used to use while telling me I was fucking up a relationship or overthinking a perceived slight. “I guess I wanted to say goodbye,” I said, lamely. “You’re not doing a very good job.” There was a little smirk at the corner of her mouth. “Come on, bare your soul a little.” I was starting to feel frustrated again. Frustrated, confused, and a little indignant that my private farewell party had been crashed by Caroline herself. But, I reflected, if not for Caroline, I might be in a taxi already. I would have given up and run away. “Okay,” I began, “Okay, I’m sorry I missed your funeral.” Caroline rolled her eyes. “Whatever, those are for the living anyway.” “I’m sorry I never reached out,” I said, a little angrily. “What are you apologizing for?” She scoffed, “I didn’t talk to you either after you left. That stuff doesn’t matter anymore.” I paused. She was right. That vast chasm of years I had been trying so hard to breach was undeniable. It existed. It had happened. It was there. I tried again. I took a deep breath, and then I told her about how her favorite band was still my favorite band, and about how I still drank vodka-crans to celebrate something good. I told her about how I still looked for seaglass and about how riding the bus still felt more like an adventure than a chore. I told her about how my life was infused with so many artifacts of her and of us when we had been the best of friends. I stopped knowing what I was saying and just said it, and it felt good. It felt like some poison was being extracted and my blood was finally clean. When I was done Caroline was smiling again. “Feels right,” she said, and I didn’t know if she was talking about herself or me. I nodded. The wind had dried the tears on my cheeks. They felt salty and raw. “Come up here,” she said, and she hauled herself up on the railing again, bringing her legs up so she was straddling the railing, one leg dangling over the ocean. In retrospect, I should have been nervous. I probably should have said no, but something inside me had cracked open, so I didn’t do any of those things. Instead, I clambered up on the railing too, straddling the salt-stained wooden beam next to Caroline. There was a moment of terrible vertigo as I made direct eye contact with the churning ocean, waiting to eat me alive. But as I found my balance, I started to laugh. It was like flying. I was riding the world. The wind surged and threatened to push us off, but we stayed up there, laughing like teenagers until the seat of my pants grew uncomfortably damp and I became aware that the light was fading fast. The moment waned like melting snow, and we returned to solid ground. Night was falling. The water was growing darker, and I could see the fisherman was packing up down at the bottom of the pier. I felt cold and windswept and raw in more ways than one, but the stone in my chest felt lighter like part of it had dropped away into the sea. We started back down the darkening pier. In my glossy memories, the boardwalk was lined with vendors, people on bicycles, and families chasing children. Today it was a ghost town, a desaturated photograph, no life at all. “I should come back in the summer,” I said, unsticking the backs of my jeans from my legs and shivering. “I’d like that,” Caroline said, and then she smirked. “Do you remember that time when we got stuck out here?” “That time those guys bought us margaritas?” “Yes! We missed the last bus!” She was laughing. “How did we get back? Didn’t one of those guys give us a ride?” “That was so sketchy! God, I never drank tequila again.” We were both laughing now, remembering the nervous glances we cast each other in the back seat of a stranger’s car. We had reached the end of the pier and our laughter faded and we were left looking at each other. I wished fervently that I could have more. More laughter, more memories, more to savor. Everything was fading. “I can’t go with you,” Caroline said, reaching out and squeezing my hand. “But when you come back, I’ll be here.” I squeezed back. Her flesh was cold, bones shifting beneath icy skin.  I felt the sting of tears again. “You’re everywhere.” I could see my bus down the street, lumbering along towards the very last stop. It was time to go. I jogged across the boardwalk and the small parking lot, thinking longingly of a change of clothes, my warm hotel room, even the stuffy interior of the bus. As the doors slid open with an inviting squeal, I turned and looked back over my shoulder toward the pier. I could still see Caroline standing there at the end, silhouetted against the fading light of the murky sky.


