Even a Blind Man Could See It A Short Story by Mackenzie Littledale 05/20/2021 “So what did the doctor say, Mom?” I asked over the phone and plunked my purse down on the sofa. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“You were? I was home. Must not have heard the phone.” Her nonchalance didn’t sit well with me. “What were the heart monitor’s results?” “I don’t need the pacemaker after all,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice. It reminded me of a kid with a kazoo. Not that her voice was twangy, but sheer childlike happiness came through. “That’s great,” I said, but something was off. Her heart rate had been slow and somewhat irregular, so her cardiologist had her wear a monitor for two weeks. Everything about a pacemaker made perfect sense, so this verdict from the doctor left questions hanging. “Then what’s causing your slow heartbeat?” “I don’t need the pacemaker,” she repeated in a firmer tone of voice. I sighed and rolled my eyes. Subject closed. My knuckles ached and I realized I was gripping the cell phone way tighter than necessary. “Very well, Mom. What are you going to do next?” I eyed my red apple and strained to reach it. I could just about taste its sweetness and feel the crunch in my mouth. “You know I’ve always wanted a sporty Mazda.” I dropped the apple. “Oh God, Mom, what did you do?” “I had the money and I’ve been trying to think of one good reason why I’ve been waiting so long to get what I want.” I gestured with my hand the way a logic professor might. “You’re eighty years old. You’ll be too old to drive it before you even pay off the loan. You’ve never handled a sports car. Your eyesight isn’t great. You can barely hear the other cars honking.”

“So says you, smarty pants. Well, I can’t think of any reason. I had the money,” she said. I got up to pace. Any one of the reasons I just rattled off was reason enough, but she hadn’t considered any of them for even a second. Not that elders can’t drive whatever car they want, but Mom was anything but world-wise, attentive, observant, or quick on her feet. A sports car with her behind the wheel would be a disaster. “Are you saying you bought the car?” I held the microphone away from my mouth and took a vicious bite of the apple, perhaps like Eve in the Garden of Eden with a misguided belief that

knowledge would magically sprout to life in my head. What good is knowledge without the wisdom to know what to do with it? “You’re going to take me to the eye doctor. I’m having surgery next week.” “Wait, what?” Where did she come up with these bombshells? “Since when did the ophthalmologist say you needed surgery? Surgery to correct what and what are the chances of success?” “This surgery is to correct the glaucoma in my right eye. I failed the vision test for my driver’s license renewal and now I can’t even drive my new car. You have off work on Thursdays, so you can take me, right?” It wasn’t so much a question as a done deal. “Of course, sure,” I said, and left my mouth hanging open for a few seconds too long. I rubbed my forehead and resigned myself to add the details to my calendar. “I’ll see you Thursday morning, bright and early,” Mom said. “I love you.” “I love—” but she’d already hung up before I finished. “You, too.” I bit down hard on my apple and chewed furiously as my mind raced in overdrive for questions to ask the doctors about this surgery. Throughout the week, I went to work as planned but with my mother on my mind. Worries about an eighty-year-old woman behind the wheel of a Mazda faded to the background. Eye surgery seemed so dreadful. Thinking about a literal needle through the eye made me shudder. On Thursday morning, I drove the eight miles to my mother’s place. She walked out of her door, steadying herself with her three-pronged cane. Even though she didn’t have arthritis, aches, or pains, sometimes she had dizzy spells. Her attire didn’t betray the occasion. A navy suit jacket with gaudy baubles and simple makeup. If she didn’t want anyone to know she was on her way to eye surgery, mission accomplished. I helped her get in my car and got back in the driver’s seat, donning dark sunglasses to block the glare of the harsh summer sun. “Do you have questions for the doctor?” “Like what kind of questions?” she said. “Mom, didn’t you discuss the pros and cons of this surgery with the surgical team?” I glanced at her over the rim of my sunglasses. “How many of these procedures do they do each year, what’s the success rate, what determines success, do patients have recurrence of glaucoma, can patients drive again, will you need more of the same surgery down the line? Those sorts of questions.” “You worry too much, Amina. Just drive.” She looked out the side window. “The landscapers do such a nice job maintaining the property. The plumeria are going to bloom soon.” “Yes, Mom.” I pressed the gas and took the wheel with both hands. She provided directions to the outpatient surgical center and twenty-five minutes later, I pulled up to the entrance. Their pineapple logo made me think we’d gone to the wrong business. Pineapples are a symbol of hospitality, as in hotels and inns, not hospitals, but we were at the right place. Inside smelled vaguely antiseptic, not like a full on hospital. Hints of pine, bleach, and lemon breezed by in bursts every time someone opened a door behind reception. Mom and I took seats in the waiting area. Overhead windows ringed the walls holding up vaulted ceilings. Tons of natural light shone on the elm fixtures and furnishings. Mom turned in her forms and we waited some more as patients and their companions came and went. I never liked the sight of bandages, especially over people’s eyes, but several patients left with dark plastic glasses as if the most invasive procedure was dilating pupils in the back room. I crossed my fingers and slipped a prayer skyward for everything to be easy. I didn’t want Mom’s procedure to turn into a case study on outlier events. A plump woman with frameless eyeglasses opened the door behind reception and called out. “Leticia Lawrence?” I tapped Mom’s forearm. “That’s you.” I waved at the woman while Mom gathered herself and her cane. We followed the woman to an examination room. After we answered a series of perfunctory questions, the lady asked me to return to the waiting area so my mom could change into the gown. An hour later when I could rejoin my mother, I found her in a surgical bay hooked up to various machines. She looked like an old-fashioned doll in a bed much too big for her.

The air was impenetrable with medical knowledge, an invisible barrier to everyday people. Beeping machines, flashing lights, salves, balms, and latex gloves. Everything in the space had some purpose toward healing and none of it made a lick of sense to me. I looked at the nurses as they flipped through charts and notes. The beeping machines and flashing lights didn’t alarm them. They knew something I didn’t – when to and when not to panic. All of it unnerved me so I directed my faith in them for reassurance and calm. All the while, my mother lay in the gigantic bed between the steel rails with a placid smile on her face as she periodically nodded off. How could she think of sleeping now? Now? They’re going to stick a needle in her eye! One of the machines let out an uninterrupted beep and I turned my attention to it. I had no clue what it was for. “Excuse me,” I said to a nurse standing behind my mother’s bed. “Why is that machine making that noise?” The nurse looked from her handheld notes to the black machine. “Your mother’s heart rate is slowing down to less than forty-five beats per minute.” “That sounds too slow,” I said, raising my eyebrows as my own heartbeat sped up. “You can discuss it with the anesthesiologist,” the nurse said and returned her attention to her notes. “Okay,” I said, swallowing down panic since she seemed so cool, calm, and collected about it. “When is the anesthesiologist coming out?” “He’ll come out soon with the whole surgical team.” My mother continued dozing until I caught her open one eye briefly and grin. The situation unfolding around her must have amused her. Great. The steady beep gave way to intermittent beeps again and my breathing slowed back down. My stomach had knotted up, but I only just then became aware of it and relaxed. As Mom’s eyes opened, I took her hand. “Are you comfortable?” “Oh yeah,” she said, smiling. Four doctors with clipboards came from nowhere and approached my mom’s bed in the cold surgical bay. They dressed just like doctors on TV in light blue scrubs. “Hello, Mrs. Lawrence,” each one said as they introduced themselves. “Which one of you is the anesthesiologist?” I asked, eyeing each one. The tallest waved. “I’m Dr. Jenkins, the anesthesiologist. Who are you?” “I’m Amina, her daughter. That machine,” I said, pointing an accusing finger at the black contraption, “was beeping, but then it made a steady beep. Why is her heart rate falling and is the procedure safe?” Dr. Jenkins flipped through a one-inch-thick file that he held under his clipboard. “Hmm, Mrs. Lawrence, you’ve been to a cardiologist.” “Yes,” Mom affirmed. “What’s the problem?” “Your heart rate may be slowing down too much,” said Dr. Jenkins. “Tell me about the pacemaker.” My mom waved that away with a smile as sweet as apple pie. “Oh, the cardiologist said I didn’t need it.” I looked at her suspiciously. Something wasn’t adding up.

Dr. Jenkins shook his head. “That’s not what the doctor’s note says. It says you declined the pacemaker.” My jaw dropped open and my shoulders slumped. “What? Mom, what did the heart doctor actually tell you?” “He said I don’t need a pacemaker.” I flattened my lips into a straight line and frowned. I turned to Dr. Jenkins. “What does that note say?” A shorter doctor with hazel hair in a style like Joey from F-R-I-E-N-D-S stepped forward. “This is a concern because during the procedure, we’ll push a needle through Mrs. Lawrence’s eye and it’ll tap the vagus nerve, which may slow her heart rate down. The anesthesia will also slow her heart. If, however, it slows too much, we’re not equipped for emergency service. We’ll have to call nine-one-one and wait for an ambulance to take her to the nearest ER.” My stomach sent a warning salvo that if my mother didn’t give the right responses, my morning’s breakfast would be returned as projectile vomit all over my white blouse. All my muscles tightened. “Mom, do you understand what might happen? You have a lazy heart and a pacemaker will force it to beat every second like a drill sergeant. Everything could go wrong. You could freaking die . There’s nothing they can do here and if we need an ambulance, we start running out of time.” The doctors and nurses nodded, urgency written large across their faces.

Dr. Jenkins held the file up. “Mrs. Lawrence, the cardiologist’s note is clear that you need a pacemaker. When you had the monitoring device, the decision could be delayed, but not declined. After this conversation, I’m not fully confident in going forward with your procedure.” “But I need to see to drive,” Mom said. Then almost inaudibly, “My Mazda.”

