It’s the same thing every day. I find myself in this same line waiting for the same boring lunch with the same boring friend while we chat about the same boring things. All of the sameness could really make a person go insane. That’s why I have to get out of here. I still have approximately 1,095 days left before I’m free to live my own life on my terms. Everything that I do within these next 1,000 or so days will make or break whether I truly make it out for good. Maybe I can figure out a way to graduate early and I can cut a few hundred days out of the way. By the way, that reminds me that I need to visit the counselor to discuss- “June? Hello, are you even listening to me?” “What? Yeah, I’m listening. You obviously just need to drop your Honors Spanish course if it conflicts with Algebra I.” “Are you kidding me? How will I ever get into AP Spanish in two years if I don’t take Honors Spanish right now?” I sigh. I really can’t deal with my own existential issues while also helping Meg work through her scheduling issues. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out somehow. Now, listen, do you want to sign up for that volunteer roadside trash pickup day this weekend? I’m trying to pad my resume.” “Ah, this weekend? No, sorry, I have a PSAT practice run.” Not surprising. It’s not that Meg and I were real friends that hung out with each other every weekend. Maybe we were actually frenemies? Or it could possibly be that we’re only friends out of pure scarcity. No one can match my overachieving intensity quite like Meg.

“I took my PSAT practice run last month. It really wasn’t that bad...” I miserably attempt to encourage her. “Oh sure, coming from someone that aces every test effortlessly. You know I have test anxiety...which reminds me I need to put bananas on my list of things to bring with me.” We arrive at the end of the line and I pack a sandwich into my bag. I quickly grab two bananas and hand them to Meg.

“Here you go - get a headstart on all that banana-induced focus now.” Meg grabs the bananas. “Haha, very funny.” she says dryly. We find ourselves perched below a shady tree overlooking the student courtyard. It’s the best vantage spot to observe the animal kingdom that is high school. There are obviously jocks, cheerleaders and nerds in their respective places. But most noticeably, there’s Bailey fluttering around the courtyard in such a way that is both effortless and calculated. She’s always paired with at least two other people, but never the same people. She speaks with her hands and never leaves a conversation without the other person giggling at her. I never know what she's saying, but it has to be hilarious every single time. I notice her throat muscles contract when she throws her head back in laughter. I sometimes imagine how I would laugh if she ever cracked a joke with me. Would it be a loud animated laugh or would I go with a demure subtle chuckle? Bailey never does make her way to our perch by the shady trees. It’s not like she’s avoiding us or anything. I think she just doesn’t see us. We must be sitting too far away. “Alright, please stop ogling her again.” “What? I’m not ogling.” “Yes, you’re ogling. And honestly? It’s getting pathetic. We have sat here all year long and you have not once mustered up the courage to talk to her. She’s practically a stranger.” Meg sighs. “I mean, we do have US Government class together.”

“June, that makes it even worse that you literally share a class and you still have never talked to her.” “Look, I don’t even want to know her. I don’t understand why we keep having this conversation.”

I physically turn my body towards Meg to disconnect my brain from observing the kingdom. I just want to know how anyone is enjoying being here. I feel like I’m being tortured everyday and my thoughts are constantly infiltrated with different strategies about how to get out of here and never come back. I watch Bailey leave the courtyard over Meg’s shoulder. She leaves in the same fashion as she arrived, full of light and floating effortlessly through the crowds like she fits perfectly. My personal favorite part of the day is that time period about 15 minutes after the final bell rings. At first, there’s a giant influx of students and all of their excited energy spews into the halls and out of the doors. The excitement roils through the air as some students drive off in their cars and others pile onto the school buses. And then things just get quiet all of a sudden. Any leftover energy vibrates against the walls. But not a soul is in sight. The day is over and everyone has somewhere to be, whether that’s sports or a job or a home. On Fridays, it’s the pick-up circle for me. My dad never picks me up on time so I’ve become accustomed to waiting at the pick-up circle for one hour, maybe two hours, until he can pick me up. Something about needing to help a special client at only this special time and how important it is that he meets with them weekly. It’s a great time for me to research scholarship requirements that I can start working towards now.

I have a bench and it’s become known as my bench at this point. Because I’m literally the only one that sits there. Except for today. Today, a practical stranger is sitting there instead. “Did I steal your bench or something?” My mouth opens and my brain says the first thing that comes to mind. “Are you in the process of stealing it? Because it looks like you’re just sitting on it.” Bailey raises her eyebrows. “Touche.” A beat. “Would you like to sit here? I’m just waiting on my Mom to come pick me up.” I hesitate. She scoots over and laughs. My hands find each other in my lap and I notice that her laugh gives me a metallic taste in my mouth. Like there’s a little bit of gold in her laugh or something. “So, are you also waiting on someone to pick you up?” She asks. “Yep, I’m waiting on my Dad. I have to wait a little longer on Fridays because he has work.” “You can’t take the bus?” “I live too far.” “Is there someone you could carpool with?” “Nope.” “Where do you live?” “Just outside of city limits. Far from here, like I said.” Bailey forms an ‘o’ with her mouth and closes it with a snap. She nods her head like she’s uncomfortable and I feel like maybe I said something wrong. I keep my eyes fixed on the road in front of us because maybe my Dad will be here a little early today. He was later than usual last week, so I’m sure he’ll want to make up for that this week. “I’m Bailey, by the way. I mean, I’m sure you know that since we have 5th period together. But I don’t think I’ve ever formally introduced myself.” I nod my head. “And you’re June,” she continues. I glance over at her and find that her brown hair speckles under the sun overhead.

“Yep, I’m June. Sorry, I’m really bad at this whole thing.” “Bad at what whole thing?” “You know, like...talking? To people I don’t know?” I struggle to find words. “Oh!” Bailey laughs and that metallic taste comes back. I decided that I like it. “I mean, we don’t not know each other.”

I shoot her a look. I don’t see how we are anything but complete strangers seeing as this is the first conversation I’ve had with Bailey. “We’re all going through the same thing -- high school, I mean -- so it’s not like we don’t know each other, even if you don’t talk to everyone. We’re all learning the same things and hearing the same things and saying the same things. We’re like a monolith. No one here is a stranger if you think about it that way.” She’s looking at me like she’s stumped me and I can’t help the little chuckle that rises from my throat. “Wow, I was not expecting that from you. It’s also false because how can you say that everyone is the same when your experience is completely different from mine?” I tell her honestly. “How so? If we’re strangers, how do you even know what to expect from me and what I’m experiencing?” A car pulls up and it must be her mom because she’s up and walking away from me before I can even register what’s happening. “Bye June! See you tomorrow,” she yells from the passenger side window. She rolls away and I’m left with my chuckle and the metallic taste in my mouth. It’s a new week and Meg and I sit under the same shady tree while I watch Bailey flutter around the courtyard. Except this time her eyes find me under the tree and she waves. “...did you see that? Is she waving at us?” Meg slaps my knee and my turkey sandwich almost falls out of my lap. “Uh, yeah,” my arm limply waves back at Bailey across the courtyard, “We finally talked yesterday.” “Get out! In 5th period?” “No, actually after school at the pick-up circle. She was waiting for her mom to pick her up.” Meg’s eyes are saucers and I can’t tell if I’m more disturbed by her reaction or my outward nonchalance. Inside, I’m screaming that she waved at me and maybe I have a new friend on the horizon. “What did you talk about,” Meg hustles me for information. “Tell me everything and leave out nothing.” “It was pretty short,” I dust off the sandwich bits from my pants and we head to the library. “Nothing to write home about.” And let’s just leave it at that. It’s now 5th period with Bailey and so naturally, my thoughts carry me back to all kinds of places that I’d rather not go. I thought all weekend about what Bailey said to me - about us all being a monolith. If that’s the case, why do we all feel the need to break off into groups that define us? Are we actually the ones defining ourselves and creating boundaries? Or is it being done for us? Is it just my fate that I am an overachieving maniac because I have an absentee father and an overall shitty home experience? Do I really have much choice in the matter? I’m pondering this as I feel a tap on my shoulder. A note lands on my desk. Hey! I’m just writing this to say hi...since we’re no longer strangers ;) -Bailey I have never received a note like this. I glance behind me and Bailey gives me a small, excited wave. I wave back and pull out a piece of paper. Hi there - I guess we’re not strangers anymore, huh? That’s pretty cool. Thanks for your note. -June Is that lame? How do I know if that’s lame if Meg isn’t here to proofread it? Maybe I should change it and add more substance. There isn’t really anything here to respond to- “June, who has the power to nominate Supreme Court justices to the bench?” My teacher’s voice snaps me back to reality. I try to hide the note on my desk as she approaches with her stuffy blouse and her glasses sitting precariously on her nose.