After a long week that was filled with meetings, conferences, kids’ homework, and staying alive while commuting to work with the fellow crazy American drivers, we are home. Not just home, but home for a weekend. The bra is in our purse since we quickly took it off on the way out of the building and getting into our car. Shoes next and after kicking them off they fly across the room, hitting the wall and landing amongst the tower of shoes in the corner of the living room. We open the fridge and see a bottle of white wine chilling and know that this could be the peak of our day. But before we get to pop that cork, we grab some oversized sweats and sweatshirt to put on and get out of these restrictive business clothes from our day. Why are these clothes so uncomfortable? We grab the wine from the fridge, grab the cork screw and then pop it and clug clug clug into a nice glass. This glass happens to be from our best friend inscribed 'I like to wrap both hands around and swallow'. Our favorite! How could it not be? These glasses offer humor and talking points during a party or gathering. Tonight, though, we are gathered alone, and the humor is just being able drink in silence. With the kids at grandma's house for the weekend, our plan for dinner is easy. Just throw some food in the oven and relax. Which frozen concoction shall be our dinner? How about a quick freezer pizza. Takes no time at all to cook and makes us feel like we are 16 again. Well, one glass of delicious wine turned into two and then three. Our face is starting to get flushed, our body temperature is increasing, and our head is a little fuzzy. The sweatshirt gets swapped for a tank top, a tighter one as we do not want the ladies to escape. We need to show off our very un-shaved legs and pull up our sweatpants, so they turn into a mix between shorts and capris. It has been a long winter and why do we need to shave when no one is seeing our bare legs anyways? As we relax even further, we start to doze off. The stress of the week falls from our shoulders as the quiet and the slightly drunkenness overcomes us. Feet propped up. Dozed turns to sleep. Deep sleep.

BEEP BEEP BEEP... Jolts you awake! BEEP BEEP BEEP! Repeats. The room is filled with smoke, and you begin coughing. How long were you asleep? Long enough for someone to break in and start a fire, that's how long! Who could do that? Why? As we stumble around the house, opening windows and doors, flashing the neighborhood our headlights since it is still February and the tank top is thin. We then remember that the yummy food choice we decided to put in the oven must be the culprit. Grabbing the oven door and whipping it open, you see the baking dish covered in blackness with what was  once edible food. Not anymore! It is the thought that counts, right? Perhaps bed should be next? Naw.. we have waited 5 days to relax, 50 hours working for a paycheck, 120 hours being a single mom, 10 hours cleaning a house that the kids ultimately destroy, and 8 hours stuck in traffic going to and from work. We have earned this relaxation and must enjoy to the fullest! POP! Another bottle gets opened. Why cut us short? After we rummage through the pantry, we find some girl scout cookies which would go great with this wine and provide the subsistence to our body, so we don’t wake up hungover. There is so much sugar in wine, which makes it taste so good, there is always a hangover. Something about the sweetness and alcohol that just causes this dreaded consequence to brighten our Saturday morning. Cookies while drinking are free calories, or they should be. We would have to remember how many we ate but if we completely devour the box and then put it in the trash, were they consumed without evidence? Lounging on the couch, we are still smelling the burnt food in the air, the windows are still open, but will that smell ever leave? It’s like the decomposing corpse smell that we’ve only heard about it in our favorite crime shows. It just lingers. Since we have started thinking about our odd obsession with death and crime shows, we turn on the TV and put on the latest scary movie. Not just any scary movie though. We need to choose one that is gory, suspenseful, thrilling but not jumping out at us scary. We don’t need to spill our wine now do we. We decide on an older suspenseful movie, Bone Collector, which is quite the classic. Even though we know every part of the movie and who the killer is, we still enjoy the deep plot and amazing detective work by none other than Angelina and Denzel. Years before they were established as the actors they are today, we can reminisce.

The wine starts to work its magic again, but the burned food smell is still in our nose. Will it ever go away? Do we just need to burn down the house and start new tomorrow? No, that is not a great decision. Let us just put our movie on and drink our wine and enjoy the predictable thriller. Maybe we can watch Saw next? That movie always made us squirm. Goodness that’s an oldie but it’s a good one. Why else would there be like 6 sequels? No, the Fast and Furious franchise does not count! We can only watch people drive fast cars so many times before it gets annoying, to say the least. Saturday we will wake up with a pep in our step and a loud bang in our head but we’ll get things done. We need to be productive on the mom-less day. Or not? Is it even necessary? Who would ever know if we weren’t?  Perhaps we will take all the expectations and must-dos off the table and let the day take control. Pamela Fitch