When I saw the mouse in the guest room, I shrieked louder than I cried today. The shriek startled us both. The mouse bolted, jumped high in the air and then scurried away someplace. I don't know where, because I scurried away someplace too. It's been the worst day of my life but all I can think about is how big his ears were and how high it jumped for such a little thing. It seemed impossible. I'm pouring myself a sherry in the kitchen. I know you'd disapprove. It’s only four o’clock in the afternoon. But my nerves are shot. Truly. What a day. I'm so sorry love that I've done this to you. I want to say sorry to you over and over again, but I know you wouldn’t understand. There's no point, it would only upset you. You'd get confused. You might shriek as loudly as I just did. It had an air of a survivor, that mouse, which I could relate to, and dark black-hole eyes that seemed to suck light from the room. How did that little bugger get into our guest room? I don’t know, and right now, I don’t care. I guess I've heard scurries about the house sometimes but always just assumed it was a branch from a tree grating against the side of the house. What’s to be done with the little rodent? You’d know what to do. You always knew what to do. Be it sorting out practical things or comforting me when I was upset. It's what drew me to you in the first place, your kindness. After we met at that ballroom dance at the town hall, all I could think about was you. I felt insecure like I might not be good enough. But as we courted, your love soothed my insecurity. Recklessly, I fell in love. But I trusted you, and you never let me down. And today I betrayed your trust. Didn’t I, love? I know that I did. It seemed like a nice enough place. The staff were friendly, and they seemed half-human. Frazzled but with enough heart left to care, maybe changing residents out of dirty clothes and pads quickly. And the facility was clean. You had a lovely view over the courtyard. There was an apple tree in the middle. What a funny place to have an apple tree! But I know you can look at that and maybe that will mean something to you. I don’t know. What was I supposed to do? Your good humour meant looking after you was easy. Odd things would happen from time to time, like the car keys being put in the fridge, but it was as comical as it was concerning. But then you got worse. You forgot your manners. And being confused is frightening. Your shouting was just your way of expressing it, I know that. But when you wandered down the street in your pyjamas and the police had to drag you home, I knew it had become too much. I take a long swig of sherry. It tastes good. Maybe a bit too sweet. I seem to have developed a taste for bitter lately. There’s a faint scratching upstairs. The mouse must be back. It’s bizarre but I’m happy there’s another soul in the house tonight. Having discovered a mouse, I should be worrying about whether there’s more of them, whether we have a vermin-infested house that will never sell if I want to downsize. But that scurrying noise, it just makes me think: that’s my little mouse with the big ears.

Maybe he’s hungry? There’s a bag of grated cheese in the fridge and I take a handful. Grated cheese, a bugbear of yours - have we become too lazy to grate our own cheese? I have, that’s for sure. Cheese in hand, I creep up the stairs. The floorboards creak in tune with my joints. Back in the guestroom, with a neatly made bed and wall pictures that never made it into the main house, I place the cheese onto the wooden floor just beside the bed leg. I could sit in one of the two cushioned chairs, but instead, I make a comfy nest in the corner with pillows from the bed. I sip sherry and wait. It'd be good to see that little mouse again. My heart shrieks and I think, more than anything, I’d love to see you again. I mean, as you were. Maybe five years ago, before that disease took you from me. I can picture you now, with your short grey hair and cleanly shaven face. You could never sit still, always tinkering with things around the house, in your cheap shorts and paint-stained top. I don’t know if I can bear to see you now. When you don’t even know who I am anymore and just keep asking for your Mum. She’s long gone, love, we buried her decades ago. But you don’t remember that like you don’t remember me.

Such a complex thing, memory. Who knows how it really works. I get them to play your favourite music, to try and give you some comfort, maybe stir some old memories. Is that just wishful thinking on my part? But then, you do have the odd moments of clarity. Like when you remember Mike or Louise for a moment. You had one of those moments of clarity today and it's the only thing that's keeping me sane. You turned to me suddenly and said, “It’s alright, Geraldine.” That's all you managed to say but it meant everything to me. I'm sure you meant so much by that. That you were alright in there, that you weren’t suffering. And that leaving you there was the best thing for you and me. A tear trickles down my face and I lift the sherry to take a sip. I look up to see my little furry friend nibbling at the cheese and he’s looking right back at me. Just like you love, there’s no way for me to know what he’s thinking. But he’s eating and he’s keeping me company. One survivor to another. Just a few paces away. And I think he agrees with you. It’s alright.


Those days when there was still magic,it all started with a thick greenish air with blue specks. I dropped the box I was holding and admired this great sight. Soon I was tempted to touch it,feel it, withhold it. Then I decided to pass the through the green air,and I entered and was vaporized into time,1992,all in the attic. I stood tall,staring at another me,suckling a breast and cooing in the comfort of warm arms that was not my present mother's. My face tightened in confusion. That was the 'baby' me I was sure,I could contrast images from photos. But why was I in strange arms?who really put birth to me?or nursed me? I left that year 3rd January 1992 when I was just one month old to my present year 2004 where I was twelve. I stumbled out of the thick greenish gas,and met our usual black attic,with the wooden box down on the floor. I pushed the door open,I was devastated. "Mom!who is my real mom?" Mrs McCall shuddered at my question. She let go of her needle and gave me a look that meant more of 'how did you get to find out?'And she finally asked. "Honey,what prompted...I mean how did you get to know this?" "There!"I stretched out my index finger towards the attic. The two couples gave themselves a devastating look. "Darling you didn't shut the portal?" That was all Mrs McCall could say. "I did,I was sure..."Mr McCall began, before smacking his forehead with his right palm in a bid to have forgotten something."...or maybe not". Mrs McCall signed. I began my relentless questions."What happened?to them,to me,to us! Why did they give me out?when did they do this?are they still alive?!" Mrs McCall stood up from the cushion,she was visibly disturbed. "Honey..." "If you don't want to talk about it,I should find out for myself!" I ran out of the sitting room. Mom and dad followed me to the attic,bit before they could make it pass the wooden door, I was gone...gone into 1992. ... I still saw the same thing,but I was sleeping this time...I meant another me,in a cot. There wasn't any clue to my urging questions here. I had to frontier,a bit frontier. My bare feet stepped into 27th December 1992,when the 'baby' me was still around twelve months. I,saw with me the same parents, laughing around a filled table putting on the robe of Santa Claus celebrating Christmas. I left again,using the gaseous magical portal to 3rd January 1993. I met me, standing with a smiling face before a chocolate cake,and in my small palm was a small pen knife. Above the cake had 'two' inscribed on it and the immediate sorroundings around me had them decorated with balloons and colourful nylons. Guess it was my birthday. And so I went,from 16th Febuary to 8th June. Then 22nd July before I finally met my present Mom and dad in a serious conversation with the previous Mom and Dad in a small room. That was the 1st of August,1993. My previous parents were in tears and pleaded with the foster ones,to take me and raise me as their own. "We are witches and wizards". I could hear the mother from my standing behind the door."Our magic sorcery are too strong for the baby. They are not good for the baby. They will kill the baby..." "Okay,stop your tears now Mrs Mikaelson..." "Mikaelson..." I whispered to my self."My mother's name is Mikaelson. "...we'll take him as our own,we will take proper care of him". "Please don't let him know his roots". This Mrs Mikaelson started again." Or else he will become what he is...a werewolf!" "Wait...what?!" "Should in case you need any direction while we are gone,you can always open a portal to this time to ask us..." I vanished.5th of August 1993,I met the corpses of my old parents. They died with their eyes open and with bite marks. They had their bodies wrapped in a white linen,which had been doubled up umpteen times but the blood from the massive bite marks still drenched them,and stained the floor.I wept. But there was a problem,I couldn't get back to my present year 2004 after visiting so many dates. I was to follow them back in order so as to trace my year. I was trapped in time. I started feeling uneasy and I had a sudden runny nose. My heard was turning and my vision doubled and blurred out. I had a severe headache and I thought I saw drops of blood drip down from my nostrils. When I reached for my handkerchief,my claws were long and sharp. I screamed and threw myself on the floor. Turning my neck swiftly to the wall mirror nearby,I met a sabre toothed wolf-human head. My two eye balls changed their black colour to that of green. My ear pinna grew to an extensively large extent and it's edge was pointed. Altough saliva escaped and dripped slowly from lips,I couldn't control it owing to my abnormal longer canines.I was very afraid of who I was,I was horrible. Then I started hearing distant conversation,very low and slow. I focused attention. "... the kid will get out of our hands..." "...can our magic hold him?..." "...I don't think so,the best magic ever for him was the spell the Mikaelsons casted on him which is to be broken the very seconds he finds his roots..." "... ain't there an alternative...? From a simple guess,those were my present parents conversing,perhaps about me. I could hear them right from 1993! With my two fingers out,I seized this moment and stirred up a time portal for that particular year. My big feet stepped into the dark attic,and my glowing eyes met Mr. and Mrs McCall. They were horrified with my new look,I could see that too. Mrs McCall retreated and reached for a wooden baton, held it above herself in a bid to attack. Mr McCall just stood still and looked on stealthily with agap lips,before clenching his fingers into a fist and taking his stance. I tried a brief roar. My new nature made me to breath too noisily and to see the digestive and the respiratory systems of this couple from my gloating position. Then I flashed my large canines at them,and gave a mischievous smile. "You were saying...?" And with a speed of sound,I ripped their throat into shrrds.