Of course, I heard the longing in her voice like a violin. I hung my head and rolled it side to side to stretch, to buy time, to hope the doctors would send us home. “Mom. Listen, please? You’re not having the eye surgery today. I’m taking you home and we’re calling the cardiologist to make an appointment about a pacemaker. Once you’re cleared by that doctor, you can get the eye surgery. Got it?” She screwed her face like a petulant child. “I don’t want a pacemaker.” The lead surgeon stepped forward. “You can’t force us to perform a procedure if we’re not one-hundred percent comfortable.” I turned to the team of doctors. “Thank you. We’ll be in touch soon.” The team stood straight and tall while the nurse wheeled Mom back to the room where she could get dressed. I waited in the sunlit reception area, my nerves shot to hell. I glanced at my reflection in a compact mirror. My makeup hadn’t held up well against beads of sweat even though the outpatient center couldn’t have been more than seventy degrees.

Leaving the bleach smell didn’t bother me one bit. They could try to smother it with lemon and pine all day, but it clung to my clothes and nose hairs. On the way to Mom’s place I asked, “What is it about a pacemaker don’t you like? You’re reluctant for some reason. Talk to me.” “I’m not afraid,” she said in a voice that no one could possibly count on. “Tell me,” I said. “We’ll write down all your questions and grill the doctor until you’re satisfied that it’s safe.” Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “I want to know if I can shower with it. Will I have to sleep in a certain position with it?” “Good, we’ll write it all down.” I hoped we’d find some answers online rather than wait to ask the cardiologist. We were only twenty minutes from her apartment, but worry and anxiety made the drive drag on as if the asphalt was taffy. I couldn’t show any negative emotion for fear my mom would catch my fears. She stayed quiet, but the worry wrinkles deepened across her forehead. My job had to be the picture of calm. “Knowledge is power. We’ll look up some answers on the internet, too.” “I can’t even drive my car without the eye surgery.” “That’s true, but you can’t get the eye surgery without the pacemaker. Everything is going to happen in the right sequence, okay?” I patted her arm and she smiled a thin, weak smile. The following week when I was off work again, I drove Mom to Dr. Santini’s office. While we waited, we looked up FAQ about pacemakers online from my phone. As she scrolled through the questions and answers, she had her own list of questions folded in her palm. The cardiologist came into the examination room. “Hello, Mrs. Lawrence. Amina, I haven’t seen you in a long time.” “Hi Doc.” I’d remembered him taller, but Dr. Santini couldn’t have been more than five-foot-five in platform wedges. He brushed his dark hair back, though not a strand was out of place. “What brings you in?” he asked, pulling out a rolling stool and sitting down. I sat with Mom on the exam table and opened my mouth, but she spoke up. “The reason I’m here is I was scheduled to have surgery for glaucoma, but my heart rate slowed down too much, so I’m here to find out more information about pacemakers.” “I see,” Dr. Santini said, leaning forward on his elbows. “You declined that even though I advocated for it. It’s obvious you need it.” “I’d like the monitor again to see how my heart is doing.” “That won’t be necessary,” he said, leaning back. “Your heart hasn’t suddenly started beating properly.” “If the pacemaker stops working, how would my mom know?” Mom’s eyes widened as if she were struck by lightning. “That’s a good question.” She turned her gaze to Dr. Santini and folded her arms. I knew it was a good question. It had been burning a trail in my mind for days.

The cardiologist chuckled. “Every three months, your mom will come in and we’ll ‘interrogate’ the pacemaker to make sure it’s still performing.” He continued on to answer all her questions. She could bathe and shower as normal. She could sleep on her stomach and toss and turn all night if she had to. The device would force her heart to pound out sixty beats per minute. Twenty minutes later, we were walking back to my car.“How do you feel about the process now, Mom?” The plumeria ringing the doctor’s parking lot was in full bloom. I paused to admire it. “Much better. I’m going to do it.” She got in the passenger seat. “You know what though?” Oh Lord. I took in a deep breath, bracing myself. “What?” “I got to drive my car a couple times already.” I side-eyed her as I clicked my seatbelt. “And?” “It gave me quite a thrill. I hit the gas a teensy-weensy bit and it took off like a racehorse.” She faced me, laughing with a schoolgirl blush. “It made me feel young again.” My heart bottomed out and floated at the same time. She felt young. I couldn’t take that away from her, but she was a danger behind that car’s wheel. “Mom, are you keeping the car?” “Of course I am.”


'Due to unfortunate circumstances, a temporary leave of absence is requested so that she can rehabilitate herself.' Well, professionally speaking yeah. But in actuality, I yelled at my team members and threatened to manically laugh while I burn their instruments to ash. It's been about a 2 months leave and I couldn't be sadder to know that my free time was coming to an end once more. But, Let me start from the beginning. I'm a musician for a Food and Entertainment place. You know the kind. Where it's like a concert with different acts, but you get to sit down and admission is free. You see, for years, FOR YEARS, these people, my co-workers, have been pissing me off. I stood and I took it, all of their comments and 'constructive' criticism with a smile on my face. It was about time I'd crack. 'Why didn't I leave?' I hear you asking. It's a family restaurant. Enough said. Family and Business. WOrst COMBINATION EVER. It's like this, my dad is the manager, my mom is head chef and my brother handles the concert stuff.  I just fall in with my dad's friends who are musicians also. There's two singers who constantly try to take the spotlight away from eachother, lead guitarist, bass guitarist, and drummer. That's all you need in a band. I'm just here. A pianist. Who doesn't even want to play piano in the first place, but whatever. Here's where things started getting bad. I had just gotten into yet another music school. (I'm was 14 or so by the way, so I can't really oppose to any of this.) And in this Music school, I got bullied. Or did I? I never thought of it as bullying because the person never physically harmed me. By the way, the bully was the teacher himself. He would say things like 'You're wasting your parent's money' and 'It's not that hard just use your brain.' Demeaning but not bad enough to run to mommy and daddy saying 'The teacher was mean to me.' Not like they'd do anything about it, cause I stayed there for a few years, secretly beginning to really despise my life. Ok it wasn't a secret. I'd told them multiple times about that man and they did not hear me. I'm sure they didn't miss the crying session I had in the car everyday after classes too. Background Explained. Now to the part where I lose my marbles, my 'job' and my freedom. No Regrets though. I had just finished a horrible (as usual) class. In order to get to my room, I have to walk through the business area of the house to get to the upstairs. So I was walking through the cafe, and there my group was practicing on stage. Usually we don't have a practice session at this time, I get about a 3 or 4 hours to cool out. One of the singers saw me, and decided to get my attention by calling my name on the microphone. "What?" I respond. "You're supposed to be here. Now? What are you doing?" She continues with her irritating voice. Inhaling a breath of air, I look at her, "I just had a class." "Well hurry up and change, we need you on stage." "Why didn't you tell me? We don't have practice 5:00pm on a Wednesday." "We talked to your dad." Ah. There it is. I was volunteered yet again. "You have my number. I'm the only person in this house that actually answers their phone anyway." "Look- We don't have time for this" The bass player cuts in. "And you think I Have time?." "What do you do all day? I didn't know you had a job." "Yeash cause going to school for 8 hours, then lessons right after for 2 hours, not to mention not getting paid is so fun," I retort. "Get up here or I'm going to tell your father," the lead starts. "Okay then." I begin to walk away when I overhear something on the microphone which makes me stop in my tracks. "Hold up. What did you say lady?" With a clearer voice, the other singer says, "You're very rude for a young little girl." "You better take that back before I make you swallow that microphone." I point at her. "Just, go Cool off and come back when you have a better attitude." I look around the room, it's empty. So it she must be talking like that to me. I put my hand on my chest in the most dramatic fashion, "You're telling me about mY attitude when your husband can't stop complaining about yours?" "Little girl." the drummer pitches in  (I don't know who invited him into this conversation but there he is.), "You have to watch your mouth." Burning with anger, I storm up to the stage because what I'm about to say I need them to hear clearly, "Guess what. Since my dad owns this club, You're all FIRED." The lead steps in with, "You can't do that." "Don't tell me what I can and can't do." I see the microphone, half about to cry I continue, "YOU GUYS HAVE NO IDEA WHat's Happening in my life. So GO ahead and laugh at my pain. My family bought all this gear for you. I'm just about burn down this whole place. TRy ME." "Maybe you should calm down." The bass player states. "Can you... Not be stupid for once in your life? It'll be much appreciated." I push the microphone stand off the stage, causing feedback to ring through the monitors giving off a slight screeching noise. Then someone said something that I can't quite remember cause I blacked out in rage and tried to strangle him/her. Then I woke up in my room, and things were different. My family was scared of me, for some reason. I can't imagine what. And that's how they introduced me to my new therapist instead of music classes. Which was great. Now I'm easing back into my old life again. Since my two months were over, the band decided to hold a practice session that I wasn't banned to attend. They were scared of me as well. Which was great... for a while until they started to revert to old habits in a few weeks time. "I can't hear you," one of the singers stops the entire song to address me. "Yeah, I can't play too loud right now. It's hurting my ear-" I was about to tell her I had a pimple in my ear when they started. "What's wrong with her?" the bass player asks. "She's afraid that the keyboard is gonna hurt her." She replies. Here we go again.


