Night has come again, blanketing us in darkness and we sit, my sister and I in our matching rockers rocking, and mixing our tinctures, crooning the words that will bring about what we seek within the ingredients. The light of the fire is bright and burning red, swathing the walls in its rudy glow and making Etta when her face is mostly in shadow appear as she once had when she was young and all the men followed her with their eyes, their bodies springing to attention. She feels my eyes upon her and she glances up and smiles through her words at me exposing her toothless mouth. I smile back and my mind wanders back to long ago when we were both young, when our bones didn’t ache and our muscles could bend quickly and resiliently.
Next to me, Etta's rocker stops and when I turn to her, I can see her pale eyes staring at me, into my mind, perhaps envisioning herself through my memory. "Why do you travel there, sister?" She asks, her voice a mumble. "Those days only lied to us, spun our lives out from under us and burnt what was left."
"I was only remembering you." I say, glancing furtively at her, hoping that the anger that accompanied her in those years is not leaking back into her.
She simply shakes her head. "I don't remember who I was then." But I know she remembers. Sometimes I watch her pull out the paintings that painters came from miles around to paint of her, painted as the Madonna, the whore and Eve. The roles those painters cast her in never were simple, never bore a resemblance to who really lived beneath the sheer white skin and sky blue eyes. When she looks at those pictures, her eyes grow distant and somewhat dreamy, and I wonder if she is thinking of John or her children.
"Stop!" Her rocker has stopped altogether and she is staring at me, reading my mind, following me down the echoing caverns of time. "I can not go there, ever. Again!"
I look at her and nodd, pressing current concerns into my head, hiding my face from hers'. But time has grabbed me, has yanked me back in its sprialling circle and refuses to let go.

Encounters

When Laura left the room, I turned to Papa and stared at him, at the lines that created his face and the colors that blurred like blue marbles to make his eyes, and I didn’t recognize him.
He shifted under my gaze, glancing up at me briefly before turning away and towards the door.
“Papa?” I asked, stepping after him quickly, shifting Avi on to the ground where he immediately grabbed on to my legs and turned his head into me.
Papa paused and the room seemed to freeze with him. The air seemed to hold a stillness, a waiting in it that it had not before and I turned and glanced around me expecting someone else to be waiting and watching with me, but we were alone.
“What, Martha?” Papa’s words came between clenched teeth and squared lips.
I moved towards him then, placing my hand on his back, that shuddered into stone beneath my fingers. The silence stretched out around me shutting me into a sorrow that throbbed through me and pressed at my lips and eyes. Sobs welled in my mouth, around my tongue and escaped my lips in a blubbering sound that contained no words.
Papa turned back to me, glanced at my face, guilt etched in the corners of his eyes and the shadow of his mouth. “Stop it, Martha. Stop it.” He reached down and grabbed Avi who clutched me even harder, his own little body racked with tears. Papa wrenched Avi from me and tossed him up into his arms as if he weighed nothing, Avi cowered into him, his round hands gripping Papa’s neck, Papa’s hands gently stroking circles on his back.
“Papa.” I said, again and reached out towards him. “Why? Why?” I could feel my face contorting with the words that whined out of me in their self pitying sobs and watched Papa’s look of guilt turn to one of disgust. I quickly tried to control my sobs, swallowing the emotion that was errupting out of me and attempting to straighten my face out of its pleading expression.
“Stop it, Martha. We will talk about this later, when you are calm.” His voice held the same patronizing slide that it had held so often with Mama, when she would come crying to him at times, and he would shake his head and run from her clinging hands and weeping eyes.
When she had done that I had pitied her, had shaken my head as Papa had done at her, but now as the emotions racked through me I knew what she had felt. The emptiness that he could create in one, the feeling that one was not good enough for him no matter what they did.

