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Barbara A. Barnett
This is the Way the Prayer Ends
by Barbara A. Barnett
The nighttime sky has been empty since the destruction began weeks before, and so Sarah plays Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, as if the music might summon the moon back from whatever void has consumed it. If the night ever comes again at all. For what feels like days, the sky has remained a shroud-like shade of gray, its dim light misting in through the partially collapsed wall of the conservatory's recital hall.
Sarah tries not to glance at the empty water bottle sitting on the scuffed piano lid. The sight of it makes her hyperconscious of her cracked lips and bone-dry mouth. How long will she survive now that the water's gone? Does her last scrap of food even matter? Her stomach is so shriveled with hunger that it can hardly rumble anymore. But signs of the earth's rumbling lie all around the hall: the shards of glass that earlier rained down from the ceiling lights, the seats on house right buried beneath a pile of rubble, the impenetrable wreckage backstage barring her way to the rest of the building.
If not for the piano, this obsidian monolith standing amid the devastation, she'd probably still be huddled in a corner, shaking and crying.
Her head throbs in time with every slow, somber triplet she plays, yet her fingers move over the dust-coated keys with easy familiarity, even over the keys that stick or sound out of tune, even over the E that won't sound at all. She has the destruction to thank for impairing her performance. She had been rehearsing with the lid raised, and so the first quake sent detritus streaming into the piano's innards; the lid prop snapped during the second quake, bringing the lid down with a discordant crash. Yet even in the piano's now ramshackle state, the notes between the cracks are preferable to what Sarah hears outside: distant rumbles, shattering glass, crunching metal, the occasional scream or gunshot.
Or, worst of all, the stretches of silence.
"You can't play!" Chris snapped the first time she touched the piano keys, the day after everything had gone to hell. She still has bruises from when he dragged her off the piano bench, screaming at her, "Are you a fucking idiot? Someone out there will hear!"
Sarah never mustered the nerve to ask why he could yell yet she couldn't play. His unhinged rants were far louder than any note this ravaged Steinway could produce.
Not that it matters now, she thinks. Chris isn't here to chastise her anymore. A prickle of guilt accompanies that thought, but she banishes it with a shake of her head. Unlike Chris, she has no desire to die alone, and so she plays.
In the pause after the first movement's final chord, an unexpected sound intrudes on the Beethoven. Tentative footsteps, like a tardy audience member sneaking to his seat after the concert has begun. Only instead of a whispered "excuse me" or the beam of an usher's flashlight cutting through the dark, this entrance calls attention to itself with small chunks of concrete cascading down a pile of debris. Debris that had once been part of the wall.
Sarah jerks her hands away from the keys. The sneakers catch her eye first, two shocks of white amid the rubble. Above them, tattered pant legs. Above them, a neon yellow jacket smeared with blood. Not fresh, but rust-colored. Dry. Sarah notes the blood, then the man's face. African American. Her heartbeat takes on an erratic tempo as she recalls Chris, injured and bleeding, raving about a black guy who attacked him. But this can't be the same man, how can she even think that? They're in the middle of the city, surrounded by thousands of brown and black and white faces—though how many still living? Suddenly she hates herself and her suspicion and Chris for making her think it.
You're better than that, she imagines her parents chiding. You're a good girl, Sarah.
Calmer, she studies the man. He's older than her, but still young. Thirty, maybe? Or do the bags under his eyes and the scraggly beginnings of a beard make him look older? Does it even matter? He's the first person she's seen since Chris disappeared.
"I followed the music," the man says, picking his way down the debris, toward the aisle between the stage and the first row of seats. Once his feet touch solid ground, he takes in the recital hall with wide eyes. "How long have you been here?"
"I…" Sarah swallows, trying to force moisture into her throat. How long has it been since she's spoken aloud? "I don't know." She recoils at the sound of her voice. So hoarse, a dry rattle in every syllable. She touches her tangled, greasy hair; what does it even look like now? And her clothes—dust-caked jeans and a sullied V-neck shirt, more gray than white at this point. "I was in here when it all started. Practicing. I have a recital…" Reality hits her like a slap to the face. "I had a recital."
The man strokes the red lining of a front row seat. "I was in…" He starts to sit, but stops himself. "Is this okay? If I sit here a while?"
Is it? It's what she wanted, why she played, yet she tenses. The dried blood on his shirt—his, Chris's, or someone else's? She never considered whom her playing might draw. She never considered that, delusional ravings aside, Chris might have had a point. But if this man was dangerous, if he wanted something, wouldn't he have rushed at her by now? He wouldn't be asking for her permission to sit, right?
"Okay," she says.
"Last place I found, they chased me off." The man starts pacing, hands beating against his legs. "The guy had a gun. Started waving it around, shouting about looting and raping. Man, I wasn't gonna steal nothing, wasn't gonna hurt no one."
His pacing is dizzying, more movement than she's witnessed in days. "You can sit."
He stops, shakes his head as if to clear it. "Right."
He flashes her a smile, brushes off a chair, then sits with a contented sigh. Sarah tries to smile in return, but fails. She should say something, but what? Welcome to the Recital Hall at the End of the Universe? Would that be too weird, scare him off? Instead she stares at the piano keys and noodles at a tune, a Puccini aria she blanks on the title of. All those times she accompanied singers on it, yet the title is gone, like her sense of the days.
"What's your name?" the man asks.
Now she remembers. It's "Vissi d'arte," from Tosca. But that's not the name he's asking for, and so she answers, "Sarah."
"Sarah." He draws out each syllable, like he's trying out how they feel in his mouth. "Right good Bible name, my grandma would have said."
He sinks back in his seat and drums his fingers against the armrests, staring up at the stage as she continues noodling. He clearly expects her to say something else, but what? It's as if social norms have been buried along with most of the city.
"I'm Marcus," he says.
She stops playing and cringes. His name, damn it. She should have asked him his name.
"I've been wandering for days," Marcus says, "sleeping under whatever I could find. Whatever looked like it wasn't gonna fall down on me. Found a can of soup at one place. Beer too, but that didn't stay down. You don't have any water, do you?"
Her stomach knots into a tight ball. Water? She stands with a shove of the bench and storms out from behind the piano. He has the gall to ask for water? She snatches the bottle from the piano lid and holds it upside down, shaking it to emphasize how empty it is. How empty it's been since she woke to the chafing of a parched throat and drained the last few drops. How empty it's going to remain. She tosses the bottle aside. It lands with a hollow plunk and rolls across the stage.
"Yeah, didn't think so," Marcus says, unfazed. "Nobody's got water now. Except maybe that guy with the gun." He stretches out his legs and glances around the recital hall. "Surprised this place is holding up so well. I used to walk past here all the time. Always heard folks singing and playing. Never been in here, though."
Sarah laughs. It hurts her throat, yet she misses the sound as soon as it stops. She hasn't laughed since the destruction began.
Marcus cocks his head. "That's funny?"
"I'm sorry. It's just… I practically live here. Well, I guess I kind of do live here now. But before, I mean. I was always in here."
Marcus nods. "Right, you said you had a recital. You a student here?"
"Was."
"That's what I meant. Was. Everything's was now. I was a parking attendant. That crappy little garage down on 13th and Pine. Me and my brother. You ever park there?"
Sarah shakes her head. "I don't have a car."
"Guess not then."
Marcus leans forward in his chair, hands folded in his lap, like he's about to tell a story to a child. He looks up at Sarah, and she squirms. She can't talk to him like this, standing so exposed. She retreats to the piano bench.
"The garage is gone now," Marcus says. "I was down the street, grabbing some sandwiches for me and my brother when the pavement just ripped on open. Sucked half the block down, the garage right along with it. And there I was, damn fool running toward it, still hanging onto those sandwiches, thinking I could…" A catch in his voice silences him, but only for a moment. "Don't think I could eat another sandwich now. And I'm near starving."
She wishes she could offer him a sympathetic touch on the shoulder, but traversing that gap between stage and seat, between performer and audience, feels too intimate to do for a stranger. "I'm sorry," she says instead.
"About the sandwiches?" Marcus lets out a forced-sounding laugh. "Girl, you've got an overactive sense of empathy going on there."
"No, I meant the garage. Was your brother—"
"Yeah, he won't be eating no more sandwiches either."
At least he knows. That's her first thought, and she hates herself for thinking it. At least he knows his brother's dead. She'd rather have seen her parents die than still have to wonder.
Be a good girl, Sarah. Their voices refuse to leave her head. The end of the world is no excuse not to practice.
Marcus stands and paces down the aisle. "You've been in here all this time?"
She tells him about hiding backstage, under the makeup counter in the dressing room. How she thought it was an ordinary earthquake at first, like they had on the west coast. How she didn't come out until the screaming in the streets quieted, at least for a bit. How she hadn't planned to stay here until she stepped outside and looked up at the night sky.
"There was supposed to be a full moon that night," she says, shivering at the memory, "but there wasn't. There wasn't anything up there. Just darkness."
Marcus leans against the stage, a thoughtful look on his face. "I never thought about that. The moon, the stars. But you're right. Can't see nothing up there anymore." He pauses. "Sucks to be an astrologer."
"You mean astronomer."
"Them too. But no, astrology. Folks who tell you what's in your future, what's in your stars. We ain't got neither right now."
Sarah half laughs; that starless, jet-black sky is too fresh in her mind to muster more. She knows there's a rational explanation for what's happened to the world, a rhyme and a reason to the destruction, but she's lost hope in ever understanding it. A musician and a parking attendant—what they need is a scientist.
"Do you believe in that stuff?" she asks. "Astrology?"
"Nah, I believe in God. What about you?"
"No God, no stars. Definitely not astrology." She manages more of a laugh this time. Her voice, so rough when they started talking, sounds normal now. Or has she just gotten used to it? "You know how you'd go through the grocery store checkout and see all those tabloids with the nutjobs who were all like, 'The world's going to end at midnight on such-and-such a date.' And I always thought, well, which time zone? Was the apocalypse going to be on Greenwich Mean Time, or was the world going to end in sections?"
Now Marcus laughs. "So: no God, no stars. What do you believe in?"
Sarah opens her mouth, closes it. How to answer? "Nothing" seems inadequate. It's what her father would have said—would still say, she hopes. And as if he's there admonishing her to practice, her hands drift to the piano keys and play a few notes. Vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore… "Music, I guess."
Marcus nods, and keeps nodding, like a human bobblehead. "Music. I can get behind that. Hell, that's why I'm here. I was crawling through a world of shit out there—some literal shit at times—and then I heard this sound. Like angels. Scary fucking angels, though. Because that sound—it just didn't fit, you know? It didn't belong out there. And I almost kept going past, but then it hit me: it's the end of the damn world, and someone's playing me some Mozart. You don't ignore that."
"It was Beethoven."
"I can't tell the difference." Something in her look must have appeared dismissive, because Marcus holds up his hands, palms out, as if to ward off chastisement. "I mean, I know there is one and all. I'm not a total philistine. Is that how you say it? Philistine? Anyway, I know there's a difference. But I can't hear it, you know?"
"I don't know, actually. I don't know what's it like to not hear the difference between Beethoven and Mozart. I don't know what it's like not to be practicing or performing or listening or…" She gestures at the piano. "This is all I know."
Outside, a flurry of sounds comes and goes, short and fast: a shout, a scream, a shot, silence. Marcus straightens, eyes wide and alert. Sarah pulls her arms to her chest. She stares at the crumbled wall, her lower jaw trembling. But no one comes through.
She and Marcus exchange wary glances, and her trembling subsides. He's a stranger, but not a stranger with a gun. She's safer now, probably more so than with Chris. Marcus seems more stable.
"You don't know that," she imagines Chris saying. No, shouting. Chris would have insisted on searching Marcus. Probably would have tackled him as soon as he entered the hall.
Marcus could have a gun. Or a knife. Tucked into the waistband of his pants. Holstered to his ankle or calf. That was a thing, right? She shakes her head. No, he would have used it by now. Would have pulled it on her the second he spied the water bottle, before he knew it was empty. He would have demanded everything she had. Maybe more.
Sarah shudders. Everything she has is currently inside the piano. She wants to tell Marcus, but she can't be sure about him yet, gun or not. Because there's blood on his jacket, and she doesn't know whose.
"I wouldn't last a second out there on my own," she says, staring again at the crumbled wall. "I'm only alive because someone left their lunch and a couple water bottles in the fridge backstage. I made it all last as long as I could, but now I only have…" She stops herself from glancing at the piano. "Nothing. I'm screwed."
Marcus responds with that bobblehead nod of his. "You and me both, girl."
"No, that's the problem. Don't you see?" How can he not, just looking at her? So scrawny that people are surprised she can lift the piano lid. "There is no 'you and me both.' There's me, and there's you, and we're not the same."
Marcus presses his lips tight. He nods again, but there's a slow sharpness to the motion now. "Yeah, I see where this is going. Where it always goes with white folk. Move on, your kind's not welcome here. Not even in the apocalypse." He strides down the aisle, toward the crumbled wall, snapping over his shoulder, "At least you were nicer about it than the dick with the gun."
"Wait!" Sarah is on her feet, face hot as she rushes to the edge of the stage. "That's not what I meant!"
Marcus turns back, a skeptical quirk to his mouth.
"Stay, please." Her voice sounds so small, the words so pathetic. And they are. Marcus is staring at her with such a steely gaze that she knows she's ruined it. She worded things badly—always, even at the end of the world, she's wording things badly—and now he thinks she's a racist and he's going to leave. Just like Chris did.
