God's teeth, it just smelled so... so good . Like yeast and warmth and charcoal. Her hands gripped the edges of the silver tray, knuckles almost white. She wouldn't drop it. Nor would she even look at it. But she felt that even looking at it would be less sinful than smelling it. The aromas were more than sensual as they caressed her cheeks and penetrated into her very soul. In fact, she worried she was blushing an unseemly red, betraying one of the many desires she wasn't allowed to have. None of them were allowed to have. Desire was not a word that belonged in this world for women like her. She loathed being assigned the bread tray. At least with the meats and the cheeses, the aromas took longer to reach her nose. But with bread, crust still crackling in protest after being torn from the oven's womb, it was always a challenge to keep composure, to pretend to float on air down the hall with dozens upon dozens of eyes upon her. The last thing that Mistress Mary - lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth, first by the grace of God to bear that name, Queen of England, Ireland, France, and Wales - felt like, was floating anywhere. She didn't think that Lady Anne had done a very good job lacing up her corset that morning and suspected her bumroll was slightly too low, thus not doing its job of supporting the weight of her heavy brocade skirts. Mary had been in a foul mood all morning as a result of the discomfort and kept subtly shifting to try and relieve the sharp pinch on her right hip bone. To make matters worse, she was hungry. More than hungry - she was convinced this must be what starving was like. Although a properly-tied corset brought many benefits, such as distributing the dress weight across her mid-section, an improperly-tied corset just made her feel...squished. Like a grape under someone's heel, but held there for hours and hours in a sort of fashion-induced purgatory. Even worse, rather than shrinking her stomach and doing something useful like masking hunger pangs, it seemed to squeeze out uncomfortably sonorous rumblings instead. She had spent the last few hours trying to time fake coughs at just the right moment to prevent them from being heard, but coughing was absolutely not something she could do for her next task. Presenting the feast trays to Her Majesty required perfection. All of the pomp and circumstance the most powerful woman - no, the most powerful person in the world deserved. But what if her stomach made such a noise while she was presenting? The growls were decreasing in subtlety as the afternoon wore on. She would get to eat with the other ladies after the presentation, but imagine the horror of making such a noise in full view of the court? Or rather, her traitorously unhelpful brain contributed, full hearing? On certain occasions - such as the impressing of foreign dignitaries or reminding certain domestic nobility of their place - the presentation of the feast was a lengthy and, in Mary's opinion, an awkward affair. Each lady-in-waiting would hold a tray of food piled with meats, cheeses, pickles, breads, or pies in abundance. The ladies would line up and enter the dining hall in a predetermined order at shortly timed intervals, reverancing Her Majesty every three steps as they made their way down the hall. Each reverance had to be perfectly timed with the lady in front and behind her, as if in a dance. It was all in full view of the entire court, standing and waiting to watch Her Majesty and selected guests dine. Mary and her companions would be free to eat after the Queen, which was as far away as the next century, as far as she was concerned. Mary glanced around her, noting the sightlines of her companions as they grabbed their trays and began organizing themselves in the correct order. What was worse, eating a morsel of the Queen's feast before it was presented, or embarrassing the Queen herself with a stomach symphony? Mary attempted a furious calculation in her head, but the variable of human need won out, and before she could even consider the consequences of being caught, she raised up one of the smaller rolls to her mouth and took a bite. "Mistress Mary, if you could return to the present and line yourself up in the appropriate position." That voice. Mary was convinced that voice could bring her back from the dead. Lady Kat Ashley, appointed Mother of the Maids and former governess to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, was the last person on earth that Mary would want to catch her in such a guilty act. What little luck Mary had today was with her, though. She was at that moment facing away from Lady Kat, who had evidently not noticed Mary's gross indiscretion. In fact, she'd already moved on to the next lady, delivering her next cutting remark. Mary was about to sigh with relief when she noticed Anne, her closest acquaintance at court (in age if not confidence) starting at Mary, lips parted slightly in shock. "Are you insane? "Anne hissed, eyes flickering down to the roll hovering at Mary's lips. Anne's own tray was covered in soft cheeses, and she held it away from her chest perfectly, elbows at right angles and the tray perfectly parallel with the floor. Her gray gown was laced in silver threads, so even without complicated embroidery, the fabric spoke of her family's wealth and explained her position as a lady in court. It made Mary feel dowdy in comparison with her own attire, made up of the most "impressive" wardrobe pieces from every female in her family. Beaded yellow sleeves from her aunt, dark bodice from her sister with a fraying stomacher, and slightly-too-long blue skirts from her mother. Mary had tried widening her hoops to allow the skirt to lift more off the floor, but risked being too wide of a silhouette to be called fashionable if she widened any more. Her family's wealth and prestige only barely made the cut to have a daughter presented as a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, and sadly, it showed. Mary slowly lowered the roll from her lips as Anne glared. The bite of bread sat on her tongue, warm and soft. Her mouth began to fill with saliva, responding to the flavors. Not daring to chew but afraid of choking, Mary pressed the bread as much as she could into the roof of her mouth and swallowed what liquid she could. "You know better, Mary. If you're caught..." Anne trailed off, shaking her head slightly. The sapphire-blue feather on her pillbox hat accentuated the movement, catching the candlelight as no doubt it was intended to. Mary narrowed her eyes at Anne while at the same time inwardly sighing in relief at the implication that Anne would not tell. "Mary! Anne! Places," the voice of Lady Kat cracked like a whip, the bearer sweeping them by in a huff with a spine as straight-edged as the personality it carried. No more time to think, it was time to enter the dining chamber. Hastily, Mary attempted to hide the damning evidence of a partially eaten roll under a thickly cut slab of brown bread, but began to sweat as the folly of her action sunk in. Her mouth had gone completely dry, and she struggled to try and swallow the hellish bite still in her mouth, but realized that it would do nothing but make her cough uproariously. She carried her family's reputation in court, and as difficult as it was to get her here, it was just as easy for her to sink her entire family's reputation with one small mistake in front of the temperamental Queen. Even a coughing fit at the wrong moment could ruin everything. She was well and truly stuck with the consequences of her actions. Mary took her place in the line of ladies, feeling her individuality drown amidst the swirl of skirts and pale faces. Hoop skirts pressed into awkward shapes and feet shuffled quickly as the ladies crushed into the small hallway that led to the larger dining hall, and the air was heavy with bated breath and anxious musk before suddenly the thick wooden doors opened wide and the presentation of the feast began. Being near the front, Mary didn't have any time to work on getting rid of the bite of bread, let alone worry about it. She stepped out once the lady in front of her neared the middle of the dining hall and began making her way down the path created by lines of courtiers. She refused to look anywhere except for a spot on the ground several feet in front of her. She felt numerous eyes boring into her, taking into account every aspect of her appearance. Her hand-me-down garments. Her slightly too large hat. The slight color difference between the front and back of the bodice where a repair had to be made. So many things that shouldn't matter at all, and yet made up an entire world of gossip and power plays that could make and break careers. Even if she couldn't have the finest dress, she would at least act with decorum, do her damnedest to "float", and not collapse in a coughing fit. At the end of the hall sat the Queen herself. Today she sat resplendent in a blood-red gown, the dark color contrasting artfully with flaming hair that shone out from under a heavily bejeweled hood. Long, tapered fingers rested on the stem of her silver goblet, and a small line between her brows seemed purposefully forced, creating an emotional mask that could have been anything from disdain to boredom. Her Majesty was in a diplomatic mood, it seemed, and the courtiers around her would be kept on their toes for the entire meal. Mary stepped forward for the final of the three reverances each lady had to make as they processed across the room. Her eyes began to water with the effort of holding her mouth completely still, and the instinct to swallow the bread was overpowering. Although Mary's own gaze was to the floor, she knew the Queen would not be looking at her. She would be watching other powerful figures in the room, or perhaps even her reputed secret lover, Sir Robert. Still, enough courtiers would have their eyes on Mary, just waiting for her to make a mistake and make their day more interesting. She couldn't risk the slightest misstep. Mechanically, a Queen's yeoman stepped forward to taste a morsel from the tray Mary offered forth. Mary almost blacked out with the shock of it - how could she have forgotten? A yeoman was always to make a show of tasting the food presented to Her Majesty to prove that it was without poison. Mary remained frozen in place, her knees locked in such a way that could carry her weight for hours, a secret that Lady Kat taught all the ladies as soon as they came to court. She stared intently at the floor, wishing she could be anywhere else in the world. From the corner of her eye, she noted that the yeoman was quite tall, his chest broad and imposing. Soon Mary's line of sight was flooded with a red tabard, and the Tudor rose embroidered on the chest swam into focus. Against her will, Mary found herself looking up to the yeoman's face. She didn't recognize this yeoman. He wasn't grey and grizzled like the usual taster. This man was younger, closer to her age. His jaw was sharp but his eyes were soft, and she noted a hint of laugh lines around his eyes. Perhaps most shocking of all, those eyes met hers. With her thoughts so distracted, her body took over, and...she swallowed the bread. The sound of the swallow echoed in Mary's own ears, and she could have sworn that it echoed in the entire hall. The yeoman's hand paused briefly on its way up to the tray, and his gaze sharpened as he looked at Mary. Truly looked at her...at Mary, not just another of the Queen's ladies. Mary refused to break away from his stare, and she could have sworn that the laugh lines crinkled slightly as the yeoman resisted an urge to smile. His hand pulled away a slice of bread, revealing the roll with a desperate bite out of it. To Mary's shock and immense relief, he smoothly dropped the slice of bread, picked up the roll, then covered her bite mark with his own, erasing her sin in one elegant movement. Mary's eyes widened slightly, and his eyes twinkled at her as he chewed. The exchange was a beat too long. A throat was loudly cleared. "And following the breads made from the finest English wheat..." The Master of Ceremonies was nothing if not overly obvious. The yeoman's left eye twitched with the shadow of a wink, and Mary rose from her reverance to exit to the left. As the Master of Ceremonies called out the "finest of cheeses" and demonstrated a lack of imaginative vocabulary, Mary risked a glance up to the Queen. She was met with the piercing stare of the woman who ruled most of the known world, and who fiercely controlled any relationships in her own court with burning jealousy. Mary averted her gaze and hastened to the end of the table, handing the tray to the noble assigned to serve the Queen and stepping out into the adjoining chamber. The room was blessedly empty of courtiers, as the ladies before her had hurried on to re-enter the dining hall from the other side, so Mary took a moment to lean back against the wall, the coolness of the stones seeping through many layers to her skin. She focused on her breathing, feeling her lungs press against the whale bones of her corset. She felt such a fool. All of her worrying over tasting something forbidden, when the real danger had been the eyes of a yeoman, and a temperamental Queen that destroyed the women who were free to love because she could not.