“And what is this? A note?” She pries the paper from my hands. “Ah. I see. Looks like you and Miss Bailey can continue this conversation in detention.” Bailey speaks up abruptly. “I don’t think detention is necessary, do you? If anything, it was my note so you should just give me detention. June is an innocent party here.” Even her outburst gets a few laughs from the class. It’s so easy for Bailey. “My decision is final. 2:45pm today in the cafeteria.” My face turns red. Great. My first detention. See, this is why I don’t make friends. They throw you off the path to success. Detention is supposed to be this sad hellscape. You go to the cafeteria and you have to sit at the tables and watch the custodians mop and it smells like leftover cafeteria food. The whole experience is supposed to be awful. And it was. Except that the detention supervisor is just some coach that isn’t sports-ing around outside and doesn’t care what we do in detention. So that’s how I found myself sitting across from Bailey. I’ve never sat directly in front of Bailey, but I notice all of sorts of things about her now. She has freckles on her nose and her smile is actually kind of crooked. But I’m still mad that I’m here and missing out on the highly-coveted SAT Math practice class. “I’m so sorry again for getting you a detention,” says Bailey. “I really didn’t think we’d get caught.” “I mean, passing notes in class? Pretty amateur way to get a detention,” I fail miserably to hide my annoyance. “Are you really upset? I got in the way of a hot date, didn’t I?” Bailey asks and my face feels hot. “Actually, I was going to that SAT math prep class. I had to get up at 5am on a Saturday morning to reserve my spot. So yeah, I was busy.” “I did you a favor then! I hate it when my mom forces me to go to those things.” “No one is forcing me. I wanted to go. That’s the problem.” There’s an awkward silence and I know I should probably just ease up. “I applaud your dedication to your studies,” Bailey doesn’t sound convincing. “But don’t you think it’s worth seeking out other experiences that don’t have to do with equations and essays too?” “I just know that I need to get out of here. And the only way to do that is make sure I get into college and then get a great job so I don’t ever have to come back here.” I brace myself for what’s to come. People around here don’t like it when you talk about how crappy it is to live here. Everyone has some sort of halo around this town and I think it’s because it’s all they know and it’s all their parents know. I’m sure Bailey is planning on staying here and getting a job in physical therapy or something. She’ll probably hang out with the same people for the rest of her life. “I get that. But I don’t think you should just assume that you’re the only one that wants to get out of here.” I laugh but she doesn’t seem amused. “What, you want to leave this place too? But you’re, like, perfect here.” She shakes her head. “See, that’s exactly what I said before. You just assume my experience - you assume just about everyone’s experience here. No one really gets a say in who they are.” At this point, I’m watching redness peek its way over Bailey’s cheeks and I can’t believe I just got a rise out of her. “I mean, look at you,” she goes on, “Everyone sees you as a stuck-up overachiever that thinks she’s better than everyone. And you’re probably not even like that - it’s just how people define you and so you lean into it. We all do it. We don’t have a say. And that’s how we’re all really the same. We’re all doing the same thing, having the same experience as we define all of the people around us.” I let that sink in for a minute. And then I say, “So where would you go if you didn’t live here?” She shrugs and I guess that’s the end of that conversation. “Now, should we discuss how to discreetly write notes in class?” asks Bailey, “Because as much fun as detention is with you, I think I’d much rather hang out with you outside of this building.” She laughs and that metallic taste is back in my mouth which causes my tongue to get caught up. As I go to open my mouth again, detention ends and just like that our time together is over.

Bailey is different than I thought she would be, which is not a bad thing. I think when you watch someone from afar for so long, you do build up ideas about them that can be unravelled after a few real conversations with them. And isn’t that what we do with any stranger? We can have an idea of who someone is or isn’t, but maybe it’s really just a projection of ourselves - who we want to be or who we’re afraid we already are. I see Bailey in the courtyard the next day and this time she actually walks over to me and Meg. “Hello ladies! Would there possibly be room for one more sandwich here?” she asks while pulling her lunch out of her bag. I scoot over so she can situate herself next to me. And that’s when I decide that maybe it’s time to re-evaluate my own definition. Maybe I can have friends, study hard and leave this town all at the same time. And maybe Bailey can too because we’re all just going through the same thing at the same time trying to get to the same place at the end of the day.


   I’m not superstitious, but I’m smart enough to connect the dots and see a pattern. I don’t know if I’d call it magic, but there’s something in Auntie Au’s sleeping porch. A power for both good and evil. And I got a hold of it. The tricky part - how do you know if there is a good and evil?     Although it’s not a trick question, I want to ask some bar fly who’s hoisting beers next to me: “do you know how hard it is to take money from a guy who is living in your old house with your old wife?”

I can picture this guy I’m sitting next to giving me a long serious look on his face, like this, and shake his head.     To lead him further down the path of sympathy, I’ll add this: “It’s like they dragged me out and threw me on the curb. Like a soiled mattress.”     “That sucks.” He’ll say and continue shaking his head.     Then I’ll burst out laughing. “It ain’t hard. In fact, it’s easy as hell. It might be hard for him to give me money, but I take it every time. If somebody gives you money, my advice is, take it.”       I bring up this little vignette because I know what I’m gonna do. I’m super confident it’ll work. It’s the right thing to do, at least for someone standing in my shoes.

    I’m surprised though because I’m sitting in Aunt Au’s sleeping porch, with a queasiness around my stomach. I’m thinking of Robin, my ex-wife’s lover. Man, that’s a mouth full, telling you who Robin is. And a flash of worry waves over me – am I feeling sorry for Robin? If anything, I should feel sorry for a guy being called Robin. I don’t have anything against him, and don’t plan to do anything against him. Not yet. He wasn’t sleeping with Terri, my ex, when I was married. That’s another guy, who I do have a problem with. This Robin, he’s living in my old house, which isn’t good. Yeah, I should be able to pay my own way, and if this works, I will. Me needing a big break isn’t so much about me being bad, more about my bad luck. Let me explain how things will turn around real soon.     For those who can’t imagine life before AC, a sleeping porch was like a three-season porch on the second floor. Except no steps down to the street. And it’s always in the rear of the house. When this one was built, it’s where you went when the nights were hot and stuffy, and you couldn’t sleep inside because the sheets clung to your sweaty body. It’s also a good place for when your spouse was getting on your nerves. You know, a place to cool down before things get crazy. I could’ve used one of those for both reasons when I was married.     As a kid I slept up here with my sister. I remember the coolness of the night sneaking through the balusters below the handrail, a dog barking in the distance, as we slept in sleeping bags on the floor. Like lying in a lean-to, except we were ten feet off the ground. I didn’t notice anything special, no powers about the room, until I began staying in Aunt Au’s house this summer. She passed away in April, age ninety-three and still living at home. My sister said she couldn’t do the stairs anymore. She was found in the downstairs bedroom, although she never properly moved into it.     As my Mom’s baby sister, Aunt Au was the last one left of my parent’s generation. As a spinster, she left her house to my Mom, or in this case, her sister’s descendants.  Built in the 1880s, it was painted white with green trim and shutters, and had a scary cellar for a kid. Lots of spider webs and dark spaces around the rickety shelving, ladened with slimy things like dill pickles or jarred squash.     Back then, the sleeping porch meant fresh air and daylight. Aunt Au kept her house in good nick and had an ancient gardener who kept it thick with perennials. The blue hydrangeas and pink rose of Sharon are still going strong.  Today, the gardener is dead. The yard looks a bit shaggy.     The best thing about the sleeping porch used to be you seeing the lake. See, if you looked between the back ends of the white clapboard houses of the Smiths and the Duncans, and across the street, you’d see that flat blue. When I was little, looking through the afternoon sun, the water shone as blue as those pictures of the Caribbean. The water doesn’t shine as bright these days, but it’s still my preferred way to relax, looking at the lake, drink in hand.

    I loved that room as a kid. Once Au saw how much Sis and me liked it up there, she bought two single beds, one on each of the side walls. I slept in the one on the left. Still do. I love waking up, looking at the powder blue ceilings. I’ve been told they painted their porch ceilings that color blue to keep the spirits away. It didn’t work in this room.     The décor up here is cool too. Above my bed is a painting of a brown bear lumbering into the darkness on the edge of a woods. On the other wall is a red fox running out of a barn with something in its mouth. My guess it’s a chicken. Besides the paintings and the beds, Au had a card table and a vintage 70s office chair. The chair is a gem: avocado polyester cloth over the bottom and back cushions, and the damn thing doesn’t break – not like the office crap you buy today. It’s a piece of magic. I still roll around in the chair now, you know, get some momentum sliding towards the door when I have to leave. Puts a spring in my step. However, like the beds, I haven’t moved the desk. I’m not moving anything because I’m onto something.

    When I moved out of the rental and came here May 28, I dropped my laptop on the stairs, so I started using Aunt Au’s laptop. She left it right on the card table, plugged in for the battery, with a note stating all the important information, like passwords and wifi. Makes me think Au wanted me in her house. She never did like Terri. Plus, Au’s laptop has some cool family photos on it. With our blond hair, Sis and I were cute kids. Sadly, neither of us are blond anymore. After I got a new laptop, thanks Robin, I still use Au’s for journaling and emails. You can’t beat the view and the memories.

    The between girl, that’s what I call the woman I dated after my ex and what’s next. She recommended I journal. That made sense as I’m starting a new life, and need to leave somethings behind. By keeping a journal, I can see how I’m doing, moving between what I had and what I want. Being able to see the difference has given me a new perspective.     I didn’t notice it at first, just doing emails or journaling, but reading over the passages, it’s pretty clear. For instance, I sent a note to my ex-wife, Terri. Our speaking terms were like the two sides in low intensity guerilla war - we don’t want to kill each other per se, just make the other so miserable that they move out. At least for me. Terri is staying where I used to live, and I can’t afford the mortgage, but her beau can. I think they’re paying me in checks, so they can prove what they’ve giving me. I have this sneaky suspicion in two years, when they come down hard to get me to sign over the house, they can say to the court: we’ve paid him the value of the mortgage while paying off the mortgage ourselves .

