tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37949970145102416082024-03-05T13:27:33.764-05:00Painted FireCA Mastersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12827341507537715331noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794997014510241608.post-80425899270936904922012-06-25T19:41:00.028-04:002023-09-21T11:28:24.384-04:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #990000;"><i><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">Words are only painted fire. – Mark Twain</span></i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><span><span><b><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">C.A.
Masterson</span></b></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
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</span><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: large;"><span><b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/C.A.Masterson/e/B007ZT0N6K">Amazon</a></b> </span></span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span><span>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span><span><b><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif""><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6423146.C_A_Masterson">Goodreads</a>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://catemasters.wixsite.com/cate-masters---c-a" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">Web site</span></span></a></b></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/MyArtfulGarden" target="_blank">My Artful Garden Etsy shop </a></b></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: large;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif""> Also writing as Cate Masters, look for her at </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: large;"><span>
</span></span><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: large;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif""><a href="http://catemasters.blogspot.com/">http://catemasters.blogspot.com</a>, </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: large;"><span>
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<span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: large;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">and in far-flung corners of the web.</span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Her novellas, short stories and flash fiction </span></span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span><span>
</span></span></span></span><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">appear at various epress sites and
web zines </span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span><span>
</span></span></span></span><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif""><a href="http://vagabondagepress.com/81201/V1I7SS3.html"><i>The Battered Suitcase</i></a>
(2008), <a href="http://paintingfirewithwords.blogspot.com/2012/06/a-seasonal-affair.html"><i>A
Long Story Short</i></a> (2008), </span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span><span>
</span></span></span></span><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif""><i><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">Dark Sky Magazine</span></i><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif""> (2008), </span><a href="http://www.cezannescarrot.org/vol4iss1/crystalline.html"><i>Cezanne’s
Carrot</i></a> (2008), <i> </i></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span><span>
</span></span></span></span><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span><span><i><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">The Harrow</span></i><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif""> (2006), </span><i><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">Flesh from Ashes</span></i><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif""> (2005), <i> </i></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span><span>
</span></span></span></span><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span><span><i><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">Quality Women’s Fiction</span></i><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif""> (2005), </span><i><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">Phase</span></i><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">, </span></span></span></span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span><span><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">and <i>The Writer</i>’s online
edition.</span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span><span>
</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgY8z_btANTSOkT3bjl_h6cgOmEg7hoUYtNVyAimifKR1pHkNJU7_oW5DyLpGuDCniAxPP3Uqu29P0X1-7mvlxe4njoMZJXE524rsyFWrdQYXYZVbXhmRyUp1ra64CPDhOMrsdnIcwMZD48HEBRaHblU1f68Ic3a4Hh6J77NOYUeuehe_Mk6G9KYKf9Lg=s900" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgY8z_btANTSOkT3bjl_h6cgOmEg7hoUYtNVyAimifKR1pHkNJU7_oW5DyLpGuDCniAxPP3Uqu29P0X1-7mvlxe4njoMZJXE524rsyFWrdQYXYZVbXhmRyUp1ra64CPDhOMrsdnIcwMZD48HEBRaHblU1f68Ic3a4Hh6J77NOYUeuehe_Mk6G9KYKf9Lg=w256-h320" width="256" /></a></div></span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span><p><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: large;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif""> </span></span></p><h3><a href="https://issuu.com/cyreneolson/docs/uncagedbookreviews-marchapril22?fr=sNGRjODM4MDcwNjU" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: large;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">Uncaged Book Reviews interview</span></span></a></h3></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><h3><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: large;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">March/April 2022</span></span></h3></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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<span style="font-family: Josefin Sans; font-size: x-large;"><span face=""verdana" , "sans-serif"">Email: cathmasterson [at] gmail.com </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Josefin Sans;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
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Cate Mastershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01371792447604980848noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794997014510241608.post-89486286714504009082012-06-05T20:17:00.000-04:002012-09-04T20:17:50.124-04:00The Dancing Cats (a modern fable)<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">In
the middle of the last century, along the Japanese shoreline, the
people of the tiny village of Minamata lived a simple life. Some were
farmers, tending animals and fields. Many were fishermen. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Each
morning, they set out in their small boats to bring in as many fish as
they could catch and haul in from the bay. The villagers sold their
fish, and also fed their families with their catches. They were thankful
for a good meal. What they did not finish, they fed to their cats.
Sometimes the village cats would snatch a fish from the docks. The cats
loved the fish almost as much as the fishermen.</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">One
night, after a hearty meal of fish, the villagers heard a strange
noise. When they looked out their windows, they gasped at the sight. A
tomcat was on its hind legs, hopping and spinning, twirling and
flipping, as if dancing to a jig only he could hear. The villagers
laughed. The cat danced all night through the streets of Minamata.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The
next night, there were two cats dancing, making the villagers laugh
twice as hard. The night after that, there were three, and more came to
the streets to join the dance each night until all the cats in the
village danced, crazy with the unheard music.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">One
night, a little girl called for her cat. She loved to feel his soft,
warm fur against her cheek as she slept, the cat beside her on the
pillow. Outside, she saw her cat dancing, and she pleaded with him to
come home. Her cat danced as if he could not hear her, only the silent
music that made him dance. The little girl’s mother told her to come in,
it was late, the cat would tire himself and come back soon.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The
next morning, the little girl rushed outside, calling for her cat. She
ran through the streets but couldn’t find him. She ran to the dock where
her father, a fisherman, kept his boat. His boat was gone. Her father
had set out fishing very early, as always. There on the dock lay the
little girl’s cat. She shook him to wake him, thinking he’d gotten so
tired from dancing that he’d fallen asleep here. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">But
he wouldn’t wake up, for he was dead. She gently carried him home. As
she walked, she saw other dead cats along the dock and all through the
streets. All of the dancing cats were dead.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Crying,
the little girl showed her mother the cat. Her mother, though almost
due to have a new baby, helped her daughter dig a hole to bury their
beloved cat. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The
next week, the little girl forgot her sadness when she heard her
mother’s cries. The midwife helped deliver the little girl’s new sister.
But when the baby came out, the midwife gasped, and nearly dropped the
newborn. She lay the baby on the mother’s stomach, and the mother began
to wail because the baby could not. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The
little girl crept in by her mother’s bed, and looked at her new sister.
Her eyes grew bright. The baby looked like a new kitten – her hands
were like claws, her tiny body curled like her own cat’s used to on the
pillow at night. Her mother held the baby closer, and the newborn made
some kittenish grunts, and opened her eyes. The mother shed more tears
when she saw that her new daughter couldn’t see. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Her
mother’s wails were echoed by other mothers in the village when their
own babies were born: some were blind, some had legs that would never
support them, some would never speak. Like the cats, most of these
babies would die before their years should rightfully have ended.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">It
was not until a stranger came to the village that the mystery was
solved. The water was poisoned, the stranger said, and the fish in the
water were also poisoned. Anyone eating the fish – cat or human – would
likewise be poisoned. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The
stranger took photographs of a chemical company dumping its waste into
the bay where the fishermen caught their fish. After the stranger’s
photographs were published, the company was made to clean up the bay.
Toward the end of the century, the water in the bay was said to be safe.
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The
stranger, who had been beaten by thugs for taking the photographs,
eventually died, too, his brain bleeding from too many beatings. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">If
not for the stranger, the villagers might all have died from the
mercury that poisoned their fish. The new century brought new hope for
the people of Minamata.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">***</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Across
the globe in America, the new century brought a new president who
encouraged the people of his country to embrace energy from power
plants, even though scientists proved that emissions from these plants
were harmful to people and animals. This new president favored oil and
coal because his family made its money from those industries. The people
who ran the factories and power plants cried out to him: “Please, dear
president, help us! We can run much more efficiently – and profitably –
if you take away these silly restrictions.” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">And
the president smiled, for these companies gave him campaign money. “Of
course I’ll help,” he told them, and bade his environmental minister to
loosen the longstanding pollution rules. The factories and power plants
were allowed to spew terrible things into the air of America – things
that made old people and children sick, so that they had to stay
indoors, away from wind that could carry harmful particles, including
mercury. The coal plants spewed
more mercury into the atmosphere, where it gathered in rain clouds,
then fell into the waters with the rain. The fish in the waters
collected it in their bodies. The scientists tested the fish, and warned
people not to eat them.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The
president did not believe the scientists. He would not read the
reports, thinking they were trying to take his profits away. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">One
night at the White House, the president had invited many guests for a
fine big meal of fish. He’d show those scientists, he thought. After the
dinner, the president stood on the front steps of the White House in
his cowboy boots, waving goodbye to his guests. Among the last to leave
was a couple who’d brought along their little girl. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Come along,” the mother said, “it’s past your bedtime.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The little girl pleaded with her mother, “Please can we wait ? I want to watch the cat a little while.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The
president walked in his big cowboy boots to where the little girl stood
on the lawn, just beyond the porch. He laughed when he saw the cat – it
was flipping and spinning, twisting and hopping, as if dancing a jig to
music only the cat could hear.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Well,
I’ll be damned,” the president said. And for once, he was right. For on
the grass near the dancing cat lay some leftover fish from dinner.</span></span></div>
<h1 style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The end</span></h1>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-top: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> _________</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-top: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>The Japanese chemical company was Chisso.</i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i style="font-family: inherit;"> </i></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-top: 6pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>The
photographer was W. Eugene Smith, whose photos of Tomoko Uemura and
other Minamata villagers poisoned by mercury forced the cleanup of the
bay. He died of a brain hemorrhage.</i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i style="font-family: inherit;"> </i></span><br />
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>In
Pennsylvania in 2004, 45% of lake fish were found to exceed the safety
levels for mercury. [“Environmental group finds mercury in 45 percent of
PA's lake fish,” by Dan Nephin, AP, Aug. 3]</i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i style="font-family: inherit;"> </i></span><br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>By
March 2005, EPA is expected to loosen Clean Air Act standards for
mercury emissions from coal-fired power plants. [ “EPA: Mercury plan
would help kids and women, avoid coal politics,” by John Heilprin, AP,
Aug. 10]</i></span></div>
Cate Mastershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01371792447604980848noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794997014510241608.post-38356698710132439742012-06-05T20:15:00.000-04:002012-09-04T20:15:29.767-04:00A Seasonal Affair<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span>A flash story originally published in A Long Story Short web zine</span></i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span> </span></i>
<span>
</span></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">It’s
the same every year. After months of no word from him, he’ll come
creeping back to her. Just when she’s at her best – her most flamboyant,
splendid self – she abandons everything to him.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span id="goog_628565934"></span><span id="goog_628565935"></span>He’ll swirl in, showering her with glittering diamonds, literally raining them down on her until she sparkles.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">But
he’s cold – frosty cold! He cares nothing for anyone else’s plans. He
can wipe them out like an avalanche with no thought. Yet people love
him. He inspires cozy warmth, snuggling. </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">She
can’t resist him. At his best, he’s breathtakingly beautiful. At his
worst, he’s ugly and destructive, but she understands that – she has
that side to her as well.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">They’re
not always compatible, but something about them makes them a very
complementary couple. He’s nothing, really, without her. She has that
power over many of us.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">When
they’re good together, it’s like magic, and even sometimes when they’re
awful – he can turn her to sheer ice, and still, it’s awesome.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">Their
relationship is not constant, it’s a seasonal affair. Not everyone
approves, of course – there are those who can’t stand the combination of
the two – they simply move away, where it no longer bothers them, it’s
just one of those distant things they can <i>t’sk</i> about.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">Their
relationship can be so intense – maybe they just need a break, after
saturating themselves with one other. Some speculate it’s fatherhood he
can’t deal with – just as soon as she’s bulging with new life, he takes
off for parts unknown – travels north, they say.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">She
doesn’t seem to mind, though. She keeps busy, always something new on
her horizon. Or maybe it’s all a front – she can get pretty stormy. But
she goes through her phases, and then, she’ll just be at her most
glorious, and he’ll send his calling card – a tinge of frost on an amber
leaf. He ruins her best work – fades her burnished oranges, her ember
reds into ash, her sun-tinged golds into grey, filling the entire world
with his sepia tones. The air turns crisp, and as a hint of what’s to
come, the stars glimmer like diamonds in the sky, until the sky seems to
fill up, gets heavy with them, then they crystallize and come showering
down on her by the millions.</span> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>If you listen very closely, you can almost hear her sigh as Mother Nature opens her arms to Old Man Winter yet again.</span></span></div>
Cate Mastershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01371792447604980848noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794997014510241608.post-88679025932511037752012-06-05T20:11:00.000-04:002012-09-04T20:13:10.773-04:00Breaking News<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Flash fiction first published by A Long Story Short</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Officer Davis pounded his fist on the door of
2B.<span> </span>“Charles Miller, open up.<span> </span>Police.”<span>
</span>Officer Scully cocked his head.<span>
</span>No sound could be heard over the blare of the television inside. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Davis pulled his
gun. “Sir, we’re coming in.”<span> </span>With one
well-placed kick, the door burst open.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">A thirtyish man
sat in a recliner open-mouthed, chest beneath his unbuttoned shirt sticky with
drool, work boots scattered next to the coffee table, his bleary eyes locked on
the Constant News Network.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Scully waved his
hand in front of Miller’s face.<span> </span>No
blink, not even a twitch. “Ah, geez. Another one.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Third time this
month.” Davis holstered his weapon. No threat here – to him or his partner, at
least. “I’ll call it in.<span> </span>Leave the rest
for forensics.”<span> </span>The half-eaten TV
dinner, the man’s fixed look of dread and shock, the stale stench of the
apartment already confirmed Davis’ suspicions: Miller was a loner, isolated
from the world except for the relentless drone of the Constant News
Network.<span> </span>The station reported events,
even weather, with the intensity of an Uzi – ticker rolling nonstop blurbs of
headlines, promising to update regurgitated events, an all-you-can-stand buffet
of kidnappings, bombings, murders, wildfires and floods.<span> </span>The only breaks from the onslaught were
promotions for sponsors’ gadgets.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Davis pulled his
walkie talkie from its holder and requested an ambulance. “Remember when
thought control was just a theme for a bad B-movie?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Scully blew air
through tight lips.<span> </span>“No newspapers, no
magazines, no books – this guy was asking for it.” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Probably lost his
thought process somewhere between the terrorist threat playback and the talking
head banter.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Someone should
invent an opinion regenerator for poor bastards like this.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Maybe someone
already has,” Davis said. “Problem is, whose opinion will it be?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Whoever pays to
have it built!” Scully slapped his partner’s shoulder.<span> </span>“Hey, how about we stop at Ebby’s for a
burger after this?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Sounds
good.”<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The news ticker
flashed a blurb about the city’s innovative plan for a waste-to-energy
plant.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Davis nudged his
partner. “So what do you think of the mayor’s garbage idea?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Scully stepped
aside as the ER team wheeled in a gurney.<span>
</span>“The mayor has plenty of ideas that seem like garbage, but this one
actually has potential. I’d like to see a few kinks worked out first.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“What kinks?” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Just a sec.”