Blind Date

I told her to wear a red scarf so that I would know who she was. Unfortunately this seemed to be the going trend at the Starbucks. Red scarves were everywhere, worn around the waist as a belt, around the neck and in one circumstance around the head.
I had almost given up when a dark haired girl came in wearing a blue scar with a thin red line through it. She walked with a long confident stride, her eyes grazing above the heads of those around her as she approached the counter, nodding knowingly at the cashier, who nodded back.
“The usual.” She said, her voice low and strumming, her hands holding out a credit card while she turned and gazed around the room. Her eyes were a pale blue, like an ice pond in winter, hiding their depths by their surface and they clipped from one person to another searching for me. I rose slightly and waved, her eyes bounced back to me, her eyebrows lowering slightly and she nodded.
She turned back to gather her coffee cup from the cashier, her calves tightening as she rose on tip toe. She proceeded to the cream and sugar counter, where she gracefully removed a glove to reveal a well manicured hand and with cast down eyes poured two sugars into her coffee before covering it again. My rubbed my hands that had suddenly become sweaty with nerves, down the sides of my jeans and wiped a quick napkin over my mouth.
She finished preparing her coffee and replacing her glove walked towards me. And then past me to an empty table behind me. Startled I reacted with out thinking. “Carrie?” I asked turning towards her.
The woman looked over her shoulder at me, gazing at my face for a moment before her lips turned up in a slight snarl. “No.” She said, dismissing me.
“I’m Carrie.” I heard and turned back around to see the girl with the scarf around her head standing at the other end of my table. The scarf had come lose and had fallen back to reveal hair the color of straw, pulled back into two clips.
Confused I stared at her and then back over my shoulder at the woman with the long black hair, who wore a slight smirk on her face. Embarrassed I turned around and gestured at the chair across from me.
Carrie shifted her feet and sat down, plunking a rather large purse down on the table. “I thought that was you.” She said, breathlessly, pulling the scarf off and slipping it into her purse. She still wore her coat, a pea colored vintage piece with large brass buttons and high collar. She looked up at me and smiled, her lips rather chapped and her teeth slightly smallish, giving her a malnourished look.
I smiled back as best I could, absurdly angry that she wasn’t the girl who sat behind me. “Did you find this place alright?” I asked, the only thing I could think of saying.
“Yes. Thank God for map quest.” She laughed, a slight hiccup sound. “Did you want to order some coffee?”
“No. I can’t really stay long.” I glanced up at her and watched her face fall, slightly, before it rose again in another smile.
The girl behind me laughed, a slight snort and I turned to her, unable to stop. She was sipping from her coffee cup, her chest rising and falling in laughter. Her eyes rose and met mine, and for a moment I couldn’t move, magnetized by their hypnotic blueness. “You are an ass.” She said, rising and coming to my table.
I turned as I followed her with my eyes and body. “What?”
“You are an ass.” She said again, standing at my table and gazing down at me. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a date?”
I glanced at Carrie, who was looking at me and then the girl with a perplexed look on her face, her head moving back and forth between us as if she were a bird.
“Wasn’t this supposed to be a date?” The girl asked again, this time her voice loud and bold, calling attention to us.
“Yes, yes. Why are you yelling?” I asked, glancing around the room quickly.
“A date. Then why do you need to leave so quickly?” She asked, ignoring my question as her voice rose even louder.
“Stop it!” I hissed at the girl, before rising. “I have to go. Sorry.” I said to Carrie who was now gazing at me with outrage dawning on her face. I tried not to run from the Starbucks but I could feel everyone staring at me. I know I walked pretty quickly, and almost tripped once, which was followed by girlish giggles. I stumbled into my car, relief filling me as the darkness of my window’s hid me from the outside world. It took me a moment to regain my composure.
How dare she call me an ass, and why did she have to yell it? It was just a misguided blind date. I had met Carrie on line and we had talked quite a few times, her quick humor and sweetness beguiling me into wanting to meet her. Perhaps if I had met her first, before seeing the dark haired beauty things would have gone differently, but disappointment had raced me into not wanting to continue.
I was just about to start up my car to leave when the door opened and Carrie and the dark haired girl came out into the bright sunny day. They were laughing, heads thrown back and bodies bending with their laughter. Carrie no longer wore the vintage coat as old woman might, she wore it hip and young on shoulders that were thrown back carelessly. Her hair was down now, falling in waves past her shoulders and she was talking a mile a minute to the dark haired girl, as only old and dear friends can.

Character I Met

Kipsa and I had been hiding out in the woods all afternoon, hoping to find Robin Hood or at least a glimpse of one of his many merry men, but to no avail.

"Your da lied." Kipsa said, looking up at me with his yellow green eyes. "There's no Robin Hood."

