It was a typically troublesome day at work. Grumpy clients, uncooperative employees, late vendors, and typical tech problems, all just making me wonder, “Is it worth it?” I finally got it all sorted out, tidied up my desk and my desktop, the physical and the digital, and headed for the door. I never looked forward to my commute home, knowing that it was always at least 45 minutes of anxiety, stopping, starting, asking Siri if there was a faster route. Finally pulled into my driveway, parked, headed toward the front door, noticed that the light was on in the typically dark dining room just to the left of the entry. As I opened the door, I was struck by this vaguely familiar clickety-clack sound coming from the dining room. I pushed the door open and saw my sweet, beautiful wife, Anita, typing on my old, antique type-writer. “What the heck are you doing,” I asked. I was stunned to see her typing. “Just working on my to-do list. I’m almost done, wait a minute.” She punched in a few more letters, hit the return handle, pulled the paper out, folded it in half, jumped out of her chair, “OK, I’m ready, let’s go.” It was our typical Friday routine. We headed out to our favorite pizza place to pick up our traditional pepperoni dinner. As we backed out of the driveway, I had to ask, “So, what in the world got you typing . . . instead of using your laptop or your tablet?” “Remember when my Mom moved in with us, when we lived in Chicago?  She was writing a to-do list on scrap paper, on the backs of receipts, on used envelopes.  At that time, the typewriter was set up in the spare bedroom, and I knew she knew how to type, so I suggested she use it. She jumped at the idea and started using it every day, remember?” “I do remember, now that you mention it. So that’s why you drug it out and set it up, just because your Mom liked it?” “No, don’t you remember? She used to rave about it, saying it was like magic. She would type something on her list and then the next day it was done. She swore that half or more of her to-do stuff just got done all by itself—and she credited the magic typewriter,” she laughed. “And, you believed her? You do remember that she had some short-term memory issues---could that have explained the “magic”?” “Of course!  But, there were a couple of things that didn’t make sense. Like one day she put on her list that she wanted to call her former neighbor---Mrs. Brian, she hadn’t talked to in 20 years—but then early the next morning Mrs. Brian called her. I know, it could’ve just been coincidence, but what are the odds? Anyway, I was going through that stack of boxes in the garage, stumbled on the typewriter, so brought it in—and here’s what happened,” she handed him a piece of paper. “It’s my “to-do” list from the other day.” He lifted it to eye level and read the first line, “Win the lottery!” He stared at her for a second, “So, you’re thinking that $200 scratch-off winner you had the other day came from typing this in on the “magic typewriter”?” We enjoyed our pizza and dessert with sporadic conversation about the magic typewriter. I had a hard time believing the “magic” thing, but was willing to listen. “Does it hurt that I might, kinda, sorta believe it might be true?” Still with a big smile on her face, “Why don’t we try again, just to see? Not something too outrageous, but something imaginative? What do you think?” A great idea jumped into my head, “Not to say I believe this, but you know we were just talking to our daughter about coming home for Spring Break and she didn’t seem too interested. How about we type that on your list, not mine, I think we need to keep it yours. Let’s type it on there, maybe put something about an email? And, then wait and see what happens.” I wasn’t that enthusiastic about the whole thing but would really like to see our daughter next month. My wife turned, put another piece of paper in the typewriter, typed in, “Get an email that Melissa’s coming home for Spring Break!” She pulled the page out and quickly walked into the kitchen and tacked the page to the corkboard on the wall, “That’s what I did with the “Lottery” page.” We agreed to avoid email until mid-morning the next day. Melissa never returned emails late in the day nor very early in the mornings, so we figured the earliest we would hear anything would be mid-morning the next day.

My clock went off, as usual, at 6:00 am, I headed downstairs, turned on the coffee pot, took the mugs down out of the cabinet, got the flavored creamer out of the refrigerator, headed back upstairs to wake my wife. She was already awake, slowly got out of bed, slipped into her slippers, and followed me back down. We sat in the den, had a couple of sips of coffee, a quick breakfast.  An hour later, I turned on my laptop, waited for it to boot up, “Are you ready to check emails?” “I guess, it’s probably too early but what the heck.” I logged into my email, and there it was, a message from our daughter, titled, “Good News!” The text was, “Great news, I’m coming home for Spring Break, and even BETTER news, I got a free ticket from my friend Mike who works for the Airline. I’ll call later to go over the details, LOVE YOU guys!!” I was paralyzed, then shivering, then breathless, much because my beloved daughter was coming home soon, but more because, suddenly, I realized we have this magic typewriter. What would we do next? My wife and I took a minute to catch our breaths, then she asked just what I was thinking, “So, what are we gonna do next?  You want to make a list, by hand or on the computer before we type it up?” “Yes, we’ll make a list . . . but we got to give this some thought. I don’t want us to be too greedy, we need to be careful of limits there may be. Maybe we can help others, maybe someone we care about with a terrible illness or something like that.” “Good thinking, I already have some ideas,” and she was now smiling again. We made a list, ten things. Then we decided to type them up two at a time, then wait to see the results. It turned out by the end of that week, we got nearly all of our wishes. We both knew there were many other wishes we could type up, but agreed to wait a few more days. Melissa was coming home the next day, so we spent our evening planning for the visit, where we would go out to eat, where else we might go to shop or just hang out, and then we agreed, we will give her the typewriter. It wasn’t even something we had to discuss. I could sense it from the moment I discovered Anita typing—her short list, under “Win the Lottery” was just the one word, “Melissa.” Nothing specific. I didn’t need details but apparently the typewriter did, so we’d give that to Melissa and let her handle that. She had many more wishes than I did and they were more . . . important, I guess would be the right word. She was just about two years into her brave transition to her correct gender and I couldn’t be there to protect her from the ignorance, hatred, and ill will she might face. Maybe the magic typewriter could do it for me, I prayed.


Kevin dimmed the lights in the basement and joined his friends, legs crossed Indian-style, in a circle on the old concrete floor. He picked up an old aluminum flashlight from behind him and illuminated the underside of his chin. “Legend has it, that before my mom and dad bought this house, and before the old man they bought it from moved to Florida, that the old couple who lived here were in cahoots with real live witches.” The kids in the circle, all pimply middle school boys, hung onto Kevin’s every word. “Where’s cahoots?” asked a chubby, bespectacled seventh-grader named Johnny. “Beats me,” said Kevin. “I heard my parents talking about it with Aunt Teresa and Uncle Mike. I think it’s someplace in the Bahamas.” A resounding oooohhh of understanding rang through the circle of preteens. “Anyway, they must have brought back some of these witches from cahoots to stay with them in our house – right here in this basement. They practiced all kinds of rituals down here in this exact spot.” Eddy, one of the more mature looking kids in the group, snuck a glance over his shoulder just to be sure the boys were alone. To his alarm – they weren’t. “G-g-guys…” The boys who were next to him didn’t seem to hear him. Eddy could hear Kevin sharing the tale of the witches who lived in the basement but couldn’t quite make out the words. The sound of his own heartbeat filled his ears. In the far corner of the room, just barely visible with the light refracting on the ceiling, stood a figure in a long velvet robe. A woman with a pale face and sunken eyes swayed and mumbled something under her breath. Eddy jumped up from his spot in the circle. “Cut it out, Kev!” Kevin continued his story, which held the intense concentration of all of the boys in the circle. “They wore red robes, the color of blood, so when they did their sacrifices the stains wouldn’t show. And their faces were pale and glowed like the light of a full moon. There were two of them, a woman and a man. Both uglier than demons.” Eddy’s gaze snapped to the other side of the room at the sound of a light thump. He shivered as the old man, bent and disfigured, stood stark naked in the dark edges of the room. The hideous woman followed his lead and dropped her cloak, baring all. “According to the legend, the ones who can see the witches are never seen again,” Kevin said. “The witches make them vanish from sight.” Eddy kneeled down to Kevin and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Dammit, Kevin! Can’t you see them?” Kevin froze and his eyes bulged. His story cut short. “Shit,” Kevin said. The other kids sat quietly as the silence added to their fear. “What’s wrong?” asked Johnny. “I f-feel them… one of the witches… they’re right in front of us.” Eddy realized Kevin seemed to be looking directly through him. He moved over to a tiny boy named Pete and grabbed his arm. “Don’t just sit there!” Pete screamed and fought to yank himself free as he felt two invisible hands pulling him up off of the floor. “They’ve got me! Help!!” The other kids jumped into action to yank Pete free from the grasp of the invisible force. “No, it’s me! Guys, I’m right in front of you,” Eddy said. He spun around from his cowering friends and saw the two witches were inching closer, chanting their indistinguishable words in unison. The boys who were before him just a moment ago were already halfway up the stairs. Eddy sprinted up after them. The door to the basement was forced shut. The boys pounded on the door and cried out for help. Eddy tried to shove past them, which only added to their panic. “Shit! Get the flashlight,” Kevin said. The boys trudged down the stairs in a near stampede, as Eddy clung to the stair rail for support. He realized none of them could see him, but even worse, none of them could see the two witches. Kevin picked up the flashlight and shone it around the room. The beam stopped directly on the belly of the naked man. “I don’t see anything, do you guys?” A silver dagger gleamed in the man’s hand as he held it high in the air. Eddy sprinted toward Kevin and tackled him to the ground just as the dagger came slashing downward. Kevin seemingly flew through the air via some unseen force, and hit the ground, which knocked the air from his lungs and sent him gasping for air. The female witch held a wire clay cutter by the handles and began to wrap the thin wire around Johnny’s throat. “Johnny, look out!” Eddy yelled from his crouched position by Kevin. It was too late. The witch pulled the handles in opposite directions and began to strangle the kid. Eddy pulled himself up from the floor and grabbed an old chair from the corner of the room. “Look, Johnny’s choking!” yelled Pete. Johnny grabbed at the imaginary wire around his neck. His face began to turn an unsettling shade of reddish-purple. The old chair seemed to levitate from its spot at the edge of the room. Johnny winced as he braced for the chair to hit him, but instead, the chair shattered into splinters less than a foot from him. Johnny dropped to the ground as the witch let go of the wire handles. The boys were in full panic again. “Forget the flashlight!” Kevin yelled. The boys raced back up the stairs again. Eddy picked up a splinter of the chair and swung at the witches as they trudged toward him with angry, sunken eyes. Eddy backed toward the corner of the room opposite the stairs and knocked over the old metal shelves which held an array of household junk. The boys took turns pounding and shoving against the door, to no avail. Kevin stood still as if stricken by something. “Where’s Eddy?” The other boys stopped their pounding. “What do you mean?” asked Pete. “Right here…” The boys looked around blindly, but were struck with confusion. As the witches continued their unnatural hobble toward Eddy, he knocked over another shelving unit and a can of paint thinner clanked onto the floor. The thinner filled the air with fumes. Eddy felt blindly in the dark for anything that might protect him. His hands rested on a pile of old bricks, which he threw at the two approaching figures, but the blocks only seemed to irritate the witches more as they inched closer. Pete hurried down the stairs and spotted the bricks levitating, then flying, then stopping against some invisible force. “Do you guys…” he said. “Do you think it’s Eddy?” Kevin inched toward the commotion and stopped with plenty of space between himself and the airborne bricks. “Eddy!” His name cut through the sound of his own heartbeat with a resounding clarity. Suddenly, Eddy appeared, brick in hand, to the boys. “Guys! They’re right in front of me,” Eddy shouted. “Who?” they all asked. “The witches!” Eddy realized the witches had vanished from his sight. “Th-they were right there a second ago. I could see them…” Eddy’s voice grew weak and he began to cough as a hand hoisted him up from the ground. His feet kicked and swung as he levitated a few inches from the ground. “Holy shit…” Johnny said. The boys all looked at each other and seemed to come to an agreement. “He fought for us,” Kevin said. “We’ll fight for him. Aaaaaah!!” The boys all charged toward the unseen witches in an effort to save Eddy. Pete ran himself into the wall, running just shy of the figures, but the other boys managed to tackle them to the ground. Eddy fell to the floor and gasped for breath. He’d fallen on a box of matches, which had spilled from their box onto the concrete floor. He picked up a handful along with the box and stumbled over to the paint thinner can. “Get back!” he yelled. The boys moved aside as Eddy splashed the paint thinner into the open air before him. He struck a match and lit the fumes ablaze in a bright orange burst of fire. The boys lept backward from the power of the intense heat and gasped as the witches appeared before them in flaming glory. They watched as the figures writhed and let out an unearthly scream before collapsing to ashes at their feet. They all stood there in a moment of awe before they heard the basement door unlatch itself. Johnny looked up to Eddy and gave him a big squeeze. “Thanks for saving my life, Eddy.” he said. The other boys joined in. “Thanks for saving mine,” Eddy said. The boys started back up the stairs. The flames grew tamer before they fizzled out entirely. “That should send them back to cahoots once and for all,” Kevin said. They latched the basement door behind them and vowed never to talk of the witches in cahoots ever again.