Davis picked up the remote. “Can’t think with this noise.” He pressed the power
button. The face of the sternly concerned anchor blipped to black.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">They followed the
ER workers out of the apartment, and Davis shut the door. “Okay, lemme hear
your idea.”</span></span></div>
Cate Mastershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01371792447604980848noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794997014510241608.post-18625993047584700682012-06-05T20:07:00.000-04:002012-09-04T20:08:34.687-04:00A Seasonal Affair<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><div class="post-header" style="font-family: inherit;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><i style="font-family: inherit;"><span>A flash story originally published in A Long Story Short web zine.</span></i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">It’s
the same every year. After months of no word from him, he’ll come
creeping back to her. Just when she’s at her best – her most flamboyant,
splendid self – she abandons everything to him.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span id="goog_628565934"></span><span id="goog_628565935"></span>He’ll swirl in, showering her with glittering diamonds, literally raining them down on her until she sparkles.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">But
he’s cold – frosty cold! He cares nothing for anyone else’s plans. He
can wipe them out like an avalanche with no thought. Yet people love
him. He inspires cozy warmth, snuggling. </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">She
can’t resist him. At his best, he’s breathtakingly beautiful. At his
worst, he’s ugly and destructive, but she understands that – she has
that side to her as well.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">They’re
not always compatible, but something about them makes them a very
complementary couple. He’s nothing, really, without her. She has that
power over many of us.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">When
they’re good together, it’s like magic, and even sometimes when they’re
awful – he can turn her to sheer ice, and still, it’s awesome.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">Their
relationship is not constant, it’s a seasonal affair. Not everyone
approves, of course – there are those who can’t stand the combination of
the two – they simply move away, where it no longer bothers them, it’s
just one of those distant things they can <i>t’sk</i> about.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">Their
relationship can be so intense – maybe they just need a break, after
saturating themselves with one other. Some speculate it’s fatherhood he
can’t deal with – just as soon as she’s bulging with new life, he takes
off for parts unknown – travels north, they say.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span style="line-height: 200%;">She
doesn’t seem to mind, though. She keeps busy, always something new on
her horizon. Or maybe it’s all a front – she can get pretty stormy. But
she goes through her phases, and then, she’ll just be at her most
glorious, and he’ll send his calling card – a tinge of frost on an amber
leaf. He ruins her best work – fades her burnished oranges, her ember
reds into ash, her sun-tinged golds into grey, filling the entire world
with his sepia tones. The air turns crisp, and as a hint of what’s to
come, the stars glimmer like diamonds in the sky, until the sky seems to
fill up, gets heavy with them, then they crystallize and come showering
down on her by the millions.</span> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>If you listen very closely, you can almost hear her sigh as Mother Nature opens her arms to Old Man Winter yet again.</span></span></div>
Cate Mastershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01371792447604980848noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794997014510241608.post-40639351740123414842012-06-05T19:59:00.000-04:002012-09-04T20:01:15.835-04:00Christmas Eve at the Diner on Rathole Street<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRle2MUJfmowVnLMBJbwQW8D0LAt4QqHSy0d-Q6M8ZcJOHNKKWM2T6fqcoxgpxZR9emfJ0djuvE42f5-OjfTexJ-chMuL9zKH7u5uBvWxNtqaurN81IFn9RAbYKTrq1teRX3qXkRX07VN-/s1600/2010BuckContest.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRle2MUJfmowVnLMBJbwQW8D0LAt4QqHSy0d-Q6M8ZcJOHNKKWM2T6fqcoxgpxZR9emfJ0djuvE42f5-OjfTexJ-chMuL9zKH7u5uBvWxNtqaurN81IFn9RAbYKTrq1teRX3qXkRX07VN-/s320/2010BuckContest.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The
darkened shop fronts, outlined in twinkling Christmas lights, stood
like forbidding sentinels against the deep mauve and grey ribboned
remains of the December sky.<span> </span>Maria
clutched her seven-year-old son’s hand as she trudged hastily along the
street, slush wetting her feet through the toe of her ankle boots. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="line-height: 200%;">Next payday, </span></i><span style="line-height: 200%;">she thought<i>, I’m buying myself shoes.<span> </span>Even if they have to come from Goodwill.</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Glancing
at her Timex, she hurried her pace, if not her stride – the tight skirt
of her pink uniform made her feel like a Geisha toddling on bound feet.<span> </span>She heard a low whistle, and the growling laughter of two men echoed through the grey shadows of the alley.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Eyes ahead, Julio – remember?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Around here, people kept moving and didn’t look too closely into the shadows.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The
silver wreath on the diner’s door was hung just above the “Come In,
We’re Open” sign. As if that were enough to entice customers, Maria
thought as she entered – simply being open. But then, in this part of
town, an open door to a warm, dry seat – even if it were only a stool at
the counter – drew customers, all right. Carl, the owner and chef,
preferred paying customers, but proved a soft touch for anyone down and
out. No shortage of those types around here. The diner sat precariously
on 47<sup>th</sup> Street, the street considered the “rat hole” to the city’s seamier side.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Maria
relaxed as she hung her coat on the hook near the kitchen and waved to
Terri, who smiled as she took an order from an older couple at the
counter.<span> </span>Maria liked to arrive
at work early, but today had worked late at the department store, caught
in the “Christmas rush” of shoppers wanting their packages wrapped just
so. She’d barely had time to hurry home and change into her waitress
uniform when her neighbor arrived with Julio saying sorry, she had to
work and wouldn’t be able to babysit after all.<span> </span>Maria
hated to bring Julio to work. But he was the light of her life, her
angel. Maria knew he’d be patient and quiet while she worked.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">As
she’d suspected, only a few people occupied the diner. Most folks were
home with their families, celebrating in their own modest way. The
people here either could not afford or were not inclined to put up a
tree, and sat clustered around the small artificial one Carl put in the
window each yuletide season. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Maria seated Julio at a small table in the corner. “How about you, sir? Can I get you anything?” She chucked him under the chin.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">He
smiled as she whispered, “There’s hot chocolate, on the house, for
anyone under ten.” The eager look on his face was answer enough, and
Julio drank his hot chocolate spoon by spoon.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The
Santiagos, a grey-haired couple sitting nearest Julio’s table, smiled.
Mr. Santiago asked, “So, little guy, what’s on Santa’s list this year?” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Julio bent his head sadly. “Santa can’t get me what I really want.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“What’s that?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“A new bike, a red one like his sleigh.<span> </span>But he only gives those presents to other kids.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Well,” old man Santiago said, “I’ll bet Santa’s saving his best present for when you’ve grown a little.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Julio nodded glumly, and Maria hugged him.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“We have the best present of all, Julio – we have each other. Just like Mary and her baby Jesus.”<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Glancing up, he smiled. “Tell me about the story again.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Julio’s
face was aglow with wonderment as Maria pointed to the treetop star to
begin the tale of the first Christmas. Maria hadn’t realized the entire
diner listened. As she finished, the three couples and scattered loners
applauded.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“I’d
better get back to work,” Maria whispered to Julio. She drifted to the
other customers’ tables, checking on them one by one.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">At the counter, she said to Terri, “It’s going to be a long night.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“And not very profitable, judging by the clientele.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">When
Maria thought of her childhood Christmases, the angry voice of her
father overshadowed any happy memory. He always left in a swirl of angry
words and slamming doors. Her mother retreated to her bedroom, her soft
sobs muffled by the closed door. One day her father split for good, and
Maria hadn’t seen him since. She cherished the memories of the few
Christmases together, just she and her mom.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">That
all changed when her mother let her new boyfriend move in. He offered
to babysit Maria while her mother worked the night shift at the auto
factory. Too late, her mother discovered the real reason he liked to be
alone with Maria. She’d hide in her closet, whimpering as she tried to
make herself as small as possible, shuddering at the thought of his
touch. It was no use, he always found her.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Maria
jumped as the door to the diner slammed shut, the bells jingling.
Immediately glad for the distraction – no one should think terrible
thoughts on Christmas Eve – she told Terri she’d wait on the young man.
From the darkest depths beyond the rat hole, Alfonse was only an
occasional customer. At least he wasn’t part of a gang, the last she’d
heard.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Mustering a smile, she asked, “What would you like?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span>“Coffee, black,” came his mumbled reply. His eyes were vacant as he wrung his hands.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Okay, comin’ right up.” She tried to sound cheerful, even though her Christmas cheer ran close to empty.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">About
half an hour passed, and the customers whiled away the night with
conversation. One of the old men called with some effort, “I’ll take my
check now, Maria.” As Carl burst through the swinging doors from the
kitchen, whistling “<i>Here Comes Santa Claus</i>,” Alfonse stood in a nervous jerk.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Just sit down. Nobody’s going nowhere.” He pointed through his coat pocket.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">A hush fell over the room. The buzz of the diner’s neon sign suddenly seemed loud, and the cheer of Jose Feliciano singing <i>Feliz Navidad</i> on the radio out of place.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Everybody
stay calm. Real slow, now, take out your money and whatever valuables
you have, and lay them here.” He spread a crumpled red bandana on the
table.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The customers exchanged confused looks.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Let’s
go,” yelled Alfonse, glancing toward the window. Occasionally, a police
cruiser ventured into these streets, but Maria had a feeling that
tonight there would be no savior arriving in a cherry top.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Noiselessly, each person approached, laying their meager belongings in the bandana. Alfonse prompted each, “Is that it?” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Each nodded, shrugging.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The
last to approach, Maria instructed Julio to remain seated no matter
what. She whispered to Alfonse, “Please, can I keep my money? I haven’t
bought Julio’s Christmas dinner, and—”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Put whatever you’ve got right there.” Alfonse motioned to the table.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Onto the dirty bandana, she carefully laid twenty-two dollars and some change.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“And the ring,” he said.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Her eyes widened as she clutched her left hand.<span> </span>“My wedding ring?” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“In the pile. Now.” Hardness glittered in his eyes.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Her
nostrils flared, but she slowly pulled off the thin band of gold,
kissing it before placing it gently on top. Julio ran to his mother and
clutched her waist.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Alfonse yelled, “Hey, hey! Sit down, both of you!”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Don’t make my mom cry,” Julio said.<span> </span>“My daddy died last year, and she cries too much already.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Alfonse pulled his shirt away from his neck. “Yeah, we all got problems, kid. Now sit down.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Why are you doing this, Alfonse? You don’t mean it,” Julio pleaded.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Look, I’m not going to say this again—”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“But you always help people, not hurt them. And you make such beautiful pictures.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Carl
stepped forward. “He’s right, Alfonse. You don’t want to do this. You
have real talent. I’ve seen your paintings in the tunnels, on brick
walls. You know, people pay for art like that. Murals, they’re called.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Shut up. I know what you’re trying to do.”<span> </span>He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Give me the money from the drawer, Carl, and I’ll be on my way.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Heaving
a sigh, Carl strolled to the cash register. “It’s not too late,
Alfonse. You can stop this now. We can forget this ever happened…”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Hushed agreements filled the air, everyone nodding in encouragement.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“What’s the matter with you people? Just give me the damn money!” His eyes shifted wildly from face to face.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Please, Alfonse,” Julio said quietly.<span> </span>“Don’t<span> </span>steal. I love your paintings. My mom said God gave you that talent.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Dragging his sleeve across his mouth, his face twisted as tears welled.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Julio continued, “She said your paintings help all of us see that we’re better than this old town.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Alfonse glanced at Maria. “You said that?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Maria nodded mutely, afraid the wrong word would send him into a rage.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“We love you, Alfonse,” said Julio.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Yeah, right.” He spat a bitter laugh. “A lot of good <u>that</u> does me.” His hand shook as he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“We need you to keep painting pictures. My mom said it helps us remember the good things,” Julio said.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Indecision smoothed Alfonse’s features. He looked into each of the faces surrounding him.<span> </span>“How can you people keep living like this? I have to get out!<span> </span>I can’t spend another year in this rat hole!”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“You will get out,” Julio said. “You’ll be a famous artist someday.<span> </span>My mom said so.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Alfonse sank into a chair, hands covering his eyes. “God, if only that were true…”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Don’t worry.” Julio laid a hand on Alfonse’s shoulder. “We know you don’t mean it.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Alfonse’s shoulders heaved in quiet sobs.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Carl whispered, “And a child shall lead us…”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Maria watched Carl, whose face appeared bright, out of context with the unfolding events.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Carl
said, “Julio’s right. Your art has helped us, and now we – all of us –
can help you. None of us wants to see you turn bad. You just need
someone to remind you how much you matter, to all of us. But you have to
decide, right now, that you want to live right. Not like the rest of
them.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Alfonse lifted his head, but his sad eyes did not look at Carl. “I needed money to get away… I’m sorry,” he whispered.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The others gathered around Alfonse, laying their hands on him.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“God bless you, son,” each said in turn as they took back their belongings, cradling them as they walked out the door.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Lastly, Julio told Alfonse, “It’s the birthday of the baby Jesus, you know.<span> </span>Special things can happen.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Maria secured her wedding ring on her finger, then took her twenty-two dollars.<span> </span>“If you need a job, the city’s road crews usually need help during the winter, clearing snow…”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">He let out a ‘sheesh’ and shook his head.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Anger flared. “Listen, sometimes we have to do things we don’t want, while we’re waiting to do something we <u>do</u>
want. Take me,” she continued, though he gazed absently out the window.
“I’m working two jobs, trying to put some money away for the future – a
better future for me and Julio. Go ahead and laugh, but that’s only
part of my plan. Someday I’m going to college so I can be what I really
want to be – a social worker.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">He gazed at her in disbelief. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“I
know what you’re thinking: she’ll never make it. But I’m smart, and if I
work hard, I’ll get scholarships. I’m not giving up.” She straightened
her spine. “And neither should you. Julio was right. You have real
talent.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Alfonse shrugged.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Carl’s
hushed voice held excitement. “Yes, Alfonse, we all believe it. You
could get a job at the community college, that way your tuition would be
reduced. If you need help getting started, I’ll do what I can.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Incredulous, Alfonse turned to Carl. “Why would you want to help me after what I’ve done?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Because
Julio and Maria are right. We need your art, to remind us that we –
each one of us living here – is better than this neighborhood. You have a
chance, a real chance, to prove it.” Carl’s eyes gleamed.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Maria
gathered her coat and Julio’s, saying to Terri, “It’s time for me to
get my baby home, even though Santa won’t be stopping again this year.
Carl has it under control, as usual.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Take it easy, Maria. You two have a Merry Christmas.” Terri tousled Julio’s hair.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">As
the door slammed shut behind them, bells jingling, Maria stopped for a
moment to watch Carl and Alfonse through the window. Carl leaned toward
the younger man. With each sentence, Carl seemed to be bolstering
Alfonse’s confidence, giving him faith in a better future.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">The church bells pealed brightly.<span> </span>“Listen, Julio. Silent Night.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">His
eyes drooped, so Maria bent to pick him up, and hurried before his
weight became too much for her. She heard the swoosh of tires as she
paused at the corner.<span> </span>A friendly voice called, “Hey, Maria – you need a lift home?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">Shifting her body so she could see inside the cab, she smiled. “Hey, Rico! Sorry, but I can’t afford it.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“It’s my Christmas present to you. Hop in.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Thanks, that’s really nice of you.”<span> </span>She climbed in, cradling Julio on her lap.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Nah, it’s not like there are any fares out there at midnight on Christmas Eve. Not till midnight mass is over, anyway.”<span> </span>He
smiled in the rear view mirror. “Hey, do you two have any plans for
Christmas dinner? My mama invited half the neighborhood. You might as
well come along, too.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Are you sure?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Yeah,
it would be nice having you over. And you don’t want to be alone, do
you?” He pulled over to the curb in front of Maria’s apartment.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“All right.” Maybe Christmas dinner wouldn’t be so bleak for her son.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Pick you up tomorrow around three then?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">“Three it is.” She waved as he pulled away.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">‘<i>Midnight,</i>’ Maria thought, carrying Julio inside. The stars shone brighter and clearer now, the city blanketed with an unusual hush.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">After
next Christmas, she would be ready to start college. No more diner
work. She’d get a small apartment nearer the college, apply for a few
scholarships…</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.4in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 200%;">She hummed to herself walking upstairs, not even minding the cold slush that had seeped through the toes of her boots.</span></span></div>
Cate Mastershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01371792447604980848noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794997014510241608.post-31805496627834248572010-03-21T18:08:00.000-04:002020-03-21T18:10:36.750-04:00Love and War (speculative short)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Turn
off the war and come to bed.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marta
rolled over with a sigh and watched Chad, his body outlined in the dark by the
TV screen flashing with explosions and gunfire. He was addicted to the war,
unable to tear himself away from the television for more than a few minutes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He pointed the specially
retrofitted remote at the television and clicked away. “But I almost have
enough points to reach the next level. Then I can upgrade.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What?” She shoved
the covers away and sat up. She’d grown tired of the rat-a-tat-tats and booms that
pervaded their lives, audible from nearly every room of their home. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">His breaths came in
short bursts, like the gunfire. “I need one more cache of weapons – or a sniper
– for the five hundred points.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Marta slid behind
him as he sat on the edge of the bed and watched the uniformed men run, aim
their rifles, fall to the ground. “Those graphics are starting to look too
realistic. I can hardly tell now which are the real soldiers and which are the
virtual.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yeah, pretty cool
how they intercut the graphics with the real news footage. There’s supposed to
be an even better prototype in beta testing.” Her husband’s boyish enthusiasm
charmed her, despite the fact she could dredge up no enthusiasm within herself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Prototype?” she
asked absently, just to keep the first real conversation between them in days
on a roll. She could care less about the damn software, but in the personal war
between <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Virtual War Games</i> and her
marriage, her only defense was to feign interest.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“One that lets you
shoot real bullets.” His voice was tinged with excitement.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Marta’s head jerked
upward. “Real bullets?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chad gave a short
laugh. “Only at the enemy. They probably won’t release it during this war,
though, dammit.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It
couldn’t possibly be legal, allowing civilians access to such deadly weaponry. It
might appear to be a game from the confines of their bedroom, but the men on
the other side of the screen certainly wouldn’t see it as one.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Still,
Marta was glad Chad was not overseas fighting. Part of what kept her riveted to
news of the conflict was the human element. The lives lost to snipers or bombs.
