Anything Else?            “It’s tough, Mom. My career hinges on getting 80% on the exam day after tomorrow.” Immediately regretting comparing exam results to doomsday, Rhondi continued. “But I’m sure I’ll do fine, and by the way, the kids are doing great; all three like their teachers this year.”            “Well, I don’t see how you’re doing this on your own. If I moved down there, I could...”            “Mom, it’s okay. Anyone in health care will always have a job.”            “It won’t be easy. My two nurse friends are always exhausted. Not to mention the politics that go along with…”            “Politics are everywhere, Mom, no matter what field you’re in. Anyway, I need to get the kids organized for homework and bed, but I’m glad you called.”            “They’re such sweethearts. Do they talk about Jack? You’re so much better off without…”            “Sometimes.” Rhondi gave herself a mental high five for not reacting. “Okay, I really need to go. We’ll call soon. Love you.”            How can it be eight o’clock already, Rhondi wondered. “Seth, April, Jon. Everyone to the kitchen – quick. Guys, I’m super tired, so what if April reads Jon a story while I go over Seth’s homework with him? After a little ice cream, of course.”           When April and Jon were in bed, Rhondi could hear Seth in the shower. At 12, he was more mature than most of his friends. She worried that he felt responsible for his brother and sister - and for me.

           She heated a cup of tea and headed upstairs.  Always thankful for a few minutes to relax after the kids were in bed, tonight was an exception. Books were spread across the bed for another hour of study.            “Mom?” Rhondi looked up to see Seth in the doorway.            “Hey buddy, come in.”            “I know you have a test, but do you have a minute?”            “Of course. I knew something was on your mind earlier. What’s up?”            He sat down in the rocker. “First things first. I don’t like that guy you go to school with.”

           “Brent, the one in my study group?”            “Yeah.”            “Seth, he’s just part of the group, nothing more. These classes are hard and going over this stuff together helps me a lot. I’m not exactly a spring chicken, you know.”            “Huh?”            “Never mind. Something more?”            “Alright, the other thing is, there’s a science project due next week.  Today Billy and Mason said they’d pay me if I write theirs for them.”            Rhondi put her cup down. “They asked you to help them or to actually write it?”

           “They want me to do the whole thing.”            Oh, God, help me handle this right she silently prayed. “You guys have been friends for a long time, haven’t you?”            “Since first grade.”

           “Well,” Rhondi said slowly, “those kinds of projects are easy for you, and you enjoy them.” She smiled as he rolled his eyes. “If you do it, you’d still have your friends – and some extra money.” She stayed silent for a moment. “Would there be a downside?”             “They’d probably ask me to do it again,” he replied thoughtfully. “And I wouldn’t have time to get my own stuff done. And I might get caught.”            “Hmm, those things could happen.” More silence. “Anything else?”             He looked around the room and then looked her in the eye. “It wouldn’t be right.”            “Bingo.” “Now what?”  “So, what if you told them exactly what you told me and see what happens. It’s called ‘letting the chips fall.’ Check it out online and see what you think.”            Pulling into the hospital parking lot the next morning, Rhondi tried not to stress about the day ahead for Seth. She was also concerned that her lunch date, now just four hours away, may not be  a good idea.  I can’t think about either right now she decided as clinicals began.            Several weeks of treating patients on her own had instilled confidence, and this whole nurse thing was actually starting to feel real. She started three IVs , needing help with only one. Rhondi’s supervisor complimented her bedside manner as she adeptly inserted a needle while engaging the patient about his new grandson.

           After three hours of rounds, Rhondi eased into the seat next to Sylvia as Legal Aspects of Nursing class began.            “How’d your IVs go?”  Sylvia asked.

           “Pretty good. Right now, though, I’d like to skip this class and go study.”

           “I almost did. By the way, Brent and Carly want to eat at Jose’s right after clinicals around five and then study at the library. Brent will drive. You up for that?”

           “Yes.” Rhondi closed her eyes.  “This exam just has me spooked.”            “It has everyone spooked. Can you get your sitter, Elsa, right?”            “Yep, I’m texting her now.”

           The instructor launched into various legal pitfalls of nursing, including horror stories of career altering consequences of negligence. Rhondi had little patience for such anecdotes. Weren’t IVs and wound treatment procedures enough to assimilate in one morning?

Wanting class to end but anxious about lunch, Rhondi knew that an emotional upheaval today could scuttle passing the exam. She wondered what her kids and everyone else would think if they knew who she was meeting.

           “Doing anything for lunch?” Sylvia asked as they gathered their books.            “Errands. See you after clinicals at five.”

Rhondi checked the time and headed to her car.  Arriving a little early, she decided to go ahead and get a table when the hostess approached her. “Rhondi?”            “Yes.”

           “Right over here.”  Looking where the hostess motioned she spotted him by a window in the corner. Wow, she thought, taken aback.

           He stood when he saw her and pulled out a chair. “You still look great in scrubs,” he said with a half smile. “I figured you probably wouldn’t have much time, so I’ve already ordered  Pellegrino’s and our usual pasta.”

           “I have about an hour.” She sat across from him keeping her expression neutral. “You look good, Jack.”            “What did you expect, greasy hair, grubby clothes and stubble?” His smile softened the words.

           “Something like that.” She returned the smile. “But last time you were at the house I could tell you’d made progress. About six weeks ago, right?”            “Yeah.”

           Their food arrived and small talk about her classes and his rehab workshops followed. It seemed so normal, and Rhondi had to catch herself again from the pattern of hoping for a reboot that would make everything fine.            “How are the kids?”

           “They’re good. Still unjaded enough to be excited about school – and life.”            “I love those kids – our kids.”            “That was never an issue, Jack. Everyone knows you do.” They ate in silence for a few moments. “April wants you to come to her birthday party in three weeks.”            “I can’t believe she’s almost 11.”            “Eighteen in her mind. She’s Jon’s self-appointed keeper since he’s four years younger, which of course includes telling him what to watch, what to eat, when to go to bed, etc.”            Jack laughed.  “I’d like to see them sooner than the party if possible.”            “We could probably arrange that.” She briefly thought of cancelling Elsa and asking if he wanted to stay with them tonight. Instead, she recounted her conversation with Seth about his science project.            Jack looked down at his plate. “I’m proud of that kid.” Then he met her gaze and said softly, “you’re doing a great job.”

           “Thanks. So, how’s everything going?”

            “We have classes each morning on diet, relationships, boundaries, a bunch of stuff. Afternoons are for exercise and workshops. I’m staying at a glorified halfway house for professionals who screwed something up. Anyway, if you’re wondering if I’m ‘clean,’ I am. I report to a sponsor, who I hated at first, but now I’m kind of liking this accountability thing.”

           Rhondi looked at her former husband who’d been a leader, funny, full of energy. “Has anyone said anything about ever practicing…”            “Possibly clinical psychology - not psychiatry. Psychologists can’t prescribe medicine.”            “How are you with that?”

           “Getting used to the idea.”            Her fingers brushed the bottle of unopened anti-anxiety medication in her scrubs pocket as he continued disclosing details about his present life. Several of her classmates claimed these pills were getting them through school.  I don’t want to be a martyr, but I don’t want dependency, she had decided. Prescription medication had destroyed Jack’s medical career and their family. She often wondered what would happen if she got hooked.

           More small talk until Rhondi looked at her watch. Tossing a virtual coin to decide who would take care of the kids tonight fell on the side for Elsa.  “I have to get eighty percent on a tough exam tomorrow, so I’ll call in a couple days and we’ll figure out a time to come over.”

           Instead of pressuring her for an exact time, he simply said “thanks.”

On the way to her car, she once again almost decided on Jack over Elsa for tonight, but she smiled and waved instead.            Afternoon Clinicals went well, and by the end of the day, she was more than ready for supper at Jose’s and her group study session. She started to call Seth for an update but decided to wait till she could see him in person.            Arriving at the parking lot, she saw Carly and Sylvia waiting by Brent’s car. They were a safety net, they all looked out for each other.  Rhondi wasn’t even sure she would still be here without their encouragement and late-night study binges, usually at her house so she wouldn’t need a sitter. She suspected Brent would’ve liked a closer relationship, but she had never encouraged it.

            “Going to be a productive evening,” Brent said getting in the car. Sitting in the back seat, Rhondi felt her tension ease and began to relax.            “I have to pass this test,” Sylvia announced. “No repeating classes. No more school loans. I need a job.”            “Me too,” Carly said. “I can’t imagine going through this class again or delaying graduation. I just have one older kid. Rhondi has three young ones.”            “Not sure how you two are surviving nursing school with kids,” Sylvia said. “How are yours, Rhondi?”            “Better than I could have hoped, considering the ‘single mom in school thing’.” She was about to recap Seth’s friends issue but decided against it. “Overall, things are good.”            Brent had remained silent during the short ride, but he caught Rhondi’s eye in the rearview mirror and winked as they arrived. She smiled briefly in return.

           After everyone ordered, Rhondi realized she was anticipating an evening for the first time in ages, even though it was just for study. The kids were in good hands, there’d been no major incidents during morning rounds, and Jack seemed better, much better actually.            “Why’d you bring your briefcase in, Brent?” Sylvia asked. “Can’t stay away from the books even during supper?”

           “About that,” he said pulling a packet out of his briefcase. “I have great news for us all.”  Small talk ended as he had everyone’s attention. Dramatically opening the packet, he announced, “right here is a copy of the test we’ll all be taking tomorrow.” He looked around the table, eyes lingering a bit longer on Rhondi. “And for a mere twenty-five dollars – each, of course – we’ll study it this evening.” A stunned silence followed. “What, no takers? We all want, we need, to pass don’t we?”            “How’d you get that?” Sylvia finally found her voice.            “Who gave it to you?” Carly was indignant. “That’s it?” Brent looked at each one.

            “How do you know it’s the real test?” Sylvia demanded.            “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to…” Smiling mischievously, he uncovered the top portion to reveal the school insignia and the title. Carly and Sylvia leaned forward to read the small print. More silence.            “Let me think for a minute,” Carly said slowly.            “Me, too,” Sylvia shot a glance at Rhondi.            “Cat got your tongue, Rhondi?” Brent asked with a friendly smile.            Right in front of her was a gift, a free pass to a career that would support her children. But all she could see was Seth’s face as they had discussed options. Then she heard her voice. “Sorry, guys, this probably isn’t my thing.”