There had been no one in our guest room for a while now. It was looking sterile and uninviting. I went and changed the bed linen. I looked in the washroom and toilet to make sure they are clean. Changed the towels and the toiletries and walked back to the bedroom. It looked and smelt aseptic, devoid of any character, I thought. Other tasks beckoned me, so I left the room to attend to work in the kitchen.                                    I am Tara, a homemaker. My work is, I always feel, never done. There is this thing to do in the kitchen or that thing to store in the larder. I must remember to order this from the grocers, That from the butchers, and so on. The work goes on and on. Never-ending. Not that I am complaining. I am happy and content with what I am doing.                                    We have no regular work hours, trade unions, no salaries or perks to speak of. In fact, we are the most hardworking people, I feel. But enough of this for the present.                                         As I sat enjoying my cup of coffee, most work done, I  started musing about that empty guest room. To make ends meet, my husband Ken and I take in paying guests and they live in that spare bedroom we have.                                        We conveniently placed this room away from our main living area. It has a separate door leading outside. As I do most of the cooking for our family anyway, it is only a little more than I have to cook for a stranger.                                    The guests have to eat whatever is provided for them. This is made clear to them at the beginning. Most of them oblige. They all feel home-cooked food is good for them. If at all they feel like going out for eating, we instruct them to let us know so the food won't need to be prepared for them.                                    "Tara, Tara," my husband was calling. Getting up from my cozy nook,  I spoke up, "Yes darling, what is it?"                                    "Just got a call, dear. It seems there is someone wanting to come and stay with us for a few months. Shall I say yes?" He was all ready to leave for his work.                                    "Make sure and list out all our conditions. I feel we need to send them ahead to enquirers like this. Get his or her email. I will send an email to them."                                    "Done. Tara. Now I am off to work."                                    Hurrying to the door, I kissed Ken goodbye. "Bye, Darling, May God go with you."                                    Ken and I are a God-fearing couple. Both of our parents brought us up in the fear of the Lord. We had prayed for a long time fervently before we got married. We got confirmation from God before we decided to marry each other. We believed that the Lord Jesus Christ was the Saviour of the world and yearned to share this truth with others.                                  Being active in the local church, we helped the Pastor and the committee in as many ways as we could. Married for over three years, we had no children yet and were presently praying about that issue.                                 Our faith was such that we spent time praying both individually and as a couple every day. The Lord had been kind to us and we were managing to live within our means, contentedly.                                  Milkha, the prospective paying guest came to see us the next day. He looked like a typical Indian. He was sporting a white turban and a thick vermillion line on his forehead. The moment he came in, our room was smelling of garlic and onions. I was finding it difficult to breathe!                                    Ken started asking him questions. Milkha had a typical Indian accent. He just had a passable knowledge of English.                                     "We are a law-abiding and quiet couple and expect the same from you. I trust all your papers are in order. We don't want the police or detectives to come into our house."                                    "Sirji, I too come from good family in my India. I do not break any law in India or here. Believe me Sirji."                                    "What is your business here in this town, and how long are you planning to stay with us?"                                    "I am, what you say, learning English at the Town Hall. I complete in three-four months and then leave. Am trained plumber but not knowing English, not able to get job."                                    "Which part of India do you come from?"                                    "I come from the North, Punjab, Sirji. Do you know it?"                                    "We have heard of Punjab. I hope you are not into terrorism? We heard a lot about terrorism in Punjab."                                    "Me? No Sirji. Am not terrorist. My father is a Police Constable who fights them. We are real Indians. Proud to be so, you can enquire Sirji, if you don't believe me. I have papers."                                       Doubtful whether this stranger, Milkha, could stay with us at all, I asked him gently, "Will you be able to eat the food that we prepare and eat?"                                    "Er. Sisterji! Me, Punjabi and me eat more Rotis and vegetables. Can I make Rotis for myself?"                                    Ken and I exchanged glances. We had a small kitchenette attached to the guest room, but no one so far has used it to cook meals for themselves. "It would be a little easier for me, perhaps. “But what about the costing?" I thought.                                    I ventured, "You would have to get your own pots and pans and do your cleaning yourself. Is it okay?"                                    Ken said, "And we are going to charge the same amount, as I told you earlier."                                    I thought that would deter Milkha. But I was wrong. He seemed to be eager to agree.                                    "Yeah, Sirji. Yes. I will be coming."                                    So Milkha Singh became the stranger in our guest bedroom. We were soon assaulted by pungent odours and smoke. He was a novice cook and burnt up his Rotis many times. But he survived somehow. And we too developed an acquired taste for the smells and sounds from Milkha's room.                                    This stranger we took in was very eager to know what was happening. He eavesdropped on us as we sang a hymn in our Family evening prayer. One evening he approached me. He seemed to be less in awe of me. He calls me, Sisterji!                                    "Sisterji!" He started, "Why do both Sirji and you sing songs in the evening? Is it a form of Bhajan?"                                    "We praise and worship the Lord God with our songs and prayers every evening, Milkha."                                    "I understand Bhajans. Our family also does it. But which god or goddess do you worship?"                                    Praying silently to God, a short and swift prayer, a Nehemiah prayer,  I turned to Milkha, "Our God is The Creator of all the heavens and the earth. We call Him Yahweh."                                    "But I hear about Jesus? Who is he then? A little god?"                                  I took a deep breath and started, "It is like this Milkha. God created the entire universe by the word of his mouth, in the beginning. He also made man and woman, Adam and Eve from the dust of the earth, with his hands. He breathed into them and made them live. That was how our first parents were created. We are all the descendants of this first couple." I paused.                                    "Is it so? Then what happened, Sisterji?"                                    "God put the first couple in a beautiful garden, Eden, which he created. He asked them to look after it. He only told them not to eat the fruit of one tree. All the other fruits they could eat."                                    "Okay. Did they obey God?"                                    "They did, for a while. Then Satan, the devil came in the form of a wily serpent and tempted them. He told them lies that they will become like gods if they eat the fruit of that tree. They were deceived and ate of that fruit."                                    Milkha was excited. His eyes were twinkling as he asked, "Did they become little gods then?"                                    "On the contrary, they lost their innocence and glory and became shameful of their bodies. They quickly grabbed some fig leaves to sew clothes for themselves. But God called them to account for their sin and sent them out of the Garden. He made some leather dresses for them before He sent them away."                                    "But why did He send them away? Was He angry?"                                    "No Milkha. God loved his creatures, men. But because He is a holy God, sin, and sinful people cannot stand in His presence. That’s why He had to send them away. Later on, He sent his own Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, who was God himself, in the form of a newborn baby to a little town called Bethlehem."                                    "Yes, I heard about Bethlehem, the Christmas Story."                                    "It happened really Milkha. Maybe 2000 years ago. Jesus grew up, as a true man and God. He preached peace, harmony and did many miracles, healing many people. He even made dead people rise. But the religious leaders were jealous of him and arrested him. They tortured him and then crucified him on the cross where he died. All his disciples and friends were very sad."                                    "I know. It happened on Good Friday!" cried Milkha.                                    "But that is not the end of the story Milkha! On the third day, the Lord Jesus Christ rose up by himself from the dead. He came out of his grave and appeared to his disciples and others. Some of his disciples went running to the grave to find it empty!"                                    "I did hear something like this too Sisterji. But how can it be true? And how does it affect you and me today, so many years later?"                                    "Good questions. Let me try to answer. Jesus, because he was the Son of God, was the only sinless man on earth. By his death, he paid the penalty of all our sin on the cross. Because of that, if and when we repent from our sins and turn to Him, ask Him to enter into our hearts, He will enter and cleanse us from all our sins. We will become forgiven sinners and free from the punishment of sin! I wish you also, Milkha will become like us, a forgiven sinner!"                                    "Sisterji, thank you for your invitation. Let me think about this. Please give me a simple write-up, a part of your Bible so that I can do some meditation and come to a decision."                                    Silently I offered a prayer of thanksgiving to God. I unearthed a Hindi translation of the New Testament which an Indian student paying guest had left with me, and gave it to Milkha. And I am continuing to pray for his salvation. Can you join me too?