The inability of the soldiers to discern between friend and foe. A friendly
face one moment might very well be the last face a soldier saw.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She
relaxed into him, and felt her breath ricochet off his skin. She kissed the nape
of his neck and began moving toward his ear, but Chad flinched, too engrossed
in the virtual world on the screen to take notice of her. She had ways to
change that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Come on, baby,”
she whispered, her lips at his ear. “Come to bed.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her fingers slid from his waist to his
thighs, then inside his boxers. He moaned and leaned into her, tilted his head
toward hers. Shouts from the soldiers snapped his attention back to the
television. He straightened his back so quickly that his shoulder blade slammed
into Marta’s lip. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Ow.” She pressed a
finger to her sore mouth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He quickly glanced
back at her. “Oh, sorry.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She pulled her
knees up and inched backward to her pillow. Her retreat tonight was temporary;
tomorrow, she’d relaunch with a new strategy. A bolder advance.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He flashed her a
smile. “Going to bed? ’Night.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She frowned at him,
but couldn’t help but stare at the taut muscles gently rippling across his back
as he jerked the remote toward the TV. She remembered what it was like before
he bought this game, when their bodies naturally gravitated toward one another
until they were lying together in a sweet, sweaty entanglement. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Before this game
was released, he had occasionally played video games to relieve stress, but
having a game that linked him to an actual war in real time had become an
obsession. When this war ended, he’d argued, there might not be another again
for years. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Marta clung to that
hope. How nice it would be, she thought, to go out again – to dinner, to the
movies, anywhere they could both be engaged in the same activity. Not once
mention a weapon. Or death.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She tried to block
out the sounds of military action, tried to will herself to sleep. “Could you
turn it down? That machine gun is giving me a headache.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Well
after midnight, Marta grabbed the remote from Chad’s grip. She pressed the OFF
button and threw it into the hallway. It bounced off the wall, the plastic
casing flying apart like so much shrapnel. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As
she drifted off, Marta heard Chad’s grumblings as he tried to find the last
battery that went MIA. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I enacted a momentary cease-fire</span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">, she thought
dreamily.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The next morning
she walked to the kitchen in a haze of sleep deprivation. Chad had left early for
work; Marta knew he would stop at Radio Shack for a replacement remote. She reveled
in the silence, but spilled her coffee when the telephone rang.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Oh, Brittany!”
Marta slid onto the long-legged chair and leaned on the kitchen island
countertop. “I’m really getting worried about Chad. He’s become obsessed with
these war games. It’s all he does, every spare moment.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Brittany’s voice clipped
through the receiver like a general’s command. “I wouldn’t let Rob buy the full
version – only the first level, and only for one squadron. He’s still mad at
me, but I told him – if you want to fight, join the military. It’s bad enough
we watch Total News Network all night.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I know, us too.”
When it wasn’t the game version, Chad had to keep up with every new strike, and
update his tally of casualties. “So you let Rob get the personalized interactive
version?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes, he knows all
the soldiers in the platoon – their histories, their families’ histories, their
war stats – everything.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“War stats?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Why
were men were so intrigued by military conflicts?</i> Marta wondered. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Why couldn’t they just play chess, like her
grandfather used to?</i> He’d known the horrors of war first hand. How
patiently he had explained the strategy of chess to nine-year-old Marta,
rolling her captured knight in his hand with the same look in his eyes as when
he told her his Vietnam combat stories. Those stories about fighting in the
jungles had both frightened and intrigued her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
stats, Brittany continued, told about any special training the soldiers might
have undergone, their assignment on the mission, even how many rounds they’ve fired
during any given fighting sequence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well, that at
least sounds a little bit interesting. All Chad wants to do is blast away with
the remote. It’s so unnerving. I feel like I don’t really know who I’m married
to. I wish he’d get more involved personally with them, like Rob.” Maybe then
he’d see the other side as humans, too. Not just targets.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Oh, yes, Rob’s
involved, all right. A little too involved, if you ask me. He emails at least
five guys every day. They tell him their field maneuvers, what they ate, what
the conditions are like. It’s monitored by government censors, of course, so
nothing sensitive gets through. But he can talk with them for hours. Sometimes
I think he knows them better than he knows his own kids.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Wow.” Marta didn’t
know what else to say. Her brain might as well have undergone de-briefing –
there was no further information readily retrievable.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hey
– cheer up, kiddo. It could be worse. They could be cheating, right?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Right.” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Would that be worse?</i> Marta wondered as
she said goodbye. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A few days later,
Marta heard Chad’s cell phone signal a text message. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He unclipped it
from his belt, then let out a whoop. “All right!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Wha’?” Marta was
in the middle of her teeth-brushing ritual, which she never cut short. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In the mirror, she
saw Chad bounce off the bed like a little boy. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Version 5.0 is
available now,” he said, cradling his cell in his hands, still reading.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Wha’?” She turned
off the tap, hoping she’d misheard.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The upgrade --
it’s ready early. I’m ordering it now, okay, hon?” He dialed and held the phone
to his ear. Standing tall, with a hand to his hip, he could have been a
military commander, awaiting orders.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Marta knew why Chad
was so excited. The conflict had advanced more quickly than predicted, and the
soldiers were about to lay claim to their target city. The upgrade would allow
remote users like Chad direct involvement in the war’s outcome. She opposed it,
and not because it cost ten thousand dollars. Marta could justify that; the
company said part of the proceeds went to war relief efforts. But the thought
of Chad sitting in their bedroom and actually – not virtually – shooting the
enemy… it sickened her. But Chad, infected with some sort of combat delirium,
seemed dead set on it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">White foamy spittle
dripped from her mouth, and she ran to the sink and spat as if she’d swallowed
poison. She listened to Chad press the interactive ad on his cell phone to
connect with the software company. Delivery would be instantaneous; as soon as
the company verified their credit card information, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Virtual War Games</i> would download the software upgrade directly to
the game box perched on their bedroom television. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She closed the
bathroom door and pressed the water button outside the tiled stall, watching as
the water ran in rivulets down the drain. She stepped inside and let the steam
envelop her. By the time she toweled off, Chad was crouched in front of the
television set like one of those toy green plastic army men, poised for an
attack. His eyes darted as he clutched the remote, at the ready for any action.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m going
downstairs for a drink,” she said. “Want anything?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">His eyes didn’t
leave the TV. “Can’t stop now.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She paused in the
doorway. “Yes. That’s the problem.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It wasn’t worth an
argument. She would just have to live with a “special forces” husband. That’s
how they pitched it: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Can’t enlist? You
can still help your country and be part of the action! Buy Virtual War today!</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe the war will end soon</span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">, she thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This new war – all sand and thick dust – was
so very removed from their daily lives. It was a part-time hobby for Chad, a
diversion from work and stress. Marta tried to put it out of her head that real
men and women were being ripped apart by bullets there. The government had said
the war was a necessary evil; to achieve a greater good, some must, sadly, be
sacrificed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From that very same
television screen, the president had repeated this creed before the fighting
began. Before Chad had become a virtual soldier, as if he were programmed to dedicate
his every waking moment to the conflict and ignore all worldly things,
including her, while he fought the enemy. Marta was willing to wait for him,
just like the old days when wives waited at home for their husbands to return
from overseas. It was almost harder, she thought, to have him here with her; it
was almost like living with a ghost. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When she came back
upstairs, he grunted as he fired the remote. With each shot, a message appeared
in the upper left-hand corner of the screen: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You missed! Try again.</i> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So Chad did. Again
and again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Marta sat on the
edge of the bed and hugged her knees as she watched. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What if you
accidentally shoot one of our guys?” she asked. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He moved as if
ducking incoming fire. “Not possible. Program won’t let you. And you lose
points.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“God forbid.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
stakes in this private war were becoming too high</i>, she thought numbly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">An automatic
intermission, timed to activate after two hours if the user hadn’t taken a
break, caused the screen to flash a pause message. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Damn! Just when I
was getting the hang of it!” He nearly tossed the remote onto the bed, then
shot a suspicious look at Marta and slipped it into his pocket. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He stretched and
walked toward the master bath. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Marta let out a
sardonic laugh. “Can’t I change the channel while you’re in there?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chad blushed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What station do you want?” He glanced at his
watch as if a bomb were about to explode. Marta knew he was ticking off the
minutes until he could get back to the war.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She sighed. “Never
mind. I’ll catch up on some reading.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chad bound into the
bathroom, and returned just in time for the break’s end. After a scan of the
screen to orient himself, Chad pointed the remote and fired. A buzzer sounded,
and the message <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">500 POINTS: SNIPER
DOWNED</b> flashed several times in bright yellow letters.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“YES!
I GOT one!” He clenched his fists like a gladiator after a kill.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A flutter of dread
passed through Marta’s stomach. “You shot someone?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chad practically
glowed with excitement. “A sniper! He was about to…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She leaned forward,
her gaze locked on his. “You shot a person?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This is war. You either shoot or be shot.” He
looked as if he believed this with all his being.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Her voice rose as
she got up to face him. “Chad – you’re not a real soldier. But you just killed
someone.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
whirled back to the television. “You think? It said he was down, it didn’t say
he was dead.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You
shot someone who could not even see you, let alone shoot at you!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">His
jaw clenched, he stepped toward her, pumped with indignation. “I did what I had
to do.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Marta
realized her jaw had fallen open, and struggled to close it. His logic was
incomprehensible. Fatally flawed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If
she didn’t know better, she’d think he was about to strike her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I
can’t…” She struggled to find words, any words. She wanted to beg him to go
away somewhere with her, leave the war behind before it became wedged too
permanently between them. Even while they slept, the darkened screen of the
television seemed to Marta like a soldier on watch, waiting for Chad to take up
his position again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chad turned back to
the fighting. “Another couple snipers, and then I’ll move to the next level.
That’s a little more expensive...”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Marta looked at her
husband with a mute plea. He could no longer distinguish what was reasonable
and what wasn’t. He’d become desensitized to the human element. Including her. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Shaking
uncontrollably, she climbed in bed as he went on.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“…but then I’ll have
the chance to fire at an enemy chopper. And after that,” he said, his voice
filled with patriotic awe, “the next upgrade is to the rocket launcher.
Wouldn’t that be something.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Something.” She
slid down the headboard, pulled the covers over her head. In a self-defense
mechanism, her brain shut out the offensive noises and she escaped into sleep.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When the alarm
buzzed the next morning, a saggy-eyed Chad was still wildly surveying the
television landscape.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Marta deactivated
the alarm and pushed the hair from her face. “Have you been up all night?
You’ll never make it through work today.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">His glassy gaze
skipped across the screen like a pinball. “I’m taking off. I have some days
coming.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Chad, this is
getting a little…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">His face hardened
into an ugly mask of anger. “Shhh! My squadron is searching this village, it
could be booby-trapped, it could have snipers, anything. I have to stay on
guard.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She’d been about to
say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">crazy.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Shoving the covers
aside, she stood and walked to where Chad sat crouched on the carpet. He looked
like a refugee, Marta thought. It occurred to her he was a refugee from their
marriage. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Chad – put that
thing down. It’s ruining our lives.” She spoke calmly and evenly, hoping to
penetrate his armor of madness.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">His hands held the
remote at eye level in pre-firing mode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Quiet. Gotta concentrate.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You’re obsessed.
I’m turning it off.” She stepped toward the television, but he caught her arm
and yanked hard, so she stumbled backward.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Don’t touch it!
And stay out of my way. How am I supposed to shoot if I can’t see?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Anger swelled
within her. She pushed herself up. “Give me the damn remote. This is enough.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Just as she reached
over his shoulder for the diabolical device, he fired again. Machine gun fire
answered, and a soldier leading his squad in a building raid fell forward. The
three other soldiers glanced backward, as if they could see Chad and Marta, who
were huddled in horror before the television. The GI’s sighted their rifles and
squeezed off a few rounds as they dove for cover. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What just
happened?” Chad sounded as if the wind had been knocked from him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You shot him. One
of our own soldiers.” Marta’s voice was barely a whisper.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“That’s impossible.
The software doesn’t allow ‘friendly fire.’ Not real friendly fire, anyway. You
can only shoot the enemy. That’s what it says in the rules.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The television
flashed a large red ERROR message. The game box buzzed, then popped like
fireworks as smoke curled upward from it. A high-pitched whiz stabilized into a
zapping buzz. Chad jerked backward onto the carpet as if having a seizure,
ripples of tremors making him flop like a fish on the . </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Marta screamed for
what felt like forever until his spasms calmed to occasional shudders. He made
a strange gurgling noise and stared at the ceiling. Blood dripped from the
corner of his mouth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">While
too many thoughts swarmed in her head, Marta was embarrassed to acknowledge one
that worried the stain would not come out of the down comforter. Blood was so
persistent.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She gathered her
senses. Her hands shook as she reached for Chad’s cell phone, lying beside him.
She was about to dial 911 when the phone chirped. The caller ID said <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Virtual War</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hello?” Her voice
sounded strange, like a little girl’s.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A clipped male
voice spoke. “Ma’am? We have reports of an incident occurring at your home. Has
there been any sort of mishap?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Mishap? Your
stupid game electrocuted my husband!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A succession of
sobs escaped from her, and her eyes darted to the television, where a
journalist embedded with Chad’s squadron peered out curiously. When his eyes
met Marta’s, she gasped.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She heard arguing
on the other end of the phone. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“That’s not
possible!” said a deep voice.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I told you we
shouldn’t release it yet! It’s full of bugs!” said another man.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The rest of the
conversation was garbled, she couldn’t comprehend anything. All she knew was that
Chad’s chest was no longer heaving. He lay unnaturally still, his eyes fixed,
his face filled with a strange peace.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Marta sat beside
him, no longer threatened. His madness had calmed. His obsession had become
acceptance. A soldier at ease.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The television
flashed a new message indicating Chad’s connection had been terminated, and the
station resumed its normal non-interactive war coverage. Almost immediately,
the news anchor reported that an unidentified civilian had been injured,
possibly fatally, while engaging in battle via <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Virtual War</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The company,” the
reporter said with a concerned look, “has locked down all users to prevent a
similar incident from occurring. Refunds will be issued shortly. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Virtual War</i> apologizes for the
inconvenience.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hysterical
laughter escaped her. “Inconvenience!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Later tonight
we’ll have a special edition of Total News Network – the CEO of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Virtual War Games</i> will discuss the
problems the company experienced with the current software version, contrasted
with the improvements of the next software generation. General Aaron Phillips
will also be here from the Pentagon to pay tribute to the first civilian gaming
warrior downed in this ongoing conflict. He’ll discuss how the military will be
working with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Virtual War</i> in future
conflicts to provide citizens with an avenue to assist their country. There are
plenty of older Americans who would love to be able to contribute to war
efforts this way, don’t you think, Bob?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The second anchor
said, “That’s right, Jim. Just think of all the lives we’ll save by fighting
remotely.” He held a hand to his earpiece, and his face brightened. “Here’s breaking
news – the President is set to make an important announcement regarding the war
on live television at noon today. Sources say we will begin withdrawing troops
next month. Surrender was accepted just minutes ago, and other than a few small
pockets of resistance in outlying territories, the conflict has ended.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The conflict has
ended.” Marta turned to Chad, laying a hand on his chest. “Did you hear? The
conflict has ended.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Their television
would no longer be hostage to war news, war games, war anything. “We can watch
a movie. Or a sitcom. What do you think of that?” She inched closer. “Chad? We
can go out to dinner. Or stay in, with the television off. Just you and me.