           They stared at her. “What do you mean?”  Carly was obviously torn. “We need this. It’s not like we’re slacking.”            Sylvia nodded in agreement. “We’ve been killing ourselves. This isn’t that big a deal.”            “Which, passing the test or buying a copy?” Rhondi asked. Sylvia glared at her, an expression Rhondi had never seen.            “The world won’t end if we use it,” Carly pointed to the test.

           Their food arrived but was ignored.

Brent watched Rhondi but spoke to the others softly. “Take it easy, you two. Give Rhondi some space, a chance to look at the upside. It’s not like we haven’t been learning this stuff all term.  This just allows us to focus on key points.  How can there be a downside? She deserves to get through this just like we do. And she knows her kids would benefit. Nothing more to consider. Anything else?”

            All eyes were on her again.  Rhondi looked around, aware that she was expected to respond. Once again she heard her own voice.  “Look, you guys go ahead. Consequences aside, it’s not right. I’ll just head on home after we eat.”            Rhondi maneuvered through light traffic on her way home. There had been small talk in Brent’s car on the way back to the library, none of it directed toward her.

           Nearing the house, she considered going to the public library to study on her own.  Her energy was depleted, though, and she needed a welcoming atmosphere, she needed to see her kids.            As she turned on to her street, her heart nearly stopped. Whose car was in her driveway? Elsa lived only a few doors away and always walked. Was that Jack’s car? Expecting another blow, Rhondi rushed through the door. “What’s going on?” she could barely speak.            Laughter? Sitting at the dining room table were Seth, Jon, April and Jack, playing Monopoly. All four looked at her.             “Mom, why are you back so early?” April asked.            “We’re having fun, Mom,” Jon said grinning.            “Whoa, everybody, hold on,” Jack commanded. “One at a time.”

           “Everything’s fine. I just decided to study here instead. Where’s Elsa?”            “Her dad was rushed to the hospital, so she called me,” Jack said.            “She had your number?”            “She said you texted it to her when she agreed to stay with the kids tonight – in case anything ever came up.”            “Oh, that’s right, I did.” Rhondi stood watching them, still holding her books.            “Are you okay, Mom?” Seth had a concerned look.            “Of course she is,” Jack assured them, taking Rhondi’s books and setting them on the sofa. He looked at her for a long moment. “Why not have dessert with us and then go study in the den. I’ll clean the kitchen and make sure everyone’s ‘on task’.”

All three kids chimed their approval.            “By the way, Mom,”Seth said, “I did what you said and let the chips fall. Billy said he wants to do his project himself anyway, but Mason’s still a toss-up. It’ll work out. It’s good you’re back. Dad got ice cream sundaes.” The background sounds of Jack cleaning the kitchen and supervising bed-time provided a calming atmosphere as Rhondi went through several practice exams online.

           “Doing okay?” Jack asked from the doorway.            “I think so. What time is it?” She realized the house had grown quiet.            “Ten. So, what happened earlier?”

           “The guy in my study group got a copy of the exam, and for twenty-five dollars each, he said we could all study it together.”

           Jack sat down in the chair facing her. “Wow. So, you’re the boy scout. How do you feel?”            “Still processing.”

           “What if I quiz you on chapter summary questions? I’ve got a couple of hours till curfew.”            “Okay.”            The next morning, after the exam, Rhondi walked quickly to her car and drove to the café where she’d been twenty-four hours earlier. The same hostess guided her to the same corner table where Pelligrino’s had already arrived.

           “So?” Jack asked.            “So, it was a killer. Results popped up immediately online. Only three people passed with over eighty percent.”            “Your study group?”            Rhondi nodded.             “What did you get?”            “Seventy-eight point nine.”            Jack took a sip of water. “You may not remember when I failed that final in my third year and had to retake the class. Anyway, it proved helpful because the material was repeated in a few other classes. At first I thought it was the end of the world, but it wasn’t. Neither is this.”            “I want to believe that.”            “We - you need a plan. Elsa and I can alternate watching the kids. You know this material. Seventy eight point nine with all that was going on; you’ll ace it next time.”            Rhondi nodded.            “What are you doing after lunch?”

           “Probably just take a break and maybe a nap before the kids get home. If you’re free later, maybe you could help plan April’s party.”            “Sounds good.” Jack handed her a menu. “What would you like?”


With one last stroke of red with my brush, I complete my piece. I gaze all over the painting in admiration and jealousy of what I could have, but never will: experiencing the world. Or at the very least learning in a real classroom. For the past almost 18 years of the pandemic, known as COVID-19, my Mom and I have lived inside this bunker in the woods to stay safe. Mom always said how it was best this way, everyone isn’t safe enough and mingles despite what is going on around them. I understand the concern, but I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to live like a normal girl: to have friends or go to events. Go to school.

“Rachel, honey,” quiet footsteps approach my bedroom from the hall. My head turns toward my door from my easel just in time to see my Mom’s ‘leaving the bunker’ look. This usually consists of casual clothes that she doesn’t care too much about for when she goes out into the contaminated world of the pandemic.

“I am heading to the store for groceries for a while. With your birthday coming up I wanted to make sure that I made it special with it being eighteen, you know,” she smiles that sweet smile that I love so much. “Paints would be amazing,” I say as I look back at my completed artwork. Mom gasps as she walks over to my easel and puts a hand over her chest. “This is just a lovely one sweetheart. People will just love this.” I do have a passion for painting but a huge reason I do it is for money. My paintings are sold for super high prices and my mom and I live off of it. I think she wants me to keep painting as well to keep me happy since I have never been out in the world. “The next time you go out it will be ready. It needs time to set,” I say. Mom plays with my long hair. “Okay. I will pick up a cake too. See you in a bit. Love you.” She leaves my room. “I love you more,” I say to the empty room. *** I think that I have finally picked the paper that I want to start my next project of the night sky when I hear a knock at the front entrance. The paper I was holding hits the ground as my heart suddenly feels like it is going to beat right out of my chest. Nobody ever comes here. The bunker is in the woods. Why would anyone ever need to come here? I slowly gather enough energy to get to my knees, then one foot, and the other.

The knocking is coming frantically now. I begin to shake and feel lightheaded as I make my way toward the entrance.

It’s a girl. A little girl is screaming so loud my heart just sinks. I grab a face mask and shield and put it on as I unlock the entrance and open it. The first sight is a small, pale girl with bright red cheeks and a tear stained face. She stopped screaming at the top of her lungs so now she is just whimpering and looking up at me with downturned eyes. “I-I am so sorry,” she sniffles. “I don’t mean to come to your home — I mean I did but I just needed someone because I don’t know where I am and I know that my parents are looking for me. I played too far from where I was supposed to —“ “Hey. It’s okay everything will be okay.” I stopped her rambling.

“Can you help me?” She begs.

She is traumatized right now. I can’t just leave her here. I know these woods in and out. But mom — mom will be back shortly and if she catches me … I don’t know. She won’t believe me if I say that I was careful, that is why she doesn’t let me go outside when she is gone. I want to see outside this forest; I want to go beyond that but I would take anything. I will be back shortly, right? “Yes, I will help you.” I close the bunker entrance behind me. “Let’s hurry though, we don’t have much time.” *** The girl, which I learn her name as Emilie, and I make our way through the woods as efficiently as possible. Meanwhile, Emilie has seemed to really like to talk to me, which shouldn’t be good because in a matter of minutes I will never see her again. The thing is, I enjoy her company as well. It’s hard not to, considering the only other person I have seen in real life is Mom.

I manage to get to a place where I can barely make out the boundary of the forest and what I see beyond that is a very residential territory. There is a whole neighborhood of activity going on right now from kids playing in the streets to adults talking on porches. It’s incredible.

“C’mon Rachel! I want you to meet my parents!” I stop dead in my tracks while Emilie runs ahead. I was so caught up in the people around me that I didn’t speak up and say that I had to go.

Emilie turns around and scrunches her little eyebrows in concern. “Rachel?” I fidget with my nails behind my back. “Emilie, I have to go back home. My mom will be back any minute and will be terribly worried.” “Just call her.” Emilie looks at me with an expression that says that conclusion should have been obvious. “Emilie, I can’t. I--” “Emilie! Oh honey we were looking all over for you.” A young couple are running with arms stretched out and enormous relief written on their faces. When they finally reach Emilie, the woman and man hold her so tight. I hold my hands behind my back and wait a few awkward moments before I see the man notice me standing there. “Did you help Emilie find her way home?” I shift awkwardly as my hands start sweating. These are real people I am face to face with. An adult just asked me a question to my face. Amazing. I want to say

everything but don’t know where to start. “Yes I did,” I pause. “I know these woods pretty well.” All three of them are looking at me as the man’s eyes start glistening. “We are Emilie’s parents. You have no idea how blessed we are that you did that. Emilie has been missing for hours and nobody in the neighborhood has seen her.” Her mom hugged Emilie again. “What's your name?” Emilie’s dad asked with his eyes still shiny. “Rachel. It is really nice meeting you.” “Can Rachel meet my friends? Please? She is my best friend now” Emilie chimes in with her eyes glued to her parents in a pleading expression and her palms together. “That sounds like a great idea. C’mon Rachel, you should meet some of our neighbors. They will be delighted to meet you.”

Emilie links arms with me and all four of us head toward the rest of the houses. Nothing is on my mind besides the excitement of meeting new people. *** After I don’t know how long of having the best conversations I have ever had with so many people, my harsh reality hits me so suddenly my stomach practically collapses. The people I am talking to notice my sudden mood change. “Rachel? You okay?” I try to collect myself enough to nod and plaster some sort of positive expression on my face before I respond. I make sure I word it in a way that doesn’t embarrass me. “My mom is probably worried at this point. I am never away from home for long.” “Oh okay if you have to. You’ll come back to visit all of us at some point right?”

Rapid footsteps in the grass approach me from behind and turn my head to see Emilie slightly out of breath. “You have to go? I will see you again right?” She looks up at me with those big pleading eyes. “We’ll see Emilie. I am sorry I have to go,” I pull my mask down enough to show her a smile and I start walking back to the woods. *** Once I had entered the woods, I went into a dead sprint and didn't stop until I reached the bunker. I collapse on the ground and heave in and out. I am not a runner. I have no idea how long it has actually been. The shadows have shifted slightly but impossible to tell the time. I am not that savvy. I stumble my way to the front entrance and fumble the code to get inside. Once I stand in the doorway, hesitant relief floods my body as no lights are on or any other signs that mom could be here yet.