This year vacation has begun but everything seems unnatural. This unnatural mood of nature needlessly negated the near final preparations for an excursion down south and forced to stay put indoors. A boy who prefers to remain outdoors all through the year is disheartened and disgusted to hear that the dams have been opened. The damn good days are brushing past at jet speed and dull school days are fast approaching with bated breath stretching their arms and drawing the boy’s attention to do his homework and readying the essay on how he spent his vacation. The boy on the other hand is ruminating over the numerous varieties of duels that were debated upon and domesticated for dealing delicately and dramatically to endure and relive the ancient warfare, along with it related ammunitions in the form of toys were procured but those not readily available located and decided well in advance with the distant cousins the ways and means to deploy during the holidays, all appearing to disappear in the thin air, with it the hopes of long distance horseback rides also remained a fantasy and hung as if frozen or in suspended animation. The week long train journey to the hometown, with break journey at important towns, with quick shopping from the nearby markets, the breakfast sessions in the trains, the lunch sessions on the railway canteens, the dinner ordered from the pantry car had a pride of place in the mind of the school boy. The arrangements with regard to the dresses that need to be packed in layers and to be worn as per the occasions it is meant for and clothes to be kept handy in order not to waste time in searching and make a mess of the arrangements in the suitcase. Prepare a check list of what all need to be taken as the holidays is for almost a month and cannot be made available if forgotten after the journey begins. The story books, board games, cards, albums, copies of certificates and photographs of medallions won need to be kept in order to show the cousins who are also bent upon showing their achievements and producing these things as a proof in case they are not believed. The question and answer sessions with the elders from uncles to grandfathers were also earmarked to give them the insight as to what lies in future from them for the elders. The journey per se had a lot of other areas to savour. There was the anxious wait for stations to approach with hot and delicious dishes for breakfast along with hot tea and coffee to choose from. Vendors can be seen selling fancy items, toys and story books by yelling, and highlighting the quality and worthiness of their stuff. After breakfast and viewing from the window seats of the train the plains and also hills and mountains at a distance and seeing from close quarters the cows and goats grazing in the fields and scarecrows as watch guards overlooking the acres of fields of numerous crops awaiting the harvesting season. Thereafter on reaching almost at the middle of the long journey towards south, in the afternoon the boy would be getting ready for lunch from the station known for mouth watering side dishes for lunch. Lunch having been served and satisfied to the soul’s content the boy feels sleepy and collapses on the berth and goes to sleep. In his sleep he starts dreaming about his near future as well as his distant future. He dreams to have reached his hometown to a rousing welcome from his grandparents and cousins. He revels on the games he won in the board games by outmanouvering his cousins and thinks of the praises heaped on him by his grandparents added to which he finds himself gifted with toys. When he wakes up he finds he is still in the train and it is evening time and what he thought was a dream. It was also time for evening snacks and tea, which was yet to be offered to him by his mother after taking him to the wash basin at the corner of the compartment and getting him wash his face and brush his teeth and freshened up. The boy comes back to his berth and eats the snacks and sips the tea and feels the cool wind, blowing in the opposite direction to which the train is speeding up. He also again gets transported to what he dreamt and started to visualize the chances of his dream coming true. After the visualization he began to plan how to make his dream come true. He starts analysing his strengths and his cousin’s weakness, and registers the games in which he finds his cousin better than him and decides to make it a point not to enter into a wager for such games. Instead he tries to remember in the corners of his mind the games that suit him best and which he shall initiate to play. By the time he finalizes his strategy the sun seemed to have set and it was dark outside the train and lights were on inside the train. It was time for little prayer and thereafter read the story book for an hour and be ready for dinner. The dinner arrived at around nine pm and his mother served him and gestured him to go to sleep which he did as an obedient son. He knew he would not take much time to fall asleep as he was excited at the very thought that he will be reaching his dream destination, his hometown next day morning around 10 am. With such thoughts he lodged himself on the middle berth and closed his eyes and covered himself with the blanket that was offered to him by his mother and went off to sleep. As expected the train was running on time and hence they reached their hometown station also at good time. Suddenly he heard a voice coming from behind. It was his sister asking him to get ready for school otherwise he will miss the school bus.


The sun rose slowly over the green country as two people watched, one leaning on the other. The Halloween party, which ended a few hours ago, had been a huge success despite the resident ghost paying a visit. The pair were exhausted but found they couldn’t sleep yet and decided to watch the sun come up. They could sleep on the way home after everything was cleaned up. “Did you ask Ryan to drive?” Terry asked, shielding her eyes as the yellow ball rose higher. “I did. He said he’d have no problem doing so. Just let him sleep until it’s time to leave.” Roger kissed his girlfriend’s forehead. “Great party though, wasn’t it?” “Couldn’t have asked for a better one, but looks like we’ll have to top it next year for our new friend.” She looked at the pumpkin in her hands. “Best party ever. At least the Headless Horseman has a sense of humor.” “I think the caretakers will be astonished to see no pumpkins on the front grass this year. Let’s head back in and start to tidy up.” They glanced at the rising sun one more time then headed back into the manor to see the night’s effects. Most of the party-goers had left when the festivities ended but some were passed out in the sitting room. Roger counted six to eight people then went to the kitchen to start a large pot of coffee. Terry sighed, rolled up her dress sleeves, and went about the task of waking everyone up. “Come on, Tiffany. Rise and shine.” She shook the petite blonde’s bare shoulder and Tiffany groaned. “Terry? What time is it?” “Just past sunrise. Time to get up.” “Just past sunrise? What the bloody hell? Why you getting me up so early?” “Because we have to clear out of here by two and there’s a lot of tidying to do before that, otherwise, we won’t get our deposit returned and won’t be allowed back. We’re already coming up with ideas for next Halloween, now hop to it! And start waking the others.” With another groan, Tiffany stood, straightened her rumpled costume then proceeded to wake Nathan first. He yawned and rolled over. “Morning, Tiff. You have fun last night?” “You mean aside from the Headless Horseman crashing the party? Yeah, I did.” More yawns and grunts of discomfort could be heard as Terry kept waking everyone else in the room. “Come on, Nate. According to our hostess, it’s time for housekeeping.” “Aye, suppose so. Help me up, will ya?” She hoisted her boyfriend to his feet, which made him lightheaded. “Whoa there.” He steadied himself. “Need me some coffee.” “Already done, mate.” Roger came into the sitting room with a tray full of steaming mugs. “You’re a life saver, my friend.” Nathan sipped on the hot liquid. “So,” he looked around at the bodies coming to life, “where do we start?” Over the course of several hours and cups of coffee plus breakfast that Becky, Angelina, and Lara made up, the old manor house was scrubbed clean to the extreme satisfaction of the Blackthorns. They had arrived three hours after sunrise and the first question Mr. Blackthorn asked was, “Did you kids move the pumpkins from the front grass?” Roger and Terry looked at each other then Terry presented the ghost’s jack o’ lantern. “Happy Halloween. Best bash ever! Come back next year?” The older man and his wife looked like they’d pass out. “I never would’ve thought…” “I guess he liked our party.” Roger joked. “Maybe that’s what he was wanting all along.” “It would seem you’re right.” Mrs. Blackthorn said. “No wonder there were no jack o’ lanterns outside this year. We may have to host an All Hollow’s bash every year.” Her husband sighed but smiled and handed the pumpkin back to Terry. “I suppose we will. This’ll give the girls relief. They’ve been scared ever since their first encounter.” “Great to hear. Is Anna doing okay?” Terry asked. “She’s fine but she’ll be even better when she hears your story. In the meanwhile, what else needs to be cleaned around here?” Around one in the afternoon, the four couples who’d come a week ago were packing up their rented van and double-checking their belongings. Murphy claimed he’d misplaced his Charlie Chaplin hat and didn’t want to leave without it. Angelina told him he could always get another one but he refused to go anywhere until it was found. The women relented and went back into the manor to search for it. “Your boyfriend sure acts like a baby sometimes, Ange.” Trixie said as they combed the house. “You’re preaching to the choir, sister.” Ange replied, looking under and behind furniture. “His twin’s not much better at times.” “Don’t know how Jewel puts up with it.” “Think Connor channels most of his frustration into his writing. Murphy, on the other hand, doesn’t have a creative outlet. Think he just likes to bug me about it.” She reached under a bed in one of the lower level rooms. “Gotcha!” She pulled out the bowler and dusted it off. “How’d it end up here? Murphy was nowhere near these rooms.” “The ghost?” Ange shrugged. “Possible, or a prank from one of the guests.” “Let’s get outta here. Ryan said he’d drive back so Roger could sleep, and I know he doesn’t want to get tangled in after-work traffic.” They went to the foyer and called up the stairs to Terry and Julia they’d found the missing hat. “Glad you found it.” Julia said. “Was about to give up and tell Murphy he’d have to settle for a new one.” “Where’d you find it?” Terry asked. “One of the bedrooms down that way.” Trixie pointed to their right. “Don’t know how it got there but it’s found, so let’s get going.” They walked outside to the van but before they climbed in, Julia turned around suddenly, as if something caught her attention. “Jewel?” Connor asked. She held up a hand. “I thought I saw something.” “Inside?” Ryan asked. “No. Over there.” She pointed at the corner of the manor, and saw a shadow flicker around the structure. “What the bloody hell?” “Come on, Jewel. We’ve gotta go.” Ange huffed. “Hang on a moment. I wanna see what it is.” Without waiting for a reply, Julia headed after whatever made the shadow, disappearing around the side of the house. “Damnit.” Connor immediately went after her, followed by the rest of the group. “That girl never knows when to ignore her curiosity.” Terry said. “I heard that, and it’s a damn good thing I didn’t this time.” When the rest of them rounded the corner, they saw something no one noticed during their week-long stay. “Maybe we should ask the Blackthorns about this.” Julia stood a few feet away from what looked to be a pile of old clothes but upon closer inspection, she noticed something familiar. “What the bloody hell?” Roger stepped closer. “Is that what I think it is?” “Is that our ghost?” Trixie asked. “That would make the most sense, given how much they knew about it.” Julia knelt in the grass to get a closer look. “These have been here a while, maybe a decade or more.” She grabbed a sleeve and shook dirt from it. “However, it looks like it hasn’t been moved in about five years.” “How can you tell?” Ryan asked, checking his watch.” “The buildup of dirt, not to mention the smell of mildew.” “Hey! Are you kids alright? Nothing’s wrong with your auto… is there?” Mr. Blackthorn came around the side of the house to see his eight guests giving him a hard eye. “Oh my.” “More elegant than I would’ve put it.” Connor crossed his arms. “Care to give us an explanation, sir?” The older man scratched his head. “Maybe I should send you a bill for me and me brother’s possible concussions from last night.” “No! I can barely afford to keep this place up to code, let alone pay for that. I’ll tell you what those are for and even give you an extra night here, free of cost, so you don’t have to contend with after-work traffic.” “Better be worth it.” Murphy said. “My head still hurts.” “It may not be to your complete satisfaction but it will be the truth. I wasn’t the first in the family to do this. It started, I think, three generations before mine. The Blackthorns have been caretakers of this house for long before that and it’s always been a money pit. It was in the 1970s something was done to change that.” He pointed at the long unused costume. “Every year, around All Hollow’s, someone in the family would wear the costume, and terrorize not only the manor grounds but also the nearby village. The Headless Horseman legend was already embedded into the minds of the townsfolk. We just made it more real.” He paused to study the faces of those listening. Their expressions ranged from curious to upset but no one interrupted to ask questions. “The manor had already been a place to stay because of its history but once word got ‘round of a possible ghost sighting, well, you can guess the rest. Bookings went through the roof, and by the mid-80s, my grandfather had to turn folks away because the bookings were piling up. It got to the point where you had to call a year in advance; three for All Hollow’s.” “Money. Hardly the most noble of motives.” Roger scoffed. Mr. Blackthorn gave him a hard look. “I’m not proud of what my family did but do you have any inkling as to how much it costs to keep a place like this from falling down? More than you can probably imagine, young man, and yes, we get some help from the local historical society but they aren’t exactly the Bank of England. More than once, they’ve tried to come in and bulldoze it, and the people have come to the rescue every time. It won’t last forever though, and we’re determined to keep it as long as we can.” “So, the Headless Horseman party crasher. Who was that last night? I can tell these clothes haven’t been worn in at least five years.” Julia asked. Mr. Blackthorn shrugged. “I can’t answer that.” The group went wide-eyed. “I really can’t because I have no clue. And you’re right. We stopped using the ghost angle about five years ago because the bookings were still stacking up, so we figured we didn’t need it anymore. Of course, we earned the attention of the real Headless Horseman that first All Hollow’s. I guess he was attracted to the commotion due to all the parties going on. A Halloween celebration during a full moon seems to be his favorite time to manifest.” He looked at the old costume. “My wife did warn you though, and you paid it no heed. I told her when we were departing that I would’ve been surprised if you had left as no one does. However, the ghost seems to like having you around, given the message.” Terry nodded. “And we wouldn’t want to disappoint.” Everyone else looked at her. “What? You guys wanna do this next year, don’t you? I’ve already got ideas brewing.” “I can’t believe you’re serious.” Connor groaned. “Come on, Connor. It’s win-win. The Blackthorns get to keep up the manor and we get to have the best Halloween bash in England! You should’ve seen my social media page light up this morning with people asking for invites to the next one. We have to do another one.” “I’d say you’re bonkers but then I’d have to give myself the label too.” Angelina said. “What the hell? I’m game.” Everyone else slowly concurred and the matter was settled. “Well, it’s too late to hit the motorway, so I believe we’ll take your offer to stay another night, Mr. Blackthorn.” Ryan said, grateful he didn’t have to drive now. “Let’s get you settled in.” After an explanation to his wife and daughters, the old man took his guests back to their previous rooms. The eight of them had an early dinner then retired, except for Roger and Terry. He usually ran on only a few hours of sleep, so he sat up reading and writing music, while she went outside for one last look at the grounds. The air was cold but not windy and the sky was clear with stars dotting the black canvas overhead. As she stood listening to the night’s sounds, she heard a horse’s whiny, followed by a cackle. Smiling, she said, “We’ll be back next year.” Looking out one last time before heading in, she saw the full moon reflecting off the small lake further back on the property. In the water, Terry caught a glimpse of the ghost riding off into the night.


