"Strike!" yelled the unpire. "That's okay, Timmy.  Your pitch is coming next." It is another great day for baseball and the local little leagures are playing against their long time rival from just down the road. As Timmy is waiting for his next pitch we find the South Hinton Tigers leading our North Hinton Cubs 5-4. The pitch finally is delivered and Timmy swings. Thwak! It is a long hit over the right fielder's head.  Two runs score and Timmy ends up on third base. "Way to go, Timmy.  I knew you could do it," I yell.  Timmy looks at me with the biggest grin I have ever seen on that boy. The last inning finds North Hinton still leading.  South Hinton starts the inning drawing two straight walks.  I have to make a visit to the mound. "You okay, Jamie?" "Yeah, coach.  I thought they were strikes but that umpire wouldn't call them." "Don't worry about them.  Just bear down and get the batter." "Okay, coach." And Jamie does just that.  Next batter gets three straight strikes for the first out.  The second batter hits a weak grounder to third where we get a force for the second out.  The next batter swings on the first pitch and hits a pop up to the shortstop who makes an easy catch. We win. The North Hinton fans cheer.  The team crowds around me, their coach. "Way to go, guys.  I knew you could do it.  That was probably the toughest team we will play." Timmy's mother walks over to the team bringing the drinks. "Our next game is Saturday so we will have practice Tuesday and Thursday.  That okay with everyone?" Timmy's mother speaks up, "Thursday is Timmy's birthday.  Would it be okay to have a short party after practice?" The team cheers. "Guess that means it will be fine." The team cheers again and crowds around Timmy, each player trying to pat him on the back. "Okay, boys.  Two o'clock on Tuesday right here.  And again, great game." The parents approach then to collect their all-stars. David Shaw approaches me. "Coach?" "What is it, David?" "Can you give me a ride home.  Dad's out of town and Mom is working." I could never say no to anyone who ever asked me for help. "Sure, David.  Help gather the bats and make sure all the trash is picked up." David starts picking up bats. "Great game by the way.  Knew you had that last pop-up all the way." "Routine, coach.  Routine." It only takes a few minutes to get all the bats and make sure the field is free of trash. I would have had to pass David's street on my way home anyway so it was not out of my way. After dropping David at his house I decided I did not want to do any cooking for my dinner so I opted for a stop at Golden Corral.  There I can get all the 'good for you' foods and some not so good for you foods with no dishes to clean and put away; no left overs to store in the fridge; totally no trouble. After leaving the Corral I was looking foreward to a peaceful evening with some sixties music and the Stephen King book I an reading. As I pull into my driveway I cannot help but notice a strange car parked across the street.  The Johnsons must have company. After parking in my garage, closing the garage door to seal me in, I enter my house.  I toss my keys on the counter, tune the radio to the local oldies station before heading to the shower.  I seem to work up a lot of sweat just standing there watching my team play. Since my room-mate has gone to Florida for the week I am looking foreward to some just me time. The shower feels great, totally relaxing.  Better not stay long or it will turn me into a prune. As I am dressing I hear what sounds like a feeble knock on the front door.  Looking through the peep hole I wee someone standing there their back is turned so I cannot tell who it might be.  They do not look to be dangerous so I opt to open the door and find out what they are selling. Opening the door I ask, "May I help you?" When the person turns to face me I am stunned.  It is a face I had not seen for years and not sure I really wanted to see it now. "Dad!  What are you doing here?" "Good to see you too, son." Silence as we stand looking at each other. "You gonna make an old man stand out here in this heat?" "Nothing wrong with the heat.  I was just getting ready to sit on the back porch for a bit.  But then that is in the heat.  Feel free to join me if you like." "Thanks," and my old man comes into the house.  "Stlii listening to that damn roch and roll I hear." "My house, my music.  You can't take away my music here and yes, it's that good old rock and roll.  Maybe a glass of sweet tea will cool you off." Dad sits on one of the porch chairs and I get us both some sweet tea.  I make no effort to turn down the music. "Here you go, dad," and I hand him his glass.  "So what brings you all this way?  Kathy not home?  Paul not home so you have to settle for me?" "No, son.  Your mother and I thought that after your time in the Army you would come back home.  We kind of wondered why you did not." "No offense but I have more friends here than I ever had at home." "But we are your family.  Isn't family supposed to be close?  You know, blood is thicker than water." "I don't remember it ever being close.  You were always in your office and if you came out and it was not for a meal it was to administer a whipping to someone and that someone was usually me." Tears seem to be forming in his eyes, probably from the heat.  I had never seen him cry, not even at Granny Blake's funeral. "Sorry, son.  You did not come with an instruction manuel so your mother and I made most of our mistakes on you I guess." "That's really comforting to know.  You sure seemed to take time with Kathy and Paul." He takes a big gulp of his tea. Silence. "You never liked my music.  You never liked the books I read.  You never liked the teams I rooted for and I don't ever remember hearing 'good job' or 'I'm proud of you'.  You seemed to have saved all that for Paul and Kathy." "But we were proud of you." "What was so hard about telling me that twenty-five years ago?" Again he opts for a big gulp of tea. "When I wanted to play baseball you were nowhere to be found.  I had to get help from Mister Delvin across the street.  And the only year I got to play was because Mister Delvin paid my entry fee.  You never came to a game.  For me my home life was miserable.  Why would I want to return to that?" "I'm sorry, son.  I promised your mother I would pay you a visit and try to patch things up." "So it wasn't even your idea to visit me.  There is no quick fix for misery." I regretted saying that as soon as it was out of my mouth even though it was exactly how I felt. Dad put his glass down and stood. "Thanks for the tea.  Guess I'll go get a room at Motel 6 and head back home tomorrow." That was fine with me but I had to at least make him an offer. "No, dad.  Stay here.  I have always had an extra room for you and mom to use if you ever visited me.  So stay." "Are your sure?" Oh, no.  He is going to accept my offer.  Too late to back out. "Yes, dad. I'm sure." "Guess I better get my overnight bag from the car then." While he went to the car, I put in a tape of all the great instrumental songs of the past years, sort of a compromise I guess. With that my me time was out for the night.  But mending the fince with my dad seemed to be the right thing to do.  I just hope he does not expect me to pack up and move back anytime soon. I am happy here and they will just have to accept that.


Frost and little beads of ice cling to crumbling brick and grey stone. Heavy snow blankets a roof, and a black cat sitting with its legs tucked underneath it sticks out like a beacon. Snowflakes speckle its fur. Just like everything else across the country. Pine and juniper trees look especially stylish when there is snow because they're newly clothed and, ironically, cozy looking in their white jackets. The sun rises above the hills and the neighbourhood in vibrant, soft hues of orange and purple. A minute later, it blends into baby blue and pink.

Greyish white roofs become sparkling white sugar cookie frosting. Maroon bricks and damp wooden gates become bright children's books' illustrations. The capital of the country is a friendly, fast-paced society of bustling citizens. Through the busy masses of street food vendors setting up their stalls and business men and women scuttling hurriedly into trains, a hop, skip, and a bus ride away, is an immigrant couple in a small neighbourhood who haven't gone out in the snow for two years since they moved in. And they're asleep right now, laying together in their bed. A woman flops her arm to the side, half-asleep, searching for the curve of her partner's waist. Her hair is greasy from not washing it for a while, so she swipes the stuck strands away from her face with the back of her hand. It's quiet, and for some reason, feels so peaceful for her all of a sudden. She opens her eyes halfway, eyelids still heavy with sleep. She parts her lips, and cold air hits her teeth. A light breeze waltzes in through a slit under the window and ruffles the curtains, dappling the room and bedsheets with pastel gold sunlight. A snowflake falls against the glass, and that's when she realises: it's snowing- Oh! It's snowing!

It's snowing. In January. But she's too tired to care. Instead, she rolls to the right and presses the home button on her phone. 7:45AM. Birds have started chirping. Shut up, she mumbles to herself. Her lips taste weird and her tongue is dry. So she pulls herself up, makes a grotesque expression to exercise her face, and reaches to her bedside table for her bottle.

After two sips and a gargle she swallows, she presses her face against the back of her lover's shoulders and goes back to sleep with her arm comfortably resting over her body. The day goes on. Until the evening, a timelapse of the sun's rays disappearing from their bedroom and their tired limbs moving once or twice plays. And at 7 o'clock in the evening, sharp, when the sky is orange again, they wake up. "Go take a shower," her lover mumbles into the crook of her neck. So she gets up, groggily, swinging her legs one by one onto the hardwood floor. Her stomach rumbles as she makes her way to the chilly bathroom. She strips, then steps into the shower.

Her lover gets up as well, and makes the bed.

"Darling, can you bring me the towel?" She calls out after a few minutes. "Yeah, sure, wait," they say.

"Do you want to work today?" She asks once she exits the bathroom, fluffy red towel wrapped around her body. Small droplets of water dripping off the ends of her hair hit the floor as she dresses herself. "I feel… hmm…" her lover's reply trails off, and she notices they're sitting on the foot of their bed and staring out the window. The sun is setting now; sky turning heather purple. "I want to spend the day out." Without any consideration, the woman agrees. The past few months have been like trying to sculpt a statue from a block of steel. She takes a thick hoodie from the closet. "Then let's go sledding," she suggests with a smile, laying across their made bed and wrapping her arms around their waist.

"That sounds nice," they agree absentmindedly, looking at the clouds becoming pink. The bed dips as the woman slides off it. They turn their head. "Wait, sledding? We don't have a-" She's standing on the side with the tough plastic lid of a storage bin.

"Yes, sledding. With this," she says, beaming and holding it up at a jaunty angle under her arm as she awkwardly attempts to put on an extra coat with the other.

They look at her with a warm, cheeky glint in their eye; "I like that." After another shower and some packing, the front door closes behind the two of them, and they start their trudge through the snow to the hills bordering the neighbourhood, hand in hand.