    Those two say I’m avoiding divorce because I don’t want to give up the house. Maybe they’re right. I’m not making much right now, working for a landscaping company. I don’t mind it now, as I get to be outside while the grass is green, and collect unemployment after the first flurries fly. Things will get better for me. Real soon.     Anyway, our youngest child, Beth, a marketer by training, interviewed for a job way above her experience level. While keeping cool in the sleeping porch, I emailed Terri on Au’s laptop, writing, I hope against hope Beth gets the job. But I’m not getting my hopes up. She’s consistently underemployed.

Terri responded, I wonder where she gets that from .

The bitch is talking about me, and my employment history. Anyway, two days later Beth is offered the job, with higher salary, good bennies. We’re all happy.  I couldn’t help sending to Terri, I guess Beth does take after me. Maybe you should keep your mouth shut.

I know, a tad aggressive, but I’m annoyed at her constant ragging while she’s living with a bald guy named Robin, who is an accountant. I mean, come on, what’s exciting about the guy.     Another piece to the puzzle has been Frank, a dead-beat slob, who somehow moved into the house next to Au. I don’t know how he got inside unless he has relatives paying his way. His lawn hasn’t been mowed in a month. I’ve never seen a lawnmower on his property. And there’s old plastic lawn chairs and folding tables and boxes stacked up on the porch like he’s a caterer who went out of business.

    Like I said, I’m not superstitious, but I liked hope against hope, and I like this spot on the porch, and the laptop, so I emailed my sister, I hope against hope that Bill, who cuts Au’s lawn, will cut Frank’s lawn.     Truth be told, Frank has been a bit of thorn in my side for a while. See, he parks his car in front of my place, or Au’s house, and he’s wearing away the grass between the road and the slate side walk. Oh, another thing about Frank. Being a bit older than me, he likes walking around the block, which is cool, but he takes a walking stick with him. Yeah, no big whoop, except the ground end of the stick has a two-inch metal prong, looks like a big nail poking out. Odd, right? Like, what’s he gonna do, stab rattlers? They don’t even live in these parts? Plus, the damn stick makes this kind of cement-scratching, clopping sound. Anyway, I heard the scuff thump as Frank galumphs down the sidewalk, so I run out.     “Hey Frank.”     He turns around with little steps, like he can’t turn his neck, and looks at me.     “What with this?” I wave at his car and the lawn.     “What do you mean,” he says in his dumb voice.     “I mean, you’re ruining the grass in front of my place. Park it in front of your place.”     It took him a minute to respond, and finally he squeezes out, “It’s a free country, and it’s free parking street.” Then he walked away from me and went inside his house. When he did, I wanted to do a backwards horse kick with my steel re-enforced work boots into his silly Dodge Charger. I mean, what kind of 70-year-old drives an old orange charger? I kept my cool, and went to my journal.

    I felt something special about the journal or the sleeping porch, but I still didn’t want to believe. I had to test it, so I journaled, I hope against hope Frank wraps the stupid Dodge Charger around a telephone pole after a night out.

I’m pretty sure Frank is a boozer. He looks the part with flabby, sallow skin and his eyes don’t focus well. It’d be a just ending.     I forgot to mention, last week, I almost twisted my ankle when I walked by Frank’s place. He had pulled out a piece of broken slate from the sidewalk. After I stumbled but didn’t fall, I looked around for Frank. Instead of him, I  saw the rock triangle leaning against the third and fourth step to Frank’s front door. He painted a pink peace sign on it.     When I made it up to my sleeping porch, I wrote in my personal pages, I’m hoping against hope that someone Frank knows breaks their ankle in the sinkhole.

Here’s the topper: Later the same day, I hear a baby bawling and someone moaning. When I went outside, I see a young woman, sprawled in Frank’s driveway, next to a stroller. Bill, the good neighbor is helping her. I decided to keep my distance, so I went back inside, closing the door gently. Anyway, I’ve had it with Frank. It’s when I started to see the pattern. Sure, I’m sad someone innocent got hurt, but I’m glad it happened. I hope she sues the shit of out Frank.

   Yesterday, late morning, I hear the hum of Bill’s electric lawn-mower across the street. Sure enough, I look out, and Bill’s using it to hack some paths through Frank’s weed jungle.     Meanwhile, while I’m drinking my coffee at the card table, I get a text from Robin, you know, my wife’s boy toy, and he writes:

Terri had a weird mishap, out on a sailboat this morning, on a team building exercise. A freak wind swung the boom around and smacked Terri in the jaw. She’s out of surgery and has her mouth wired shut. I thought you’d want to know, please offer thoughts and prayers.     In the privacy of the sleeping porch, looking over the freshly cut grass along our side of the street, then to the lake where Terri must have been sailing. I’m thinking whose thoughts and prayers are you talking about.

I have to admit I smiled, then giggled, before saying to air around me in a perky voice, “thank you.”

Switching to emails, I went to Sent to read the end of my last text to Terri.

Maybe you should shut your mouth.

I mean, I had the right to say it: “or somebody will shut it for you.”     At Au’s laptop, I close it with a slow follow through, like I just finished writing a novel. The peace is ruined when I hear a scraping sound, and Frank must be out again. I remember what I wrote to my sister about his car. It hasn’t worked – at least not yet. An accident would be the fourth tire to go flat.

    However, I see Bill with one of those stupid lawn implements that supposedly cuts the sod, which grows over your sidewalk. Like they never work. Anyway, Bill’s nice to me, mows my lawn, so I walk out to see what he knows.     Bill shakes his head when he sees me. “Frank had a bad accident last night. Wrapped it around a pole. He’s in intensive care. He has some internal injuries and a wicked concussion, but they expect him to pull through. That’s why I’m fixing his lawn.”     Bill must have seen my face because he said to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you knew him. It’s a shame when anybody gets severely injured.”     I pursed my lips to crush the smile, keeping my mouths firmly closed. I didn’t want to speak as a smile might sneak out. I shook my head.     “I’ll call if I hear anything,” Bill said as I climbed my steps.     The accident happened, kind of like I specified, but not enough. I have to be more precise when I write what will happen to Terri once she’s out of the hospital. Or maybe while she’s there. The car accident worked well, however, I have to be more specific.

Take your time, I tell myself.    I’ll type it out in my journal on Au’s laptop in the sleeping room. I’m using hoping against hope.

Maybe throw in a fatal brain aneurysm. I mean, why mess with what’s working?  Afterall, maybe it’s Au’s laptop. Or the hope against hope.  Or a combination.     Not that I hate her – she’s the mother of my two daughters. I do, a little, but I want my house back. No, not because I want to live there. I’m not leaving Au’s place – I’ll even pay my sister rent. I want to sell the house I used to live in. I need the money. And I’d love to see Robin moving his shit out – by himself.

    Where is this sense of vengeance coming from? I know it’s a human emotion, but I’ve got it in spades. And I like it. Sure, maybe it’s the power talking, giving some cover so the pettiness to slip out.    I sit down at Au’s laptop. Like a I’m writing an acceptance speech, I rub my hands together, then blow on my fingers for good luck. If I get this one, there’s no such thing as good or evil.