The moon blew up last night. We couldn't see it. I mean, live. Only the people in Australia were able to watch the whole thing up there, in the sky. And I don't envy them a little bit. Mum, Tiana, and I spent all night in front of the TV. We tried ordering a pizza, but everything was closed, so mum had to microwave some pop tarts. As scientists were uncertain about the exact moment of the crash, everybody tuned in hours before the impact. Every network had the same agenda: journalists, scientists, even astrologists from everywhere in the world had engaged in a debate on the consequences of the cosmic event weeks before, ever since NASA confirmed the date and the overwhelming probability of the crash. And yet, a part of me thought it wouldn't happen. No matter what astrophysics had been saying for the past two months, no matter the mathematical equations newspapers and Internet portals from all over the world kept publishing, it just couldn't be possible. Yet, somehow, by 01:47 AM, it finally did happen. I have thought we would hear a huge crash, a massive explosion. What scared me the most was the whole thing was silent. Like one of those black and white movies a hundred years old, but with better special effects, of course. And boy it was fast! In fact, Tiana was in the toilet when the cameras caught the glimpse of the KV-22 approaching, and seconds later… that was IT. I have never thought of the moon as something so… futile, so volatile, until last night. Suddenly it was there, dark, round, beautiful… and then there was not. It volatilized in millions of fragments as if had been made of dry sand and the huge blast was a gust of wind. After the explosion, the reporters were silent as well. A black emptiness filled our TV, and every screen on Earth I assume. Only after several seconds, they confirmed the obvious. There was no sleep after that, at least at home. We kept watching the news, Tiana, mum, and I. I think they hugged and cried. Maybe I cried too, but I'm not sure. All these thoughts were rolling in the back of my head, and I felt my heart pumping like crazy. We just sat there, and none of us spoke for a while. Then, my mom dried her tears and said "At least now, nobody, not even you girls, will ever listen again to "Fly Me to the moon", or "Bad moon rising", or "Moon River" without feeling old". Tiana smiled. She's too young to understand. I tried, too, but I frowned instead. The world after the moon. This would feature history books, right? "Back then…", we would explain to our kids and grandkids. What about literature? "Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. Then your love would also change". I wonder if I want to live in a world where Romeo's love for Juliet is as meaningless and empty as our night sky is now. And then I swept aside those silly thoughts with a flick of the hand as if they were annoying flies. After all, humanity is probably experiencing one of its biggest challenges ever. What's going to happen to the oceans and the tides? What effects can this have on living organisms and our rhythms? Will I still get my period every month? Hey, will we get to live yet another month? As the sun rose, as usual, my mom told us to try and get some sleep. But I keep scrolling the news and looking for some answers. At least, while the Internet is still working: we have been warned that even those small remaining fragments that would burn as they enter our atmosphere could damage satellites and make us lose connection. For how long? It's hard to tell. The moon is –was!– 238,855 miles far from the Earth. Its fragments haven't finished reaching us yet, although there are already reports of wildfires in New South Wales attributed to big, hot moon rocks hitting the trees, and surprisingly, a missing cargo ship. That's weird. I mean, what are the chances of being hit by a rock from space if you are in the middle of the ocean? Prevented lockdowns have been established in my city, as in other parts around the world. Governments fear panic, riots, and deaths. Nobody knows what's going to happen now. In the meantime, all we can do is wait. Scientists scare us with their terrible predictions of the Earth losing its balance, the poles rotating, the axis moving, and all that causing drastic impact on our already altered climate, which could lead to tragedy anywhere, anytime now. I'm scared. I told my mom I wanted to talk to dad. –Well, call him then! –Isn't too late now in New York? –Baby, I think you should call him while phone lines are still working. Luckily, there is a tone. After all this time, dad and I talk for hours. I think I say all I needed to say. When we hung up, it is dark already. If this was a story, I would have to describe the night as the darkest, loneliest I've ever witnessed in my seventeen years. It's not true though. We still have power. Lights are on in every house, in the streets, and before last night, or should I say back then, we barely looked above. But animals can tell something is wrong. Flocks of birds have been wandering around all day, and they still linger around the trees, even now that the sky looks black. Dogs everywhere in the neighborhood are howling. And I feel helpless somehow. It's not just the scientific community and their shocking insight. I miss the moon and its white, changing shape. A lighthouse, a place to send our dreams to, a symbol with infinite meanings, now all lost. Something which was always there, for every living being that ever lived on the face of this planet, and now it's gone for good. And yet, I think about the devastating effect the asteroid would have had if it had impacted directly on our planet. What if all that happened is part of some master plan? Was Moon our shield? She was there for us, she protected us –we're now alone.