They share pecks on their cheeks. They have a few munches of Kit-Kat and gulps of water from their backpacks. And by the time the woman's calves are slightly sore, it's 7:30PM, and the sky is darkening, but they've reached the foot of the hills. The sun has completely set, leaving only chilly, biting air and dim purple sky. With leftover light casts shadows over the white hills and jacketed trees, the world is a peaceful winter wonderland. "Is this a good one?" She asks, a little out of breath, pointing to a fairly steep, but low one. Following a nod of agreement, she takes her partner's hand and drags them (and the storage bin lid) up the snowy hill. On the top, she huffs a few breaths that turn into puffs of warm air. They become clouds, and it entertains her, so she does it a few more times before laughing and falling backwards into the foot-thick snow. Her partner joins. They wrestle about like they did in their youth; and it makes them happy. It's perfect. "When was the last time we went sledding? I think it was in 2017 when we went to Japan," her partner says.

"Yeah. Sit properly, I don't want your fat bum to break the plastic," she scoffs in a playful tone, pushing them nearer and nearer to the slope with her hand. Then, when they reach, she pushes her lover, making them lurch forward over the edge. Their untied hair whips around and against their face, collecting new falling snowflakes, accompanied by crumbs of compact snow and more hearty laughter. The second time they go down, the lid catches on a clump of hard snow and they overturn.

"Ahh! Again, I want to go again!" She guffaws loudly, clumsily stumbling backwards to pull the lid back up. Tired out, her partner just giggles breathlessly and helps her push it. When the sky becomes navy blue, they sit in the night under the clear sky and let the moon, stars, and phones be their light.

And after a longer while (because of sore calves and thighs and exhausted lungs), they trudge home.

"We should do this again next time it snows," her lover suggests. "Agreed," she, well, agrees.


The witch love potion The crisp autumn air was warm, people stood by a train station as a light rumble started. The train was coming. It was a large barreled train with red accents. The light was a pale yellow that was barely seen in the afternoon air. When the train got closer you could hear the screams and yells of people by the tracks.

“Please don’t do this. Do you want to be a murderer? I swear I’m not a witch, I was just tending to my moth garden and- and my pet raven was helping me… please believe me” the witch pleads as she looks at the train coming at her and back at the people.

“You’re a witch Crow Jones and so is the rest of your family. They are filthy and dangerous and so are you. Just admit you’re a witch, Crow.” The feminine voice bites back at Crow.

“Faye, please” she waits in silence, the train racing towards her, “Fine I’m a witch and I’m happy about it. I’ll curse you if I get out of this Faye.” Crow taunts.

“That’s all we need. Thank you, Crow and Bon Voyage. “ Faye yells and the train inches closer and closer but then the train screeches and derails off the tracks. Crashing to the ground as people scream. Silence.

“Ha, I win!” Crow grabs her wand and casts a spell. With sparkle and shimmering light, the ropes appeared around Faye and the crowd.

“See you around Faye! I had fun!” Crow winks and runs into the forest. Faye blushes and grunts, ”Alright people we will get her next time.”

A little stone cottage stands in the rough forest, to the left of the cottage was a greenhouse. The greenhouse had something flying in it. Moths. The beauty and elegance of the moths were mesmerizing. They all were earthy-toned with spots and speckles of color. Then out of the peaceful sleeping woods, a witch runs into the cottage. A bird flies in from the east with a note tucked in its claws. In the small kitchen, the bird sits on a perch, and a floral couch sits in the lower part of the room. Potions, crystals, and herbs clutter the room. Crow is slumped on the couch panting for oxygen. The bird caws to the tired witch. She looks, sighs, and walks to the bird to slide the note from its feet. The note reads.

Crow, I need a potion for… something… please use these ingredients.

Jasmine flowers Vanilla Rose petals Cinnamon

Water Golden Human hair

Please…

Sincerely,

Demetri

Crow sighs again mumbling, “Another love potion… blah.” She goes to the greenhouse with a basket in her hand. The colors were even bright in the candlelight with majestic blues and purples. Gorgeous rich reds and oranges. Soft greens and rich greens. Crow grabs the jasmine and rose petals. Out the back of the greenhouse, there’s a path leading to a covered hill with candles surrounding a large cauldron. Crow then ignites the flames under the shining pot full of river water. She starts the potion. First the jasmine flowers, then vanilla, rose petals, cinnamon, and… wait… the golden hair.

“ Rats,” Crow grunts. “Fable! Come here and stir this while I’m gone, okay?” The bird comes elegantly to the witch and sits on the big wooden spoon. A house stands two stories high in a town with dimly lit candles glowing pale yellow everywhere. A shadow of a woman with a pointed witch's hat appears. She stalks the house with closed windows. Crow walks to the blue-painted door and turns the handle. Locked. She grabs the wand with a crystal on the end and vines going toward her hand, she flicks her wrist and the door opens.

You could see the furnace glowing on the stone floor in front of it.

The room was still and quiet, Crow walked to the stairs and hit a chair on the way. It tipped but Crow caught it before it fell. The first stair creaked in a low tone so Crow jumped to the second stair, she made it to the top and looked into the first room. No one was there because it was a closet. The second room contained a girl with long golden blonde hair and Crow blushed and whispered,” Faye looks so cute and peaceful,” she turned a bright red and shook her head. Then she grabbed some scissors to cut the golden hair. She cuts a nice clump. Faye stirs and rolls over, she clutches Crow's hand and speaks softly, “ I wish a thousand times that we could be together,” she kisses the back of Crow's hand, making crow turn into a lobster. “ I love you… Crow. “ Crow gasped a little too loud and Faye opened her eyes slightly. Crow runs to the other side of the bed and jumps out the window as she whistles a broom comes to her aid. Then they fly away into the night. Faye looks around confused and shivers, she gets up and closes the window.

Back at the cottage Crow finishes the potion. She could stop thinking about Faye, her small features and perfect small button nose. She had beautifully curved lips and a gentle voice that said,” I love you, Crow. “

Crow mumbles,” Faye, why did she do that? Well, Faye was just dreaming so it’s not true.” Crow threw the hair into the cauldron and it started to boil up but in a flash Crow grabbed some dirt and flung it in. The potion was ruined. She ran inside and started a letter.

Demetri, I messed up the recipe so I have to start again. It will take another few days.

Sincerely, Crow She gets to work on a plan, a plan to see Faye more without getting caught. The morning breaks and Crow flies to the front of Faye’s house and drops a letter that says,

Faye, go to the river in the woods at sundown… Alone. Please You'll find out who soon Crow flies high above for a while waiting for Faye to get the letter. Then moments later Faye walks out in a jean overall dress with a daisy flower shirt and brown combat boots. Her hair was tucked into a bow at the back of her hair, Crow bushes, almost tipping off her broom. After Faye grabs and reads the letter she starts to look around so Crow flies off to the spot, Faye will meet her. She sets up a small picnic with flowers and a small terrarium of moths, moss, and crystals. Then some rose petals and notes lead to the greenhouse just down the path. Floating light also surrounds the picnic making it glow in the coming sunset. Crow returns to her cottage and starts a new batch of the love potion. Then it's sundown, Crow gets the whole plan ready then Faye arrives at the spot, Crow watches from above. Faye sits and eats while looking at the floating lights. She's oblivious, Crow assumes. Just one last thing for her to do. Faye sees the notes and petals. She cautiously followed the path, the floating lights followed and lit up the orange, yellow, and red trees. Faye reached the greenhouse and gasped with a small chuckle, “ Wow,” she whispered. She stumbled into the greenhouse, and she wondered looking at the brilliant plants and candlelit flowers. The moths flew around her head and landed on her hands. Then in an impulsive jab Crow locks the doors. She then flies down to see Faye.

“ Hi there, Faye,” Crow

Faye flips around and glares,” Crow, what're you up to? Are you going to curse me?”

“ You know I could curse you with wet socks or deadly bees that follow you and the only way to get rid of them is with a true love's kiss. Weird I know but weird is fun. Alas, I think we need to talk instead. I know you don't like me but a little birdie told me you love me.” Faye blushes, “ Oh you're a little red in the face, so it's true then. Well, I have good news...” unexpectedly Crow was in the greenhouse, doors still locked. She pushes Faye against the wall and grabs her chin. Faye is too stunned to speak but Crow had that covered,” I may or may not love you too.” Faye makes an impulsive move and kisses Crow. Crow backs off and gasps.

“I'm uh confused and so relieved,” Crow grabs Faye's hand. Faye jumps and grabs Crow and pushes her to the ground.

“ That was not real, I hate you, Crow. You're a witch,” Faye holds Crow down and puts a fist in the air. Crow ducks her head in fear. Faye looks at her face and blushes, she can't do it.

“ ugh fine, I do love you,” she mutters.

Crow kisses Faye again. She kisses back.