Katie went on her first date today. I’m not upset. I mean, you have to expect someone to date again after a relationship ends. It’s been a whole year; I’m surprised she even waited that long. That doesn’t mean I liked it, though. I followed them to the restaurant. I wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything; I just wanted to see what he was like. Not that she’d even notice I was there. Oh, what I’d give for her to notice me again. His hair is the same color as mine, but he’s a little taller. Got a nice beard, too. I think I heard her call him Mark. He had a pretty classy suit on, and he made her laugh. More than once. But, it’s okay; she’s allowed to date other people. In fact, I want her to. I don’t want her to stay alone just because of what happened last year. Last year. I remember that night as if it were yesterday. The stars twinkled brightly as I hung up the phone, started my little black sedan, and pulled out of my driveway that cold December night. The scarf she’d given me was wrapped around my neck and the ring I was going to give her was tucked away safely in my pocket. But, oh, how quickly life can change. Anyways, she had on the green dress she wore to our first date around three years ago. Her red hair flowed down her back like a waterfall reflecting the waning sunlight, and her green eyes shone like emeralds every time she laughed at his corny jokes. The same way she used to laugh at mine. But, instead of a quip or a riddle, the last words I would ever say to her composed a lie. I’d give anything to change that. I sunk down into an empty chair across the room and watched her over Mark’s shoulder. Usually I would think that’d be a creepy thing to do, but I don’t really care anymore. Katie seemed happy. She smiled a lot, almost too much. But I could just be jealous. Just once she glanced in my direction, and my heart seemed to flutter into a rhythm again for the first time in a year. But, soon enough, that familiar glazed look settled over her eyes, and I was painfully reminded of the fact that I didn’t exist in her world anymore. They sat and talked for maybe half an hour after they finished eating. She seemed tired, and it looked like he offered to walk her home. I followed them at a pretty safe distance; it just didn’t feel right for me to get too close. I heard her say my name, although I didn’t hear why. She was bound to bring me up eventually, though; we were together for two whole years. Snow began to fall as they disappeared around the corner of her street. I didn’t have a coat, but I wasn’t cold. The snowflakes seemed to drift right through me and nestle into where my footprints should have been. But it didn’t bother me. Nothing does anymore. I stopped living the night I lost her. My heart ceased to beat and time moved on without me. Katie was no longer mine, and nothing else mattered to me anymore.                The pair paused at the bottom of the stairs leading up to her door. I half expected him to lean in for a kiss, but instead he placed his hands on her shoulders and spoke to her softly.                I moved a couple steps closer, and I heard her speak for the first time since that night.                “I had a lovely evening, Mark,” she whispered as she swiped at the tears brimming in her eyes, “but I’m just not ready yet.”                Mark gave her a reassuring smile. His voice was oddly comforting, even to me. “I understand, and I’ll be here when you are.” He squeezed her shoulder and we watched him disappear into the night.                Katie mounted the steps to her doorway and paused as sobs suddenly caught in her throat. She leaned heavily against the metal railing and covered her mouth with her gloved hand as tears streamed down her cheeks.                I dashed forward from the shadows and leapt up the first two steps before I realized what I was doing. Shivering and sobbing silently, Katie slumped back against her screen door and slid to the ground, clutching her necklace in her fingers. Her gaze passed right through me as I caught a glimpse of the pendant in her palm. On a silver chain around her neck hung the diamond ring I’d intended for her finger. I froze as a shiver rattled up my spine, and an icy feeling I wasn’t used to anymore stole into my chest and gripped my heart. I was so caught up in my own misery that I had forgotten something very important: I loved Katie, but Katie loved me, too. Only one heart beat between the two of us. Only one pair of lungs heaved in and out with each sob, and only one set of fingers grasped the ring suspended round her neck. But two people died that night, one year ago, in the wreckage of a small, black sedan. I told her I’d see her in a bit. I never thought it’d be the last thing I’d say to her. I don’t know what happened after the accident. I don’t know who called my parents, who told Katie, who gave her the ring. They did something I wasn’t able to. But there I stood, on Katie’s front porch, surrounded by snow but not covered by it, as the woman I killed with my death wept on the ground before me. Katie drew her knees up and huddled against her screen door, sobbing into her gloves as snowflakes salted her navy-blue coat. I crouched beside her as the flurries fell through me and raised a transparent hand to her cheek, knowing that, should I try to touch her, she’d only slip through my fingers one last time. If I was capable of tears, we’d have filled an ocean as I settled down beside her in the doorway. Her breathing seemed to slow down now, and she wiped her eyes with the thumbs of her gloves. She peered down at the ring in her fingers, turning it over reverently in her hands. “Oh, my darling,” I whispered soundlessly, “I know you can’t hear me.” I turned and faced her, crossing my legs in front of me and gazed intently into the vibrant green eyes that couldn’t meet my own. “But, if you could, this is what I’d say to you. “I told you that night that I’d see you in a bit. If I’d known those would be my last words, I’d have chosen them more carefully. “I’d have told you that I love you with all of my heart and that every minute closer to slipping that ring on your finger was the best minute of my life. I’d have told you that you are the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen. I was only allowed two years with you, and it wasn’t enough for me. But every second with you was one more than I deserved, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” Katie leaned her head against the door and gazed pensively past me. I tried to remind myself that she wasn’t really listening. “But,” I continued anyway, “I didn’t. I didn’t get to say any of that.” I straightened my back and squared my shoulders. “So, I’ll say it now. “Katie, I love you with all of my heart. Every minute closer to slipping that ring on your finger was the best minute of my life, and you are the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen.” A sob caught in my throat, catching me by surprise. If I didn’t know better, I could’ve sworn that tears began to brim in my eyes. “We only got two years.” My voice cracked. “And it wasn’t enough.” Katie sucked in a deep breath, cutting off my contemplation. She swiped her hands over her eyes and, tucking the necklace back into her jacket, swayed to her feet. I stood up as the screen door swung open, passing through me and reminding me that I wasn’t really there. Sniffling, she pulled out her keys and bent over the lock. I stepped aside and started down the staircase, waiting to hear the door open behind me. It didn’t. I turned around, and Katie was staring at me. Well, I thought she was. Her eyes quivered as they searched the empty space in front of them, convincing me that she still couldn’t see me. But then she spoke. “If you can hear me,” Katie begged of the night sky, “then know this, my darling.” A solitary tear trickled down her cheek. “I’ve always loved you, and I always will.”                With these words, Katie turned around and disappeared through the doorway.                I stood on the stair for what seemed like years. The snow ceased to fall, and the silence of a winter night settled in around me. She left me with just eight words.                But they were enough.                And for a moment, just one moment, I could’ve sworn I felt my heart beat again.


Mina Shi sold seafood from all over the galaxy. The price depended on the distance an item had traveled and its availability. Mina specialized in the exotic, but she sold everything from the small purple barnacles found on every shore of Ee-ha, to rare earthen Tuna. She rose early each evening to unload her wares, carefully positioning her more flashy specimens so their scales or shells reflected the bright white light of Ee-ha’s extraordinary moon.