"Alright class! The year is almost over. What do you think you could do better in next year?" He looked in the direction of a few boys who were in the middle of poking a poor girl with a pencil to ask her for homework. The boys immediately stopped at the teacher's harsh gaze. "Anyway, each of you need to write three resolutions and they are due next week. Don't forget the fifth draft of your personal narrative is due then as well. Class dismissed!" The bell rang and the kids ran out of the building. Vanessa O'Mara was devastated. Vanessa O'Mara's are in every school you could possibly go to. Pretty, popular, rich, stylish, and too good for anyone else except one guy who she chooses as a king of your school. This particular king was known as Neil Ahmad. You probably have a Neil in your school too. Obnoxious, too good at sports, cool, handsome, and rich. Then you have the group. They follow these two around like they have no other purpose in life. This particular day they were discussing the stupid assignment. The conversation went something like this: Vanessa said "OMG, this stupid Resolution thing is a total waste of time. I could like be like posting or something instead." Marla, a complete Vanessa fanatic added on "Yeah, I-" "Shut Up Marla! You're doing it for me anyway. You don't need to talk. What do you think honey?" with that, she leaned her head into his shoulder and smiled. He nodded and said "Yeah Vany. It's so stupid." This went on for a while until they got home. The teenagers parted ways, Marla with Vanessa's homework, Neil confused with his, and Vanessa posting pictures all the way back. The teacher watched this all, confused and startled. But he waited until the next day to expose Vanessa. Vanessa got home and her father was nowhere to be found. He was probably off somewhere never bothering about his daughter at home. The maid handed her some snacks as she went up to her room. She took a few more selfies and sent them to Neil. Her life was like this everyday, carefree but wondering if her father cared about her at all. All her followers told her she was gorgeous and had a great body, but was she really that great? She never could answer this question. Her mother was nonexistent as well. Her maid had been the one to care for her all those years. She was like the mother she never had. She helped her on her first period, shopped with her for bras, and always made her feel loved. But it wasn't the same. Vanessa barely heard it, but she knew that noise. It was a mix of sniffling, crying, and trying to cover it. She got out of her room and found her maid crying. She helped her maid up and into her room. She consoled her until the maid would stop crying enough to speak. "M-m-yy daugh-t-t-ee-rr waa-n-nts to go to col-l-ege but I can't pay for her. She got in, but they won't give her a scholarship." Vanessa was shocked. She never heard about this before. She thought that her maid was paid a lot. "Who is your daughter?" She looked up at me with a sad look on her face. "Marla. She is the smartest little girl ever. She thinks you are great too. She loves you." Then she realized why Marla always did her homework. Why they wouldn't give her a scholarship. Marla was gay. Vanessa looked through her room for money and managed to get all her credit cards and cash. She gave them to her maid, her true mother. Not by birth, by heart. "Tell Marla I'll never ask her to do something again, starting now." The maid left, happy and content hugging Vanessa to death. Vanessa opened her Macbook and began to type. "This year, I thought I was perfect. I didn't need to write any resolutions. But now I have three. Here they are. I will start a fund to give away money for students who need it. I will do my homework by myself. I will do my best in school. With that she closed the lid and slept peacefully, knowing the new year would be much better.