“Do I have to do it?” Myles asks his father as they walk towards the arena, their spurs clink on the hard caliche leaving little clouds of dust in their wake. “You ain’t got to do anything,” his father says. “Walk away now if you want. But there may come a day you’ll wonder ‘what if’.” The west Texas sun begins to set and bloodred clouds reef out into the western horizon. An owl screeches from a nearby oak and it flies into the air with great wings silhouetted against the reddening sky and lightning flashes from distant black storm clouds set against the crimsoned sun like a scene from the apocalypse.  As they walk, Myles watches the sky slowly transform into a darkening violet that spreads like a bruise and he begins to mouth the lord’s prayer. They come to a small paddock where a dozen horses mill about. A young vaquero is cleaning stalls and he sees Myles and his father and he nods. “You remember your first time?” Myles asks. “I do,” his father says. “I was probably more scared than you are. I was sixteen years old, just like you.” “Did you make it eight?” “No,” his father says. “I don’t think my father or even his father before him ever made it eight on their first ride.” They turn near the stables and walk down a short path lined with dozens of round bails of hay and the smell is sweet and earthy.  A large, gray barn cat lies in the path licking his paws. Myles’ father stops and nudges the cat with his boot and when he does his right knee buckles and the man collapses to the ground, breaking his fall with his right arm. “Goddammed leg,” he says. “I hate this thing.” Myles kneels beside him, and he can see his father’s prosthetic leg is twisted at an odd angle, its straps had worked loose. He helps his father roll up his pant leg and reattach the straps that straighten the leg out. Then he helps him back to his feet. “You ok?” Myles asks. “Yeah,” his father says. “I’ll be even better after watching you ride.” “You really want me to do this?” “You were born for this,” his father says. “You’ll see.” Myles nods and looks down at his boots. His father brushes the dirt and dust from his jeans and they continue to walk down the path that leads to the arena. They come upon an old, abandoned barn made of cedar that has weathered into a sooty gray color, the gables are caved in places and the roof is threatening to fall at any moment. “That’s where we kept the bulls when I was your age,” his dad says. “My first one was named Rancid. He was about the biggest Plummer you ever saw. Seventeen hundred pounds of the rankest beast God ever created.” They turn left by the barn and come to the arena that’s about a quarter the size of a football field. Half a dozen ranch hands sit atop a wood fence, with their hats low on their brows. Five of them are young men, lean and fit with hands as tough and weathered as rawhide.  One of them is older, about sixty with thick mustaches but as fit looking as the young bucks.  The lights are already on, lighting the dirt field arena so that it’s as bright as day. The hands jump off the fence when they see Myles and his father walking up. The older man’s name is Mitch. He is tall and bow legged and he walks towards them. He wears leather chaps over his jeans and his stride is like that of a warrior with his shoulders back and upright as if ready to go into battle. He wears a black hat that is stained with the toils of his work and he smiles as he reaches them. He extends his hand to shake with Myles Father. “Good to see ya Hank,” Mitch says. He then turns to Myles. “You ready for this?” He says to the boy. The boy nods nervously. Mitch looks at the boy’s father, eyebrow raised. “He’s ready,” his father says. “You’ve seen how he handles those broncs. He’s ready to go.” Myles eyes say something different. They walk over to the gate leading to the chute where the bull will be let in from the pen. Two of the hands head over the pen where the bull is waiting. It’s a giant Charbray, his coat is a malicious combination of gray and black and he looks like he could be a guardian of hell itself. The bull stares at the boy, his eyes as black as coal. He lowers his head and charges the gate, ramming his head into the metal. Myles jumps back. “Is that the bull I’m riding?” “It is,” Mitch says. “His name is Revelation.” “Like the bible?” “The one and the same,” Mitch says. “I guess you can figure why he’s got that name.” Myles eyes widen and his mouth falls open and again Mitch looks towards the boy’s father with an eyebrow raised. Hank ignores him. Mitch looks at the boy.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Mitch asks. “This ain’t no bronc.” “I told ya he’s ready,” Hank says. “I’m willing to bet he’ll make it eight too.  He’s got way more talent than I ever had.” One of the ranch hands rolls a barrel into the arena while two others open a series of chutes to guide the bull into the main chute and gate where Myles will get onto the bull.  The Chute is barely big enough to contain the bull which limits the range of his bucking and thrashing in the confined space. Three hands work on attaching the bull rope and another attaches the flank strap. Revelation starts raising hell when the strap is attached and he’s banging the sides of the chute trying to squeeze his way out. “You got this,” Hank says to Myles. “You got more talent than your Granddad or I ever had. Use your legs like I showed ya and you’ll be fine.” Myles nods and gulps and Mitch calls him over to the main chute. “You sure about this?” Mitch asks in a whisper. “I’ll back your old man off if you want.” “He’d fire you,” Myles says. “I think he’d disown me if I back out.” One of the other ranch hands brings over a pair of chaps and helps Myles tie the straps and Myles climbs up the fence. Hank hands him a riding glove and Myles puts in on his left hand and he tries to slow his breath down. He can smell Revelation, a combination of musky sweat and heat mixed with the manure smell of the arena. He throws his right leg over the bull’s back and settles into the middle of the giant beast and he can feel his immense strength as Revelation’s muscles contort as he tries to buck and in the confines of the chute. He puts his gloved hand under the bull rope and the ranch hands wrap it tight and Revelation bucks again, slamming against the side of the chute. Mitch slaps the bull on the ass to move him off the side of the gate. “I need you to nod your head when you’re ready,” Mitch says. “When you do that, we’ll open the gate.” Two other cowboys have come into the arena on horseback. They’ll help Myles when he comes off and also help distract the bull and round him up when the ride is finished. Myles shifts from his perch on the bull and he presses his knees hard into the bull’s back. He closes his eyes, and he prays. Mitch is beginning to think the boy is going to back out when he finally nods. One of the ranch hands holds a rope and he pulls the gate open and Revelation flies like a shot out of the gate and Myles is immediately thrown back from the acceleration and he would have fallen within the first second had his knees not had a vice like grip on the beasts back. But as quickly as Revelation flew out the gate he stops and dips his massive head and Myles feels his body shifting forward and now he uses his hips and throws his shoulders back to maintain his center of gravity behind the bull’s shoulders and then Revelation  thrusts up with such power that the bull launches like a rocket into the air and Myle’s face nearly smashes the center of the bulls head but he manages to stay on. When the bull came back down, he starts to spin to the right while bucking and Myles anticipates the move and the centrifugal force is trying to push him to the left and he adjusts and then Revelation drops his head again and kicks out his rear legs and Myles can feel himself getting ready to fly up over the bulls head but again he manages to lean back just enough to counteract the forces while maintaining his perch on the center of the bull. Revelation is angry and his bucking intensifies and now he spins to the left and Myles uses his free hand to balance himself but he’s in a rhythm now and to the amazement of the cowboys watching Myles looks like he’s in complete control.  But Revelation has one final trick. In the midst of a spin to the right the bull rears back on his hind legs then drops his head nearly to the ground while kicking straight up into the air and Myles butt actually comes up several inches from the bulls back and Myles is staring down at the ground and the only thing keeping his on is the grip from his knees but he holds on for dear life as the bull comes back down and somewhere in the back ground he hears a commotion from the cowboys watching and they’re clapping and the horsemen come to help him off the bull. He’s made it eight seconds. He dismounts with no problem and one of the riders is able to untie the flank strap and the bull immediately calms down and the riders guide him out of the arena. Hank comes into the arena and he’s smiling and laughing and he grabs his son and embraces him in a huge hug. “I knew you could do it,” Hank says. “I’m so proud of you. That was amazing.” Myles says nothing.  He dusts himself off. All the other cowboys come into the arena and they’re high fiving each other and shaking Myles hand. Mitch approaches Hank while Myles is being congratulated. “That was some kind of ride,” Mitch says. “But he don’t look too happy about it.” Myles is silent while the other cowboys pat him on the back and his face is a blank. “He’s just in shock he stayed on,” Hank says. “You sure he was mentally ready for all that?” Mitch asked. Hank grimaces. “You should mind your own business,” Hank says, turning away from Mitch and walking towards Myles. The cowboys meander their way out of the arena leaving Hank and Myles alone. “What’s the matter?” his father asks. “That ride would have won the national PBR last year.” Myle’s just stares at his father and he has a little tear in the corner of his eye. Without saying a word, he turns and walks out of the arena.


        The Moon Program

In July 1969, when man first landed on the moon there was talk of colonizing it immediately. The earth was becoming very overcrowded and the Authorities were looking for different places to stash warm bodies.

Years later, the Mars idea surfaced and some people actually signed up to become pioneers or settlers on the Red Planet. Well, that idea fell through and it was back to the original plan to populate the moon. Fifty-one years later from that initial moon landing there was a nasty virus outbreak and a section of the world’s population was decimated. There were still too many people on the planet, but it would take some time to sort things out. A vaccine appeared and it proved to be very, very dangerous. For some reason, the vaccine urged people to commit crimes at a higher than normal rate. Suddenly, the world didn’t have to deal with sickness any more but violent outbursts that brought on a very high rise in homicides. It was impossible to control the chaos and the madness. The craziness that had erupted when the virus first broke out exposed the underlying mental illness that was prevalent in every society in every country across the globe. Then there was another breakthrough. But, it wasn’t some new vaccine; it was the ability to make life sustainable on the moon. The light bulb was turned on so brightly that it nearly burnt out in the Authorities heads. In the beginning, only one person was taken to the moon. The Authorities didn’t want to admit it, but life on the moon wasn’t perfected. There was still some chinks in the hardware that had to be worked out. The one person a year program turned out to be more like a thousand people a day. They simply lied to us and professed that everyone that was picked up were kept in a holding tank. Nobody was allowed to visit their loved ones in this secluded place. Of course, no one believed them. The deception went even farther. The Authorities claimed that there was no jail on the moon but instead a real paradise and one lucky person every year was allowed to stay there. They claimed it was like winning the largest and most prestigious power ball lottery. The violent offenders were taken to the moon on a one way ticket where a vast system of prisons were stationed. It was the perfect solution to the crime problem because escaping was impossible. The space bus brought all the prisoners to the moon, they were jettisoned through a tube into the prison and the vehicle left. If anyone tried to escape since there was no gravity on the moon, they would float out in outer space until they died. How did the prisons not float away? A buoyancy system had been developed and the jails were like floating buildings that would never drift off into the universe.

Of course, as it always happens with human nature the rumours of how horrible life on the moon began to circulate. There were tales of cruelty and beatings and horrible conditions that were inhumane. In six months, fourteen million people were shipped out to the moon. Life on earth had begun to settle down and all of the people that had received the vaccine were now mostly extracted.