“Names have great power, Sunny dear,” Grandmother’s voice echoes in my head. Grandmother, who had been christened Alexandrina at birth, but had donned the name Victoria on her coronation. It is only fitting, I think, that I take my first steps into my new life taking a name reminiscent of Grandmama and Nicky’s adored ancestor, too. Alexandra. I still struggle to think of myself with such a weighty, regal name, a name suited to authority, a Tsaritsa’s name, so used I am to being Alix. The silk of my gown clings to my skin, softly rustling with every movement. It is a heavy gown, the train difficult to bear. The Court Dress here, especially a wedding gown, is much more detailed and intricate than it is back home at Hesse. Truth be told, I hardly feel like I am standing at a wedding, my own wedding. It feels naught more than a continuation of Father’s funeral rituals. Nicky would hate it if he knew I think this. He wanted this wedding so much, so ardently. Truthfully, I can understand why Nicky felt so. He is hardly ready to be Tsar, he feels. Perhaps that is true, I do not know. From our long conversations into the night, I understand that he wants someone with him. Someone who will support him, be his mate in truth. It is my great honor that he has chosen me to be that person, I shall definitely do my best to be worthy of his trust, his heart. “Daughter,” The Empress Maria. I sink into a curtsy. “Mother,” She helps me raise. “Mama, Alicky,” she says gently. I smile at her. “Mama,” She nods at a page. “Keep it here.” The page duly deposits a large box on which Russian words are written. Of course, I do not understand one word of it. I need to learn the language, the people of this country are going to my people. One of my ladies enter. She has a veil in her hands, one that brings tears to my eyes. Mama’s veil. I have seen it so many times in photographs, yearned to touch it for years after Mama’s death, today, it will finally be mine. Nicky’s mama, my mama, smiles at me again. She opens the box carefully. Inside sits a crown of splendor, accompanied by a glittering necklace and similar earrings. “Tsaritsa Catherine’s, Alexandra,” she says quietly. Just like that, the two of us were distant again, no longer Alicky and mama, but Alexandra and the Dowager Tsaritsa. I am not used to changing like this in an instant, but it is part of life, whether I like it or not, and I shall try. I do not have a choice. I sit down as she gently balances the nuptial crown on my head. The necklace hangs heavily on my throat, its weight almost reassuring, but also a reminder, much like the sash tied across my dress, heavy with meaning. “Come,” says she. I take her hand as we walk out. Nicky is standing outside. He looks resplendent, the light of the chandeliers hitting his medals at exactly the right places. My eyes are drawn to the sash of the Order of Hesse Und Bei Rhein that cuts across his uniform, same as his take in the sash of the Order of St. Andrei across mine. We bear each other’s symbols, it is clear to see.  We barely have the time to exchange smiles (even his smile is brilliant, glowing), when his mother leads me to the front of the procession. Nicky obediently falls in line behind her. I hold back a frown. Nicky is the Tsar now, he should be given importance! I and Nicky have discussed this at length. Until Nicky is crowned, he does not have precedence. I think it is most unfair. He is expected to do all the duties, should he not get the precedence too? I know that Nicky would not want anything to ruin this special day, so I remain quiet. I cast around for a distraction. The ostentatious decoration of the way to the chapel is good enough, the rococo designs, as clear as though it is life itself and not a painting. There is a murmur of conversation. I can feel eyes on me, the familiar painful shyness instinctively curling me into myself. I fight it, straightening my shoulders, smiling slightly. Alexandra, not Alix. I keep my eyes trained ahead, at my destination. The altar. Where the intangible yet so real bond that I and Nicky share will have a new meaning, finally tying spiritual to the earthly. After I catch sight of the altar, I cannot remember much else of details. Individual moments stand out of the ordered ceremony, moments forever dear to my heart. Nicky standing at the altar, light flooding through the windows, limning him in a halo. The heady mixture of uncertainty, the tug of fear and yet hope. The priest handing us the rings. The feeling of my heart filling more than it ever has before. Nicky’s beatific smile as he slid the ring on my finger. Our voices melding, almost, into the vows. At the end, there is but a single thought. I am his, he is mine. I am his, he is mine. Forever. “Sunny? Sunny? Alicky?” I blink, so lost am I in memories. That day, I wed the man who belonged first and foremost to his country. My husband, standing in front of me, his face creased in a worried frown. My dear, darling Nicky. “You’re back? I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” The council work usually takes longer than this. Nicky laughs. “No one wants a tired Tsar dropping off at his coronation, do they? So they let me off early.” I laugh back. “I see.” “What happened? Are you missing Olga? You looked lost.” “I can’t stop missing her, Nicky, but no, that’s not what I was thinking of.” “Then what is it, Alicky?” “I…” “Alicky?” “I was thinking of our wedding.” “Oh! Yes, a wonderful day. By far more wonderful than the day to come.” “Nicky…I know the coronation reminds you of papa. I know you feel that you are taking his place too soon. But, dearest, God above has a place for everyone. This is yours. As the Father of all Russia.” Nicky bows his head silently. I continue on, “Did you see the splendor all around? When we entered Moscow?” Nicky smiles at me. “I did,” he says. So did I. More than anything else, I remember Nicky on his horse, his right hand raised in salute, straight-backed and proud, set apart from the lavishly dressed army officers in his simple but neat tunic. I remember the cheers, the people spilling across the barriers, reaching out to touch Nicky. His name and mine, chanted over and over again. And hers. It is an insidious thought, something that has been haunting my mind. I shake my head. She is Nicky’s mama. My mama. She deserves her place. But that voice is not quieting down, it isn’t. I am his wife. I am his Tsaritsa. Should I not be at his side? How long will she keep him under her thumb?  Rationally, I know that I will be at his side, it will be I who will become the Matushka, the Mother of the people, tomorrow, not the Dowager Empress. But these deep seated fears…I shake my head. God has a place for everyone. Tomorrow, I take my place. “Sunny?” “Oh, Nicky. Tomorrow…it will change us, won’t it?” Nicky looks solemn. “It will,” he says slowly “and it won’t. Tomorrow, you and I will be anointed, yet, in private, we’ll still be Nicky and Sunny. Besides,” he gives me a boyish, disarming shrug, “you’ll be at my side. I can weather all the changes to come,” I take his hand. “We will weather them together, dearest,” I say. For all my brave words, when the day dawns and the furor begins, it is Nicky at my side bolstering my strength. As his valets help him into his regimental uniform, he keeps up a steady stream of reassurance. I smile weakly at him. Part of my fear and anxiety stems from the feeling of being so tangibly close to divine. Will I be enough for that role? I am no Goddess, I cannot fail this, it means so much to me, this country… “Sunny.” I look at Nicky, the coronation mantle wrapped around him. He smiles at me. “This is the place God has ordained for you,” he says quietly. “Remember that.” I smile at him. “Using my own words on me, Nicky?” He shrugs, holding up his hands. “Guilty.” We laugh together. My own mantle is at my side, my maids helping me into it. There are so many buttons on it! My hands clasp and unclasp them, over and over. When the time comes, nothing should go amiss. Not even buttons. There is controlled chaos in our apartments. Servants are bustling here and there, my hairdresser styling my hair so that the crown can be safely positioned. Nicky stands above me, the heavy crown in his hands. The crown that will give me authority and yet take away Alix forever, relinquishing itself in the Tsaritsa, not the girl who yearned to love, to laugh, to live. I take a deep breath. I do not need to lose that part of myself, I can still retain it being the Tsaritsa. The crown lands on my head, finishing that internal debate. The connection I feel is powerful. It feels like a marriage of its own, a marriage ethereal yet so easily felt. It feels like the hand of Fate itself. The hairpin goes in too deep, scouring my scalp. “Ah!” Nicky immediately removes the crown from where it was, his hand reaching to my head. “Sunny! What is it?” “Nothing, Nicky. Just a hairpin gone in too deep.” I smile at him. He looks relieved. Relief is the last thing I feel. Stop seeing omens and portents everywhere. Sometimes, a hairpin is just a hairpin. The doubts submerge, but stay where they are. I watch the procession start, standing in my place, holding Nicky’s hand tight. Nicky is tense, I can see it in the way he holds himself, but his face shows none of it. The priests lead, with the Dowager Tsaritsa following. The city is sparkling, the skies clear. The bugle blows the traditional three times. Nicky and I slowly walk down the stairway, hindered by my heavy train. At the end of the stairway, we bow our heads. It is a solemn moment, a prelude for what is to come. The priests anoint us with holy water, marking us apart forevermore. As we enter, walking towards the altar, soaring music plays. It almost feels like I am floating far above the cathedral, touching Heaven itself, and yet I have never felt so grounded and immersed in my entire life. The walls of the church is lavishly decorated with art I don’t pay attention to, my eyes are riveted on the screen of icons, of God and the saints. The altar is crowded with the high and mighty of the clergy, the light striking the jewels on their regalia lending this moment even more of an unearthly air. In front of us are the coronation thrones. Nicky sits on the throne of Mikhail Feodorovich, the Dowager Empress on the throne of Alexei Mikhailovich and I on Ivan’s throne. The services begin. I have never felt so positively energetic in my entire life before. The hymns and the liturgies float in the air, elevating us above common man, above our own selves, tying us to a calling that is sacred, a command from God. Time seems pointless, our earthly bodies mere shells when compared to the sacrament we are receiving, so wholeheartedly from the people of this country. The ceremony swirls around us, the notes of the Mass lilting and beautiful. We stand as one when the Mass ends, the robing taking place, for Nicky first and then for me. The robe moulds itself to my body, my soul. I sink to my knees, praying with the Metropolitan for God to preserve the Tsar, to prove myself worthy of the great responsibility vested in me, to give me the power to serve Russia and her people. In a way, this ceremony cements my marriage with Nicky, ties me as irrevocably to his country as he is tied by virtue of birth. It marries me to Russia, to the man who bears Russia on his shoulders. I know now that Alix is needed no more, that Alexandra is who I shall be. Not for me anymore the ease of life I had at Hesse, the lack of responsibility; the woman who shall rise will a Tsaritsa in truth, wed to the country and the Tsar. I stand, armed with my conviction. For once in my life, my heart is certain. Nicky kneels then, the entire congregation standing, to pray for our country and her people. I cannot see his face, but I know Nicky. He is wholehearted in whatever his endeavors are, he will serve the nation well, lead its people to heights untouched before. He stands as the Metropolitan anoints him with holy oil. His voice echoes in the vaults of the cathedral, clear with conviction, as he takes his oath. As he ascends the stairs to the altar, the chain of the Order of St. Andrew slips from his shoulders to the floor. Time stops then. Is it an ill omen? Nicky’s steps are unfaltering as he smoothly picks the chain and sets it back on his shoulders. I smile. No. It is no ill omen. It is an omen of hope. A sign that says Nicky shall hold strong, come what may. He takes the Imperial crown from the Metropolitan’s giving hands with practiced ease, setting it firmly on his own head. After a charged moment, he removes it from his head and places it on mine. I force myself not to bow my head at the weight of the crown, instead draw strength from it. My strength is Nicky’s, his is mine. We belong to each other, the coronation a more sacrosanct validation to our wedding. At the wedding, Nicky and Alicky swore to uphold each other. Today, we, the Tsar and the Tsaritsa, Nikolai Alexandrovich Romanov and Alexandra Feodronova Romanov, give ourselves to our nation together, shoulder the burden of the people together, to have and hold not only each other, but this sacred tie as well.