"WHOOO, WHOOO!" I could barely make out the distant sounds of the ambulance as it drove in my direction. I was dripping wet with sweat and my whole body ached. "Lord, please don't let me die," I whispered in prayer. That was the first prayer I had managed to get out since I had left home 1 week earlier. My eyes fluttered shut. I could feel my eyelashes brush against the skin below my eyes as I faded into the darkness. Suddenly, I lurched awake from a deep sleep, wincing at the pain that shot through my body as I tried to sit up. Realizing I am in a hospital bed with tubes running in and out of my body everywhere. I had a breathing tube shoved down my throat, the uncomfortable sensation caused me to reflexively gag on the thing. I looked down at my arms and noticed the black and blue skin that laced them. I clenched my teeth as I looked over at my right arm and saw that the Doctor had made a two-inch incision in the crease of my elbow where I clearly had an abscess. The hole was packed tightly with gauze to soak up the fluids that were seeping out of my arm. My head fell back against the bed as I shut my eyes and drifted back into oblivion. I found myself back there again where everything began one week earlier. I'm driving to my friend's house all the way across town. I was on one hell of a mission and no amount of reason could rescue me from my desperate self. "Come on!" I yelled at the slow-moving vehicle in front of me as they took their time pulling into Walmart. I stepped on the gas pedal, going 13 miles over the speed limit. I didn't care at that moment if I got pulled over or not. I needed this, but I really didn't know why I was putting myself in this situation. However, I just knew it had to be done. I would never be able to stop thinking about it if I didn't at least try to go there and see if it was possible. I turned left off of Broadway Street making my way into the neighborhood my friends lived in. I find myself parked in their driveway as I glance in the rearview mirror, my eyes hollow and bloodshot. I put the car in park and made my way around back to the porch door. I checked the handle questioning whether or not it would be unlocked but deep down I already knew it would be. I opened the door walking up to the door that sat inside of the porch to the left. I paused, what if they don't live here anymore, I wondered. Anybody could live here now for all I know. I sighed, only one way to find out. "KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCKATY, KNOCK, KNOCK!" I hit my fist against the smooth maple door as the knocks rang out inside of my head. I stood really still, waiting and listening for the usual response from inside the house. "Who is it!" I heard a male and female voice yell through the door in unison. "It's Wendy!" I yelled back at them. I was happy that it was them answering the door and not some stranger that had moved into the house at some point. "Come in!" I heard Grace respond in her high-pitched voice. I wrapped my hand around the antique doorknob, the metal sent a shiver down my spine from how cold it was to the touch. I stepped into the house; their dark-lit hallway greeted me like it had a thousand times before. I took a deep breath, turning to my left; a thick white sheet stood before me and my prize. I pushed the sheet aside and turned the corner. The light was especially bright after standing in that dark hallway, I walked into the room and my eyes met the gaze of Jack and Grace sitting on the sofa that lined the back wall of their bedroom. "Hey you, how have you been? It's been so long since we've seen you?" Grace smiled showing her broken teeth as her lips split open from ear to ear. I smiled back at her and said, "well, some days are easier than others." I shrugged as I looked toward the flatscreen TV they had hanging on the wall across from them. I turned back around and I noticed Grace's smile had left her face as she glanced down at her hands neatly intertwined in her lap. Jack grunted, "We haven't seen you in forever girl, you sure you should be here?" He said through bites of Cheerios, as I watched milk dribble down his chin. I laughed and said, "Oh, I'm supposed to be here alright." I raised my eyebrows being overly exaggerated. "Well, if you want to know yes I have it," he said, winking at me. "You need some extra equipment? Or are you already packing?" he asked, squinting his eyes trying to make himself look very suspicious. I giggled and rolled my eyes. "Uh yeah, I'm going to need some extra equipment," I responded still amused. "Alrighty then," Grace said while slapping both of her thighs as she stood up. She stopped dead in her tracks and said, "are you sure?" I looked up at her worried face and shook my head yes. Finally giving in to the monster that had followed me around for 5 years straight. She nodded back at me, clearly empathetic towards me because she knew the game of tug of war I was playing at that time. And then she walked out of the room, gesturing for me to follow right behind her. I started after her, as she made her way down the long hallway to the open living room. She held out her hand and pointed towards the big leather couch that I'd sat on many times before today. She made her way to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water and she came back in and sat down next to me. She reached under the coffee table for her purse and she pulled out a small orange and clear plastic bag. She held it out to me and I grabbed the slender syringe from it, cradling it in my hands. My heart began to thump rapidly inside my chest, I took a deep breath and waited for her to make her hit and I carefully and skillfully made my own. "Do you need help?" she asked me, looking down at my arms. "Um no, I can handle it," I responded, swallowing the saliva that began pooling into my mouth. Trying not to choke on it as I wrapped the band around my upper arm, pulling it as tight as was comfortable. I watched as my veins began to pop out of my skin like river beds overflowing from unexpected torrential rainfall. My blood flowed like the Nile curving this way and that way down my arm. "I think I have at least one more go in this one here," I said, pointing to the far left of the crease of my elbow. I flicked the syringe full of crystal meth that was dissolved in just a splash of water. I pushed the plunger up so the liquid was all the way at the top with no air bubbles to be found. I took my index finger and touched my blue-colored vein that was bulging so much you'd think it might actually burst and spray blood everywhere. I made sure I was in the right spot and stuck the needle into my skin and punctured through the fleshy tube that housed my flowing bloodstream. Dark scarlet clots sprung forth into the syringe as I pulled back the plunger to see if I had hit gold or not. I sighed and let out a big breath I didn't realize I had been holding in for far too long. Then I pushed the plunger in and the ice made its way up my arm and across my throat, making its way down to my heart then toward my belly and down along both of my legs and finally to my feet and back up again. I pulled the needle out of my arm and quickly unwrapped the band that was stopping the drug from completely making its rounds through my veins. I sighed, plopping back onto the comfy couch. Just enjoying the warmth like the sun that I could feel swimming inside of me and the surge of immediate energy I received from the shot. Grace was still trying to hit the right spot and I paused and said, "Ya know, I knew I would come back here eventually." I said as I glanced at her face as she scrunched her face in concentration when she was finally able to push the plunger in and feel heaven come from a syringe. "You do eventually." She responded holding her arm to keep it from spilling blood. "I need 3 balls for $360," I said as I reached into my pants pocket, grabbing the cash I had brought with me. I handed it to her and she nodded. "Okay we have that for sure," she said. I smiled and said, "Cool, that's great." I knew there was no turning back now, it only takes one hit and then you're hooked. I knew I would be shooting up dope for the next week or so. But a part of me was really worried and there was a frantic small voice in the back of my head screaming at me to just go home and keep the money. But I shook it off and ignored it. I was hovering above my body again like I had been many other times. It's disassociation on a whole other level. Something just takes over me and then there I am again up above myself looking down watching me make mistake after mistake and watching myself put my life in jeopardy. But I couldn't do anything to stop myself from moving forward with each bad decision that I made that day. Because I wasn't in control of my actions at that point. I roll my head from side to side as I come to, the images flashing through my mind as I lay here. It doesn't matter what happens, it always pulls me back in somehow. Meth addiction is considered to be one of the worst addictions a person can endure. I know that to be a fact of the matter. Whatever is in this drug consumes you, like you're given your very own personal demon that latches on to you as soon as you take that first drag, or that first shot, snort, or hot rail. It takes over your mind and your flesh. And the flesh only wants sin to satisfy its own pleasure. I opened my eyes and without notice, I found myself face to face with my husband. Creases were etched into his forehead from his constant worry over my foolish and selfish self. I took one look at him, gazing into those very familiar green eyes and then I squeezed my eyes shut. Tears threatened to spill over my eyelids as they stung the corners of them. He grabbed my left hand that was sitting in reach in front of him. "I'm so glad we found you, and that you're going to be okay," he said, his voice cracking as he fought back the urge to break down. I winced at his words, and my heart began to ache and palpitate at the pain in his voice. The pain that I caused him, just like every other time I've gone missing to relapse back into that dope stupor. I didn't want to hurt him, I really didn't. But he more than likely didn't know that to be true. To him and everyone around us they most likely think I just don't care about how he and my son feel. But that isn't true, I do care. I care a lot, but it's not that simple and easy to just rely on your love for your family to keep you from using drugs again and again. If that's all it took nobody would relapse, everyone would be capable of not only getting sober but maintaining their sobriety and maintaining it well. But addiction is a disease of the ability to make choices, which leads to bad decisions and uncontrollable urges to use that are just too much to bear and to be able to get by without falling back into that messy trap. Most addicts relapse multiple times while trying to stay clean, it's inevitable. I squeezed my husband's hand and opened my eyes glancing at him, my eyes heavy from all the medication in my system for pain and discomfort. I peered through my thick eyelashes at him and I realized that the breathing tube had been removed. I can speak, I thought to myself. I cleared my throat, and sharp pains shot through my whole throat where the breathing tube had scrapped the inside of my esophagus on the way in. I repositioned myself and said, "I can't believe I did this again. I want to tell you I'm sorry but that's what I always say and I always end up messing up again so the sorry isn't genuine." I sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He squeezed my hand in response and he stroked his fingers across the top of my hand, tracing the tattoos on my fingers as he began to talk. "I know you can't control yourself sometimes, and that you really don't want to keep living this way. Maybe you just need some time to recover. Maybe almost dying for the first time might actually strike some fear in you to make you stop," he said blowing air through his pierced lips, as he sat back in his chair still holding my hand in his. "But what if it doesn't?" I asked, a lump developing in the back of my throat I struggled to swallow it down so I wouldn't become hysterical. "Then we'll deal with whatever comes our way. You're my wife and I love you so much, and I will be here even if you wind up back in this hospital bed 5 years from now, I can't imagine just leaving you to yourself. And I don't want anyone else but you, I need you just like you feel like you need dope. I need you, babe," he said, while he lowered his chin to his chest, tears welling up in his eyes. I burst into tears as I started to hyperventilate. I was sucking in air at a crazy speed, my chest hitching and caving in so much so that I thought I was going to die. He stood and leaned over me and pulled me close to him. "Just breath." He whispered softly. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly over and over again. He rubbed the back of my head with his left hand and grasped my side with the other hand, as I started to recall what really had happened when I was on my drug binge. I was staying inside my car in different areas of the city that were secluded and away from prying eyes. I hadn't eaten in over 3 days and only managed to get a whole 5 hours of sleep within that time period. I had been using dope nonstop practically since the moment I arrived at my friend's house. I knew my family would be out searching for me like they always did but I couldn't think about them right now. I was trying to shoot up in my right arm in the crease of my elbow but I accidentally ended up missing the whole shot. Pain seared inside my skin as the meth bubbled up underneath it. "Nooo!" I yelled in frustration. I couldn't believe I actually missed; how foolish I thought as I let out a sigh. My arm throbbed in protest at the liquid pooled up under my skin. I knew it would probably get infected as it tends to sometimes. But I didn't care, I loaded another shot and was able to go in my left hand. That very familiar feeling flooded my body overwhelming my senses. My heart began to pound in my chest and a cold sweat fell over top of me soaking me in my own perspiration. I hurried up and looked in the mirror, my pupils were only the size of pinpoints which told me that I was overdosing. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911. "911, what's your emergency?" a lady asked in a monotone voice. "Um I think I'm overdosing on meth; I shot up and I think I did too much," I said through strained breaths. It feels like my heart is going to explode." I cried. "Okay, where are you right now?" she asked, concerned bleeding over into the phone. "Um, I'm at Bay View Park, I'm parked inside my car at the top of the ridge. I'm in a black ford mustang." I let out right before I began to fade. "Lord, please don't let me die." I prayed. I hadn't prayed in so long and I know that's one of my problems. "I don't seek you, Lord," I said as I began to calm down from my panic attack. "At least you're praying," my husband said brushing my bangs out of my eyes. "That's all that matters." he smiled. And I smiled at him and I knew that I would fight harder and try harder to keep my promises. I've broken so many I've lost count. But I'm going to start counting how many times I keep a promise from now on.


“Going to be another hot one folks. Temperatures over one hundred degrees again today. No showers predicted for the next ten days. Prepare for extreme heat and rolling power outages. Take extra precautions if your area is under a red flag warning. Be mindful of the…” Kyle flicked off the radio. Great, another sweltering day.

In the West, forest fires blazed leaving the air tainted with smoke for hundreds of miles. What had been three separate fires along the front range of Colorado recently merged into one gigantic mass of heat. The occasional fire-nado would whizz up and sound like a furnace running sideways. Most people in the area evacuated as per the official evacuation order. A couple die-hards held out to fight the fire on their own. Defending their property from an elemental force. They were going to fight fire. Maybe they were wizards. Kyle imagined them conjuring up spells and dousing flames with their wands. In a world of infinite possibilities….his thoughts trailed off. He was almost to his destination. He had mapped out a trail to get the best perspective of the massive fire. He just needed to turn off on an unmarked road, follow that due North up to the crest and make a sharp left. Easy-peasy.

Smoke billowed above the mountains. The scene looked like one from an apocalyptic volcano movie. The air was thick and warm. A thin layer of ash and soot coated the landscape. It was difficult to see even a few yards ahead. He clumsily stumbled forward. Her silhouette slid into his line of sight. He stopped breathing momentarily. Magic reentered his thoughts. She cast a spell on him and he lost all of his natural ability to simply Inhale and exhale. Witchcraft, he thought and he passed out. Katrina grew up here. She knew these mountains better than most. Better than most, yes. Better than her father, no. She lost her dad a few years back and had managed the homestead and acreage quite well since. Katrina had a special connection to this place. Her father had always told her, this land was an extension of them and must be preserved and protected. It was their duty and honor. As the last of her line, it was a duty she took great pride in. Her connection to this land was deep. It was her birthright; a generational blessing. It was the last bit of their homeland and she intended to protect and preserve it. They had lived through fire and flood and made preparations and plans for each. Katrina knew what to do and when. She had courage from her sense of honor. Her confidence borne of her training- not to mention her sixth sense. Her guides spoke to her.

Katrina was a force. She loved each of the trees and knew every rock. They were her comrades, her friends, her relatives. The rocks; the elders, her advisors. The river; her way between worlds. She was part of this place and this place was absolutely part of her. They existed in a symbiotic entanglement of harmony and understanding. She had asked for someone to share it all with so many times. Katrina was reveling in this very thought when she saw the stranger approaching. He hadn’t noticed her yet and she was still getting a read on him. He didn’t seem threatening and was actually kind of cute. He stumbled forward. She decided to catch his attention. She did more than that. She took his breath away . Quite literally. She stepped into sight and he fell directly to the ground. Thud.