Well, almost all of them. There were a few left the estimates ranged from less than a thousand to maybe five thousand.

The vaccine that had appeared was only destined for the worst cases of the virus. Some of the front line health workers received it. As usual, there was some mystery and lies as to whom exactly got the shot.  Unfortunately, there was no list made so the Authorities couldn’t know who had been injected. For those that had escaped the brutal non-return ticket to the moon, they walked among the ‘healthy’ citizens.

There had been a flood of theories as to what had caused people to grab a hammer and kill their spouses or children or co-workers or neighbours. Like every other similar situation no one could agree on one single factor. The real reason why half the world had gone stark raving mad was still clouded. So far, I had eluded the Authorities. Now, when I mention the Authorities what I am really talking about where the men in the red and white health suits driving around in what was called the ‘Test Mobiles.’

You see, the governments had carte blanche when it came to random testing. Under the law, they had the right — or their goon squads had the right — to pick anyone right off of the street if they exhibited any of the signs.

So if you were allergic to dust or something else and sneezed or dared to cough when your throat was dry, there was an alert that went off. On a daily basis, people were yanked off the streets and taken to the testing facilities. Only a few were returned and they were so brainwashed that they could not explain what was really going on in the ‘testing facilities.' Like the moon jail, there were also rampant nasty rumours about what exactly happened in those facilities. The thing is when the sickness hit a lot of people lost their jobs. Many of the industries never truly rebounded and a lot of small shop owners went down fighting. There were millions of people unemployed that needed a job. So the government simply hired anyone and everyone to be part of the goon squad. This is why there was a unit at every street corner in every city. It also explains why there were thousands of people picked up on a daily basis to be tested. The numbers were fudged and nobody really knew how many good citizens were complying to do their part to wipe out the virus once and for all. The goon squad moved about in pairs and in nondescript vehicles. There had been news reports about people trying to intervene when someone was innocently swept off the street, but for their efforts the heroes were quickly subdued. The goon squad were armed with highly sensitive tasers. One rumour claimed that they carried disease sticks and if you were hit with that then a person instantly became virus sick. Of course, that only got them a one-way ticket to the moon. The news reports were filled every day of how someone’s spouse or parent or child has been taken away without any explanation. Accusations of racial profiling and vindictive choices spread like wildfire. But, nobody really knew truth from fiction. I didn’t have the virus thanks to the vaccine. I mean it did work but there were some very nasty side affects. There was such a rush to find a cure that researchers in the labs didn’t and couldn’t take their time to do it right.

Plus there was real anticipation like the space race during the old days of the cold war for one country to be the first to discover the vaccine. It was like the debate who was going to be the first human to step on the moon back in those heady, hippie days of the late 1960s. There were more than just bragging rights attached to being the first to devise a vaccine that worked. The country that managed to do so had their entire debt and deficit wiped out. Plus, they had exclusive rights and were the only nation on the planet to be able to administer the vaccine. Nobody else held the rights and had the ability to do so. So, whatever country was the first then they had a tremendous amount of power and the chance to make an enormous pile of money. The vaccine was expensive. Nobody was going to take advantage of the rest of the world, but only a fool would give it away. I walked back and forth to work quietly with my mask and gloves on. I was just another lost and lonely soul trying to keep it all together. A couple of times, one of the vehicles had followed me down the street. But, I didn’t flinch and just kept walking pretending that I didn’t know they were watching me. Big Brother was no longer watching; Big Brother was stalking like some midnight rambler striking fear in the hearts of good and honest citizens. Did they have me on the list?  There was great debate as to whether there was a list at all.

I must confess that when all of this abduction of people to be taken to the moon jail started, I had gone back to the clinic where I was given the vaccine and broken into the lab in the wee hours of the night. As a trained computer programmer, I had no problem breaking into the system and wiping any potential lists that had my name on it. I was pretty sure that the work was done without any one noticing. I was careful to wipe down all prints that could have been left. The camera system had been de-activated upon entering the place. Besides, I wore a bank robber’s mask, not the medically issued ones that were worn on a daily basis. I thought I was safe. But, the paranoia was slowly creeping in.

I lived alone. My wife had died of the virus and we didn’t have any children. My sister-in-law attempted to have us move in together, but I never could stand her. She was just looking for someone to take care of things. The sad part was that if she had moved in with me and I had murdered the conniving, annoying bitch, it would have been for insanity reasons like her driving me insane and not because the vaccine had turned me into a homicidal maniac. My work office was sparse and it was a good thing in many ways. There was more room in the fridge. Before, with a full staff, it was nearly impossible to find a spot for your food and if you did some cretin like Fletcher would just steal it. The goon squad had picked him up and taken the fool away. I applauded their move. It was Friday and around lunch time, the Authorities announced the lucky ‘winner’ of the one way ticket to the moon jail, er I mean paradise. It was broadcasted around the world to much pomp and circumstance. I was numb when they announced my name. Everyone in the office applauded sarcastically. The cold-hearted bastards. I was out of there in a flash. Some rat had alerted the Authorities. The vehicle approached me, but I had been planning this for a very long time. My next door neighbour was a kind old man and he had died about two weeks before my wife. I always thought that Mr. Hendricks had given it to her as she tended to him. There was no way of telling. He was a kind, law-abiding citizen and a collector of all types of stuff. I had the pleasure of cleaning out his spacious house when they had shut down the office for a few weeks while the place was being sanitized. The biggest collection that Mr. Hendricks boasted was guns. He loved them and took very good care of each and every weapon owned.

So, I was well armed just in case some homicidal maniac came at me. We had been encouraged to be armed, which I thought was strange. When the craziness had broken out and so many went on a murder spree, the Authorities thought it was a good idea to carry a gun. The vehicle stopped and they landed on the ground with authority. But, the guns were blazing before they really knew what was going on. It was one thing to be accused of killing someone when you didn’t, but to be an actual criminal was something else. I hope that my dear Elyse wasn’t watching. I ran and suddenly the entire world seemed to explode right in front of me. There were pairs of goon squads everywhere. “Halt, you are the winner and everything will be okay.” I pulled out the two black beauties and started to shoot. It was chaos on the streets. But, in the end, I was overpowered.

So, I won the ‘lottery and I am sitting here in cell #315 in my greys telling you exactly what happened. There was no homicidal outburst on my part. I was just defending myself. There is no right in abduction. There is no paradise on the moon. There is no joy in winning the ‘lottery.’ There is no justice in pulling my name. There is no government conspiracy.


       Jack sat on the stoop of his Troy brownstone, bent over and holding his head in his hands. His fingers played with his dark curly locks tinged with a hint of gray. With a sigh of impatience, he almost pulled his cell from the pocket of his black dress pants and called Yvette. He was then startled by the loud, repeated honks of his sister's truck and nearly fell off the porch. He jogged the short distance to the Ford, opened the door, and hopped in. He said to Yvette in a sarcastic tone, “On time, like usual.”          As Yvette pulled away from the curb , she gave Jack a hasty once-over. She nodded approval and said, “Not bad, maybe a few more gray hairs than last month. You're not so ugly after all.”              Jack grinned at the decades old joke from childhood. He said, “ That's a high compliment coming from you.

My greatest fear is that Mom may be bored with her retirement, decide she's not done raising a family and give birth to a son who is more handsome than me.”            Yvette snorted and said, “Imagine Mom giving birth at 65! Knowing nothing about this potential baby, he would be a far better brother than you.”             Feigning tears and pretending to cry, Jack said, “You hurt my feelings. I don't want to go to this wedding with you. Turn the truck around!”             Yvette smirked and said in a very dramatic voice, “I didn't mean it. You did me a huge favor by going at the last minute. You're also my funniest and smartest brother, since you're my only one.”             They both laughed at the backhanded compliment and Jack asked, “Why isn't Roger going? I shouldn't have answered my cell last night when you called. I ought to have been at Saratoga today, winning thousands on the ponies ”            Yvette said, “Knowing your luck, I saved you from the poor house. I'm picking up your share of the wedding gift and you can pig out and drink to your heart's content. Sasha doesn't spare any expense, especially for her daughter, and we won't be able to eat for days.”              Yvette paused for a minute and gazed at her bright green eyes, highlighted by jet black eyeliner and mascara, in the rear view mirror. She continued in a somewhat defensive tone, “Roger started not to feel well last night and wondered if he was coming down with Covid. He thought it best not to take any chances.”             “How convenient,” Jack said as he looked at a few boats on the Hudson River. What luck your invitation said plus one and you were free to bring anyone.”              After a long pause he asked, “What's the bride like? I don't remember you telling me Sasha had a daughter. I thought Sasha was only a few years older than us, mid-forties or so. Her daughter must be very young.”              Yvette said, “I don't know much about her. Her name is Penelope and Sasha tells me she's a little bitch.”             Roger did a double take and said, “I can't believe she'd talk about her own daughter like that. Who's the unlucky groom?”               Yvette said, “You've met Sasha a few times. She didn't get her own home design show by being sweet and fading into the woodwork. I'm glad I don't work for her directly but only sell her my artwork. She has a hard edge and I imagine Penelope is just like her.”              Yvette peeled open a honey granola bar, snapped it in half and offered the larger piece to a willing Jack.

          She continued, “It's better to have something in your stomach if you plan on drinking. I know even less about the groom but his name is Claude and I think he has something to do with security systems and heard he works hard like a dog. Who knows? Perhaps Sasha or one of her wealthy guests might be interested in buying some of your antiques. Maybe you'll meet some interesting women and enjoy yourself even if you're determined not to.”            Jack said, “ If I have to charm everyone, I need some sleep.” He looked at the GPS on the dashboard and saw that Sasha's home on Lake George was forty minutes away. “Wake me when we're almost there.” He closed his eyes and nodded off right away.