Content warning: references to suicide and death ----------- She scrolled past image after square image of happy mothers, fathers, children with their toothy smiles, all appearing candidly full of joy and wonder. This specific photography account she began following a few days ago was becoming one of her favorites. The photographer had a distinct talent at capturing families at their most perfect, their most beautiful. Of course, she knew that photos like these weren’t always real life, but as she looked at a young mother cradling her newborn son on her bed, her husband’s arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he looked adoringly into the baby’s sleepy eyes, she could tell that this wasn’t fake. They really did love each other in that special way that made people forget there was a camera pointed at them. Some people might say that an 11-year-old having a social media account on Instagram was a bad parenting choice. It probably was. Violet’s mother wasn’t exactly on her way to win a Mother-Of-The-Year award. Violet supposed she could download porn and watch it on full volume and her mother wouldn’t come out of her Ambien-induced stupor to put a stop to it. In fact, Violet had done just that last night, seated in the floral upholstered chair not ten feet away from her mother, who was snoozing on the couch, a tumbler of whiskey balancing precariously on her stomach. Violet had turned up the volume on her phone as high as it would go, the moans of two women reverberating off the tall ceilings in their living room. She wasn’t even interested in watching these adults have sex, only in getting her mother’s attention, which was sorely lacking these days. She continued scrolling through the photos until she stumbled upon a face that looked familiar, though it was hard to tell due to the photo being taken at a distance; a playful family scene on a pebbled beach in which a mother was holding her daughter’s hand and the father was tossing a small boy into the air. Their smiles were rapturous. She pinched her screen, zooming in on the woman’s face. It was Mrs. Kessler (or Rachel, as her mother called her), their neighbor a few doors down. She supposed the man in the photo was Mr. Kessler, though Violet had never met him despite having had at least five play dates over at the Kessler family home. They had a 2-year-old son named Carson and a 9-year-old daughter, Annie, who Violet would play with occasionally, seeing as how their neighborhood was made up of mostly retired couples. She didn’t particularly enjoy Annie’s company – she only wanted to play with Legos while Violet much preferred spending time in the kitchen, baking something with Mrs. Kessler – but it was an excuse to get out of her house and away from her mother. Violet saved the photo of the family so she could look at it again when the mood struck. She stood up from her seat at the kitchen table – where she’d once again found herself alone after pouring a bowl of Frosted Flakes for dinner – and went to her mother’s bedroom. Her mom was zonked out on her bed, fully clothed, and flanked by Eddie and Reggie, their other cockapoo. Eddie growled as Violet approached. He had never taken to her, and Violet always wondered why her parents had adopted him when the shelter had explicitly stated that he didn’t like children. Her mother was sure she could change his ways and encourage him to love Violet, who was then just a toddler. He never did. Old dogs and all that. She held the photo in her mother’s face, careful to keep her distance from Eddie. “Why aren’t we like them?” she said out loud, knowing full well that her mother couldn’t hear her and wouldn’t respond. She pulled the phone down by her side. “Why are you the way that you are? I hate you. Did you know that? That I hate you?” It was at that moment that Eddie lunged for her, but she backed away in time. He continued to growl from his perch at the edge of the bed, but Violet could only laugh. “Stupid dog,” she mumbled on her way out, heading to her own bedroom where she would inevitably fall asleep, scrolling through Instagram. ----------- It wasn’t that Violet’s mom was afraid to leave the house. She didn’t have agoraphobia, according to the Google research Violet had done. She would occasionally leave to go to the pharmacy for her Ambien pills. Sometimes she would take the dogs on walks - though most days she just let them out into the backyard to do their business. On her better days, she might walk to the corner pizzeria and bring home Violet’s favorite, Hawaiian pizza. But most days, she just slept or stared blankly at the TV while HGTV jumped from show to show. The internet called it depression. One quiz that Violet took on behalf of her mother said it could be posttraumatic stress disorder. Regardless, it was serious. Violet tried to convince her mom to get help, showing her the WebMD articles she had found, imploring her to “talk to her doctor” as the articles suggested. But her mom just shrugged her off, telling her to leave her alone, to “go play or something”. It had started a year ago when Violet found her father in the unfinished basement of their old home, hanging from an electrical cord that was looped around a wooden beam that ran the length of the room. His face was drained of color and his neck was bent at an unusual angle, but otherwise, he looked like he was just sleeping. Violet didn’t yell or scream; she suddenly couldn’t remember how, even though her mom always joked that she had “solid pipes” on her when she was an infant. She fell to the cement floor and hugged her knees. She stayed like that for an hour until her mom returned home from work. Her mom screamed when she found them. She remembered how. Since then, Violet’s mother had been out of work, relying solely on the considerable savings the family accumulated over the years. Violet ordered groceries using her mother’s credit card. She set her own alarms for school. She packed her own lunches and laundered her clothes. These things, she didn’t mind doing herself. It was the lack of attention that angered her. All of her grandparents were deceased. Her father was an only child and her mother hadn’t spoken to her sister in over a decade (apparently, Aunt Teresa had tried to “make a move” on Violet’s dad). Violet wasn’t even sure whether or not her aunt knew she existed. There had been a few coworkers of her parents’ who stopped by in the first few weeks with sad faces and even sadder casseroles. But even those visits petered out once her mother stopped returning calls and texts. Violet’s mother hadn’t been perfect, but she used to read her stories before bed. She used to kiss her forehead when she dropped her off at school. She used to take her to the local pool in the summer and sledding in the winter. Now her mother was a ghost of her former self. And Violet had had enough. ----------- That Saturday afternoon, while her mom was sleeping off the sleeping pill and wine combo from last night, Violet put on her pink coat and laced up her boots. She trudged through the newly fallen snow down to the Kessler’s house and rang the doorbell. Carson came to the small, narrow windows beside the door and stuck his face on the glass. Violet shook her head at the absurdity of it. When the door opened and she saw Mrs. Kessler’s kind eyes and honey-blonde hair, she perked up, a smile working its way onto her face. “Hi there, Violet! Carson, look! It’s our friend Violet. Can you say hi?” Carson ran off in the other direction, seemingly uninterested in the family’s visitor. “He’s been a little shy lately,” Mrs. Kessler said. “What are you doing here, sweetie? How’s your mom doing?” She asked a lot of questions, but Violet liked it. Mrs. Kessler seemed genuinely interested in her. “She’s fine! My aunt’s visiting next week, so she’s doing a lot of cleaning,” Violet lied. “I’m kind of bored at home and my mom said I should see if Annie wanted to play.” “Oh, I’m sure she’d love to, but she’s actually with her dad today. They went ice-skating. Rob used to play hockey in school, so he’s been wanting to show her the ropes for a little bit!” Violet’s face deflated and she knew that Mrs. Kessler could tell, because a look of pity swept across her face and she cocked her head to the side in that way that so many people had done in the last year when they encountered Violet or her mother. “Oh...okay. Well, thanks.” Violet waved and started to step down off the porch. It wasn’t slippery with ice like their porch was. It was carefully salted to avoid any accidents. “Would you like to come inside with us? I know a 2-year-old isn’t the best company, but we’ve got Frozen II booted up on the TV and some donut holes and hot cocoa. How’s that sound?” It sounded perfect. Mrs. Kessler was making the hot cocoa on the stove from scratch and the smell filled the room with a heavenly scent. Carson came over and grabbed onto Violet’s hand, sticky in that way that most toddlers hands always are. He led her over to the couch where their giant Newfoundland, Jack, was already sprawled out. As she sat down, Jack scooted over to sniff her and then proceeded to plop his giant head in her lap. She kept her hands at her sides. She didn’t know what to do with a dog that didn’t want to murder her. Carson seemed to notice her hesitation and squealed, “pet, pet!” over and over while guiding her hand across Jack’s head and ears. He was soft and warm. Was everything about this place soft and warm? “He’s such a loverboy,” Mrs. Kessler said as she appeared with two mugs of cocoa and a plate of donut holes balanced atop one. Violet helped her by setting down the plate, at which point Carson grabbed a tiny toddler fistful of donut holes, but before he could shove them in his mouth, his mother grabbed them out of his hands and ripped them into smaller, bite-sized pieces. It made Violet wonder if her mother would do the same or if she’d be content to let her toddler choke. As Frozen II played in the background, Mrs. Kessler seated in between the two children, Violet took in her surroundings with new eyes. Sure, she’d been to this house half a dozen times, but most of it was spent with Annie in her room among her hoard of mismatched Lego pieces. The house was a little messy, as most homes with toddlers are on a weekend, but was otherwise homey and well-decorated. A candle burned from its place on the mantel and a Christmas tree sat in the corner. The scent of vanilla and pine filled the room, mingling with the chocolatey smell of the cocoa. Carson fell asleep a mere 20 minutes into the movie and Mrs. Kessler picked him up and carried him off to what she assumed was his room. “I’m actually surprised he went down so quickly,” she said when she got back, smiling. “Normally nap time is much trickier than that. Maybe you’re my good luck charm!” “Maybe!” Violet returned the smile in kind. “So how have you been, Miss Violet? I know it’s probably been a tough time for you.” Understatement of the year. Before Violet even realized what was happening, she was crying. Salty tears rolled down her cheeks and onto her sweater. Then a thought formed in her head: she wasn’t sure if they were genuine tears or if she simply wanted to get a reaction out of this woman. That reaction didn’t take long to form, and only seconds later, Mrs. Kessler had her arms wrapped tightly around Violet. Violet hung on. She smiled as she laid her head on this kind woman’s shoulder and the tears petered out. However, she continued to make a whimpering sound so Mrs. Kessler wouldn’t let go. ----------- What felt like hours later, Violet awoke to the sound of heavy snow boots hitting the wood floor. She was covered in a warm, fleece blanket. The candle continued to burn. She could hear Annie and her dad talking loudly in the kitchen. Annie’s voice was a shrill thing, full of whines and complaints. Violet turned around and peeked at them over the back of the couch. “I don’t want to do it anymore,” she cried to her parents as she quickly shrugged out of her coat, throwing it on the ground in a tantrum. “I hate it!” “Honey, when you’re first learning to skate, you’re going to have a couple of falls,” her father tried reasoning with her. “You’ll get better if you just--” “NO!” Annie screamed, storming up the stairs to her room. Mr. Kessler - Rob - sighed loudly, clearly exasperated after a day spent with Annie. Mrs. Kessler cocked her head in that pitying way and hugged her husband, whispering what Violet could only assume were words of encouragement. Violet thought Annie was a bitch. What kind of spoiled brat gets mad when their doting father takes them ice-skating? An image of her lifeless father flashed before her eyes and she shook it away. “Do you want to stay for dinner, sweetie?” Mrs. Kessler said from the kitchen, pulling items out of the fridge and placing them on the giant kitchen island. “Want me to call your mom and ask? I’m sure we exchanged numbers a couple of years ago--” “Oh, I can text her! I don’t mind!” The last thing she wanted was her mom ruining what was an otherwise perfect day. “Okay, hun! Let her know she’s welcome to come over. It’s taco night!” Violet pretended to type out a text and waited a few minutes before saying, “She said she can’t come - she has a headache from all of the cleaning - but said that I could stay!” Violet was nothing if not an experienced liar. Why, for a whole year, she’d been pretending that everything at home was just peachy. “Okay, well, why don’t you go on upstairs and see if Annie wants to play?” Mrs. Kessler suggested. She really didn’t want to do that, but knew it would look strange if she didn’t at least play with Annie for a little bit. After all, that was supposed to be the reason why she came over in the first place. She smiled and uncurled herself from the blanket and Jack’s body, which had been draped over her the whole time. Annie was angrily breaking apart a Lego contraption that Violet guessed was supposed to be a ship, but looked nothing like it in reality. “Do you want some help with that?” Violet offered as she got down on her knees. “No, I don’t need any help.” Annie’s voice was harsh. Violet wanted to take the toy from Annie’s rude, ungrateful hands and throw it at the wall. “What are you doing here anyways?” Annie asked. “I told you last time I didn’t want to play with you anymore. You only want to hang out with my stupid mom and bake stupid cookies like losers.” “Your mom isn’t stupid. You’re lucky she’s your mom.” Violet knew she hated Annie right then. “Just because your family sucks and your dad killed himself doesn’t mean you can have my family. I wish you’d just leave and never come back.” Something inside Violet snapped. She grabbed a blue, rectangular Lego piece with one hand and the back of Annie’s head with her other. She shoved it inside Annie’s mouth, which was wide open in surprise. She pushed it far down her throat and then smoothly pulled her damp hand back out, watching Annie’s eyes bulge as she realized what was happening. She began to choke. Violet looked on in curiosity. She hadn’t seen her dad die and always wondered what it had looked like. She waited a few moments before screaming for help. Annie’s parents tore up the stairs, their faces horrified at the sight of their only daughter choking to death. Mr. Kessler quickly began attempting the Heimlich, while Mrs. Kessler shouted and spluttered into her phone, crying to a 911 operator. “What happened, Violet!?” She yelled, grabbing onto Violet’s shoulders firmly. Violet had already begun producing tears long before they entered the room and she managed to get out, “Sh-she was trying t-t-to take a piece off of her ship, b-but it was stuck, so she tried to g-g-get it with her teeth!” The color began to drain from Annie’s face and Violet saw her father. She saw her mother, drooling in her bed, her tongue stained red from the wine. She hated them. She grabbed onto Mrs. Kessler’s waist and she wrapped her arms around Violet in return, wanting something to hold onto as her husband failed miserably in reviving their daughter. Violet wanted to smile, but held it back. She felt her heart flutter with something she hadn’t felt in a long time. It was love. She finally had a family. And nothing was going to get in her way.