Instead, Marcus sits in the front row. "So what did you mean?"
For a moment, Sarah can't speak. He's staying. For now, at least, Marcus is staying. "I meant…" With her on stage and him below, she is struck with the image of him as a fish beneath the water, ready to swim off in a flash of color should she disturb the surface. She takes a deep breath and chooses her next words carefully. "I meant we're different because you can survive out there. Because you have survived out there. But I wouldn't make it. I wouldn't have any clue where to go, what to do—"
"And you think I do?"
"What if someone attacked me? Pulled a gun on me? What the hell would I do?"
"Whatever you have to," he says, voice breezy, as if anything's that easy.
Sarah lets out a derisive laugh. "Seriously, look at me. What could I do to anyone?"
"You'd be surprised."
Sarah sits on the lip of the stage, directly across from his chair, only the front aisle between them. This is the closest they've been. It feels safe, not like the eggshell-walking she had to do around Chris. But she needs to be sure about him. "So what did you have to do?" She nods toward the wall. "Out there."
Marcus shrugs. "Ran a lot. Hid a lot. Begged a lot. You lived off someone's leftovers? I get that. I lived off whatever I could find too. A soup can, some skunky beer. I found a bag of chips too, but…" He snorts. "Fucking salt and vinegar. That's all I've found the last few days." His face grows somber. "And I nearly killed a guy over those chips."
Sarah's stomach sinks and twists. A bag of chips. Salt and vinegar. Nearly killed a guy. "But you didn't, right?" She grasps the edge of the stage, digs her nails into the lacquered wood, fights to keep her breath from quickening. Too close, she's sitting too close to this man, and damn Chris for not being here anymore. "You didn't kill anyone?"
"Could have."
Marcus hoists himself out of his seat, paces down the aisle. Sarah breaths easier the farther he goes, but her pulse is fast, too fast, and her hands ache from gripping the stage.
"Food's the real commodity out there now," Marcus says. "Food and water. After shit went down, people started stockpiling, you know? And most of them ain't too keen on sharing. Just taking." He glances around the recital hall. "But you're pretty safe in here. I mean, sure, stay too long and you're gonna end up starving to death, but for now… you're pretty safe from people. Nobody's gonna come looking for food in a piano."
He smiles at her, and it seems so genuine, but she should be seeing something dangerous in it now, shouldn't she? Something Chris would have seen. Sarah laughs, an unsteady titter, and glances at the piano. Shit, why did she look at it? Now he'll know, see on her face that she's hiding something, and all she can think to do is force a joke. "That'd be like the worse John Cage piece ever."
Marcus quirks his mouth. "What?"
"John Cage," she says, and babbles too quickly to stop herself. "He was a composer, and he wrote these avant-garde pieces for prepared piano—well, other people have too, but he's the one who started it, the one who's famous for it—where you put stuff between the piano strings. Screws and coins and forks and things."
"Why the hell would you do that?"
"To alter the sound. To get a particular sound."
Marcus scrutinizes her for a long moment. Her heartbeat quickens to a nausea-inducing pace. She wants to be behind the piano, on the bench, not sitting here exposed on the lip of the stage. Don't fidget, she tells herself. Don't tap, don't twitch, don't even move. No, move. Too stiff and she'll look guilty. Too restless and she'll look guilty. She's not guilty, damn it. She doesn't owe him anything he hasn't asked for. But he'll want it if he knows it's there. Because he said it himself. Food is the new commodity, and he almost killed a man over a bag of chips.
She half glances toward the piano, some stupid damn impulse outpacing all sense. If anything was going to get her killed, of course it'd be the piano, a shackle as often as an escape.
Marcus narrows his eyes, looks from her to the piano and back again. He takes a few slow strides toward her; she scrambles to her feet, wipes her sweaty palms on her jeans. She's above him, at least. She's on the stage and he's on the floor and whatever she has to do. Because that's what you do outside, he said. Whatever you have to. But what about inside? Are the rules the same here in the recital hall?
Marcus points at the piano. "You're not hiding food in there, are you? I mean, I would have heard it, right? When you were playing, I would have heard a wrapper crinkling or something. Some of that John Cage shit."
"Only if you put it between the strings." It's a stupid thing to say, the nervous laugh that follows even worse. Her heart pounds out the seconds in double time as she waits for her awkwardness to give her away.
Marcus goes rigid, flexes his fingers. "Son of a…"
He leaps onto the stage and lunges toward the piano; she reaches it first, blocks his path. They stare at each other, breaths coming hard and fast, her the only thing between him and the piano. Her. Tiny little her. And now, standing on the same level with him, she feels even tinier. He's taller, broader, most definitely stronger.
"Please." Even her voice is tiny. "It's all I have left."
"You told me you had nothing, you damn liar!"
Something hardens within her at that, makes her draw up straighter. Liar? As if he's any better. As if he hasn't done far worse. "Gee, why would I lie? Maybe because you'd try to take it from me? Just like you tried to take it from Chris."
Marcus spreads his arms wide. "Who the fuck is Chris?"
"'I nearly killed a guy over those chips,'" she says, mocking his voice earlier. "'Fucking salt and vinegar.'" And all at once she doesn't care anymore. She can't overpower him, she can't survive on her own, so why even try? She lifts the piano lid, where everything she has left is tucked inside: a small, crinkled green bag of salt and vinegar potato chips. She grabs the bag, lets the lid slam shut, and throws the chips at Marcus. They're so light the bag doesn't reach him, just lands near his feet with a poof. She wants a crash, an impact to match her anger, but there's nothing left to throw, and so she yells instead. "Chris went out looking for food, and he came back with those, and a big gash on his head, and a broken arm! He said a big black guy attacked him and tried to take the chips."
Marcus stares at her, mouth agape. Then, in the subtle shifting of his expression, she sees realization settle in. He shakes his head and lets out an incredulous laugh. "Big? I'm barely five foot seven."
The laugh cuts through her anger, leaves her feeling like an exposed nerve. Why doesn't he take the chips and go? "You're bigger than me."
"And smaller than your boyfriend. Who, for the record, is the one who jumped me." He jabs a finger toward the bag. "I'm the one who found those damn chips."
"He's not my boyfriend." Her lips curl just saying that. The idea of being intimate with Chris makes her want to vomit, if only her stomach had any contents left to lurch up. "He's just a guy I know from school. A guy I needed to survive. I don't even like him that much."
"Yet when it comes to the chips," Marcus says, all but spitting the words, "obviously the black man is the aggressor."
"I didn't know!" Her skin flushes hot. Wording things badly again—still—and why the hell can't she get it right? And what if Marcus isn't wrong? Maybe she would have trusted the first white guy who walked through the door and that's why she words things badly so why can't Marcus just take the damn chips already? She clutches the piano lid, finally understanding why singers do that during recitals. The piano is solid, a thing to cling to when confidence wanes. "I still don't know. I don't know you, and I barely knew Chris. All I know is what he told me, and I didn't have any reason to think he'd lie."
"You have every reason to think he'd lie," Marcus says, his voice softening. "You have every reason to think I'd lie. Nobody wants to admit to being the bad guy out there. But I'm gonna do this…"
He picks up the chips. Finally, he's going to leave. But instead of relief, she trembles. Alone. She's going to be alone again, and isn't it better to keep wording things badly than to die alone? But he doesn't leave. He steps toward the piano; she skitters aside. Marcus pauses, shakes his head. Stupid white girl, his pitying look seems to say, and she can't say he's wrong because he does the last thing she expects. He opens the piano lid, stuffs the chips back inside, and backs away. "They're all yours."
Her mouth falls open a little. His words register as words, yet for a moment they don't make sense. Not until he jumps down from the stage and starts to leave.
Marcus turns back, sighs like an impatient parent dealing with a child. She feels like a child, and her chest goes tight as she wonders for the thousandth time if her parents are still alive.
"Don't leave me here alone," she says. "Please."
Marcus studies her a long while. "I don't expect things are gonna go real well when your not-a-boyfriend comes back."
"I don't think he's coming back."
A queasy feeling in her stomach accompanies the words. She's known Chris isn't coming back, accepted it and at times even wanted it, yet saying so aloud makes her feel guilty for the latter. Because he could be dead now. Chris was annoying in his best moments—weren't all trumpet players, ha ha ha, and there's the guilt again—unhinged in his worst. But she didn't want him dead.
"He's been gone for a while now. Longer than usual." She sits on the piano bench. From here, she's always been able to say so much—the right things—without uttering a word. "He said he was going to find food and water, but he wasn't making much sense when he left. He was rambling about making amends, and 'unaffected resolutions'—whatever the hell that means—and beasts with eyes on both sides of their heads that could see thieves swimming in lakes of fire. Real crazy shit. And he had this look in his eyes, this scared, haunted look I hadn't seen before. I told him not to go, because his arm was broken, but he… he just staggered on out there. He just left me."
Marcus takes a few steps closer. "You don't like being alone, do you?"
"It's all I ever used to want." She touches a piano key at random, but no sound comes. That damn E. "For people to just leave me alone, let me play in peace. Then the end of the world came and I got my goddamn wish."
"World ain't dead just yet." Marcus hoists himself onto the stage and sits facing her. "How about you play something?"
"Like what?"
"Don't matter to me." He gives her a sad smile. "I'm the guy who can't tell the difference between Beethoven and Mozart, remember?"
Sarah decides on Chopin. The slow, mournful tempo of the Marche funèbre seems appropriate, if a little cliché. Marcus listens in silence for the first few measures, then speaks as she plays—something about hollow men, stuffed men, rats' feet and broken glass. Sarah stiffens, lingers on a chord longer than usual because none of his words make sense. Is he going to start ranting the way Chris did? But his voice remains calm, and soon she catches onto the cadence, the structured way the words fall: he's reciting a poem.
She relaxes and continues playing. The meaning of the poem escapes her, but the mood of it feels in sync with the heavy, tolling chords in her left hand.
"For Thine is the Kingdom," Marcus says, then pauses at the stanza's end.
Sarah remembers hearing those words when her parents still went to church. A poem, or a prayer? Nothing in the words has seemed prayer-like until now.
"My little brother was big into poetry," Marcus says, seeming to sense her unspoken question in the hesitation between chords. "Used to insist on reading me some. Shit he wrote, shit other people wrote. I never quite got it most of the time. But I listened to it, and I memorized a lot of it, because I wanted to get it. Because I knew it meant something."
He resumes his recitation; she keeps playing. Then, in a moment of synchronicity that makes her heart ache, he finishes the poem as she plays the movement's final notes. "Not with a bang," he says, "but a whimper."
The silence that follows is heavier than any chord or well-placed word could be.
"Do you really believe that?" Sarah asks. "That the world's going to end like that?"
"I'm trying not to believe that. I'm trying real hard." Marcus hugs his knees to his chest, making him look smaller. Like her. "'For Thine is the Kingdom.' They keep saying that in the poem, but not the rest of the prayer. Because there's more to it, you know? It's like they can't believe in God anymore, so they don't finish the prayer. Because they don't see the power and glory forever and all that jazz that comes after. They just see death."
"They?"
"The hollow men," he says. "That's the name of the poem: 'The Hollow Men.' That's who it's about."
"Did your brother write it?"
Marcus laughs so hard, so loud, that she flinches. The reflexes Chris's reprimands instilled in her seem more durable than the world outside.
"In his dreams!" Marcus says. "That's some T.S. Eliot I threw down on you, girl. You ain't never heard that last bit before?"
Sarah shakes her head; the heat of a blush spreads across her cheeks. Marcus laughs again, and her face grows hotter, yet she smiles. It feels so strange to smile. It's been so long that her cheek muscles twinge ever so slightly. A good twinge, like the one in her arms after hours rehearsing a challenging piece. Her smile broadens.
"Okay, you're so smart…" She plays several measures of Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, something he was likely to have heard in a movie or cartoon, back when the world was still the world. "Mozart or Beethoven?"
"Mozart."
"Wrong! Liszt."
"That's cheating."
They laugh, and the ache of it in her chest is so much like the way the world used to be that she laughs harder, wants to keep laughing at everything, funny or not. But a tremor, sudden and violent, rocks the hall. Her laughter turns into a stifled yelp. She clutches the piano bench, vibrations reverberating through her, from head to toe and toe to head. Small chunks of wall and ceiling drop to the floor, and the air fills with dust that irritates her too-dry nostrils. She should take cover, yet morbid fascination holds her in place. A quake is like a percussion section, all bangs and crashes and timpani rolls. The world is not what it used to be, the piece seems to say, and you were a fool to pretend otherwise, even for a moment.
The tremor subsides, but not the music it has set in motion. Somewhere outside, a building collapses. She recognizes the bomb-like sound, the avalanche of steel and concrete. The collapse sends a short, rough tremor of its own through the hall. Sarah grips the piano bench tighter. Too close.
Marcus remains on the edge of the stage, still hugging his knees to his chest. When he speaks, his voice is soft. Distracted. "How about you play us something else?"
She brushes her fingers over the keys. What if the next quake ruins the piano beyond playing? Or the quake after that? She was wrong, she realizes. The chips aren't all she has left. She has the piano. A voice clearer than her own.
A creak sounds from above, the groan of something metallic giving way. Sarah opens her mouth, starts to voice a warning, but there is no time, only the split second in which everything happens. A large chunk of plaster plummeting from the ceiling, bringing one of the lighting fixtures down with it. A crash and a clatter against the stage. The edge of the stage. And Marcus…