            Yvette looked at her sleeping brother and hoped he'd be in a good mood when he woke up. She put on some Beethoven and washed down her granola bar with water from her Stanley cup as they made their way north.

           When they reached their exit on the Northway, Yvette pulled off and turned into the Mobil Station. After she was safely parked, she poked him gently in his slightly padded ribs and whispered, “Jack, Jack. “          Jack jumped and struggled to open his eyes. He asked in a cracked voice, “Are we there yet?”          Yvette said in a gentle yet hesitant voice, “Almost. I have to tell you something first.”           Jack sat straight up and stared at his sister. He knew her too well. This tone usually meant news he wouldn’t want to hear. “Out with it,” he said.

               Yvette took a deep breath and said, “We’re going to a dog wedding.”           Jack looked at her with disbelief, trying to make sense of what his ears heard. “A dog WHAT?”            Yvette nodded and talked quickly, trying to explain and prevent Jack’s words from bubbling up and spilling from his mouth. She said in one long run-on sentence without stopping, “Sasha’s dog Penelope and her friend Linda's dog Claude are getting married because Sasha wants a prospective show dog puppy and Linda insists on a ceremony before they're bred and Sasha promised Linda that I would paint their wedding portrait and Roger first said he’d go but then changed his mind and I get emotional at weddings and need moral support so I begged you to go but didn't dare tell you that it was a wedding for dogs because I knew you'd say “no” so I waited until we were almost here and hoped you wouldn't want to do a 180 and be mad at me for not telling you all this last night.” Yvette gasped for air and took a sip from Stanley as she awaited Jack's reaction with trepidation.

           Jack shook his head sideways and slapped the side of his face, unsure what amazed him more-the rapidity of Yvette's speech or the content of what she was saying. He winced, squinted and focused his brainpower, preparing for how he would respond. He sighed and said, “Okay, with conditions.”         Yvette nodded her head and waited for Jack.

          He said,” Number one, expect that I'll be drinking heavily and you'll be responsible for getting me in the truck. Number two, we'll leave as early as possible, maybe to the point of rudeness. Number three, never mention it to anyone, except Roger. I assume your husband was, let's say, a little reluctant to attend a dog wedding?”               Yvette said, “ Yeah, the more I told him about it, the madder he got because he thought it was the dumbest thing he ever heard and such a waste of money. He was truly disgusted.”               Jack said, “ I completely agree but my tolerance level is much better than his. The bright side is that attending a dog wedding will be item number 5000 on my bucket list. You owe me big time.”           Yvette replied, “You're the best. One more thing. Please don't let on to anyone that you think this is stupid. I don't want to offend Sasha, Linda or any potential clients. Okay?”        Jack gave Yvette a solemn salute as she started the Ford and drove the short distance to Sasha's house.

            Sasha's spacious log home was situated on a hill nestled amongst fragrant pine trees located at the end of a private drive. An attendant directed them to park on the side of the road at the end of a long chain of cars. He pointed at the path by the house and told them to follow it to the lake, where the ceremony would be held.

            Jack and Yvette drank in the cool refreshing air of the forest as they made their descent. He managed a low whistle as they passed by the magnificent hundred year old structure. He said, “I wish we could see the inside. She must make a ton of money hosting that show.’              Yvette said, “She came from wealth. This camp has been in her family for years.”            Their attention was drawn from the home to the wedding venue located on the huge sandy beach on the edge of the lake. On the left side was a large pavilion decorated with a circus theme. On the right was a chuppah, a beautiful open tent with no sides. The top was a deep rich blue velvet and the poles were decorated with strands of dyed blue daisies to match. The one-hundred or so folding chairs for the two-legged guests were the same shade as the flowers. Most of them were already filled, as Yvette and Jack had been running late. They claimed two on the delegated bride side near the back and Yvette set her purse down on one. She proceeded to wander around with her digital camera and snap photos that could provide the background for her dog portraits while Jack observed the scene with a jaundiced eye.

          There was a gentle breeze that rippled the water and tempered the hot August day. The Adirondack Mountains provided additional eye candy to the picturesque lake. A postcard wouldn't do it justice. The sublime was spoiled by the ridiculous. A tuxedoed employee was picking up dog poop from the four legged guests with a beribboned scooper. “You couldn't pay me enough,” Jack thought.

        Jack gazed at the mostly female guests, many with their own dogs seated on their laps. It seemed that the owners had put at least as much effort into the outfits of their dogs as their own. A bulldog was dressed as a sailor and a greyhound had on a rabbit suit. The dog and owner seated to his left were wearing matching pink dresses. The barking and yapping irritated Jack and the constant primping by their handlers was even worse. Jack mused, “I'm sure Roger wasn't alone in finding an excuse.”            Yvette slid into the seat next to him and said,“The ceremony is about to start!” She had a glass of champagne in each hand and offered one to Jack. He grabbed both and chugged them down.

           The mother of the groom, Linda, walked up the aisle with Claude, her black poodle. They were dressed in matching white tuxes. Claude took an interest in a fawn pug dressed in a purple tutu in the front row and Linda had to tug on his leash to refocus his attention. This caused an appreciative laugh from the crowd.

        Penelope, dressed in a white lace gown complete with veil, was led to the chuppah by Sasha.

            Jack was focused on the ceremony in spite of himself and was startled by the sudden loud sobbing next to him. He had forgotten how Yvette got so emotional at weddings. She had been a bridesmaid at his own nuptials and fainted dead away during the exchange of rings. The audience all turned and looked at them and he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. The woman in pink reached over and handed her a kleenex.

         The wedding proceeded with Reverend Paul from Linda's church officiating over the affair. Everyone bowed their heads when he offered a blessing for all in attendance. Linda and Sasha each shared stories of how they first met their dogs in puppy hood and regaled amusing anecdotes of their misbehaviors. Jack was charmed by their stories. The Reverend said the ceremony was being formalized for the purpose of procreation of puppies. He read the vows, which included loyalty, unleashed love and living in the moment. Penelope and Claude each barked their “I do” and took a drink from the Gorham silver bowl the Reverend set down for them. Linda inked their right front paws and pressed them down on the wedding certificate. The applause was thunderous and Yvette wasn't the only one overcome with emotion.

         Jack whispered in Yvette's ear, “Can we go now?”           Yvette said, “My work is just starting. I need to take pictures of the happy couple so I can paint their portraits later.

Go in the tent and grab some food.”          Jack joined the assembled crowd and found Yvette's name assigned to doghouse number eight. He grabbed two glasses of champagne from the passing waiter, found the table and gulped the bubbly down. The tablecloth was decorated in a Shih-Tzu design and he read about their royal history on the placard. He was feeling a little looser and saying “Shih-Tzu “several times amused him greatly. He took several cookies shaped like bones decorated with icing from the bowl on the table and wolfed them down. He received a tap on the shoulder from the person sitting at the table behind him.

         Jack whipped around and saw the

woman who poked him. Her dancing blue eyes lit up her otherwise plain face and her laugh was contagious. She had a tricolor King Charles Cavalier Spaniel on her lap and she said, “I hope you realize those are dog cookies.”         Jack thought for a minute, deciding how to reply. Going for shock value was a tried and tested strategy. He reached for two more and offered her one, crunching the other loudly in his mouth.

          She laughed even harder and Jack liked her immediately. She said, “I'm Ruth and this is Lulu,” pointing at her Spaniel.          Jack asked, “ Did you say your name is Ruff, Ruff?, “ while barking like a dog.

        Sometimes Jack's humor backfired on him, but in this case it did not. Ruth was charmed yet again and they made their way over to the buffet table, loaded with a vast array of delicacies Jack didn't recognize. He held Lulu for Ruth as she filled her plate, and then returned and sat down next to her with his. Yvette returned briefly and introductions were made. Yvette was busy with her photography and making the rounds, hoping to drum up extra business and build clientele. She was content to graze from the buffet.

            Jack was enjoying himself and forgot his original loathing of the situation. He applauded when a Jack Russell barked his wedding toast to the happy couple. He and Ruth shared their slices of wedding cake with Lulu. They laughed hysterically when the greyhound in the bunny suit danced with her owner on her hind legs. Yvette was delighted that Jack seemed to be enjoying himself and held Lulu while they watched a border collie catch a flowered Frisbee in his teeth while jumping off the dock.

           As they watched the setting sun cast pools of light on the lake, Ruth asked Jack, “ How do you feel about dog weddings?”            Jack was kicking himself that he hadn't asked her that question first. He didn't know how to respond. He looked over at Yvette, but she was too far away and hadn't heard the question. His marriage had ended, mostly because he and his wife had grown apart because they didn't share the same interests. He was more honest and particular about those things now in relationships. He looked her in the eye and said, “ I think they're pretty stupid.”            Ruth said, “I'm Linda's niece and I helped plan this ceremony.”

Without another word, she stomped off, retrieved Lulu from Yvette and made her way back to the party.

         Yvette was livid when she found out what Jack said to Ruth. “I didn't know she was Linda's niece either, but asked you not to let on how you felt to anyone. This is a bunch of crazy, eccentric people with money. They treat their dogs like people.”            It was a quiet ride home, but Yvette calmed down by the time they reached exit 8 of the Northway. She said, “I was wrong to drag you there without being honest. Maybe Ruth won't tell Sasha or Linda that my brother insulted their wedding plans or they won't care.”           When she dropped him off, her sense of humor was restored and said, “If you're hung over, have some of the hair of the dog that bit you.”           Jack was tempted to call her a bitch, but didn't want to risk her anger again.

       A week later, Yvette texted him a phone number without a message.

        Jack texted back and asked, “Whose number is this?”          Yvette replied, “Linda gave Ruth my number and Ruth called me. She apologized about getting angry and asked if you liked dogs but only hated weird ceremonies. I told her that was the case and you enjoyed her company when you were prepared to have a rotten time. You are no longer in the doghouse. The ball is in your court.”           Jack considered, then clicked on Ruth's number and waited for a response.