As she waited for the market to fill up, the silent heat of twilight would dissipate and the desert flowers would unfurl, soaking up the moonlight. The evening was slow, but as the ground cooled, her customers would arrive in droves, crowding the market with their bright clothes and rhythmic, breathy voices.

After deciding to start her import business on the newly booming planet of Ee-ha, Mina had done extensive market research to figure out what would sell best. She had settled on seafood because it was immensely popular with Ee-ha’s native race, the La-ha-ma. It had traditionally been sourced locally, but Mina thought the La-ha-ma would appreciate the novelty of supplementing their diet with seafood from other planets. She loved to watch the graceful, translucent La-ha-ma as they swayed through the market. When they stopped at her stall, they would buy any creature with an exoskeleton. The bones strengthened the clear shell in which their jelly-like bodies were encased. During a transaction the nerve conglomerates in their heads would light up in dynamic patterns. These patterns flashed, matching the rhythm of their voices. The rhythm in which they spoke indicated their emotions. She hadn't quite learned the art of it yet, but from what she could tell, as a whole, the La-ha-ma seemed polite and gentle. Mina had been living on Ee-ha for two standards now. She mostly stuck with the alien

community. She had a few close human friends and there were some other aliens, mainly Bogogo and Leki, with whom she shyly exchanged pleasantries. Mina had grown up in a small, purely human colony only a few light years away from the solar system. At times she found the diversity of thought, speech, and movement here on Ee-ha utterly overwhelming. She felt as if she were floating, as if she had nothing to latch onto. She had visited Earth a few times when she was younger and though the human capital was far more cosmopolitan, it was grounded in her culture. She could read the faces, follow the patterns.

Every night when the Moon reached its zenith, the La-ha-ma would dance. Spinning in throbbing, undulating circles, their nerves would synchronize to the same intricate beat. Foreigners would watch, entranced. But the music was far too complicated, too intrinsically La-ha-ma for them to join.

With a small tired smile, Mina watched the La-ha-ma dance from behind her counter. She made a game of trying to track the beat, imagining how it could be recorded in human musical notation. She stirred up dust with her tapping, but her toes soon got confused. A human man approached her counter. She looked up from her dusty sandals. “Tim!” Her smile widened. “What can I do for you tonight?” The English felt good in her mouth.

“Hi, Mina, do you mind if I join you under there? I need a break from this moon.”

“Come on in. But aren't there less stinky places to shelter?” “I’ll tolerate the stink if it comes with your company.”

She gestured to the chair pushed up against the back wall of her stall.

It was a family heirloom: small, oak, and painted red with little blue and yellow flowers. It was one of the only things her great grandmother had brought with her from Earth after the cost of living had gotten too high for her to remain on her home world.

“That’s a nice chair.” “It was my grandmother’s.”

“Are you sure you're okay with my fat ass squashing it?” “I sit back there when I am feeling lonely.” She laughed softly, pushing him into the chair.

“Told you, I barely fit.”

“It’s a bit snug,” she conceded, crouching beside him. She traced patterns in the dust with her broken fingernails as she sat in companionable silence, listening to the throbbing music. Tim’s long hair brushed her arm, the one that was drawing in the dust. “You used to sing.” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah you did! The first night I met you, remember? At that dingy little bar where all the humans used to congregate, before it closed? You did the most brilliant rendition of “Here Comes the Sun”. You looked radiant. Sure, you were blasted. So was I, but I couldn’t forget something like that.”

She gestured to the shimmering spectacle in front of them. “It's so exquisite, so full… What do you even call this—a symphony?” She chuckled.

“An orgy?”

“It's nothing like the Beatles, that's for sure.” He stood up. “I just had an idea! Why don’t we go get something to eat, wait for them to finish, then start a little dance party of our own.”

“Who would want to listen to a couple humans screech after that?”

The music had reached a crescendo, distilling itself into single excruciating harmony with the big glaring moon.

“They impress the hell out of the moon every night. I think some human screeching would be refreshing.” He smiled, taking her hand. “Maybe we can give the moon a break.”

“I’ll think about it over lunch.”

“Great! Will you consider my proposition more favorably if I buy?” She grinned. “It’s worth a try.” “What do you feel like eating?”

“No fish.”

“We could go to my bakery. I just got a new shipment of sourdough starter from Earth. You know the best bread is made with human air.” She snorted. “You're so cheap.”

“Shipping sourdough starter all the way from Earth was definitely not cheap!”

“A sandwich actually sounds delicious. Do you have any rye?”

“Let’s go see if I still have some left. My rye is a best seller.”

As they walked through the market, Mina could feel the music swell inside her. She wished it would burst, shaking the desert, the moon, and her feet. The market was a mess of ingenuity, necessity, and beauty. They passed shops selling every sort of material: tangled

wires and scratched computer chips, cheap clothes, vast arrays of vibrant spices, pots and pans, useless antiques. It all started to look the same after a while, just stuff, just atoms. But Mina never tired of the smell. It was an amalgamation of each person’s own delicate passion. The force of it was staggering, but if she concentrated individual details would reveal themselves, blossoming into something extraordinary. That is, in part, why she chose to sell fish; she wanted to contribute something pungent.

They arrived at Tim’s bakery. It was lit with cheery yellow light and was devoid of any decoration except a couple pixel drawings his five-year-old son had scribbled. He bounded into the tiny kitchen. “Haha! I found some rye! What do you want on it?”

“Do you have any of that paste made from fermented Toga Beans that Bogogo put on everything?”

“Togeeamo? Sure, I love that stuff! It reminds me a little of miso.” Tim slathered a slice of rye with a dark green paste. He passed the bread to Mina, collapsing onto a stool. “God, I miss Earth!”

Mina sighed, nibbling the crust of her bread. “Let’s throw a dance party.”

“Really!” “Yeah, my only condition is that you bring Liam.” “Of course, we need someone to teach how to dance. He’s napping now, but I’ll wake him up before we go.”

“This...”—Mina waved her arms, attempting to articulate her praise through a mouthful of bread— “...is delicious.”

After they had finished their bread, they walked into the kitchen and up the narrow set of stairs that led to Tim’s apartment. It was small, but comfortable, with thick walls that kept out the burning daytime heat.

“Soren!”

Tim called. “I am home.”

A gangly man in his mid thirties exited the bedroom. “Shh! You will wake him up.” Soren whispered. Catching sight of Mina, he paused his scolding.

“Hi, Mina, I didn’t see you there.” He turned back to Tim. “What’s going on? I didn’t expect you back up here till dawn.”

“I actually came to wake Liam up. We are going to have a dance party and we thought he would want to join.”

“A dance party? I am so confused.”

“I am still a bit confused myself. “ Mina laughed. “I think Tim was inspired by the La-ha-ma’s midnight ritual, and thought we could do our own human version in the market square. I agreed to sing. I don't know what possessed him to suggest it, or me to agree. But we are both feeling lonely and thought some familiar music would be nice.”

Soren sighed, chucking softly. “It’s a sweet idea. I am feeling a bit lonely today as well. But I just got Liam to sleep!”

“Come on! We need someone to break the ice. Five year olds have no inhibitions.”

“Alright, but it’s your fault if he starts screaming later.” “I wouldn’t blame him. I feel like screaming all the time these days. That’s why we need this.” Tim and Soren entered the bedroom where a small boy with bushy black hair and freckles was crashed on the mattress. “Hey, buddy. We are going to have a dance party. Want to come?”

The little boy jumped out of bed, regarding his parents with curiosity. “A party?”

“Yeah, out in the square. Aunty Mina is going to sing and we’re going to dance. Maybe we can even get some other people to dance with us!”

“Can I bring Mo?” Liam asked, clutching a scraggly stuffed tiger.

“Yeah! I bet Mo is a very dignified dancer, look at those stripes.”

“What does dignified mean?” “Hmm… lets see…

it's used to describe someone who looks put together no matter what they are doing. Hey Soren, do you remember the La-ha-ma word for dignified?”

“I think it’s See-hey”

Liam started laughing. “You sound silly.”

Soren whispered to Mina. “He says that everytime I try to speak La-ha-ma. I think my rhythm must be grossly off or something, but I can never get him to elaborate.”

Tim threw the little boy on his shoulders. “Lets go!” They walked down the stairs, out through the bakery, and into the square. The La-ha-ma had already finished their dance and the crowds had dissipated and bit, but there were still plenty of people milling about.

“I’ll be back in a sec.” Tim caught sight of something, bounding off.

“Shall we look for a suitable place?” Soren asked Mina.

“I have no idea what to look for.” She stared down at her hands. “I can't believe we are doing this. What if we offend some sacred law and they start throwing things? Or what if everyone just laughs.”

“I think the laughing is a given, but I can never tell when other species are laughing anyway. As for breaking some sacred law? I have seen plenty of other people sing in the square. I don’t think anyone will be offended.”

“Alright. How about over there?”

Mina pointed to the out of the way corner sandwiched between an abandoned retailer and a fruit stand. “If we are going to do this, we might as well go for it.” He gestured to an empty patch of ground right beside the packed clay parapet surrounding the square’s central garden.

“What the hell was I thinking?” Mina groaned. Tim returned, carrying a small package. “For you.” He grinned, tossing the package to Mina.

WIth trepidation, Mina opened the plastic box. Inside was an old-fashioned handheld microphone. “Where did you find one of these!”

“I spotted one lying on top of a junk heap back there. I couldn’t believe it!”

“Weirdly perfect.” She muttered.

Tim threw back his head and arms, addressing the moon, and yelled “Serendipity!” Mina clutched the microphone. Sighing, she stepped up onto the garden parapet. She bit her lip, savoring a secret smile, and sang,

“Here comes the sun, do, dun, do, do…”

Liam threw his stuffed tiger into the air and started to bounce.

“It’s alright…”


One year ago the ARA San Juan submarine disappeared in the Atlantic ocean during a training exercise. One distress call was made before its disappearance. The wreckage was just discovered 500km off the coast of Comodoro Rivadavia in southern Argentina. 44 Crew members were on board, none were recovered, one body com-suit has been found.