I looked back at him wondering at his naivety. "He didn'a lie, its just a story."

Kipsa broke a branch in half over his upper thigh. "Na, he lied and so did you."

I looked at him and considered belting him across his somewhat smug face, until I heard a sound. I placed a finger to Kipsa's lips and pointed my finger over his shoulder to where the sound was buzzing.

It was a low sound, like a buzzing bee, as it floated up and crescendoed down, sometimes stopping for breath and then continuing. Kipsa's eyes took on their adventurous glimmer and he slipped to the forest floor and began to slink snake like towards the sound. I was right behind him, sometimes bumping into his dirty feet, sometimes passing him.

We left the forest and came into a small clearing, where the sound became louder and more human sounding. Kipsa saw him first and cringed back slightly into me. I do not know if I would have seen him if it had not been for Kipsa's line of vision. I followed it and stared for a moment before I descrened the shape of a small boy camouflaged by the atmostphere around him.

He was no taller then my sister, who has lived two summers, but where she is chubby and round, he was slender and sleek and where she was so baby like he was so boy like. His skin was a dusty brown, his hair a few shades darker and his eyes green like spring leaves, new and rainy wet looking.

The boy did not see us at first, but continued to hum, for that was the sound that we had followed to him. He gazed up at the sky, his lips in a upward cat grin and his hands twining grass blades together in an intricate braid. He seemed to be in a trance, as if his own humming had put him there, for he didn't move or glance at us, as Kipsa began to whisper questions at me.

"What is he?" Kipsa placed his lips right over my ear, sending shivers up and down my spine.

I glared at him, but he didn't notice. "What should we do?" Shut up, I mouthed at him, but Kipsa's eyes were on the boy.

"Do you think he is one of the Leprechaun's?" Kipsa asked, his whisper raspingly loud.

I was turning to push at Kipsa when the boy stopped humming and threw his head back, laughing. "Leprechaun?" He said through his laughter, and he turned his head towards us, but not his eyes, which didn't seem to focus on either one of us. "Do I look like a leprechaun?"

Kipsa stood and stepped towards the boy, who seemed to shift his colors from brown to dark green. I followed after Kipsa, slowly, wairly.

The boy stepped towards us and this time I watched as the colors of his hair did change, slightly, as if somehow a shadow fell upon and through him. I pulled Kipsa back towards me, but he shrugged me off and stepped towards the boy again. "I don'a know. I never saw one, before." Kipsa said, his voice low.

The boy's smile did not change nor did his eyes flicker from their far off stare. "I am not."

"What are you?" Kipsa reached out a hand to touch the boy, who only came to his hips, but his hand passed right through him. "What are you?" Kipsa asked again, his voice quavering as he crept away from the boy who was laughing, his colors shifting to blues and purples.

"What am I?" The boy's voice threw itself around the clearing as if it were a rock bouncing across the smooth surface of a lake. "What am I?"

Kipsa fell back and into me and we fell in a jumble of arms and legs. "Let's go!" Kipsa said, for the first time that day making sense.

We fled, leaping over fallen trees and curving around bent branches, our bodies pumping with fear for the boy's voice followed us, sometimes right at our heels and sometimes in front of us. "What am I?" It called, no longer laughing and merry, but lonely and confused. "What am I?"

We did not stop until we were in the village, surrounded by throngs of people yelling and singing, the smell of beer, blood and piss filling our nostrils. We slowed our foot steps and wiped the sweat from our faces, not daring to make eye contact with each other.

"What the hell?" Kipsa kept muttering under his breath. "What the hell?" We stopped at the well and pulled up the bucket, tossing the water over our heads, feeling the coolness slick down out backs.

"Thirsty?" Kipsa asked, letting the bucket fall and nodding towards my cup where it hung from my belt. I nodded and unhooked it, as Kipsa pulled the bucket up, brimming with sparkling waves of water. It was then, as Kipsa took it in both hands, to pour it into my cup that we heard it again, a slight waiver like the buzz of a mosquito. "What am I?"

Kipsa started to shake, the water slipping down from the bucket into my out held cup, taking on the contours and lines of a small boy.