Chad?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sirens
wailed in the distance, becoming louder. She heard tires squeal just outside. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Everything will be
all right now,” Marta whispered as she trembled and slumped onto the floor next
to her husband. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
metallic rattle sounded, of equipment being rushed through the door downstairs,
the tramping of footsteps up the stairway.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Total News Network anchor smiled as he cheerily reported, “In other news, the
Yankees slaughtered the Red Sox last night twelve to nothing. More news coming
up after these words from our sponsors. Stay tuned.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Marta
nodded.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">(2007) </span></div>
CA Mastersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12827341507537715331noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794997014510241608.post-10553397246730255502010-03-21T15:29:00.000-04:002020-03-21T15:30:24.814-04:00Winning (short story)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The
beggar sits, as he does every morning, a colorless rag of a sentinel leaning
against the smooth black marble wall. Joe does his best to avoid him most days,
ducking into a crowd before pushing through the gold-framed revolving doors to
the bank where he works. He hates to be callous, but doesn’t want to feed the
old man’s addictions – he always smells like a landfill doused with booze. His eyes
are like slits filled with liquid steel, his gaze as powerful as a laser
probing Joe’s conscience. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Joe
is in too good a mood this May morning. Even the air smells sweet today –
spring had begun several weeks ago, sullen and glum, but this morning’s warm,
bright sun caused an eruption of blooms and birdsong. He’s due to meet with Mr.
Brown in fifteen minutes, and Joe expects a promotion and a raise. His wife had
been unusually affectionate this morning, everything seems to be falling into
place in perfect synchronicity and harmony. No, Joe doesn’t want anyone to
spoil it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He
walks behind three teens with spiked, multicolored hair, heavy chains on their
black leather coats and baggy jeans. The beggar holds up a dirty paper coffee
cup as they pass. The boy nearest the old man deftly lifts a heel as he passes
to knock the cup from his leathery hand. The three laugh and keep walking. The
old man’s hand is still raised, as if the cup and its contents aren’t strewn
across the sidewalk.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Joe
stops. Scattered people sidestep the coins, the cup skittering between their
shoes. He glances at his watch – Mr. Brown will be more conscious today of
Joe’s clock-in time. He exhales forcefully, his fingers readjust on the handle
of his briefcase. A tattered dollar flops like a fish away from the beggar, who
stares somewhere beyond, his eyes unmoving. Joe quickly sets his briefcase on
the dollar, retrieves the cup and picks up coins from the concrete. He tosses
them inside the cup. He reaches into his pocket, frowns at the fifty – his only
bill. Stooping before the beggar, he places the cup back in his
still-outstretched hand. With a rotten-roothed smile, the old man nods to Joe,
mumbling unintelligibly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Hey
– do me a favor.” Joe inserts the fifty dollar bill into the cup. “Go get
yourself cleaned up and get something to eat. Okay?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The
old man turns his eyes to Joe. “Fortune will smile upon you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Not
if I don’t get inside.” Joe gathers his briefcase, lets the revolving doors
whoosh him inside, before the inexplicable bubble of happiness welling within
him can lift him above the trees, into the sun-drenched sky.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">After
dinner, Joe rubs his full belly as he sits on his sofa, thinking what a good
day it’s been. He nods off. His head snaps upright when the television plays the
theme for the lottery, and the announcer instructs the young blond to begin.
She moves to the first clear plastic bubble, where numbered balls spin and
churn within it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He
pulls the stub from his pocket with a chuckle – the odds of winning are mathematically
astounding, the pot had climbed to three hundred eighty million as lottery
fever struck and millions more were lured to the ticket counter as the jackpot
grew. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Did
you remember to buy a ticket?” June calls from the kitchen, and he waves the
white stub at her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Her
face falls. “Just one?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“It
only takes one,” he says, repeating what he’d said to the greedy ticket seller,
who apparently had grown used to others buying five or ten in hopes of
increasing their chances of winning the biggest jackpot in the history of the
lottery. Statistically impossible, either way, in Joe’s view – there was no way
to better your luck, and no way to win this one.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The
blond smiles as the first numbered ball pops to the top, and the announcer
reads the number – it matches his fourth on the stub. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’ll at least get another ticket out of this one.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The
second number is the same as his fifth. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Whoa,
I think this’ll be good for a few hundred. I can fix a few of the dents in the
old bomb.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The
third number is a match for his third. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hey!
Maybe we can take that vacation we’ve been putting off.</i> He smiles at his
wife.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The
fourth number matches his second. His jaw drops. He’s not sure what that means,
he’ll have to look it up on the Internet but he’s pretty sure it might be a
sizeable chunk of dough.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The
woman smiles, her lush strawberry lips glistening as the final number pops up
in what seems like slow motion: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Forty-seven.</i>
His age. The first number on his stub.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I
don’t hear any whooping or hollering in there. Guess we’re not millionaires –
again,” June says with a laugh.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He
turns to her, his mouth agape. He holds the stub toward her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">She
tilts her head in question, her eyes flying from the ticket to the television
to his eyes. Something rumbles out of his belly, erupting from his mouth in a
loud <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">HA!</i> She’s beside him now, and
realizes what’s going on, and they’re both laughing like hyenas. Unused to the
after-dinner hysteria, the kids give them the usual <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what’s your problem</i> look. Jimmy’s the first to see both Joe’s white
thumbs gripping the lottery stub, and actually show some emotion, more than
when Joe told him it was okay for him to get a tattoo when he turned fifteen,
so long as his grades were good. Sarcasm abandoned, Jimmy exclaims, “No way!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">June
and Joe nod without interruption to their hysterical laughter. Janey looks as
if she might dial 911 soon if someone doesn’t explain it all, and fast. Jimmy
does. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“We
won! We won the lottery!” He lets out a whoop loud enough to startle old Mrs.
Smith next door, and the kids clasp forearms, jumping and screaming. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The
group hugging ends, the laughter has died down to chuckles and hoots, and June
complains her stomach hurts from laughing so hard. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I
still can’t believe it,” she says, then runs for the phone. “I have to call
Cheryl!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Janey
and Jimmy sprint toward the computer, Janey slides into the chair just before
Jimmy. “Hey! I have to IM my friends!” he yells, pushing her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“So
do I!” she yells back. “I got here first.” She takes out her cell phone and
dials, then continues clicking and typing. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Hurry
up!” Jimmy says.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Joe’s
glad his family’s acting normal. As normal as they ever have.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">June
is wiping tears from her eyes, pacing, halting long enough to exclaim, “I can’t
believe it! Well, of course when I asked Joe if he’d bought tickets and he said
he’d only gotten one – you know how he is – ‘it only takes one,’ he said –
well, I could have killed him! But I saw his face after they announced the
numbers, and went wild! We all went wild! The kids are so excited, and I just
can’t even think straight. Can you imagine? Three hundred eighty million
reasons not to go to work tomorrow.” A burst of hiccuping laughs escaped her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Joe
whirls to look at her. He hadn’t thought about work. There is a lot to think
about, suddenly, a lot to decide. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Honey,”
he says nervously, but she chatters on.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“HONEY!”
His forceful tone catches her attention. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Listen,”
she tells her friend, “I’ll call you later, all right? Bye.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">She
turns to him. “What is it, Joe?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Janey
and Jimmy are still bickering. It seems cartoonish. Everything seems just a
little too surreal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Listen
up!” His voice strained, his family turns to him, annoyed at the interruption.
“We all need to calm down.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">They
turn away, and chatter erupts again. June dials the phone, the kids resume
arguing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“June
– before you call anyone else, don’t you think we should at least call the
lottery officials and verify the number?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Her
dialing finger freezes. “Verify it? Didn’t you check it already?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“Just
the one time. We need to be sure. It would be pretty embarrassing if these
really aren’t the winning numbers.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">June’s
mouth drops open, her eyes wide. She turns to the kids. Janey’s rolling her
eyes, Jimmy’s shaking his head. “I knew it was too good to be true,” he says.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">June
looks at Joe, speaks to him as if he were a naughty child. “Yes, you’d better
call. I can’t believe you didn’t double-check, Joe. That’s not like you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He
lifts the receiver. “Well, I hardly had a chance, June. Everyone went so crazy
so fast.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I’ve
already called three people,” she says. “I HOPE I don’t have to call and tell
them it’s a mistake.” Her arms are crossed, her face looks hurt, angry,
ashamed. “God, just think of how many people each of THEM has already called.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">If
he’s blown this, he’ll have to hear about it forever. June can stretch an
everyday argument out for weeks; if he’s mistaken about this, the freeze out
could last well into next year.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Joe
holds up a finger asking her to wait, then dials the number printed on the back
of the ticket. Part of him hopes he is wrong – all that money! He’d just
settled in to the prospect of being empty-nesters in a few years. Janey would
be leaving for college in the fall, Jimmy would follow the year after next. He
and June could spend time together like they used to. They could reacquaint
themselves with abandoned hobbies. He’d been looking forward to life slowing
down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The
recorded voice is a woman whose very businesslike tone repeats the night’s
winning numbers. Joe winces and hangs up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">June
looks sick to her stomach. “Well?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">He
looks at her – his wife of twenty-one years. She tried hard to stay in shape,
keep up with the fashion trends; she tried hard to transcend being average, but
succeeded only in making herself moreso. Janey and Jimmy could have been
anyone’s kids – baggy pants, spiked hairdos, piercings in places Joe couldn’t
fathom and hated to think about. The three of them wait, lean toward him
slightly, their expectancy all-consuming. He wishes he could stretch his arms
around them, hold them in this moment. It’s the first real conversation they’ve
had as a family in weeks.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“That’s
it. We got it.” He doesn’t care that his voice conveys defeat rather than
victory.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">June’s
eyes widen and sparkle, as if in anticipation of diamonds. “It’s ours? We won?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Joe jerks his eyes wide open and attempts a smile. “Big
time,” he says in a hush, to contrast the squeals he knows will follow. He is
the eye of the storm, the calm in the center of the swirling hurricane of
phones and emails, the arguing and joyful whooping. He’s never felt so
invisible.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">From working
twenty-four years at the bank, Joe knows money is a strange beast and has to be
handled properly. Like a wild animal, it feeds on its surroundings if given
proper care from the start. If too much is taken from it, it starves, dwindling
fast. If fed regularly, it will grow, bringing prosperity to its keepers. But
its appetite is never satisfied, and Joe knows a few colleagues who’ve been
consumed by money, who became slaves to it, rather than taming it. Like an
addiction, they needed more and more and more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">At the
beginning of their marriage, Joe and June had set a careful budget. His
position at the bank was lower management, and she was executive assistant to a
middle manager at a local manufacturing company. Money had always been tight,
had to be kept on a short leash to fulfill their goals of moving from their
first small apartment to a home, to saving for college for their kids. Now they
were riding a tidal wave of money, a tsunami, and leaving those worries far
behind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The six
fifteen alarm crackled. Someone must have accidentally hit the radio knob,
knocking it off his station’s setting.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">June’s
hand nudges at his back. “Old habits die hard, huh? Turn that off and go back
to sleep.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe lifts
his head from beneath the pillow, his hand instinctively reaches for the alarm.
The morning had dawned dark. Clouds randomly spit large drops.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He sits up
to drain the sleepiness from his head. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">June
groans. “What are you doing?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“I’m going
to work. I can’t just quit, no notice.” He stares out the window, wishing he
could shed the feeling of foreboding that’s nested in his chest.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Why not?
I did.” She stretches luxuriously.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe wants
to tell her he’d be too anxious staying home, his day unstructured, with
nothing to do but think. “I gotta go in.” He moves quietly through the room,
readying himself.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The sky
seems to have cracked open like an egg with an endless watery yoke. Joe’s
umbrella breaks on the way into the bank. A small crowd waits inside – the
local newspaper reporter and a photographer, and an extra security person is on
duty. Word must have gotten around about their luck.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">This isn’t so bad,</span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> he
thinks. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I can handle this.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Mr. Brown
walks over and shakes his hand. The photographer’s camera flashes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Joe! I
didn’t expect to see you here today.” His smile is wide and forced.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He glances
at the staring faces of onlookers. “Sure, Mr. Brown – you know I wouldn’t just
quit on the spot.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Mr.
Brown’s smile is frozen, even as he moves away. The small crowd tightens around
Joe. A few customers say congratulations, the reporter wants to do an
interview.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The photographer jockeys for
a good angle from which to shoot and bumps into old Mrs. Hardanger; she
responds with an indignant <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ooh!</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr. Brown scowls. The crowd grows person by
person as others come in to congratulate Joe.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">A few
customers grumble about not being able to get to the counter. After about a
half hour, Mr. Brown motions Joe to his office. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Joe,” he
says, closing the door and motioning him to sit, “I appreciate your coming in
today. But I think it best if you leave.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He grips
the leather arms of the chair. He’s always admired these chairs but could never
afford anything like it. Until now. “Leave? But I can’t just…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">His tone
is placating, but his patience is evidently thinning. “You’re obviously not
going to get any work done. Your presence is a disruption.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Oh, I
see. Yes, you’re probably right. Sorry, I hadn’t considered that. I guess I
didn’t expect word to spread so quickly.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Mr.
Brown’s smile tightens, his posture tenses, like a dog readying to bark.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe
stands. “Well. I do have some errands to run. Shall I… come back later?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Mr. Brown
stands and opens the door. Joe knows his tactic of getting rid of unwanted
customers – usher them out the door with a friendly demeanor. “Not necessary,
Joe. We’ll take care of things.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">A laugh
erupts from Joe’s mouth. A few heads in the lobby turn toward the open doorway.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Mr. Brown
frowns.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Sorry. It
just occurred to me that you’re firing me. But it doesn’t really matter now,
does it?” Cameras flash again as he pats the sleeve of Mr. Brown’s designer
suit, then goes to clear out his desk. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He calls
June to tell her he’s on his way home. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Let’s go
make it official,” he tells her, but takes his time saying his goodbyes. He
won’t be coming back; it’s a little disorienting. His life is already shifting
in unimaginable ways.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">As he
rushes through his front door, June is finishing her coffee at the dining room
table, still in her bathrobe. Joe doesn’t hurry her; he knows yesterday was a
lot to digest at once. He’s still a little shaken, too. There’s no going back
now – only forward.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She takes
a shower, then stares into her closet. “I hate these clothes. I can’t wait to
get rid of them.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Get rid
of them?” He sits on the bed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She holds
out a hangered shirt and lets it fall to the carpet. “Of course. I need a new
wardrobe to fit our new lifestyle.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Our new
lifestyle?” Joe’s accountant brain sees dollar signs multiplying.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She rolls
her eyes. “’Course, silly. Everything’s going to be different now.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">A tiny
voice screeches at him from the far reaches of his brain. “Let’s get going,
honey. Before someone else claims it.” He doesn’t know why he said that. All of
a sudden, the thought of sharing that ridiculous amount of money is unsavory.
June wheels toward him, looks at Joe as if he were Freddy Kruger. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Her voice
chokes with fear. “They couldn’t, could they?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe laughs
anxiously. “I was just kidding. Let’s get going though.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe can’t
remember what day it is. The days flow one into the next, indistinguishable
from the last.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“You’ll
never guess who called.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>June is slicing
meatloaf, made as a special concession to Joe, who is tired of pizza, Chinese,
Mexican, Thai takeout, restaurant food. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Who?” Joe
relaxes when June says it was an old college friend. He tunes her out as he
savors the chunky meat – he knows he’ll have to go to the diner for his next
serving of a home-cooked meal. Anyway, he’s tired of the new parade of aunts,
uncles, cousins, third cousins Joe hadn’t seen since fourth grade, who called
in the past few weeks to say hello. Some feigned surprise – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">no, we had no idea!</i> – but most followed
their congratulations and small talk with an invitation to visit. Joe and June
had never been so popular. They quickly learned to make excuses for such
invitations, after accepting only three.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe’s Aunt
May and Uncle Fred had profusely apologized for their run-down house, said Fred
had been laid off and times had been hard. Their priorities had shifted. How
could Joe not offer them a hundred grand to get them back on their feet?</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Then June’s
cousin Carter called, after eleven years of silence, wanting to know how she’d
been. June invited Carter to dinner. He nervously fingered his knife and fork
as he described his gambling debts. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How
bad is it?</i> June asked. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bad enough
they’ll break my legs if I don’t even up soon.</i> Joe and June exchanged
glances. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How much to even up?</i> Joe
asked. He felt like he used to at ten, spinning the wheel of the game Life.
Sometimes you landed on a bad patch along the way and drew a bad card. Joe was
suddenly the real-life banker, doling out “get out of jail free” cards, forking
over the hundred thousand dollar bills as if they were Washingtons. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">But the
real kicker was Joe’s grade school buddy, Charlie. Joe and Charlie had been
blood brothers, even slicing their index fingers, mingling their blood as they
swore lifelong friendship in fourth grade. Joe and Charlie’s paths diverged
widely after college, and Charlie was lost to the world until four years ago.