I close the entrance and walk a few more steps before I freeze as goosebumps cover my skin. Mom appears at the end of the hall. “Think you could get away with it? Sneaking out to that neighborhood?” she says with a dark monotone voice. I don’t know what to say. How did she know where I was? She starts walking closer. She has her hands behind her back. Normally I wouldn’t notice but I am afraid of her reaction to what I have done when it comes to her religious pandemic mitigation.

“For one, we have cameras, which you obviously didn’t know, and I saw you just having a grand time with a crowd of people. I am surprised you even had a mask and face shield on.” She says eyeing the two items in my hands I had taken off earlier. “Leaving the bunker was a careless act.” My heart is beating in my throat and I start to shake. “I am sorry. A girl got lost and felt so bad for her and then I got caught up with all these great people --” “Stop the mumbling. You know I hate that. None of that matters! The girl could have been infected. Jesus, everyone could be contaminated and they all gather with no masks and then you decide to join.” The expression on her face is threatening. “Now you could have gotten me infected. After almost eighteen years of escaping it. Do you not have an ounce of selflessness in you, girl?” Mom brings her hands out from behind her. She was just holding some type of protective equipment, but it still makes my heart feel like it is going to beat out of me. She puts on a full body suit and walks toward me. “Come with me now. I thought I had escaped the times you would get us into trouble.” Her voice is muffled but I can still make out the haunting words. She grabs my hands behind my back and pushes me forward. She is going to put me in a quarantine hole. She has mentioned this before but I have never considered me actually going there. I shouldn’t go in there. Why is my mom doing this to me? I have never experienced my mom act this way before. I don’t know her. I feel like a prisoner. I create resistance against my mom’s hands but her grip is tighter, holding my hands in place.

“I thought you loved me. Why are you acting like a different person? I know the pandemic is a big deal but I would think you would trust me enough to be careful.” “Don’t guilt trip me. You know the system and you betrayed it so you get punished.” I stop. She tries to push me forward but I stand strong. “You have no right to do this to me. I am going to fight until I can get out of here. You can’t hold me here forever.” “It will be long enough to regret doing everything you pulled today. Come on!”

Eventually I surrendered. Not because I am weak. I have spent the last almost eighteen years trapped within the walls of this bunker and yearned to grow up like a normal girl. Yes, a normal girl in school is a hazard because of the pandemic and I get that. Not being able to talk to people and staying in the same place your whole life is a hazard to my mental health, and have felt that for years. I am going to take this short time I have left until I can live on my own and take it with the positivity I always have. Mom knows too much about the law and how to get out of punishment herself but if I am eighteen, she can’t do anything about it. This will be the hardest thing I have ever done but I have met people today I want to interact with like a family. So I will stay with my mother for me and so I can get back to Emilie. *** “You're so pretty, Rachel.” It has been a year since I have left my home and now live in the neighborhood I had once visited. I may not have a relationship with my mother since she decided to lock me in a hole until I turned eighteen as I threatened to turn her in if she didn’t release me. Now, I am putting makeup on Emilie because she likes mine so much. “Can you live here forever?” Emilie asks me looking at our reflections in the mirror. “I plan on being here for a long time. I can’t guarantee anything because I can’t tell the future but I will try my best to stay near you.” Emilie hugs me and leaves to go show her parents the makeup I had done on her. I love this new life. I am naturally still careful about the nineteen year pandemic and have come off as an example to everyone around me too. Everyone doing their part is an important thing to get to the goal of whatever normal life actually means to everyone who lived before this hit. What I have learned by living in a bunker for my whole life is that having a positive attitude and the best intentions through not the best situation, does wonders. #DoYourPart


“Look,” he says, pointing to the sky. I splash water in his direction one last time and glance up. It’s so beautiful. The sun is swimming down into the trees. There are sparks of red and pink. Is the sun melting?

“Grandpa? Didn’t you say the sun would stop shining forever someday?” The redness begins to spread and it mixes into the clouds. “Yes, I surely did.” “It looks like it’s bleeding.” “And do you know what that means, Jean?” The water is starting to get cold and the rocks at the bottom feel chiller.

“What does that mean?” “It means the world has lost a pure soul today.” “Somebody died?” “Yes, son.” “Oh.” I look up once again to see the sun gone. Only red remains in the sky. “Let's get back, jean. The lake is starting to get cold.” “Okay.” I grab his fingers and he leads me out. I make sure not to step on the rough rocks. They are the ones that can cut. Grandpa grabs the purple towel we brought and wipes my hair. It sticks up in the air. I look down at the lake while he wipes himself. My hair looks darker in the water. My freckles look huge the closer I get to the water.

The grass is light and the walk back to the hut doesn't feel long at all. “Is mommy home?”

Grandpa looks down at the ground and frowns. “Your parents won’t be home for a long time, Jean.” “Who will read my bed time stories?” “I will” “Okay.” I hop on each stone leading up to the hut, trying to avoid each grassy patch. “Slow down, Jean.”

I wait for grandpa to reach the stone I'm on. He opens the door and the smell of cookies takes us in.

“Is grandma home?” “I’ve been waiting for her for a long time, Jean.” “She’s not home?” “I hope she comes home soon.” “Me too.” Grandpa takes the cookies out of the oven while I change into warm clothes. “How’s your sister jean?” “Is she coming home?” “I hope she doesn’t come anytime soon.” “That's mean.” I crunch on a cookie and it breaks in half. The chocolate melts into my mouth.

“Do you want milk with that?” “Yes, please.” Grandpa opens the fridge and pulls out a jar of milk. He takes my favorite Spiderman cup out of the cabinet. I watch as he slowly pours it in and slides it over to me. “We can go see them all tomorrow.”

“Okay.” I can’t wait to see everyone. I take a sip of milk and dip the side of my cookie in. A chocolate chip falls into the milk and the white begins to turn brown. I drink it anyway. “Grandpa?” “Yes, Jean?” “Mommy told me that you left to go on an adventure after you got so sick.” “She’s right.” Grandpa gets up from his seat to look out at the moon in the sky. “You used to tell me there's a man on the moon.” I look at the Moon. It's glowing. I can trace out a face. It looks like the face is old. “I think there is.” “Really?” “Do you not believe so?” “No.” “Why is that, Jean?” “Why does the man never come down to see us?” “Maybe he does, and we just can’t see him.” “Oh.” My eyes start to become tired and grandpa notices. “How about we go to bed?” We walk up the stairs. I hold his hand and he smiles down at me. “What is it, grandpa?” “I had missed you dearly.” “I’m right here.” Grandpa starts to laugh and seeing him happy makes me smile. The door to my room opens when grandpa gently pushes it open. I climb in and my toes start to warm up. “I hope mommy comes home soon.” “What book would you like me to read, Jean?” “Um, how about Jack and the beanstalk?” “Oh, that's a good one!” Grandpa walks to the bookshelf and pulls out a book. He walks right back and sits on the bed. “I don’t think I can wait.” “What do you mean, Jean?” “I want to see everyone now.” Grandpa thinks about it for a few moments and sighs. He puts the book down next to my legs. “You may not like it.” “It’s okay.” Grandpa nods and looks me in the eyes. “Think of someone you want to see.” I think of my mommy.

“Okay.” “Who is it, Jean?” “Mommy.” “Okay now focus on her and I will do the same.” I follow his directions. I think of her brown hair that matches mine and her silver eyes.

I open my eyes back up and we’re not in my bedroom anymore. I still see grandpa but we're in the kitchen. I hear my mommies voice telling Vi to brush her teeth. I run to the bathroom to see them both. Mommy is in her pj’s and Vi is too. They look sad. “Hi!” “They can not hear you.” Grandpa looks at me and he has a frown on his face. “Why not?” “Do you believe in ghosts, Jean?” “No way, Grandpa!” “Jean my dear, we are ghosts.” I look up at mommy to see her helping Vi. They both look like they have been crying. I tug on her shirt but nothing happens. I poke at her shoulder but she doesn’t turn around. I give Vi a hug but she doesn’t move.

“We are ghosts?” “Yes, Jean” “So, we are dead?” “Yes, Jean” “I don’t believe it!” “It is hard to believe.” “How did I die?” “You don’t remember, right?” “Nope.” “Do you remember what happened when you were born?” “No.” “It’s the same with death, Jean.” “Nobody remembers?” “No.” I look back up at mommy and Vi. They give each other a hug and I join in. I can’t feel them.

“Did I die today?” “You did, Jean.” “Was I the pure soul the world lost?” Grandpa nods. “Oh.”


Once, long ago, the barriers between worlds were thin - like the glass of a mirror. One could simply walk from our world into another, even by mistake. Now, though, the barriers are nigh impassible. And yet, one young woman made the journey, all to save her sister. --- ☾ --- Jules took a deep breath. “I’m coming, Lissa,” she breathed and began walking. The forest was silent. Under the night's sky, all the inhabitants hid, holding their breaths in anticipation. The ancient trees loomed over her: great pines whose feathery canopies scraped the sky, interspersed with oaks whose skeletal branches skewered the overfull harvest moon. As she stared up at the twilight sky, scattered with shimmering stars and constellations, a few leaves drifted to the ground, brilliant orange leaves, like flickering flames through the gloom. She sighed and turned. A path of stones were set into the ground, leading to the gargantuan tree growing in the center of the clearing she stood in. A large stone protruded from the trunk of the tree, ensnared by roots as thick as her arm. A symbol was carved into its bleached bone surface. Once she stepped closer, she was able to make it out. It was a crescent moon illuminated against the shadow of a full moon. It evoked a provocative, instinctive sense of unease but also wonder in her. It called to mind stories of the solstice, when the barriers between worlds were at their thinnest and allowed others to walk from their world into ours. And the other way around. She sighed. She dropped her backpack and fished for her butterfly knife. She stood and popped it open. She readied the blade over her palm. "I call upon you," she said, to the crisp, empty air and to the spirits that lingered there, "Spirits of the Between, neither Human, nor Faerie. I call upon you, speaking freely of my own accord. May you answer my call." There was an answering gust of wind. She shuddered. Was this how the heroes in the stories she studied felt? A deep sense of reluctance only overpowered by obligation? Taking a deep breath, she sliced open her palm and grimaced. She screwed her eyes shut, then began again: "With this blood I shed, I pay your tithe. With this pain I feel, I pay your tithe." She pressed her palm against the stone, gritting her teeth against the renewed sting. Blood oozed between her fingers. She continued. Her voice wobbled, but she spoke all the same. “Drink of my blood. Drink of my pain and be satiated that you may open this Gateway between worlds, and I might pass. So I speak, so mote it be.” For a moment, the air was still. Yet, it had a certain charge, an anticipation lingering as the spirits seemed to taste that which she offered to them. The moment seemed to last forever. So long that she feared the spirits might reject her offering, that her blood might have been poisoned. That she was not good enough. Lissa would be able to. Lissa can do anything. I’m just . . . nothing. Just as she was about to pull her hand away, the marking above her head glowed. The stone began to crack, and a crimson light glowed from between the split rock. The cracks grew, spiraling out from the epicenter, until it separated into two even halves - like doors.