Blue Moon

The gods were angry with Celius. He could tell because everything had gone wrong for him in the past year. His crops, the ones that had appeared, had shriveled up within a week of their first appearance disregarding the rain and fertile soil that they had been planted in. His wife who had never swayed in her steadfastness to him, had begun to glance elsewhere, her eyes following the men that slunk past his house. When confronted she laughed and shrugged with disdain.

Celius tried to recall what he had done to wrong the gods, but could think of nothing. He had made his annual sacrifice of two goats, a hen and one sixteenth of his earnings. Although in retrospect, he had not counted the money he had made on the selling of his mule as earnings.
This thought corrected">occurred to him in the dead of night, smacking him out of his half slumber and into the silence of his room. His wife did not lay beside him and when he searched for her through out the remainder of his house, she was not to be found. Cursing himself at his own selfishness and stupidity he gathered two coins from his purse and headed out towards the temple.

"Perhaps," he said to the night sky, hoping that the gods might be listening, "if I get the money to the alter by morning, the gods will have forgiven me, and return my life to me."

His journey would take him most of the night, for the sky was dark with only a few distant stars peering through the cloudy sky at him. He had gone only a small distance when he realized that someone walked ahead of him, hidden under a long cloak and carrying a lantern that lit the road in front of them, making their shadow loom out and behind them.

Relieved that he might have some company on his journey he sped up slightly thinking that he would soon overtake them, but as his footsteps grew faster, so did the figure in front of him. After a brief moment he realized that the person might fear him and think he might mean them harm, and so he called out to them. "Hallo! Would you like some company on your journey?"

The figure stopped abruptly, and Celius did as well his eyes struggling in the dark to make out what was happening. The light that the figure carried faded slightly and then grew as the figure turned back towards him and it was then that Celius realized it was not a lantern that was lighting the way for the figure, but its eyes, that slid cold blue back and towards him. Celius dropped back a step, his hands rising to protect his eyes and he let out a low murmur of terror. Here was one of the gods in the flesh, come to take him for wronging them. Stupidly he held out the money in his trembling hand, turning his face away.

A long moment passed, Celius kept his eyes closed, not sure what to expect until he heard a slight jingle of laughter and felt breath upon his hand. He turned his face forward and opened his eyes a slit to see that the creature stood only steps from him, its eyes gazing down on the two measly coins that rested in his hands and its sharp toothed mouth open in a smile.
Instantly the eyes shredded the air and met his, blinding him for a moment before they dimmed and gazed upon him. "What is this?" the thin lips slipped the words out, filled with a hissing undertone.

Celius stared and could not find his tongue to speak. He felt hypnotized by the eyes that did not leave his and what ever other part he had that he could have claimed, was paralyzed with fear. The creature shifted its weight and repeated itself. "What is this?" This time its voice was more human sounding with less hissing. As the silence ensued and Celius still could not bring himself to speak the creature, moved its eyes in a rolling motion before fixing themselves upon Celius again, along with a long fingered bony hand.

For a moment, Celius reeled away from the dry cold touch of its hand, but it pulled Celius towards it and he found he could not move. For a moment, his eyes still locked with the creature, he thought he saw shadows of his own life flicker within its eyes.

The creature let go of Celius, leaving him feeling empty as if he had revealed to much of himself, and once again began to laugh. This time the jingle was louder and the mouth opened wider, revealing two sets of sharply pointed teeth and a somewhat serpentine tongue. Fascinated, Celius watched unable to move in the sudden dark that the creature's closed eyes caused.

"You owe me nothing!" The creature suddenly hissed, closing Celius' hand and pressing it back towards him. "You have offended no one but your wife."

"Wife?" The reference to her finally forced words from his throat.

The creature wiped its mouth and nodded. "She has cursed you."

"What?" Celius, for all his fear felt the disbelief spin up from his heart and into his head. "My wife would never do that!"

The creature smiled. "Just like she would never leave your bed in the middle of the night for another man?"

Celius stared, his eyes suddenly filling with the tears he had not allowed himself to face.
The creature cocked its head curiously like a dog, watching the tears slowly roll down Celius' face and down his chin. "Such strange creatures you humans are. To be so stunted by emotion."

Celius swiped his eyes quickly with the back of his hand, feeling anger build within his chest.

"Hush." The creature suddenly placed its hand upon Celius heart. "I did not mean to laugh."