Katrina wasn’t expecting company. She certainly wasn’t expecting such a gorgeous man to damn near fall in her lap. She looked up to the expanse with questioning wonder. She rushed over to Kyle. He coughed and snorted as he came to. “Hi there. You ok?”, Katrina offered him water. Kyle sat up slowly and attempted to get his bearings. He took a sip of the cool water and coughed some more. The last thing he remembered was driving toward the fire to get some pics. He was a photo journalist. He covered climate change and natural disasters; usually with no problems. Apparently the turns he had taken planted him smack dab on Kat’s place. The road had ended with a decent view of the flames. He snapped some really good pics when suddenly the wind shifted and smoke obscured his way. Kyle couldn’t see his truck. Somehow he managed to find a trail and followed it out of the smoke. However, the smoke and altitude gain seemed to have gotten the better of him and he passed out right there in Kat’s driveway. Lucky for Kyle, Katrina kept supplies for such emergencies, in fact she was ready for most emergencies. She located the oxygen bottles and ordered Kyle to take a slow deep breath and inhale the good good. Nothing quite like pure oxygen in the lungs. He had no objections. This wasn’t his first rodeo so to speak, but never had he been caught so off guard. He was a safe distance from the flames. What he hadn’t considered was the effect of the smoke. The wind combined with the terrain created pockets of smoke and heat that churned and boiled. The wind shifted and created an obstacle Kyle hadn’t prepared for. He was lucky to have found his way out. He was even luckier to have found his way out to her. She was an absolute vision. Katrina was as up here mostly alone on the side of her mountain. Wildfires approaching and her attitude was that of utter serenity, everything will be fine. She knew what to do and when. Not her first rodeo either; and the universe had delivered her a cowboy. Things were certainly looking up. Who was this beautiful enchantress? How did he possibly find her? This year his job had sent him across the country on various assignments. Blizzard in New York. Hurricanes in Florida. Flooding in Minnesota. Wildfires in the West. The storms and disasters were more intense and lasting longer. He never had a chance to meet anyone. Well at least not anyone available for a date. The ones he did meet were usually in various stages of distress. Not Katrina. She was, um she was unique. And this was why he was a photo journalist. Words escaped him, but a picture, need he say more? Katrina was a vision. His vision in fact. He had seen her before. He dreamed her. At first he thought maybe it was jet lag or wishful thinking. The more he studied her face, the more real he knew she had been in his dream. The more real he now understood she was, and holy shit IS! Is now, currently present tense right beside him. Kyle took another sip of water. He managed a “Thank you, ma’am.” No chance he could hide his smile. Katrina smiled back. She knew just what to do.


Benson, Lilith, Harper, and I knelt in the garden, hands locked. Villagers gathered round to hear our prayers. The Flowering Tree sat just mere feet away from where we were planted, waiting to hear Her voice. We needed a miracle. Benson, the oldest of our little family, opened his mouth and let the words pour out. “Mother, we seek your knowledge and your power. We seek help.” Our heads all bobbed, soaking in his words. “Our village is falling, our peoples’ hope gone. We need a sign that it will all be alright." Benson turned his eyes to Harper, urging her to speak out next. She was very young and very shy, afraid to pray aloud in front of the people of our village. She turned to me, silently asking me to speak instead. "Mother, we wish for the prosperity that you have granted us before. We wish to know how to right our wrongs, to know what has caused the denial of our crops, of our harvest. Elder Pine is struggling to stay alive; we need your help." Lilith lifted her chin toward the sky, her striking green eyes searching the clouds for a hidden meaning. Harper still focused on the grass, too afraid to speak. With authority, Benson rose from the grass, brushing the dying flowers of the garden with his fingertips. We all followed his lead, hands still locked. The people of Elder Pine watched on expectantly. Benson took a step forward, freeing himself of our grasps. “My people, the Mother has spoken!” My heart sank; I was unsure of where this was coming from. “Our village will come to prosper soon enough! We will thrive once again.” Flashes of smiles and bubbles of relieved laughter came from the crowd. “Go home, good people, and reflect on what today has brought us. The promise of fruitfulness is here.” They all shuffled off, and Harper shuffled up to Benson’s side. “I’m sorry, brother. I was too afraid.” He looked down at her with kind eyes and smiled our beloved father’s smile. “It’s okay, dear sister. I do not blame you for this. But you must work towards this; our blessed conversations with Mother Nature are precious. I only want for you to know the joy of feeling her there, within you. Come, sit at the Tree with me.” The pair walked away, blissfully happy. Lilith turned to me. “Brie, do you think that he meant it?” she asked as we began toward our hut. “What?” “About hearing the Mother’s voice. Do you really think that we will prosper soon?” “Dearest sister, I trust Benson with all my heart. When father died, his gift was passed onto Benson. Father was Chosen, and so is he. You must have faith. Let’s go sit at the pond and think on it, yes?” My youngest sister nodded and walked with me, holding my hand tightly within hers. Months passed, and still our crops were failing. The village was in chaos. We were nearly out of food, and the pond was beginning to dry up for the season. It was unusually early, so we had not had the time to harvest fresh drinking water before there was nothing left but mud. Benson was out every night, trying to comfort the people, but to no avail. While he was out, my sisters and I sat in our hut on the rug our mother had made when she was just a child and read stories. “It is said to be true that once, a very long time ago, the Mother was seen drinking at a river. She was beautiful,” I read, smiling when Harper and Lilith’s eyes brightened. “Her eyes shone bright green, the color of the leaves in summer, and her hair a beautiful, deep brown, like the earth below the grass. It flowed like a river down to the ground and pooled at her feet, like a pond. She wore a beautiful blue dress, the color of the sky, that flowed around her in the wind. The man who saw her was in awe, but it seemed the Mother knew that he was there. She never turned to him, but she spoke, kind, comforting words: ‘Come, my child, and drink. Drink from the river of hope, and let it wash away all your fears.’ And so, the man drank, and thus his village was born. And it was prosperous, until the end of time.” “And that man was our great-grandfather?” Harper asked, her beautiful green eyes glowing. I nodded, tapping her on the nose. “Is that why Harper’s eyes are green?” Lilith asked. I had to laugh. “Maybe so. Perhaps, when our great-grandfather drank from the river with Mother Nature, some of her was passed into him, and then passed down to us.” “But if the fable says that the village would be prosperous until the end of time, why are we struggling so?” I shrugged, pulling the girls in close. “We just have to have faith.” Harper stood suddenly. “I want to pray at the Flowering Tree,” she declared, determination in her eyes. I smiled, standing beside her, and Lilith following. “Good girl.” The village gathered around the tree once again, and Benson, Lilith, Harper, and I knelt around it. My heart felt heavy as I looked at the beautiful tree; by this time, its winter flowers should have been budding, but not quite blooming. The branches were barren, and the leaves were browning and falling. Harper lifted her eyes to the tree and spoke. “Dearest Mother, I have never spoken to you before. At least not aloud, before my people.” Benson and I shared a smile as the child poured her heart out. “I wish more than anything for you to help us find our prosperity once more. If there is something we have done to upset you, to cause this drought, please make it known. We all love you so very much, and we love each other. Maybe, in the end, that is all that really matters. Perhaps you have a plan for us, and this is just a step on the way to the end of it. I trust you, Mother, and I hope that whatever your plan is, it reveals itself to us soon. Thank you, Mother. We love you.” She bowed her head again and shut her eyes, squeezing my hand tightly. Benson nodded but did not stand. He waited for a very long time, waiting for a sign. The village watched in anticipation. I observed the Flowering Tree once again, and that was when I saw her. Mother Nature, just as she had been described in the story about our great-grandfather. She was beautiful. She walked up to the Flowering Tree and rested a hand on it. Benson, Lilith, and I watched in awe as she extended her other hand, eyes on Harper. Harper looked back and forth to Benson and me, silently asking for permission to approach. Benson, still stunned, managed a nod, and we let go of her hands. She slowly, timidly, approached the beautiful Mother, and stopped just before her. “Harper,” the Mother spoke, her voice as beautiful as Earth itself. “I choose you. I choose you to be the ambassador of life, to be the protector of the land and the water, to be the tender of the flowers. Can you promise me that you will be?” “I promise,” Harper spoke, surer of herself than she had ever been. She took the beautiful Mother Nature’s hand, and suddenly the blooms appeared. The Flowering Tree began its winter blossom, and the garden’s dying flowers regained their color. The crops began to grow, and the pond began to fill. “My dear, I choose you.”