I wiped off my forehead instinctively- more like a habit rather than a need. The stuffy old kitchen, which has bore years old stains of curry stains and sticky sweetness, was then filled with steam and humidness. I could sense the whiff of biryani from the counter, the punchy fragrance of rezala and all other dishes that I had hastily prepared. It smelled of routine tasks and paroles, like a worn-down laptop with dilapidated keys and dimming screen. To me, it was more a duty to be fulfilled, less a kingly meal. I always had this unique quality, that I could taste a food from just its fragrance. Chilly red gravy was swirling on the pot, and I could say that it would be excruciatingly spicy just from its seasoned smell of herbs and spices. Maybe it was too thick as well. Let me make it slightly less thick, and try to bring down the peppered essence. Burning, blue flames danced whimsically beneath the black coated iron pot. It sneered and hissed at me, not realizing the fact that I could control the knobs. Puffs of steam arose from the curry while I stirred. Clangs and clings of utensils, hissing flames, and constant humming of the ventilator were enough to block out the jovial aura out of the kitchen. Perhaps the better term would be “adequate.” Children were playing around the house. Ladies were engrossed in trivial rumors about a distant relative one had. Men were either out in the garden gossiping, or glued to the screens of whatever devices they could lay their hands upon. The whole world was up for festivity and happiness. Well, mostly everyone. Sweat drops paved their ways across my moist forehead, and I could feel my head slightly spinning. It was heat from the stove, I told myself, but I knew that it was fever. Not that it matters anyhow. My maa used to say, you should never feel any pain. Now that I think of it, she probably meant that you get numb to the afflictions you’re blessed with, but who knows? She told me only this much, but she never told me how was I supposed to do so? Thus I came up with my own strategy: Ignorance is the best solution when you cannot talk back. It might not be the "best", but it has helped me survive this far. The gravy was done, finally. I put off the stove; for some odd reason, it actually felt great to see those taunting blue flames die down. Like a mother carrying her child, I carefully held the handles of the steel utensil and put it gently on the dining table. I sprinkled some tiny coriander leaves on top. It looked beautiful, like an art. However, the only thing that mattered was that it should be appetizing. It was the last dish, so hurray, I was done. I quickly went for a shower and put on my red saree. It was my favorite- mesmerizing designs of green leaves were spread out across the whole fabric. I wanted to let my hair down, but….. No, I felt that tying it up would be better. So I pulled up my hair into a tight bun, and rushed back to the dining hall again.

“Neeta, are you done yet? The kids are complaining about food. It’s high time we should start the meal,” a lady complained. She wore an electrifying blue dress, which clasped her portly figure and contrasted with her red-dyed hair and deep red-tinted lips. I thought maybe she was hungry- the kids were merely an excuse. It is one universal truth, that I knew and believed, is that children could be anything but hungry when they all are busy playing. They would get hungry, eventually, but would never, ever want to get up from their games and gossip.

 “Yeah, I’m serving now,” I smiled politely. Poor thing must be devastatingly hungry. I swiftly set out the plates across the dining table, and a few extra plates so that people could also eat in the drawing room. I carefully put out the dishes on the table- not a single drop of soup nor a grain of rice should fall on the table. Each plate must get an equal amount of biryani, unless asked for more. The ceramic plates must not fall from my hand, and the rice is to be served from the corner of the glassware. I have done this for fifteen years of my married life, and yet every time I get extremely conscious while serving out food to the whole family. The elders sat on the dining table, while the rest took their plates and sat on the sofa. TV was on at full volume, as well as the speakers were blaring out some sort of popular music. Everything was in chaos, but everyone was still happy. That made me feel glad. “Neeta, the food is absolutely delicious!” A man cried out. He was licking his fingers- he might as well chew them. “Y’know, food’s the only reason I attend the parties.” Everyone roared out in laughter. I smiled inwardly. Great, the food was then appetizing. “And the presentation…. Wow. You should have become a chef, Neeta!” his wife chimed in. “It’s a bit too spicy for me, though,” the lady in blue commented,  “go easy on the peppers, dear.” The conversation went on and on. I never had a great sense of humor, but I was baffled why the whole table burst into laughter every now and then. I was glad that the topic soon shifted from my cooking to someone named something. It was …… confusing enough as it was. I silently served more rice and gravy to everyone, and checked upon the kids in the drawing room time and time again. Sometimes, they asked for more gravy, sometimes more biryani, and most of the time for another round of Pepsi or Sprite. The blue woman took a lot of gravy; I think she would probably have eaten the whole dish if there weren’t so many people eating together with her. After an eternity, everyone got up, gradually. They were still gossiping about random things plucked out from their universe. I followed up to clean the table. “Thanks for the meal, dear.” the lady in blue studied me from the opposite side of the table. She put emphasis on the word “dear,” perhaps. “You might be, well, not that brilliant. But, hey, it is as if you’re made for the kitchen.” Her voice was laced with mockery, but maybe I was over-analyzing.