"Why would she do this to me? It affects her too!" Each word was abrupt as it spun from
Celius and fell in the night air.

"She is woman." The creature said. "She reacts to what she sees. She knows about Coretta and Alphony. She responds as she sees fit."

Celius stared, his heart suddenly strumming in his ears at the names of his lovers, long cast off but still a memory. "What can I do?"

"Go home." The creature reached out its finger and touched Celius' cheekwhere the remainder of one tear still lay and brought it to its eyes where for a moment it glimmered prism bright before joining the light that lay there. "All is well."

Celius opened his mouth to say something, but discovered he was alone, staring up at the rising blue moon. After a long moment he shook himself.

"I must have been dreaming," he muttered and headed home, passing his fields tall with wheat and corn that bent in the small breeze that played around him. He smiled as he entered his home, dropping two coins in the jar by the stove that he discovered in his pocket and crept into the back room where the snores of his wife shifted the shadows of the room. Quietly he crept into bed, trying not to awaken his wife who suddenly stopped mid snore and turned to him, her eyes bright in the moon that shone through the window.

"Hello, my love." She smiled at him, curling herself up to him, and his arms slipped around her.

"Hello." He closed his eyes and smelt the smell of the days baking in her hair and for a moment felt a ridiculous gratifying feeling of relief. "I dreamt you had left me," he whispered into the night air.

She chuckled from below his chin. "Don't be ridiculous."

Wanting

I awaken to the low buzz of discussion right outside my room. I can hear Sarah's voice, a high pitched chirp in between the other's who have the decency to keep their voices low enough to hide the words. I open one eye and stare around the room, darkened but for the shaft of light that creeps below the hospital door. I want nothing more then to leave this place and go home.

Home, where I know where everything is, where the smell is of my cooking emitting itself from my oven and where I know the way the colors in every room will look every hour of every day.
I shift my weight uneasily and slip one of my legs over the edge of the bed.

My bones, sparrow light, lug the skin and muscle that drips with age from them like spilt milk. It always takes some getting used to, this aging. I have been old far longer then I was ever young, but it still surprises me, the way my muscles don't just flex and bend the way the once did and the way my bones ache deep within them until I can imagine the holes the loss of calcium have hollowed out there.

Sarah's chirruping becomes louder, slightly alarmed and I freeze, allowing myself to gaze at the shadows that pace in front of my hospital door, like guards.

"Hell," I mutter, after a brief moment. "What do I got to lose?" My feet find the floor, cold reverberating up my toes and into my ankles, but I continue on, sucking on my lower lip and make my way to the dresser where my purse lies, marooned in the center. A mirror hangs above it, reflecting back at me my image.

I do not remember this face, I hardly ever gaze at this grey shadow that has splashed away what I am or thought I was. I stare at the creased lines of my eyes, attempting to distinguish the cat like shape that they had once held, but can not. The eyes that gaze back at me are hidden under folds of wrinkles, the lashes I once had are lost in those trenches. The color that once was of charcoal black are now tinged with effervescent grey, a sheen of color that makes them almost alien in appearance. I shake my head, watching the few curls I have left straggle back and forth in limp hanging wisps.

My hands, fingers bent with arthritis slip into the depths of my purse and come up with my keys and two mints. I am not aware for a moment that I am humming until I place an unwrapped mint in my smiling mouth. "Ah, Hell!" I mouth at myself. "What do I got to lose?"

I pull my purse up my arm and make my way, slowly and carefully towards the door. In my journey towards the door, I become aware that there is silence and no pacing shadows. I speed myself up slightly and can feel my heart begin to pound with the exertion and excitement of my planned escape.

When I finally reach the door, I open it a crack and peer out. The nurses station is abandoned and my daughter in law is no where in sight. I hear a cackling and it takes me a few seconds to realize it is me. "Hush, Betty!" I whisper to myself. I cackle again.

I limp down the long hall, with one stop in between doorways to check my route and to glance slyly behind me. No one anywhere! When I am only a few feet from the elevators, I hear Sarah's chirp again and I almost throw myself at the down button, my finger stumbling like a drunk over the keys before I press my entire self into it and force the button down.

"Betty?" I hear Sarah, her voice loud with warning, pitch itself down the hall at me.