Samantha stood on the dock overlooking the lake soaking in the warm sun, focusing on the sounds of the boats out for a boat ride under the light of the moon. She volunteered to come early to the family's summer home to air out the rooms, uncover all the furniture and get it ready for the onslaught of her family. Samantha hadn't wanted to come, since she hadn't set foot in the house since that fateful summer 10 yrs. ago, but her mother insisted that they have her engagement party among their closest friends and her entire family. Engagement party, who would believe that she would ever get married. Samantha had avoided marriage like the plague; she never found a man who she loved more than a friend, but her mother kept asking her when she was going to get married, and she felt the social pressure to give in. Samantha finally met Jaden, who was like no other man she had ever met. He didn’t push her to have sex with him, or get married; but after 6 months of dating, they finally made love, which wasn’t what Samantha wanted, but he was a gentle lover, very respectful and so Samantha gave in. Maybe, she could eventually love him; he was the nicest guy she had ever met, so after dating for a year, he proposed, and Samantha said yes. Her family was over the moon and wanted to share the occasion with their good friends at the summer house. So here she was, standing on the dock where she had stood 10 yrs. ago when life threw her a curveball from which she felt she would never recover. Samantha had had an ongoing battle with her mother over many things throughout her life; not the least of which was why Samantha couldn’t be more like her older sister, Anna. Anna was all girl, loved to dress up in “girly clothes” as Samantha called them; was very popular with all the boys, and was a varsity cheerleader. Her brother, Tim, was oblivious to most things around him if it didn’t involve a football, so he was no help with her battles with her mother. Samantha was more like Tim; she was what many considered a tomboy. She was athletic and played softball and basketball from a young age and although she was popular, she never felt like she was like the other girls her age. All they talked about throughout high school was boys and Samantha felt there were other things more interesting than boys. The summer after her junior year in high school the family spent the entire summer at the lake like they did every summer since Samantha was 5yrs old. It started like every other summer. The usual families were there and as was the custom, the first Saturday was the first event of many that all the families would spend together. The party started like all the past parties had started; connecting with old friends who they hadn't seen since last summer; with one exception. One of her favorite people, Thomas, also Samantha's age, brought his cousin, Julia, who was visiting for the summer. Her parents were in the middle of a messy divorce and she needed a place where she wasn’t in the middle of battling adults.  Julia was 17 yrs. old, a senior, played varsity softball and had a full scholarship to play for Oklahoma in the Fall. When Julia shook Samantha's hand, Samantha was taken by surprise by how it felt to shake her hand. It was that feeling that Samantha had felt many times in the past when she was around one of her best friends in middle school. She remembered how the feelings frightened her and so she stopped being friends with these girls. This experience repeated itself many times throughout her high school years with the same result- she stopped being friends with these girls. Her other girlfriends talked about these feelings, too, but they always were feelings they had for boys not girls. Now, here were those feelings again. She thought she was past those feelings; she was mortified. Samantha left the party immediately and vowed to stay away from this girl, but Julia had other ideas. She too had had the feeling when she shook Samantha’s hand and she made a point of tagging along with Thomas when he met Samantha at the boat dock the next day. The difference between Julia and Samantha was that Julia embraced and honored the feelings she was feeling. She knew that these feelings were sexual, and she loved the way the attraction felt. Her parents always encouraged her to be her own person and that included her sexual orientation. As hard as Samantha had tried to avoid Julia that summer, it was to no avail. What Samantha began to realize was that these were perfectly normal feelings to have, but not for other women. she made a point of never being alone with Julia until the last night of their summer stay. Samantha was on the dock, enjoying the last sights and sounds of the lake when someone called out, “Sam, is that you?” Samantha turned and saw Julia moving toward her and said, ‘” please don’t call me Sam, my name is Samantha.” Julia was taken aback, but it did not deter her, and she continued to walk toward Samantha. When they were close enough to touch, Julia leaned in and kissed Samantha on the mouth. At first, Samantha pulled away, and then gave in to what she was feeling and kissed Julia back. But when the feelings started bubbling up inside of her, she pulled away and ran down the dock toward home. That was the last time Samantha saw Julia, but the memory of that kiss haunted her for many years after that summer.  Samantha spent the next 5 years sleeping with a guy after guy, trying to convince herself that she was straight and that Julia was just an anomaly; until she met Jaden and decided she could learn to love him. Today, she was standing on the dock, filled with memories of all those summers before, but especially the summer of meeting Julia, willing it out of her thoughts. She was jolted back to reality with someone calling her name. “Samantha, is that you”? As Samantha turned, there was Julia, more beautiful than ever, tan, elegant, sexy as hell walking toward Samantha. “What are you doing here?” Samantha asked. “Thomas told me you were having an engagement party this weekend, and I had to come to wish you well” Julia replied. Samantha was noticeably uncomfortable, fidgeting with her sweater and not making eye contact with Julia. “I have never stopped thinking about you,” Julia continued. “I have kept up with your career and hoped to see you again during the summers, but you never came back. “ Samantha was beyond understanding what was happening to her, but as Julia moved closer in an attempt to hug Samantha, she could no longer deny the feelings she was having. She knew then that all these years of avoiding women who frightened her with what she felt for them, was just her denying who she was and who she loved. She finally succumbed to the attraction she felt and as Julia was hugging her, she turned her head and kissed Julia, like she never had kissed anyone before. She was flooded with desire for Julia, but pulled away and just looked her in the eyes and said “If you would a still like to, you can call me Sam.” Julia laughed out loud and kissed Sam again, asking her to come with her to the boat dock so they could take the boat out for a midnight ride. Sam shook her head and said that she would be there in a minute but first she had to make a phone call. As Sam dialed Jaden’s number her hands were shaking. When he answered, she said, “Jaden, we need to talk.”


She shouldn’t have answered the call from an unfamiliar number, or, at the very least, should’ve hung up when the caller revealed her identity. Alexina had worn out her welcome five years ago, when she’d used the “skills” she’d practiced throughout childhood—often at Hannah’s expense—to lure the man Hannah loved into her arms. Since then, they’d shared no phone calls, no texts, no emails, no visits, no information whatsoever. She should have resumed the boycott. Instead, the couch beneath her groaning as she leaned forward, she’d blurted, “I have nothing to talk to you about.”            “You didn’t see the news?” her sister questioned, as if this made her a dolt.            “I don’t care about the news. I thought I made myself clear when I—“            “My house’s gone. Parker’s gone. Everything ’s gone.” Her voice broke on the last syllable, pinching Hannah’s heart just enough to keep her on the line. She opened her laptop on the coffee table and typed Alexina’s location into Google.            Her stomach plunged.            Despite everything, she’d never wished this on her sister, or Parker. She pictured them huddled in a basement, wondering whether they would see the next hour. She imagined them screaming as the house tumbled down around them, weeping as they contemplated the destruction this would wreak on their lives for months, if not years, to come.            “Oh, Alexina, I’m sorry.”            “Yeah. Me, too.”            She tightened her grip on the phone, not knowing what else to say, to do.            At last, Alexina said, “I wouldn’t be asking you this if there was anybody else, or if I could afford a hotel, but Parker’s business never really took off, and we’ve been struggling with the bills, and I’ve got nobody with room for me at their place…”            Hannah’s jaw clenched. Though she hated herself for it, the thought of having Alexina in her house, drinking her coffee, showering in her bathtub, sleeping beneath her sheets, drove knives into her gut.            “There’s gotta be somebody,” she said, heartbeat a fireworks finale.            “There’s not. I’ll be out in the streets if you don’t help.”            She wanted nothing to do with her. And, yet, she did have something to do with her: the blood pulsing through her veins, the very blood freezing at the thought of honoring it.            She had no choice. *         *         *            She didn’t know why, as she paced, she straightened the curtains, the throw pillows, the roses in the vase on the coffee table—she’d stopped caring what her sister thought of her half a decade ago, and she still didn’t. She didn’t know why it had come to this, why the universe couldn’t accept their separation and move on. She didn’t know why she peeked out the window, because she had no idea what kind of car Alexina drove—whether she’d kept her blue Toyota Yaris or replaced it because that vehicle had broken down, or been totaled, or fallen out of her fickle fancy. She didn’t know why she bothered wondering at all.            A car—it was the Toyota—slowed and pulled into the driveway beside her Honda. She took a breath, steeled her shoulders, and opened the door as Alexina came up the steps, suitcase in hand, looking just as she remembered. She even recognized her blouse and jeans. “Thanks again, Hannah,” she said, brushing past her into the living room without an invitation. Clenching her jaw, Hannah shut the door.            “I was hoping we could talk,” Alexina said. “It’s a shame how things ended.”            Hannah stiffened.            Alexina sighed like a teacher with a naughty student. “Come on, Han. You can’t tell me you don’t wanna work it out.”            No, she couldn’t tell her that—not because it wasn’t true, which it was, but because that would make for an even more awkward few weeks. Better to approach this diplomatically, for now. “Let’s get you settled in, and then we’ll think about that.”            Alexina frowned but didn’t argue.            She followed her to the guestroom. As her eyes swept the place, the creases beside her lips darkened. Apparently, she’d expected the Ritz.

Unsure how much longer she could retain composure, she told Alexina to tell her if she needed anything and walked away to start a dinner she had a feeling neither of them would eat. *         *         *            Their forks clinked, pushing food around their plates but not bringing it to their mouths. Hannah sculpted her mashed potatoes into a mountain and nudged a pea up its slope; it rolled back down.            “I missed you all these years,” Alexina said.            Hogwash. She’d called her because she needed her, and only because she needed her.            “You remember we were always at each other’s throats.”            “That was then. We’re more mature now.”            Not true. People didn’t change—not in five years, not in ten, not in twenty. They may learn a few lessons along the way, but personality was etched in stone since the day one came screaming into the world. The only question: Why did Alexina care so much about mending fences? She’d gotten what she wanted. Since when did anything else matter to her?

Because she doesn’t know if this is all she’ll want from you. Her jaw stiffened, a fist curling in her gut.            “I think it’s better if we keep our distance.”            “Why?”            “Because we’re cats and dogs, Lexi.” She sighed, feeling as if explaining simple addition for the fortieth time. “Look. I’m not saying anything bad about you. I’m sure there’s lots of people you can gel with. But I’m not one of them.”            Alexina flicked a pea off her plate; it plunged off the table and onto the floor. “So you just wanna give up on your only sister.”            “There’s a point where it’s just wasting time.”            Alexina’s face flushed, and she shot Hannah a glare that could’ve punched straight to a volcano’s core. “Grow up, Hannah.” She jumped to her feet and stalked out. The guestroom door slammed. Hannah remained there, staring at her food, Alexina’s words echoing in her head. Perhaps she was acting immature. Perhaps the twister, or marriage, or life in general had changed Alexina. Perhaps she did deserve another chance, if not because of that, then simply because of the genes and history they shared. She contemplated it all night, tossing and turning, the chirping of the crickets outside her window maddening. When the sun’s tangerine tendrils peeked over the horizon, she rose with only a sweaty pillow and blanket pretzel to show for those hours.            As Alexina showered, she dropped onto the couch and switched on the TV. She’d had it tuned to the news; an anchor was droning on about a sculptural exhibit in a nearby city’s museum. The camera flashed to a white-walled, white-floored room filled with busts sporting hideous features—gigantic hooked noses, broken teeth, ram-like horns protruding from their foreheads. A waste of the marble from which their “artist” had carved them. A buzz sounded from the table between the sofas. She grabbed the phone and woke it up. The text had come from “Kaila”—a name she didn’t recognize. Thus, she realized her mistake: She and Alexina both had the newest iPhone. She’d forgotten that she’d left hers in the bedroom.            Before she could replace the device, however, the message in question caught her eye.