As faint light washes over the beach, I begin to see the sun blooming from its deep sleep under the horizon. With just the slight top of it showing through the slightly colored clouds i think, even the sun takes time to be complete again. I lift the elbows that were supporting me, and lay my back down in the sand. As my mold takes place, I close my eyes. when i open them again, it must of been a little while because the warmth almost shocks me. I had forgotten the unfamiliar kindness of the sun. My skin and body open and exposed, I take in every ray I am given. The sun is holding me, hugging me, keeping me. "I have you" It tells me. We let go of ourselves when we begin to believe that trapping our minds in our rooms, away from the outside and people and light, is safety and love. This is emptiness, coldness. This is pain disguising itself as comfort so it can keep us longer. * After a while, I make my way home to my parents house. I push through the screen door, kick off my sandy flip flops and put my bag down as the door closes behind me. Ahead of me at the kitchen table turns my mom looking at me wide-eyed. " Honey... you were ou- out?" She manages to say with her jaw practically on the floor. "Yes, mom... i was out." I say bluntly with a smile as though it was normal. However her and I are both well aware this is not normal and i had not been going out for almost 3 1/2 months now. I kiss her cheek and sit next to her while she tries to find the next thing to say. " Honeyyy! where is my surf board? And where the heck is julia?" My dad says while he passes my room coming into the kitchen. "Ohhh never mind found her!" He says jokingly while kissing my forehead. I see him turn to mom and examine the still shocked and confused expression on her face. "Okay guys. Mom, Dad, i did in fact go out this morning... to watch sunrise. Yes it was very nice, yes i know this is a big turn from keeping myself locked away. No i do not really want to continue this conversation." This finishes our conversation on the topic. I see my mom turn to look at my dad with the normal "from one parent to another" confused look. He mouths to her, just move on darling we will talk about it later. " So, who wants eggs! I know you do pumpkin!" I love him for changing the subject. As for an explanation, here it is. Im 22 and for the past year i've been home from college. I was engaged, yes i know it's early but we didn't care. We were everything, and thats the only way i can put it. Everything. Then he was gone... more like taken. And suddenly it felt as though everything was gone. So i came home. I came home to find the non- existing way to accept it. People say, "Some day you will accept it and move on." In hopes to make feel better. However, in reality, in my reality, there is no accepting it there is no moving on . There is just living on. Living on. Live. * I decide to take myself to the beach again for sunset. I want to visit the sun again and say goodnight. I don't pack anything with me accept a blanket. I go to my mom sitting on the couch and say, "Bye mom. Im just gonna go watch the sun go down. I'll eat when I get home so you and dad have dinner dont wait up for me" I kiss her on the cheek as she says okay and start walking to the beach. She worries a lot about me. I don't want her too. I get to the beach and find my spot again. I feel the sand under my feet, and the breeze blowing through my hair. I take a seat on my blanket facing the ocean and the pink and purple sky. I first say hello to my pretty friend who is waiting for me within the clouds just above the horizon. Hi my sun. Then i close my eyes just for a moment. * When i open them something is different, and I cant put my finger quite on it... maybe it's the way the wind is blowing, or the crashing of the waves, but something has changed . Then I  look just down the beach a little bit and there stands a young man. I make my way over to him because something was drawing me to him. Of course i'm drawn. I stand just over 5 feet away i'm guessing. I stand there and stare at him (because how could anyone not) until he notices. "It's beautiful isn't it?" He speaks. I realize he's referring to the sun and respond. "I find it complicated." "Therefor not beautiful?" He questions what i say. "Therefor incredibly." There's his smile. That smile. His smile shows everything. His perfectly bright teeth that were simply made to be seen. The way his eyes scrunch just slightly when he laughs, his smile lines that shows his past smiles paths. His smile is my way into his soul, so I can see and learn all of him. His smile makes me smile. "So, what brings you here? are you just visiting?" Im now noticing what he's wearing. That shirt. My favorite shirt. Then just some swim trunks Where do they come from? I want to know every thing. "Hellooo..." He brings me back from my lost thoughts. He's now standing directly in front of me. I look at him straight in the eyes. "Sorry!" I start giggling. Oh god here we go, "I- yes i'm just visiting my parents. And you?" I feel my cheeks turning red. He's just an nose away from my face now. "Ahh, interesting. Just moved here myself. Just for a little while though. Change it up." Change it up. That's my favorite thing he always says, said. I accidentally laugh out loud when he says this. He's practically a foot taller than me so i look back up at him, smile, and tuck my hair behind my ear. "That sounds-" I start. "Ohhhh my god!" He stops me. He brings his hands too his head and spins around in a circle to land right back a nose away from me. He's laughing now. That SMILE! "What!" His laughing makes me laugh. "Your just so adorable! Like i just can NOT believe it!" He has always been so upfront and i simply adore it. "You can't just say that!" My smile is bigger than i'd like to admit. "why not?" "I just met you!" "What, we just met so that doesn't allow for you to be adorable?" "No it simply doesn't allow for you to tell me. Not yet anyway." "Well i am and i did. Life is too short!" If only he knew. "Fine... i'll let it pass," I wink at him, "Sit with me..." I wait for him to tell me his name. I'm waiting to hear it roll off his lips. That beautiful name. "-Joshua. I'm Joshua. And you are?" There it is. "Julia." My smile still bigger than my face. "Yes julia. I will sit with you!" I love him saying my name. He smiles big, and leads the way to my blanket. We sit. Out of instinct I lay my head on his shoulder and surprisingly he lets me. We "just met" but we didn't. I look back up at my friend above the horizon. My sun. Now i am watching the very top of it's head rest back into its sleep under the clouds. The pink coloring of the sky fading. I keep my head under his ear. I want to be here for forever. In some way, I know I always will be. "you know, i disagree with what you said earlier." Joshua starts. "Hm? Go on." "About the sun- it being complicated. I think it's simple. It's just the sun. And yet we are it and it is us. But we see it all right there. Us human complicate everything. But the sun is just itself and yet so beautiful. It's complex, yet not complicated. It's full and yet not overwhelming. The sun is our everything. All right there. In my head that is more simple than complicated. Maybe it's the simplest thing there is." My adoration is overwhelming. Even if he is way to smart for me sometimes and I often can't understand what he says. Joshua lifts his head and turns to me. 'This is...this is-"He starts. " Everything" I say.  I take his hand in mine. There our sun goes. As I watch the very last of it go down, I take a deep breath in and close my eyes. * I open them, I  have a few minutes before my sun goes. I rub my eyes. I know i'm alone. I know he was never here. I know that he visited me in my dreams.  But he is here. Right here. I hold my hand to my chest and wrap my fingers around my locket. Engraved on the outisde, it reads Joshua my Everything Sun, 1998-2021 .  I smile, or maybe i cried. Looking up to my sun, I feel her (yes the sun) winking at me. Today I gave the sun a little bit of myself, and in return, she gave me a little bit of him. Thank you for holding him for my my sun.