Sarah darts toward the rubble, heart thudding so hard that she'd swear she can sense every tiny vein within her pulsing. Her next breath catches in her chest, refuses to release until she sees that Marcus has scrambled to his feet.
"Are you all right?" she asks. Christ, how could she have been worried about the piano when someone could have died right here in front of her? Not one of the disembodied cries in the world outside the hall, but someone with a name. A name she forgot to ask when they met, a moment that feels like another lifetime ago.
Marcus stares at the newly fallen debris. Plaster, glass, and twisted metal, only a finger's breadth from where he had been sitting. His expression is dazed, his steps unsteady. Silent, yet otherwise too much like Chris in those moments before he staggered away.
"Hey," Sarah says, "talk to me."
Marcus crouches beside the debris and touches a hand to it. "We're being punished."
His voice is so soft and halting she can't be sure she heard him correctly. "Punished?"
"I think that's why we're still here. Because we're being punished." He strokes his hand across a metal beam. "When the ground just opened up like it did. What if that was God taking all the righteous people? All the good people. People like my brother."
All the good people?
Be a good girl and practice, Sarah. Her parents' voices again, gone yet still there, always chiding. No excuses.
"All the good people." The words come out sharp, knife-like. "But not people like me."
"I didn't—"
"Or else I wouldn't still be here, right? Thanks for that resounding vote of confidence in my character, you asshole." Sarah draws up straighter, teeth clenched. For once she feels taller. Taller than him, taller than Chris, taller than everyone. He barely knows her, yet here he is judging her unworthy of saving? By whose standards? "What if it's not God, huh? What if it's all just random chance? One big John Cage piece. Because punishment? For what? I don't know what you've done that you think is so terrible, but me? I don't deserve this. I'm not perfect, but I've never done anything to deserve this."
She gestures to the wreck of a hall. To the wreck of a piano, dented and dusty. Practicing while the world ends around her, yet it's still not enough. So many years trying to avoid her parents' looks of disapproval, and for what? The irony of ending her days with a piano that can produce only the worst of sounds and a companion who can't tell the difference between Beethoven and Mozart. A companion who has yet to tear his shell-shocked gaze away from the debris that could have killed him. If your God exists, she wants to tell him, then he's an asshole too.
"All I've ever done is what I was supposed to do," she says instead. "For my parents, for my teachers. 'Practice your scales, Sarah. Oh, but keep your grades up too. Only a B+ on your math test? Study harder next time, Sarah. There'll be no TV until you've mastered that Rachmaninoff. And no trips to the beach until you've mastered that Chopin. This audition is more important than your friends, Sarah. You have to know that good enough will never cut it.' Christ, when did I have time to do anything to be punished for?"
She storms toward the piano and kicks one of its legs. The instrument, ever the unyielding taskmaster, doesn't budge, even as she kicks it again and again. She pounds a fist on the lid, draws forth a rattle, but can't make a dent. Even her broken, jagged fingernails can't scratch the wood deep enough to rival the destruction the piano has already borne. She pounds the lid again, both fists, this time with a scream, scraping her dry throat even rawer. Why can't she hurt this damn thing the way it's hurt her?
"You know what?" she says. "Right now I'd give anything to hear my parents saying all that shit to me. Because it would mean they're alive. But I don't know if they are. And I'm never going to know, because they were halfway across the country when all this happened, and the phones wouldn't work, and…"
She slumps onto the piano bench. Marcus stares at her, and she wonders how long he's been doing that, how long ago she became absorbed enough in her pain to forget about his.
"Your brother." She swallows hard. "I'm sorry he's gone, but at least you know. At least you have that." She plays a few notes, a mechanical imitation of what Chopin intended, then slams her hands down on the keys. "What's the point anymore?"
Marcus strokes a metal shard as if it's fine silk. Sarah bites her lip. He's not going to lose it, is he? Something haunted and wary lingers in his expression, but he backs away from the debris and sits on the stage, facing her and the piano. "You love playing, right? Even with all the pressure, you were in here playing because you chose to be. Right?"
"Because I needed to be." Her own answer takes her by surprise. Where have all these words been until now? She can't remember ever talking so much, especially about herself. "I broke my hand when I was fifteen. Stupid frickin' gym class. It was so hard after, not being able to play piano for so many weeks. It was like part of me was missing. Hollow."
Marcus nods. "You play like I pray. Like I used to pray. But I lost all that. Meaning. Faith. My brother. I found him in the rubble, after the garage collapsed. But it wasn't really him. Just a body. This hollow, bloody, broken body that looked like my brother, but those eyes—there was nothing there. All that joy, all that hope he had was gone. All that life." Marcus stares at the floor, though his gaze seems fixed on another time and place. "He should have died with some fancy professor job and a shelf full of awards, not busting his ass in a parking garage, trying to pay his way through school, keeping his dumb old big-mouthed brother in check." He looks up at Sarah, an ashen cast to his brown skin, the watery look of held-back tears in his eyes. "I stopped believing then. I've been trying to believe, I've been saying I believe, but I haven't been able to finish the prayer."
"And that's why you think we're being punished?" Sarah asks. "Because you lost your faith and I never had any?"
"You're wrong about that. About never having any. You do. I see that now. That's what brought me here. I think you see God in the music. You just call Him something else." He nods toward the piano. "And I think that's why you should play us something again. Maybe from that recital of yours."
Sarah strokes the piano keys the way Marcus did the scrap of metal. God in the music. It's a lovely sentiment, but not one she can believe. There's only this world, her gut tells her, and there's nothing left for her in it. Not even music. "I'm not sure I can finish the prayer," she says, drawing her hands back from the keys. "But…" She stands, opens the piano lid, and takes out the bag of chips. "We can finish these at least."
She sits beside Marcus, opens the bag with a messy rip, and holds it out to him. They eat without talking, filling the hall with chewing, crunching, and the crumpling sounds of foil as they reach into the bag for more. The salty chips scratch on the way down—god, why couldn't they have found water instead of chips?—but her stomach offers a greedy grumble of appreciation.
"I'd kill for something to wash these down with," Marcus says. She shoots him a look, and he winces. "Sorry, bad choice of words."
For once, she's not the one wording things badly. Sarah wants to laugh at that, but she's still not sure about Marcus. She doesn't need to be anymore, but she wants to be. Because she still doesn't know whose dried blood is on his jacket. "Have you killed anyone?"
Marcus shakes his head, avoids her gaze. "Girl, we've been through this already."
"And I have every reason to think you'd lie. That's what you told me earlier." She should leave it alone. But it's the end of the world, they've nearly finished the last of their food, and so she presses. "So have you?"
"Lied? Or killed someone?"
"Neither." Marcus rubs the back of his neck, then meets her gaze. "That was a lie."
Sarah waits for anger to boil up within her, or at the very least annoyance, but all she can muster is numbness.
"Your not-a-boyfriend," Marcus says, "what was his name? Chris? I could have just ran. I got the chips back, he was down, I could have just ran. But I was so pissed off, I… I started wailing on him, you know? Didn't stop till I heard bone crack. Then I ran. I dropped the chips and ran. And I kept running." He hugs his knees close to his chest and rocks back and forth. "I may as well have killed him. Broken arm, ranting mad like you said, that gash on his head." He fingers his jacket, looking as if he wants to tear it off. "He won't last long out there like that."
She imagines that: Chris cradling his arm, Marcus kicking him the way she kicked the piano leg. "The world's ending," she says softly. "None of us are going to last long."
"True. But we can try, right?"
"Why bother?" Marcus lets go of his knees, turns toward her with open-mouthed incredulity. "When you were playing earlier, when I first came in here—what were you thinking about?"
She shrugs. "Phrasing, tempo, don't screw up that chord this time."
"I'm trying to be serious here, girl. You started playing Beethoven in the middle of the damn apocalypse. I don't wanna hear you were thinking about wrong notes. I wanna know what was really going through your head."
Fear, she thinks, and the thought is so honest that it chips through the numbness. Her chest aches, claws at her words as she speaks. "I was wishing it would just end already, so I didn't have to keep wondering about how and when it was finally going to happen. So I didn't have to keep wondering about my parents, or my friends, or my teachers, or even Chris. But I was alone, and I didn't want to die alone, so I played." She swipes at her eyes, but her hand comes back dry. "Everything but hope. That's what was going through my head."
Marcus nods. The human bobblehead again. Despite herself, Sarah smiles.
"I was thinking I needed a miracle," Marcus says. "To believe again. But talking to you just now…" He digs the last chip out of the bag and offers it to her. "I think I needed this. Some chips, some company, some Mozart. A little bit of meaning again."
She breaks the proffered chip in half. It seems only right to split it. "I still haven't played any Mozart, you know. Since you came in here."
"I don't know," he says with a laugh. "And I'm okay with that."
Together, they eat their respective halves of the chip, like some sort of absurd, minimart-fueled last supper.
Outside, a rumble sounds. Another quake or aftershock, perhaps, or another collapsing building. Maybe both. But the ground remains steady beneath them. The rumble sounds again, overhead, rolling like a drum. Thunder.
Marcus skitters to his knees, neck long as he stares up at the ceiling, like a small creature listening for a predator's approach. Sarah stands and lets the empty chip bag flutter to the floor. Thunder. How long has it been since she's heard thunder? And if there's thunder…
Heavy pelts hit the roof, few and scattered at first. Then, all at once, the precise strikes blend into a sound like static. Sarah listens, transfixed by how unfamiliar the music of a storm has become to her ears. Then a counterpoint begins—individual drops, plinks against metal, crescendoing into a steady, splashing stream. Rain trickles down from the ceiling, onto the fallen debris that opened its path inside.
Marcus whoops and jumps to his feet. He thrusts his head beneath the cascade, mouth open, letting the water pour down his throat and over his face. Sarah's throat prickles, a dryness like rough cotton. The bottle, where the hell did she throw the bottle?
She scrambles around the stage until she finds where it landed. With trembling hands, she holds it beneath the trickle. Water, she's going to have water, and if she has water she can survive. But the mouth of the bottle is too small, missing too much, sending it sloshing over the sides.
Outside, the rain slows, then stops altogether. No, no, no. Sarah tries to steady her hands. More, she needs more if she's going to make it. If they're going to make it. But the trickle dwindles to drops too small to catch. Then, with one final, feeble plink, the last drop falls.
Sarah whimpers, but then looks at the bottle and laughs. Half full. She shouldn't be amused by ridiculous clichés at the world's end, yet she laughs again. Her glass is half full. She takes a gulp, then another. She swirls a mouthful around before swallowing. Cold and gritty and tasteless, she declares rainwater to be the finest thing she's ever drunk.
Marcus lets out another whoop and presses his wet hands to his mouth. "Go ahead, girl. Tell me that was just random chance. Tell me that wasn't God."
"That was just random chance," she says, though looking at Marcus, she understands why he believes otherwise. Bright-eyed and buoyant, with a smile near as wide as his head—there's joy in his faith, and she wishes she could feel it too. But her joy rests elsewhere. She takes another gulp of water. "This particular bit of random chance gives me hope, at least. I didn't have that before you showed up."
Another rumble sounds, a noise louder and deeper than the thunder. A primal groan that rises from the earth's ill-tempered depths, yet doesn't shake the ground. A harsh, unnaturally white light pushes its way through the gaps in the hall's half-collapsed wall.
"What is that?" Sarah asks.
The light intensifies, and Marcus steps toward it. "The end," he says, leaping down from the stage. "I think this is the end."
Sarah's head fills with images of the sun pulsing and brightening until it explodes. But Marcus will keep walking toward the light. She knows that without asking. Moth to flame. Usually such a dismissive metaphor, but what if the moth sees beauty in the flame, finds meaning in it, and dies with joy? That's a belief worth envying.
Marcus turns back to her, hand outstretched. "You don't have to be alone. You could come with me."
She stares at his hand, expecting indecision, yet feeling none. Earlier she would have taken it, even without knowing who he was. But now…
"Thank you," she says. "But I have a recital to play. A prayer to finish."
She sits at the piano, touches her fingers to the keys, and starts to play: Mozart, Piano Sonata No. 11. Marcus listens for a moment, eyes closed, head swaying in time. His mouth spreads into a grin. "It's nice finally hearing some Mozart."
Sarah smiles, fingers still traversing the keys as Marcus climbs up the pile of debris and strides into the light.
"For Thine is the Kingdom," he declares, his dark silhouette fading as it melds with the white glow, "and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen!"
Alone yet joyful, Sarah plays until the end.
Barbara A. Barnett is a writer, musician, orchestra librarian, Odyssey Writing Workshop graduate, coffee addict, wine lover, and all-around geek. Her short fiction has appeared in publications such as Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet, Fantasy Magazine, Cast of Wonders, Daily Science Fiction, and Flash Fiction Online. You can find her lurking about the Philadelphia area or online at www.babarnett.com. She would like to dedicate "This Is the Way the Prayer Ends" to the late Gerald Warfield, a fellow writer, musician, and Odfellow whose feedback on and cheerleading for this story were invaluable, and whose insight, wit, adventurous spirit, and friendship are deeply missed.
"This Is the Way the Prayer Ends" by Barbara A. Barnett. Copyright © 2020 by Barbara A. Barnett.
Labels: Barbara A. Barnett Fiction Supernatural
Alifah Omar January 11, 2021 at 12:36 AM
Wonderful story, even amid a stark premise.
What an incredible story. Thank you so much for taking the time to write this. I am both shocked and heartened to see that works like these -- full of faith and grit -- still exist. Thank you!
Mysterion 2 Release Day!