Hey. Just wanted to see how you’re doing and let you know if things don’t work out with your sister my offer to stay with me still stands.            Her jaw dropped, mouth going as dry as sandpaper.            She should’ve known. Or perhaps she had known, but, once again, she’d ignored the facts, ignored common sense, ignored anything she didn’t want to accept.            But she’d have plenty of time to excoriate herself later.            Heat expanding in her chest, she jumped to her feet and marched to the guestroom. She gathered the clothes Alexina had hung and the suitcase containing those she hadn’t; stalked down the hall, through the living room, out the door; and hurled the contents of her arms onto the lawn.            They looked better there than they ever had on their owner.


We trap our souls in our possessions to remind us of our past. Photos coated in dust line the walls. That moth-eaten jacket that hangs at the back of the wardrobe. They are doomed to sit for eternity because we cling to the memory they instil. We fear losing the item will result in us losing part of our soul. An anchor to the past that doesn’t let us find a new future.

Stella lay back on her couch running the chain holding her engagement ring through her fingers. She stared at a line of ads on the TV when it flickered before going black. The room fell dark at that same moment when the lights died.

Another bloody blackout.  Getting to her feet, the smell of burning plastic grew stronger. She peered out the kitchen window.

The neighbours have power.  A hallway fire alarm rang out an ear-piercing echo. She coughed as the air got thicker with smoke. Looking down the hall, a flame darted from her bedroom. She broke out in a cold sweat as a sharp pain stabbed her chest.

Fire!

Her heart raced as she grabbed her handbag from the kitchen table and bolted for the door. She turned around to see the top-floor windows glowing with flickering shades of orange. A crash inside resulted in flames leaping from the openings. It didn’t take long for the whole house to become a bonfire. Neighbours came running with their phones to their ears. Stella stared back at the flames in disbelief as the fire trucks arrived.

Jill, her closest neighbour, placed her hand on Stella’s shoulder, “Are you injured?” Stella dropped her face onto Jill’s shoulder as the tears welled in her eyes. The comforting arms of Jill could not take away the shock of losing everything in an instant. The fire Captain approached, “How many people were in the house?” “She lived alone,” Jill replied. My ring!  Stella grabbed her necklace, sighing when she felt the cold diamond in her hand.

Thank God.  Gripping the ring tightly, she stared back at her long-departed husband's keepsakes crumbling to ashes. A stillness came over the street as the last flames died and most of the trucks left. The flickering lights on the houses were replaced with darkness.  Sitting on Jill’s porch, Stella sipped her glass of cold water when her best friend Sue pulled up on the edge of the tape barricade. She stood with mouth open gazing at the mess that was once a house.

“Sue, I’m over here.” Sue rushed to the front steps, “Are you all right? I didn’t believe your message.” “Yeah, I got out before it went up. But I have lost everything.” She dropped her chin to her chest as the pain returned. “You can stay with me.” Sue leaned over with a warm hug. Travelling down the highway Sue asked, “Do you have insurance?” “Yes, but it can’t replace all my memories,” tears rolled down Stella’s cheeks, “I lived there for nineteen years.” She held up her ring, “This is all I have to remind me of Paul.” “You still have your memories. No fire can take them.” The following morning, Stella hung up the phone, the stress of dealing with police, fire inspectors and the insurance agents had drained her energy. She curled up on the couch and turned on the TV.

Tell me it will be all right Paul. *** It had been a week since the fire and Stella had only left the house to go to work. Sue grabbed the TV control and turned it off. “Get up we are going out for a drink.” After some debate, Sue dragged Stella out to the bar. The dim lighting made hiding in the corner easier for Stella. Sue was off socialising and dancing while Stella stared blankly at people passing her by.

Paul didn’t like dancing. He didn’t like bars; the loud music used to give him headaches. Sue bounced up to the table with a stranger beside her. “Stella, this is Andrew.”  Another bloke walked over, “And this is Harper.” He had a more mature persona. His face was warm and welcoming. Is she trying to find me a boyfriend?  Stella had a second look at Harper.

There is something familiar about him.  “Hi.”

“We are getting a drink, what do you want?” Sue asked. “White wine will do.” Harper returned alone with a glass of wine. “Can I join you?” She ran her eyes up his body. His friendly smile accented the sparkle in his warm hazel eyes. She nodded, “Sure. Thanks for the drink.” Taking a sip of her wine, “What do you do?” “You don’t recognise me. I was the fire Captain at your house fire. We spoke on the street.” He remembered me.  She locked eyes with him for a moment before dropping her gaze. “Everything was dark against the fire.” “I’m sorry for your loss. It never gets easier attending those jobs.” He took a mouthful of beer, “Do you have somewhere to stay?” “Sue’s place,” Stella looked across the dance floor to Sue jigging away. “The fire took hold fast. I was lucky to get out when I did.” “Was your husband away?” What?  Her chest tightened as she pulled back in the seat. “How do you know about my husband?” “The property description on the incident report said Mr P and Mrs S Wilson,” he straightened his posture, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to pry.” Taking hold of her ring, she sighed lifting her eyes, “Paul died in a workplace accident seven years ago.” Harper’s smile vanished as his shoulders dropped, “Oh, I’m sorry.” He glanced away briefly, “I can leave if you want to be alone.” She reached out placing her hand on his, “No, it’s OK. It’s good to have a friendly face to talk to.” “Do you want another drink?” “Water would be good. Thanks.” Her eyes followed him across the bar.

Fireman. That explains the short haircut and those muscly shoulders.  Her thoughts returned to the night of the fire, his face and physique partly hidden in that firefighting protective suit. She rolled the ring in her fingers as her nerves grew. As the night went on, they continued talking and getting to know each other. Sue wandered over and stood at the end of the table looking worse for wear. “It’s time I went home.” Looking at her phone, “Yeah, it’s getting late. It was nice meeting you, Harper.” Stella held out her hand to say goodbye. “Do you want to catch up again?” His handshake was warm and gentle. “I’ll have to check my calendar.” He handed her his business card, “Call me when you do.” *** The following morning Stella sat on the patio in a daze staring at her cup of coffee. Sue’s dog would occasionally run past and hit Stella’s leg. Thoughts of her discussions with Harper ran around her head; she reached for her engagement ring. Her feelings for Paul pulled her back to her past, their fun together outdoors hiking, sailing and enjoying his company. Her mind was elsewhere when Sue sat down across from her. “Wake up.” “Morning.” “You seemed to hit it off with Harper. When are you seeing him again?” Stella looked at the dog running around, “I’m not.” Sue jolted forward over the table, “Why? He’s a hotty.” “I’m not ready,” she mumbled. “It’s been seven years. You could have married and divorced multiple guys in that time.” “It wouldn’t be fair on Paul.” “Bull.” Stella’s face reddened as tears welled in her eyes.  “I lost everything in that fire. All my memories of our life together,” she held up the ring, “He gave me this. I can’t forget what we had together by running off with someone else.” “Hey. I’m not saying forget Paul. But he wouldn’t want you wallowing in sorrow for the rest of your life. He would want you to get out and enjoy yourself.” “You didn’t know him.” Stella rose and stormed off into the house. Laying on her bed still fuming from Sue’s comments, Stella removed her engagement ring from her chain. She went to slide it on her ring finger but it was tight, so she slipped it onto her little finger. Staring up at the ceiling she rotated the stone around her finger.

Harper is nice but what if it doesn’t work out with him? He’s a fireman, that is a dangerous job.  Holding her hand up the ring lacked lustre. The gold band was scuffed and the stone needed a polish. Its sparkle had gone, like her memories of Paul, they had dulled with time. Her eyes grew heavy as she drifted off to sleep. Later that night Stella was awoken with a slam of the front door. Pulling her robe tight she staggered into the kitchen for a drink. Sue approached smelling of smoke and alcohol. “Harper asked where you were tonight.” “He would have found someone else to party with,” Sue filled her glass from the tap before returning to her room. Stella tossed and turned, her stomach was in knots. She wanted to see Harper again but she didn’t want to forget her past. As the hours ticked by, she removed her chain and ring placed them on the nightstand and rolled over to get some sleep. The following morning, she grabbed her coffee and went to the deck. Holding up her phone Harper's business card poked out the back of the cover. Pulling it out, she stared at it for a while.

Oh, what the hell.  She started dialling. “Hi Harper, it’s Stella. Do you want to catch up for a coffee?” *** Flicking her hair over her shoulder she paused on the footpath checking her reflection in the café window. Stepping up the counter she scanned the room. Harper rose from a corner table and headed towards her. His dark blue shirt and slacks looked fancy for coffee.  She placed her order as Harper handed his bank card to the attendant. Walking back to the table, she muttered, “I could have paid.” “You need your money to rebuild.” “The insurance is satisfied with the fire inspector's findings. They are processing the claim now.” He slid into the seat across from her, “What did they find?” “The fire started at a faulty downlight in my ensuite.” “Downlights. That’s common.” She shuffled in her seat, “It would have been good to know that before they installed them.” He reached out his hand, “That’s enough talk about work. How are you travelling?” “I’m good.” “I looked for you at the bar last night.” “I’m not into bars, I would rather get out in nature.” His face lit up, “I’m going canoeing on the weekend. You’re welcome to come along.” Go out into the wilderness with someone I barely know. He’s a firefighter, he seems trustworthy.  Sue’s words came back, get out and enjoy yourself.