They opened as she stumbled back, swinging inward. Between the slabs, there was a tunnel, round and formed of curved trees interlocked together. There was one last breeze, this one gentler than the last. It toyed with her hair, brushing along like a friend's caress. It pushed her along, and, though she hesitated for a moment, she walked forward.

A whisper seemed to echo, an assurance of some sort: Go in peace, challenger, and know this: we of the Nowhere stand with you. --- ☾ --- This young woman, guided by the stories she had studied in her youth and the stories her grandmother had told her growing up, crossed into the Otherworld. There, she made her way to the kingdom of the Raven King, a figure notorious for being implicated in the disappearances of thousands of women over the centuries.

It was he who had taken her sister, and she was determined to get her back. --- ☾ --- “Now, what have we here?” a disembodied voice called out. Jules glanced around, but she didn’t see the speaker, that is until she turned back to face forward again. There, standing in front of her was a man - or a humanoid being. Though masculine, he could not be called human. His features were too symmetrical, too sharp. And his hair, dark and falling to his shoulders, was made of feathers, thousands and thousands of feathers. She knew, upon seeing his face, that this was the Raven King. For a moment, both were silent, each studying the other, cataloging weaknesses and vulnerabilities. “What brings you to my kingdom?” he asks, with narrowed eyes. She takes a deep breath, her heart hammering in her chest, but she forces her voice steady. “I come seeking to bargain.” “Oh?” He arches an eyebrow. “What have you to bargain with?” “I offer you the amusement of a new challenger,” she said. “In return, you release my sister.” He chuckled. “As you wish,” he said and grinned, revealing fangs. “Should you pass through my kingdom and reach the castle within three days, I will set your sister free. Should you fail, she will never again see the human realm.” She swallowed hard around a sudden lump in her throat. Suddenly, the odds seemed insurmountable, her defeat guaranteed. Doubt rang in her ears like clumsy church bells. Can I really do this? She clenched her hands into fists by her sides. It didn’t matter. There was no other alternative. This was the only way. “Do we have an accord?” “Yes.” --- ☾ --- Upon agreeing to the terms, she was released into the maze which guarded the Raven King’s castle, and she began her journey. --- ☾ --- “Your time begins . . . now.” Between one blink and another, the Raven King disappeared. In his place was a raven, which flapped its wings and flew away, quickly disappearing over the horizon. Jules watched him go and sighed. She looked the way he had gone. It was a clear shot through the forest, and, through a break in the trees, she could see a hill ahead. She jogged forward and scaled the hill. Upon finding herself at its crest, she gazed out at his kingdom. She was overlooking a valley, across which an enormous maze sprawled. It was formed of high stone walls which merged seamlessly into immense natural rock faces on the edges and, elsewhere, crumbled into the vast evergreen forests. Splashed between the trees were hedges, decorated with strange flowers in every color imaginable. And rising above it all was a castle of dark, gleaming metal and thin spires and immense towers. Its surface caught the light of the moon overhead, but, rather than reflecting it, it seemed to absorb it. She shuddered. This land’s beauty was that of a black widow. Dangerous. Predatory. Lethal. Three days to cross all this. She gritted her teeth. Better get started. --- ☾ --- In those three days, she journeyed far. She faced great dangers and met the Raven King again and again and again. And, still, he could not dissuade her from her way forward. --- ☾ --- The Raven King stood between Jules and the opening in the rock, leaning against the stone wall. He was blocking her way forward, and she was not in the mood for him right now. She was still sweaty, muddy, and tired from the sink bog. When he saw her, he grinned, and the tips of his fangs glistened in the faint light. “Lovely to see you again, challenger.” Her nails bit into her palms, as though hungry for blood. “Wish I could say the same,” she snapped. Rather than being offended by her sharp tongue, his grin only widened. “Must you be so cruel?” “ I’m the cruel one?” He stood and stepped closer. He towered over her, but she refused to be cowed. “What do you want, Raven King?” He grabbed one of her curls, fallen loose from her ponytail, and wound it around his finger. “You know what I want.” Her eyes flashed. Her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached. “Not happening,” she ground out. But he ignored her. “You must be so tired - poor dear. Are you sure you want to continue?” His grin turned cruel. “You know the terms of surrender.” “Did you hear me? I said, not happening !” she snarled and shoved him away from her. He stumbled a little from the force of her push, but he regained his composure soon after. He clicked his tongue. “Such a shame.” He spread his hands and gave a gallant shrug. “I was going to offer you a rest, but I suppose I will no longer.” She glared. His smile was mocking. He stepped to the side and gestured to the opening in the rock. “If you mean to continue onward, the path lies ahead.” Though wary and distrusting, Jules walked forward, brushing past him and squeezing through the opening. It was a tight fit, and she was all too aware that he was right behind her. All the same, she pushed on. When she reached the other side, she stood on a sheet of rock that stretched out to the overcast horizon. She couldn’t see the Raven King, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there, that he wasn’t watching her. She jogged forward, slowly at first. When nothing leaped out of the fog at her, she pushed herself faster and faster, eventually breaking into a sprint. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The rock ended, breaking off into a sudden cliff. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she dug her heels into the ground. She barely stopped in time. Tiny fragments of rock bounced over the edge. She stood on the edge of a great chasm, panting. Her breath poured from her lips and hung in the air like a wraith. The wind whistled through the gorge, creating a low, mournful cry that sent chills up and down her spine. She leaned over the edge, but she couldn’t see the bottom. There was only a thick fog hanging between the two jutting cliffs. Her head spun, and she stumbled back. Her feet scraped against the stone. “Don’t . . . Don’t push me,” she panted. Please don’t push me. He stood behind her. Her back met his chest, and his hands came up to wrap around her arms, steadying her. When he spoke, the vibration of his words traveled through her: “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Her brows knitted. She didn’t understand him or his mercurial moods. One moment, he was her enemy, all sharp words and harsh threats. The next, he pulled something like this, all gentle embraces and sweet promises. She tore herself from his grip and turned to face him. Rather than question him on his shifting moods, she changed the subject. “You said the way forward was this way.” His lips gave a wry yet amused twist. “It is. I did not lie.” Her eyes narrowed. “There’s a cliff.” He looked past her, over the edge of the rock. “So there is.” His eyes flicked back to meet hers. “I hadn’t noticed.” She rolled her eyes. You’re so fucking funny. His grin widened. She turned. The way forward, huh? “Do you know what’s at the bottom?” “Haven’t a clue. The Labyrinth twists itself to be the greatest challenge to its runner - you’d have a better idea than I.” She sighed, closing her eyes. So that’s how it is. She turned and walked away from the edge, brushing past the Raven King. He turned to watch her go, an expression of surprise on his face. “What’s this, challenger? Where are you going?” A smile stretched across his face. “Have you given up already?” She didn’t respond. His needling wasn’t worth it. She had more important things to do. She walked until she deemed she had gone far enough, then turned back. She closed her eyes once more, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Her sister’s common encouragement rang in her head: “If you believe in yourself, you can do anything.” Well , she thought, let’s test that theory, shall we? She opened her eyes. She broke into a run, into a headlong dash forward. The Raven King begged her to stop. He shouted pleas, but she heard none of them. She ran past. He tried to grab her, to stop her, but his hand slipped right off. She caught the distress in his eyes as she brushed past. She wondered at it for a moment, but, then, she threw herself off the edge, into the void. --- ☾ --- It was the young woman’s leap of faith that proved her worth. It proved her worthy of her victory, and she soon found herself in the castle, where she and the Raven King would clash once more. --- ☾ --- Jules swallowed hard. I did it. I made it. I won. The Raven King stood before her, in his nicest waistcoat with a blood-red cravat at his throat. His expression was blank, his dark eyes cold. Beside him stood a blank-eyed Lissa, wearing a white dress that seemed to dwarf her now-skeletal frame.

The image she presented horrified Jules to the core, and she stepped closer. “I made it. I reached the center. I won . Now, let her go.” “By the terms of our wager,” he spoke, his voice frigid, “your sister’s freedom has been guaranteed.” He snapped his fingers, and Lissa disappeared before Jules’ eyes - again . “Where did you send her?” she demanded. At last, an expression, other than infuriating blankness, graced his face. He smiled, but the smile was hard. It was cold. It was the jagged edge of a broken piece of glass. “I merely returned her from whence I had taken her.” His smile widened. “She is safe at home.” Relief flooded her veins like taking a sip of a warm drink on a cold day. The words “Thank you” bubbled up, ready to spill from her lips, but she did not let them fall. She knew better. Instead, she inclined her head. “However, you never bargained for your own freedom.” Gratitude withered in her heart. In its place grew flames of fury, fanned into an inferno. She took a deep breath. She could have breathed fire. “What?” His eyes glittered. “Your freedom was not the promised boon. You must stay here in your sister’s place. Forever.” That . . . That could not stand. She was only 20. She had a life she still had to live. She had dreams. She had goals. She had family. She had friends. She couldn’t - she wouldn’t stay. She wracked her brain for solutions. In all the stories about faeries she’d read, maybe there was a way out. A way to defeat him once and for all. Her time was running out. The last grains of sand were beginning to fall. She needed to figure this out now. At last, the answer dawned on her. By bloodshed she came, through bloodshed she would return. She drew the knife she had kept with her, all this time. The Raven King took a step back. “What are you doing?” He eyed the knife. A smile stretched across her face, even as she cut her hand. Blood welled up and spilled over, dripping onto the ground. “I call upon you, Spirits of the Between, neither Human, nor Faerie. I call upon you, speaking freely of my own accord. May you answer my call.” “ No !” he cried, but she could not be stopped. “Come to me. Set me free.”