I do not turn, but straighten my back, hoping that she will not recognize me. No luck, I hear the tapping of her shoes gathering speed towards me.

The elevator door opens and I thrust my body forward, my heart battering in my ears and press the ground floor button before I glance out at Sarah's now rushing figure. I begin to cackle again, little gasps of air rushing out from me and even though I try to stop I can not. Spittle is dripping out of my toothless mouth, but still I can't stop myself.

Sarah is almost at the elevator when the doors shut completely. Her face is red and angry, her eyes staring blue and shocked at me. I am cackling so hard now that I begin to see dots of black in the air and begin to rake the air with my hands in my attempt to breathe. I hear a sucking noise before I realize that it is me, swallowing air, trying to force it down into me, before I feel my body fall, collapsing in on itself.

I awaken to Sarah. She is above me, staring at me, her eyes hurt and angry. I want to yell at her to leave me alone, let me go and that this is not all about her, but I can not because there is something down my throat moving my lungs, forcing the air in and out of my body. I begin to scramble, my hands flinging themselves towards my mouth, before they are stopped by restraining bands that tie me to my bed.

Frantically I stare at her, but she shakes her head and leaves the room, leaving me alone in the semi darkness, wanting nothing more then to go home. Home, where I know where everything is, where the smell is of my cooking emitting itself from my oven and where I know the way the colors in every room will look every hour of everyday.

Snapshot

My grandmother gave me her old books when she moved into the nursing home. "They were going to be yours, when I died, and I guess in a way I am, now." She told me.
I had stroked her shoulder and reminded her of all the things that she would be able to do once she was moved in, but she moved away from me, her slightly humped back exposing her vulnerabilities to me.
Most of the books were cheap romance novels, girls swooning in the arms of muscled long haired men, and I flipped those books back into the boxes they came in. Others were older, some children's books and some the classics. It was in a copy of David Copperfield that I found a picture of my mother.
She is sitting front and center, her pale reddish blond hair swept in a long shiny wave to the side. This was how she had looked for most of my youth, retaining that innocent young look until I had hit my teenage years and had caused grey hairs to form and lines to crease on her, or at least that was what she claimed.
In the picture her eyes are green and large, fringed by long darker eyelashes, but they appear wary and skittish, as if they would rather travel away from the photographer to somewhere else, anywhere else. Her smile is small and close lipped, causing one of her dimples to appear on her right cheek and even now I stare at it with envy.
Her arms are around me, her shoulders hunched as if to protect my baby form. I look like any all American blond blue eyed baby girl, dressed in pink, cheribly fat and smiling. My eyes admit my presence but return to my mother, to her pale green sundress, that contains pink flowers and puckers and tucks to make it stylish and well fitted.
I can not take my eyes off of her face, to the way the light plays on one side of her face and not on the other side, the bottom half in shadow, the upper part shadowed but for the glint of eye staring out. This working of light makes her appear scared, haunted and filled with loss, making her appear older then her twenty years. Her stance, her protective arms and raised shoulders hovering around me as if she is protecting me, rather then simply holding me.
I shudder and stare at her face again, wondering who she was and what she was thinking. I place the picture in David Copperfield again and place it, neatly and concisely on the shelf between Oliver Twist and Great Expectations.