text:
Justia Lawyer Directory Business Law Kentucky Vancleve Attorneys
Vancleve Business Lawyers
Compare top rated Kentucky attorneys serving Vancleve.
Don McKenna
Lexington, KY Business Law Lawyer with 27 years of experience
Lexington,	KY 40507
Business, Nursing Home, Personal Injury and Products Liability
Cumberland School of Law, Samford University
Personal injury lawyer Don McKenna has been a member of the Hare Wynn team since 1997. With more than 22 years in practice, Don has helped numerous clients across the country fight for the just compensation they were owed after someone else's negligence caused them harm. Several of his successful verdicts have even set new precedents in the legal field. While he handles a wide variety of cases, including wrongful death, environmental issues, and product liability, Don is especially passionate about cases involving government fraud. He has been recognized by Super Lawyers® Magazine, Martindale-Hubbell®, and Best Lawyers in America®.
Zachary A. Horn
Frankfort, KY Business Law Lawyer with 10 years of experience
(502) 223-1200	300 Whitaker Bank Building
Frankfort,	KY 40602
Business, Bankruptcy, Collections and Insurance Defense
University of Kentucky College of Law
Zachary is a Member in the law office of Kirkland, Cain & Horn, PLLC, where he practices in the areas of civil litigation, business law, banking, creditors' rights, and bankruptcy. Zachary is a graduate of Transylvania University, where he graduated with honors, and of the University of Kentucky College of Law, where he served on both the Moot Court Board and Bankruptcy Moot Court Board.
Zachary has extensive experience representing businesses and financial institutions both in-house and in private practice. Zachary represents individuals and businesses throughout the state in civil litigation, general business matters, foreclosure and security enforcement actions, and...
Mason Moore Kessinger
(859) 253-2105	120 Kentucky Avenue
Free ConsultationBusiness, Medical Malpractice, Personal Injury and Products Liability
At the Kessinger Law Group, we represent plaintiffs and defendants in federal and state courts, as well as in mediation and arbitration matters. As a former Assistant United States Atttorney and Career Law Clerk to a United States District Judge, I have learned what leads to success in the courtroom. Based on this experience, I am able to develop a strategy to achieve your goals in a timely manner through a clearly defined pathway. I will not waste your money on useless litigation tactics, unnecessary motions or wasteful maneuvers designed to increase your legal bill without providing sound,...
Rebecca Hurst
Danville, KY Business Law Attorney with 8 years of experience
(859) 209-2101	301 West Main Street, Suite 200
Danville,	KY 40422
Free ConsultationBusiness, Divorce, Family and Personal Injury
Rebecca Hurst is the Managing Partner at Hurst & Hurst, Attorneys at Law. She, along with her husband, attorney Daniel Hurst are founding partners of the firm. Rebecca's practice focuses primarily on Family & Divorce Law, Bankruptcy and Personal Injury.
She is committed to providing her clients with the legal services they need and prioritizes continuing legal education to help her better serve her clients. That is why Rebecca was recognized by the Kentucky Bar Association in 2015 and given an award for her efforts.
Born and raised in Berea, Kentucky on her family's farm, she grew up working on the farm...
David Leon Ashford
Lexington, KY Business Law Attorney with 48 years of experience
Business, Medical Malpractice, Personal Injury and Products Liability
With more than 40 years of trial experience, D. Leon Ashford has earned a reputation as a skilled trial lawyer and dedicated personal injury attorney committed to fighting for the rights of ordinary injured individuals. Throughout the course of his legal career, he has fought for and won countless successful verdicts, including many multi-million dollar recoveries for his clients. Leon is experienced in a wide range of practice areas, including product liability, commercial and business litigation, wrongful death, and more, and he has been highly-awarded for his outstanding legal practice. Call Hare Wynn today for a free consultation!
Tempe Smith
Business, Personal Injury, Products Liability and Securities
I joined Hare Wynn in 2015 and work primarily in the areas of class action and mass tort litigation. Recently, along with several other Hare Wynn lawyers and the Attorney General's offices of Montana and Alaska, I negotiated the largest consumer protection settlement related to drug misbranding in both Montana and Alaska. These settlements resulted in a payout of $15.25 million to the state of Alaska and $16.7 million to the state of Montana. I was also part of a team of Hare Wynn lawyers who secured a $310 million settlement on behalf of a Class of investors who had...
Laura Day DelCotto
(859) 231-5800	200 N Upper St
Free ConsultationOffers Video ConferencingVideo ConfBusiness and Bankruptcy
I have worked with many business owners, entrepreneurs and corporate management for over 30-plus years, in the times when their businesses are facing difficult financial situations. Our Firm works closely with both corporate and individual clients to analyze their options to reorganize and restructure, whether outside of court or in a chapter 11 proceeding, or to maximize liquidations for the benefit of all the stakeholders. I also work with high-net-worth individuals who may need to explore chapter 11 options for themselves on a personal level; all types of creditors in chapter 11 cases; insiders...
Brian Michael Vines
Business, Personal Injury and Products Liability
Hare Wynn trial lawyer Brian M. Vines is committed to helping ordinary individuals fight for the justice and recovery they are owed when someone else's negligence results in serious, life-altering injuries. With more than a decade of legal experience under his belt, Brian handles a wide range of personal injury cases, including nursing home abuse, qui tam cases, and more. He particularly focuses on serious personal injuries and complex litigation. He has been honored with the Super Lawyers® Rising Stars? Mid-South award and is a member of numerous prestigious legal organizations. Need a personal injury lawyer? Call Hare Wynn today!
Christopher Randolph Jr
A graduate of Harvard Law School, personal injury attorney Christopher S. Randolph, Jr. has litigated a wide variety of complex cases in 12 states across the country. He currently assists Hare Wynn with its representation of U.S. corn farmers in a national class action lawsuit against Syngenta, and regularly handles a number of injury and business law cases. In addition to being a skilled attorney, Chris is a published author. He has written several articles on complex litigation issues for the Alabama Lawyer and Defense Counsel Journal. Call Hare Wynn for a free consultation today!
Randi McCoy
Lexington, KY Business Law Attorney with 7 years of experience
Thomas Goode Jones School of Law, Faulkner University
Randi McCoy is a staff attorney and skilled qui tam and whistleblower lawyer at Hare Wynn. After joining the firm in 2015 as a law clerk, she was quickly promoted to staff attorney and has since proven herself a valuable member of the Hare Wynn team. With every case she handles, Randi works to understand her client's unique goals and the details of each different situation. She is committed to creating positive change and making a real impact in the lives of her clients. She primarily works on False Claims Acts cases. Contact the firm today for a free consultation!...
Dean Langdon
Free ConsultationBusiness, Arbitration & Mediation and Bankruptcy
The majority of my work is helping small business owners and companies work through difficult financial times, by restructuring debts and reorganizing operations, either in or outside the bankruptcy system.
Bruce Jones McKee
University of Virginia School of Law and Columbia Law School
Business litigation attorney Bruce McKee has been with Hare Wynn for more than three decades. With over 35 years of legal experience, he is prepared to aggressively fight for the rights of his clients. He handles much of the firm's appellate work, thoroughly researching various complex matters and preparing for settlement or trial. He has been recognized by numerous prestigious organizations, including Martindale-Hubbell®, The Best Lawyers in America®, and Super Lawyers® Magazine, and is admitted to practice throughout Alabama, Kentucky, Arkansas, and the United States Supreme Court. Need an attorney? Call Hare Wynn to discuss your case today.
William Leroy Montague Jr
(859) 423-1100	110 W Vine St
Free ConsultationBusiness, Communications, IP and Trademarks
Innovative and entrepreneurial legal services for businesses and individuals. Montague Law's goal is to help clients be successful, protect their intellectual capital, and find good solutions to their legal disputes and other problems, all without wrecking their budgets.
Philip Coleman Lawson
Frankfort, KY Business Law Attorney with 10 years of experience
(502) 605-9900	124 Clinton St.
Business, Administrative, Criminal and Personal Injury
Philip Coleman Lawson was born in Pineville, Bell County, Kentucky, the son of two lawyers. He attended Centre College in Danville, Kentucky. After graduating from Centre, Philip enrolled at the University of Louisville, Brandeis School of Law. While at UofL, Philip was an active member of the Moot Court Board and UofL's Kentucky Intrastate Mock Trial Team. Philip also clerked for mid-size firm in Louisville, Kentucky and for former Chief Judge Hon. Sara W. Combs of the Kentucky Court of Appeals in Frankfort, Kentucky.
After law school, Philip moved to Frankfort to became a Trial Attorney...
Richard David Lom
Lexington, KY Business Law Attorney
(859) 963-1939	301 E. Main Street, Ste. 930
Free ConsultationBusiness, Entertainment & Sports and Real Estate
Salmon P. Chase College of Law, Northern Kentucky University
Richard David Lom works in downtown Lexington, KY on the 9th floor of the PNC Bank Tower. He attended NKU Salmon P. Chase College of Law and his boutique firm handles legal matters involving Entertainment Law, Real Estate Law (Commercial & Residential), Divorce Law and Business Law.
Richard is also a licensed Real Estate Broker, a pinned CCIM and a former TV News Anchor with 16 years experience in the broadcast industry, including LEX-18 NBC.
Douglas C. Howard
(502) 352-4950	213 St Clair St
Free ConsultationBusiness, Bankruptcy, Family and Personal Injury
The Catholic University of America Columbus School of Law
Ivey L Workman
(941) 518-8117	234 N Limestone
Business, Animal and Construction
Ivey practices in civil litigation, focusing on business law, equine law, contract formation, liquor licensing, and general legal matters. Ivey graduated from University of South Florida in 2009 and has experience in human resources and the mortgage industry. She moved to Kentucky to attend the University of Kentucky College of Law and is licensed to practice in Kentucky and her home state of Florida. Ivey enjoys incorporating her background in horses and experience with her family of entrepreneurs in real estate development and other small businesses. She lives in Lexington with her husband, three dogs and two cats, and enjoys her...
Peter Brackney
10.0 (2 Peer Reviews)
(859) 559-4648	709 Millpond Road
Free ConsultationOffers Video ConferencingVideo ConfLexington, KY Business Law Attorney with 12 years of experience
Bankruptcy, Estate Planning and Probate
My practice primarily involves representing corporate and consumer debtors in both bankruptcy and non-bankruptcy workouts. I've assisted my business clients with organizing their businesses, drafting and negotiating contracts, collection and other matters. I also do some estate planning for individuals and families. When not practicing law, I enjoy spending time with my family and learning about Kentucky's rich history.
Alva Caswell Caine