Disclaimer: Facts provided throughout this literary journal may or may not be true. Do not use to reference any relevant information regarding that of the beloved George Washington. Please enjoy! Saturday February 22, 1738 Garnets and looms do not cease to amaze me, yet, for reasons I cannot explain, my father’s cherry tree is where I write this. My sister Betty, my brothers and I have named him Robbie. The shade of Robbie’s leaves and ants along his rough bark delight me with the simple wonders that can never be explained. I had to contest physically with Samuel for the spot underneath the tree. He is only four, so we made a compromise quickly before he could muddy his trousers and make our Mother worry. He gets the tree in the mornings, and I will get it everyday after lunch. Augustine, who left home early and only visits on important days like my birthday, gets it never. My father gave me a hatchet today, my sixth birthday, and my Mother gave me this pad of paper and a pair of riding boots. The boots squeeze my toes too much and I don’t like how they feel, but the hatchet fits my hands perfectly and makes me feel powerful. A hatchet in my hands and some muscle in my fingers; nothing else can stop me now! Sunday February 23, 1738 Went to Sunday mass this morning where Father told the minister how much he cherished his cherry tree. When Samuel asked Father why he liked the tree so much, Father responded, “Samuel, my boy, it listens to me,” and patted him on the head harder than a naughty horse. I went to the cherry tree this afternoon after lunch, and with milk and bread crumbs still jostling their way into my stomach, I asked the tree if it could listen to me. And because I cannot tell a lie, I will tell you, it said nothing. Wednesday February 26, 1738 I plan on chopping some twigs tomorrow. I have my eyes set on the uneven branches of the cherry tree--they leave sun marks on Samuel’s rosy pale cheeks, and I would not think he wants to look like a wild tiger--so I will give him a full sun mark. He sleeps unknowingly underneath the sparse shadows of Robbie’s shadow right now. Thursday February 27, 1738 Raining. I don’t like rain. Drooping. Robbie is drooping. Mother told me to clean the floors now that Augustine has left. I happily obliged, giving the wet mop to Samuel and dry sponge to Betty while Mother took care of John in the nursery. Samuel said I should be leading troops one day, and Robbie, drooping from all the rain, looked happy when he said it. Sunday March 2, 1738 It is still raining outside, but we all had to go to mass today since Father is the churchwarden and wants us to make Virginia proud. I was forced to wear the boots after Samuel ratted me out on where I was hiding them. Then he ratted me out on where I was hiding myself after running around the house, screaming because I don’t like the boots, rain or Samuel. During the sermon, Mother had whispered to us that she wanted us to pray together under the cherry tree once we came home. She wanted us to pray that our Uncle Lewis found his way to the colonies and Mount Vernon after being prosecuted by the British. The British. Somebody really ought to stop them. Then we came out of the chapel and realized it was still raining. Mother then left the umbrellas in the frontyard and told us to gather in the kitchen while Father lit a candlelight. Betty pulled me aside after our prayer and told me, “We prayed inside the house, inside the kitchen, and inside our hearts, brother. Yet somehow I know that Uncle Lewis will not be coming. Why is that?” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know what she meant. Maybe I’ll know the answer when I’m all grown up, but for now I simply told her, “Look at Robbie out the window. He might as well be dead right now, but when the rain goes and the winds end: he’ll be alive and standing in the Americas.” I am a year older than her, so my words tend to sound more mature than they are confused when I say them. She nodded and went to brush her teeth. Tuesday March 4, 1738 At last, no rain! No rain! No rain! Betty says she is “elated yet belated,” and I have barely an idea what she means, her vocabulary not being the strongest for a five-year-old. She stayed inside to jump rope in front of John’s crib, however, and Samuel and I played catch outside. This being said, I have no other new words to tell you. Samuel fell in a mud puddle this morning, so he rested beside the cherry tree, watching the clouds blanket in the sky and pointing to the ones that looked like bears or whales. He was going to leave the shade by noon, but I let him stay because I wasn’t sure if Mother would’ve liked to see him come inside with wet and muddy trousers. We shared an apple. I went inside to find a knife for cutting it, but when I came back, Samuel was holding my hatchet! “Hack it through the ground, Georgie!” he said, holding the hatchet dangerously over his head. I don’t like it when he calls me Georgie, but I also don't like it when he holds sharp things over his head, so I made sure to get that thing away from him as soon as I saw it. I told him no, but he didn’t listen, and I must admit part of me did want to use my hatchet. Sweat started to drip out of my forehead, and my fingers trembled. I shook my head no. “C’mon General Georgie!” He bounced up and down in his muddy and grass-stained pants. Oh, infantile Samuel. You may be my brother, but sometimes you can make me do the worst things. I took the hatchet and struck it through the ground, reaping up worms and grass roots with every strike. It felt good, I have to say. I have no anger or bad feelings towards anyone, not even Samuel, but it felt good. Wednesday March 5, 1738 Had to stay inside this morning while Samuel played with Robbie since Mother was upset I cut up holes through the ground yesterday. Betty let me come to her spot in the nursery so John and I could watch her jump rope. It was rather mundane, but she seemed to enjoy it, so I sat in Father’s armchair and watched. Mother came in later and said I looked just like Father when he had important work to do and let me out early because of it. Cut some twigs and made a bouquet for Mother out of their flowers. She said they were lovely, but told me to be careful around Father’s tree. After all, looking like Father when he is busy isn’t enough for me to be Father. Friday March 14, 1738 Samuel and I chop twigs and square the bushes everyday before lunch. I have stopped cutting holes through the ground, but I still hold my hatchet strong when I strike. We are running out of things to chop, and lying under Robbie is getting boring. Monday March 17, 1738 Forgot to write in you yesterday, but something important happened yesterday that I have to write down. My father, the honest and kind churchwarden, went missing. One of Father’s friends from the parish council came to our family farm to tell us the news. “I regret to inform you, dear friends and family, but Augustine Washington Sr. has gone missing last night.” The unfledged man took off his cap and made a genuflect kneel. “He was last seen at the vestry, ma’am, at nine o’ clock. We have sent off a search party of about thirty to forty horses.” “Who is we?” Mother cut him off but let him in as it was well into the evening and getting cold out. “The entire church but their wives and children.” He took off his woolen cap and sat down, dusting dirt and other stuff from his pants. She looked down at me and said to get John from the nursery for it would be a while. She then cooked a jar of warm milk while the man who looked more like the son of a minister instead of an actual church member yabbered on. I listened intensely, with purpose, but it was hard to distinguish what any of his words really meant. Betty started to take care of John on her own, and Samuel kept asking me what the man, eating our chocolate chip cookies, was saying. “I haven’t an idea where he went, missus,” he said through breaths of cookie crumbs. A bolt of lightning struck, and the rain started pouring across our windows at that time, so Mother tightened the latch between the pairs of windows and gave us reassuring kisses. “It is rather cold out… and the rain… young sir, would you like to stay the night with us?” she asked and another bolt of lighting struck the ground. The man made a joke that it sounded like a hatchet striking the ground. I winced. Mother gave me a playful look before showing him to one of our guest bedrooms. He left his shoes by the front door, though. Tuesday March 18, 1738 I cut the tree. I cut the cherry tree. I cut Robbie. Augustine, the one who is eighteen but thinks he is forty-three, has come by again to say his condolences. He had a whole speech written, too. He had gotten the news early and came this morning when the man, Benjamin Boone supposedly, was taking a bath in the outdoor bathroom. Benjamin came out of the bath, ready to leave and already folding the towel Mother had lent him when he cried, “Auggie!” Samuel tittered behind me while Augustine’s eyes widened. “Benjamin? Benjamin,” he said, not very sure if he had used the right name. “Benjamin, did they make you a messenger?” “They did,” Benjamin was ecstatic. “How’d you…” and the conversation went on from there. Benjamin’s hours of being a welcomed guest were long overdue, but Mother kept cooking for those two who would have left once nightfall fell, anyway. Betty and John resumed their daily schedule in the nursery with her beaded rope and his wooden crib, and Samuel went too because he didn’t want to fall in the mud again. I was the only one outside this morning, Augustine and Benjamin still complaining about the price of tea from inside the kitchen windows with the accompaniment of Mother. This time I was mad. This time I was mad, mad at Mother for giving chocolate chip cookies out to strangers, mad at Augustine who wouldn’t be here if Father was, mad at Betty for always saying confusing things, and mad at Samuel for not playing with me. I hit the tree.  I hit the tree with the hatchet I didn’t even know was in my hands, and I hit it hard. I hit the tree so hard my bones were vibrating and my skull was reverberating. And I hit, and I hit, and I hit. Robbie was no more by the end of all those hits. Wednesday March 19, 1738 This will be the last time I write in you for a long time. I have been grounded for two weeks. This morning, Father woke me up from where I slept in the nursery--however I got there. He explained what had happened to him and asked if we were okay. His horse had hurt its leg on the ride back home, but it was dark out so made camp there in the Virginia woods. Augustine and Benjamin both left for home while I was asleep. Betty told me Augustine had tried to wake me to say good-by but that Mother wouldn’t let him; I was too far away in Dreamland. Father had taken the back door to get inside, so there was no way he could have seen the little remains of Robbie. I knew he’d find out either way, even if I could possibly blame this one on the rain. The rain and a dubious strike of lightning or any other --- No, no. That isn’t what I did. I put my hatchet on Father’s credenza and asked if I could talk to him. Betty gave me one of one of those sisterly glares that could make anyone regret doing anything while I fidgeted with my fingers and popped every knuckle there was. Sat down on the stool that makes me look small and told Father what happened, no embellishments or anything. Because there was nothing that could embellish it. Am sitting in my room now where Father will take away my hatchet, journal and other belongings in a couple of hours, after I’ve told Betty, Samuel and Mother what happened. I know I’ve done the right thing, but it still feels weird. Wednesday April 2, 1738 Father has bought another tree; this time an apple tree. He planted it in the yard and said a quick prayer for it. I was watching from the window and had come outside to do the same when he placed a hand on my shoulder, looking beyond my blue eyes. “George,” he said, “If you let me down, I will forgive you. But if you let anyone else down, they will not. Please, son, do not let them down.” And somehow, some way, I know exactly who them is.