Nicky lifts the crown off my head and places it back on his. What is his is mine. What is mine is his. A lighter, softer crown rests on my head, symbol of my lighter and softer duties in an official manner. But I remember the weight of the Imperial Crown, the weight that Nicky bears, the weight that makes him the Tsar. You will not bear it alone, Nicky. I shall always be with you. He bends slightly, flashing me a smile that’s mine alone, as he seals the ceremony with a kiss. The spirit of the nation, now embodied by Nikolai, by my Nicky, enters my soul as well, making me Matushka, the mother of the Russian people in truth, the consort to my husband for all my years to come.


Sadie flipped her dark ponytail over her shoulder as she tipped an open bag of whole coffee beans over a paper filter on a scale. She tilted the bag back up intuitively, without watching, as the number on the scale ticked upward until the display read precisely 0.220. Her fingers flitted to the white tags to mark the date of the prepped beans. She wrote the date, placed the tag, then grabbed one of the filters, pouring it into the grinder. Sadie raised her voice over the hollow ting-and-shir of the beans hitting the burrs, “You know what they don’t tell you on that little white placard with the price and the witty little description of the thing at the Trader Joe’s?” “What?” Tyler answered flatly, dropping a square, plastic container of Perrier-softened cream cheese into the refrigerator door at the prep table. “Organic carrots

grow , Ty.” Sadie’s face contorted, turning toward Tyler to see his reaction. “Really,” Ty replied coolly, grabbing a stack of decorative plates and the box of pastries that would top them. Headlights flashed across the lobby and flipped off quickly, followed by the muffled sound of a car door closing. “Yeah!” Sadie grabbed the filter and turned to the industrial machine. She plopped the filter into the coffee maker’s drawer and smoothed the edges of the filter against the sides of the reservoir. “I pulled a bag of ‘em out of my fridge last week and planted the suckers. Isn’t it a thing that you can only— “Good morning!” Ty called out cheerily to a red-headed woman, bundled in a smart-looking wool coat and her teenage double as they approached the counter.  “—eat the vegetables that are dead?” Sadie finished at volume, earning three blinks from the woman and an amused purse of the lips from Ty. “What can we make for you this morning?” Ty flashed his customer-facing smile. “Can I get a large black coffee and…” the woman looked at her daughter, “a medium caramel macchiato?”

The daughter nodded, muttering a faint

thank you . Ty rang up the order quickly and moved to the espresso machine. Sadie winked at the girl as she took a cup from beside the registers. She hummed lightly as she expertly maneuvered the cup beneath the stream of fragrant black from the industrial machine. She maneuvered the Airpot back without spilling a drop and popped a lid on the cup before placing the drink on the counter, making eye contact to let the woman know it was ready. The woman smiled and picked up the cup, taking it to a counter stocked for coffee customization. Sadie glanced at the prep table and rounded the corner to the back of the store for the silverware. “There’s a difference, right? Dead and alive veg?” “Um—” The voice sounded from the counter. “I mean, I didn’t want to get sick off of franken-freaky veggies. I’ve read that

Arthur  book.” Sadie raised her eyebrows conspiratorially at Ty as she passed. She dropped the knives into an empty plastic bin at the table, flipped the switch to begin the warmup of the toaster, and returned to the steaming coffee maker.

“—excuse me. There isn’t anything in here.” The older red head bobbed close to the cashier counter apologetically as she held up a pitcher labeled ‘half and half.’

“Let me get that for you…” Sadie dumped the ice and filled the carafe before handing it back and returning to the coffee maker to dump coffee grounds and drop in a new filter. “The aardvark, Arthur? Wasn’t that a show?” Tyler finished placing the pastries and turned toward the front of the shop, trays in hand. “Oh, bye, now! Have a great day, guys!” Tyler called again to the women as they pushed open the door. He slid open the display case and arranged the plates of scones, danishes, and muffins to symmetric perfection. Sadie snapped the lid onto the Airpot, placing it at the self-serve station, then punched the

full pot button over another, adjusting the new Airpot by sound as the nutty-sweet aroma of hot coffee wafted from the machine. She shrugged. “I’m pretty sure it was a book first. But, chicken—" “Welcome in!” Ty beamed as an older couple approached the counter. “—egg… who knows.” Ty took their order—another black coffee, a toffee latte, and a bagel—while Sadie looked over his shoulder and grabbed a cup to hand to one of the couple for his coffee. Ty handed back a debit card and moved to the espresso machine, tamping the portafilter before appraising Sadie behind steaming milk. “Okay, but Sade. Wasn’t that a

kids’  show? Like, just for entertainment?” “Oh, definitely. But, come on! They had a book—episode, whatever—about bad carrots—” “You’re out of skim milk.” The more mutinous looking of the couple, a solid, plaid-attired man with a permanent scowl, thrust the carafe across the counter at Sadie’s back, shaking it impatiently, as she cut the bagel and tossed it on to the toaster’s conveyor belt. She whipped off the food safety gloves and took the carafe with a pleasant nod. “and you  know  it totally fits my brand as human against villainous fruits and vegetables. I’m thinking of starting a group… H-A-V-F-A-V,” Sadie said as she handed back the full carafe, donning new gloves and scooping the cream cheese as she waited for the bagel to move through the toaster's system. Ty laughed, “Not as catchy as some other acronyms—”

“Sorry, can I get a straw?” The other half of the couple asked. Ty grabbed a straw, twirling it with his fingers and inclining his head theatrically as she took it.

“—but I’m here for it.” “As I knew you would be,” Sadie grinned as she slid the bagel into a bag and handed off to the gruff-looking man. The odd couple settled into the plush seats in the corner of the coffee shop as Sadie turned back to the prep table. Her eyes unfocused for a moment, imagining the carrots growing in a time-lapse while brushing crumbs into her hand. She refocused, committing to the routine wipe down. “But, for real, they should put

that  on those little cards. I would like to know if my veggies have a life of their own.” Tyler rubbed his face, yawning then squinting into the lightening daybreak outside, “Yeah, it’s disconcerting when things don’t do what you’re expecting. Like… just sitting in your crisper drawer.” “Less that. More, so that I know to watch for it. Maybe I’m thinking about this all wrong, and that dastardly Arthur has prejudiced me about innocent survivor-veg. I need the empirical data, is all I’m saying.” Tyler shook his head as he settled behind the espresso machine. “Want a latte?” “Pour the shot or steam the milk first?” Sadie asked critically.

“Milk in a pitcher, tamp the portafilter, pull the shot

while  steaming the milk,” Tyler replied evenly.

Sadie lifted her chin to show her approving smile. “Sure, I’d love one. Three pumps hazelnut, one vanilla, sixteen ounces. Please.” The silence lengthened as Tyler set the latte-making in motion before— “Empirical data? Really?” “Um, are you questioning my use of the term or my need for the thing?” Sadie refilled the mocha powder container on the counter from the plastic bag-lined box they kept beneath it. “I guess the need for the thing? Always so scientific?” Ty placed the drink on the corner of the façade that held the daily checklist, pointing to it conspicuously as Sadie glanced at him. Sadie nodded in acknowledgement, then tilted her head back, fingers turned up and witchlocked in mad scientist fashion. “Muahahaha! Question

everything !” “Hear, hear!” The gruff man puffed through his mustache from the corner, raising his coffee toward the pair. The woman tapped his leg with the toe of her strappy boot, her eyes wide as she sipped her latte. “Hey, hey, Marv!” Sadie pointed to the man, then added. “Um, your name was on your debit card.” The man scowled, turning infinitesimally toward the woman. Sadie stifled a chortle. “Really, Sadie? Question

everything ?” Ty asked as the door of the shop opened to admit a line of people. “Good morning, guys! Welcome!” “Absolutely.” Ty took the first round of orders, pausing to help make them before moving on to the next group. "Do you question your mom?" Sadie snorted. "Not to her face, but yeah." Ty gave an incredulous eyebrow raise. "No, seriously... I have been previously, um, shall we say, chagrinned by repeating things my mom has told me as unquestionable truths." “Well, what else do you question that might not seem questionable—” “Hey, can you make sure that’s two percent milk in there?” A customer in a chunky jacket interrupted. Ty smiled and nodded. “—other than vegetables... and your mom?” “Hmm. Actually, there has been something I’ve been questioning lately, but it isn’t a vegetable issue.” “—can I get the cream cheese on the side, please?” A trim woman with an enormous bag asked from across the self-service coffee station. Sadie held up a plastic single-serve container in confirmation before continuing, “My roommate told me her firm wants to hire me. I’m not even sure what they

do .” “No way! Are you telling me you’re leaving me?” Tyler called out the name of a customer with their order. “No, I’m telling you I got a job offer from a company

I don’t even know the name of .” Sadie paused for a moment in front of Ty, true inquiry on her face. “That’s weird, right? Not just crisper-drawer weird, but weird-weird?” “Yeah.” Ty took the next group’s order, then began the dance of putting it together again. “What does your roommate do?”

“I think she’s an interpreter? She might be in finance though? Her major changed so many times in college, I had to stop keeping track. But she said not too long ago that she's glad she gets to use what she went to school for.”