The power was out. I groaned and slammed my phone into the couch I had been lounging on. It was summer and everyone blasting their ACs probably caused a power outage. I got up from the purple velvet couch and walked out of the living room. “Dad! Can you call the power company!” I yelled into what seemed like an empty house. My words echoed off the walls. The eerie silence sent a tingle through my back. “I’m doing it right now! Go check the electrical box first.” My dad replied. Also yelling. My dad had always said a man had to learn to take proper care of the house. You know. Manly stuff. I never had an interest in building things or sports. My dad always thought of it as a weakness. I just saw it as an unfair stereotype. I like video games and art. I don’t want to nail things together in the garage. Nonetheless, I was taught.

I grabbed a flashlight from the drawer in the kitchen. It was still light out but the basement and electrical room were pitch black. I walked down the wooden stairs into the basement. It was a nice basement. It was furnished and well decorated. But something felt off. I could explain it. I told myself I was being crazy. I probably was. I went about my business and went into the electrical room. I turned on my flashlight with a little click. I shined my light on the gray wooden box in the corner.

I gasped. The buttons had been scrapped out. I ran my fingers along the cut metal. What is this? And out of the corner of my eye I saw a shadowy figure. I screamed and turned around to shine my light at it with one quick swoop. My dad stood there laughing. I frowned. I'm surrounded by idiots. I thought.

“Can you not?! It’s not funny.” I said in an agitated tone. “Lighten up.” He said patting my back. Well more like slamming all the air out of my lungs. He examined the board and frowned. “Isn’t it weird the buttons are missing like someone clawed it out?!” I practically screamed. “What do you mean? Quit joking around it is just a short circuit.” He said in his usual disappointed tone. That's when I looked over and it was as if the buttons were never gone. He was right, it was just a short circuit. I scratched my head in confusion. Am I losing my mind? “I thought I taught you better than that. Oh well. I don’t have the parts to fix it today. I will have to go tomorrow, your sister has the car.” I sighed. I was not looking forward to staying at home with this group of nut jobs. And especially now that our air conditioning didn’t work. “Hey you know what. Let’s go get your mom and have a camping night!” He said in an enthusiastic tone. I nodded. That was at least better than staying inside tonight. I sprinted up the stairs toward my moms room. When I knocked on the door she didn’t answer. I almost thought she wasn’t there. But when I knocked again she answered in her meek voice. “Come in!” She said.

When I came in she was sifting through her closet with clothes all over the floor. This was unusual for her. She was always a neat freak. “What are you doing?” I asked She turned around and smiled at me. The smile calmed me. It sent happy waves down my spine. “Oh just looking for my flashlight honey.” She said in her usual voice. “Okay, dad says to tell you he was thinking about having a camping night in the backyard!” “Oh! That sounds great! I’ll make us lunches and start packing.” “Okay mom. I will go help dad get the camping stuff.” Once we were all packed and ready to go we set our stuff out in our backyard. We actually had a nice set up. We had our firepit tents and picnic table. It was starting to get dark out so we sprayed ourselves with bug spray and started to cover up. Mom and dad went in their tent to grab some food. So I sat on my chair and looked out at the house. I couldn’t explain it but this whole day after the power went out I felt watched. It was a chilling feeling. I hated it.

I looked over at the house. I was probably just fooling myself. Dad always said I have an overactive imagination. Wait. No. A figure stood in the window. It caught my eye. The second I saw it my blood ran cold. I rubbed my eyes as hard as I could but it didn’t go away. The figure was barely visible in the light of the fire and the lanterns. It was pitch black now which didn’t help to relieve my stress. The figure turned from a shadow to a long droopy balck mass. It had a large gaping mouth with several rows of gapping teeth. A long tongue licked the clear and pristine glass. I turned around to alert my parents. They were feet away from me. Just standing there.

“Guys?!!!!” I said in a trembling voice. My parents looked at me. Dead in the eyes. Their eyes were almost blank. Nothing there. Just cold, darkness, and fear. The people I loved. We're gone. That’s the second I knew it. Just like the figure in the window. They morphed. They both turned into the horrifying monster I had just seen. I fell out of my chair. Every muscle in my body vibrates with alarm. I reach for something. Anything. A thought radiates in my head. It is almost primal. RUN. I get myself up and run through my yard. My Converse slap against the damp lawn. My heart is beating out of my chest. I have to get out of here. I think. But where is that? Suddenly a bright light blinds me. I try to make out where it is coming from. The driveway. My sister. OH NO MY SISTER. I ran as fast as I could to the driveway on the other side of my house. I stood in the headlights with a look of sheer terror. Without thinking I climbed into the passenger seat.  	“GO!!!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. My sister looked at me, startled. She hesitated unsure of what to do. But she saw the look on my face and knew it was urgent. “What about mom and dad?” She said. “It’s not them! I swear they are going to kill us!” I yelled. She put her key in but before she could start the car she looked forward. I have never seen here so terrified. Because there it is in the headlights. Looking right at us. There was no use now. We are already dead.


“Look, dad.” Sara sighed. She held the phone under one arm while she struggled to coral the wild papers strewn across her desk into a neat pile. “Not this time, okay? Maybe this summer. I’ve got work coming out of my ears, and some major tests coming up after the break. I have to study.” Sara got the papers in order. She stuck them into the briefcase she was holding. “Law school isn’t a walk in the park, you know.” “Sara, honey, I know you're busy.” A deep voice breathed from the phone. Sara did a quick glance around her cubicle. Every student at Rushmore Law had their own cube in the library. It was in this box that they spent grueling hours hunched over textbooks and hundreds of pages of case law.

I am so ready for the break, Sara thought. Before leaving the library, she brushed her fingers through her unruly gold-brown hair. As she stepped out the door and into the parking lot, the brisk air splashed her face. I’ll have time to do a little pleasure reading and hang out with friends. “I am busy, dad.” Sara grunted, patting her suit pockets as she searched for her Honda keys. The Honda was a car that Sara had had since her eighteenth birthday… The birthday when she’d left for college. The day she’d left Silver Meadows, the home of her youth, and never looked back. Why would she? California and Rushmore’s School of Law were ten times more interesting than that small town in the backwoods of Mississippi. They were more interesting, and they held less painful baggage than Mississippi and Silver Meadows. “I’m busy, and I can’t make it home this Christmas... I’m sorry.” Sara found her keys and unlocked her vehicle. She slipped into the driver’s seat. Sara tossed the briefcase in the backseat. It landed atop a mountain of junk. “Hey, I’m heading back to the dorms now. It’s the first day of break, and Cami and I have plans. Tell mom I love her, and-." “Sara,” her dad’s voice grew grave. “Listen to me; you need to come home this Christmas.” “Dad, I-.” “Honey, your mother..." her dad trailed off, before clearing his throat. “Your mother isn’t feeling well, and I think it would be best if you came to see her, just in case." There go all my plans. Sara stomped off the plane. She snatched her luggage off of the baggage carousel like a child throwing a tantrum. There goes hanging with Cami. There goes reading a nice book with a cup of hot cocoa. There goes Christmas. I’ll be spending it worrying about mom, in a town that I hate, in a house that I hate... Perfect. Although, despite her bitter thoughts, Sara couldn’t help the whispers of worry that echoed ominously around her mind. Her dad had said that her mom was ill and that he wanted her to come home for the holidays. However, he refused to say exactly what was wrong with Sara’s mother. What if she’s really sick? Sara swallowed. She stepped outside the airport doors and waved down a taxi. What if, all this time, she’s been ill, and I’ve been brushing them off? Sara shifted uncomfortably in the taxi’s hard seats. It wasn’t their fault what Jed did. Heck, it wasn’t exactly my ex’s fault. So why do I blame them all, like it was?