Harvard Law School and Cumberland School of Law, Samford University
Personal injury attorney Alva C. Caine has been a member of the Hare Wynn team since 1971. As Of Counsel for the firm, he provides valuable insight and legal assistance for a vast array of complex and difficult cases. A graduate of Harvard Law School, Alva spent three years with the United States Army before ultimately deciding to pursue a career in law. His extensive career has earned him an AV Preeminent® Rating from Martindale-Hubbell®, the highest rating possible, and recognition from The Best Lawyers in America®. Call Hare Wynn today for a free case evaluation!
Andre Fereole Regard
(859) 281-1318	234 North Limestone
Free ConsultationOffers Video ConferencingVideo ConfBusiness, Construction, Consumer and Personal Injury
Andre Regard is an experienced litigator. In addition to litigation, Andre provides general business advise to clients.
Brian Keith Privett
Paris, KY Business Law Attorney
(859) 987-5430	433 Main Street
Paris,	KY 40361
Business, Agricultural, Divorce and Estate Planning
Privett Law Office PLLC is a general civil law office practicing in areas of family, business, real estate, wills and estates, and general civil litigation. Brian Privett is an Assistant County Attorney in Harrison County, Kentucky, is attorney for the Cynthiana-Harrison County-Berry Joint Planning and Zoning Commission, and is Of Counsel at Swinford & Sims, P.S.C. in Cynthiana, Kentucky.
Jacqueline Wright
Maysville, KY Business Law Attorney with 21 years of experience
(606) 564-5585	24 W 3rd St
Maysville,	KY 41056
Free ConsultationBusiness, Estate Planning and Real Estate
Jacqueline Wright chairs Fox, Wood, Wood & Estill's real estate practice. Additionally, she handles probates and estates, and she is also an Assistant Mason County Attorney.
Michael Gartland
Lexingfton, KY Business Law Attorney with 32 years of experience
(859) 231-5800	200 North Upper Street
Lexingfton,	KY 40507
Business, Appeals, Bankruptcy and Collections
John A. Combs
London, KY Business Law Lawyer with 25 years of experience
(606) 767-1279	322 North Main Street
London,	KY 40741
Business, Appeals, Bankruptcy and Criminal
James Michael Morris
Lexington, KY Business Law Lawyer
Offers Video ConferencingVideo ConfBusiness, Appeals and Employment
James M. Morris became licensed in Kentucky in May, 1995. James holds licenses in DC, Georgia, Illinois, Kentucky, Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Texas, and Virginia, and is also admitted by the United States Supreme Court, the Third Circuit, Fourth Circuit, Sixth Circuit, Seventh Circuit, Eighth Circuit, Ninth Circuit, and Eleventh Circuit, and Federal Circuit Courts of Appeals, as well as the Eastern District & Western District of Kentucky, Eastern & Western District of Michigan, Southern District of Ohio, Southern District of Indiana, Northern District of Illinois, Eastern, Middle, and Western District of Tennessee, Northern District of Alabama, Southern District...
Jason Apollo Hart
(502) 395-3665	101 Saint Clair Street
1st Fl.
Free ConsultationBusiness, Appeals, Criminal and Personal Injury
Apollo Law, PLLC is a law office located in downtown Frankfort, Kentucky, owned and operated by Jason Apollo Hart, an experienced and dependable criminal defense attorney and personal injury lawyer. He has a passion for the fair representation of all Kentuckians and is a staunch defender of the peoples' legal rights.
On December 12, 1981, Jason Hart and his twin brother were born in Dayton, Ohio. In the 1995, he and his family moved to Olympia, Kentucky, where Jason attended Bath County High School. Jason's mother worked as a paralegal at a local law firm in Morehead, Kentucky and raised Jason,...
John D Meyers Jr
(859) 552-5151	277 E High Street
Business and Probate
John Hafner
(859) 252-0083	333 West Vine Street
Business, Elder, Nursing Home and Securities
St. John's University School of Law and University of Kentucky College of Law
Ted Houlehan
Free ConsultationBusiness, Employment, Family and IP
Timothy Belcher
Elkhorn City, KY Business Law Lawyer
(606) 754-7150	210 E Elkhorn St
Elkhorn City,	KY 41522
Free ConsultationBusiness, Consumer, Criminal and Personal Injury
John Young Brown III
Frankfort, KY Business Law Attorney
(502) 558-2030	305 Ann Street
W. Bradley Hawkins
(859) 425-1218	1107 Delaware Avenue, Suite 100
Free ConsultationBusiness, Construction, Consumer and Personal Injury
Jeffrey Carl Hoehler
Monticello, KY Business Law Lawyer with 28 years of experience
(606) 348-5361	157 N Main St
Monticello,	KY 42633
Business, Bankruptcy, Collections and Criminal
Douglas Patteson Romaine
James Richard Reid
Maysville, KY Business Law Lawyer with 12 years of experience
(606) 564-6824	207 Stanley Reed Ct.
Business, Domestic Violence, Insurance Claims and Nursing Home
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Business and Health Care
Sharon Morris
Business, Employment and Estate Planning
Pierce Hamblin
Business and Workers' Comp
Whitney Zimmerman Johns
Harrodsburg, KY Business Law Attorney
(859) 734-2423	119 Short Street
Harrodsburg,	KY 40330
Business, Criminal, Estate Planning and Family
Loretta Gecewicz Lebar
Business, Administrative, Arbitration & Mediation and Health Care
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Flexispot Office Chair Review
It can be a real struggle to work fatigue. Sitting on your chair at a desk for a full day may oftentimes give you back pains and sore muscles. And standing while working may be ideal at first glance, but it can be twice as tiring as the first. So what can you do to counter both at the same time?
These electronic height-adjustable desks have become very popular. They offer many benefits for your body and work ethic. The FlexiSpot E7 Pro Plus Standing Desk is a highly recommended best seller, and in this review, we'll take a close look at what it looks like and how well it functions. But does it live up to its hype? Is it worth the price? Let's see!
FlexiSpot's E7 standing desk is packed with tons of convenient features, with a look that's sleek, minimalistic, and quite diverse in terms of location – whether you're in an office building or at your own home. The operation is surprisingly quiet and pleasant to deal with, and the sturdiness can handle objects as heavy as a real panda bear! It's easy to see why everyone is raving about the FlexiSpot E7, despite its high price.
Materials are heavy and may require extra hands to assemble
An In-depth Overview Flexispot Office Chair Review
The FlexiSpot E7 Pro Plus is priced at $579.99. However, prices can vary depending on the material. The chipboard desktop is usually an ideal budget-friendly choice, but if you want to invest in a higher-quality material, then better save up. A bamboo structure will cost you $70 while a fiberboard desk will run you $80. Solid wood and solid-wood-textured materials are both $100. There are many colors available, including the classic black and white, as well as the more sophisticated cherry wood and mahogany.
The E7's frame is made of durable carbon steel. Its thicker legs can withstand objects up to 335 pounds. A metal cable cover is attached across the crowbar where the desk sits for storage purposes – customers had complained before about the lack of cable management in the previous model. The frame is adjustable by height, and it's perfect for whenever you want to either stand up or stay seated while at work. You can adjust the width of the frame to fit your desk, no matter how small or large.
The E7 Pro Plus desk is available in the UK and European countries. Until recently, it has now been made available in the US, Canada, and select Asian countries such as Korea and Japan.
The assembly of the FlexiSpot E7 Pro Plus can be done in a matter of minutes. The assembly process takes less than an hour. If we're being specific, the duration falls between 30 to 40 minutes. The E7's materials are quite heavy and can be difficult to transport, especially if they are heavier than the desk material. In this case, it's better to have another person an extra set of hands-on standby. A full set of the E7 Pro Plus comes with an instruction manual and bolt-and-screw packaging with specified letters for specified locations. It's not just simple, but also organized!
The E7 Pro Plus has motors each built within two of its legs, integrated with the keypad to provide a convenient user experience. While most of the instructions are understandable, there are a few that could be clearer, particularly with the part where the desk is attached, but that part of the experience can vary from person to person. Flexispot Office Chair Review
The FlexiSpot E7's performance is excellent for many purposes. You can use it for light-duty tasks like machine and furniture repairs, as well as school work and arts and crafts. The dramatic height increase is a game changer, as it gives you more freedom for your legs. Not only that, but it also gives you more options to work however you want. With the presence of height-adjustable desks like the E7 Pro Plus, rest assured that they will make such a huge difference in your work life.
In terms of use, the E7 Pro Plus moves smoothly thanks to the anti-collision feature, in which the desk automatically detects any object that may obstruct its operation. If an office chair unexpectedly bumps into the E7, for example, the latter will immediately move an inch or so away from the former to give enough space. The E7 will notice if the desk is raised and the cables begin to pull apart. It will adjust its height to stop this from happening. It's so quiet that you won't even notice the E7. This is especially useful for when you need to take a quick power nap in your office or bedroom.
The E7 Pro Plus Premium keypad features a USB port that allows you to charge your phone or other devices quickly and without the need for separate power plugs. FlexiSpot's E7 is a great choice for anyone looking to add convenience to their work lives. Some users may have issues with the fact that the desk doesn't come with a drawer to store extra space. However, it can be sold separately on FlexiSpot's website.
You might consider other options if you aren't completely sold on the E7 Pro Plus. Apart from that, FlexiSpot has other height-adjustable standing desks, most of which live up to the brand's high-quality standards. These include the equally popular E5, E8, and E1 desks, as well as some more affordable ones like the Kana series and the Comhar and Esben desks with extra drawer space.
Ikea, the world-famous furniture brand, offers minimalistic standing desks, some of which are Bluetooth-friendly, while others are manually operated without the need to plug in. The former is more costly, but the latter is the most affordable.
The FlexiSpot E7 Pro Plus Standing Desk has tons of useful features perfect for not just work, but other purposes as well. For a reasonable price of under $600, it's perfect for what it has: from the quality of the materials to the operation to the durability, it's an essential fixture worth investing in. There are some things that need to be sacrificed but there are plenty of options for sizes and enough flexibility to personalize your workspace. Overall, the E7 Pro Plus has earned the right to be one of, if not the best height-adjustable standing desk yet!
FAQ Flexispot Office Chair Review
It depends on how tall your height is, but a good rule of thumb in determining the right height is to put it where your elbows are at a 90-degree angle while typing or writing. You can adjust a few inches if the desk is too high or too low for your hands.
Within the US, FlexiSpot products like the E7 usually ship within 3 days to a full week. It's almost relatively the same for other countries that have FlexiSpot stores. There are a few territories that ship its products within 24 hours, such as the UK.
FlexiSpot is best known for its standing desks but the company also offers office furniture. Included in the company's lineup are: Flexispot Office Chair Review