15 th November 2019  Com-suit 24# Engineman: Mundo-Maravilloso Com-suit connected “Hello, hello, checking Alpha Bravo Charlie, on. Date is fifteenth of the eleventh twenty nineteen in the year of our lord, and the time is-(static break)-ten hundred hours. Fire outbreak in the forward batteries, repeat, fire in the forward batteries.” -(muffled movement)- -(unidentified voices)- “Crew members Oruga and Alicia are with me, we are dousing the fire with hydrants. Two batteries are lit. Distress call should be being made. –(Static)- -(muffled movement)-” “OUT? OUT.” “Repeat fire has been doused. Time, ten hundred and ten hours. Damage has been done to the forward batteries and I am disconnecting, Sub will use aft batteries to continue on. Alicia would you mind telling Commander? Yeah, -(unintelligible voice)- yeah, it seems to be a water leakage, I’ll follow it and see if I can patch it up.”            -(muffled movements)- “Water is coming from above, which makes me sure that it won’t have gotten into the control compartment, but from somewhere above the crew accommodations. It sprinkling in through the piping and ceiling. A tear perhaps to the hull? We made no collisions though that I’m aware of. Making my way up the crew stairway, steady as she goes.” –(static)- “Ah yup, water is raining in from above the crew corridor, making my way up again to the exhaust system which hopefully hasn’t been damaged too much from the leak. –(muffled movements)- Ah.”            -(static break)- “Time is ten twenty and there is a leak in the snorkel. –(sigh)- Fixing it now.”            -(static blip)- “Time is ten thirty and I’ve just been informed that the distress signal was made, leak has been patched up, and we are still moving with the aft batteries intact. Commander will probably head us towards the first port, and I’m going to check the rest of the exhaust and generators to make sure no water has damaged anything near the rear of the sub.”            -(muffled movement)-            -(static blip)- “Huh, its ten thirty eight and I’m making my way towards the generators and I just noticed more damage? No… a hole? No… Inside the generator room, and there seems to be an odd light coming from beneath Generator 1. Green. Report green light is coming from under the generator. –(muffled movement)- I’m on my stomach looking beneath, I can’t see any, no scratch that, I can’t see any liquid, but the light seems to be coming from a split underneath. Along the floor of the back wall I can see a small line of green light from behind the gen. I can see, a door? No. –(laughter)- -(muffled movement)- Just. Making. My way. Underneath. Report, confirming unidentified door. I have not seen said door before, nor been made aware of its existence. –(voice lowered)- How have I never seen this before? I’ve been on this sub for two years.”            -(unintelligible noise)-            -(high pitched static)- “Ugh, finally, wiggled my way beneath, all the lower of the Gen looks fine, but this door. Its sitting against the back wall, no one could get back here without going beneath. Which isn’t recommended. But it’s small, perhaps a containment hatch? It’s just cut into the side of the hull, a small brass handle sits to one side and… and… confirming, its only a couple of feet tall. I can’t get up, I’m stuck on my stomach touching the door. It’s warm. Solid, and made from the same metal as the hull. –(silence)- But only the pressure hull should be behind here. There’s no way a maintenance shaft or storage space could be there. I don’t understand.”            -(static)- “The doorknob turns, I’m opening the door, it pulls inwards towards me, having to shuffle a little out of the way. –(muffled movement)- It’s… Oh… oh wow. The light was almost blinding as I opened it, green light shining out. Or in. But there is a room. A room! On the other side! How? –(muffled movement)- -(high pitched static)- Just wiggling my way in.”            -(static blip)- “I’m inside. This room should not be here. At all. And it is a room. On what should be the outside of the Sub. I hope my com-suit is still recording, please be recording. I repeat, a room is on the outside of the sub, and the door is behind me, at my feet, only tall enough for me to shuffle in on my stomach. But this room, its like a bubble. A glass dome on the outside of the hull, metal cross work is covering it as though it was made here. Meant to be here. But this is impossible, I’ve never seen this before, it’s not on the plans. It’s carpeted too, the floors I mean. Rugs all over the ground. And lamps, like old fashioned gas lamps line the back of the room behind me, shouldering the door. Why would you put gas lamps in here? In a sub? –(muffled movement)- It’s echoey, I hope you’re picking that up on the suit-com, as though the glass isn’t double paned. But… and here, right by the glass domes front, there’s this giant torch. Like a metal barrel on its side, but pointing towards the window is a giant bulb, a leaver is on its side, I’m guessing it’s switch. Why would you have this here? It comes up to my hip, and looks old fashioned, like a lighthouse lamp. –(metal tapping sounds)- It’s not plugged in, but beside it is a vinyl player. Like, an actual vinyl player, and not the new types either, it’s like the ones you see in old films. Period films. Nineteen forties styled. –(static)-”            -(static blip)- “Maybe this is odd to say, but there’s no dust. No dust at all in here. And it echoes with the sound of the water against the window, and that green light is the light coming in from the ocean. But it should just be darkness out there, a nothingness, and inky swell that is as empty as the backs of your eyes, but its not! It’s green! Glowing darkly green. Glowing inwardly I mean, like the water motions are waving on the carpets, which would only happen if there was light behind it. Behind the water, which there’s not. It just keeps going and going, just as it should. But it’s too bright. The water. It’s too see-able. I shouldn’t be seeing this. –(muffled movement)- -(high pitched static)- My head hurts. –(thud)- -(muffled movement)- Oh! Oh. –(heavy breathing)- The door closed. It closed behind me… -(quieter)- even though its on a rugged carpet, with no wind, or loose hinges.”            -(muffled movement)- “Time is…. Wait. What? Time is zero two hundred hours but, but that isn’t possible. I was just here a couple of minutes it can’t be two, it was ten in the morning how is it now two am? I’m going mad, I don’t understand. –(muffled movement)- I’m getting out. I don’t like this, I need to report to the commander. We should be nearing the docks. I’m at the back of the room, but… what? –(sliding metal sounds)- -(heavy breathing)- The doors gone. –(silence)-”            -(High pitched static)-            -(static blip)- “Time is zero four hundred hours, though I haven’t been in here more than thirty minutes. The door is just non-existent. The back of the room is pure outer-hull metal. There’s no marks, no engravings, no door, no nothing. It’s completely clear. Like it was never even there, but I’m here. And I can’t be here unless there was a door to let me in. To be honest I’m scared. I’m shitting myself. I hope my com-suit is still on, otherwise I’m just talking into nothing. And there’s a whole lot of nothing happening behind me. In the green. The green, green ocean. I can feel it there, watching me, colouring my back with its green light and I don’t want to turn around. I’m worried what I’ll see. What if it’s just watching me, the sea, with its green eye staring in. What if I turn around and it’s black? What if I turn around and it’s gone, and then the room is gone and I’m left floating in the water thousands of miles beneath the waves and I can’t breathe, I can’t think, the pressure at this depths would explode my blood vessels. I’d pop. Out like a light. And nothing separates me and that but that glass dome. That glass dome that’s looking out into that glowing green void that shouldn’t be there. –(heavy breathing)- I’m resting my head against the hull, with my hands up against its cold body, and I want to go home.”            -(static blip)-            -(muffled movement)- “I’m… I’m going to turn around now. I don’t know how long it’s been but it is definitely not the time that my watch is telling me. The door has not returned, but perhaps if I look away it will. So I’m going to look away now. –(muffled movement)- I’m turning, I can see the line of gas lamps to the right, and I can see the side of the dome, it’s darker there than when you look out the front. I’m turning, and now I can see the vinyl player, but I’m keeping my eyes down, I don’t want to look into the green. I can see it though, making patterns on the rugs, swirling and dancing. It’s pretty, like a murmur of birds. Swirling. –(laughter)- It is pretty. Why don’t I look up? The green is obviously still there. –(silence)- I could look up if I wanted to. –(silence)-”            -(static blip)-

           -(static blip)- “Oh… my head. It hurts so much. And my feet, I wonder how long I’ve been standing here, I spaced out for a few moments, but my mouth is so dry it feels like a lifetime. I’ve looked up into the dome and all I see is the green glowing ocean that shouldn’t be green or glowing. But there it is, ebbing. Ebbing. Eb-b-bing. –(heavy breath)- -(thud)- My watch looks better on the floor, it’s broken I think, it’s no longer useful to me. But this light, this vast torch pointing into the unknown, that, that is useful. Of course we would need a lamp into the sea, how else could we see what’s staring back at us. All those life forms, all that life. Just out there, beyond our sight line. What a vast kingdom beyond Human understanding. –(laughter)- -(laughter)- -(laughter)-”            -(high pitched static)-            -(mic pop)- “-(laughter)- Ohhh and the music! The music, of course there would be music! For the light! The light could not be without the song of the sea calling out to it! Oh what music we’ll have here, what music we’ll get to hear! –(muffled movement)- -(scratching sound)- -(whale song)- Oh… oh it’s whales! Do you hear that? –(loud tapping)- Hey do you hear that my com-suit? Whales, oh, oh no what's that? –(unidentified noise)- The song has changed, it’s like a, like a far off screaming sound. Can you hear that? –(high pitched static)- -(unidentified noise)- Agh! –(muffled movement)- Its screaming! Screaming! My hands are over my ears and I can still, still, hear it! I’m backing away. –(static increasing)- -(loud thud)- Oooft. Agh, I backed into the torch, it’s rocking, no, no don’t fall! –(loud click)- Oh! Oh, it’s on. It came on. I caught its handle on my sleeve and it’s shinning. That noise! I wish it would stop, I can’t bring myself to get closer though. It Just Keeps Screaming! Screaming! Screaming! The light! The lamp is shinning white light into the sea, through the domed glass wall and I can see! I can see… –(mic pop)- -(laughter)- What’s that? –(cracking sound)- Wait what is that! –(cracking sound)- -(static)- -(mic pop)- -(mic pop)- WHAT IS THAT! WHAT ARE YOU! OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD! HELP! –(Muffled movements)- -(screaming)- HELP! HELP! HELP ME PLEASE! OH GOD OH- -(screaming)- -(crashing sound)-”