“No, I refuse. I simply refuse.” Gregoria said as she paced her bedroom. “I have absolutely no desire to write down what it is I am grateful for. How on earth am I supposed to know how to do that?” “Sweetheart, please. Come sit down.” Gregoria’s mother patted the soft quilt she had stitched together for her the previous Christmas. Mother hoped that patting the quilt might give Gregoria some clue as to where to start to be grateful. When Gregoria had opened the present, she had squealed and squirmed, wrapping the quilt around her and running around the house screaming, “I’m Quilt Girl! I’m Quilt Girl!” Mother had no idea what Gregoria meant by that, but she knew her daughter had an insatiable penchant for make-believe. Even if she didn’t fully understand it now, she knew she would someday. Gregoria hadn’t budged. “Gregoria, sweetie, please. Come sit next to me.” Gregoria huffed, puffing her perfectly horizontal bangs up from her forehead. They fell back down to her face as she crossed the room with her arms likewise. She plopped down next to her mother on the quilt, stroking the blanket with her left hand while her right was still twisted across her middle. It was a habit of hers whenever she was nervous. Mother glanced down to notice but made no mention of it as she rearranged the wispy strands of Gregoria’s chestnut hair across her forehead. “There. That’s better.” Gregoria didn’t move nor did she respond. Mother began rubbing her back in slow, gentle circles. “Sweetheart, is there something on your mind?” Another vertical puff of air. Mother thought to say something, but she stopped herself. “Yes, Mother, there is.” “Would you like to tell me about it?” Mother asked very carefully. Suddenly, a groan erupted from Gregoria. “But I already have!” Gregoria fell back onto her bed with her arms down by her sides. Her small fingers simultaneously traced the stitching of her favorite quilt. Mother arranged herself properly before lying down next to Gregoria. Turning her head innocently to the right, Mother said, “Have you? Oh sweetheart, would you mind telling me again? To make sure I have all the details.” Gregoria huffed. “Yes, very well, fine,” she said, turning onto her left side to face her mother. “At school yesterday, Mrs. Thomas gave us an assignment.” Mother replied encouragingly. “Go on.” “She gave us an assignment to write something we’re grateful for in a journal every day for the rest of the semester.” Inside, Mother was saying— Well, that sounds like a lovely idea. I’ve always liked Mrs. Thomas. Outside, Mother simply said, “And how did that make you feel?” “Terrible! Awful! It was a terrible, awful day!” Gregoria yelped as she jumped up perpendicular on the bed. Mother was still lying down on her back. Together, their bodies made the shape of a T. Gregoria could feel the shape and yelled, “Yes, exactly! T for Terrible!” Mother reached up for Gregoria’s hand. “Sweetheart, come back down here with me. I need a bit of a rest.” Gregoria complied. She always did. How could she not when her mother was the sweetest, most beautiful mother on the whole planet. She lay back down next to her mother. “Alright. That’s better. Isn’t it?” Gregoria nodded. “Now, tell me why it was such a terrible, awful day.” Gregoria took a deep breath in, but this time, she only lightly blew out an exhale onto her bangs. Mother could sense Gregoria was calming down. “Well, I love Mrs. Thomas. You know that. She’s been my pen pal this schoolyear.” Mother nodded. “She’s really the greatest, but this assignment…it just doesn’t make any sense!” “Why not, sweetheart?” “Oh Mother, can’t you see? It doesn’t make any sense because how am I supposed to even know what that is?” “What what is, dear?” “What grateful is.” Gregoria whispered her reply to her mother with a special emphasis on grateful . Mother responded with a whisper in kind. “Do you understand what grateful means, sweetheart?” Still whispering, but almost as a scream Gregoria replied, “Of course I do! Any baby knows that.” “Well, I don’t know about that, dear. Perhaps if the baby was a genius of some sort—” “Oh, Mother! Stop being silly! Of course! Even babies know what grateful means!” “Oh? Please dear, tell me more. I didn’t realize. You know I love learning new things.” Gregoria snuggled into her mother’s body until their noses were nearly touching. She dropped her whisper-scream back down to an actual whisper. “Grateful means...” The truth is, Gregoria didn’t know what grateful meant. As soon as the last bell rang the day before at school, Gregoria sprinted to the library to check The Dictionary. With only seven minutes to spare before her bus left, Gregoria knew she had to be quick. Luckily, she was a speed reader. In fact, Gregoria was only four years old, but she had entered kindergarten a year early and was already reading at a first-grade level. Gregoria furiously flipped through the pages of The Dictionary until she got to the G’s. Carefully dividing the G section into smaller and smaller parts—a trick her granddad had taught her on the phone book—Gregoria quickly landed on the right page. Running her finger down the lefthand column just like Granddad had taught her, Gregoria’s finger suddenly got caught on the edge of the paper. Confused, she started the whole process again. She counted the letter tabs on the right edge of the dictionary one by one until she found G. Then, she sliced the section into smaller and smaller pieces until she knew she had the dictionary open flat to the right page. Finally, she took her pointer finger and slowly ran it down the left side of the page, but again, it was caught on the fine edge of the paper. This time, she managed to give herself a small paper cut. She couldn’t see the blood, but she could taste it as she put her finger in her mouth. “Rats.” Gregoria said to herself. “I don’t understand. It should be here.” Carefully feeling around the ragged edges of the bottom left corner of The Dictionary page, Gregoria suddenly realized that where the word grateful was meant to be, it no longer was. “Why would someone steal the word grateful ?” Gregoria puzzled. She was highly protective of words, and she could not imagine someone destroying something as precious as The Dictionary. “Animals,” she said under her breath. Tuning back in to the ticking of her watch, she realized that it had been five minutes and forty-nine seconds since the last bell had rung. Placing The Dictionary back on the shelf, she slung her bookbag across her body and strode out of the library. She would have run—indeed, she really needed to—but she didn’t want to seem suspicious. She hadn’t been the one to tear the word grateful out of The Dictionary, but she didn’t want Ms. Frumm the librarian to suspect that she had. After skipping onto the school bus, Gregoria continued to puzzle the whole way home. That night, under the covers, she cracked open Mother’s copy of The Dictionary. Repeating the same procedure she had performed earlier at school, Gregoria nearly cried out in the dark when she felt the same ripped edge on the bottom left corner of the page of GR-. “How can this be?” She whisper-screamed to herself under the covers. “I simply don’t understand!” Gregoria recalled these events as she stalled for time. How could she answer Mother’s question when she had no idea what grateful meant? She hadn’t been able to look it up in The Dictionary, so how was she to know? She let her thoughts tumble and swirl for a moment. Gregoria knew Mother wouldn’t press or interrupt. She was incredibly patient—just another reason why she was the best mother in the world. After several minutes of silence, Mother finally spoke up. “Can I tell you something I’m grateful for?” Gregoria nodded, full of relief. Mother wrapped her arms around Gregoria. “I am grateful for you, my sweetheart.” “Me? But why?” Mother laughed softly. “Well, because you are so precious to me.” Gregoria at least knew what precious meant. She had learned it reading one of her geology books. She was an avid collector of rocks and gemstones. “But why does me being precious to you make you grateful for me?” “Well, think about your precious gemstones.” Gregoria closed her eyes to visualize her favorite one of all—Fool’s Gold. “Ok. I’m visualizing.” “Good.” Mother replied, rubbing small circles again on Gregoria’s back. “Keep your focus on your Fool’s Good and think about how it makes you feel. When you open the special box you keep it in, when you pick it up and feel its sparkly edges—how do you feel?” “Happy, excited, grateful—Hey! Wait a minute, how did I know to say grateful? I don’t even know the definition.” “Oh sweetheart, I think you do.” Gregoria wrinkled her nose in her signature way when she didn’t understand something. Mother continued rubbing her back. “No, I don’t! I tried to look it up in two different Dictionaries and in both the definition was ripped out!” “Oh?” There was a short pause as Mother started to spell a word out on Gregoria’s back—a trick that always calmed her down. Gregoria could feel the gentle pull and tug of her mother’s glossy fingernail against the thick flannel of her nightgown. She knew what she was spelling. “Mother, I know how to spell grateful .” “I know you do sweetheart, and you also know how to define it.” “No, I don’t! Aren’t you listening? I couldn’t look it up in The Dictionary because it wasn’t there.” “But dear, when you were just talking about your Fool’s Gold, you used the word grateful to describe how it makes you feel.” Gregoria stammered. “Yes, but but—it’s because you tricked me!” “Oh sweetheart! You know I would never do that. You are my most precious gemstone.” Mother squeezed Gregoria into a hug. Gregoria willingly acquiesced. Back down to a whisper, Mother said into Gregoria’s ear, “Sweetheart, what is it that’s troubling you?” “I’m sad, Mother. Someone ripped the word grateful out of The Dictionary. How could they do that?” “My sweet girl. I think it’s time I told you a story about your Granddad.” “Why? What does Granddad have to do with this?” “It’ll be easier for me if I can tell you the story. Are you up for it?” Gregoria nodded. “A long time ago, Granddad was in a war.” Gregoria was shocked. Granddad was the sweetest man she knew. She couldn’t imagine him killing anyone, and as far as she knew, that’s what people did in wars. “He was in a war?” “Yes, dear.” “Please tell me he didn’t kill anyone.” “Oh no, dear. Quite the opposite. He was a doctor. He helped saved people’s lives.” Gregoria let out a deep exhale. “Oh, thank goodness.” “Yes, he was a bit of a hero, in fact.” “Where was the war?” “It was a long way away, over five oceans, or just one, depending on which way you go.” Gregoria traced letters on her mother’s arm to think. “So, it was in Asia?” “Yes, dear! Exactly.” “Was this the Vietnam War or the Korean War?” “The Korean War.” “Oh, that was a bad one.” “Yes, dear. All wars are.” “Wait a minute…” Gregoria’s early memories started flooding back to her. Vague shapes and muffled sounds flashing across a screen as she sat upright in Granddad’s lap, her body relaxed against his broad chest. “When I was a baby, Granddad would sit with me and watch tv. I remember hearing helicopter blades and a lot of funny names like ‘Radar’ and ‘Klinger.’ There was one name that was repeated a lot…oh, what was it?” Gregoria tapped her chin. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s the name of a bird.” “Hawkeye!” “Yes, dear. That show is called M*A*S*H*. It stands for—” “Mobile Army Surgical Hospital! I know. I remember Granddad spelling it out for me.” “Did you enjoy watching that show with him?” “I did. I loved it!” “Would you say you are grateful for it?” “I suppose so, but Mother, I still don’t understand what grateful means.” “Well, why don’t I finish telling you the story about Granddad then?” Gregoria snuggled in close again to her mother. “Yes, please. I love talking about him.” “Me too, sweetheart. Now, where was I? Ah yes, Granddad was a doctor in the Korean War.” “Just like Hawkeye?” “Just like Hawkeye.” “So, he didn’t kill anyone?” “No, dear. He didn’t. As a doctor, his mission was to save as many people as possible, no matter who they were.” “Granddad really was the best, wasn’t he, Mother?” “Yes, dear. He really was.” “Well, go on. Keep telling me about him. What does he have to do with the word grateful in The Dictionary?” “Well dear, the thing is, even though Granddad didn’t kill anyone during the war, that didn’t mean he didn’t see people die.” Gregoria gasped, and her eyes began to well with tears. “Shh, sweetheart it’s alright. It happens, you know. There were times, unfortunately, when Granddad was trying to save someone’s life, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t do it.” “But why? I don’t understand. Was he not a very good doctor?” Mother laughed softly. “No, dear. In fact, he was one of the very best, but sometimes, no matter how good the doctor is, he just can’t save his patient.” A swollen tear slid out from under Gregoria’s long eyelashes. Mother rubbed her back gently. “Shh. It’s alright dear. I’m here.” Gregoria snuggled in even closer. “Ok, please continue, Mother. I’m alright.” “Are you sure, dear?” Gregoria nodded. “Alright, well, Granddad was an excellent doctor, and he saved many people’s lives. As I said, though, he unfortunately also lost some lives that he was trying to save. That weighed heavily on his heart, and for a time, it made life difficult for him—especially after he came back home. Eventually, though, something lightened his heart, and that something was me. The day my mother realized she was pregnant was the day Granddad said he came back to life. He felt so grateful that they were bringing new life into the world.” Gregoria nodded. No tears this time. She knew the story she was about to hear was sad, but she had never known Grandmother, and so she didn’t feel sad. Mother hadn’t really known Grandmother either, but it still made her sad. She wiped a tear out from under her long lashes and continued. “Unfortunately, the day I came into the world was also the day my mother left it. A coup de grâce .

Granddad told me that was why he named me Grace. He said, ‘Today, I have a daughter, a precious gem to give to this world. I have lost my Gretel, but gratefully she left me with Grace.’ Gregoria sniffed. She may have never known Grandmother, but she still missed Granddad terribly. “Wait, you said gratefully . Is that the same as grateful ?” “Yes, dear. Essentially, it is.” “What does that mean, essentially ?” “Hmm. Essentially means that they are nearly the same thing.” “Ok, so in this case, what does it mean? Does it mean that Granddad was grateful for you?” “Yes, dear, exactly.” “Ok, I think I’m beginning to understand what grateful means.” “Yes, I think so too.” “But, wait, what does that have to do with the missing entries in The Dictionary?” “Ah yes. Shall I finish my story?” “Yes, please.” “Alright, well, after I was born, Granddad couldn’t go to the hospital anymore to work because he had to stay home and take care of me. He had a few patients from before he went to Korea that were loyal to him and came to him for house calls, but unfortunately, that didn’t give him enough income to take care of us both. So, Granddad got creative. He picked up some work editing dictionaries before they went to print. It was work he could do from home and work that he enjoyed. He had always been an avid reader, as you know.” “Yes, his favorite book was The Dictionary—Wait a minute!” “Yes, dear?” “He used to read me The Dictionary when I was a baby!” “Yes, dear, he did.” “But I never remember him reading the definition for grateful .” “Well, sweetheart, that’s because he didn’t.” “But why, it seems he had a lot to be grateful for.” Mother smiled. “And why is that dear?” “Well, because he never killed anyone, because he made it home alive from a terrible war, and because he had you and me.” “Those are all very good reasons to be grateful, I suppose.” “So why didn’t he ever read the definition then? Was he the one who ripped it out of The Dictionary?” “Yes, dear. He was.” Gregoria jumped up. “But why! That makes no sense! Why wouldn’t he want to remind himself of the definition?” “Well dear, why do you think?” Gregoria continued jumping as she pondered. Her jumps slowed to small hops and eventually to nearly undetectable bounces on the balls of her feet. She sat back down on her quilt. “Because he already knew what it felt like to be grateful.” Mother sat up and pressed her forehead gently into Gregoria’s so their noses touched. She whispered. “Exactly, sweetheart. That’s exactly right. Do you think you understand know the definition of grateful now?” “Yes, Mother,” Gregoria whispered back. “And I know how to complete Mrs. Thomas’ assignment.” “Good girl. My sweet, precious gemstone, Gregoria. I am so grateful for you.” Gregoria smiled. “Me too, Mother. Indeed, I have much to be grateful for.”