Bitcoin mining hardware so how to build the best bitcoin hardware.Below are some our calculate about the mining performance of some hardware used in a mining rig.The list below are shows stock clock numbers. 10-20% performance improvement can be achieved with GPU overclocking tools for bitcoin mining hardware.
-Clock (in MHz) refers to the Shader clock only with nVidia cards (not Core or Memory). With AMD card the shader clock is not separate, but is part of the GPU clock.
All list is RECOMENDED for bitcoin mining hardware.


Thanks for letting me know you tried these! Glad your little girl liked them....and I love how they smelled like Valentine! So cute!
Thanks for the offer of help at Lazy Days and Sundays. I played around with that photo after I posted about my header problem. The picture is distorted a bit, but I had to stop playing a while and get on to other things.
It has been a long time since I had a cookie with m&m's, yum!


A REBELS bikie has been charged with possessing an unlicensed gun following a raid on his Midland home.
Gang crime squad officers allegedly seized a handgun and ammunition during a search of the property yesterday.
The 24-year-old's gang colours were also seized in connection to an investigation into other alleged offences.
Police charged the man with aggravated possession of a firearm, unlicensed possession of ammunition, possession of drug paraphernalia and fighting in public to cause fear.
He is due to appear in Midland Magistrates Court on July 28.


Here's a video by NetBootCamp about different web page preservation techniques and the pro's and con's of each technique.
Web page preservation is a common task. Choosing how to do it is one of the most important aspects of this task. In this post, we'll look at two different methods, and test drive tools used for each: Screenshots and Web Archives.
Read more ... Screenshots and WARC files.
For coverage regarding WebPreserver start at the 4:45 mark.