“Hey, can I get some help here? You’re out of whole milk.” A man with a cap pulled over his eyes waved the next carafe at Sadie. She dumped and filled it, then handed it back, putting on the customer-facing smile. “She’s certainly questionable.” Sadie said. Ty emphatically bobbed his head and called out the name of another customer. “I need a straw, too.” The man with the cap intoned. He snapped impatiently after a moment.  Sadie moved the straw out of the customer's grasp, then winked as she handed over the straw. She furrowed her brow at Ty, “Actually, I should probably ask

more  there.” Sadie shook her head gently, pushing the roommate inquiries to the back of her mind as Marv made his way back to the counter. He was grimacing in what seemed to be an attempt at a pleasant way. Sadie smiled a wide amused grin at him, waiting for a request. He slid a small square of paper across the counter toward her. It’s time to go. Sadie held her grin while her brow crumpled quizzically. “Pardon?” The grizzled man raised an eyebrow and shifted his eyes to the right. It was at that moment that Sadie noticed every person in the shop—except for Ty—had stopped moving. The entire coffee shop was paused in bated breath for her reaction. Sadie’s mind quickly flipped through the clientele in the shop--the man with the oddly chunky jacket, the woman with the too-big bag, the guy with the hat pulled suspiciously down over his face... She skimmed each of them realizing that they hadn't stilled, but had begun moving with exaggerated slowness, the man with a hand in jacket, woman with her arm deep in her bag, hat fellow with both hands behind his back. The moment took too long. As the pause lengthened, a white smoke seeped from the corner where the woman had dropped her reserved pretense. She was still unlike the rest of them, her feet planted in a wide stance and a complex mask attached to her face.

“Ty. Listen to me.” Sadie said evenly as she remained frozen, eyes fixed on the gas floating across the floor. “Run! Get out the back!” Marv’s grizzled grimace broke into a true smile as he chuckled, crouching slightly and side-eyeing the people at his back. “Welcome to day one.”


Dear Charlie, There is something not right with me. I’m not sure what it is. The doctor keeps telling me but I never remember what he says. It is not right that they are keeping me here. It is like a prison, they are watching me every day, every moment forcing food down my throat every second. Why can’t they just leave me alone? I can look after myself. Why don’t you ever come and visit me? Anyway, love to your mum. Hope to see you soon.  Love,  Gran  Hi Gran,  Don’t worry you are not in prison. You are in a care home. Mum had to put you in a couple of years ago because she could not look after you anymore. Gran, they are just looking after you. Please don’t worry. Did you eat the chocolates I brought you two days ago already? I’ll bring some up next week.  See you soon and lots of love,  Charlie  Hi Uncle Ben,  Hope you are holding up okay? How’s the therapy going? I know, you said you didn’t want contact with us anymore after Mum’s death but I need your advice about something. Gran doesn’t remember that Mum died last year even though I keep telling her. Her dementia is getting worse. Should I tell her or just play along with Gran’s version of reality? Please come and see us soon. We’re going up to Mum’s grave next week, maybe come up with us?  Hope to hear from you soon,  Charlie  Dear Charlie,  What do you mean I’m in a care home? Why? Your mum was always crazy and selfish. What is she doing, leaving me here? You know what, I don’t want to see her anymore. Make sure, you bring my chocolates next week. They feed us dog food here. I’ve been alive eighty-seven years and I can’t even be treated with respect when I’m about to hit the grave? Bloody hell.  See you soon,  Gran  Gran,  I’m coming up tomorrow, as something really bad has happened. We couldn’t get hold of Uncle Ben so we won’t over to his house and we had to call the police. He was on the floor, clutching his whisky glass, the one he loved. He…. I’ll see you soon Gran.  Charlie  Dear Charlie,  This is Isabel, the care home manager. We just wanted to offer you our condolences on your uncle’s death. We are concerned as your grandmother is not eating at the moment. She refuses anything we offer and now has taken to locking her door at all times. We try to force it open, we have the key, but she piles up suitcases on the inside and we can’t get in. So we have to coax her out of the room saying her children have come to visit her. As she does not remember that they have passed away, she often comes out of her room. However, when she realises that they are not present she becomes angry and now has become verbally abusive towards the member of staff. It is upsetting for the staff and patients. If this continues, we can not keep her here anymore as she has become disruptive and abusive. Please feel free to give me a call at any time if you would like to discuss this further or stick your head around my office door. Again, very sorry to hear about your uncle.  Best wishes,  Isabel  Dear Isabel,  I am distressed to hear this about my grandmother. This suggests that her dementia has rapidly become worse. She used to do this at home, pack her bags, it became so bad that the fire brigade said that her room was a fire hazard. We thought that putting her in a home would calm her down or that there were professionals who could subdue her. Clearly not. I will discuss it with my sister and get back to you.  My apologies,  Charlie  Dear Isabel,  My name is Rosie and we met when I first put my grandmother into a home. Charlie has shown me your letter and I think that it is substandard that you cannot do anything about my poor grandmother. Can you not give her some medication or warm milk or something to ease her mind?  As a care home, you should be adept at dealing with this, this being confused elderly people who just need a little bit of reassurance? She can’t hurt you, she is too weak to. So stop treating her like some animal baiting her to come out of her room. Please give me a call so we can discuss this further. My grandmother will not be kicked out of your incompetent care home.  Rosie  Hi Gran,  Just to let you know that Rosie and I are coming up to visit on Saturday. Would you like us to bring anything up?  Love,  Charlie  Dear Charlie,  That’s lovely that you are coming up. Make sure you bring me a handsaw, some rope and a pair of handcuffs. I’m getting out of here. Say hi to your mum for me.  Love,  Gran  Charlie,  I can’t believe Gran did not remember me. I only saw her a month ago. She has gone downhill so much since then. Charlie, I am really worried about her. She clearly had not had a shower in a while, the room looked like a rubbish tip and she refused to eat anything. I mean what if this is it? What if this is the end? I hate to be so morbid but you saw her yourself. Oh god, Charlie, I’m not sure I can take another death in the family. Oh god, what should we do? They will kick her out and neither of us can look after her properly. We are absolutely screwed.  R  Rosie,  I just got off the phone with Isabel we need to race down there. Gran’s fallen out of a chair. She is being taken to St Thomas’s. See you shortly. C  Hi Gran,  How are you feeling after the operation on your hip? We try and visit every day but due to coronavirus, neither of us are allowed to see you. Let us know if you need anything and we will leave it in reception for you. Hope you are not in too much pain.  Lots of love,  Rosie and Charlie  Hi, darlings,  I have finally escaped that awful prison. The food is so much nicer here and literally no one talks to me all day. It is heaven. They have the television on all the time so I just watch that. My legs are really weak though because I spend all day lying in bed but I do not have anywhere to go. I haven’t seen you two in ages. Your mum came up yesterday and we had a lovely wee chat. Anyway, must go Midsomer Murders is on.  Love,  Gran  Hi Gran,  Just had a call from the hospital saying you are not eating again. Is everything alright?  Charlie  Charlie,  My mother cooks for me every day so I do not need to eat this awful dog food. Vera told me that the bomb shelter at the end of the street was destroyed last night. Absolutely awful.  Gran  Hi Gran,  Its Rosie. We are allowed to see you for five minutes today. Would you like anything at all?  Love,  Rosie  Charlie,  Some woman called Rosie is contacting me for no reason. I don’t know who she is, tell her to stop contacting me.  Gran  Charlie,  She does not know who I am at all. This is awful. Honestly, I cried the whole way home as my own gran does not recognise me. My kids want to go and see her but if she doesn’t remember me how will she remember them? I just had to tell them that because of corona she is not allowed more than two visitors. Oh god, this is just awful. On top of the year that we just have had, this now. I genuinely can’t take any more. It is making me too stressed to see my gran like this. Oh, I hope that some cure is found for dementia soon. My stress levels have sky-rocketed and they won’t come down until I know she is okay. But she will never be okay, will she? Charlie, should we arrange to meet with the doctor again? Maybe he could put her on some medication. There has got to be something that can be done. Sorry, I know I am just ranting at you which is probably not very helpful but I can’t explain it to my kids and Mark is too concerned with the fact that he has been on furlough to offer any emotional support. You probably have your problems. Let me know if you need help with anything.  Love, Rosie Dear Charlie, I am writing to you because we need to know whether your grandmother, Audrey, will be returning to our care home. We need to lease the room if she is not returning so please let us know what will happen. Best wishes, Isabel Dear Isabel, we are unsure as to what is happening with my grandmother. She fractured her hip bone after the fall and the hospital is saying that she will require a chair that has more support for her. Can we contact you by the end of the week as we should know by then whether my grandmother will be strong enough to leave the hospital? Charlie Dear Charles, We have a long waiting list for potential residents so could you please inform us of what is happening? Isabel Dear Charles, This is a final letter. If you do not immediately contact us your grandmother’s room will be emptied and her belongings shall be put into the bin. This is urgent. Isabel Dear Isabel, I find your tone completely unreasonable. My sister and I are dealing with the situation by ourselves with no help from anyone and you are harassing us about a room. This is unacceptable and I will be writing to higher management. This hospital said she will have to stay for a little while longer so I will collect her things tonight seeing as this is so urgent to you. We thank you for your non-assistance during this difficult time. Charles Hi Charlie, It’s your gran. When are you going to come and visit me? I really want to go home but I am in so much pain that I often can’t move around much. Dearie me, your mother is a right handful. Only yesterday, she was telling me that you were off to university and I can’t believe I have not seen you in so long. And where is your sister? She never comes to visit me, selfish cow. I had some really nice shepherd's pie last night. It was so nice that the pain went away for a little bit. Remind me when you come down to see me that we must go to the garden centre. I want to plant some bulbs in time for winter. See you soon dearie, Gran Hi Rosie, It was nice to see you at the funeral last night. Haven’t seen each other for almost two years. It was a lovely eulogy you gave and I know that Gran would have appreciated it. Do come round for a meal at some point when this whole business is over. Give my love to the kids and tell Mark if he ever needs to talk he can give me a ring. Love, Charlie Hi Gran, I know that you are gone and probably will never get this but I just wanted to say that I love you and I am so sorry that you suffered that way in the end. You did not even recognise me in the end,. It must be so terrifying not being able to recognise people or forgetting who you are. I hope you are happy wherever you are and God bless you, Gran. Lots of love forever, Charlie