Sara had called a car rental near Silver Meadows before she’d even gotten on the plane. They had a car ready to go for her when the taxi dropped her off there. It was a base model Toyota Corolla that had seen better days.

It was the cheapest car they had. So, Sara took it. Right away, she noticed the car’s engine grumbling like a grumpy old man. She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the growing familiarity of the woodland around her. The trees were coated in layers of ice, which glistened over their branches like crystals. The sky was the same color as the water that brushed against the shores of Cali’s beaches. Sara turned off the main road and onto a gravel backroad. That seemed to be the final straw for the old Toyota. With a groan and snap, a few miles from her parents house, the car sagged forward and ceased to move. “Oh, no, no!” Sara groaned, smacking her head against the steering wheel. “Not now! Oh, come on.” She tried the gas. The car sputtered, smoke rising from the engine. Sara, with a groan of her own, stepped out of the vehicle. She made her way to the front of the car and popped the hood. Dad always made this look easy, Sara realized, staring with a blank expression at the mess of cables before her. Which thing-a-m-bob does which? What should I do? “You look more lost than a calf, trying to climb out of a ditch with two backward hooves.” Sara jumped. She glanced over her shoulder. Instantly, her stomach dropped. A man stood behind her. A young man with hazel eyes and straw-blond hair. He was wearing a brown leather jacket, cowboy boots, and jeans. He looked the same as he had at eighteen. “I…” Sara’s mouth went dry. She wet her lips and tried again. But words wouldn’t come out. She could feel cold, biting, water against her skin. She could hear herself screaming out as that same merciless liquid filled her lungs and pushed at the back of her eyes. “It’s not funny!” She remembered saying, as she tried to take an amber bottle from a boy. A boy who stood on the edge of the river. “It’s not funny at all! Give me that! All of you are being dumb!" “Who’s bein’ dumb?" One boy, who stood next to the one she was speaking to, sneered. He had black eyes—the devil’s eyes. “We is just having a little fun, right, Cas?” "Yeah, yeah, we are.” The boy, the one who’s drink Sara continued to desperately snatch at, agreed. He pulled the drink from her grasping hands. “Don’t be such a mother.” “I’m not! But this is foolish. If you get caught-.” Sara glared at him, her eyes wet with tears of worry and frustration. Cas looked away, shame coloring his ears. He didn’t want to be there. He was just there because the guys had invited him, and because he didn’t want to be at home with his father. “Come on, Cas.” Sara urged, her voice soft as cotton. She grabbed his hand, his warm fingers slipping into hers. “Let’s go back to my place. You can sleep it off there.” “Oh, go suck an egg, you whiny little snitch!” The boy with the devil’s eyes reached out, shoving her. Sara felt the ground slip from under her. She tumbled off the river’s bank and into the wild water below. “Sara!” She heard Cas yell. “Sara!” “Sara? Uh… Are you okay?" Sara shook her head clear. She blinked at the young man before her. “Yeah, um, Cas... How are you? It’s been a long time.” She murmured, trying to get her heart rate to return to normal. Cas shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. “It has.” He agreed. The young man squinted at the ground for a moment before jerking his head towards her car. “Need a hand?” Sara, meanwhile, spotted the truck parked a few paces from them. She glared at it. How did I not hear him coming? I forgot he lives on this road too...Rats. “It’s a rental.” Sara told him, though she couldn’t quite make eye contact. “It sucks.” Cas laughed—a forced laugh. “Don’t they all? Let me see if I can get it going for you." Sara was half-tempted to refuse, but Cas didn’t give her the chance. He put his hands on either side of the open hood and peered inside. Sara relaxed. She remembered that Cas had a knack for fixing things. She knew he could get the car started, so at least she would make it to her parents without having to call a tow. Cas fixed the car faster than Sara thought was possible. When he was done, he stood by the hood, licking his lips thoughtfully. “Are you stayin’ in town long?” He asked. Sara stiffened at the hope in his voice. “No.” She said, bluntly. “Just to check on my mother. A few days, at most.” Cas’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. Then, he furrowed his brow. “Your mother?” He echoed. “What’s wrong with her?" Figures, Sara’s shock was slowly being overcome by the raw bitterness that had been her friend during the first few months after Cas’s eighteenth birthday—the day his no-good friend had pushed her into the river. Like he’d keep up with an ex’s family. “She’s sick.” Sara said. She opened the car door and slipped into the driver’s seat. She rolled down the window to add. “Thanks for your help. I take it your still living around here." “She’s sick…” Cas looked beyond puzzled. However, he just shrugged and shook his head. “Uh, yeah. My old man’s place. He passed on a few months ago, and I inherited the cattle ranch. He had so many unpaid debts that I had to sell most of the land and the animals, but I managed to keep the lot the house sits on. I’m right up the road from your parents, if-.” “I remember. Thanks for the help. You have a good night.” Sara said, as formally as she could without sounding rude.

Cas winced, like she’d hit him. “Yeah, Sara… you too, hey, maybe we could-.” Sara pretended not to hear him. She started off down the road, towards her parents house. Sara pulled into the dirt driveway of her childhood home. She blinked in awe as she spotted her mother putting up clothes to dry on the clothes line. “Mom?” Sara asked, getting out of the car. Her mother turned to her, a gasp escaping her. “Sara! Sara, honey!” The woman rushed to greet her. Sara opened her arms to her mother, and the short woman buried herself in them. “Oh, my baby! My sweet baby, you finally came home!” “I…” Sara pulled away. She tried to ignore the lingering feeling of safety that her mother’s smell, a scent of flowers and dough, left her with. “You look... good?" Her mother was just as puzzled as she was. “Of course!” She said, "Why wouldn’t I be?” “Because dad told me..." Sara trailed off. The front door to her old home opened. A skinny man with brown hair and a stiff mustache, dressed in a plaid red shirt and jeans, walked out of the house. He smiled when he spotted Sara. “Sara,” he greeted, opening his arms up invitingly. “It’s good to see you! We-.” Something in Sara’s head clicked. A raw fury exploded inside of her. She didn’t move to hug her father. “She’s not sick, is she?” Sara nodded to her mother. “She never was. You made that up.” “W-what?” Sara’s mom looked back and forth between her daughter and her husband, her eyes wide with confusion. Sara felt sorry for her. But she couldn’t stop the anger she felt over her father’s lie. “She had a cough for a few days. She was still recovering when I called you!” Sara’s father grunted. He straightened up. “I had to do something! You wouldn’t come to see us! I missed my little girl, and you would never come to visit!" “So, you lie and tell me my mom’s ill? That she’s… dying?” Sara spat. She took a step back. “Don’t you understand? I hate this place! I almost drowned in that river!” She waved a hand wildly in the direction of where she knew the Mississippi River lay. “I almost died because I tried to stop my boyfriend and his stupid friends from drinking themselves to death! If Cas hadn't... if he hadn’t gotten to me when he did, I would have died. That’s all I can remember when I come here. If you wanted to see me so badly, dad, why didn’t you and mom come visit me in Cali?” Sara stopped, breathing hard. Her mother looked close to tears. Her dad’s jaw tightened. “And leave this town without a sheriff?” He growled. “I couldn’t do that. Sara, I know what happened scared you-.” “It ruined me.” Sara hissed. She felt tears fill her eyes. “And you told me that if I just worked hard enough, I would stop remembering. You were wrong. And you were wrong to do this.” Sara turned and got back in her car. “I'm not a puppet on a string that you can just bend to do your will. I'm not staying here on account of a trick." “Sara, don’t be like that!” Her dad snapped. “Sara, please, don’t go!” Her mom called after her, her voice cracking with desperation. Sara ignored them both, just as she’d ignored Cas, and let the car drift down the driveway. Somehow, someway, almost as though fate was dragging her there, Sara found herself standing at Cas’s front door. The old farmhouse, with its green walls and white trimmings, greeted her like an old friend. Sara stood at the door, one hand raised to knock. What am I doing? She wondered, lowering her fist. She chewed her lip, peeking over her shoulder at her car. Maybe I should just go find a place in town to stay. Sara grimaced. And waste more money? It was already more than I could afford to get down here. Every other cent that I have goes towards paying for school. Sara took a deep breath and forced herself to knock. She waited, a lump in her throat. Sara heard barking behind the door. She remembered that dog. His name was Bailey. Cas had saved him after his father had hit him on the road. Sara took a step back as the door squeaked open. Cas was there, holding Bailey, the yellow labrador, by the collar. “Sara?” He blinked in surprise, before a grin lit up his face. “Hey… I didn’t reckon you were gonna come by.” “Didn’t intend to.” Sara admitted. She paused. “Can I come in?” “Was a time when you didn’t have to ask.” Cas let go of Bailey. The big dog rushed forward and sniffed at Sara’s pants. He wagged his tail. “Guess he remembers you, huh?” Cas laughed—a genuine laugh this time. Sara followed him inside. Cas waved for her to sit down on the coach in his living room. Sara sat. She watched him return from the kitchen a moment later with two bottles of tea. Is that the best he can do for holiday refreshment? Sara wondered. “Drink?” Cas offered, sitting down beside her, far enough away that it was clear he knew where her boundaries were. She nodded, taking the bottle. “No beer this time.” She muttered, opening the tea bottle. Cas stiffened. “You know, I’ve waited years to see you again.” He murmured, gazing down into his drink. Bailey came over and rested his head on his master’s lap. “To get the chance to tell you how sorry I am. That night… I was angry and frustrated with everything. My dad ruined my birthday and made me feel worthless. And then Jed... he made it sound fun to go do what we did, with the beer.” Cas looked up, his eyes bright with remorse. “I never thought he’d do something like what he did to you, and I coulda killed him for that. I loved you, Sara. I never would have done anything to hurt you." Sara closed her eyes. “I know.” She whispered. “It wasn’t your fault, but it still hurt, Cas. Even before he pushed me, you stood with him against me. I was only trying to help you, and you were horrible to me." “I was a jerk back then.” Cas sneered, the self-hatred clear in his voice. He took a sip of his drink. “To everyone but you... guess I finally showed you my true colors, aye?” “Well, you did jump in the river to save me.” Sara smiled softly. Cas shrugged. “It wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for me." Sara pulled up her sleeve. She shoved her arm in front of Cas’s face. He blinked.