Zheng Shuang has always been a humble girl and recently a series of photos of her becoming a cashier at her own restaurant has emerged online. The photos were taken some time ago.
The fried chicken restaurant is like a second home to her and she helps out at her restaurant whenever she can.
In conclusion, hiring a cashier in China has become very expensive in the year 2017.


I had to sell my home and my second mortgage was going to be a short sale.
Having never had to go through this, I was clueless to the actual process and only knew of the nightmare stories people tell you. I listed AND closed my 3 family house within 2 months. Every twist and turn Bruce and Lee were there for me without skipping a beat. Communication was exceptional and I always felt as if I was their only client. Asides from his professionalism one thing that I believe is unmatched is that Bruce, Lee and their entire Re/Max Best Realty family are truly compassionate and understanding. I didn't feel as just another client, I sincerely felt they cared about not only getting the house sold but more importantly being there for me every step of the way assuring me that everything will be just fine. As it was. Again, exceptional service. Will always be grateful to Bruce and Lee and I highly recommend their services hands down.
Bruce and Lee Parker are a great realtor team.
Parker and his wife Lee for all their help. They were able to find a wonderful home for me . This was my first home purchase in the United States. I needed to return to China during the transaction and they handled all the details from half a world away. They became my friends and I was happy to host them as honored guests in Beijing. Mr. Parker has helped maintain my home during the times I needed to return home. Mr. Parker and his wife even entertained my two sons at the New Jersey Shore while I attended meetings in New York City. I advise everyone to meet Mr. Parker and conduct all their New Jersey Real Estate business with him and his wife Lee.
I highly recommend Bruce Parker of Re/Max Highland Park New Jersey.
I live in Oregon and he helped me sell my Father's house in NJ. The house actually had a buyer 2 weeks after he listed it, which was amazing. He recommended someone who could help me get the house cleaned out which was no easy task; my parents lived in that house for 68 years. His office helped me with getting permits, having repairs done and getting the CO. I couldn't have asked more, they were professional and knowledgeable and always willing to help. Bruce Parker was recommended by Radio Personality Glen Beck. Bruce is one of Mr. Becks Real Estate Agents I Trust.


text:
Q: HERE GET batch geocoding response 403 but job is complete I successfully submitted a batch geocoding request...
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" standalone="yes"?>
<ns2:SearchBatch xmlns:ns2="http://www.navteq.com/lbsp/Search-Batch/1">
    <Response>
        <MetaInfo>
            <RequestId>CAOxHo4SFaj17sSB2UyTxeoDKHZR77f9</RequestId>
        </MetaInfo>
        <Status>accepted</Status>
        <TotalCount>0</TotalCount>
        <ValidCount>0</ValidCount>
        <InvalidCount>0</InvalidCount>
        <ProcessedCount>0</ProcessedCount>
        <PendingCount>0</PendingCount>
        <SuccessCount>0</SuccessCount>
        <ErrorCount>0</ErrorCount>
    </Response>
</ns2:SearchBatch>

And when I GET status, the job is completed....
    <?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" standalone="yes"?>
<ns2:SearchBatch xmlns:ns2="http://www.navteq.com/lbsp/Search-Batch/1">
    <Response>
        <MetaInfo>
            <RequestId>CAOxHo4SFaj17sSB2UyTxeoDKHZR77f9</RequestId>
        </MetaInfo>
        <Status>completed</Status>
        <JobStarted>2019-10-31T00:11:58.000Z</JobStarted>
        <JobFinished>2019-10-31T00:12:26.000Z</JobFinished>
        <TotalCount>13291</TotalCount>
        <ValidCount>13291</ValidCount>
        <InvalidCount>0</InvalidCount>
        <ProcessedCount>13291</ProcessedCount>
        <PendingCount>0</PendingCount>
        <SuccessCount>13291</SuccessCount>
        <ErrorCount>0</ErrorCount>
    </Response>

However, when I then go to get the response, I get 403 forbidden
<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//IETF//DTD HTML 2.0//EN">

    <title>403 Forbidden</title>

Forbidden

You don't have permission to access /
        on this server.

I am using the endpoint outlined here: https://developer.here.com/documentation/batch-geocoder/topics/example-get-results.html

A: In this case you need to pass correct apikey to download the result.
https://batch.geocoder.ls.hereapi.com/6.2/jobs/CAOxHo4SFaj17sSB2UyTxeoDKHZR77f9/result?apiKey={}

Also refer https://developer.here.com/documentation/batch-geocoder/dev_guide/topics/example-get-results.html

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


Dwared is the multi-disciplinary design practice of London based creative and designer Edward Dede, with a focus on art direction, branding, graphic and web design.
As an independent creative I've worked and collaborated with a variety of clients within fashion, film and also for non-profit organisations and charities providing work as a designer.
Oh…Your probably thinking why the name 'Dwared?' Well if you look more closely it's just an anagram of my first name. A simple but effective moniker for my work.
I enjoying working closely with my freelance clients to deliver the kind of work that is fresh, appealing and generates genuine excitement about their brands. It's the same type of commitment and passion I would want for myself.
From concepts to development and from design to delivery, my aim will always be to offer a personal service that delivers a great end-product for your campaign, brand or business.
Maybe you are looking to launch your new responsive website or generate eye-catching promotional material about your event or brand launch or find a distinctive way to advertise your products. Whatever the brief, I'll work to help you achieve the best possible return with something original, beautiful and functional.


Sometimes the only sound. . .
Constantly crossing something. . .
One of our favorite (and closest) areas within Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Cataloochee Valley offers trails and trees, wilderness, wild streams and elk. Good place for photographs too.
Prev Do We Really See Our World?