Joe happened to find him on the Internet and rekindled their friendship long
enough to somewhat reaquaint themselves. Then Charlie disappeared again. He
didn’t answer Joe’s emails. Joe was confused, disappointed, but he chalked it
up to adulthood. The saying <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You can’t go
home again</i> must apply to old friendships, too. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">When an
email arrived a week after the lottery, Joe was happy to hear from his old
friend. Life had become insane, and Charlie was like a shining beacon of
clarity in the fog. But the beacon dimmed when Charlie’s next email described
an incredible financial venture that Joe ‘couldn’t afford’ to miss out on. Joe
gave a sardonic laugh as he read that one, shook his head, a tear in his eye,
as he clicked ‘delete.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Jimmy and
Janie now had loads of friends and were invited to endless parties. Joe hardly
saw them these days. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">People
that had never seemed needy had needs they never realized until now. Aching,
heartbreaking needs; lifelong wishes for the unattainable that, with Joe and
June’s help, was now within grasp of greedy fingers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Do we
have to move somewhere no one knows us?” Joe had just hung up on another old
friend after the talk turned to money. He longed for a rousing conversation
about football without a bet being involved – a bet that inevitably would
become a loan if the other person lost. He missed having neighbors over for
barbecues and not having to hear endless comparisons of the now-steep slope
dividing the Morgan finances from the rest of them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Speaking
of moving… ” June pulls out a real estate booklet, holds it out to him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He winces.
“Nooo…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">June
thrusts the booklet toward Joe. “The realtor said we should live in a home more
befitting our social stature – that’s exactly what he said.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“The
realtor,” Joe says, “wants a big fat commission. Come on, June – we can’t buy
into every sales pitch.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Her bottom
lip gets pouty. “I’ve wanted to move for a long time. We could never afford it
before.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“You never
said anything before. We always said we liked this house, the neighbors, the
quiet street.” He tilts his head toward her. “Don’t make me give up my home,
June.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Two days
later, the realtor chauffers them from house to house. Joe has to admit he
likes some of them. And the realtor’s suggestion for his own game room, in
addition to a home entertainment room, is very appealing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe and
June agree on a stately multi-level with in-ground pool, Jacuzzi, guest house
and ridiculously expansive lawn. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">After
they’ve moved in, June looks sadly at their old SUV. “It looks pathetic parked
in front of this gorgeous home.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He doesn’t
look up from his newspaper. “I’ll keep it in the garage.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Her voice
is honey sweet. “The neighbors all have Mercedes, Lexuses, Beemers…“</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“I don’t
care about the neighbors!” Joe stomps to the game room and shoots some pool to
calm down. He considers that his life is fodder for a bad sitcom, with no hope
of cancellation. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Janey
pokes her head in the door. “Dinner, Daddy!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Okay. In
a sec. I just have to hit that green ball into the corner pocket.” He’d been
working on this shot all day. He had nothing better to do.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Janey
leans on the side of the table. “Dad? I’ve been thinking.” She looks so cute,
Joe thinks, even with the multiple silver rings in her eyebrows, the corner of
her bottom lip. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Don’t
lean on the table. It distracts the players, sweetie.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She shoots
him that about-to-throw-up look that teenagers are prone to, bottom lip hanging
limp. “But you’re the only one playing.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Well,
I’ll have other guys in here to play sometime. You need to learn etiquette.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She rolls
her eyes. “So anyway – I was thinking. Since we gave away so much money, bought
all this stuff – do we still have a lot left?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He pokes
the stick at the ball. It rolls to the side and comes to a stop.“Yeah. Our pot
of gold won’t run out any time soon.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She folds
her arms. “Shouldn’t we be helping our whole family, then? Not just the ones
that ask?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe draws
the cue stick up, studies his daughter. At seventeen, she is wiser than all of
them. Certainly, she had more piercings.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Dinner!”
June yells from the dining room.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe winks,
tilts his head toward the door, and walks arm in arm with his daughter to the
kitchen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">His wife
whisks the microwave meals to the counter top. “I have an appointment tomorrow,
so I’ll be gone a few hours.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe’s
thinking they need a dog, to make this food disappear so it won’t be so
conspicuous sitting in the trash. “An appointment? With who?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“A new
doctor.” She lines silverware on the counter next to the china.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">His
muscles tense. “Doctor? Everything all right? You didn’t… “</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She waves
him silent with her oven mitt. “It’s a plastic surgeon,” she says in a hushed
tone, as if the media are outside listening.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Whaaaaat?”
Joe’s whine is old-neighborhood, and June pauses to glare at him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Her mouth
becomes a tight line across her face. “I am going to have a discussion with
him, that’s all.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe pokes
at the dubious-looking meatlike substance. The china plate does nothing to
enhance its appeal. “About what?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She sits
at the far end of the long table. “About a few things I’ve thought about for a
long time… “</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He
finishes for her. “But you could never afford before.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She
intensifies her glare a notch by raising an eyebrow. Normally Joe would stop
there, knowing that, once the escalation process had begun, it was
irreversible, and June’s anger inescapable. Like a dinghy before a tsunami, Joe
would be caught up, tossed about and shattered.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He spears
a dubious-looking chunk of meat. “Baby, you don’t need plastic surgery. Why not
just make it a day at the spa? Take a few friends along.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She
springs from her chair, goes to the kitchen pops open a plastic bag of premade
salad. “Oh, we’re doing that next week.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">For not
having jobs, their schedules are more full now than ever. Ballroom dancing
lessons, tennis lessons, art classes, endless meetings with their attorney,
their financial advisor – there are trust funds to establish, wills to plan,
paperwork that multiplies almost of its own volition. And the telephone rings
ceaselessly, as if calls are queued up. Joe longs for quiet, solitude – the
kind of zen that comes from fishing, kayaking, hiking on a deserted mountaintop.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">June is
planning trips for every school break – she’s adamant that Jimmy and Janey not
disrupt their school work – and Joe hasn’t felt this stressed for a long time.
June’s vacations have little down time, the itineraries are packed for maximum
value.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He
consoles himself by saying, “At least we’ll be able to have an old-fashioned
Thanksgiving. We can even invite the entire family over our place, now that we
have all this room.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">June’s
face falls. “Oh. Well. I hadn’t really planned on cooking. Especially not for
all those people! I thought maybe we could go out this year.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Out? What
sort of Thanksgiving is that?” Families eating Thanksgiving meals in
restaurants always looked pathetic to him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">A sharp
tone invaded her voice. “Lots of people do it.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Oh, June.”
Joe cannot express his disappointment. He’s lost a lifeline to his old life, a
touchstone in this crazy new one.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Her eyes
light up. “We could invite the families, book a whole room. Eating out is the
only way to go for such a large gathering. There’s no cleanup that way.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He shoves
the food across his plate with his fork. Nothing looks edible. “And no
football, or relaxing on the sofa.” He pretends not to feel June’s eyes
piercing his skin. “But Christmas – we’ll have Christmas like always, right?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">June
winces. “I booked a trip to Maui for winter break. The kids are so excited.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Maui?
Christmas in ninety degree heat? That’s not festive.” But then, he thinks,
Christmas will never be the same again anyway – it is Christmas every day, now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She folds
her hands and looks at him like a school marm. “It’s time to break out of old
habits, Joe. We can’t keep doing the same old thing every year just because
that’s what we’ve always done.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“It’s
called ‘tradition,’ June. It’s what families do, so their kids will learn
what’s important. Like values.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“I got a
great deal on this trip – it’s a great lesson in value.” She looks so pleased
with herself, he doesn’t have the heart to tell her she missed his point.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The woman
sitting across the table from Joe resembles the woman he married in appearance,
he thinks, but not at all in any other way. June used to care about the same
things Joe cares about – they both liked simple things like taking walks
together, holding hands, talking in bed in the dark with their kids sleeping in
the next rooms. This woman he’s looking at is driven by demons, it seems.
Green-backed demons. Driven to see and do everything, everywhere – as much, and
as fast, as possible.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe sighs,
carries his coffee to the sink, washes the mug. He does most of the dirty
dishes lately; no one else takes pleasure in doing things by hand. The kitchen
is a place where Joe might run into one of his family during a TV break. Mostly
it’s a repository for dishes, and it’s getting more and more difficult to get
anyone to even load the dishwasher. June has developed an aversion to
housework, and had interviewed housekeepers, but confided to Joe she was afraid
such a person would steal from them. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What’s
the big deal? We can just replace whatever they take, </i>Joe told her. She’d
retorted, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That’s not the point! It’s the
principle of the thing.</i> Joe held his tongue, but wished he knew the recipe
for humble pie, so he could offer his entire family a slice to remind them what
they were like before they became so “privileged.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">As he puts
the clean mug in the cabinet, he frowns out the window. The evening sun throws
long shadows across the patio, the pool, the garishly green lawn that looks too
large to him. Why do they need such a large expanse of suburbia? It’s such a
waste of good land. Not like a farm that produces food, or a wilderness area
that welcomes deer, raccoons, turkeys. Barely a rabbit inhabits these exposed,
chemical-treated lawns. The only purpose their land serves, he thinks, is to
proclaim the opulence of the owners, boast their wealth in a neighborhood where
keeping up with the Joneses could be a fulltime occupation, one that June seems
up to the task for, but Joe, if he had any interest in the beginning, found it
had waned to the point where now, he could muster no interest at all. His life
feels more like a job each day, one he doesn’t even like – to monitor and care
for all that money. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe is
wary of his money; it almost has a palpable presence. He is afraid it will turn
on him – wealth is a demon who knew how to draw out the worst qualities of a
person, if that person didn’t know how to make that demon climb back into
Pandora’s box.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">June is
not only letting the demon sleep where it wishes, she freely calls it out to
play. She dances with it, lets it stroke her hair, whisper in her ear. But Joe
can tell that whatever the demon whispers makes June more insecure, more needy
– and greedy. She is less satisfied now than she had ever been. After one taste
of anything new, she wants to saturate herself with it. And Joe is finding it
harder to reason with her about anything. Her obstinance had rubbed off on
Jimmy and Janey, who threaten to sick their lawyers on Joe if he stands in
their way of getting an ATV, remodeling their bedrooms with plasma TVs and Bose
sound systems, stacking their shelves with the latest high-tech toys. Janey
wants to install a webcam in her bedroom so the world can see what a rich girl
does in her spare time. Jimmy wants a sound-mixing studio to produce his band’s
music. Janey goes shopping at the mall nearly every weekend, then complains she
has nothing to wear, and her room is too small, when there are so many clothes
in her walk-in closet, it’s waist-high in sweaters, t-shirts and jeans. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“It’s
really pitiful when you’re overwhelmed by your own wardrobe,” Joe says to June.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“She’s
young, she likes to have a wide selection.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Too many
choices make for too many decisions. Is this the kind of lesson we want our
kids to come away with?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Exasperation
drenches her reply. “Why does everything have to be about a lesson? Why does
there have to be a moral to every story? Why can’t we just have fun with this?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“What
happens if our kids had to earn a living? If this all went away as suddenly as
it came?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">June
points her index finger at him. “It’s not going to go away.” She reminds him of
his mother, when he was about fourteen and had gotten into his Dad’s liquor
cabinet with a friend. The finger of blame was pointing out all Joe’s faults,
jabbing at him mercilessly as his head pounded, his stomach did flip-flops and
the room spun, but the finger was steadfast. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Now it’s
June pointing the finger of blame. But Joe knows it’s to avert the blame from
herself. Her moral compass has been de-magnetized, and spins as wildly as the
room had spun for fourteen-year-old drunken Joe. He’d grown up, stopped
drinking to excess. He wonders if June will find it within herself to right her
course.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He
steadies his voice. “Exactly, June. It’s not going to go away. And we have no
idea how to handle it. It’s tearing this family apart.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“You sound
like some overdramatized reality show. This is a dream come true, Joe.” She
walks out of the room.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He rubs
his forehead. “It’s a nightmare.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The wind
sends leaves tumbling through the yard that night. Long after June’s breath
slows from huffy, heavy sighs to steady breaths as she lie beside him, Joe
stares at the ceiling. The wind blows a restlessness through him. He pushes the
covers aside, walks to the window, watches the trees sway, strain against the
gusts. He imagines the leaves are hundred dollar bills, scattering across the
neighborhood, into town, where people who really need it will find it<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-- people whose bills outmatch their income,
people who work like dogs to get ahead but never are able.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">That’s what I have to do</span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">, Joe thinks. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We can’t hold onto
all this money for just ourselves. It isn’t right.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He
remembers Janey’s advice to give it away to the families and smiles, climbs
back into bed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“One
million each,” he proposes to June the next morning.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“A measly
million! We could give them ten apiece and still have plenty left.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">A laugh
wants to escape him, but it can’t get past his overwhelming stunned feeling.
“Since when is one million dollars ‘measly’?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“It’s an
insult.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“It just
shows how out of whack our values have become.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She waves
a hand in the air. “You want to insult the families? Go right ahead, offer them
a crummy million.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">All Joe
had wanted was to ease their burden, not put a greater burden on them. He knows
what too much money can do to a family. His kids barely speak to him now –
they’re too busy. June’s preoccupation with herself leaves no room for Joe, and
his attempts to approach her are met with a scowl. Joe, after a few too many
beers one night, suggested a plastic surgeon might remove the scowl, but it had
deepened then.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“All
right. Two million,” he compromises. “That’s more than enough to last them.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe
invites them all for a cookout, and after burgers, while some are still working
the corn out their teeth, Joe makes a short speech while Janey and Jimmy hand
out envelopes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“June and
I want you all to share in our good fortune. We wish you health and happiness.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe’s
parents’ expectant smiles fall only slightly when they open their envelope. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">June’s
father mutters, “Gee, can you afford it?” June looks smug as her mother shushes
him. Her brother Andy, who’d been laid off eight months earlier, and who’d been
helping himself to beer after beer, wipes a hand across his eye as he blubbers <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">thank you</i>. Joe’s sister kisses his
cheek. “You’re wonderful,” she says, and he wishes he’d given her more. Who was
he to decide how much was too much for them to handle? Linda is divorced with
three kids – she needs this money.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He winks
at her; he’ll check with her after a few months, to make sure she is all set. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">At least
his parents look happy. Joe can’t remember the last time he’d seen them smile
at each other like this. Since they’d retired, all they did was bicker. Maybe
now, Joe thinks, they can travel, have fun together. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He sits
back in the reclining deck chair June had just bought, and for the first time
since they’d won the lottery, Joe feels life is good.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The sand
is blindingly bright in the afternoon sun. He sits in his beach chair, watches
the women in bikinis hit the volleyball, their breasts in endless play as well,
bouncing with each jump. Young, in great shape, he figures them for college
girls. For once, he’s glad June’s out shopping, especially when one of them, a
tawny blond, smiles invitingly, and asks him to join in. He feels drunk in
anticipation of his skin rubbing against theirs, being saturated with the
beauty surrounding him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Joe.”
June says. “Joe, wake up.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Damn. He
opens one eye. June is wearing only a towel, with another wrapped around her
head.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Having a
good dream?” She giggles.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">His legs
are splayed on the bed, and his erection makes a tiny tent of the sheet. He
pulls his legs together, pulls the pillow over his head.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Honey –
I’m leaving in a few minutes. The girls are picking me up.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He yanks
the pillow off, leans up on an elbow. “Leaving? Where are you going?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">June
tsk’s. “I knew you’d forget. We’re flying to St. Lucia for the weekend,
remember? And the kids are staying with friends, so don’t worry about them.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">His brain
is still fogged, he wishes he could just slide back into that dream, into the
midst of nubile young ladies.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Joe. Are
you listening at all?” She sounds far away already, but she’s only in the
walk-in closet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Yeah,
yeah.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Well
then?” She stands before him, her wet hair unstyled, hanging in its expensive
angled cut. She’d lost weight – or had liposuction – and dyed her hair to an
unnatural brassy blond. She is all hard angles, prominent features now. It
occurs to him that she is no longer the woman he married, not in any respect.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He squints
at her. “What?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“I asked
you what you’re doing this weekend.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Oh. Uh –
fishing.” The idea smacks him like a well-landed cast and he latches onto it
like a hungry shad. It pulls him from his bed, fills him with glee. He kisses
June’s confused face goodbye – she’s as surprised as he is at his joyful mood.