David and Mary quietly sifted through the last of the food items left on the Supermarket shelves. They were not alone. There were several others nearby doing the same thing. At the other end of the store there was a lot of yelling and shots being fired. Mary found a few packets of chips and a can of corn and quickly put them in her rucksack, hoping nobody had seen her. They had already seen an older couple get shot this morning, just because they had a few tins of food. David nodded to her that it was time to get out of there, as it was getting too dangerous. They warily made their way, as quietly as possible, to the exit, slipped through the door and raced across the road and into the trees. They hid behind a large tree for a few moments to make sure nobody had followed. Mary started to shake violently, from fear. David put his arms around her, and told her quietly. “Calm down, everything will be okay!” It had been another brutal day of scavenging for food and clothes, and seeing what the worst of humanity could do to one another. The day before they had found an empty cottage, very unassuming and rundown, not something robbers would be looking at. They headed back there now, avoiding being out in the open as much as possible. “What is going to happen to us, David?” Mary asked as they walked. “I’m afraid at the moment I can’t answer that.” David replied. “I guess, life as it was a month ago, is gone forever, and now we just have to try to survive.” They reached the small cottage, went around to the back door, and waited to make sure nobody was around. David checked the piece of cardboard he had stuck in the door. It was still there, so nobody had tried to open the door. After going inside David securely latched the door from inside, then made sure the front door was still secure. They emptied out the few items of food and stacked most of them in a secret cache, in one of the walls. They sat down on the couch with a can of cola and a packet of chips to share. They dared not put the television or the radio on, for fear of someone hearing them, and they left the lights off after dark. There was just enough moonlight coming through the curtains to be able to see. David thought about all that had happened over the last few months.  When Nth. Korea had their elections, they had voted in a dictator, who they found out too late, was crazy. By the time they realised he was out of his mind, it was already too late to stop him. He had done the one thing most of humanity had been dreading for many years. He had pushed the button, sending death and destruction to most of the Western World. Of course they had retaliated, sending their own, to completely wipe out the Nth. Korean nation and many surrounding nations as well. There weren’t too many left that hadn’t been devastated. Fresh food and water were a thing of the past, money was no good to anyone and everyone was out to look after themselves. The worst of humanity had risen it’s head, roaming the streets, violently killing anyone who got in their way. After dark David and Mary sat near the window, where they could see through the curtains, by the moonlight. They watched in silence, as the gangs roamed the streets with guns and fire torches, shooting anyone they happened to come across. David had found an old rifle in the house, but had not had to use it so far. He only found half a dozen bullets, so he had to be sure if he was going to fire it. “If it comes to them or us, I will shoot  them!” He told Mary. Mary was devastated, she had not seen or heard from any of her or David’s families, for months, and she feared the worst. “If only I knew that they were okay.” She kept telling David. He had no answers. He was thinking the same, but didn’t want to dwell on what might be. Tonight the sounds of gunfire were very close. David held the rifle, ready to take on anyone who tried to break in. The night went smoothly, but David was woken up early, by Mary urgently nudging him. “David wake up!” she whispered in his ear. “Someone is trying to open the front door!” David sprang to his feet, grabbed the rifle, and held it up facing the front door. In the dim morning light he watched with wide eyes as someone unlocked the door and walked in. “Stay where you are!” he said under his breath. As his sight adjusted to the dim light, he saw an elderly man and woman, in dirty clothes, and covered in cuts and bruises. “Who are you?” the old man asked. “This is our house, what are you doing here?” “We’re pensioners, we have nothing of value for you to steal.” Keeping the gun trained on them, David walked over behind them, then closed and relocked the front door, after making sure they hadn’t been followed. “Sit down.” He said. “I’ll explain what this is all about.” David stood beside the window, watching for anyone lurking nearby, as he explained to the old couple how he had found the cottage empty and they had nowhere else to go. The elderly man looked at his wife. “Okay, I believe you, you’re safe here, and we can do with some company.” He said. “We were at the shopping centre searching for some food, when the whole building started to collapse.” “We ran for our lives and only just got out with a few cuts and bruises.” “We have been slowly making our way back here, trying to avoid the gangs and shooting.” “We saw so many dead and injured people, but we couldn’t stop or we would have become one of the victims.” “It was horrible to watch, as people were shot down, for no reason, other than a coat or a packet of chips.” “One thing I did overhear though.” The old man said. “I overheard someone saying the Army was headed this way, ready to take on any, and all rioters.” “Anyone holding a gun in the street, will be shot on sight.” David’s eyes lit up and a smile cracked his lips. Mary jumped up and gave him a hug. “That’s the best news I’ve heard for weeks!” he said, then laughed. “Actually it’s the only news I’ve heard for weeks!” The old couple had found some fresh oranges and a couple of bottles of water. They added the water to the cache and shared the fruit with David and Mary. The next few weeks went quietly, without incident. A few gangs passed by, but weren’t interested in a dishevelled, run-down cottage. They were headed for the wealthy homes at the top of the bluff. David had sneaked out a few times and came back with some cans of beans and tomatoes, but their small cache of food was almost gone. One night as David sat beside the window, he heard the gangs headed towards them. He held the rifle up ready to shoot, then he realised they were running away, and the Army was after them! The next day a soldier knocked on the door. David opened the door just an inch. “Sergeant Leo here!” “How many in the house please?” “Four.” David replied. “Do you have enough food?” “No, we are just about out.” David said. “If you would all like to come with me, we’ll take you to the shelter, where you can pick up enough food for a week, and anything else you need.” The shelter was a very large distribution shed, with thousands of food packages, hundreds of soldiers and hundreds of people with nowhere to go. After picking up enough food parcels for a week and some clean clothes, they got a lift back to the cottage. The elderly couple were very glad to have some help and some company. It took many months but eventually David and Mary found most of their close family. Sadly, a few had unfortunately lost their lives, and they attended several funerals. They stayed at the cottage, as their own home had been obliterated. David helped clean-up the outside, and eventually repainted the cottage. Mary redecorated inside the cottage, making it more light and airy, and she also did the cooking. They had sadly lost a few family members, but David and Mary had found, in the ashes of the desolation, a new family to cherish for the future.


Danny Beresford woke up in a good mood, as he did every morning after Penny’s abrupt departure. It was a relief to start the day without her cold shoulder and frosty words. Even before their divorce was completed, she’d earmarked her possessions; family heirlooms, souvenirs from foreign holidays, and all those silly knick-knacks with limited sentimental value. Danny hadn’t contested her choices; he’d always thought the place was far too cluttered.

‘I suppose it’s less to dust,’ his mother had said. ‘But it’s a damn nerve, dear.’

‘Never mind,’ his father had said. ‘You can’t take it all with you, son.’ In the event, Danny’s father was correct, but only because Penny had seized everything whilst he was at work. Millman, his boss at the bank, was a man of the world. He’d heard about Danny’s troubles and insisted he took time off.

‘Get yourself a sharp lawyer and come back fighting in two weeks,’ he’d said. ‘I don’t want you moping about and upsetting the clients.’

Danny smiled and accepted the offer, not that he could refuse. However, he didn’t get round to contacting his solicitor. He couldn’t be bothered with all the fuss. Penny was welcome to anything. Good riddance to the lot.

# It was six a.m. when the alarm’s insistent bleep disturbed Danny’s deep slumber. His two-week reverie had ended and it was time to get back into work mode. Danny snorted air into his lungs, swung his legs from underneath the duvet, and padded across an acre of sanded floorboards between the mahogany bed and matching wardrobe. Without soft furnishings to muffle the sound, his foot slaps echoed around the bare bedroom and pinged off the four sliding glass doors overlooking the back garden. The couple’s detached suburban property was modest in size when they’d purchased it fifteen years ago, however it appeared twice as big in Penny’s absence. While Danny had pursued his daily ritual of sorting out his former wife’s remaining effects, he’d discovered rooms he didn’t know existed. There were parts of his house he didn’t recognise at all. It was as if the entire structure was expanding brick by brick. # Danny selected the suit he’d collected from the dry-cleaners at the start of his sick leave. He removed the flimsy protective plastic and, flicking through his collection of ties, chose his favourite; the navy blue one with thin white stripes. It reminded him of his old school tie. Not that he was inclined to reminiscing; his life had changed a lot since those formative years. Danny had resisted joining the old boy network and wasn’t in close contact with his peer group. All his old classmates had moved on too; they’d all travelled far and wide in pursuit of their careers. # Downstairs, he checked his Rolex as the percolator gurgled away beside him like a choking cat; spitting and coughing for all it was worth. Danny digested the morning’s headlines on his smart phone while he wolfed down steaming porridge and gulped fresh black coffee. Licking his lips, he added the dirty crockery to yesterday’s breakfast debris and headed for the front door. He grabbed his briefcase and overcoat, pausing in the glazed vestibule to witness the morning sunlight glint on the icy morning dew. The garden’s manicured lawn was a field of twinkling diamonds. His face tingled as the sun’s first rays bombarded his pale skin and he closed his eyes. Danny imagined being on holiday; somewhere warm and welcoming, a Greek island perhaps. That’d be just the ticket. His eyelids blinked open to see a golden host of dusty particles swirling on invisible air currents. The cloud of specks cavorted in sunlight that had travelled millions of miles to greet him. They fluttered with joyful abandon until the breeze diminished and the moment passed. The spontaneous congregation dispersed without an encore. It was as if their unique performance had never happened.