A dose of travel inspiration thanks to the photography of Phil Gallagher.
A dose of travel inspiration thanks to the photography of Melissa Findley.
The expansive photography of Ted Grambeau.
The dazzling photography of Mark Clinton.
The dramatic photography of Luke Shadbolt.


text:
Laser tool for cancer surgeons
Head and neck cancer patients will have access to new, cutting-edge treatment at Wollongong Hospital with the arrival of a $160,000 CO2 Duo surgical laser.
Head and neck surgeon Dr Stephen Pearson and staff with the new high-precision surgical laser at Wollongong Hospital on Tuesday. Picture: GREG TOTMAN
The state-of-the-art system, which was bought with funds raised by the Illawarra Cancer Carers, was officially handed over to the hospital on Tuesday.
Wollongong ENT head-neck surgeon Dr Stephen Pearson said the high-precision surgical tool will improve patient outcomes in a number of ways.
"The reason why this is so important is that it can improve our ability to remove tumours more precisely, with less complications, less bleeding, less surgical time and patients recover faster," Dr Pearson said.
"This tool will be widely used on a whole range of patients with different cancers anywhere from in the oral cavity, in the airway or throat and it will be utilised by the three head and neck surgeons working in the area.
"It will make a big difference to our head and neck cancer patients."
The laser can treat small tumours in larynx, hypopharynx, tongue, palate and floor-of-mouth cancer as an alternative to radiotherapy. The machine's fibre optic technology allows surgeons to have greater vision and make more precise incisions.
Illawarra Cancer Carers volunteers worked tirelessly to raise a whopping $265,000 at their annual fund-raiser held at City Beach Function Centre in June.
The figure included a $110,000 donation from the estate of Horsley woman Margaret McTaggart, who had been treated for cancer at Wollongong Hospital before she died.
Illawarra Cancer Carers volunteer and banquet committee chairman Keith Wilson said the charity was dedicated to bettering the journey of cancer patients in the region.
"We do whatever we can to help with cancer treatment or making the journey of cancer better for local cancer patients - that's what the cancer carers are all about."
The organisation has raised more than $3 million for cancer care in the region.
By BREE FULLER Aug. 26, 2014, 8:03 p.m Illawarra Mercury


text:
Q: Rotas dos controllers e actions em minúsculo Como fazer com que as rotas dos controllers e actions sejam todas em minúsculo?
Por exemplo: ao invés de Noticias/Details ficar noticias/details.

A: É possível usar uma biblioteca (Nuget) para fazer isto. Lá tem as indicações de como instalar e usá-la. È possível que o projeto tenha sido abandonado. Alternativa.
Mas se estiver usando o .NET 4.5 ou maior tem como configurar sem bibliotecas:
public static void RegisterRoutes(RouteCollection routes) {
    routes.IgnoreRoute("{resource}.axd/{*pathInfo}");
    routes.LowercaseUrls = true;
    routes.MapRoute(
        name: "Default",
        url: "{controller}/{action}/{id}",
        defaults: new { controller = "Home", action = "Index", id = UrlParameter.Optional }
    );
}

Coloquei no GitHub para referência futura.
Retirado da resposta no SO. Na mesma pergunta tem outras formas de fazer isto.


text:
Q: how to refresh layout when i press a button when i press a button to change a new language from new string values but the layout doesn't changed, how can i do? this is my code:
btnChangeLng.setOnClickListener(new View.OnClickListener() {
        @Override
        public void onClick(View v) {
            String language = "lo";
            Locale locale = new Locale(language);
            Locale.setDefault(locale);
            Resources resources = getBaseContext().getResources();
            DisplayMetrics displayMetrics = resources.getDisplayMetrics();
            Configuration configuration = resources.getConfiguration();
            configuration.locale = locale;
            resources.updateConfiguration(configuration, displayMetrics);
            Toast.makeText(Main_Activity.this, "Laos", Toast.LENGTH_LONG).show();

            //refresh here

        }
    });

Language will change when i re-open this app, but it's not automatic change when i press a button, now i want to refresh my layout

A: Have you tried doing this Android Localization?
You can refresh your current activity.
Change language

A: First Change the language of device on button click and then fire intent.
public void onClick (View v){
 // Chnage lanuage of your device here
    Intent intent = getIntent();
    finish();
    startActivity(intent);
}


In November 2016, alumna Paige Hernandez, was approached to devise a play at this university. Hernandez, who has devising experience through her own company, B-FLY Entertainment, jumped at the opportunity. Devised works are ones that bring the cast into the creative process to tell their own story, and that is just what "Clove" does.
Hernandez began the creative process in the spring of 2017. She conducted workshops with 12 participants to better understand the important issues of today.
"I guide them through different activities and exercises and questions to really see what's on their mind, to see what we want this show to be about," Hernandez said.
She then went home to create what she calls "a shell of a script." Hernandez held off on creating dialogue until the cast could input their perspectives. Then this year, she brought that script back to this university to start rehearsals, which only lasted a month. The cast spent the first two weeks creating material. They did everything from writing their own dialogue to choreographing dances.
"In doing this, it really allows for the piece to be authentic, relatable, contemporary, fresh, with the latest jargon and the latest kind of crazes and pop culture references and that's what I wanted," Hernandez said. "I wanted something on a college campus that was going to be relatable.
The voice that came out was one that told stories about struggles with gender identity, depression and suicide. Hernandez's goal with this devised work was to tell an authentic story that included modern language, social media and influences that are relevant to today's culture.
Through the immersive set design and technological elements, the audience is placed right in the center of the action. The cast brings them into the story which creates a deeply moving experience.
The show itself is one of a kind. Not only has it never been told before because it was written by the actors themselves, but it conveys issues in a way they are rarely told: straightforward and unadulterated.
"Clove" will be performed May 2 through May 6 at the Kogod Theatre at The Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center, from the School of Theatre, Dance, and Performance Studies.


text:
Plant a Tree for Byron Scott
Byron Scott Baker
Byron Scott Baker, 64, resident of New Albany passed away peacefully January 7, 2022 at Magnolia Place in Union County.
A memorial service honoring the life of Mr. Baker will be announced at a later date. Arrangements will be provided by New Albany Funeral and Cremation Care.
Mr. Baker was born August 13, 1957 in Marietta, GA to the late Harlan and Billie Logan Baker. He attended W.P. Daniel High School and was employed in the construction industry until his retirement.
A Christian and proud United States Army Veteran, Mr. Baker shared his love of blues music by playing the guitar and harmonica. He enjoyed riding his Harley Davidson motorcycle and will be remembered as a loving uncle who shared quality time time with his nieces, nephews and his granddaughter, who held a special place in his heart.
Those left to cherish his memories include his wife of 21 years, Annice Bobo Baker, one daughter, Scotti Miles (Adrian) of Nesbit, one sister, Kim Baker-Bolding (Mike) of Cape Coral, FL, one brother, Steve Baker (Shari) of Overland Park, KS, one grandaughter, Landri Miles of Nesbit, Ms, four nieces, Emily, Jennifer, Christa, and Shelbi, three nephews, Tommy, Stephan, and Tyler
The staff of New Albany Funeral & Cremation Care invites you to share memories with the Baker family.
To send flowers to the family or plant a tree in memory of Byron Scott Baker, please visit our floral store.
You can still show your support by sending flowers directly to the family, or by planting a memorial tree in the memory of Byron Scott Baker


Southern Foodservice Management President Mike Barclay was honored with one of the industry's most coveted awards, the International Food Service Manufacturer Association (IMFA) Silver Plate Award, during the 2016 National Restaurant Association Show on May 21, 2016.
Often called the "Academy Awards of Foodservice," the IMFA Gold and Silver Plate accolades were first awarded in 1954. Awards are made in nine segments of foodservice operations: Independent Restaurants/Multi-Concept, Chain Full Service/Multi-Concept, Chain Limited Service, Business and Industry/Foodservice Management, Health Care, Elementary and Secondary Schools, Colleges and Universities, Specialty Foodservice, and Hotels and Lodging.
Southern Foodservice Management's Barclay was the Silver Plate award recipient in the Business & Industry/Foodservice Management category.
Award winners, considered the top operators in the industry, are chosen by a distinguished jury of trade press editors and previous award winners.
"I am proud and honored," Barclay said about Southern Foodservice Management's Silver Plate award. "Also highly thankful to the great group of friends, fellow Southern Team Members and others who were involved in my nomination and the subsequent support process which led to this wonderful Award. I'm looking forward to becoming a member of the prestigious IFMA Silver Plate Society."


text:
Home Latest News Pascal With Much To Fight For This Weekend
Pascal With Much To Fight For This Weekend
Jean Pascal:
(about his decision to not trash-talk Thursday)
"Everything in its time. Everything I do is calculated. People think I'm unpredictable, but my strategies all well-planned with my sports psychologist. Now, for this fight, there isn't any battle of wills, so there's no point in trying to intimidate my opponent. We have another plan on the psychological front, but intimidation is not part of it."
(about Bolonti)
"He's a boxer with stamina. He has 35 wins, 24 by knock out. He's never lost by KO, which means he's coming here to go the distance. He's had three months to prepare because he was initially set to fight Lucian Bute. He says the fight will be easier from a strategic standpoint because I'm a right-hander, so I know he'll be ready. He's here to try and surprise everyone. A win would allow him to be noticed at the international level."
(On Bolonti lasting 12 rounds vs Braehmer on three weeks notice)
"Going the distance against a world champ, that says he's a quality boxer. He has experience, he has stamina, so we're in for a good fight at the Bell Centre on Saturday night."
(Pascal says not thinking about Kovalev fight just yet)
"All I'm thinking about is this fight. I know Bolonti is the ideal opponent for me to prepare for the next bout, whoever it will be, against any right-hander, and allow me to go to the next level."
Roberto Bolonti:
"I was preparing to fight Lucian Bute and, suddenly, he got injured. I know many people from Montreal follow him and that when he fights, the arena is full, so, I was quite disappointed. But it's always easier to fight a right-handed boxer (like Pascal) than it is a left-hander (like Bute). The strategy will change, but it's nothing to worry about. I'm looking forward to the fight."
Roberto Bolonti
The Staredown
The Main Event.
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☎Regis Prograis vs Teofimo Lopez🔥"Fight Is Not Going To Happen😢There Ain't No Money In That Fight"😂
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