His smile feels foreign to his face, as if he were awakening from a shock,
self-inflicted though it was. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He rushes
through his shower, calls old Tom at Pine Hill Outfitters to reserve a canoe.
“So how’re they running?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Shad so
big you need a crane to reel ‘em in!” Tom’s laugh crackles.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">A key
grates in the lock. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Who would be coming in the back door?</span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Listen,
Tom, gotta run. I’ll see you soon.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Darlene
steps through the door and shuts it before she sees Joe standing in the kitchen
wearing only a towel. Her eyes probe him all over. To Joe’s horror, instead of
feeling embarrassment, he’s excited – visibly. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Darlene
smiles. “Good morning, Joe. What a nice – surprise.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Her warmth
toward Joe nearly cost her her cleaning job a few weeks ago when June found them
chatting in the game room. Darlene had a habit of bending over from the waist
as she worked, and Joe often admired the view. Darlene caught him looking
almost as many times as June had, but her smile told him that his wife’s
warning of a sexual harassment suit were unfounded. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She’ll try to take us for all we’re worth! </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>June had warned him, but Joe figured that
wasn’t what Darlene wanted from him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He feels
even stronger about that now, as Darlene steps toward him. He steps back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She clucks
her tongue. “Have you been working out? You look really good.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He tries
to suck in his belly but it still hangs over the towel. Maybe June was right,
Darlene is only interested in the money – how else to explain her blindness to
his bulges? This thought leaves him limp.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Sorry,
Darlene. I didn’t know you were coming today. Excuse me while I go get
dressed.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“No need
to dress on my account.” Her voice is husky, her eyes do the cha-cha over him
from head to toe. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe wishes
June were home to step in between them, wag her finger at the cleaning woman,
shoot her the all-too-familiar evil eye. He feels so exposed, in so many ways.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He doesn’t
want to hurt her feelings. “Excuse me. I have an appointment.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She steps
toward him again, eyelids droopy in that come-hither way. “You could cancel.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">There is
no easy way out now. She’s escalated the stakes. If he lets this conversation
pass without repercussion, she could claim he was a willing participant.
There’s only one clear way to go.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Actually,
Darlene, we don’t need you today. June will call to reschedule.” He indicates
the way out with his hand.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She roots
herself in place. “But I come every Friday morning.” Her tone implies his guilt
already.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“My wife
will call you next week. I really have to run.” He tries to appear friendly,
non-menacing, reasonable. He hopes she’ll respond in kind. Her frown tells him
otherwise.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Meanness
glitters in her eyes. “Do you mean I drove out here for nothing?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“We’ll
compensate your expenses, all right? Just send us a bill.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She grabs
her purse from the kitchen counter, her eyes hot as coals burning into him, but
she says nothing more as she stomps out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe blows
out a long breath. “Damn!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The phone
rings.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Hi,
sweetie!” his mom says. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Hi, Mom. You sound very… perky.” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She
must still be on the money high.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“I am,
Joe. I’m relaxed and enjoying life for a change. In fact, next week I’m leaving
for a three-week cruise.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“That’s
great, Mom. But don’t you mean ‘we’?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Her voice
becomes softer, slower. “That’s what I need to talk to you about. I didn’t want
you to hear the news from anyone else.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“News?
What news?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“I hope
you’ll be happy for your father and me, dear.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">This
sounds promising. “What’s going on? You moving or something?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Yes! Both
of us. Only your father’s getting a house closer to the lake, and I’m going to
the retirement complex.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“What? Two
places?” He can’t blame them for being extravagant for once.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Yes,
dear. We’re getting a divorce.” She’s emphatic but elated. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe feels
abandoned. First he loses his own home, now his childhood home. “Are you
kidding?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“No,
darling! It’s what we’ve both wanted for a long, long time. And now we can
afford it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">His
stomach feels full of lead. “Because of me.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Yes.
You’re such a wonderful son.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe makes
a noise that’s supposed to be a laugh, but resembles a wounded puppy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Are you
all right, dear?” Her voice is filled with concern.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He holds
the counter to steady himself. “Yes. Sure.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“All
right. I have some errands to run. I’ll talk to you later.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Okay.”
He’s about to say goodbye, tell her he loves her, but she’s already hung up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The water
is like liquid green quartz – sparkling in the sun, a beautiful clear green.
Joe can see every rock, minnow, discarded beer can. He’d packed a cooler
himself. All he wants to do is sit in this canoe on the river and wait for a
shad to take hold of his line while the river swirls past. The world could go
as crazy as it wanted on shore – he’s immune to it all out here.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Then his
cell phone rings. As soon as he presses the on button, June’s high voice
pitches question after question at him. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What
happened? Did you fire Darlene? She’s implied that she’ll sue – do you have any
idea what a lawsuit will do? Didn’t I tell you this would happen!</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe tries
to interject his answers but June apparently has no interest. It’s the same type
of lecture she imposes on the children – recounting the offenses, verbally
walking through a possible solution, how it would least impact their lives,
what could make it right. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He sets
the phone down, and soon her tiny voice becomes part of the background noise,
like the water’s rush, like the birdsong – more like the crows cawing – and
then he relaxes again. It will all wait until later. Right now, he has a fish
to catch, and the beer’s getting warm, and the sun is climbing the heavens.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Old Tom
sits on the porch as Joe returns the canoe. He looks like someone whose image
belongs on an old tintype photo in sepia tones. His suspender pants are likely
twenty years old, his craggy face smiling yet frowning in that way old folks do
sometimes. He whittles a piece of wood, and soon coaxes from it the folk-art
form of a blue jay.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Catch
anything?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe
smiles. “Not today.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Comin’
back tomorrow? Or giving up?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Oh, I’ll
be back. Fishing’s more than just catching one.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Yep,
that’s for sure. It’s why I’ve stayed in business so long.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe can
understand that – Tom’s outfitting business is in a perfect place, nestled
between a river and a mountain, where he rents out equipment, supplies for both
land and water sports.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“I envy
you. You must really love your job.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Oh, yeah.
It’s been good to me and the Mrs.” Tom stops whittling then to look around him.
“But soon I’ll be selling it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Why?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Time to
retire! The wife and I need time to ourselves in our golden years. What’s left
of ‘em.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">A hawk
cries far above, and Joe watches it catch an air current, float through the
sky. He loves it here, he realizes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“I’ll buy
it. Whatever you’re asking, I’ll give you double. No – triple!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Tom’s
shoulders heave in a silent laugh. “Now why’d you want to do that?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Because
this place is great. I would love to have a business like this.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Tom levels
his slate eyes on him. “It’s long hours. Sometimes the customers are difficult.
Specially from the big cities. Think everything should be done for them.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Yeah, but
I bet they’re a lot happier when they leave. And just look at your office
space!” He laughs as he holds his arms wide.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The old
man narrows his eyes, as if assessing Joe, and Joe thinks he’s seen that
laserlike stare somewhere before. He gives Joe a slow smile that erupts in a
cackle. Joe lets out a whoop that echoes through the valley, makes the oak
leaves quiver to the top of the ridge, imprinting his spirit in the woods, the
river bed.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">His truck
rattles along the highway, straining to give Joe the speed he’s demanding. As
he pulls into the circular driveway of his home, the house looks more than ever
like a hotel – absurdly large and impersonal. He bounds to the kitchen door.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“June.”
Her bags are parked in the hallway. Footsteps sound upstairs, pause at his
voice, tramp down the steps.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Joe, I’ve
been trying to reach you.” June’s skin has the luster of a burning ember –
glowing red.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He touches
her arm. “Sweetie, what happened?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Her hand
goes to her head. “A disaster, this whole weekend. One thing after the next.
First, we find the hotel is nonexistent – it looked so great on the Internet.
And we’d paid in advance for the entire weekend, so we lost all that money.
Thank God we found other rooms, not nearly as nice, though.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe can’t
help himself. “Not as nice as the nonexistent ones?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“The
pictures of the rooms we booked online. Don’t be a smartass. You’re in enough
trouble.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Listen,
honey – I have news.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The
tension in her voice ratcheted several notches “Yes, I know. Darlene called me,
yelling at me about Friday. Said you were practically naked, and you were
flirting with her, and she hinted that you fired her because she turned you
down.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Turned <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i> down? That’s ridiculous, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she</i> came on to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i>. You were right, honey, she’s just a gold digger.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She folded
her arms. “It seems now she has a shovel.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Oh, write
her a check to make her go away.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">June’s
mouth gapes. “Are you kidding? I will not.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“I’m not
going to court and have her silly accusations made public. Just tell her it’s a
bonus for her work, don’t even associate it with her threats. That way she
can’t say we were paying her off to keep quiet.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Even
though that’s what we’d be doing.” She looks at him as if he were a stranger.
“Since when did you become so devious, anyway?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Weariness
envelops him. “I’m not devious, honey. I’m just tired of what our money does to
people.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Tell me
about it. I found out what great ‘friends’ I have on this trip. Cheryl is my
only real friend, the only one who cares about me, not my money. The others
wanted me to pay for everything – even when we went shopping!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe looks
at her sadly. She turns away, talking faster. Joe knows it’s to keep him from
saying what June knows he has to say.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“And did I
tell you that Andy’s back with his girlfriend?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He flips
through unopened mail. “Renee? I thought they split up a long time ago.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“They did.
Right after he was fired, she said, adios, freeloader. Now she’s cozying up to
him, telling him how much she missed him.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe speaks
softly. He really has missed June, is glad she’s home, glad they’re together
again. He doesn’t want anything to come between them. “That’s what I mean,
June. Money changes people.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She looks
away. “Like me, right?” She glances at him. He’s about to put up a weak
argument but she cuts him off. “I know, you don’t have to say it. I saw my
reflection in the mirror of the hotel dining room, and I didn’t recognize
myself. And then I realized that I was thousands of miles away from you. This
is the first time I’ve ever traveled without you.” She looked at him, her eyes
sad. “I didn’t like it.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He holds
out his arms but is afraid to touch her. Heat radiates from her body. “I didn’t
like it either.” He pats her hair, leans in for a quick kiss. “I missed you.
I’ve <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">been</i> missing you. I’m glad
you’re back.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Her brown
eyes sparkle as they flit across his face. “I’ve gone a little crazy with the
money, I know.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“It
doesn’t bring happiness. That’s why I want to get rid of it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Her eyes
widen in alarm. “Get rid of it?” She recoils from him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Most of
it, yeah.” He opens his arms wide, looks around. “This is not who we are. Or
who I want to be.” He tells her about buying old Tom’s business, but her eyes
are scanning the floor, as if looking for something lost. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Are you
okay, honey?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">June turns
away from him. “Joe.. I have to tell you something.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He steps
toward her but she cowers away. “What is it?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Something
happened this weekend. I… didn’t mean for anything to happen. We were just
dancing, we’d had too much to drink…” Her eyes dart to him, then away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe
shrugs. “Who’s ‘we’?” He gives a little laugh, as if to soften what he knows
she’s about to say, as if it won’t crush him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“He’s no
one. Someone I met. He knew I had money, I think. The bastard. Didn’t even say
goodbye before leaving in the morning.” She catches herself, as if she hadn’t
meant to share that much with him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe feels
woozy. “You… spent the night with someone? Who was he?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“I told
you – he’s no one. Just another gold digger, like Darlene!” Her eyes blaze at
him, as if their blame were equal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe feels
his life is unraveling like a thick ball of yarn, June pulling the frayed end
away further with each blurted word – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’ve
never done anything like this before. It didn’t mean anything! He was just
after my money! I know that now.</i> The string was unfurling, becoming longer
and longer, and June was becoming tinier and tinier – Joe could see her as if
through the wrong end of a telescope, so very far away he could barely hear
her. The scope was tightening, black edging further into the circular view,
until it was as small as a coin, valueless as a token, a worthless slug.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“No, no,
no,” Joe groans. A hand nudges his shoulder; he opens his eyes, surprised that
he’s laying on the sofa.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Honey,
wake up.” June looks like her old self. She’s got rounded edges again, her hard
angles have disappeared.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He rubs
his groggy eyes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She smiles
at him. “Did you get the lottery ticket? They’re about to announce it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Lottery
ticket?” They’d already won, he wants to tell her, then realizes that they’re
in their old house, and he’s lying on the old sofa where he loves to nap on
Sunday afternoons. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He sits
up. “June!” She’s the old June, with panty lines showing and stray strands of
gray in her hair.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Her eyes
widen. “What’s the matter?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He rubs
his head. “Nothing – sorry.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“So did
you get a ticket?” she prompts.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The TV
news anchor cuts to the lottery drawing, the theme music plays.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe
reaches in his pocket, draws the ticket from his wallet, looks at June, who
relaxes, smiles at him. He jumps up from the sofa. He runs to the trash bin as
the announcer says: “Seventeen!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">June looks
alarmed. “What are you doing?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">His
fingers are poised to tear it in half when he sees the number seventeen, dead
center on the ticket. His fingers tense again. He hated having all that money.
It was like drowning in a sea of green, and all the hands grabbing at him
didn’t want to save him, they just wanted a piece of him for themselves. </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">June says
slowly, as if to a foreigner, or a child, “Honey! What are you doing?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“June…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Forty-nine!”
the announcer says happily.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Joe
glances at the ticket. It’s the last number. His pulse quickens; or maybe time
has slowed down and his body is out of synch. He holds the ticket so he can see
the numbers better, moves closer to the television, away from the trash basket.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2" style="margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">His arm
slides around June. He smiles at her. “We won.”</span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">(2008)</span></div>
CA Mastersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12827341507537715331noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794997014510241608.post-59315745967894964822010-03-21T15:22:00.000-04:002020-03-21T15:23:38.291-04:00Survivor Barbie (short story)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It wasn’t enough
that PR spread the word that she and Ken were Splitsville. Not that they had
ever been married, though God knows she’d played the bride bit about three kazillion
times. All part of the image makeover, to be the girl/woman every female could
identify with, aspire to be like. (As if! Could anyone on the planet have her
measurements without extensive surgical modification?) But this – this was
going too far. Over the edge, even! Considering she was a girl who had her own
shoe store, was never far from a frilly four-poster bed, whose closet was
bigger than some apartments in Queens – well, how did they expect her to pull
this off? I mean, really. Barbie? On <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Survivor</i>?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Oh well. Like
everything else, she’d keep a smile on her perky face (did she have a choice?)
and jump in, upturned-nose-first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wasn’t
that her credo? Enthusiasm every day? A can-do attitude in any given situation?
She was Barbie, after all. And Barbie might not be the newest toy on the shelf,
but she was no quitter. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Bring it on!” she
told the PR guys, and packed her light blue sneakers, her pink sneakers, and
some basic pink pumps (you can’t go anywhere without them!) in her trunk, with
15 color-coordinated sets of shorts and tops, plus her safari hat. Oh, and she
thought she better take along her yellow slicker and matching galoshes and rain
hat. Just in case.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">With the space she
saved in not having to pack any sunscreen or bug spray (one of the perks of having
been plasticized), she figured she’d have room for maybe an extra pair of
tennis shoes, a couple of cute nighties, and, of course, bikinis. Itsy-bitsy
teeny-weenie ones, yes, even polka dot. She had the perfect bod. There was no
reason not to show it off, was there? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She decided to
throw in her exercise shorts and running-bra top, along with her matching wrist
bands – she didn’t need to work out, but she’d look really good running along
the beach at sunset, her legs stretching longer than the horizon.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">What she didn’t
guess at was that she was not to be unique among the competitors, not the only
one whose face was stamped indelibly on her vinyl head, who had no use for
toiletries because she never sweat. When she landed on the island, she was
stunned when greeted on the white sands by none other than the dolls in the
Barbie line – Teresa, Midge, Christie, Alan, Kayla, Steven, and – Ken! The
producers thought their recent split would create compelling tension for the
audience.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Surprise!” they
all yelled, and it certainly was. (Barbie was always being surprised; she had
the attention span of a gnat.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What are you doing
here?” Barbie was not clear – maybe they’d just come to see her off, wish her
luck? But she didn’t see any balloons or party hats.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“We’re all on
Survivor! Won’t this be fun?” Midge squealed. But her voice hinted at some
other kind of fun, the kind that usually ended with someone’s feelings hurt.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As the sand beneath
her shifted, Barbie tried to forget that Midge had been the first to try to
steal her toy thunder. Manufactured to be a best friend to Barbie, she’d taken
liberties in an introductory marketing campaign in which Barbie was placed
behind her in ads, even on store shelves. Barbie had quashed that like a bad
rumor.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Alan twirled a
beach ball. “They said it would ‘level the playing field,’ whatever that means.