“Excuse me, Miss, can I trouble you for a menu?” Janie nodded absentmindedly, rushing by a new customer who had just planted his butt in the only empty seat left in the corner by the window. She paused by the kitchen grabbing a few plates and drinks for a couple that was intimately cuddling in the corner, pretending like they were the only ones in the place. They were nauseatingly happy and Janie felt a wave of jealousy rising in her whenever she passed by them. Her own forever love affair ended as quickly as it started just a week earlier so she was still hung up on that disappointment. The place was buzzing like a bee hive as it always happened on Saturday mid-morning. Janie made a few more runs back and forth before she zoomed by the new patron’s table sliding a plastic one-page menu over to him on the way to the bathroom. She came out a few minutes later determined to keep it together and stay pleasant. The boss recently commented that she would have made way more tips with her pretty baby face if she wasn’t so short with the customers. Tips… tips would be good. She sighed. Student loans were growing, bills were skyrocketing and there was no hope for improvement any time soon. She was especially irritated when people were so busy on their phones, that it took them forever to order anything so Janie had to go back and forth asking them again and again if they decided what they were going to eat. It always amazed her when people were looking up at her from their screens with a look that clearly said “ how dare you bother me here !” The restaurant was located off the beaten path in Manhattan. It was one of those NY delis that managed to combine in its menu a nice mix of American favorites and the old-school traditional Jewish dishes like kasha and lox with schmear. They typically closed in the late afternoon except on the weekend when they shut the doors after eight. Janie ran behind the counter grabbing the pad she used to take orders. She saw how her new customer put aside the menu she left for him and was about to head over to him when the owner called her over quietly but firmly. Janie obeyed with curiosity. The owner was a much older woman who rarely spoke to any of the wait staff. Her son was a big deal somewhere in Hollywood so initially, when the restaurant was first opened, no one really cared if it would be profitable. This was the old lady’s long-time coming dream so her son obliged. She taught her cooks how to make dishes from her pre-USA life , as she called it, and spent her days sitting between the dining room and the kitchen in a large comfortable chair watching how life boiled all around her. In time, however, the cafe became a big success so since Janie started here three months earlier, she couldn’t remember a single quiet day when their dining room didn’t fill up to the max. She approached the owner, bending her head closer to the old woman so she could hear better. “Honey, tell the kitchen to prepare the portion of syrniki , a large one. And serve it with sour cream, honey, jam, you know? The works…” she still had a slight European accent when she got excited. Janie was a bit surprised – she never thought of their owner as someone with a sweet tooth. Maybe that’s what she was in the mood for today. “Would you like me to put it on the tray for you?” The owner chuckled quietly. “Silly girl, it’s not for me. What could I possibly do with so much food? It would have been wasteful. It’s for that darling boy over there.” She nodded towards the man that came in last and was now looking out the window. Janie was confused. How did she know what the guy wanted? She hesitated before replying carefully, trying to be as respectful as possible. Who knows, maybe the owner finally lost her marbles… “He asked for a menu but I haven’t taken his order yet.” “No need. His name is Jake, he comes here every year on this day, always asks for a menu, and always orders the same thing. I’ve known Jake for years, ever since he was a little boy. He used to come for breakfast with his Bubbee all the time. let me tell you - the woman could eat!” The owner smiled, reminiscing. Janie looked closer at the man, or actually Jake, again. Now that she heard this, she noticed he didn’t look joyful on this sunny Saturday morning. One of the busboys placed a cup of coffee in front of him a few minutes earlier but Jake hardly noticed it. He continued to gaze out the window deep into his thoughts. “Do you know why he comes on this day?” she asked the owner quietly. “It’s the day his Bubbee left him and went to reunite with the Lord.” Janie didn’t have a relationship with her grandparents. They lived far away and never seemed to bother so it was hard for her to understand Jake’s grief. She watched him as Jake turned from the window scanning the room around him with his big brown eyes. He sighed unbuttoning the top of his shirt and brushing back the curly wave that fell on his forehead. “They were close, ha?” “Very. She raised him. Dad ran off when he was a baby and he lost his mother a few years later to cancer. So that’s all the family he had. Now, go, yenta, don’t make him wait. I have a feeling Chef David already has his plate ready on the warmer.” Of course, the owner was right. When Janie asked David if he had an order ready for Jake, no one asked any questions. Instead, she was presented with a large oval platter where in the pool of a heavenly-smelling melting butter were sitting five large golden cottage cheese pancakes that Easter Europeans called syrniki . Janie tried it once before and her mouth immediately watered with the memories of the crunchy top which covered the soft goodness of the fried cakes. They were sweet and slightly salty at the same time. Many ate them in a similar to the potato latkes manner with an apple sauce. But the owner said the right way to have them was with lots of cold thick sour cream and homemade raspberry-strawberry jams or honey. Janie picked up a heavy plate with both hands carrying it carefully towards Jake’s table. As she came closer to him, Jake looked up and gave her a hint of a smile. He nodded in appreciation. “Can I get you anything else?” Janie asked softly, setting it up in front of him pushing the utensils and the napkin to the side. “Maybe just some water…” He smiled almost apologetically. A minute later, Jake was alone again at his table with his thoughts. The smell, so familiar and homey, coming from the plate was bringing back lots of memories. He could hear his Bubbee’s voice cooing over him as she tied the napkin around his little neck, mixing English, Ukrainian and Yiddish words. He could almost see her hands covered in spots and wrinkles, carefully cutting his cakes in front of him piece by piece, dipping them in the fluffy clouds of sour cream before pausing for a moment above the saucers with the jams. “What do we do now, boychik? Is it time for a golden rain or a mud bath?” Depending on his answer she would continue to the plate of honey or jam before gently bringing the fork to his lips with a bite that was about to drip all that goodness over entire table. It was his job to open wide and try to catch all those tasty drops before the disaster would happen. No one could make these cakes as well as his Bubbee did. No one but this place… Jake sighed again before he cut into his first cake with determination. Golden rain or mud bath? He smiled. Maybe a little bit of both. He took a bite and closed his eyes, savoring it for the first time in a year immediately transporting to the far-away past when he was still little and felt so loved. ***** “Jacob, did you wash your hands?” “I did! Five times already!” “Homework?” “I did it too! And I prayed, and I made my bed, and…” “Oh, you are such a good boichka! Come have breakfast, your syrniki are getting cold.” Bubbee always called him that in the morning. She believed that the day should be started on a positive note no matter how hard the circumstances around you were. It never failed and Jake smiled. He also liked how she stopped calling him Jake or Jaikee since he turned eight. Jacob sounded like a mature manly name. She even started to introduce him that way to others at the synagogue. “This is my Jacob. Did you know that he skipped second grade and went straight to third?” She was always so proud of him. No matter how small or large his accomplishments were, he could do no wrong. That unconditional love made him want to do better, be good for her. Jake couldn’t bear the thought of upsetting her in any way. How would he be able to look into her greenish, slightly fading eyes if he did something she wouldn’t approve of? ****** Someone dropped the tray which was followed by the sounds of broken glass in the kitchen. Jake swallowed his bite coming out of his memories just long enough to look around to make sure the noise had nothing to do with him. He shook his head before he reached out for the next bite, this time deciding to make it all pure and golden as his next memory. ****** He was running through the street clinching the envelope in his hand. He slipped and almost fell on his last turn to their old five-story building. There was no elevator but Jake flew up the stairs to the fourth floor as he did his entire life not even counting the steps – in the last twelve years he got so familiar with every single one of them, that he could do it with his eyes closed and not trip even once. “Bubbee!” he screamed, opening the old door that still had the signs of the faded green color it once was. “Are you home? You need to be home!” “What’s the matter, boychik?” She came out of the living room with her usual glasses on and a bright handkerchief tied around her head.  “We did it! I got in! The new Yeshiva on West End avenue. They said they will take me free of charge!” “Oy! That’s so great!” She hugged him, rocking slightly from side to side as she did when he was little. All their hard work, all the books she got for him, all the trips to the library and museums – it all paid off! The best school, in his opinion. No, the best PRIVATE school in New York was willing to accept him on a grant! Jake knew – that would open all the doors for him in the future. New York was the best place on Earth for someone like him – everything was just a few minutes train ride away. For someone who wanted to be in academia, God couldn’t have made a better arrangement. “Boychik, we celebrate this weekend. I will take you to our favorite restaurant on Saturday morning!” “Can I get a big plate of syrniki, not that kiddie one?” “Of course! You are almost a man now! Your mama would be so proud!” ****** That was such a happy day. The school was wonderful and Jake got everything he ever wanted. He looked down smiling, looking at his expensive cashmere suit. He wished Bubbee was here to see him like that. Sophisticated, well dressed, his curls neatly cut and styled. Jake glanced at his plate. He had three more left. Maybe this time he will dip his next bite into jam instead of honey for some of his darker thoughts. ****** “How could you do this, Jakie?” Bubbee hadn’t called him that in years. Jake immediately felt his insights tuning with guilt. But like any fourteen-year-old, he tried to put up a brave face. “Big deal, some vase! I will buy you hundreds of these when I grow up!” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Boyka, you can’t replace this, don’t you know? It was the first thing your grandfather gave to me as a present. He brought it from the war. It was one of the very few things we had with us when we came here. This is all I had left that was his…” the tears were rolling down her wrinkled face. Jake’s heart couldn’t stand to see her like that – suddenly she seemed so fragile and hurt. He sobbed himself before he could catch it. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to!” “I know it was. I’m not upset that you broke it but why did you lie to me about it?” He didn’t know why he tried to make a cover-up story. He never lied to her before and knew he wasn’t good at it, to begin with. Unable to contain his feelings, he ran off. When Jake came back that evening. Bubbee still had red eyes but seemed more like herself. She gave him a hug letting him know all was forgotten and she forgave him. Things happened. The next day, Jake felt a strong urge to do something nice for her so he grabbed all the change he had in his possession. He was saving for a trip to Boston but decided it could be postponed. Boston is not going anywhere. So, he marched over to his Bubbee and invited her for breakfast at their restaurant – his treat. She proudly accepted it. She said he was growing to become a “good man”. ****** Jake swallowed his last bite. If she was here right now, his Bubbee would have made him wipe the butter off the plate with the last piece. Don’t waste food, she always said. Everyone who lived through the war, and knew what hunger felt like, said that. He left some money on the table before he got up to stretch. He looked towards the owner’s chair. She smiled and waved at him. “See you in a year, I hope, '' mumbled Jake, not certain if he was talking to the restaurant or his Bubbee. With that, he buttoned his collar back up and walked out into the sunlit New York street taking a deep breath of the fall’s crispy air. Until the next time…


I woke with a feeling of dread. It was April Fools Day. The worst day of the year. I carefully turned my eyes to the mirror I had nearby and groaned. This year my head had gone invisible. It was always a toss up whether it was my head or body. I heard a screech from down the hall and knew that my sister much have had her body vanished. I don’t mind being jut a head so much, people never actually believe that I am real and just tend to ignore me. But when its just my body, I tend to find myself getting in trouble with people who think that I am just hiding from them.

Most people don’t have these problems. Most people weren’t the adopted grandchild of Laverna. You’d think the adopted part would protect us, but oh no, she loves April Fools because she can trick and cheat whoever she wants and laugh saying “April Fools.” She always thrusts her powers on me and my sister so that she can do more. Its more than just the vanishing part, one of us gets her “gilded tongue.” Grandma thinks it makes the day more challenging if people don’t believe her just because of it. With a sigh, I will my head to float up. I always feel like I have a body on these days, but there isn’t anything there, so I couldn't’ dress if I wanted to. It was on my 19th birthday that Grandma finally told me how to disconnect from my “body” and float where I willed. I turned to see that my door was shut. “You are open.” I told it. I blinked and then the door was open as if it had been that way all along. Relief filled me, it was hard being the head when you didn’t have gilded tongue. When I was little me and my sister used to stare at the door for as long as we could, or try to stagger our blinks. But we never actually got to see it move. It just always waited until we weren’t looking for even that one second. “JASMINE!” My sister Jessica screeched as her body came pummelling into my room. “What am I going to do! Fred wants to go on a date today. TODAY. I can’t do like this!” Her voice came from her neck, which was rounded as though she were a mannequin.

“Why did you decide to make a date today?” “I didn’t! He insisted!” “You’ll have to tell him eventually, you’ve been dating for what... 3 years now?” We both fell silent. And I suddenly realised why Fred insisted on today. He knew it was a very important day for my family. He must have wanted to memorialise his proposal. But I wasn’t going to tell her that and make her freak out even more. “I’ll have to tell him I’m sick.” She mumbled. “You’ll have to. Or...” “Or?” If she had a face, I knew her eyes would be filled with hope. “You tell him the truth. Invite him over. Let him see us. Let him meet Grandma.” She didn’t respond but after a moment she turned and left the room. I let out a sigh and floated into the hallway to try and find Grandma.

It didn’t take long, she was still in the kitchen making us dinner. Yes. Dinner. A family tradition for this day of weird. Speaking of weird, I knew that if Fred did come over, he would have a hard time connecting this woman to being our Grandma. She looked to be no older than 25 with long brown hair and striking blue eyes. It had taken me years to really come to terms that I could never match up to the beauty of a literal god.

I cleared my throat to get her attention. “Oh...” she said as she saw me, then she burst out laughing, clutching the counter to hold herself up. I knew she wanted me to say something, could feel it in the air around us. But I kept my lips sealed. Finally she pattered off and frowned. “You are no fun. What’s she gonna do?” I didn’t know, so I just waited and watched her, frowning as she stirred sugar into the food. “Oh don’t make that face, you know I don’t get a choice about who gets which end of that.” “That’s not why I’m frowning. Why are you putting sugar into the Dinner?” She turned and looked affronted. “Have I ever made a prank meal for you before?” “No...” I couldn’t remember at least, she had raised us since I was 3. “Exactly ...” Whatever she was going to say next was interrupted by my sister bursting through the kitchen door. After a moment’s pause, “He’s coming over for Dinner.” I couldn’t believe it. “You mean dinner dinner, or like now dinner?” “Now dinner.” She said, crossing her arms. “I just want this out of the way. And no gilded tongue Jasmine.” “I won’t say a word.” Before any of us could react, the doorbell rang. “That was fast.” Grandma muttered. We both just stared at her until she finally nodded, put down her spatula and went to the door. Jessica was visibly vibrating with nervous energy and I wished I could give her hug. Part of me was tempted to tell her a lie so that she would get through the day easier, but I knew she wouldn’t want that, so instead I bumped my forehead against her shoulder. “Better Prepare yourself Girls!” Grandma called out, and I suddenly remembered that before he noticed Jessica didn’t have a head, he would probably be distracted by the fact that I didn’t have a body. I quickly flew to the corner of the room. Seconds later, a cackling Grandma turned the corner holding a box of pizza. “April Fools my chickadees.” “Why... is there Pizza?” I asked, my eyes turning to whatever she had been cooking on the stove.