“The bracelet.” She murmured. “I was going to give it to you on your birthday, before everything happened." The silver bracelet on Sara’s wrist had her name engraved on the band. Cas ran a finger over it. His shoulders sagged. “I really ruined everything, didn’t I?” He rasped. The young man rose to his feet. “Wait here; I want to show you something.” He turned and made his way up the stairs, leaving Sara alone with Bailey. She arched an eyebrow at the dog, who was staring at her. Bailey tail wagged. Cas reappeared a moment later. He sat back down and handed her a small, velvety, black box. “That’s what I was going to give you,” Cas confessed. “On your eighteenth birthday.” Sara knew, from the way he said that, what was in the box. That didn’t stop her from tearing up as she saw the beautiful, gleaming ring. “We could have had it all, couldn’t we?” Cas said, an unbearable affection and regret in his voice. Sara looked up. She saw the emotion in his eyes, and she remembered something. The one thing that had always made her love her hometown had never been the place. It’d been him. “Maybe we still can.” She told him without anger or resentment. She handed him the box and gently placed his hands around it. She rested hers on top of his. They were as warm as they’d been when she was a girl. “Someday."


Just as my favorite Valentine’s Day mug reaches my mouth, I hear a thunderous collision of falling boxes; followed by a yelp from my sister. Ugh, I moan inwardly to myself. I haven’t even experienced this exquisite coffee yet. I slowly meander to the attic. My sister is seated on the floor with an array of spilled boxes around her. She smiles up at me attempting to appear innocent. She sheepishly admits to getting a little carried away. She gazes across her mess of memorabilia and realizes she had way too many boxes on her trek across the attic. Her excuse being she just wanted to sit down while perusing through the treasures.

I begin collecting some of the items that fell out of the largest box. “What’s this?” I ask as I turn the aged box over in my hands. It is an old, heart-shaped box with faded words that read, “Our first Valentine’s Day”. It has one of those old diary locks on it. The ones that all have the same keyhole and can easily be broken into. A magnet to intruders of secrets we attempt to hold close. Jamie gazes up from an old photo album she is looking through. A faraway look in her eyes as she answers. “Not sure, but if you sit down and open it, we just might find out.” I toss it back into the box and continue cleaning up the rest of the items. “LeAnn” she drawls out in a whiny tone. “Please just take a quick trip down memory lane with me.” She pats the floor next to her as she scoots some memorabilia over to make space for me. “Why must we go through moms’ old things today? She has been gone for almost seven months so why now, on Valentine's Day?” My shoulders slump as my mother’s pained face flashes across my memory.  I quickly change the subject by teasing my sister. “Twenty-two years old and you don’t have a steamy date to get ready for on this night of unrequited love.” She rolls her eyes and starts her explanation, unintentionally bringing my reluctant mind back around to my mother’s heart attack. The heart attack that managed to rip her away from us much too soon. My sister continues talking nonchalantly, never grasping even a glimpse of the pain I’m stuffing back into its box, where it belongs. A box not much different than the one in my hands. Both boxes with their flimsy locks, much too easy to open. “You know that Mom always tried to make us feel extra loved and extra special on Valentines’ Day.” This helps to disrupt the nagging grief attempting to drag me back to that day. We make eye contact and drone in unison, “Now you girls should know better, Valentine’s Day isn’t just for the romantics.” We stifle our giggles as we both reminisce. Mom expressed her thoughts on love to us every Valentine’s Day as far back as I can remember. She would always start with the line regarding romantics. She would throw in snippets here and there about how the day was created to honor one of the most important human needs. Descriptions on all the various ways we crave and disperse love to each other. The Valentines’ Day speech would conclude once all three of us were together on the couch, cuddled up, gorging on chocolates as we watched a sappy love story unfold in the latest romantic movie. In response to Jaime’s rendition of Mom’s speech I say, “I get it, but I just don’t want to visit the past today.” On the inside I’m reminded by a quick jab of grief as I realize, I already have visited the past unwillingly. She looks up at me with a look that says, “then don’t, but I am.” Ignoring the resentment I feel towards her joyful exploration of the past. I blow out a rush of air and then saunter over to the partially cleared area beside her. I acquiesce and pull the heart box out again. “Should we open it” I ask. She shrugs her shoulders and continues looking at old photos. I pause and ponder the consequences of seeing something that could scar us and then I finally say awkwardly, “what if it’s something um inappropriate?” Jamie laughs, “yeah right. When have you known mom to even have a love interest? Other than that, one old guy everyone is obsessed with in the movies. What was his name again? John? No. George… something…” As she drones on trying to figure out his name, I visit a moment in time when mom talked about being in love. She admitted to being in love once but was devastated by her love interest’s death, ending their fleeting love story. I decide to push old memories to the far corners of my mind, again. “I leap up while exclaiming, “Okay let’s find the key.” She points to a couple of boxes strewn across the walkway of the attic. I start to skim through them in search of a key. I find everything but the key. There are old photos of Jamie and I during our birthdays and Christmas. I even come across some photos from our angsty teenage years. Those gems need to be hidden quickly. I uncover old pottery, crafts, and scrapbooks we had made throughout the years. Each memorable item reminding me that I was tremendously blessed in the parent department. Mom made every miniscule moment seem like it was exceptional. “Aha it’s here!” Jamie cries out with exuberance. She darts over to me. Her excitement is contagious. I release the lock. I pause and ensure that Jamie still thinks we should open it. The younger, more carefree of the two of us responds with an encouragement for me to quickly open it. I lift the lid and I am surprised to find what appears to be important documents of some sort. I don’t have time to finish my thought as to why this valentine box would have paperwork in it before Jamie lifts the documents up. Under the paperwork lies various photos and a worn journal. I graze the cover with my fingertips. I am entranced by the thought of reading my mothers’ thoughts. I gently place the journal on the floor and lift a photo. There I am three years old cheesing for the camera. An infant wrapped in a pink blanket in my dainty arms. Mom is helping me support the baby’s head in the photo. She is looking at us with such joy in this photo. I start to experience that longing for my mother. The one that never quite disappears. It just ebbs and flows as the days go by. Jaime breaks into my nostalgia, “Oh, these are our adoption papers. The date is Valentine’s Day! Do you believe Mom adopted us on Valentine’s Day?” The importance of the day all begins to make sense. She had told us so many times that she knew she was meant to be a mother and that is the reason we were given to her. She had tremendous amounts of love reserved for my sister and I before she had even met us. She had never mentioned that we arrived in her life on any specific day though. I bounce up with new fervor, holding the tattered journal. I state with an ere of confidence, “Jaime get the chocolates. I have the perfect love story for our Valentine’s Day tradition.”


It was funny how one could spent more time planning for a prank, at least, not preparing for an entire year. It all started with a fraudulent plan, a prank idea which is not likely to raise a criminal offence, once committed while impersonating another without consent which is obtained, neither from the actual person nor any authority. The prank consisted of impersonating a famous celebrity by not only dressing exactly like them, but also copying or replicating anything close to their original celebrity lifestyle. The objective of the prank was to take the crowd by surprise. Thereby, the prank was a sole idea from Jack who was influenced by his similarities in personalities with a musical celebrity. Jack had almost the same tone in voice with a naïve attitude emanating from this celebrity. The idea came as a result of his personal love and support for this celebrity. Jack grew up liking the celebrity. He was nearly a number one, yet he felt so far from his dream. The dream of living like his musical celebrity. Life in reality was not as it ought to have been in Jack’s dream.

Jack at school was not famous. Neither was he loved to his satisfaction nor hated to his regret. He compared his life to a celebrity and also to most of his school mates. On the other hand, Jack’s life was not completely with joy, he felt, he had lacked talent to show forth himself to the world. Nothing matters; but jack’s plan to succeed with the biggest prank ever done. Jack was so determined until he was ready to execute the prank. Jack made appointments, procured what was required. Jack on that day dialed and called private assistance, experts and reality show teams. They all came incognito. Each team was surprised to see how Jack had organized his prank. This was so serious, that everyone who came through ended volunteering without pay to conduct a charity show business. This was business without any charges. This was not a trend when it comes to doing business. Finally the prank was set up. Jack was completely imitating his favorite celebrity. He now looked like him in appearance. Later that day, the expert made him as replica of the celebrity. On other hand, Jack went to the extent of hiring an expensive super car, a McLaren P1. The experts added another imitator to be together with Jack, a well known personal staff to the original celebrity. Perfect, it was match. This even made it more difficult for people to tell a difference.