22 nd November 2019 Com-suit 24#

Engineman: Mundo-Maravilloso            Com-suit reporting water fault            Com-suit disconnecting            Com-suit dead


His father managed to drag him out of the house that afternoon after relentlessly pestering him all through the day. They took a long stroll around the neighborhood, then made a stop at Mrs. Baker’s candy shop in the business district of the community. He had many memories from the time he worked there during his high-school years, and his father was determined to remind him of as many as he could recall of those he had been involved in making. It was his first time visiting in years. Once upon a distant time, he had deeply loved Brownsville. When he was in high-school he abhorred the thought of living away from the community. It was home for him. It was home for his family. It was home for his closest friends. It was the only place he knew and loved, and he derived great pride from being surrounded by true patriots. That quickly changed when his biochemist mother returned from her assignment abroad with a strange illness. Their lives changed dramatically after her return. His father had had to resign his employment to focus on caring for her and the family. He had had to take his job at the candy shop more seriously because the family needed every penny it could get. His sister had had to take charge of him when their father started to spend more time with their mother at the Military Hospital. The rapid change popped the bubble he’d been living in, and each passing day wringed out the love he had for Brownsville. When his father arrived home with news one evening, disoriented and broken, it was the final blow. When the admission letters started pouring in, he chose the one farthest away from Brownsville and never looked back. Ten years had drifted by since he made that decision. As he looked around Mrs. Baker’s candy shop and uncorked his bottled-up memories, he found himself smiling. Spending so much time away had healed his wounds, so he could afford to look back on the memories with a fondness that became alien to him after he moved away. *** He had been standing by the counter, listening to his father chat with Mrs. Baker, his mother’s best friend, when someone moving past the window overlooking the street caught his eye. He immediately disengaged himself from the conversation and moved towards the window to investigate further.

From what he could see, she had scarcely changed. Tall. Lanky. Hair bundled into two buns on opposite sides of her head. He recognized the spring in her step. He recognized the sway of her hips. He recognized the fullness of her backside. She had entirely occupied his thoughts after they graduated from Brownsville High School, but life and its vicissitudes had gradually brushed her into the background as more pressing issues came to the fore. For the first time in years, he felt sensations that only she could evoke. He felt a tingling in his palms as they began to flood with sweat. He felt constrained by his shirt and the jacket that sat atop it. He felt a dryness in his throat, which refused to budge despite the large amounts of saliva he began to swallow. His eyes latched onto her and refused to let go. His heart called out to her by beating harder and faster. His legs stayed rooted to the spot, to afford his eyes time to feast. It had been ages since he’d seen her. She had all of a sudden disappeared into thin air. He wondered if she was still the girl who caused him to drench his tuxedo with sweat as he walked up to her to ask her for a dance. He wondered if she had changed, and how. He decided to find out.

*** He picked a red rose from the bunch lined up neatly on the display outside the shop. There was so much he wanted to say, there was so much he wanted to know. Over the years, he had probed the internet in search of her, picking up all potential clues and examining each one closely, but they all led to dead ends. It had been much easier to find mutual friends of theirs, but no one had been able to give him any concrete information. He followed her on the opposite side of the street, all the while hoping she would turn in his direction so he could signal her to stop. When the traffic lights permitted the movement of vehicles and brought her to a stop, he saw his opportunity.

He sprinted across the street and as he neared her, he called out, “Candace, how are you doing?” he was surprised at the sight of a transparent plastic mask around her lower-face.

She pushed away a strand of her frayed hair from her pale face with a bony finger, and said, in a soft voice, “Hello!” Although he could still see evidence of the girl he had once known, gone was the cheerleader who’d actively cheered the school team to victory. Gone was the bookworm with a look of curiosity in her eyes. Gone was the voice that kept him company on nights when sleep reported late for duty. The girl before him had a slightly hunched and shrunken frame. She stared at him through tired eyes and had to make a conscious effort to keep herself balanced on her feet. “How are you doing?” When she fiddled with a cylinder inside a bag hanging off her left shoulder, his eyes darted in its direction, and there, he discovered the origin of the transparent cord connected to the mask on her face. His eyes followed a stream of white gas all the way up the cord to the mask on her face, then he watched her consume it all in one deep breath. She had a look of satisfaction on her face when she returned her full attention to him.

He decided to stick with his plan, so he thrust forward his hand and handed her the rose. “This is for you.” Her face burst with life for a few microseconds, but her condition quickly bullied it into submission. “This is very kind of you.” She delicately raised the flowers to her nose and breathed in deeply. He didn’t know if she could actually smell it through the mask, but he was happy to see a smile on her face. “How can I help you, sir?” “I’m Andre Wilson.” She nodded gingerly. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Andre Wilson. Have we met before?” He hadn’t been expecting hugs and kisses, but he hadn’t been expecting the blank stare either. He had spent too much time searching for her to let the chance encounter go to waste, so he prodded further. “We were both at the Brownsville High School back in the day, we had a few mutual friends back then. We even shared a dance at the school prom.” When he didn’t see any signs of recollection, he added, “It has been a while though.” She nodded. “Yes it has.” She looked up thoughtfully. “I can barely recall half of the things that happened high school. But I know we kids were up to no good most of the time.” They both chuckled. “How time flies.” “Yes, indeed. Time does fly.” The traffic light turned red again, so he said, “Where are you heading to this cool evening?” “I’m off to the grocer to get some ingredients for dinner.” She said, gesturing with her head at the store on the other side of the street. “I’ll walk with you then.” He said, definitively. She shook her head nervously. “I don’t want to be a bother. I appreciate the rose, but I don’t want to hold you back from your plans for the evening.” He shook his head. “I don’t really have any plans. I was just taking a stroll with my dad. We can pick him up on our way back.” He stood his ground. She exhaled. Wearing a look of frustration, she said, “I see your mind is made up.” He shrugged, and said, with a cheeky smile, “That’s the consequence of forgetting how good a dancer I was at the prom. You have to make new memories with me to replace the ones you forgot.” He took the first step onto the zebra crossing and motioned for her to follow him. “Come along! If we don’t move fast, we’ll have a late dinner. I prefer having my meals early.” She beamed at him and raised the rose to her nose again. As she took her first steps towards him, she said, “New memories?”  “Yes,” He smiled. “New memories.”


I stared in the mirror, wearing my long, lacey, wedding gown at the last fitting. I asked the dressmaker for a few last-minute changes. I wanted a bigger bustle, something more dramatic and theatrical. I needed a veil that was at least 20 feet long, maybe something with feathers. I wanted more lace and ruffles.

At that time, the look of my dress was the only thing I had control over. My parents were spending a lot of money to throw me

their  dream wedding to impress

their  friends. A month before everyone’s big day (everyone else's big day, but mine), a shrieking pain surged down my neck causing me to whimper with each micro movement. My pediatrician said it was from stress. Yes, I was 30 and still seeing my pediatrician. Dr. Janet prescribed a muscle relaxant and sent me home with a cervical collar. I spent the next several days in bed on my back, wearing my collar, staring at the ceiling, and listening to The Grateful Dead. Although I claimed to be a fan of The Dead, up until then I had only known the music, not the words. As I listened to the words, they spoke to me. The song, ‘The Wheel’ in particular. “The wheel is turning, and you can’t slow down,” they sang. “You can’t let go and you can’t hold on, you can’t go back, and you can’t stand still…” “Yes,” I cried, “that’s me.” The Dead continued, “If the thunder don’t get you, then the lightning will.”  “The lightning will get me,” I sobbed even harder and cried, “You guys. I love you guys. You know me so well.” I needed help. I had been dating my fiancé for six years and he was a nice guy… aside from his short temper. If only I wouldn’t get him angry and “poke the bear”, he would stay mellow. He was charming when he wasn’t having a tantrum. But after his outbursts, he would apologize by taking somewhere nice and explaining why I had made him “flip out”. Sometimes the reason would be because I wanted to accept a job that would be good for my career but that would mean I would be gone for three months. He would’ve missed me. That’s how much he loved me. What was my problem? He loved me. He never hit me. With the wedding only a month away, my secret plan was to go through with it and then get a divorce a few months later. I did not want to disappoint anybody. Then I heard ‘The Wheel’ again. “Won’t you try just a little bit harder? Couldn’t you try just a little bit more?” The Dead made up of a band of men, but their voices were comforting. “Okay,” I said in between sniffles, “I’ll try.” “Round, round robin run round, got to get back to where you belong, little bit harder just a little bit more.” The Dead inspired, “A little bit further than you’d gone before.” With the help of The Grateful Dead and a new therapist, I mustered up the courage to cancel the wedding. Telling my fiancé and parents tore me up inside. I felt as if I were being ungrateful. My therapist encouraged me to think about myself and what I wanted. This was a new concept. I had denied my own feelings for so long, I felt physical pain expressing them. My parents and fiancé did not take the cancellation well. After their rage storm quieted, something magical happened. I was able to move my neck again. The pain had gone away. I felt lighter. I said what I truly wanted, and I was free. Like the Dead said, “you can’t go back, and you can’t stand still.” The therapist I had been seeing everyday said, “what you were doing, stopped working for you.” What I had been doing was what I was trained to do. To make everyone else happy and cater to their needs and put me last. My body was telling me that I was at a crossroads. Either I wanted my life to continue as I had known it or there was something else out there. I was a product of my environment. My childhood was sheer survival. I was conditioned to read my parents’ moods, match their energy, and serve their needs. I learned that their tempers and outbursts were my fault because I hadn’t jumped fast enough when they called out a command. Thinking back as an adult, their parenting was more like training a dog rather than nurturing a child. They were immigrants from mid-century Korea, and I was a female. Useless to them. At the dinner table, while I was in the middle of eating, my father would tap me on the shoulder and order, “Water…Napkin…Rice”. This was how our family dinners went. Never a questions like, “how was school?”, like I had seen on television. The only interest they showed in me was how I could serve them at that time. When I was twelve, I finally responded to my father, “why can’t you get your water?” Silence fell over the room. It was like when the outlaws from Krypton landed on Earth in

Superman II.  No one at the table made a sound. I was drawing in adrenaline. My father’s face was red and distorted. “What did you say?” he asked. My father stood up and knocked over a plate and yelled at my mother for raising such a disrespectful girl. He held his hand up in a motion to strike me but held back. “Look at everything we do for you. We feed and clothe you. You even get to live in Beverly Hills. You are a like a spoiled brat,” my mother piled on before turning to my father, “I didn’t know she would turn out that way. She’s learning this from her horrible friends.” I ran and hid in my room. Hours later my mother softly knocked on my door. I opened and let her in. “You should be more respectful towards your father. He works so hard for you to give you this life,” she said. Then she handed me a hundred-dollar bill.