“Ahhh. There is no pizza.” She said, tossing the box to the side. “Then... why do you have a pizza box?” Jessica added. “Some poor boy seemed to think it made a perfect sheath for his... you know.” She wiggled a finger. For being a pretty as she was, Grandma still talked like a child sometimes.

“Wait, did you take his box away from him? And just leave him outside?” Jessica said, turning over the pizza box to see a depressingly small hole in the center.

“Yep.” “No! You call the cops on creeps like this.” Jessica screeched. She reached for the phone but before she could do anything the door rang again and Grandma skipped off.

“He’s here~~” Grandma called out moments later and Jessica and I both froze. This was it, the moment. Grandma came first, winked at us both then snapped her fingers. I fell to the floor in a heap and Jessica started crying. “Only for an hour.” She smiled, grabbed the pizza box and turned to go. “Oh, I’m coming with you. Who knows what you will get up to with your gilded tongue back.” “Me?” “You.”

“I suppose if you must,” She held out her elbow and the two of us passed Fred as he entered the kitchen.

“Were you always planning on making her normal again for this?” Grandma smiled mischievously without answering and opened the door. There, crouched in our bushes with a passed out boy. Grandma threw the pizza box on top of him. “Let’s call the cops on him.” She said as she closed the door. “Fred, we have to talk...” Were the last words we heard from Jessica before the door quietly closed and Grandma and I went off to create some havoc.


Angry tears kept falling and wouldn’t stop. It was just supposed to be a day trip to a wedding reception of a former student. Now, I was hopelessly lost in my car in the hills of Kentucky. Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue. I had a new car with GPS and a cell phone with Google maps, but some important little, expensive piece of the new car went out and I was in a rental car with no GPS. Then my phone crashed right as I crossed over the Ohio border, and I used the last 9% of my battery to locate a shady gas station to buy a charger. “Do you have a bathroom,” I asked like a seven-year-old who drank too much soda. “Not for the public,” said the large woman standing above and behind the counter in front of me. “Can you give me directions to the nearest one?” I asked as politely and urgently as I could, “I am very lost and not from Kentucky. I am trying to find a wedding, and I have been driving for two hours.” The woman judged me harshly up and down and decided that my strapless sundress, make-up, and rhinestone sandals confirmed my story. She nodded and said, “I can let you use ours, I guess. Come on before anyone else sees you.” I rushed to follow the woman down a small hallway behind an automotive display rack, and she pointed to the last door. “Thank you so much,” I started to say, but the lady was already gone. I opened the door quickly and promised myself to buy a charger immediately after using the bathroom. Thankfully, the bathroom as clean and I only hit my arms twice on the walls and doors as I tried to hold my long skirt up so it wouldn’t get wet in the toilet. As I emerged from the bathroom, I could hear the large woman waiting on another customer. When she was free, I asked about phone chargers, and she pointed me to a rack with cords that almost touched the floor. There were three different types of chargers and all I knew was that I didn’t own an iPhone, so that eliminated one type of cord. I guessed, paid fifteen dollars, and said a silent prayer that the cord would work. It didn’t. Even after I went back in and bought another adapter for the port in my car, the phone wouldn’t charge. It kept flashing a yellow triangle with an exclamation point and a water droplet with the international symbol for “NO!” I sat in the rental car and tried waiting for three different fifteen-minute intervals for the phone port and the port in the car to dry out. Nothing worked and the large woman came over to talk to me as she smoked a cigarette in front of the gas station. Between puffs of her menthol cigarette, she said she had no idea what country club I was trying to get to. So, I decided to try to get directions from the liquor store up the hill. I could see it from the gas station which made me feel like I didn’t have to worry about getting even more lost. The woman behind the Lick Her Liquor store counter admitted she wasn’t from Kentucky, but offered me directions off of her phone. While I was standing there, she waited on a guy buying two twelve packs of beer who asked what I was looking for. She told him about my wedding reception dilemma, and he chuckled and said that I could just use three different streets, take a round-about way through a small area, and I would be right there. Funny enough, he never addressed me directly. He said all of this while standing less than six feet from me and making eye contact with only the woman selling him his beer. I, admittedly, stared at him for the last two minutes of his conversation just to see if he would even acknowledge me, but he didn’t. The woman watched him leave and then stood on her tiptoes to watch him get in his truck and blaze off into the hilly sunset of this Kentucky Saturday night. I thanked the woman for the directions and headed back out to my car. I started following the directions and about ten minutes into the drive I noticed that there were not street signs on the crossroads in this section of Kentucky. The directions I had written on the brown paper sack focused on street signs and there were none to be seen. The street I needed was supposed to be to the northwest and I drove for about ten minutes and never saw a sign or indication of the road I needed. Then, I headed back and tried turning onto the only road I could have turned on. It became a hilly adventure of beautiful homes, broken down farmhouses, and even a roadside bar. After passing the roadside bar multiple times, I decided it was time to ask for new directions. I ripped the paper sack in two and walked into the bar. I slightly smiled as I thought about how this situation sounded like the opening of a joke. When I opened the bar door, I noticed the people were sitting socially distanced, wearing no masks, and judging me the second I walked in. “Can I help you, honey?” the girl much younger than me asked. “I am trying to find Ryland Heights,” I said as all eyes in the dimly lit bar stared at me, “I am trying to find a wedding reception.” “I’m not from Kentucky,” said one guy who winked at me from under his Cincinnati ball cap. “I am terrible with directions,” said another guy in the back. “Yes, you are,” said the woman sitting with him. She laughed loudly as she took a drink from the bottle in front of her. A man from about the middle of the bar rose and started walking toward me with no words and I immediately looked to see how far I was away from the door. “Here…” he said meekly, “I looked it up.” He showed me another Google map and I started writing down the directions with miles this time to help with any road sign confusion. I thanked him, refused his drink offer politely, and hurried back out to my car. The first right turn was supposed to be in a mile and a half. However, there was no street at that point. In fact, there was not a right turn for almost four miles. This was becoming hopeless. I checked the clock. The wedding reception was supposed to start about 5:30 and it was 6:15 and I was in no way closer to the reception or knowing where I was. Plus, my phone was still not charging, and I wasn’t even sure I could find my way back to the highway to get home at this point. However, I had been driving since 2 p.m. this afternoon and I was not about to give up. Then after another thirty minutes of fruitless driving, no street signs, no good luck, and no leads as to where I was, I pulled into a corner market that looked like it had been there for the last fifty years. I walked in completely defeated and asked the guy behind this counter if he knew how to get to Ryland Heights. “I am not from this country. I just came to America,” he said with apologetic eyes. “I just know how to get to work. We opened two days ago.” I smiled and started to walk away, but then he offered me his phone with more Google directions. I tore the paper bag one more time and proceeded to scribble down this final set of directions. If these didn’t work, I would have to make my way north, find Cincinnati, and then get on I-75 to head home. These directions had to work. It was now after 7. That is when the angry tears began to fall. I had started my car and they filled my eyes. This shouldn’t be happening. My new car had GPS and I had used it multiple times. I also had no idea why my phone died. I always charged it regularly and usually had a cord with me. My sixteen-year-old daughter was supposed to be my date, but she bailed to spend the night with friends. She would have had a spare phone and probably a phone cord. Additionally, I would have used the GPA in my new car and didn’t realize the rental didn’t have GPS until the 9% showed up on my phone. There were so many reasons why this situation shouldn’t be happening, but it was and here I sat. I was alone in a rental car with terrible radio reception, no concrete directions, no way to talk to anyone I knew, and one last chance to find this reception for a student I taught whose mother taught with me at the same school. I had been so excited and now I was simply desperate to find people I knew. I listened to the gravel crunch under my tires and headed out for one more attempt. I zigzagged up and down large hills and made sharp turns left and followed gradual curves to the left, but again there were no roads where they were supposed to be and no road signs which complicated this last attempt like all of the others.  I stopped my car and started to turn around in a driveway. I came to a dead stop when I saw a silver spoon half covered by the dirt in the path. “A spoon?” I said to no one but myself, “I have heard of a fork in the road, but never a spoon.” I held the wheel as it rotated back around, and the car faced my original direction once more. The direction on the dashboard readout said north and I took that as my final moment of defeat. “I’m going home,” I said completely deflated. I was going to miss the wedding reception and the chance to see a former student on one of the happiest days of her life. I would miss talking to her mom who had always been a favorite colleague even after I switched schools to be on my own kids’ schedule. The return trip in the now increasing darkness held just as much anxiety as the last six hours. I found my way past the corner store, the bar, the liquor store, and even the shady gas station. Then after circling a few more large hills that wanted to be regarded as mountains, I saw the skyline of Cincinnati and felt my breathing return to a manageable pace. As I walked into my empty house, my dogs greeted me like a long-lost traveler. I plugged my phone in successfully with my charger, collapsed onto my bed, and let my dogs snuggle the failure and frustration out of me. I promised myself I would burn the gas station phone charger in effigy in the morning after I texted an apology to my friend and her daughter.


Altered Trajectories By Andy Pearson © 2024 “Brush strokes – drone drone drone”             “Shifted Perspective -buzz buzz buzz”             “Focal point rendering -  hum hum hum”             The drone from Charley Brown’s teacher filled my head as I followed along with the group. Taking a museum tour of the art of the Impressionist period was not my idea.