Since it was 1st of April, everybody was presumed to be expecting some typical prank. More people in jack’s school were careful, meanwhile other people were not lucky because they had already been pranked. In spite of the many pranks, all prank were very minor and private that no big news came from them. They were usually done to a few within the university. Before Jack could reach his university, he decided that he will also hire a quick stage in order to create more impression. No sooner did Jack come out from the McLaren P1, than some typical spotlight was given by unknown body guards with black suites. The arrival was captivating. Whereas the fashion style was perfect according the celebrity he was imitating. The music was immediately turned on. The more people who saw him, the more they screamed so loud with excitement that many thought jack was in fact the actual musical celebrity. Thereafter, he made a remake with an exact attitude which confirmed even more about who he was. Thereby the awaiting announcement was released through the respect university publicity room. This lead to student getting more wide and overwhelmed with fun at its infant stage. More crowds showed up in huge numbers, that it was nearly impossible to stop them from coming. The social media was flagged with this event update post. Social media videos became so wild and viral. Everything about the event was promoted and hyped up with no doubts. Huge crowds coming from all sides, men and women, ladies of class and young men with enthusiasm enjoying the unexpected show. On the other hand, the media influencing more views. Therefore, Jack expectation was more than met, He did not foresee that he will be on live feeds, cams and other worldwide broadcasts were nearly entire world was watching. In addition, he did not take that such big crowds from everywhere will be in the audience. No one had anything against this shortcoming event. Nothing made it possible for the people to suspect a prank, and end up halting the fun. Therefore, the was only new updates of who did attend the event, what did they do and how many did attend? The fun was in fact more real and authentic, because more crowds gathered than the normal celebrity historic performances ever did. Many people ended up to be influential by showing up. This included the other celebrities and also well known fans, branded in various outfits. There were also big and well known celebrity sponsors. This was a massive event that took off without proper venue planning, yet things were going as planned. Order was systematically restructuring itself. Even though there was hash traffic, more cars.  In addition, the people were watching from top of their cars. Their spectator as an audience brought in another influential forces that united everybody in attendance. As fun and excitement grew bigger, it became uncontrollable to convince the audience that the event was indeed a prank. There was division in the audience. Some people thought that the celebrity was joking, while others thought that he was trying to prank them. It was not until Jack revealed his true self did many understand his point.  The crowds Snapped out of their minds. Ignorance and arrogance left them. More laughter and shock came from the background. Even worse, the media latest headlines was written all over news channels “Con Celebrity Prank Ever.” Some of the people in the audience, just did want to stop having Just on time, the actual celebrity appeared. He came from the front row and said, this “Thanks Con, I will take it from here, ladies and gentlemen.” He shake hands with Jack as a sign of appreciation through gesture. The celebrity asked, “What You name?” Jack replied, “Am Jack.” The celebrity led everyone to clap; and there was massive applause. Then the music started. The fun was taken to next level. The following day Jack became so famous, he was recognized for his best prank.


ART AND CRAFT (CRAFT, CRAFT, CRAFT!)

Lindsay raced to the front door, hearing the loud knock.
As she opened it a familiar face beamed at her.
“Hi Mrs Grey, how is your day going? Starting another new craft are we?
You know the drill, just sign on the dotted line and you can get started!”
Lindsay signed the electronic phone in the Mailman’s hand, with a flourish.
“Thank you Gary, yes just trying out a new trend from America, called
Diamond Dots. It sounds very relaxing!”
“How did the Folk Art go? The paints I delivered last month looked very expensive. Did they work well?”
Lindsay started to blush, and looked around to see if her husband was listening.
“Oh, they were lovely paints, so creamy and smooth to work with, but I was having a little trouble getting them to dry. But I’m still trying!”
“Of course, well catch you next time Mrs Grey, enjoy your Diamond Dots!”
Lindsay carried her parcel inside to the kitchen and sat it on the bench.
Tearing the box open she found the pictures and diamond dots and couldn’t wait to get started.
Just then lindsay’s husband Mark walked up behind her.
“What’s this then? Another one of your indulgences? No wonder we never have any money over, you spend it all on this crap. You have stuff all over the house which you have used once then just left it. When are you going to stick with something and complete it?”
Lindsay didn’t know what to say. He was right in a way, but she just hadn’t found what she really liked to do in her spare time yet.
“I’m sorry Mark, I am trying to find something I can really get into, and love enough to stick with it. I really haven’t spent a lot of money, it just seems like a lot. I have put some of the other things on EBay so I will get part of my money back.”
Mark frowned at her, picked up his newspaper and sat down to read it.
Lindsay took her new purchase into her hobby room which was cluttered with all sorts of arts and crafts.
The many balls of wool sat next to a half knitted rug, and a strange looking crocheted hat. She liked knitting but found it gave her a rash on her hands at certain times of the year.
 On the long side bench sat several cameras and rolls of film, piles of half made Christmas cards with packets of all sorts of small decorations, the pliers and other tools for making small necklaces and earrings along with all the beads and small artificial gemstones.
Then up in the corner was her easel with all the oil paints and brushes, and the last of her whims the wooden trunks and trays to do folk art along with all the paints and brushes.
Lindsay sighed as she cleared a spot on the bench and laid out her latest purchase.
A week later, she had decided she wasn’t interested in Diamond Dots any more. Lindsay found the bending over the table was giving her a bad back, and she was having trouble seeing the minute dots, and putting them in the right place. Instead of being a peaceful hobby it was driving her crazy.
One morning while she was having a coffee with her best friend she was trying to explain to her about not being able to find a hobby she could stick to.
“What do you do to relax at home Jenny? Do you have a hobby?”
“Oh I have several! I do pilates first thing in the morning, to get my blood flowing for the day. I spend two hours a morning doing my crossword books, while having breakfast, and if I get a chance I like to sit on the patio for a couple of hours to read. Of course, I go to painting class each week and I volunteer at the Charity shop one day a week. So all that seems to keep me busy in-between all the normal stuff every day.”
Lindsay felt exhausted just listening to all these things.
But why couldn’t she find what she loved to do, as well?
“I’m going to the local Club to watch a band next Saturday, would you like to come with me Lindsay, they’re very good?”
“Of course, I’d love to! Anything to get out of the house for a few hours!” she giggled.
The following Saturday Lindsay put on her jeans, a yellow shirt and tied a grey fluffy cardigan around her waist. She met Jenny at the door to the Club and they both found a seat in the courtyard with a good view of the band.
It was a small band which played pop songs and folk songs and a bit of jazz as well.
Lindsay was fascinated with a young girl playing a piccolo. It sounded so beautiful and looked so easy to play.
When the band had finished the audience erupted with clapping and shouts of congratulations. They were wonderful and the audience loved them.
As Lindsay and Jenny walked towards the coffee shop after the band had finished, Lindsay suddenly stopped.
“Jenny, I think I know what I want to do. I want to play a piccolo like that girl in the band. I want to learn music, and how to play an instrument!”

Jenny laughed. “Are you sure Lindsay? Learning music and how to play an instrument is hard work and not something you can do in a few weeks. It might take months and months of lessons. Are you going to stick with it that long?”
Of course Jenny was right. She could never stick with anything that long, it was just another pipe dream.
Lindsay got up the next morning and sat at the table to have her morning cuppa. Like every other morning, she opened her diary and wrote in all that had happened the day before along with all her thoughts about the day.
Lindsay realised she was coming to the end of her diary, it was almost time to buy herself a new diary for the following year. She looked back over the pages of her latest diary, laughing at some of the antics she had got up to, and almost crying at other sadder happenings which she had recorded. “I could write a book with all this information.” She laughed to herself.
Suddenly she had a light bulb moment.
“I could write a story, I really could write a story, a true story about everyday occurrences, I have all the information here in front of me, and ten other diaries full of information!”
Lindsay had finally found her niche, found her hobby, found what she could stick to and enjoy.
Two years later Lindsay stood in the Library speaking to the small audience.
“I am so glad you like my new book, and the next chapter should be out around Spring next year. I am looking forward to sharing it with you.”
“Thank you Mrs grey, we all love your books and are looking forward to the next one!”
Lindsay sat and spoke to each person from the audience as she wrote her name with a sweeping scrawl inside the cover of the book they were buying from her.
Her latest book “Diary of an optimist” was her third instalment and she knew she had many more inside her.
Lindsay was so very happy, and her husband was as proud as punch that she had made such a success of her writing
All the time she had spent trying to find her hobby, the thing she wanted to do the most, she was already doing every day for many years and didn’t realise it.
Her hobby room was now filled with books and manuscripts of all descriptions and she was the happiest she had ever been.
She had finally found a hobby she was going to keep doing as long as she could.