Oppositional Behavior

Jeff swiped a hand across his forehead, a coating of sweat flicking off his hands as he shook them off. "What a great idea!" he said to the ground. "We really needed this!"
Sue turned and glanced at him, her eyes sharp and slightly fearful. She turned back and looked forward, at the path that led up ahead of them into the more sheltering woods. "Do you want to turn back?"
Jeff looked up to where the path led and plastered a smile across his lips. "No! And miss all this?" His arms flung out in a gesture that encompassed the wooded hills, the sharp high peeked cliffs and the churning waters below.
Sue looked around, listening to the water crashing and the sporadic call of birds. The leaves on the trees were fiery red, blazing yellow and pale green sprung to full color by the strangely relentless sun. Five hours ago when she had suggested to Jeff that they go for a hike the air had been crisp with fall coolness and slightly overcast. Now with the sun suspended at highest noon above them and an Indian Summer casting a heat wave at them, they were overdressed for the almost eighty seven degree weather.
"I can carry your jacket for you," she offered, her hand out to him.
Jeff shook his head while staring at her hand. "No, of course not! I can carry yours for you if you want."
Sue dropped her hand and turned away from him. She refused to pay attention to him when he was like this. When and if she ever brought this moment up to him, he would deny his sarcasm and opposition, by telling her how much he had loved that walk and everything they had seen. Her anger built towards him as she turned the corner ahead of them, entering the woods that was a mere five degrees cooler. She glanced back at his struggling form, watched him as he grabbed branches to hike himself up the incline and up to her.
He almost knocked into her, and when he did he glanced up, his eyes hooded by his eyelids. "What's wrong? Do you need a break?"
"No. Do you?" Sue looked at him with her anger plain on her face.
"What, me?" He shrugged and laughed. "Of course not! Come on!" His voice drifted back to her in phony levels of harmony.
Sue shook her head and gazed up at the trees, watching the sun play through the branches and dance down on her. A bit of peace filled her and she began to feel her temper begin to fade.
They walked in silence for awhile, Jeff often galloping a few steps to stay in front of her and she began to play with him, letting him get the better of her for awhile before suddenly walking directly behind him.
"Your so fast! Do you want to lead?" He said at one point, turning and glaring at her, his face bright red and his teeth bared.
Taken aback, she fell back a few steps and decided to leave him alone, letting him shuffling himself into his own frenzy. She remembered when they had first met and how she had been so confused by this oppositional behavior, how she had struggled with him and with herself. She had never been right when he became like this, although every word that he said was in praise of her and anything she might do. She wondered how much longer she could put up with this. So many of his friends had turned away from him because of it, leaving only a few patient stragglers to deal with his tantrums. Over the years she had learned to ignore it and often, as now, to play with him, but his anger was so quick and flaring that she began to fear him, rather then like him.
"Where are you?" She heard him shouting through the trees. "Come up here! Its so lovely! Is this what we climbed so high to see?"
She sped up over the last circle of trees and looked out on a neighborhood in the process of being built. There was nothing beautiful about it. Everything was grey in color, from the outline of cement basements, to the skeletal structures of houses in the process of being built. The forest floor that had once lain there and stretched out for miles all around was completely gone. Last year, when she had come here with her mom and sister, they had looked down on miles of fall colors swaying in the breeze, interrupted by the tall evergreens that grew between them.
"Its gone!" she whispered, her voice low and husky.
Jeff turned to her with a surprised expression. "What's gone! Its still here! Look! Were you interested in buying one of these houses?"
Sue turned her defeated eyes from the constructed graveyard and up at Jeff's smug face and for a moment imagined pushing him off the edge of the hill, watching him fall, rolling and screaming down the long slant. She smiled despite herself at that image and his smile lessened slightly.
Sue smiled bigger and felt a weight fall off her shoulders as she shrugged and turned back into the woods, away from Jeff.