For me, art can be a diamond on a cloudless blue day. A diamond trimmed to perfection with the infield lines crisp against the grass of the outfield and laser straight untrampled white chalk lines. Baseball. A game of patience and grace played on a pool table smooth, painfully manicured lawn was the essence of summertime art. Inside the museum, the air conditioning dampened voices droning about contrasting shades of ochre in an oil skyline. Outside voices were calling for hotdogs and beer mingled with various interrogatives regarding eyesight and lineage. Inside was the click of heels on polished tile floors and round-topped brass stanchions holding red velvet ropes in graceful arcs.  Outside was harsh sunlight slamming into pale skin, long hidden by winter, unaccustomed to the onslaught.  Inside the museum was dim light from hidden sources.  My body was inside while my thoughts were being sunburned outside.  I shook my head and tried to focus on the lecture being delivered. “As you can see in this piece, Impression Sunrise by Monet. The openness and the qualities of the light shown in the light strokes highlight the ordinariness of the scene and bring it to life in a way that a more realistic form might lose, “ the tan-jacketed docent said as the group stopped in front of a blueish painting of a harbor with a small red sun hanging drearily in the middle. The group murmured small agreements as I hung in the back of the crowd. I looked at the tri-fold itinerary. This was painting seven of twenty-five that we would gather at. Twenty-five paintings to talk about color and composition. Looking at my watch, and doing some quick math, I figured ten minutes a painting multiplied by eighteen paintings would mean enough minutes to miss all of the Dodgers game. Oh well, there were highlight reels and tomorrow would be another game. Today, I was at the museum learning about art because Stephanie liked art and I thought Stephanie was art. Stephanie stood at the front of the group. She was always at the front of any group. She wore a grey wool pencil skirt, a knitted red and white striped top, a red scarf, and a matching beret like a character from a Cary Grant movie. A beret at an art museum. I thought it was pretentious. She insisted. I admit Stephanie makes pretentious look good. She had her small notebook and pen out taking notes as if this visit was for a college class.

The group moved away from the Monet piece in a cluster, like migrating amoeba. We faithfully followed Tan Jacket to a painting of ballerinas. I thought this one was pretty good. The four dancers were in blue and while their faces were just suggested, they appeared to be in movement. “The paintings by Degas relating to dancing are famous and infamous.  The color and emotion of the brushstrokes pull the viewer into the scenes making them some of the masterworks of the impressionistic period. Some say the paintings hint at a darker side of Parisian society. We will not focus on those ideas, but rather on the composition itself and the work of the painter, “ Tan Jacket said and I drifted further from the conversation. Skimming the paintings on the other walls, I circled the room. I found a small bench under a sign pointing to the exit and the bathrooms. I eased onto the bench and looked at Stephanie. She was enthralled by the lecture. A man in a black jacket and a dark scarf around his neck looked to be enthralled with her as they held a whispered conversation about the painting.

I leaned back against the wall and struck my head on a fire extinguisher hanging behind the bench. Rubbing my head, I wondered why I’d said yes to this trip. Stephanie wanted someone to go with her, and I was available. Since arriving at the museum, I’d faded into the background. Still rubbing the sore spot, I stared at her. I knew why I was there. She was amazing. In a museum, she was beautiful enough to be an exhibit. Smooth olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. Her clothes fit in a way that suggested… well that was suggestive. She has a way of turning her head to look at me, that stops all rational thought. That’s another reason I’m here at the museum instead of the game.

Watching her from my seat at the fire extinguisher, I could see that she and the man in the scarf were engaged in some sort of discussion. I watched as she pushed her hair back and turned her head slightly to laugh. I’d seen this a thousand times, and each time the movement slowed my heart. From my perch, I could see it had the same effect on Black Jacket. I leaned my head back and again felt the fire extinguisher crease my scalp. How many times was I going to subject myself to this? I knew that once the trip to the museum was over, I was going be relegated to my normal place in the friend zone. The friend zone. It’s in the dictionary now.  Friend Zone –

A situation in which a friendship exists between two people, one of whom has an unreciprocated romantic or sexual interest in the other.  I knew which one of us was which in that definition. We’d known each other for two years. I spend my time trying to determine speeds and vectors to allow rockets to escape Earth’s grasp. Seriously, I help make rockets, big rockets. Stephanie spends her time on budgets and finances so we can make the big rockets that escape the atmosphere. We met at the ubiquitous business gatherings where we talked about vision and mission and ate tough prime rib. From that moment, I was in her orbit. We found we enjoyed each other’s company even if we didn’t both appreciate the same art.

The baseball game. Dodgers vs A’s. Stephanie enjoyed the game. Yelling, cheering, eating hot dogs, and drinking a beer. She hugged me when Freddie Freeman hit a home run. The feeling of her arms around me lasted two more innings. Maybe I would have taken the feeling home, but then the kiss cam found us and we appeared on the large screen. My heart skipped a beat as the crowd around us cheered for the kiss. The chaste peck on the cheek said everything to everyone, me included She found me safe. I was trustworthy. I was dependable. I was all of that and then some. I was also not date-worthy. I didn’t know why. This had been expressed in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. But still, instead of sweating in the bleacher seats with a hot dog and a scorecard, I was sitting in the friend zone in an air-conditioned museum. I knew when we left the museum, I’d remain in the trustworthy section of life, and my problem was, I’d do it again tomorrow.

I refocused on the group and saw Stephanie move closer to examine the Degas ballerinas. I saw just her profile. The grey skirt clung tightly to her waist. The red beret at an angle on her head with her dark hair curling on her neck in a braid. She was peering closely and her mouth was light with the pleasure of the moment. The missed ball game was forgotten, and instead of a batting order, a line from the Tempest came to mind,

I would not wish any companion in the world but you.

I’m not just a baseball fan. I watched her look closely at the pastel blue dancers on the wall as if she wanted to understand all Degas wanted to communicate at that moment. I realized I loved this part of her too.  The part of her that could be submerged fully in a moment.

Leaning back on the wall, this time careful of the red menace behind me, I watched her take notes and write thoughts in her notebooks. She always had a notebook. A place to write lists and details that needed follow-up. I knew she also wrote thoughts, dreams, and ideas. She’d read snippets of it to me when we bumped into each other at lunch. She started telling me about her writing when she learned I liked to read. I didn’t always understand her meanings, but her passion was undeniable. I continued my study of her, and in my reverie, I didn’t notice that she’d turned in my direction. When she cocked her head at me and smiled, my spell broke and I grinned sheepishly. The crowd began moving to another room with Tan Jacket walking backwards holding forth on the next artist to be visited. Stephanie stood still. The group flowed around her. Black Jacket stopped for a moment to see if she was accompanying the group, but she didn’t respond to him.  He shook his head in disappointment and joined the others. She continued to examine me from across the gallery with her head leaning to the side. She moved across the tile floor. Her soft flats made no noise as she glided in my direction.

“I saw you sitting here.., “ she said still watching me. “Well, I was just taking a break,” I said starting to push myself up. “and I wondered how long you’d been here,” she finished her sentence. “Just a few minutes,” I said looking up at her brown eyes and pausing in my rise. I settled back to the bench. “Not just now. How long have you been here?” she whispered. “Uh well, “I mumbled. “You were looking at me,” she said. “Well, I was looking that way,” I stuttered trying to save face. “From here, the painting takes on new, uh, new, uh, dimensions. The colors are more distinct.” “You were looking at me,” she repeated. I felt my face flush and realized that we were the only ones left in the gallery.  No Tan Jacket. No Black Jacket. No amoeba cluster. Just two people surrounded by paintings, all of whom seemed to be watching me from their canvas. Waiting. “Yes. I was,” I said quietly. “You know, I get that a lot. I’m not unaware that I’m … pretty” she said shaking her head slightly. “You’re beautiful,” I blurted and stopped. “Shhh. I’ve been looked at, leered at, and even ogled most of my life. I don’t choose to be and most of the time I don’t even notice. But you were looking at me differently,” she said quietly. “Uhh Well…,” I said with a blush turning to heat in my face. “You were looking at me as though I were the only thing beautiful in the room. The only thing beautiful in this room,” she said sweeping her arm around the gallery of watching oil eyes. I looked around the room. Sconces dotted the walls illuminating various pieces of precious art. Each piece illuminated by its own semi-circle of light. The rest of the room was lit by dim indirect light hidden in the ceiling. There were no shadows, but also no bright spots except the paintings.

“Not just an object of art, or beauty, I’ve seen that look and some other baser thoughts on people’s faces, but yours was-interest. I realized you’ve looked at me that way previously, haven’t you? And I’ve missed it haven’t I” she said. I didn’t know how to answer this. Do I admit my feelings, again?

I thought back to the one time I’d asked Stephanie on a real date. She’d been graceful with me, but clear. I was not someone she was interested in. Not interested in that way is what she’d said. She treasured our friendship. I remembered hearing those words as some of the harshest ever spoke to me.

Now though, I thought of Cyrano’s final line before his death,

…I’ll still have one thing intact, without a stain, something I’ll take with me in spite of you.. my white plume.

See, I told you I’m not just a mathematician - baseball fan. Cyrano died with his pride intact but his love unanswered. I could do the same safe thing.

But no. I would die with love answered and my plume soiled if need be. “I have been here. I have been here surrounded by art while watching a masterpiece, “ I said moving my arm around the room. ” I have been here watching. And loving.” “Yes..” she said now at a loss.  “You have been here.” “And I will stay here in this orbit, continually being pulled toward a spot, but always missing. Circling until and unless acted upon and then my course can alter.” “Always the engineer and the poet, “ she said with a smile and shake of her head. “Always in orbit,” I replied. “Unless acted upon,” she said looking down at me. “How much does it take to influence an orbit?” “Next to nothing. But the greater the act, the greater the effect.” She smiled and reached for my hand. With a slight pull, my orbit altered. She looked up at me and continued to study me intently.

She nodded and said,” You’ve been here the whole time.” And then with a slight rise, she kissed me. She kissed me and my orbit changed. I kissed her back and her orbit altered also.