We met in the basement of a house I didn’t recognize; a house belonging to a friend of a friend. I’m not sure who she knew, but I knew that I wanted it to be me. I approached her and tried to strike up a conversation, sloppily albeit successfully. She had no name, or at least none that she wanted me to know, so I came to find that neither did I. She spoke of hobbies that I can’t remember and books that I’ll never read. I spoke of movies and an unhealthy longing to write my own someday. We were selfish conversationalists. I asked questions so that I could answer them when she was done speaking. She batted her eyelids so that she could know she was attractive. We had hours until the ball dropped so we went on a walk. Chilly air stung my face and smoke my lungs. We were the rebellious youth. “You can’t tell me John Stamos isn’t the epitome of cool though.” “I wasn’t arguing that John Stamos isn’t cool, he’s undeniably cool”, she took another drag. “I’m only saying Uncle Jesse isn’t the most fuckable actor in the show.” “Come on. If the mullet man isn’t then who is?” She laughed. “Bob Saget.” “You’re crazy.” “You wanted my opinion I’m just giving you the honest truth. There’s something sexy about the dad role that just jumps my bones.” “Jumps your bones? My goodness I’m talking to an old woman.” “72 years young and counting.” I didn’t know how old she actually was or where we were going. She’d mentioned it was her favorite place on campus. We came to a hill, large enough to warrant admiration but small enough to be mostly unexciting. She started running and I followed. We laid out and watched the stagnant night sky intermittently hide behind veils of clouds. She had switched to cigarettes now. “…and that’s the big old sky snake. They say one day he’ll come and swallow the Earth whole, accidentally. Of course it’ll be our fault for having become much too bastardly. Terribly evil, us humans. I think we’ll get to the point where we don’t see anything wrong with being bad. But the snake will be there to consume us, an unnoticed breath of dust and other cosmic things. Gone and forgotten to time.” “Spooky.” “Yeah. What’s that one?” I was pointing to the sky. “I don’t know constellations.” “Neither do I, but I know how to make things up.” “Oh in that case,” she pointed to a spot where I couldn’t make out any stars. Or maybe I couldn’t figure out where she was pointing. In either case it didn’t much matter. “That’s the big old sky sheep.” “Sky sheep you say?” “Yeah, he’s a lot farther away so you can’t really see him.” “That’s so sad.” “It’s okay though,” she said with a smile. “He’s a lot faster than the snake, he has legs. And one day he’s going to catch up to the snake and stomp on him for what he did to us.” “But who will stomp the sheep?” She looked me in the eyes. “We will.” We returned to the party. A joyous occasion marked with excessive alcohol and loud music. Precisely the type of thing you want to be involved with when you’re young and you’re aging. We played drinking games and she stood by my side, and she started to seep into my heart. Just enough that I knew who I wanted to kiss when the ball dropped. And when it inevitably dropped I made sure it was passionate. Just passionate enough for her to know I was enjoying the night and her company. And she laughed and smiled enough for me to know she was enjoying my company. And as things are wont to do the party became increasingly intense. And we became increasingly sozzled. Falling into and over and through one another like the souls of people who are supposed to meet. We had to lean on one another to stay standing. But we kept drinking because that’s what you do when you want to have a good time. I couldn’t call it love but I could call it happiness which is more than I could call the past few months. “I have to go to the bathroom”, she said. “Do you want me to come with you?” “No, no, it’s fine,” and I hoped she’d come back. I found the guy I came with. He wanted to know if I was having a good time, noted that he noticed I had been gone, was thankful I found my way back. He asked about the girl, said he’d seen her around campus but had never talked to her. I responded she was nice, kept it at that. “You should get her phone number or something.” “Yeah I’ll probably try.” I woke up in my bed back home. A splitting headache in my skull and a terrible feeling in my heart. A sadness that I couldn’t place. That’s the last thing I remember. Making note of attempts. I grabbed my phone from the charger and checked my contacts with hopes of a nameless girl being found in the depths. Alas no nameless woman was to be found. I called my friend to ask what happened. “She didn’t come back” “What do you mean she didn’t come back?” “I mean she went to the bathroom and that’s it. You looked all over but couldn’t find her. Then I lost you for about 20 minutes. Found you face down in the toilet. We called a ride and got out of there. You cried in the Uber.” “Oh. Thanks.” “Yeah no problem.” So I tried to go back to bed, but all I got was a head full of regret and a longing for a name I’d never know. Still dizzy from the poison of the night before I thought of the stars and our tiny place in the universe. How small we all were and how silly decisions make us feel like shit. So all I could do now was wait. Wait for the ghost of a soul to find its way back to me and a giant snake to come swallow me whole. Wait for a sheep that would never come.


I take in a much needed deep breath, standing up straight and wiping sweat off my brow. I squint towards where the sun is halfway across the sky, hours from setting. This is the last car, I promise myself.

“Hey!” The driver of the car dips his sunglasses at me. “Hurry up and dry those tires. I’ve got places to be, you know.”

I sigh before getting on my knees and snatching the rag from my bucket. “Of course, mister.”

The driver groans, laying back in his seat and crossing his arms. If you didn’t want to wait for someone, you should’ve gone to an automatic car wash. Then again, I am grateful that he didn’t think to go to an automatic. With his fancy sunglasses and convertible, it’s obvious he’s loaded . . . or drowning in debt.

“There you go, sir,” I say, scrambling to my feet, taking a look at my work. I plaster a kind smile on my face before holding out my hand to the man. “That’ll be fifteen dollars.”

He scowls. “Worst fifteen dollars I’ll ever spend.” He scoffs before turning his car into drive from park and taking off down the road.

I let my smile slip before collapsing into my camping chair. “So hot . . .” I murmur to no one, taking in another deep breath. It’s the first day of summer today, and the sun has decided to prove to me that it can get a lot hotter than ninety here on the east coast. Not to mention the humidity.

Forcing myself to stand, I fold up my chair and sling the strap across my chest. Then I pick up the blue Lowe’s bucket that I use to carry all of my supplies before making my way down the street towards home. It’ll feel nice to be in air conditioning again.

The streets of Cape Charles are bustling with people this evening. People scroll on their phones, seemingly unaware of their surroundings, while others walk their children home from school. None of them seem to be uncomfortable in the heat. Then again, it probably doesn’t help that I came straight from Alaska. Virginian heat and humidity was not something I was prepared for when I moved here.

“Hey, mister!” A small hand grabs onto my shorts, and I’m quick to turn around and face the little girl. Her dark hair is braided over her shoulder, her ears sticking out harshly. Her cheeks and face are red from the heat, freckles dotting her cheeks and arms exposed by her unicorn tank-top. “You look like you could use a drink!”

“Samantha!” An older girl, maybe in her junior or senior year, takes hold of the small girl. Auburn curls are tied into a fierce ponytail as she scoops up the small girl. She smiles apologetically at me. “I’m so sorry. She’s just trying to sell some lemonade.”

“Yeah!” Samantha wriggles out of her grasp, running over to a small table beside the sidewalk. “You want some? It’s really good!” She hurries behind the stand, taking a red SOLO cup into her hands.

“She’s quite the saleswoman,” I say. “You know what? I’d love some lemonade.”

The older girl laughs. “Mom was right about you after all, Sam. Who could resist the charm of a six-year-old?”

“Nobody!” she exclaims, grinning as her sister pours a cup for me. “Try it! Try it!” Samantha holds it up for me.

I smile and take a sip. It’s cool and refreshing against the heat. Not too sweet, but not too tart or sour, either.

“Mm,” I murmur, rummaging through my pocket. “How much?”

“Nothing! It’s free!” Samantha practically bounces up and down. “You’re our first customer, so Brigette decided that we should just give it away since no one would buy it.”

My easy smile slips off my face. “That’s not fair. You two spent all this money and time on making the stand, and you get nothing for it?”

“I just like serving people,” Samantha says quickly. “Do you like it? Is it good?”

“It’s great! That’s why I just don’t think it’s fair that I pay you nothing.”

Brigette holds out her hands as I hold out a dollar bill. “Oh, no, it’s alright, really! As Samantha said, we’re not looking for money.”

I click my tongue. “Please, just take it. If I pay you nothing, it’ll be on my conscience.”

Samantha and Brigette both look at each other, hesitating for a moment too long.

“Here, just take the dollar for now, and I’ll exchange it for fifty cents later. Fifty cents for lemonade seems fair, hm?” I slide the dollar across the table. “Here, give me that paper. I’ll write down my number.”

Brigette hands over a pen along with the paper, and I write down my number. As she takes it back, Samantha asks, “What’s your name?”

“My name is Pakak. ” Both of the girls stare at me with confusion. I have to laugh. “It means ‘one who gets into everything’ in my native language. I’m from Alaska.” I hold out my hand to shake. “But here, I’ve decided to go by Peter.”

Brigette takes my hand, offering a firm handshake. “Well, welcome to America. I’m sure the heat is new?”

I sigh, taking a sip of the lemonade. “Oh, yes. Our summer is a lot like your fall.” I look down at my watch as it beeps. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to go.” I look up at the girls. “I’ll exchange fifty cents for that dollar as soon as I can.”

I turn around and walk down the sidewalk. Glancing back, I see Samantha grinning as she waves goodbye. Smiling, I do the same.

It’s as Brigette said. Who can resist the charm of a six-year-old? *** I step onto the porch of the small house, the messaged address of Brigette and Samantha. Checking the address again, I knock on the door.

A woman with grey streaks in her dark hair opens the door. Her eyes are red and puffy, tear streaks lining her cheeks.

“Can I help you?” She sniffles.

“Um, I bought lemonade from your daughter the other day. I gave her a dollar, and—”

“Oh, Peter!” Brigette appears at the door. Her eyes are red too, but she’s quick to wipe her remaining tears away. “I’ll go get a dollar.” When Brigette disappears, I turn to who I assume is her mother.

“I know it’s none of my business, but is everything alright?”

The woman’s face seems to sag, her frown deepening. “Please, come in.”

I step inside, walking into the living room. Everything is tidy, but oddly quiet. “Is Samantha at school?”

“I homeschool both Brigette and Samantha,” she says. “But, no, Samantha isn’t here right now.” The topic of Samantha seems to trouble her.

I lower myself onto their couch. “Is there something wrong with Samantha?”