I haven’t canoed for years. “That would be nice. Do you have another canoe?” She looked up as the waiter placed their order on the table. “Yeah, I have everything you will need.” The chatter went on for hours when her phone buzzed. “Sue is checking up on me.” He rose, “I have to get ready for work.”

“Thanks for the coffee, I’ll see you on the weekend.”

“I’ll call later,” he reached forward with a friendly hug. Back home, “I need a shower,” she grabbed her casual clothes and reached up to remove her necklace. Her heart skipped a beat, and she gasped.

Where is my ring?  Her eyes ran over to the bedside table, the ring and chain sat under the lampshade where she left them last night . I forgot to wear it.  Her heart felt heavy as she sat on the side of the bed with the chain in her hand.

The fire was a turning point, it is time to move on. I was blessed with Paul’s life but it’s time to let someone else into my life. *** Up early she was packed ready for a day on the river. Her phone buzzed.

A text from Harper.  “Do you want me to pick you up?” “No, I’ll meet you at your place. I have something to do first.” The birds were chirping in the trees overhead. A light breeze swept a few hairs across her face. Stella stood over Paul’s grave; she brushed the fallen leaves off his headstone. Placing a fresh bunch of flowers in the vase she stood silent.

Do it. She took a deep sigh, crouched down, “It’s time I moved on dear.” Pulling out a trowel from her pocket she unearthed a clod of grass and buried her engagement ring in front of his headstone. Replacing the grass, she muttered a prayer before silently returning to her vehicle. Pulling into Harper’s driveway, his four-wheel drive was packed. Canoes and paddles were tied to the roof rack. He pulled his front door closed, skipped down the stairs greeting her with a smile and a warm hug. “Ready for a day on the river.” “Let’s go,” she smiled as he opened the passenger door and placed her backpack on the back seat. Her mood lifted with the warm sun on her face. Taking a deep breath, the aroma of fresh forest filled the air.

I’m going to enjoy today's adventure.  The river flowed gently; the ripples sparkled from the sun’s rays. Easing into her canoe, she ran her hand through the water.

It’s not too cold.  She casually paddled along beside Harper enjoying the wilderness. The odd dead tree needed navigating and rocks broke the flow in places. A small blue kingfisher landed on the front of her canoe looking back at her for a moment before flying off. The sheen on its feathers glowed in the sunlight. She smiled.

This is a sign from Paul. He is happy I’m out enjoying herself again. The weight of the stress she had built up over the last seven years lifted from her shoulders, she turned to Harper, “I’ll race you to the next bend.” She started swinging the paddle as fast as she could. Sprays of water rained down as Harper powered past her swinging around in front of her.

Bugger, I’m out of practice.  Pushing the paddle to brake, she continued the stroke splashing water over him.

“Oh, you want to play.” He swung his paddle flicking water back at her.

A water fight broke out, and Stella took a big swipe of her oar over balancing and flipping her canoe. “Stella,” he called out beaching his canoe, before diving into the water. She rose beside the canoe, taking a deep breath.

He rose to the surface in front of her. “Are you OK?” Wiping the water from his eyes, he reached out grabbed the canoe with one hand and took hold of her waist with the other pulling her body closer to his.

Pushing her hair out of her face, she nodded.  That water is refreshing.

His head was above the water line looking back at her. Face to face she looked deeply into his eyes. Her pulse raced as she moved closer, closing her eyes as her lips met his. The moment's warmth was interrupted when her canoe caught the flow and tapped the back of his head. Looking back with a warm smile, Harper swung the canoe closer to the bank, “Let’s get you ashore and have a break.” Sitting on the bank, arm in arm his touch was as warm as the sun’s rays on her back.

The flow in the river was ever-changing bringing new surprises, blink and miss the fish jumping. So many things I have missed in recent years. New memories and experiences didn’t erase the past but added to my life story. The End


The Transporter Museum, a forgotten relic, is inconveniently located on a deserted side street two turns off a dead-end alley. You might never find it, even by accident, but if you do, you’ll always remember its immaculate displays and its eccentric proprietor, Frans Messerschmitt. Every day precisely at nine, the little old man illuminated the neon sign, flipped the placard to open, and made his way behind the counter, prepared for customers who rarely came. It was already late in the day when the door opened, surprising both Frans and the visitors. “Hello, is anybody there?” The question startled Frans, interrupting his terminal boredom. “Yes. Yes, please come in,” he answered, moving forward to greet his guests. The unexpected voice belonged to a handsome lad sporting sweatpants and a football jersey, followed closely by a pretty young coed in a letterman’s jacket. “It’s almost impossible to find this place," the boy mentioned, all the while looking at the meticulously cared-for exhibits. “Are we in time for the guided tour?” The question struck Frans as funny. It had been months since his last visitor, so the tours relied on guests, not the other way around. “Of course, my good man,” he answered, sauntering from behind the counter. “My name is Frans and I'm the owner and resident historian. I’d be glad to give you the nickel tour, and I won’t even charge you the nickel.” “Fan-damn-tastic! My name is Billy, and this is Connie. We’ve really been looking forward to this. Where do we start?” “I’m glad you asked,” Frans replied, beckoning the couple to follow. “You’ve lived your whole lives in a time where teleportation from one side of the world to another was the norm—in fact, there’s about to be an app for that!” Frans turned their attention towards a smartphone sitting on display. “Before the end of the year, the new ZapApp will be available, offering skin-touch technology for the first time. All you’ll need to do is enter the desired coordinates, activate the app, and, in seconds—Voila!” “Wow,” Billy exclaimed, reaching for the phone. “Please don’t,” Frans cautioned. “These are replicas and can be easily damaged.” “I hear ya, Gramps,” Billy responded, “Oh, I’m sorry. No disrespect intended, sir.” “Not at all,” Frans replied. “I’ve always wanted a nickname. I like the sound of Gramps. Now if you follow me, I’ll lead you both back in time.” The next display contained a full-length mirror attached to the wall. “I’m sure you two know what this is,” Frans said, stepping aside and allowing Billy and Connie to see. “These teleportation devices are still the most commonly used today. They were part of a trend to make teleportation more accessible and less obtrusive. They were also the first devices that didn’t require an exit portal. Until the Mirror 360, you could only travel to locations with paired devices. Needless to say, it was revolutionary.” “That’s just like yours,” Connie whispered to Billy, punctuating her remark with a kiss on his cheek. “What’s next, Mr. Frans?” “ Gramps ,” Frans corrected her with a chuckle. “Next we see the machine that started it all, The Marie.” “I’ve heard of that,” Billy said. “Wow, it’s huge!” “I know,” Frans agreed. “When the technology was new, we hadn’t yet perfected the art of miniaturization. There were no personal teleportation devices. The only people who had access were scientists, investors, and celebrities. In fact, the first transporters were more gimmicky than useful. They were incredibly expensive, required an entrance and exit port, and were so inefficient that it took a full day’s charge to send someone from one place to another. There’s no doubt we’ve come a long way since then.” “What about that one?” Billy asked, pointing to a machine partially hidden by a curtain. “Oh, that one,” Frans sighed. “That’s the prototype. The first teleportation device.” “That's the original?" Billy asked, moving closer to get a better look. "Is the legend true?” “I'm afraid it is,” Frans replied. “The machine was the brainchild of a pair of scientists not much older than the two of you. They were the first to prove light was a particle and that we could use it as a mechanism for distance teleportation. The early tests were extremely successful. There were no issues when sending inanimate objects or small animals from one pod to another. The problem occurred when they tried transporting a human. Marie begged to be first and, after winning a game of Rochambeau, she stepped into the entrance pod and disappeared on cue. But when her partner activated the exit pod, everything went terribly wrong. Marie never fully rematerialized. Her translucent hand simply reached forward, and she mouthed the word help . Then she faded away.” “Oh my God!” Connie gasped. "Did he save her?” Frans turned away from the question, paused, then finally answered. “No, he didn’t. You see, molecular displacement teleportation in its infancy was like sending something through a tunnel at light speed. Once entering a pod, the subject can only exit from the paired terminal port.” "That's tragic," Connie said, wiping away a tear. “And ironic.” Frans replied. “How so?” “After the colossal mishap, her partner spent the better part of twenty years trying to find a way to release Marie from her tunnel. He became obsessed with correcting his mistake. His research and technological breakthroughs are directly responsible for almost every advancement in teleportation technology. That first awful outcome is why molecular transportation is so incredibly safe today. It’s why you have a Mirror 360 hanging on the wall in your home.” “But Marie—what happened to her?” Connie asked. “All of her partner’s research and all of his calculations never changed Marie’s fate.” “She’s trapped forever?” “She would be, unless he destroyed the machine and released her molecules into the atmosphere, never to be reassembled again.” “What did he…” “It’s almost closing time,” Frans said, interrupting Connie before she could finish the question. “Thanks for coming. You two made an old man very happy today.” “This has been the best tour ever, Gramps.” Billy proclaimed. “What do I owe you?” “Nothing,” Frans answered, shaking Billy's hand. “Just promise to send your friends.” “It’s a deal,” he said, leading Connie out the door. “I’m sure we’ll be back soon.” “You’re always welcome.” Frans watched as the couple walked away. Then, being that it was precisely five, he locked the door, changed the placard to closed, and turned off the neon sign. Alone once again, Frans returned to the machine behind the curtain, flipped a few switches, and watched as Marie’s translucent figure, forever young, appeared before him. “Frans, are you there?” Marie mouthed, silently. “I'm here, my love. I’ll always be here.” “I’m so afraid,” she responded. “Please let me go.” “I can’t,” Frans replied, ashamed of his weakness. Marie’s eyes grew red, but she summoned the strength to place her hand on her heart and mouth the words I love you. Then, as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone. Heartbroken, Frans turned to walk upstairs, counting the minutes until he could see his love again, if only for a moment, the next day at the exact same time.