 It was no surprise that I found a similar relationship as an adult. What was familiar to me, I had mistaken for love. I thought I was free of one situation only to find myself trapped in another. This was my first of many painful steps towards living my truthful life as a grown-up. I’m still amid the transition from unconscious cave dweller to self-aware, evolved individual. It hasn’t been smooth but I’m a work in progress. I finally stopped going to my pediatrician for medical needs and found a doctor for adults. I was on my way to autonomy.


All eyes were on Naomi and her husband, Jay. Naomi Rose and her husband had just moved into a small town in Nevada called Queensbrawl. There was an unrelenting desert heat in Queensbrawl. Tumbleweeds crossed the roads more than people. There never seemed to be a cloud in the sky and the temperature remained above 90 degrees, even at night.

Naomi and her husband liked the town’s quiet atmosphere at first. Everyone seemed hospitable to the couple. But after a day, Naomi and Jay felt like a couple who didn’t belong in their skin. They felt hopeful again after receiving an invitation to a town party. When Naomi and Jay arrived at the party, they saw how many people lived in Queensbrawl. Naomi thought about how she saw more people in a supermarket. “Howdy, new neighbors!” A woman’s boisterous voice assaulted Naomi. She smiled a little when her husband chuckled at the sound of the woman’s booming voice. The woman was a firecracker. Her hair and clothing didn’t fit the modern era. She wore a purple and white dress that exuded an old-fashioned 1950s design. It was as if the apple-shaped woman stepped out of an episode of I Love Lucy . Her rosy hair had classic retro waves, and it shined just as bright as her chandelier earrings. “My husband and I got your invitation.” Those were the only words Naomi got out of her mouth before the bubbly woman assaulted her again, this time with a wild hug and a kiss to her cheek. The plus-sized woman did the same to Naomi’s husband.

“It’s nice having new neighbors. It helps our town grow.” The woman clasped her hands together in front of her busty cleavage. “My name is Cathy Bloom. I’m a town councilwoman.” A sparkling smile never left Cathy’s red lips as she introduced herself. “I’ve lived in Queensbrawl all my life.” Cathy savored her words. Her gentle, motherly voice revealed itself once her boisterous tone subsided.

“There’s a lot of people here. Is this the town’s total population?” Jay asked Cathy. When Jay said, there’s a lot of people here , he meant the opposite. There was a hint of secret sarcasm in Jay’s words. He hoped that Cathy’s answer to his question would be no . He almost looked shocked when Cathy told him he was looking at the town’s total population inside her home. Cathy had a large five-bedroom house, but it was still surprising to see that her home could fit the town’s total population.

“My name is Naomi Rose and this is my wonderful husband Jay Rose.” Naomi proudly presented her husband and herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed how the other women at the party were staring at her and her husband like police snipers. Naomi could feel their suspicious eyes burning into her, and she tried to ignore the women’s rude behavior.

“Naomi is a beautiful name!” Cathy’s boisterous voice returned as she complimented the young woman. She placed her wild gaze on Jay. “I love the name, Jay. It’s so cool, like Jay-Z!”

Jay cringed when Cathy did the West Coast hip-hop sign with her hands. It felt awkward to see a dumpling of a white woman dressed like a 1950s housewife doing hip-hop hand signs. Jay cringed more when Cathy did the West Coast sign after mentioning Jay-Z because he knew Jay-Z was an East Coast rapper. Cathy continued with her awkward compliments, which she mostly directed at Jay. “You’re so tall, dark, and cute! I can see why your wife is happy!” Cathy flirtatiously slapped her hand across Jay’s bulky arm.

Naomi raised an eyebrow after Cathy flirted with her husband. At a young age, Naomi was a fiery ghetto, white girl. She grew up in the Bronx, and she would’ve knocked Cathy out for pulling a coquettish stunt on her husband. Naomi’s spicy personality mellowed out when she reached her mid 30s. She kept a pleasant smile on her face while giving Cathy an intense stare. Cathy redeemed herself a little when she complimented Naomi’s beauty.

“Your wife looks like Charlize Theron! You’re so beautiful. I wish I had your figure.” Cathy admired Naomi from head to toe. She loved how Naomi’s glorious platinum blonde hair matched the color of her low cut dress. Cathy even placed her hands on Naomi’s curvy waistline. She acted like she was coasting her hands across a magnificent sculpture. Naomi had a feeling that Cathy was sizing her up for something, even though she could see the woman’s admiration. “I’m a vegan. That’s why my figure looks the way it does.” Naomi didn’t want to sound like a braggart. She did a little pose for Cathy while resting her petite hands on her hips. Naomi could still feel eyes on her, mostly from women. The other women in the room shared Cathy’s 1950s housewife dress code. They all wore their cookie-cutter retro-styled dresses with pride. All the women at the party were pretty, like Cathy. But the beauty wasn’t natural, like Naomi’s. These women had artificial beauty. Even when they smiled, their smiles looked robotic and their eyes looked disconnected. They had perfect makeup and hair. It looked too perfect. Being in the room with the women made Naomi feel like something trapped her in a 1955 Miss America beauty pageant.

“My wife loves her vegan diet. But I hate it.” A chuckle escaped from Jay as he spoke his mind to Cathy. He covered his mouth after realizing that he spoke out loud. Jay knew there’d be trouble later when he looked at the hidden disgust in his wife’s stare.

“I thought you enjoyed being a vegan?” Naomi sounded heartbroken after her husband blurted out the truth. She could see that her husband wanted to kick himself. Naomi wasn’t sure if Jay wanted to kick himself for lying to her the whole time, or if he wanted to kick himself for revealing the truth and failing to stick to his lie.

“Baby, I do like your vegan diet. I just don’t like some vegan food,” Jay explained, trying to get himself out of the doghouse while putting his hands up defensively. He watched as his wife squinted at him while folding her arms. If she didn’t have a slight smirk on her face, Jay would’ve interpreted his wife’s look as a murderous stare. “Are you sure about that, Baby? Because last night you told me you liked all vegan food.” Naomi grilled her husband gently.

Jay watched as his wife looked away from him, rolling her eyes after he muttered to her… "I said that?"

Cathy went silent for a minute, enjoying the couple’s affectionate banter. She thought Jay and Naomi were the most adorable interracial couple she had ever seen. Cathy wanted to indulge her neighbors some more, but she clenched her jaw when her eyes met the eyes of a stern-looking woman who stood a few feet away. The stern-looking woman was Cathy’s boss, Diane Barclay.

Diane was the town’s head councilwoman and everyone had to obey her orders. The town’s people referred to her as Lady Barclay. She had a fairly sweet personality. But if you crossed her the wrong way, she would bite you faster than a cobra. Lady Barclay was a small woman with an elegantly beautiful face and well-decorated silver hair that touched her shoulders. The wrinkles in her face intensified her beauty. Sometimes she’d wear neutral-colored businesswoman pantsuits. But tonight she wore a sapphire blue evening gown that hugged her delicate physique.

Cathy knew she had to get moving when she saw Lady Barclay glaring at her while pointing down at her glittery wristwatch. Cathy quickly noticed how all the women in the living room were glaring at her. One young woman scowled at Cathy while making a slashing motion across her throat using her thumb.

“Is everything okay?” Naomi asked when she saw that something had captured Cathy’s attention. “Yes Darling, I’m fine,” Cathy replied. She brought a smile back to her face while placing her nervous eyes on Naomi. Cathy fixed her lips to say something else to Naomi, but her mouth froze when she saw Lady Barclay approaching.

“What seems to be the problem?” Lady Barclay greeted Naomi and Jay with abrupt rudeness and a peculiar choice of words.

Naomi gave Lady Barclay an icy stare. She immediately felt repulsed by Lady Barclay’s presence. Naomi recognized Lady Barclay as one of the many women who kept burning a stare at her and her husband. “I’m sorry, let me introduce myself.” Lady Barclay knew she got off on the wrong foot when she saw the icy stare Naomi gave her. “My name is Diane Barclay. I’m the head councilwoman.” Lady Barclay presented her hand to Naomi and her husband. “It always feels good when we receive new citizens in our town.” Lady Barclay forced her smile on Naomi. “I’m sorry, Honey. I didn’t get your name and your husband’s name.” Lady Barclay waited patiently for Naomi to reply, hoping that her rude introduction didn’t upset Naomi too much.

“My name is Naomi Rose and this is my husband Jay,” Naomi answered the woman dryly. She didn’t even make eye contact with Lady Barclay when she answered her.

Lady Barclay projected a soft, nervous laugh. “It’s so nice to meet the two of you!” Lady Barclay’s voice warmed the air. “Would you folks like some refreshments? We have wonderful hors d’oeuvres. I think you’ll love our bacon-wrapped jalapeno poppers!” Lady Barclay tried to bring a smile back to Naomi’s face, but her act of enthusiasm wasn’t working on the young woman or her husband. “I don’t eat meat.” Naomi maintained her dry tone of voice. Cathy could see a tension building between Naomi and her boss. The plump woman interjected herself, hoping her delightful personality would liven things up again. “We have a surprise for you!” Cathy exclaimed to Naomi through her bubbly demeanor. “It’s something we do for every woman who moves into our town,” Cathy continued. “It’s a group for women only, but the men still benefit from their wives joining the group. The surprise isn’t joining the group. It’s the prize you’ll receive for joining,” Cathy spoke smoother than ever and she did her best to please her boss. Naomi’s irritated expression changed into a look of confusion and wonder. She wanted to ask more questions, but Cathy was talking too fast. “I’m sorry, Sweetie, but we need to borrow your wife for one minute,” Lady Barclay told Naomi’s husband. She attempted to take Naomi by the hand and she watched as Cathy attempted to do the same. “We’ll bring her right back, my darling!” Cathy added. “Help yourself to our bacon wrap poppers and our other appetizers. You can also make yourself comfortable in our men’s guestroom.” Cathy directed Jay’s eyes to a side room that was ten feet away. Jay looked through the crowd of women to see men walking in and out of the room. Jay finally noticed that all the men at the party had left their wives and were going into the guestroom. He felt a little disturbed when he saw only women in the living room, and they were whispering amongst each other with their eyes on him and his wife.