I say we get started with a game of beach volleyball!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Kayla and Christie
clapped and giggled. “Okay!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Steven stepped up. “No,
I think we have to do these tests first, like the script says.” He turned
toward the cameraman. “Isn’t that right?” He walked too close to the lens; on
screen, the blurred flowers of his Hawaiian shirt obstructing the others from
view. The producer waved him away, his face angry.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Okay, okay! I’ll
ask this other guy.” He walked behind the lighting and sound equipment where
the camera could not follow. After hushed, terse instructions from someone on
set, he rejoined the group, saying, “Sorry! I was just checking!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ken kicked at the
sand dejectedly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Barbie marched
toward him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hi, Barbie. It’s
good to see you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You, too, Ken. You
look great.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He looked away. “That’s
how they made me.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After a moment of
awkward silence, Barbie said, “I’m sorry we have to compete against each other.
I intend to do my best, and play fair. Before we get started, I want to say
good luck.” She turned to the group. “To everyone! May the best Barbie win! Uh
– you know what I mean.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yeah, we know,”
Midge said in a voice that snarled on her lips so her smile nearly twisted out
of shape.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Barbie ignored her.
“Well! I’d better get settled in! Where do we sleep?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Vinyl heads turned
toward one another. Steven asked, “Didn’t they brief you at all, Barbie?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Sure, they gave me
some papers on the airplane. But the clouds outside my window were just like
cotton balls! So fluffy and pretty! Then I started to read, but I fell asleep
after the first page.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Midge snickered.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Theresa said, “This
isn’t like a resort, Barbie.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Barbie turned her
wide blue eyes inland, where palm trees swayed in the breeze, seagulls glided
above their heads.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“It sure looks like
one! Except there’s no hotel.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Christie said, “We
have to set up our own shelters. It’s all part of the competition.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Shelters? Okay,
then – I’ll help you set up yours, then you can help me.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, Barbie,” said
Theresa. “We can’t work together as a team. The whole point is for us to do
things on our own.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Gosh, that’s no
fun!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, gosh, it
isn’t,” Midge echoed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I wish I’d brought
my Winnebago. That has such a nice bed, and a dinette, and even a pool!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ken held up one
unbending arm. “Tomorrow night, we’ll have a meeting to decide who’ll be voted
off the island.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“People have to
leave?” Barbie was incredulous.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“By the group’s
decision,” Steven said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Barbie wasn’t
liking any of this, but didn’t want to discourage anyone. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In the morning, the
group had their first competition – climbing the jagged rock face of a cliff.
One by one they attempted to scale it, and one by one they fell. Barbie found it
tough, but the unnatural slant of her feet allowed her to wedge into crevices
where the men’s feet wouldn’t go. She managed to climb the highest of anyone,
but just as she triumphantly reached toward the top, there was a zipping, a
whir of rope through metal. Her harness disengaged, and she tumbled into the
rocks below. A wave of mumbled concern was broken by snickering. Barbie’s hand
rose unsteadily from the rocks, and she dragged herself up. Her bendable legs
were bizarrely splayed, so she banged her calves back into alignment. Barbie’s
indomitable spirit triumphed, despite the dent in her back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">At tribal council,
she was saddened when Kayla and Alan were voted off the island. This endeared
her to the crew, and to the audience in TV land.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In the next competition,
each had to walk across a crude rope bridge before the fire burned through,
sending them into the flames. Others slipped but grabbed the handrail ropes to
keep from falling into the fire. Barbie went last. An ember rose and landed in
the middle of the single rope that comprised the footbridge. She hurried, but
just as she passed over it, the bottom rope snapped in two. She held onto the
handrail ropes, shimmied along until one fell, as if untied. Barbie swung to
the remaining rope, and, hanging upside down, she inched toward the finish
line. The ends of her hair singed black against the flames. After falling to
the ground on the other side, she patted the embers out. The crew cheered. She
waved at the camera, her eyes bright, smile unwavering, smoke curling from her
hair.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Barbie protested at
the next tribal council when Steven and Christie were given a ticket back to
the mainland. This gained her even greater support. The network execs were
ecstatic that the ratings had gone through the thatched roof. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Next came the
rafting competition, through Class 5 whitewater – the roughest of all – in
inflatable boats. Barbie giggled as her raft slid down the jagged river. Ken
used his paddle to steer clear of rocks, and swooshed past her. Barbie dug her
oars into the water, too, but the boat’s sides were leaking air and she was soon
sitting on a sheet of plastic with nothing to hold it afloat. Midge floated by
just as Barbie was knocked off the deflated raft by a rush of water. She was
pushed downstream by whitewater, past the safety rope where the others had put
in, and over falls that made Niagara look like a trickle. The production crew
held its collective breath, watching for a sign of her singed yellow-blond hair
through the mists below. On shore, the others leaned forward, strained to see.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m okay!” her
tiny, far-off voice echoed. Then there she was, afloat as if out for an
afternoon of sun and fun. When she rejoined the group, her hair was a rat’s
nest. Midge offered to fix it, and chopped most of it off. She told Barbie she
looked like a punk rocker. Barbie wished she could cry, just this once. In a
wobbly voice she thanked Midge, stumbled to her shelter to lie down, and stared
at the palm leaf ceiling. (What else could she do? She had no eyelids, after all.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">At the final tribal
council, Ken and Theresa got the boot. Barbie gasped, said it wasn’t fair. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now only she and
Midge remained. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ken held an orchid.
“This is for the winner.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Barbie and Midge’s
heads pivoted toward each other, then back to Ken. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Each of you has
skills necessary for survival. You each showed great endurance and
determination. In the end, though, the votes were overwhelmingly for…” he slid
the orchid behind Barbie’s ear. “Barbie.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What?” Midge
snatched the orchid from Barbie’s choppy hair. “No way! This belongs to me!”
She ran beyond the firelight, and into the darkness. Barbie gasped when Midge screamed;
her voice echoed eerily in the night. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The producers
figured she’d do that. They were waiting with a fishing net. Sounds like they
caught her.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The screeching grew
more distant, as if Midge were being hauled away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I hope she’s all
right.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Barbie’s sympathy
toward such a sore loser almost drew tears from the crew.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“She’s fine. Here.”
Ken pulled a bigger, more exquisite orchid from behind his back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Oh, Ken! This
should go to someone beautiful. Not me.” Her choppy hair, dented back, still
slightly off-kilter legs made Barbie feel like a toy refugee.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You are more
beautiful now than ever, Barbie. The viewers’ votes prove that. You’re a hero
to them.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The camera zoomed
in to her still-perky, if somewhat lopsided, face, then went to commercial.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She stood on the
beach, looking at the island behind her. The helicopter’s whirling blades urged
her inside, along with her publicist. “Come on, Barbie! We have lots to talk
about.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She climbed in, but
part of her would stay on that island forever. She was a different Barbie, a
new Barbie.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Sales have been
through the roof. There was a huge demand for a Survivor Barbie, so we’ve come
up with a new line.” He held up a Barbie doll – it looked like it had gone
through the trash compactor. It looked like her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“But…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He held up a doll
with choppy blond hair tipped with black.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Here’s Rope Walk Barbie, and here’s Rock Climb Barbie…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Each doll looked as
if some little girl’s older, nasty brother had gotten hold of it. Barbie’s
laugh was borderline hysterical.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Her publicist
continued. “Little girls all over the world are begging for these. Girls who
never wanted Barbies before want these.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“But – why?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Simple. They can
relate to you now. They’re not perfect, and neither are you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She looked out the
window. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The island was a
brown and green oval set in wide blue aquamarine. It looked just as it did when
she was arriving. Yet now, she’d consider it the place of her birth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">(2005) </span></div>
CA Mastersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12827341507537715331noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794997014510241608.post-90017363675685135712010-03-21T15:09:00.000-04:002020-03-21T15:25:32.125-04:00Jackpot Love (short story)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Liza was as blue as
the Midwest sky, and her loneliness as expansive. She wandered the brittle
night streets, drawn to bars whose neon blinks called to her: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">In here!,</i> with their wild promises of
winning a Las Vegas kind of love. She knew there were others like her out
searching, like pilgrims of the heart. It was a crap shoot, for sure, but the
promise of it—that one-in-a-million shot, the jackpot prize of true love,
compelled her to search again and again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Some nights brought
small winnings—conversation, dancing, maybe, where their bodies tried to find
each other’s rhythm on the dance floor, moving to the insistent beat of the
music, as if their hips were magnetized. A few times, Liza would gamble enough
to go home with one, if he looked promising, if his promises went <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cha-ching!</i> in her heart. Her standards
weren’t unrealistic, she thought she had a better chance of finding love with a
more reachable man, a man whose love wouldn’t be like trying for mega-millions.
She was desperate for someone to keep, who’d look at her with his sincere eyes,
his arms wide open to her whenever she needed comfort.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When one night a
man dressed like royalty trying to pass for a commoner flashed his ultrawhite
smile at her, she smiled back, but looked the other way. When he introduced
himself as William, she knew her chances had dwindled to one in one trillion—no
one with a name as formal, as uppercrust as William (such a prince!) would be
within her grasp, she thought. Besides, even his haircut was better than hers,
his dark hair in impossibly even layers, chunks of it falling just so—it was a
coiffure engineering marvel. His eyes were sincere-looking, all right, long
black lashes lending him an almost-feminine appearance, saved only by his
slightly longish nose. His looks were polished like a glossy magazine photo, he
always posed just right. It made Liza ache to look at him at such a close view,
she knew he could never be hers. But when he pulled her to the dance floor,
William moved toward her with a focus, circling Liza, sliding his jeans across
hers as if wanting a taste of what was underneath. She was aware of his every
body part as he stepped, jutted, reached, touched. His hands were electrically
charged, sending ripples of current across her back, her waist, her hips. At
the end of the night, when he whispered just the right words to her— <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">please come home with me</i>—she put up
everything she had on this gamble. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You
can’t win if you don’t play!</i> she told the nagging negative voices in her
head, then hit the mute button. She was listening to William tell her how he
loved the way her body moved under him, the way it fit to his. He’d been so
lonely, he said, searching. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">But now I’ve
found you.</i> His puppy eyes adoring her from his deep doldrums. She felt
propelled to the upper atmosphere, where the air was so thin she was giddy,
could barely breathe. She wanted to lift him up, cradle him. How could she not
take a chance?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And so began their
love dance. Fingertips touching, their lives gently entwined like fingers at
first, then like hands clasping together. They spun each other around in their
love dance until they were dizzy, the world a blur beyond their circle. The
winner’s circle, she convinced herself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was
imperceptible at first, but after a time Liza noticed that William’s darkness
had more to do with just his hair, his eyes, his long lashes. He retreated
within himself, so deep sometimes he seemed more like a shadow. She held
tighter to his hands, made him come awake, told him he couldn’t see the world
with his eyes closed like that. He opened them slowly, his sad eyes embraced
her, so she let her arms encircle him. She was elated, she’d rescued him, he’d
risen above his heavy sorrow to come back to her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But it felt like
their love dance had become permanently uneven, the circle had become an
ellipsis as they danced far away from each other, then spun back toward the
other. When the ellipsis began to dip and rise like a carnival ride, it was
hard for Liza to hang on. She felt nauseous instead of giddy, she didn’t like
the uncertainty of the swirls. When she was flying high, William was cycling
far below her. It was their love on balance, she supposed—the phrase <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">opposites attract</i> applied to her love
life, but though it was supposed to be a complementary relationship—one’s up
cycle working to balance the other’s down cycle—she became unsettled. The
extremes gave her vertigo. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She started letting
go when she was way up high, so that her fingertips barely touched his; the
connection would be so easy to sever. Then she could float up here, happy to be
alone again, happy not to worry about William, so mired in himself, his
depression working his body into a rut in the earth. She liked being up high
with the sunshine, the birds soared past singing, floating on the warm air
currents.</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I love you!</span></i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> he called to her from far below, and her
elliptical orbit dragged her back down to him, sent him high up to float above
her like a black heart-shaped balloon, her holding the tenuous string. She
could let it go, she considered, could let the wind just whoosh him to another
hemisphere, where there were the same kind of bars, but she’d never have to
worry about seeing him in one here again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The jackpot, Liza
now knew, was wrapped in heavy baggage. The love dance in the winner’s circle
was tiring. It required so much upkeep! The limelight was bright, Liza had to
keep her hair styled, always wear the right clothes. Her feet were sore, the
dance steps demanded constant attention so her heel didn’t crush his toes.
Being with William made her insides run together like jelly, her stomach ache,
forming the shape of a nameless fetus crying for life, but William never stopped
crying for attention, either. Liza pined for the sidelines as their dance spun
out of control, William’s neediness deflating her, sucking the energy from her.
She began to feel like a shadow, too, giving him all of herself, receiving so
little in return.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">On his next
descent, she rose with a purpose, as if through deep sea instead of sky; her
lungs needed lots of wide open space. She felt like a bubble burped from the
recesses of William’s rut that he’d worked deep, deep into the ground. The
bubble gained momentum; she burst into the sky like fireworks, like a shooting
star. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Far below, she
could hear William whine: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t leave me!
I need you!</i> but she loosened her fingers’ grip on his. He tried snatching
her hands back but she raised them above her head, like Superman flying into
the clouds. She looked back once. William’s tears were flooding his rut, he was
floating downstream. Already along the shores, girls and women called out, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">take my hand! I’ll save you!</i> He took the
red-nailed hand of a tall blonde supermodel type, smiled at her, and somewhere
behind them, lights flashed, bells dinged. Another jackpot love prize won. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Liza’s heart
fluttered, wanting to feel that thrill again of winning someone’s love—the
glittering newness of it, the sparkling joy. She knew she’d flutter downward to
begin her gamble for love all over again. Sometime.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">For now, she was
content to sit out the dance, not stake her heart on jackpot promises. For now,
she was content to bathe in sunshine, wrap herself in clouds and skim across
the sky light as a kite, letting her heartstring dangle loose.</span></div>
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<br />
(2005)</div>
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<br /></div>
CA Mastersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12827341507537715331noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794997014510241608.post-26227698083340960572010-03-21T15:00:00.000-04:002020-03-21T15:01:28.159-04:00All Is Calm, All Is Bright<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Thanks to The
Battered Suitcase for first publishing this story on December 1, 2008. In 2005,
Pennwriters awarded this story second place in its short story contest.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif";">All is Calm, All is
Bright</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">by </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">C.A. Masterson</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Talbots sat
around the Thanksgiving dinner table, hands clasped before their bowed heads,
faces aglow beneath the brass chandelier, looking for all the world like a
Norman Rockwell slice of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Albert Talbot Sr.
thanked God for blessing his family with a bounty of food, and – most
importantly, he stressed – good health. His eyes squeezed shut, he implored the
Almighty, “Send extra blessings to Jonah” like a preacher on a call-in
television show.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Margaret broke from
her silent prayer and gave her father-in-law a stern look. Her husband, Albert
Jr., looked up and shook his head. Jonah rocked gently in his chair beside her,
eyes heavenward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She tucked the napkin
into his shirt collar. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m hungry,” Jonah
said in his usual monotone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes, I know. We’ll
eat soon,” she whispered.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m hungry,” he
said louder. As if she were the one who didn’t understand, who needed
instructions repeated.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Margaret shot a
smile around the table. “I’ll just get him started with dinner, if that’s all
right.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mrs. Talbot said
that was perfectly fine and asked Albert Jr. to begin passing the food. Mr.
Talbot raised his eyebrows and fingered his silver knife and fork as Margaret
spooned mashed potatoes, turkey, and peas onto Jonah’s plate, careful not to
let one food touch another. Jonah’s eyes followed her hand as it moved from
bowl to plate, the tips of his fingers on the perfectly aligned Peter Rabbit
stainless steel fork and knife with blunted edges.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Margaret had
frowned upon seeing the baby utensils. Mrs. Talbot had blushed, and blustered
something about how much Jonah loved them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Loved” wasn’t quite accurate, they both knew – change was difficult,
even painful, for Jonah. Last Thanksgiving, while Mrs. Talbot looked on in
horror, Jonah had bent the tines of the silver fork, upset that his traditional
utensils had been changed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Margaret ate,
thankful that the meal was uneventful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“May I go play
video games?” Jonah looked her directly in the eye, startling her into a smile.