“…Crank up those AC’s, it’s hot out here!” The heat was UN. BEAR. A. BLE. I sat backwards on a kitchen chair with my sweaty chin rested against the headrest. Dizziness engulfed my head while I spun myself round and round for air. My sister laid flat on the counter beside the radio as she fanned herself with a pink folding fan. “…temperatures reaching about—Huh?” The radio broadcast continued, “Hold on folks, we were just informed—NWS issues a warning for an extreme heat-” “Phbbth…!” My little sister, clearly uninterested, blew raspberries. She turned the dial, like, a million times, on the radio station. Crackle…Hissssss “Stop, I was listening to that!” I grabbed the ledge of the counter to stop myself from spinning and swatted her hand away from the knob. “I don’t wanna listen to more newsmen tell us about the heat we’re already feelin’!” She had a point. But she can’t know that. “Dad!” I leaned backwards and shouted out into the doorway. A few seconds later Dad, strolled in with a perky smile on his face. It was hard to see our Dad smile after the divorce with mom a couple years ago. It’s just been the 3 of us since then. Me and my sister being 10 and 4 at the time, I didn’t understand. I hated my Dad for having a side geese. Or piece. Whatever my Mom said. She said he never cared for us. But seeing as she hasn’t shown up for us in 2 years, it’s clear to me now who’s right. “Ah, Sean, stop the fussin’. Just let her have her way.” Dad took a handkerchief out of his pocket, playfully smacking my head. He was all dressed up for work. “Besides, I don’t like you all listening to that channel 35 crap anyway. Their information is unreliable. You’ve got a better weather reporter right here.” “Yeah…” My voice trailed, followed by an awkward laugh. “What’s wrong?” “I just think the guy was gonna report something important. I mean, look at us.” Lifting up my arms, both of my soaking wet armpits could be seen and smelled. “Haha, summer here isn’t like it used to be. Global warming. It’s a nice feeling though, being in that freezing office of ours for hours. Boss can afford blasting AC’s 24/7 but not a raise.” He muttered.

“Anyway, don’t be anxious, buddy. I’m on the air in a few minutes and tonight at 6. Just keep WOAA on the radio and I’ll keep you updated.”

He came forward and pecked me on the forehead. Before he could peck my sister, she stopped him. “Daddy, who makes summer? I want them to make it rain” Dad scoffed out a laugh and ruffled her hair. “Silly, we talk about this every day. I’ll tell you all about it after work, okay? I have to get going.” He looked around the kitchen. “I’ll buy water on the way back too. Just wait here.” In a split second, he grabbed his keys and was out the door.

I was left to watch my sister until he got off at 9.

I smacked my lips, thinking of what to do in the meantime. “You want a popsicle?” She reluctantly shook her head. “Are you sure?” “I do. But I checked. They’re all melty.” “In the freezer?” I almost didn’t believe her. But I checked for myself, pulling open the freezer door. It was all mush. I sighed and rested my head against the freezer in defeat. Distant screams could be heard outside the window. My mood changed, peering out the window. “It’s the neighbors, they have a pool! Get your swimsuit and go play. I’ll wait by the radio.”

She squealed excitedly. No way Janelle would say no to that.

*** Hours had passed; the scorching heat had only worsened. After she swam, we continued to sit around in the kitchen. Just sitting. Listening to the radio static, patiently waiting for Dad to come on and tell us everything was gonna be okay. “Change it, Janelle.” I said, giving up. “Just go put your show on TV.”

“Daddy said to wait.” “Daddy also said he would be on at 6. It’s 7. I'm sick of waiting on people who lie.” Janelle poked her lip out and whined when I tried to change the station myself. That wasn’t gonna work on me. Realizing this, she bear hugged the radio, grasping for dear life. “Get away!!!” She shouted, slurring her speech a bit.

A burning sensation struck my hand once I grabbed her arm. My heart skipped. I was so focused on waiting like a sitting duck I didn’t realize how sickly my sister looked. Playing outside must have made her worse.

Quickly I looked across the street; the neighbor’s pool had evaporated and the hose was cut off. I ran towards the sink, pushing and pulling the handles. Nothing. Janelle’s hair was soaked and steaming, and her skin looked rashly. She was gonna die if I waited; I just knew.

“Get up, I have to get Dad; he’ll know what to do.” Janelle lifted her head, she was surely having a heatstroke. But she’s stubborn and wouldn’t let her hands off of the radio. Think. Fast.

My eyes shifted to the useless fridge. I wrapped my arms around her and the radio and carried her down the steps. My shoe almost stuck to the wood. The creaking of the steps intensified. The heat expanded the boards. Dad taught us that. I opened the deep freezer and pulled out pounds of meat, it was cold enough.

“Please stay here, I’m gonna come back with Dad.” She didn’t respond, but she held her grip on the radio. I thought her fingers would snap. I grabbed an icepack from the freezer, darted up the steps, and ran for the door. Twisting the doorknob, another burst of painstaking heat was sent straight through my hand. Fanning my hand, I quickly grabbed an oven mitt hanging up. THUD The hinges on the door were completely melted and the door fell clean off. I scanned the neighborhood. People were halfway hung out of their windows. Cars were melting into the driveway. My bike had been sitting under the tree all day. The tires still bubbled. I took the chance. With an icepack in hand, pressed against my head, and an oven mitt in the other, I picked up my bike and headed for Dad’s job. “It’s not too far.” My voice could hardly be heard beyond the squishing of my tires and the groaning and cries of the neighbors. “I can fix this.” I pedaled with all my might. The sun beamed down onto my skin. My blood boiled, almost in a literal sense. *** It was difficult to breathe, but I had made it, with my face drenched in sweat and my skin broken out in hives. Those big red WOAA letters had made it all worth it. “DAD!” I tried to yell, but nothing clear came out. I had no solid plan from here on out. My eyes felt hot, and not because of the heat. I began to realize Dad couldn’t do anything but comfort us. Be there for his kids. That’s all I wanted.

Oh man. He was dead. I just knew. I threw the, now useless, bike down and slumped towards the entrance. There wasn’t any power left in me to run. Every breath I took felt like I was stabbed with a pin a thousand times. The ice pack had melted into a plastic mush. With my oven mitt still intact, I pushed the entrance door. To my left, an empty reception desk. To my right, a board with a list of rooms and names. My eyes focused and unfocused too fast to make anything out of it. Straight down the hall was a big, red sign with an arrow pointing left.

‘ON AIR’ The feeling of relief washed over me. It had to be him. The silence was deafening. I tried lifting my leg up to walk, but I dropped onto the floor. I couldn’t even cry if I wanted to. I dropped everything from my hands for support. On my hands and knees, I slowly crawled down the hall. My ears rang every time I made a move.

The red light from the sign shined on my face. To my right, a hallway that led to stairs. To my left, multiple doors. Just one stood out. A glass door. It stood directly at an angle facing the wall. I could see inside, just not far enough. I tried to move, but there was a jitter in my knees. My body completely collapsed. My shoes had melted to the floors. I couldn’t even feel my skin anymore. Maybe my mind was so overwhelmed to even remember what pain was. Or maybe for the fact that my nerves were dying. I knew that. I looked up at the door and squinted. Was I delirious? Is it my heatstroke? It looked cold. So cold that you could see the condensation on the glass door. Even from how far I was. I thought about all the times Dad complained about how cold his job was. His slackoff boss was a blessing after all. I thought about Janelle. I thought about Dad. I wanted in. I wanted in bad . With the last inch of strength in my body, I dug my nails into the wood floors until they bled, pulling my body closer and closer to the door. A wonky smile crept onto my lips. The further I inched towards the door, the more I saw inside. Half of a man’s body could be seen leaning up against something. I knew that corduroy suit from anywhere. “DAD!” I could hardly even think of screaming.

My fingers gripped the small space between the floorboards. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled. My arms trembled. I completely pulled myself up to the door, huffing out my last few breaths. My head lay against the ground. Paralyzed. I peaked open my eyes. There he was. Far. In the back of the room. With a woman wrapped in his arms, leaned up against a table. Her belly poked out. He turned his head, just enough for me to see his face. He was smiling that smile he had earlier. Perky. Happy. Unaware of the pain and suffering that was going on around him. Dad looked down at his watch and moved, with the woman, towards the center of the room. There was a backdrop where they record live weather reports and a table straight across. It wasn’t a normal table; I knew that. It had buttons. When he clicked one of the buttons, the solid light from the ‘ON AIR’ sign flickered.

My hand slid towards the door. I knocked. I couldn’t scream, or shout, or open the door. I knocked the quietest knock. Dad’s head snapped towards me.

I couldn’t scream, or shout, or ask dad to help me. My eyes spoke for me. I cried with the last bit of hydration left in my body. Hand still on the control console, his eyes widened with hurt. He knows he has to save me. Save Janelle. Save this hell of a summer. The woman wrapped her arm around his. Dad picked up the mic on the console. “Hello, hello, folks! James here, broadcasting to your radio station LIVE from WOAA. Heatwave warning. Heat-Wave-War-Ning!” Still locking eyes with me, he separated his words with urgency. I could hear the woman crying into his arm. Dad moved to another end of the console; there were multiple colored knobs. He turned to look at me again.

There was no urgency. And she wasn’t crying. She was laughing. Still holding eye contact, he rested his fingers on the orange and yellow knob. He twisted, slowly. He picked up the microphone. Mom was right. No. Janelle was right. “…Let’s crank up the heat.” People do control summer.