That day as I was seated reading the news paper I called out to my wife who was in the kitchen, When she came I said “Reena it says here that the amusement park CALGARY has opened with a big ,roller-coaster besides other attractions. It seems it is the first such park in India.” She said “That’s at least 100 kilometres away.” “Yes. Our car is new and we could easily reach and return by the evening.” She said “You never let me drive the new car whereas I was free to use the old one.” “You see the roads here are narrow and besides there’re many potholes on the road. And I’ve noticed you drive very fast.” “Allow me to drive and I’ll go with you to CALGARY.” “Okay. Today is Friday. Let us go to CALGARY on Sunday.” It was now summer and we were close to the real dog days. I opened the garage and the car door. Reena said “I must drive first.” I allowed her to take the wheel. I said “You must drive cautiously as we won’t be on a national highway. Also there’re sharp bends at certain points. We’ve another disadvantage. Our car is very big and could block very narrow roads.” She said “Don’t worry. I’m an experienced driver since I’ve been driving for as long as you.” “It’s now 8 in the morning. We should be able to reach CALGARY by 11 latest. It’s already very hot.” She said “The ac is now on. In minutes it will be cool inside.” As we proceeded we came to an old bridge and a lorry was coming opposite. The bridge wouldn’t allow both vehicles to pass at once and we waited before we could proceed. I said “See the problem we face. We can only go slowly.” “Sit back and relax. Perhaps you would like to listen to some music.” “Leave it to me and concentrate on driving.” Soon we had crossed a village on the way and Reena was driving very carefully. Despite it a tyre on our car burst and we halted. I said “It will take a few minutes to fix the spare wheel as I’ve never used it in this model of car. Meantime the traffic on this road seems to be growing. Let us move the car to near that lane.” She said “That isn’t a lane. There’re a group of houses there. Still it would be safe to jack the car there.” We were able to find a sanctuary for the car and set about jacking it up. I noticed the vehicles going past at speed. It had become very hot. I got out the spare wheel and bolted it down. When I lowered the car on the road I saw the spare wheel was low on air. I said “Reena, this wheel needs to be inflated. Let me find out where the nearest petrol bunk is.” I asked a couple of passers-by and a man selling water melon on a cart, but they couldn’t give me the information. A passing lorry driver was kind enough to pause and say the bunk was about half an hour away. I got into the car and said “Reena, let me have a cup of coffee before we again set off. The changing of the wheel has made me long for some stimulus.” I took the coffee leisurely and threw the paper cup away. Reena was about to start the car when I said “Give me two minutes. I need a comfort stop.” “There seems to be no place for it. You should’ve exhausted your bladder before we left. You also had a long swig of cold water from the fridge before that. And now the coffee. And you men do it everywhere!” “Just don’t worry. See those bushes there? I will have enough cover as there’re no people around.” She said “Wrong!” I saw a group of women come together and stand exactly where I wanted to use. Reena saw my plight and going towards the women spoke to them. She was back and told me “Those  are employees of a garment factory waiting for the bus to take them to work. It’s expected in 10 minutes.” “Alright. Let us wait as this seems the most convenient place for my purpose.” I kept checking my watch and saw it was 15 minutes and there was still no sign of a bus. I noticed the women also seemed anxious and I saw one of them making a call. I nudged Reena who said “You should be ashamed. Getting me to find out when the area would be clear for pissing.” “Please Reena, find out what those women are saying.” She went, spoke to the women and returned. She said “It seems there was an accident on the way and the bus is blocked. The women have been told it would take another 20 minutes for the bus to arrive and they should wait.” “God damn!” I got out of the car and asked a couple of people around if there was any restaurant nearby. They didn’t know and finally an obliging lorry driver said there was a Wayside Inn about 20 minutes away. He offered to take me in the vehicle and I was tempted to agree. I thought I would call her from the Inn and tell her to come over. Meantime the lorry driver got a phone call and set off without me! I went back to our car and said “Reena, there’s no way except to go to a restaurant. You should drive fast....” She said “The spare wheel has less air. We would’ve to coax the car carefully along.” I said “Start and go without jolting as my bladder is almost overflowing.” She said “I sincerely hope you won’t dirty this new car inside!” On the way we saw the petrol bunk to access but I said we could come back. We reached the restaurant and running in at speed signed to a waiter seeking toilet access. He said “The gents toilet key is with the owner who is overdue. He has locked the room as some users had inscribed latrinalia!”  I signed to Reena and she came and spoke to a female staff. Reena came and said “The ladies toilet is open.” Seeing my drawn face Reena spoke to the woman staff and gave her tip. She allowed my using the toilet with Reena and herself guarding the door. I leapt in readying the fly! Luckily the toilet had only a single position. I was getting ready when I found there was no light inside and knew it was impossible not to make a dribbling noises with females just outside the door. I let go and it was some time before I could come out as I had been locked in! I was now breathing freely and was light as air. We quickly had snacks there and went to CALGARY. We had no other incident on the way. It was indeed a very memorable trip. END


The silence of the room was more than she could take. No one dared to speak, all of them just sat and stared at her as if there was nothing more interesting in the world. The white walls of the room paired with the cold light, lack of windows and the cheap chairs that the spectators occupied only made the space more unsettling than it already was. The people that surrounded her were of various ages, ethnicities and builds but the blank stare that they directed towards her looked the same on all of them. If you’d ask her how she found herself in this situation she wouldn’t be able to tell you she just opened her eyes and realized that she’s not in her small apartment in Brighton anymore. The last thing she remembered was laying down to sleep after a long day of work, a normal day. So the main questions she needed answered right now were ‘where am I?’, ‘what is going on?’, ‘who the hell are those people?’ and overall ‘what the fuck?’. The fact that she was not kicking and screaming right now was only provided by the sheer shock and surprise she felt that made her freeze up completely. She feared that if she made a move or spoke or even breathed too loud the people that were looking at her would attack, that’s how intense their gaze felt. So she waited, trying to stay calm and often glancing to the door on the other side of the room that remained closed the whole time she spent there. She tried focusing on her breathing, slowly gathering the courage to speak up or run but then the door opened. The people in the room were not affected as the tall man in a grey suit entered, a easy and confident smile on his face didn’t feather as he slowly made his way to her slaloming between her ‘audience’. He was blonde and looked to be only a couple of years older than her, the air of confidence around him scared her but also made her angry. He stopped only a couple of steps in front of where she was sitting and looked down at her tilting his head slightly to the side surveying her face. “You’re Claire is that correct?” he asked, his voice was deep but somehow light. She nodded slowly not trusting her voice in the moment. “Splendid, come with me please” the man continued and extended his hand palm up in an inviting gesture towards her. She needed a second to realize that he extended the hand to help her get up from the chair. Claire did not know why she decided to accept the help but then again this situation was bizarre enough so she gently placed her hand into his and got up from the chair. She glanced at the people around them but they remained unmoving and continued to stare at her, the man must’ve noticed because then he said “Oh don’t worry those are just monitoring androids they won’t do anything unless I tell them to” the last part of the sentence made her look up at him with unease but he just smiled again, dropped her hand and put his own on the small of her back guiding Claire towards the door that he entered through. She walked slowly and carefully almost as if on autopilot and when they reached the door the man opened it for her. Stepping over the threshold they found themselves in a hallway that looked like the place could be a well aspiring law firm. Navy blue walls, mahogany floor, paintings and mirrors with gold frames, a couple of doors that looked like the ones she just came out of and a couple of potted plants on black tables that were placed along the walls. She did not have much time to take the space in because the man lightly nudged her to continue walking down the long corridor. As they walked the man was on her left side looking forward not bothering to explain who he was and where exactly were they going. When she finally opened her mouth to ask all the questions that bothered her mind he started speaking as if he knew what she was about to ask. “You are probably confused and curious as to where you are and what are you doing here. Everything will make perfect sense shortly I guarantee but first my name is William Davenport I am the CEO of Pegasus Industries. We are currently in one of many Pegasus facilities and you just got recruited to be my personal assistant.”  He said matter-of-factly and Clair stopped walking looking up at him, he was wrong nothing made perfect sense it was the exact opposite. “What?” she mumbled and her ‘new boss’ stopped walking as well and turned to her clasping his hands behind his back calmly never losing the smile on his face. “Pegasus is an intergalactic company tasked with the production of androids and nano-tech. We supply the whole of Nexus and its seven moons with top tear product and we have multiple contracts with the intergalactic government” he said “and you just got the privilege to work for me” Claire’s world was spinning; did she lose her mind? Is she dreaming? From what the man just said she was not only on a whole another planet but also a different galaxy and was now the man's personal assistant. She tried to remember if she hit her head yesterday or maybe someone poisoned her oatmeal but then she realized that she did in fact apply for a job in a company named Pegasus about a week ago, but in the online ad there was no mention of ‘we are going to kidnap you to another planet and keep you in a room full of androids and then we’ll explain your daily duties. As far as she was concerned it was 2021 and androids that looked like humans weren’t a thing yet not to mention space travel beyond the earths moon. “As I said I’ll explain everything but now you’ve passed the test and I’m taking you out to celebrate our new collaboration! I hope you like moon coffee!” he said and resumed walking and for some reason, she fallowed not seeing any other option beyond waiting for everything to make sense. They soon reached a large dark brown double door, the man opened it and revealed white skyscrapers, flying vehicles and people in strange outfits. Claire took one step onto the sunshine-filled balcony and the next thing she saw was black splotches that dotted her vision and then everything went dark as she fainted.