Jay watched as Cathy and Lady Barclay whisked his wife away before he could say anything else. He gave his wife a confused smile after she blew him a kiss while being dragged away. Jay blew a kiss back at his wife. He jumped when another husband startled him by giving him a friendly slap on his back. “Don’t worry, they’ll bring her back.” The man chuckled as he continued to pat Jay on his back. “They did that to my wife when we first moved here,” the man explained to Jay, and his double chin would jiggle every time he laughed. “Where are they taking her?” Jay asked the man with a bewildered furrow in his brow. He waited for the man to answer and he smiled a little when the man gave him a sheepish look, like a guilty little boy who was trying to hide a cookie. The man only gave Jay his best answer. “Well, the rule is… I’m not supposed to talk about it.” The answer was unsatisfying, but it was the best reply the husband could give Jay. 🔫🔫🔫 A massive metal cage stood in front of Naomi. The young woman’s eyes fell on a diamond silver Mercedes sedan parked beside the metal cage with its headlights on. A yellow bow decorated the luxury car’s hood. Naomi felt like she was a contestant on a dark game show.

“So let me explain what’s going to happen!” Lady Barclay lost her sweet tone and her voice sounded colder than the dead of winter. She stood a few feet away from Naomi with her hands behind her back. “What is this?” Naomi looked around at Cathy. Her nerves tightened when she saw a crowd of women surrounding her and Cathy. It was the same group of women who were giving her ugly stares at the party.

“The Queensbrawl Bloodsport is a fight club tournament that we hold every time a wife moves into our town!” Lady Barclay’s voice filled the night air.

“Is this a joke?” An incredulous smirk developed across Naomi’s full lips.

“No, Honey!” Lady Barclay answered Naomi with a deadpan expression on her face. Naomi kept giggling while allowing Cathy to guide her toward the metal cage. In the blink of an eye, Naomi found herself inside the cage with another woman who looked like she ate glass for breakfast. The other woman was pretty, but she looked edgy in a slight masculine way and she donned the same 1950s era housewife dress, like the other women.

“You’ll be fighting Mrs. Rhonda Draven!” Lady Barclay introduced the other woman to Naomi. “If you win the fight, you’ll get a check for 2.5 million dollars along with a brand new Mercedes-AMG S63.” Lady Barclay waved her hand over the car. “You’ll also be a respected wife in our town.” Naomi couldn’t stop giggling at the ridiculous situation she was in. “What’ll happen if I lose the fight?” Naomi had her hands on her hips while waiting for Lady Barclay’s answer. The woman’s spine stiffened when Lady Barclay pulled a semi-automatic pistol from behind her back. Naomi got her answer when her eyes locked on to Lady Barclay’s fully loaded Glock 19. That’s when serious darkness hovered over Naomi. She watched as Lady Barclay cocked her loaded handgun while giving her a penetrating stare. “Let the game begin!” Lady Barclay smirked at Naomi before raising her gun at the night sky and firing.

Before Naomi could brace herself, a fist kissed her face, sending her tumbling to the cage’s floor. The punch rattled Naomi’s slender nose and blood exited from her left nostril. “What the fu—” Naomi didn’t have time to finish her sentence after she felt Rhonda’s high heel shoe ram into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. “Get up, Bitch,” Rhonda hissed down at Naomi after stumping on the young woman’s stomach a second time. She fixed her pompadour hair while expecting Naomi to remain on the floor. Rhonda looked shocked after Naomi tripped her, knocking her flat on her back.

Naomi caught her breath and she pounced on Rhonda, punching the woman in her face and chest. Naomi embraced the deafening roar coming from the all-female crowd. She used the women’s rowdy cheers to drive her. Within seconds, Naomi took on a pit bull's nature. She threw her fear of dying out the window and she only felt high-powered adrenaline racing through her shapely body. Naomi knew she wouldn’t die, even when Rhonda got the upper hand. Rhonda struck Naomi in the face with her forehead. She hopped to her feet only to get kicked in her stomach by a platform stiletto heel. Rhonda tried to catch her balance and she screamed in frustration after getting knocked back down on her butt. Rhonda couldn’t believe that Naomi was on top of her again, driving a fist into her face. Naomi released a war cry before slamming her fist into Rhonda’s face a second time, sending Rhonda into a temporary blackout. After six minutes, the fight was over. Naomi laid on her knees, catching her breath. She wiped the blood from her nose while staring up at Lady Barclay who was towering over her, feeling shocked over how fast the fight ended. Lady Barclay felt cheated and she wanted to shoot Naomi anyway, even though she won the fight. The head councilwoman did something foolish. She put her gun to Naomi’s forehead, but before she could pull the trigger, Naomi shifted her head away from the gun while putting two bullets in Lady Barclay’s chest. The councilwoman watched as Naomi snatched her gun away from her after shooting her with a gun she had concealed beneath her dress. Before she died, she saw that Naomi was an undercover cop. She saw her badge hidden in a secret pocket on her dress. “I killed the suspect. She tried to kill me,” Naomi spoke into a device clipped to her dress. “She was a serial killer Bitch who killed babies. She deserved to die.” Naomi stood over Lady Barclay's body. “My husband is at the house. Arrest the other men, but don’t arrest my husband,” Naomi giggled, speaking to the police captain in a joking manner. “My husband doesn’t know that I’m working undercover,” Naomi continued. “I can’t believe we’re arresting all these murderous women,” Naomi shook her head. She heard the SWAT team's helicopters and the squad cars swarming in to arrest the other women serial killers, including Cathy. The undercover cop kept her gun aimed at Cathy, who stood frozen in front of Naomi with her hands up, feeling betrayed and devastated.


The sun was back with a vendetta, only it held rays like fire over the earth instead of a machete. It wore a mask of radiating, pulsating heat and Beba Maria felt like she was going to pass out.

The day had been long, the road hard, and the undertaking of their task was proving more difficult than they had expected. They’d missed the boat because Oscar had fallen down, scraped a knee, chipped a tooth, cried for ages.

There was now a stretch of desert between them and the spaceships that would shoot them towards a literal new beginning on an entirely different planet so Lina was holding Oscar and Beba Maria by the clammy hands and pulling them along with her as far as she could go. She had to keep going. They all did. It was the same with the boat, if they missed this ship to the stars, they would have to go back home. Lina didn’t think she had it in her heart to turn around now, but every time she snuck a glance at Oscar or Beba Maria, she could easily see that

Oscar was still in pain because of his teeth and Beba Maria was near the melting point for human flesh. What was it, anyway? She knew the temperature for paper. She knew it for steel and other metals but the fact that human flesh could burn, just fry right off your bones, was horrible to her. She didn’t want to think of it, didn’t want to have a reason to think of it, but the reason was staring down at her from the sky as it broiled her alive in the hot sauce pan of the desert. The reason, Lina thought, was no longer a benevolent ruler who gave the lands warmth and safety. Instead, it was a villainous royal, with eyes of hot coal, feet and hands of electrifying fire. And was Lina scared of the sun?

Yes, but she was also scared of the things that never changed under the sun.

Robbers. Kidnappers. People who were less fortunate than she.

Why were they dangerous? Well, they were more dangerous than the wild animals.

Wild animals didn’t look up at you with cracked hands, broken limbs, split lips, and begging, pleading-with-you-for-mercy eyes. Wild animals never asked for your last piece of bread. They never broke your heart into a million pieces when after all you gave up to help them, they still curled up and died like roly poly bugs. Yeah, Lina thought, the people who were more unlucky in this desert would bring her down and then Oscar would fall, Beba Maria would fall. It was Lina’s job to keep them going. She was the oldest. She had the plans.

“ Lina,” Beba Maria suddenly dropped to her knees in the sand, “ Lina.”

“Que? What?” Lina dropped beside her, cursing everything for stopping their march towards the starport. “Es el calor? Is it the heat? Tu cabeza? Your head? Que pasa?”

“Mi cabeza, Lina. My head is killing me. I need to rest, please.” Lina shook her head. “No.” She pulled the younger girl up by the arm. “We can’t rest.” She threw her friend a soft smile. “Never quit, never surrender.” Oscar bounced on his heels, further tearing the soles of his shoes. “And when we get to the spaceship, there will be seats made of gold, Lina. Did you know? Did you know the seats are all made of gold?”

Lina did know. She was the one who told Oscar that in the first place. She smiled at her brother. “Yes, they are gold. And do you know what else?”

Oscar asked, “What? What?”

Beba Maria mouthed, “What? Que?”

Lina was glad they were moving again. If she told them stories, maybe the walk wouldn’t seem so hot. Maybe if she talked of gold on spaceships instead of murderous sun villains, they wouldn’t catch on fire. They wouldn’t have to be Ash called Oscar. Ash called Lina. Ash called Beba Maria.

“On the spaceship, they have fountains that splash chocolate.”

Their smiles grew, and she continued.

“On the spaceship, they have beds made from the geese that live in the fluffiest clouds.”

Beba Maria gasped to think of such a high delight and Oscar beamed, happy to hear his sister chatting like she used to. “Que mas, Lina? What else?”

“Well, there is a never ending supply of toilet paper. There are parties that last until midnight every day. There are,” she paused for effect, “Dancing girls and singing boys that twirl you away and away until you forget all about your problems. They twirl you right into the stars outside your windows.”