The roar started as a vague grumble, seeping under tables and chairs before creeping higher in a sound cloud of threatening menace and pain. "Treasurer's Report." Among the cluster of committee members’ video chat windows, Tim's little image on the screen before me glowed around the edges as his flat, tinny voice stopped for a bit of self-important throat clearing. It wasn’t my computer’s speakers; he sounded that way in person too. "As you recall from our last minutes…" I flicked a finger, turning off my camera and muting my microphone. The grumble escalated, as I knew it would, into a rumbling roar, coalescing into a monster made of thorns, held together and half-hidden within a pulsing cloud. The hazy cloud was only a pale blue so far, so I knew there was still time. Grimly I pulled my battered armor around me. It protected me, at least for a while. But in addition to her power and fury, Beast had the tide's inexorable ebb and flow. She would, over time, find a way to seep through my armor and find my weakest, most exposed vulnerabilities. Still time, I told myself. If I let Beast get to her full strength, if I allowed her to feed, she’d crush me, claws and jaws ripping at the unprotected belly I tried to shield. "…fundraising, grants, and other viable sources," Tim's voice was an electronic drone, wavering in and out. There still had to be time. Without looking at Beast directly — if I made eye contact, I really would be lost — I took the blanket from the back of my chair and hurled it over her. Hidden from my eyes, Beast subsided, slowly sinking beneath the comfort of my mother’s old quilt. I heard her rumbling, gathering strength. But I still had a precious few moments to throw the cage over her, shutting Beast inside. Like my armor, the much-patched cage had seen better days. But it would do the job. For now. "…of all our accounts." Tim waited for Sally to acknowledge his report, clearing his throat again. "Thank you, Tim. Is there any other new business?" Sally never seemed to get the hang of where to position her camera. Today, she must have been sitting in front of her window, because her pleasant face was completely shadowed. "No? Then we all know what we need to work on.” From somewhere behind Sally, I heard a familiar rumbling. She raised her voice. “Are you all free to meet same time next month? Thank you. And..." I cut her off as I closed the conferencing app. Beast was really getting too big for me to control. Sure, everyone was left with at least one Beast after the first wave of the pandemic, each different, recognizable not by their similarities but by their similar presence. I've never really gone for that kind of pet. It was more my husband's thing, but he had worked for years to tame his old Beast, and amazingly seemed to have him under control. That didn't impress my daughter, who said she got Beast from me, so she was giving her back. I didn't like it, but I dutifully shoved the little monster into its battered cage and pretty much forgot about it. Okay, that's a lie. Every now and then I’d find myself poking Beast when nobody was looking. And despite my best resolutions, I fed her. Beast grew larger, and more creative. The smallest weakness in her cage would send her surging out, each time bigger and stronger — and so very much louder — than ever before. We were all finally emerging from our pandemic isolation, our empty calendars filling with terrifying speed. After the past few years, we each had our own Beasts. But most of the people around me seemed to have them under perfect control. I think I even saw Tim and his wife stroll past my house one evening, holding the leashes of perfectly behaved Beasts who were actually wearing sparkly little bows. I never knew when my own Beast would pounce on me, her roar muting all other sounds. Sometimes I could lure or trick or — if all else failed — force her back into the cage. More often at night, her pulsing, raucous weight flattened me, claws and teeth looking for new flesh to rip. My screen lit up with the notification of an incoming video call. When Jennie appeared in her little square, she was sipping what looked like an unusually large glass of wine. "Tough day in the trenches?" I asked. She raised her glass. "I thought it would all be better once I got back in the classroom. Kindergarten is no place for online teaching. But..." She paused to take sip. Then a few more. "These kids are showing up with tiny little Beasts. I try to get them to leave them in their cubbies, but they just keep poking each other's Beast." She shuddered, and refilled her glass. I glanced at my own Beast, safely caged for the moment, and let myself whine. "If my parents ever had a Beast, I never saw or heard it." The noises from the cage got louder, and I raised my voice. "So I have no idea what to do with this one." Jennie, a champion listener, just nodded. "They say every Beast has a reason for being there." "How could something so horrible be necessary?" I stared at her. "Beast is trying to suffocate me. What's the reason for that?" "Well, remember what happened to your garden four months ago? When all those rose hedges you planted went wild during the pandemic and blocked you into your house?" "Of course I remember." I shifted uncomfortably. "I couldn't go out, and had to get all my supplies delivered through that little window in the bathroom." "You said you didn't want anyone to know what happened to your garden." Back then it seemed like the end of the world. "I was supposed to be the big garden expert in our neighborhood. I even wrote a book about it." I took a deep breath, but my voice still came out wobbly. "Then my own roses, my pride and joy, staged a revolt and held me prisoner." Jennie grinned. "And you'd probably still be ordering everything based on whether it was small enough to fit through that window if it wasn't for..." "Beast." I remembered that day. Jennie was wrong. It wasn't funny. It was the first time Beast had really gotten loose, tearing through the thorns and shredding the imprisoning hedges. Later, I couldn't even understand what I was looking at. My beautiful garden was a scene of devastating destruction. All the work I'd done for decades was ruined. Beast had still been rampaging through the garden, her cloud turning from pale gray to pulsing red. She tore apart the remaining branches, impervious to their thorns. "So you're saying it was all my fault, and Beast did me a favor by destroying my garden?" Jennie's smile drooped. "Think about it. Beast didn't destroy your garden. It was the garden that turned on itself and trapped you inside. Beast just freed you from that." "If that was Beast's reason for being here, then why is she still attacking me every chance she gets?" "What do you do when she attacks?" I moaned. "Get the hell ripped out of me, throw something over her that calms her down, then shut her back into her cage." I thought about it. "But then I go out and do… stuff." “Stuff? What are you, twelve?” Jennie snickered. "What kind of stuff?" "You know, normal stuff. Things I did before the pandemic. I do some volunteering, work on some local projects, even plan some trips. I can't have the same garden as before, but I've been thinking about planting some vegetables. Only the ones I like though." Jennie just nodded. "Have you told anyone else about your garden?" "No, no, no..." I was actually backing away. "What will people think when I say my garden is destroyed? I can't go there." "Remember last year? With Sally?" Jennie was just a tiny flat square on my video chat, but she packed a roomful of Pay-Attention-This-Is-Important into her tone. "Um... You mean the lockdown?" "No, and you know it." Somehow her pointing finger seemed to come through the screen to skewer me. "What did you say when Sally told you her boss who never liked her was going to blame their team's poor performance on her? That he was claiming she offered him sex in exchange for keeping her job? There were a lot of people who thought all that smoke must hide some kind of fire." Now it was my turn to shrug. "I told her straight off I didn't believe a word of it and nobody who knew her would buy it either." "Damn straight. You know what that means?" I groaned. "Homework?" "Yup. When you're ready, you're going to tell a few people about your garden. And I'm going to make a bet with you. If their first and immediate reaction is to offer to help you clean up and plant a different garden, then I own all the I-told-you-so bragging rights for at least the next ten years. If that's not how they react, then I'll come straight over and babysit Beast for the next month." Jennie was right, but the next week was still scary. Beast roared and growled as I told the first friend. She was a bit quieter when I told the second one. I only shared with a few others, but by the end of the week, Beast was sitting beside me for each confession. It's been a few months since then. Sometimes Beast still puffs up red and furious. But she's been getting smaller, quieter. We take walks on nice evenings, but I never try to put a sparkly bow on her. She watches when I work on the vegetable garden, but she stays alert. Ready. At nights now, she just sits back under the quilt, sleeping mostly. Her job isn't over. And we both know why. More Beasts are coming.


For the sixth time that day, he was sitting there again. Staring out the window at the chickens within the wired fence. I could not imagine what it was he was finding so fascinating about the chickens he had spent his whole life taking care of.

This was only his second week back and I had been hoping he would be overjoyed to see the family he had not gotten to see in four months. Hawaii was a dreamy place and I knew that. But you have to come back to reality at some point. I asked him earlier, “Are you happy to see me and Ma again Freddy?”. He, still staring out the window, responded in a melancholy tone. “Of course, I could never not miss you after so long.”. Something about his response seemed distracted. I moved on with my day. He would tell me eventually. He always did.

Another week went by. Then another. He still would not explain his sudden loss of presence in our daily activities. It was a Saturday evening when I was entering into our living room that I finally gained some idea of what was bothering him. He was on his phone talking to someone. “I wish we could. It’s just not an option to leave right now.”. He hung up. I tried to escape before he could spot me there in the corner.

“Don’t tell Ma what you heard.”. This was clearly not an optional request. I just nodded and escaped from the tension. Who could he have been saying that to? And why was he only now, at 24 years old, hiding things from us? We had always been a close family, close and open with each other.

The next few days were spent with the fear that I was going to lose my one and only brother. He was one of the two people I had in this wide, scary world. Who could he have talked to that would make him leave us? I am not sure I could stomach the truth. I saw one of my biggest fears become a possibility on that Saturday evening and I am not sure what I could possibly do to prevent this harsh reality.

I stopped and gave myself a mental smack. What was I thinking? I had heard two sentences. It could have been nothing. I had other things to focus on. If I didn’t stop, Ma would realize something was off and confront us. Not that Freddy was working to make sure she couldn’t notice a difference. He would sit in the same place every day, solemnly staring out the window towards the chicken coop. Something in him had changed. In a very scary way.

Throughout the next week, I would catch him on his phone more times than not, texting or calling with his anonymous acquaintance on the other side. I was not sure what to make of it, but I remained uneasy.

One Monday morning about three weeks after I had heard the end of the first conversation, I noticed he had left his phone on the coffee table in the living room. He was nowhere to be found. I tried to access it. No luck. He was not using his usual passcode. It killed me. I had to know. I had to know who he could have been talking to that would make him want to make such a radical change. I heard footsteps behind me and quickly put it back. He walked back in and sat down, while I avoided his gaze. He said nothing.

A week later, I was bringing in the groceries with my Ma. I was focusing on getting the vegetables out of the bags in the kitchen and chopping them up for my mother to make her special stir fry for dinner later this week. The chicken had to go into a sweet marinade. It was one of my favorite meals. As I was reaching for it in the pantry that was the furthest towards the living room, I saw Freddie headed to the bathroom with a towel. This was my chance to try again.

I quickly entered the living room where his phone was and started attempting to enter passcodes. His birthday, special dates, the last four of his social. Nothing was working. I gave it one last ditch effort. I heard it click. It was my birthday. My chest became warm as I realized how much I must have meant to him. Suddenly, the phone was ripped out of my hand and I spun to the right to see my brother standing there angrily. “What gives you the idea that it is okay to be going through my things?!”, he exclaimed angrily.

“I wasn’t! I mean, I was. I mean…. You are just so distant and off lately! Can you blame me for being so worried?” I responded loudly. He stopped and looked at me, then sat back in his chair. He took a deep breath, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Do you really want to know why I have been so upset lately?” he asked me. I nodded, eager to hear his reasons.

“I fell in love while I was gone.”. He stated. I blinked. I couldn’t have heard him correctly. He was acting like this over a girl? How strange for him. He had never been the type to lean into romantic relationships. “The love of my life just happened to be in Hawaii when I went on my trip. Now they’re gone and there is just no way to continue to have this relationship for any longer.”. I suddenly felt horrible. He had been sitting in his pain for weeks now. Instead of asking him how he was truly doing or why he was being so distant, I had been waiting. Hoping it would disappear. Now I knew that it would not. “I am so sorry Freddie.”, I said sympathetically. I knew he must have really fallen in love to have been this upset for so long. “What was her name?”, I questioned. He smiled. A sad, hollow smile.

“His name was James.”.