The reverse thrust of a descending Airbus A320 bound for Gatwick Airport reminded Danny of the time, and it occurred to him he’d never paused on his doorstop before. He took a deep breath and, after a slow exhalation, lowered his briefcase onto the hardwood threshold. Danny marched past the driveway’s neat borders towards his gleaming Mercedes, clicking an electronic key fob as he approached. There was a sharp honk, and the headlights flashed in response. Danny opened the driver’s door, and leaning inside, turned the key in the ignition. It started the first time. The reliable German engine continued to purr like a pampered feline as the solid door clicked shut and Danny ambled back up his flagstone pathway. When he reached the entrance, he hoofed his briefcase past the mound of unopened letters in the hallway and closed the front door behind him. # It was about one o’clock in the afternoon when the phone’s persistent ringing woke him up. Danny tottered downstairs as more mail spilled through the letterbox onto the doormat. In the silent kitchen he tinkered with the landline’s receiver to discover six new messages. He replaced the handset in its cradle without listening to them. # Danny answered the phone at three o’clock whilst peering at his car from behind his living room window shutters. ‘Mister Beresford?’ a woman’s voice asked. ‘I called earlier but--- ’ ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘everything’s fine, Joan.’

A fluffy cloud of vapour rose from the car’s exhaust pipe and Joan continued.

‘You have a full page of appointments for Tuesday, Mister Beresford…’ Surely there couldn’t be much more fuel in the tank?

‘… and Mister Beresford,’ she said, pausing for breath. ‘Please call Mister Millman.’

‘Millman wants me?’ ‘He’s blowing a fuse here.’

‘Is that so, Joan?’ A jogger halted next to Danny’s spluttering vehicle. Joan detailed the latest changes in bank personnel and listed new clients that required Danny’s immediate attention.

‘Sure thing, Joan,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow will be fine…’ Half-listening to his secretary, he avoided eye contact with the lycra-clad neighbour examining the exhaust pipe. ‘… so we’ll see you first thing, sir?’ she asked.

‘Of course, Joan,’ he said, smiling as the jogger shook her head and continued down the road. # The six o’clock television news had just finished its round up of the day’s horror stories when Danny noticed the car’s engine falter and stop. That was when he decided to remain in the house and only answer the door to anyone who had a legitimate reason for visiting the property. He could solve all his difficulties by merely staying here and disappearing into the fabric of the property. Still in his business suit and tie, he resolved to vanish. He padded his pockets and retrieved his wallet, driving licence and work I.D. card. If he destroyed everything that could identify him, he’d be able to slip away undetected. No one would miss him; not really. Danny had got to that age when he knew there were always ten young men chasing after his job. Penny wouldn’t miss him, and he wouldn’t miss her either.

Danny gathered all the unopened letters and correspondence from the hallway and built a pyramid in the fire grate in the living room. He lit the tapering edges of the pyre and warmed his outstretched palms when the paper caught alight. As the flames crackled, he added one piece of I.D. at a time and cremated all his bank notes too until all he had left was an empty wallet. Danny staggered as he stood up and grabbed the mantelpiece for balance, enveloped by a certain lightheadedness. It was as if he’d removed a colossal weight from his shoulders and now he could breathe freely again. # Danny was practical by nature, and his next instinct was to create an inventory of all the food in his pantry, fridge, and garage freezer. He’d visited the supermarket recently and probably had enough produce to last five or six days; maybe ten days if he cut back and fifteen if he was frugal. After that, he’d have to consider shoe leather or broth from boiled cardboard. He’d let providence dictate his future. He couldn’t be any worse off than living with Penny in their marriage from hell. Danny was now free to explore his estate and looked forward to discovering new horizons within his ever-expanding dwelling. # The landline woke Danny the next morning at eleven o’clock. It screamed at him from downstairs. He wrapped the duvet around his shoulders and dragged himself down to the kitchen to attend to it. The ringing stopped as he approached, and he lifted the handset to discover ten new messages. The handset vibrated in his hand and shrieked into his face. Grimacing, he rejected the call and rammed the handset onto its cradle. Danny followed the phone unit’s twisted cable to the wall, grabbed hold of the tangled wire and yanked it out of its socket. That would be the last time the landline would disturb him. # A week passed by and there were no more calls, which wasn’t a surprise. Danny whiled away the hours, jettisoning his executive trappings. He detached the sixty-inch HDTV from its wall mount and bumped it down the stairs and out into the back garden. This was a giant step to take, but not the first item he’d ejected on his journey to rid himself of his lifestyle. He’d had enough of the limitless channels packed with ocular chewing gum and disposable eye candy. No more streaming services and next day deliveries for him. He would downsize and lose all the baggage and fully explore the elaborate terrain of his ever-distending home. # During the second week, Danny piled up the last of Penny’s possessions in the back yard and smashed up the household furniture for firewood. He had no means to pay for the electricity and if he made it to winter, he’d need fuel to keep warm. The only intrusion was a policeman who knocked at the door enquiring about Mister Beresford’s whereabouts. Danny answered the door, still in his suit. ‘Mister Beresford?’ he asked. ‘Are you the householder?’ ‘How can I help you?’ ‘We had reports of a break in.’ ‘No, constable,’ Danny said, frowning. ‘I’ve been here all the time.’ The officer explained he was investigating reports from neighbours who said the upper windows were permanently open and they’d heard bangs and crashes coming from inside. ‘We were told there’d been a break in at this address.’ ‘I’ve been engaged in home improvements, constable.’  The officer shrugged and said he had no reason to pursue the matter, as the legal occupant was present and a law-abiding suburbanite. To that end, Danny closed all the windows facing the road and resolved to maintain a tidy appearance for the sake of his sanity. In many ways, his neighbours had been observant. A forced entry had occurred, of course, a most unusual break in.

# A month passed by in the twinkling of an eye. Danny had a few awkward exchanges with an immediate neighbour who’d interrupted his work outside. She’d wanted to know why he wasn’t at work and wondered why the gardener had ceased attending. Danny made polite excuses and disappeared into the undergrowth to continue mapping the topography of his ever-expanding kingdom. Every day, the number and size of his rooms increased. The upper floors had taken on the dimensions of several large aircraft hangers, and the land at the rear was now comparable to Kew Botanic Gardens. With nothing to prevent the ingress of natural daylight, the house’s dimensions became exaggerated further until it took Danny all day to travel from one side of the estate to the other. # The outside world still bombarded Danny with irrelevant messages; junk mail, free newspapers, and letters from Mister Millman at the bank. He collected all the detritus from the doormat and incinerated it in the fire grate. Danny smiled during the daily ceremony and imagined the solemn letters pertaining to his contract, accompanied by Millman’s hideous threats and warnings.

# Two days ago, Danny heard a knock at the door and saw a slim silhouette behind the frosted vestibule glass. He answered the door to find a smartly dressed woman in a two-piece wool suit and collar length hair. ‘Yes, can I help you?’ ‘Mister Beresford?’ she said, her mouth aghast. ‘It’s me, sir, Joan…’ ‘Ah, Joan,’ Danny said, leaning on the upright for support. ‘Yes, I’m fine and I’ve been meaning to call.’ ‘I’ve been reassigned, sir.’ ‘You’re still employed?’ ‘Yes, but--- ’ ‘That’s good news. I was worried that--- ’ ‘But they’ve cleaned out your office and destroyed all your files, sir.’ ‘That’s great news, Joan.’ ‘Do you need help, sir?’ ‘I’ve never been better, Joan, and slowly achieving my dreams.’ # On the last day of Danny’s exhaustive explorations, he discovered the outer edge of his vast empire in the unmapped region formerly known as garage. At its centre, was an enormous abandoned crater containing ice and glittering gemstones that beckoned him forth. With the last of his rations consumed two weeks before, he had no choice but to enter the icy world to forage for scraps. Danny recalled his history lessons from long ago and Captain Oates’ infamous line as he walked to certain death in a polar blizzard. What was it he said? Oh, yes, “I’m just going outside and may be some time.” His tortured mind repeated those prophetic words as he succumbed to the beguiling ice crystals twinkling on the walls of the cavernous interior. With every movement Danny’s lungs strained for air and his heart struggled to supply blood to aching limbs. A final trembling breath stung his blackened lips and at last Danny’s arms collapsed under the weight of the descending ice-shelf, trapping him inside his abandoned chest freezer forever. The End