Silence lingers for a few moments. “She was diagnosed with leukemia yesterday.”

Each individual word drops like a stone. I imagine Samantha, the small, joyful girl in her unicorn top smiling up at me. She seemed perfectly fine a week ago. So what happened?

“Are the doctors sure?” My voice is weak.

All Samantha’s mother can do is nod; any words she has die on her lips.

Brigitte comes back downstairs, a dollar in hand. She smiles as she hands it to me. "How come you came all the way here to give me fifty cents for a dollar, anyway?"

I blink, not quite understanding what she means. "Uhm, to exchange fifty cents for a dollar?"

Samantha's mother laughs. "Fifty cents? Was that really worth your time coming here?"

They're both laughing now, smiling at me. Expecting me to laugh along with them? I don't know. How can I laugh along with them while still confused as I am?

I decide to shake the topic. "I'd like to ask if I can help."

I don't need to specify. Samantha's mother's eyes snap to mine. I can already see the newfound pain swimming in them. "I couldn't ask that of you, Mr . . . uh."

"Peter suits me fine," I say quickly. "And I want to help. Please. "

I understand how she feels, not wanting anyone to help her in such a situation. But accepting help got me here, to Virginia. Maybe if I can help her like my village helped me, I can put her in a better place than she is.

Her gaze wavers. She blinks a few times, holding back the tears that pool at the bottom of her eyes. "I won't accept any money, Peter."

"And I wasn't going to offer any." I can already feel a vision building in my head. "I say we fundraise. Start something that people are going to love and give to."

"And what exactly could we start?" Brigette hasn't said anything since she came downstairs, but now, she smiles from her seat across the room.

It doesn't take long for me to think. "A business. How about a bakery? People love those. And I've always loved to bake. Especially if it's a recipe that's been passed down my family."

Brigette looks about ready to bounce up and down in her seat. "An Alaskan bakery? Thanks sounds amazing!"

"But the cost—"

Hesitantly, gently, I lay a hand on the middle-aged woman’s arm. Her eyes meet mine, and I offer her my kindest smile. "Let me worry about the money." I look at Brigette, who has now fallen silent, the ghost of a smile on her face. " You two focus on Samantha. Sound like a deal?"

"Why are you being so kind to us?" Brigette's mother's voice is but a whisper. Maybe to hide how it waivers.

"It’s God's miracle," Brigette murmurs, and both of our heads whip around to look at her. "God delivers. He takes care of us and gives us what we need. Even when it seems impossible." Brigette breaks her gaze from me to look at her mother. "The sermon last week, remember?"

Her mother's eyes snap to mine, and suddenly I feel as if I'm being examined like a fish at the market. "Thank you, Lord" is what I think she murmurs under her breath.

Weirded out, I stand from my spot on the couch. "I should be going."

"My name is Genevieve," Brigette's mother erupts from the couch. "Genevieve Gurr."

"It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Gurr—"

"Please, Genevieve serves me fine," she says quickly, her eyes sparkling with . . . admiration? Or maybe it's just tears. I'm not sure.

"Alright." My voice comes out tight and strained. Brigette just looks from me to her mother, intrigued but oddly disgusted.

"I'll get the door," Brigette finally says when her mother doesn't move from her seat. Genevieve nods, smiling softly at me.

Once we're outside, Brigette closes the door behind us. "How old are you, exactly?"

"Thirty-five," I answer automatically. Then my eyebrows furrow. "Why?"

She narrows her eyes. "Don't you think you're a bit . . ." She stops, her expression dripping off her face. "Oh. My mom's thirty-three."

I raise my eyebrows, still confused. "Alright . . . I'll see you later, Brigette."

As I turn away, making my way towards the driveway and my car, she calls "thanks for everything" after me. *** The next morning, I get right to work. I don't know how much time Samantha may have, so I waste none of it. I start by making a Facebook page, which I've never done before. But, texting back and forth with Brigette, she thinks it's a great place to start.

And in the first, painfully long hour, we make fifty dollars on something called a Go-Fund-Me . The support makes my heart lurch, so much so that I scroll through my computer for hours, looking at places around town for lease.

Somehow, I find the perfect place. I do as Brigette instructs, clicking the blue button here and typing in some information there. I'm grateful for her help, because without it, surely I would be lost in pages and pages of screen.

Things just seem to fall into place after that. We rent out a place, someone donates furniture to us. Better yet, the wood is pine—straight from the area around my home village. Everything couldn't be more perfect.

I took care of the shop, getting it fixed up and moving things in with some help from Genevieve. Brigette took care of advertising, online and outside the shop. She stood outside the shop for hours without end, turning the sign around and talking to possible customers.

And then I baked. Genevieve sometimes found the time to help, arguing her way into the kitchen with me. After all, she would come straight to the bakery after work, insisting that she help me. I've never been good at arguing, so in the end, I caved and let her help me.

With everyone pulling their weight, things started to brighten. Samantha was able to get the treatment she needed, enough to get some of her strength back. She had wanted so badly to see the bakery where we were making the money for her, and so Brigette and a few of our sponsors got together to surprise her.

The bakery was decorated with unicorns. The streamers were every color, and Genevieve had even made her daughter a unicorn cake.

I almost stuffed the whole cake in her face, if only to get her to gain some weight. She was all skin and bones it seemed. She might have been getting treatment, but it didn't seem to be enough. *** I lay a hand on Brigette's shoulder. She hasn't bothered to wear makeup. Smart of her. If she did, her mascara would've smeared from all the tears rolling down her face.

I open my arms, and she falls into them, sobbing. I look into the casket, my eyes falling on the skeleton wrapped in a thin layer of skin. Even under so much makeup to make her skin seem normal, she still looks dead. Beyond death.

Genevieve takes my arm. "She would've been seven today," she murmurs, her voice shaky. She keeps her eyes on my face instead of on her daughter's body.

"I'm so sorry." I meet her eyes. "I tried. We all did."

"It's alright, Peter. Everything happens for a reason." Finally, she lets her eyes fall on Samantha; her carcass. I know enough to know that her spirit is gone. "God took her home for a reason. She was suffering. And now she's not."

Brigette breaks out into even more tears, falling instead in her mother's arms rather than mine.

"Does this mean you'll close down the bakery?" Genevieve murmurs over Brigette's greif.

I roll back on my heels. "I'm not sure." I look at the body, wondering what Samantha would say if she were here. I know exactly what. "I don't think she would've wanted me to." I look at Genevieve, and Brigette, who's stopped crying to listen. "And I think she would've wanted me to stick around you two for a little while longer, too." I wrap an arm around their shoulders, smiling.

Genevieve blushes, tipping her head up so that Brigette doesn't see. "If that's what you think she would've wanted." She fights a smile as we walk out of the room, and into the sunlight of the outside.

"Of course." I look at Brigette, whose auburn hair glitters in the light of the sun. "After all, who can resist the charm of a six-year-old?"