It always took Margaret aback when Jonah “surfaced,” as she called it, when his
autism seemed to lift its veil away from her son, however briefly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Of course, sweetie.
You were a very good boy at dinner. Thank you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She watched her son
jog to the television in the adjoining room, his hands flapping like fish fins.
He carefully opened the doors of the maple cabinet and lined them up exactly.
He took the game controls out, then with two flicks of the remote, set the
television to the proper station and turned on the video game. He sat down,
cross-legged, and waited for the screen to prompt “play.” He was at the third
level after only a day. Above the polite dinner conversation, Margaret heard
the game ping as he racked up points. Jonah imitated the game sounds perfectly
as he made his way through the maze of tunnels, fought off the evil attackers,
found the hidden clues and treasures to reach the highest level. It was more
than Albert Jr. had been able to achieve. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Albert Sr. leaned
back and rubbed his bloated belly. “The <u>idiot savant</u> beat you at the
idiot’s game.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Her husband
continued to stir his coffee as if his father had said nothing, his back
straight, his jaw firm. Her father-in-law smacked her husband’s shoulder with a
wink and a guffaw as if to say, ‘no harm, no foul.’ This made her bristle more
– that Albert, at forty-seven, would not stand up to his father’s bullying.
Albert Jr. was too much like his mother, whose silence outwardly preserved
peace in the household, but under the surface, the conflict still roiled and
churned.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Later that night,
Margaret sat on the edge of the bed as Albert stepped into his pajamas. “You
should have defended Jonah. Your father has no right to call him such names.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Her husband said,
“I learned a long time ago to be the bigger man, Margaret.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Margaret brushed
her hair vigorously. “Bigger? How is not defending your son being bigger than
your father?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Her husband’s voice
was quiet, his enunciation perfect. “I will never let my father know the damage
he is capable of. It will only encourage him.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“And your silence
doesn’t?” She’d tired of silence.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Margaret had just
read <u>Goodnight Moon</u> to Jonah ten times; it had to be ten times without
interruption, just after he’d put on his pajamas and brushed his teeth, then
checked that the bathroom light was off. Events had to be in this exact order
or he’d thrash back and forth under the covers. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She brushed her
hair as Albert lined up his slippers by the bed so he could step into them
easily the next morning. He’d always been meticulous; it was the reason she
hadn’t been attracted to him initially. Until the day he’d helped her rescue a
dog struck by a van, and carried it, bleeding, to his car. His caring nature
surprised and touched her. They’d begun dating the next day, and married the
following year. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Jonah had been born
two years later. He’d been a happy, inquisitive baby until just before his
third birthday. Then, he turned away from them when they spoke, humming to
himself. He became obsessed with patterns and order, lining up light switch
rows, building intricate Lego constructions. The pediatrician diagnosed Jonah
as autistic, but said he was fairly high on the spectrum, and told them how lucky
they were. Margaret tried to view their lives through this perspective, but
never felt very lucky. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Except when Jonah
played the piano. She kept the stereo tuned to the classical music station; it
seemed to calm her son. Jonah would listen to a song, then pick out the notes
on the piano. After three or four practices, he would play the basic melody,
his timing so perfect it made her catch her breath, made her imagine a
multitude of Jonahs, as if she saw him through a prism, and each Jonah was at a
different level on the spectrum. Of all the Jonahs, the piano-playing one was
Margaret’s favorite – touching her with his music. She thought it was the only
way he knew how to touch her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“We’re leaving
after the museum, right?” she asked Albert after slipping into bed beside him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes.” He said it
as if he were most grateful for this on Thanksgiving.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The bedroom was
dark even though she’d left the door open. Stilted breathing came from the
doorway. Margaret lifted her head from the pillow and saw her son in the
shadows.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m wet.” He
sounded neither sorry nor upset. He never did. That would mean some interior
barrier had broken down, some nerve endings had connected that allowed her son
to feel even an isolated emotion, providing her a glimmer of hope.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“All right.” She
pulled on her robe and ushered him quietly back to his room next door. The maid
had been asked to leave an extra set of sheets in the room, and to make up the
bed with a plastic sheet underneath.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Jonah hummed one
note as Margaret changed the bed linens. He climbed under the fresh covers
mechanically. She hugged his stiff body and kissed his cheek.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I love you,” she
told him. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I love you,” he
echoed, looking at the bedpost. She wanted to cup his face in her hands, make
him say it again and again, until the warmth of the emotion melted the stony
façade that kept him prisoner. But she knew Jonah would cringe, pull away,
retreat. She lived for the days when Jonah looked her fully in the eye, hoping
each time that this time would be the day he’d smile and say, “I love you, Mom”
of his own volition, not parroting her. Jonah’s tenth birthday was next week,
and still she waited.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She went back to
bed, and her husband rolled his rigid back away from her. She felt as if she
were slipping back into the cold, silent depths between her husband and son.
Margaret<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>waited for Albert to again show
any of the initial compassion that made her fall in love with him. Since
Jonah’s diagnosis, Albert had withdrawn from her; she felt as if he were
dragging her down and down, into the twilight where they all existed now. She
felt as isolated as Jonah, trapped far beneath the surface in a bubble where
feelings were alien.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The morning did not
so much dawn as slowly diffuse a dull grey pallor across the room. Margaret rose
and went to the window. Thick clouds hung low in the sky, moving as slowly as a
glacier, as if they were underwater looking up at the surface.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She let the curtain
fall into place. “Maybe we should go straight home, and skip the museum today.”
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Albert buttoned his
shirt, leaving the last one at the collar undone. Always one, never two.
Inconsistencies made him jittery, he’d told her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“We should go
today. We’d already planned it, and Father will be insulted if we cancel.
Besides, we’ve already prepared Jonah.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She nodded; their
son needed repeated advance warnings of any change in schedule so the deviation
wouldn’t upset him. Jonah was comfortable with predictable patterns.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Albert paused to
look at her. “And he seemed better yesterday.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Better. It was a word
Margaret hated. The implication that he was steadily improving. The false hope
it raised.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Jonah was sitting
in his bed, humming, when she went in to see if he was ready. Some mornings,
he’d completely dress himself, all his buttons in the correct holes except for
the top one, just like his father. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Jonah didn’t look
at her, didn’t look at anything. He did not respond when she asked him if he
wanted to go have some fun. He’d retreated again, so she couldn’t find him,
like in the nightmares she had.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Margaret dressed
her son with no struggle, and brought him downstairs for breakfast. She did not
look forward to spending another day with her in-laws.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In the museum,
Albert Sr. tried to engage Jonah, showing him how the mirror distorted their
reflections, how the electric charge made his hair stand up. Jonah turned away
quickly, humming loudly, slapping his arms against his chest in brutal hugs.
Margaret set her jaw and glared at her father-in-law, who could never
understand why Jonah didn’t like sudden changes in anything.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Albert Sr. frowned,
mouth set tight as he turned away. “Let’s try this room. He can touch the
displays.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As they walked
through the doorway, Margaret tensed. The room was cavernous, some of the
exhibits huge. Open spaces sometimes made Jonah upset. He’d flail about, as if
lost at sea, as if drowning.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When she glanced at
him, Jonah was looking beyond the faces of people walking by. The room was
filled with children and their parents, all with the same idea for Black
Friday. They moved like cattle through a chute from exhibit to exhibit, Jonah
shuffling his feet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I wish it weren’t
so crowded.” Margaret felt invisible; neither Albert nor his parents responded.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hey, Talbot!” A
man waved, then herded his wife and three kids, aged about four through eight,
toward them. Margaret turned to her husband, one eyebrow raised in question.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Albert Jr. answered
in a hushed voice, his lips barely moving. “George Henderson. Salesman.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She mouthed “ah”
and nodded, fixing a smile on her face. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The couples exchanged
introductions, the Henderson children all said hello, then looked to Jonah.
When he hummed tunelessly and turned away, Margaret steered the conversation to
trite pleasantries. Her determination to make them forget Jonah’s differences
made her forget him, to block him from her mind. Liberated, she talked of the
holiday, of her part-time job as a financial consultant, of the difficulties of
living hours away from family.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The metallic notes
of <u>Silent Night</u>, as if gonged from a church bell, swelled through the
room. Conversations ceased. As if on cue, every person in the room turned in
unison with surprised, delighted faces toward the music, so crude, yet so oddly
ethereal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then Margaret
remembered. “Jonah.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He wasn’t in sight.
She turned to her husband and said more urgently, “Jonah.” His hand clasped her
shoulder, and he pointed, a foreign look of wonder on his face.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Look,” he told
her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She strained on
tip-toe to see what the entire room was attuned to: Jonah stood before an
exhibit, striking its long metal pipes of varying length in perfect pitch and
timing. He was sounding the final notes to the carol – <u>sleep in heavenly
peace</u>. Mr. and Mrs. Talbot watched in stunned silence. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“How?” was all
Albert Sr. could manage.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .4in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Albert Jr.
shrugged, but Margaret laughed, a bubble of joy escaping as Jonah turned to her
and smiled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Of course he didn’t
know how. They would never know. But sometimes – like now – the feeling that
thick shafts of sunlight had penetrated the surface, suddenly illuminating the
shadows that permeated their lives with an astounding, blinding brilliance, was
enough to sustain her. </span></div>
<h1 style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span></h1>
CA Mastersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12827341507537715331noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3794997014510241608.post-72624728349103943092010-03-21T14:48:00.000-04:002020-03-21T14:54:28.569-04:00Crystallized
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Thanks to Cezanne's Carrot for first publishing
this short story on Dec. 21, 2008.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"></span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Crystallized</span></b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"></span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">by</span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"></span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">C.A.
Masterson</span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The snowmen are dying in my neighborhood. Sitting
on snow-encrusted lawns, dying in their natural habitat. I thought the frigid
air must have crept around the base of these inflated vinyl giants, sucking the
oxygen from them. They look drunk – tipped over, flaccid but still smiling. It
feels right somehow, that these frauds shouldn’t survive. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The landscape has been a frozen still life for
months. Unchanging, just like my life. I feel I’ve been on automatic rewind,
each day replaying itself. I stare out at the snow – the way it makes
everything foreign, the way it’s tinged blue – as if it’s tired of the sameness
of it all, just like me. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">***</span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Stew for dinner, I decide. It seems so appropriate,
what with the cold. And it’s my constant habit – stewing. My mother used to
admonish me for it: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stewing
over something never brings anything good.</i> I learned much from her, culinary
and otherwise. I slice an onion, tears fall into the mixture. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I stand at the stove, stirring and stewing, until
Ed trudges through the kitchen door, grunts hello. I watch the snow slide off
the shoulders of his coat, landing with a splat on the tile. He takes no
notice.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">How was
your day</span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">, I ask, eager for news from beyond these walls.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Almost
ran one over</span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">, he bellows. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Damn thing ran right
out in front of me.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Hunting
season always puts deer on the run.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> I turn back to the stove, stir my stew, slightly alarmed
at its thick consistency, so much thicker than a minute ago.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Ed pops open a beer, his daily pre-dinner cocktail.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Not a deer – a snowman!
They’re just as dumb as deer, though, I’ll tell you that. And slow! It was
moving across the road like it was on a Sunday stroll.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I stop stirring to consider this. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That’s odd. Where was
it headed?</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Damned if
I know. Cut across a few yards, from what I could tell of its tracks. Headed
toward the open fields.</span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I think, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Well, sure, it would
get stuck in the woods, with all those trees. </i> Sometimes it’s best not to
say too much out loud – Ed would have given me a look as if to say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Now how in hell would
you know that</i>, then shaken his head, as if unsure of what planet I was
from. But I understand those snowmen. They’re tired of behaving the way
everyone expects them to behave. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Ed slurps from the can. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I just hope it
doesn’t try to cross the Interstate – it’ll cause a pileup for sure.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I nod, but not in agreement. I’m thinking, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yes, it’s best not to
interrupt Ed when he’s making such declarations.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The stew bubbles over the pot, hissing as it hits
the burner. Its steam clouds the windows, distorting the view.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Wonder
what made it run off like that.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> I say this aloud, but more to myself than to Ed.
He’s already loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, same as every night. Soon
he’ll be in his sweats, and we’ll sit across the gulf of the dinner table as we
eat, saying things like, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pass the salt please</i>
and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sure is cold
out there</i>. Then I’ll clean up, and he’ll lie before the all-consuming TV as
if messages are being broadcast for him alone. They’re important messages, too
important to be interrupted with conversation. So I busy myself with other
things. Lately, though, I’ve just been staring out the window, trying to
glimpse any movement, any sign of life. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">***</span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The stew hasn’t set well with Ed. It was slightly
bitter, he complains, even though he scooped every last bit of it into his
mouth. It repeats on him, emitting gaseous bubbles erupting phrases that make
me blush: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bored</i>,
one erupts. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Need
more. Should leave.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">At this last one, I gasp. Ed skims through
channels, rubs his belly. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">He could
be burping screams</span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">, I think, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and not notice</i>.
I’m still alarmed at the final repeat. The others had been thoughts colliding
in my head over the years, as the attraction between Ed and me waned, then
reversed the polar magnetization so we seemed to repel one another – we were in
the same house but spent no time together, in the same life but there was a
divisive chasm that rendered it nearly meaningless.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Still, I’d never thought of leaving. Not
consciously.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I’d have to be more careful, next time I made stew.
A pinch less consternation, a dash more patience, love. Or, at least,
ambivalence.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I turn toward the window. The snow shimmers in the darkness
with an ethereal glow. Wouldn’t it be lovely to disappear into that glowing
darkness, discover what lies beyond the shimmering horizon.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">A movement outside the window catches my eye.
There’s a muffled crash, like a garbage can being tipped over. Then, frantic
barking. A large rounded shadow lumbers around the side of our neighbor’s
house. Their Rottweiler careens around the corner. The snowman’s stick arm jabs
at the dog, sending the Rotty in a hasty retreat as it gives a single piercing
yelp. The black stony mouth of the snowman reconstructs a smile. Wind whips its
scarf as its large ball of a head checks one direction, then the other. It
slides toward the inflated snowman in my neighbor’s yard, and gives it a poke.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">So that’s
what’s been going on</span></i><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">, I think. I can’t blame them. I prefer real
snowmen over the gaudy factory variety myself. I like the uniqueness of each
crafted-by-hand snowman. When I was little, my brother created snow lizards,
lions, snakes, dragons – magical creatures glistening white as if coated with
sugar, suddenly living in our yard. So many possibilities, out in that
malleable landscape.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I walk to the TV room, hoping it’s a commercial so
I can tell Ed what I’ve seen. But he’s already asleep, snoring, an occasional
burp of unhappiness still escaping.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I decide to just go to bed. I open a book but
instead of reading, I wonder what the snowmen are up to, how many more might be
roaming loose. Ed finally comes to bed, but his snores are so loud, I can’t
sleep. In between snores, he snorts: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bitch. Nag</i>.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Patters sound on the roof. Must be hail, I think,
but it sounds more like needles of ice. I go to the window; shining crystals
fall from the sky – twirling, glistening hexagons, each unique. I try to wake
Ed, but he rolls over, away from me. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I walk to the front door, open it. The front yard
glimmers invitingly. I find myself standing in the middle of it all, laughing
as they sparkle and dance all around me. I look up, hold out my tongue. A
succession of snowflakes slide down my throat, filling me until I’m snowblind. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Swishing noises sound all around me. Unable to see,
I hold very still. </span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I feel pressure in my eye sockets, and my sight
returns. Snowmen surround me; the one before me smiles, but I can’t smile back,
can’t say thank you. I look down at myself. I’m rounded – three large balls of
snow, heaviest at the base. Just like them.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The others hold offerings, too – sticks, stones, a
scarf, a carrot. Each takes a turn placing them on my snow-body, adding new
features – sticks for arms, stones for a smile and buttons, a carrot nose. Each
nods and smiles its approval. I feel so warm, among these friends who’ve helped
me become my new self. I glitter as if made of diamonds as I break free, and
follow them into the shimmering night.</span></div>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/>
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</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0in;
line-height:115%;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
</style>
<![endif]-->CA Mastersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12827341507537715331noreply@blogger.com