“We can see the stars?” Beba Maria loved the stars.

“Yes, all of them. And you can name them whatever you would like.”

Beba Maria liked the sound of that a lot. “I will name one after mami, one after papi, one after mis hermanitos, and the others will be after us.”

“What do you mean?” Lina stepped over a dead rattlesnake.

“I mean there will be stars with our names.” Oh so she meant

Stars called Oscar. Stars called Lina. Stars called Beba Maria.

“Yes,” Beba Maria said, “Because once we’re out of the desert and on the spaceships, no one will be able to hold us here. No one can touch the stars.”

No, thought Lina, but they can see us waving down at them.

Oscar’s stomach was growling. He tugged the shirt of his sister. “Tengo hambre, I’m hungry. Where’s our food?”

They couldn’t eat yet, though. There was still such a large expanse of sand before them. Lina had to be wise with her food rationing. She was the oldest. She had the plan. She also had the bread, though, and that was what Oscar wanted. He began to cry again. Lina resisted his soft brown eyes.

She didn’t look at his trembling lip or chipped tooth.

She ignored his quiet sniffling, running nose, sad shuffling feet.

And they marched on, deeper and deeper into a jungle with no trees.

This was Lina’s fault. She should have waited until Oscar and Beba Maria were older to make this journey. The thing was, however much of a mistake this was, she wasn’t sure she would have made it to be much older if she had stayed where she was. So it was her mistake, and they could all die, but there was no erasing what had already been etched in the stone of time. Yes, Lina said to herself, time is not sand. You cannot run your feet over clocks to make them turn back to yesterday. Time is stones, or mountains, even.

Time doesn’t move for anybody.

Luckily for Lina, she was no longer a body.

She was a star.


“Christmas won’t be the same this year.” Alyssa hung another ornament on the family Christmas tree and sighed. “It won’t be the same for anyone, dearest daughter,” Julia admitted, as she placed another snow globe on the mantel. “That doesn’t make it any better.” David frowned and shook his head, continuing to lay track for the Christmas Special, the electric train the Anderson family ran around their tree every year. “I agree with you, sis. It just won’t be the same.” “Hey, now. Remember Thanksgiving? We all gave thanks for our health, our food security, and our home. And the ability to use technology to share the holiday with family, even though we couldn’t gather together live.” Harrison was more than the father in this household - he was the “silver lining” kind of guy. “I wasn’t talking about the pandemic, dad. Or at least not just the fact we’re dealing with a pandemic. It won’t be the same without Grandpa, since he passed away with COVID-19 complications.. Even though he couldn’t have been here in person if he were still alive, I was looking forward to sharing Christmas with him.” “That’s right,” David agreed. “It won’t be the same without Grandpa. Or his Famous Cheese Pie.” “You’re right, kids,” Julia chimed in. “But he’ll be here in spirit. And we wouldn’t have his pie anyway, even if he hadn’t passed on.” “I’ll miss him, too,” Harrison agreed. “But we don’t have to miss his Famous Cheese Pie. I’ll make it. After all, it’s been a secret family recipe for generations.” “And he passed that recipe on to you. It’ll be like having a tiny piece of him here.” Julia stepped over and gave David a warm hug. “Well, he didn’t actually pass on the recipe,” David admitted, hugging Julia back. “But I’ve seen him make it so many times I feel like I can duplicate it.” “I watched him, too,” Alyssa smiled “I even helped him once, even though the recipe and the tradition are passed down from father to son.” “I never helped, but I watched hi make his pie. I bet we can do it together. Let’s do it right now.” David stood, wanting a break from laying track anyway. “Now? In the middle of decorating?” “Sure, mom. The sooner we start, the more time we have to try again, if our first attempt doesn’t work.” ‘We don’t have to stop decorating,” Harrison pointed out. “You guys keep decorating. I’ll make sure we have all the ingredients. And I remember one of his secrets - bringing the cold ingredients to room temperature before he started. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” He left the family room, heading upstairs to the kitchen. “You heard your father. Keep decorating.” Julia lifted another snow globe from the box, removed the protective bubble wrap, and placed it on the mantel. Alyssa looked for a good spot to place her next ornament on the tree. David sighed, but got back down on his knees to continue laying track for the train. “Let me see,” Harrison mumbled in the kitchen. “Graham crackers, sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla. Hmmm . . . no vanilla. I bet a little taste of maple flavor would work.” He placed all the ingredients from the pantry on the counter. Then he added two mixing bowls, one for the filling and one for the topping. A pie plate, a rolling pin, and some wax paper. Then he moved to the refrigerator. “Cream cheese, sour cream, butter, and eggs. Or was it a single egg? I can’t remember if it was one egg, or two. Guess I’ll go with two.” He unwrapped the cream cheese to help it come to room temperature. The eggs he cracked into a bowl, stirring them together gently with a fork, so they could warm up. He left the sour cream for now, and the butter. He could nuke the butter when ready, and the sour cream was for the topping. Then he headed back downstairs to the family room. “So did you find everything you need, dad?” David asked. “Am I going to learn how to make Grandpa’s Famous Cheese Pie this year?” “Why is it called cheese pie anyway?” Alyssa wondered. “I always thought it was just another type of cheesecake.” “Good question, dearest daughter,” Harrison complimented her. “The truth is, cheesecake isn’t really a cake, technically. It doesn’t use flour or baking powder, two key ingredients to make a cake earn the designation. So even though Grandpa’s Famous Cheese Pie is very much like a cheesecake, that only strengthens its being called a pie.” “Why is it famous, then? “I don’t think it’s really all that famous,” Harrison admitted. “But you know how much we all loved it. And every time Grandpa took it to a church social, a potluck, or offered it up for a progressive dinner as dessert, it was a big hit. And I think he started with a recipe called a Famous Cheese Pie, then modified it.” “All done,” David announced. “Stand back and be prepared to be amazed.” The rest of the family stood back, making sure their feet weren’t blocking David’s track. “All aboard!” he called out. Then he turned the transformer on. The small electric train started moving, spewing out tiny amounts of fake smoke from its smokestack. “I love the bridge!” “That’s called a trestle, sis.” “I love the figure eight track.” “Thanks, mom.” “I love that I didn’t have to get on my knees to lay the track this year. And that you did such a wonderful job, son.” “And I’m finished here. Tada!” Alyssa stood back and pointed to the Christmas tree. “It looks nice, sis.” “It’s beautiful, Alyssa,” Harrison added. “I think it looks even better than last year.” “Thanks, mom.” “That’s the last snow globe.” Julia stepped to the side of the fireplace and spread her arms to draw attention to the mantel. “I just love the snow globe mantel, mom.” Alyssa beamed. “You did a fantastic job, as always, darling.” Harrison tried to smile even more than his daughter. “Looks the same as last year to me, mom.” “That’s called tradition, son,” Julia pointed out. “Speaking of tradition, how’s the Famous Cheese Pie coming?” Harrison checked his watch. “I think we’re ready for the next step. The crust.” Harrison led the way into the kitchen, the rest of the family following. “I think you should preheat the oven,” Julia suggested, stepping over to the oven. “Is it 325 degrees?” “That’s right, darling,” Harrison nodded. “How could I have forgotten that?” “Can I make the crust, dad? If I’m going to carry on the secret recipe and the tradition, I need to start doing more.” “Do you know how to make the crust, David?” “I use the rolling pin to turn the Graham crackers into crumbs. Add some melted butter and mix it all up. Spread it into the pie pan and bake for 5 minutes.” ‘That’s right, son. And the temperature for the crust is 450. Nuke the butter, half a cup, to mix in with the crackers.” While the crust was baking, Harrison started on the filling. He broke the 8 oz. package of cream cheese into small chunks and put the chunks into the larger mixing bowl. Then he turned the mixer on medium and started mixing, slowly adding the sugar. “It’s surprising, but adding the sugar slowly makes a difference. And you want to be careful to avoid whipping the cream cheese, so keep the mixer on medium or low.” Once the sugar was added he measured out 5 more tablespoons for the topping. Then he added the eggs all at once, blended them in. “Maple? Didn’t Grandpa use Vanilla?” asked David, picking up the bottle of maple extract. “He did, David. But we don’t have any vanilla, and I thought it might be tasty with Maple, instead.” “How much, dad?” David opened the small bottle while asking. “I’m thinking an eighth of a teaspoon,” Harrison mused. David added the extract and blended it in. Harrison pulled the crust out of the oven. David added the filling, then they put the pie back into the oven, at 325, for 20-22 minutes. “While that’s baking, make the topping, son.” “OK, dad.” David dumped two cups of sour cream into the small mixing bowl. He added the 5 tablespoons of sugar, an eighth of a teaspoon of cinnamon, and a couple of drops of maple extract. Then he started to remove the beaters for cleaning. “No, David, don’t clean them. Leaving some of the filling on and blending it into the topping is another part of the secret family recipe. It ties the flavors of filling and topping together.” It didn’t take long to finish mixing the topping. While they waited for the pie to bake, Harrison and David cleaned up. “I love them baking the Famous Cheese Pie, instead of asking us to do it,” Alyssa smiled at her mother. “Even better - they’re doing the cleanup.” Alyssa gave her daughter a high five. The family decided to play a game of Fluxx or two while waiting. When the pie was done, David set it on a cooling frame to cool for half an hour. Then it went into the refrigerator to chill for at least an hour and a half. After dinner, they brewed coffee and sampled the Famous Cheese Pie. “It doesn't taste like Grandpa’s,” Alyssa offered, “but it’s good.” “It’s better than Grandpa’s,” David said. “You’re just saying that because you baked it.” Alyssa punched her brother’s shoulder. “No, he isn’t,” Julia chimed in. “It does taste better. I think it’s because of the vanilla.” “Here’s to Grandpa, and to his Famous Cheese pie.” Harrison offered a toast.

“And to your Famous Cheese Pie,” Julia raised her glass of egg nog.

“And to traditions,” David added. “To the family,” was Alyssa’s contribution.