“It doesn’t matter now.” Foci leaned forward, xyr pink glasses slipping a millimeter down xyr nose. “Your past is in the past.” The client sighed and smiled downward, shaking his head slightly. “Just like that? A new life?” “All yours,” xe smiled and slid the document toward him. He glanced once more at xem before tracing his finger along the dotted line. *** “Two cases done already?” Eglin, xyr manager, said when xe dropped the signed paper at eir desk. “That last one was a breeze.” Xe opened xyr hand for xyr next assignment. Eglin examined the new signature and eir eyes widened. “He just took his own life—you convinced him to start a new one in less than an hour?” Foci opened and closed xyr hand. “I can get a third in this morning if you have another you think I can handle.” “Wow,” e slipped eir fingers over a stack of papers and lifted the first from the pile as if e had been waiting for xem to ask. “But you have to be careful about this one; two counselors from other branches have already failed them. They might need a few days, so don’t chug through your usual routine, okay?” Foci clamped xyr hand on the document and walked toward xyr office, granting em a brief wave in place of a thanks. Though Foci had no doubts in xyr mind, xe remembered how difficult xyr first time in the counseling firm had been. Xe had passed on too soon in what people from xyr last life’s hometown referred to as a tragedy. Foci shook off the memory; it was years ago, and all stories eventually fade from a soul’s reality. After the two weeks Foci spent bouncing off six counselors, xe finally hit a wall and cracked open to expose a runny yolk of trauma. Xe took an offer to train as a counselor instead of claiming a new life. In these glass walls that looked into ocean, xe took on every difficult case until xe was known for handling tough souls, talking off their rough edges, and easing them into their next lives. Foci heard xyr office door click shut as xe sat down and gazed into the blue water around xem. Their next client would arrive at any moment. How tough could they be? Xe glanced at the document and read the name: Perigee (they/them/their). The door shut suddenly, and Foci adjusted xyr glasses and looked up at the soul who was draped in black smoke that billowed from seven feet off the floor. “Draped” was the wrong word; they were smoke. Since a soul could choose their visual manifestation in liminal spaces like the counseling firm, many of Foci’s clients appeared as some reflection of how they saw themselves. One client who had issues feeling out-of-place presented as an elephant who barely fit in the room. This new client’s smoky appearance was creative, and Foci wondered if Perigee had only recently accomplished the effect; they had been at the firm for at least two days already. “Welcome, Perigee, please take a seat.” The smoke column made no move. “If you prefer to stand, I should tell you that this meeting might be long, so if at any point you feel inclined to sit, you are welcome to the chair across from me.” Still no movement except for their perpetual smoke curls. “I’m told you’re different.” Xe folded xyr hands on the desk. “I want to make clear that I have dealt with hundreds of so-called difficult cases, so have no fear in confiding in me; there’s nothing I haven’t seen.” At these last words, Foci thought xe saw the top of the smoke column—where a head might be—tilt upward. The next three hours passed with no words nor gestures from Perigee and only two prompts from Foci who was quickly learning how tired xe could become of xyr own voice. The prompts were vague and open-ended; Perigee had probably heard enough pointed questions from other counselors. By the end of the workday, xe resolved to be patient with this client. After all, they had infinite time. Xe shook xyr head when Eglin asked if xe wanted to pass Perigee on to a different counselor, answering none of eir questions about them. The second day passed with no words from Perigee, and though Foci had never spent more than a day on any client, xe was certain xe could convince this one to pass into their next life. On the third day, Foci decided to transition away from long silences. “So far it appears you are uninterested in speaking, so how about I tell you a story? This way you won’t need to speak much. I only need you to tell me what sort of story you want me to tell.” Xe leaned forward only with xyr head, wanting to maintain an appearance of leisure. The column of smoke scoffed, releasing a puff of black, which Foci viewed as progress. Perigee was silent after, and Foci waited in that silence for xyr next idea. Xe turned toward the see-through wall, the corners of xyr lips falling. A minute of silence passed before Foci was startled to hear Perigee’s soft but unimpressed voice for the first time: “The other counselors tried the story thing too.” Foci kept xyr eyes on the ocean, afraid xyr gaze might send Perigee back into silence. “You weren’t interested in stories?” “I had already heard them ramble on for hours by the time they offered.” Foci tried to keep the eagerness out of xyr tone, “So, what would you like to hear about?” “It’s a technique, right? A tactic to make me think or feel some way?” “More or less,” xe turned to face them. “But since you’re talking now, why don’t you tell me a story instead? Or tell me anything you like.” The smoke column had shrunken a foot, and the billowing had ceased, so now the smoke hung like thick mist. “Are these real windows? Are we really in the middle of the ocean, underwater?” “No,” xe spoke slowly but without the intention to sift details. “We’re in a space that doesn’t exist in the same space as earth, so these blue waters aren’t part of any ocean you knew in your last life.” “But they’re not really there at all, right?” They didn’t wait for xyr answer. “I know because I punched through a wall on my first day here, and the glass shattered, but no water came through.” Foci smiled. “It’s a sort of mirage—a moving picture meant to be calming.” On this last word, xe raised an eyebrow briefly. The two of them talked for the last hour about the false space, whale sightings, and why most souls feel compelled to move on from this liminal counseling firm. The next day, Perigee was the first to speak, no prompt necessary: “If we are in a space that is not a space but just a transition, then how is today not yesterday? What’s the point of time in an invented place?” “Same reason there’s an ocean around us: it feels right. You probably heard on earth that the body needs rest, well, so does the soul, so there’s a time here for rest.” “What about you? Why haven’t you moved on from this ‘liminal space’?” Foci laughed once, “Such a personal question.” “Right! as if your whole purpose isn’t to learn all the most personal details about my life and use them to shove me into some other life.” Perigee’s smoke pushed out of their column formation into what could have been two arms if they weren’t comprised of black vapor. “I stayed here because I had a hard time with many counselors, and I wanted other souls to have an easier time.” Perigee was silent for a moment, and then Foci watched as they lowered into the seat across from xem. Xe was surprised at how normal a seated mist looked, as if clouds were commonly seen sitting. Realizing xe was staring, xe tried to think of something else to say but instead felt the silence was more comfortable than polite but meaningless words. “Could I stay here too?” Perigee asked. “You could, but you have to open up first, to face whatever you’re holding on to from your past.” “Hm,” they sunk an inch in their chair. At the end of the day, Eglin stopped xem in the hall before xe left. E whispered hurriedly to xem, “Foci, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but my supervisor says that Perigee is going to change counselors at the end of the week if they don’t sign something before then.” “The end of the week? That’s in three days.” Xe titled xyr head. “They never change a client’s counselor without the current counselor initiating the change.” “I don’t know what, but something is different this time.” E glanced around even though there was no one in the hall. “Don’t tell anyone I told you; rule changes like this one are usually for everyone’s benefit.” Xe nodded but left work with gears turning over how to make Perigee move forward in the following days. Pushing the process would likely cause them to close themself to Foci, but xe wasn’t ready to give up on this client and wouldn’t be ready by the end of the week. Xe had never failed a client before, had never asked to have someone assigned to a different counselor. What was different about Perigee?  The next day Perigee arrived looking nearly human in shape, each finger made of mist. “Perigee,” Foci began. “Tell me what plagues you about your past life.” Perigee didn’t flinch or stand from their chair. They exhaled softly and began their story, selecting each word slowly: “Where I grew up, no one expected me to live very long. I was raised in bad conditions. My parents—” Perigee froze and let the silence lengthen. Foci could see in their misty face that they weren’t ready to speak of those details. “You don’t have to put it into words,” xe assured. Perigee shook their head. “ I want you to know. I—” They stopped again, and xe let the silence distance them from their words. “When I was twelve, I ran away after my father killed my older brother. He was never found guilty, and when I left, no one bothered to look for me. One night in August I froze to death.” Foci remained quiet for a moment out of respect. “So that’s how you died, but that’s not what’s keeping you here.” Perigee’s head moved suddenly upward to face xem. “How do you know? Wouldn’t it make sense that my brother’s death kept me here?” Foci knew xe was risking them completely shutting down the conversation, but xe moved forward anyway, sensing they couldn’t lie now that they had begun to open up, “Do you want to see him again?” “No,” Perigee responded so quickly that they looked startled. “Do you want revenge?” “No.” “Do you feel responsible for your brother’s death?” “No.” Astonishment swept over their foggy features. “That’s all as I suspected.” Xe resisted the temptation to explain xyr guesses. “Well, don’t you just know everything.” Foci almost fell quiet, almost let Perigee’s sarcasm be the last word. When xe began again, xyr voice was gentler, “Tell me about your nightmares. What do you think about when you can’t avoid your feelings?” Perigee looked down at their hands in their lap. “When I was much younger, I punched down when things were really bad at home.” Suddenly Foci and Perigee were no longer sitting in the office surrounded by blue water. They were on a gravel road with yellow stalks on either side. Though Foci could hear the tones of Perigee’s voice, xe couldn't discern clear words. In place of their narration were two children—maybe seven or eight years old—speaking in semi-shouts. One of them wore plastic glasses, and the other was slightly taller. The taller one pushed the one with glasses into the ditch between the road and the field. They lost their balance and fell hard on their head. The taller child laughed, but after a moment they stopped and developed a look of concern that devolved into terror when the small body remained still. Without warning, they were back in the office, sitting as before as if nothing had happened, Perigee still speaking. “I ran for help and said xe had fallen, so naturally no one suspected it was my fault.” They looked up suddenly, their eyes narrowing slightly. “Why did I say ‘xe’ right there? Xe wouldn’t have gone by xe at that time.” Foci stood abruptly. “Excuse me.” Xe scrambled out of the office, leaving Perigee to ponder pronouns: “In fact, I don’t know why I would think xe uses xe now , wherever xe is…” Foci half-sprinted to Eglin’s desk. “I know why they’re only giving me until the end of the week with Perigee—actually, they shouldn’t have assigned them to me at all.” “Whoa, slow down.” E put down the document e was scanning when xe began pacing in front of em. “What do you mean?” Foci stopped moving long enough to look Eglin in the eye. “We knew each other in life.” “Oh no,” eir eyes widened. Xe resumed pacing. “You know that whole memory teleportation thing that only happens when two souls share a memory?” “Foci, this is bad—” “I know, but I can convince them to sign a contract now that I know what’s keeping them here.” “No, listen to me, I’m your manager ; it’s my responsibility to report this sort of thing. As soon as my supervisor knows, your client will be moved.” “Right, right, but why did management assign them to me at all?” Eglin looked at the ceiling for a second and bit eir lip before saying, “Foci, there’s something I haven’t told you.” Xe stopped pacing again and looked into eir face. “I mean, I’m not supposed to tell you, but now it seems relevant that you know.” E met xyr eyes. “Management has noticed how well you’ve been doing, and they have an order to their ranking system that keeps newer counselors from climbing the ranks too quickly, so they’ve been assigning you some of their most difficult cases to slow your growth and keep the order predictable.” Foci’s back straightened. “If I succeed with this assignment, their gamble will have backfired.” “Yes,” Eglin said. “And they set you up to fail by assigning you a soul you cannot help.” “Can’t help?” Xe grinned. “Just watch.” “You don’t even have until the end of the day,” e called as xe walked toward xyr office. “I have to report this!” “I don’t need until the end of the day!” xe called back. Foci sat down loudly, palms on xyr desk, shoulders jutting up, “Perigee,” and in xyr excitement, xe forgot to face the difficulty of the same past that had once kept xem talking to counselors for weeks. Xyr face fell, and xe froze, xyr eyes sinking into dimness. “We must have known all along.” Perigee was becoming a darker and thicker vapor again. “Some part of us separate from thoughts recognized each other.” “Yes,” Foci regained a relaxed posture. “It’s not unheard of for the soul to know something before the mind.” “You must hate me.” Perigee shook the top of their seated smoke column. “But somehow I know you don’t.” “I can’t hold hate for you the way you might expect me to.” Xe looked toward the ocean. “Even when I first arrived here, I only despised myself, thinking I deserved no life.” “No, no.” They darkened into a swarm of black. “I would never want you to—can’t you see it’s my fault? It’s all my fault.” “No, Perigee,” Foci suddenly shook off xyr own memories and grasped determination. “You have repented enough for your mistake.” Perigee lifted slightly, but Foci was afraid xyr words weren’t enough to convince them they deserved life. “You have endured some of the worst parts of life at no fault of your own, and you have emerged and faced your worst fears.” Foci gestured to xemself. “You are stronger than any soul I have counseled, and you would do yourself a disservice to not claim your next life.” As Perigee’s smoke parted, xyr eyes widened to see a face unrecognizable from the child xe once knew, and yet they were familiar. “How do you know my next life won’t be as painful as the last?” “There are no guarantees.” By habit, Foci slid Perigee their document. As they reached for it, the door opened and banged against the wall, startling both counselor and client. Two figures entered and one shouted, “This client is to be reassigned immediately.” The other figure shuffled to one side. “Sorry for the sudden entrance, but this particular case must be handled now.” Behind them, Eglin mouthed, “Sorry.” “Wait,” Perigee stood up and faced their palms outward. “There’s no time for protest,” the first figure shouted. “Follow me.” Perigee snatched their document from the desk and traced their finger over the dotted line. The figures stopped, stunned, and watched as Perigee glowed for a moment and disappeared. Before they were gone, they turned to Foci, and xe was certain xe saw them mouth, “Thank you.” The signed document fluttered to the floor. “Well,” the second figure mumbled and then cleared their throat. “Great job, you’re clearly a top counselor. I suppose there is no need for the reassignment now.” As they lowered their heads and turned to leave, Foci stopped them. “Actually, could you find me a contract?” “Of course. Whose?” “Mine,” xe removed xyr glasses and exhaled. “It’s time I moved on to my next life.”