Visitation

Morning came like spilt milk, suddenly and overpoweringly white into Andrew’s bedroom window. He shifted under the blankets, rubbing his head and eyes with the backs of his palms, feeling the wine from the night before still pounding in his head.
Stretching he thought of all the reasons he should procrastinate waking up, but could not find one good enough to keep him there. He stepped gingerly out of the warmth of his bed and on to the startlingly cold floor. Thrusting the blanket from him he shot awake as the cold of the room hit him, smack in the face awakening him completely.
He was on his way to the bathroom, rubbing his arms to keep warm, teeth beginning to chatter when he heard the sound of a car door slam. He stopped, dead still, wondering who it could be and then creeping on fast barefoot tip toes he slid to the side window and peeked out.
A muffled figure was emerging from a small red car that he had never seen before, its face covered by a blue and white scarf and head secured with a matching colored hat. The figure turned toward the side window its sunglasses reflected in the vicinity of where he stood and he swore under his breath and let the curtain fall back. For a moment he wasn’t sure what to do, rubbing his hands through his hair and pacing uncertainly back and forth before grabbing a shirt and jeans from the floor and ducking into the bathroom.
The front door bell rang, a small sound calling down the hall to him, and he emerged, hopping one footed into his jeans and down towards his visitor. His dark hair hung back from where he had doused it with his wet finger combing hands and his shirt was on backwards, but he was unaware of this in his haste.
At the front door, a brown rather shabby excuse for a door, he attempted to peer through the peep hole, but the doorbell rang, a little louder and with a sense of urgency in its quick tone. His hand was already responding, turning the lock and handle before he became aware of it and when he did it was too late.
“Yes?” He peered out, but the sun sprang at his eyes, causing them to water and momentarily blinding him.
“Hi.” It was a female’s voice. One he knew all to well. One that the last time he had heard it it had been raised in anger that had reached to the roof before bouncing back at him in words of accusation.
“Hi.” He opened the door completely. “Come on in.” There was a pause before she entered the house, blocking out the sun for a moment with her silhouette and then passing him.
It took him a moment to recover from his surprise at her presence, but as soon as he did he began racing about, shoving dirty clothes under the couch with his foot and carrying dirty dishes that had been heaped on his coffee table into the kitchen.
“Want some coffee?” He called over his shoulder, at her still, arm crossed figure.
“Um, sure.” Her voice wavered down the hall at him.
He emerged from the kitchen a moment later, a smile on his face. “I don’t have any coffee. Wanna go out?”
She shook her head, her hat and scarf still on, but muffling her face a little less, her sunglasses in one of her gloved hands. He froze and stared, unsure where to go and what to say.
She shifted her feet and glanced around, her dark blue eyes quick and sharp. “How are you?”
“Good. Fine. And you. What brings you here?” The words rushed from him, in gasps, trying to keep her here in the moment and with him.
She looked at him, at his shirt, the tag hanging out of the rounded back below his neck. For a moment a smile played across her face before her eyes crashed into his, becoming serious and regretful.
“I just came for the rest of my stuff.” She lowered her eyes to the floor.
“Things?” He stared at her, feeling his face go immobile with disguised nonchalance.
“My clothes. My winter clothes. I think they’re in the back of the closet.” Her eyes met his, briefly before fleeing to the couch, the filthy carpet, anywhere but at him.
“Are you sure they’re still here?” He could hear his voice crack, and he despised himself. “Yes.” She gestured towards the back bedroom, one arm still crossed across her chest, the other weaving itself back into it as soon as the gesture was completed.
“You should’ve called.” He said, passing her, his lips curled.
“I did.” For a moment anger slid into her voice, but when he glanced back at her, her eyes were large and sad, watching him.
He returned a moment later with a rather dilapidated cardboard box, the top sagging in on itself. “Here.” He held it out to her and she reached for it, but he pulled it back. “Can’t you stay? Just for awhile. Can’t we at least talk or go out for coffee?”
She shifted, glancing up at him, her arms crossed once again, her hands squeezing her arms. “I have to go.”Defeated he held the box out towards her, but she didn’t reach for it.

Map

It had been three days since my mother coughed herself into a state of voiceless unresponsiveness that ended in her death when we buried her, under a heap of stones and a makeshift cross of two sticks twined together with my yellow ribbon on the side of the trampled road we followed. It was soon after this that Papa stopped talking and Avie began to weep. He wept for so long that his lashes clung together in yellow droplets and I had to pry them open each morning with my spit and fingers.
Five days after we buried mama papa packed up and continued west, smacking Bessie's stubborn bottom with the reins and heading on until the Mountains that had been right behind us began to diminish until only the flat drifts of dessert claimed their last peek.
I watched as that mountain was consumed, remembering when we had traveled through it, when Papa's voice was a loud curse dripping with sarcasm and often humor and mama's cough had been a soft hack. It was in those mountains towards the highest peak that Avie and I had discovered snow for the first time since last winter, and we had rolled in it, thrown it and slid in it until our clothes were plastered with white sparkles of cold. Papa had shaken his head at me, lips pressed together and eyes questioning, but mama had laughed from her bed of blankets and reached for me. "Come, Martha." Her voice was then just a whisper, "Let me feel the snow." I had gone to her and laid my head on her shoulder as her fingers, tanned with cracked nails, had moved leaden heavy over me.
In those mountains, far below the highest peek we had passed fields of wispy purple flowers and elongated ovals of red flowers, that I had twined together to make necklaces for mama, myself and Avie. "No!" Papa had shaken his head at Avie when he saw him wearing them. "Not for boys." Avie had laughed his baby giggle and ran away to mama who did not respond to his body as he thrust it at her. That was one of the last times he lay beside her while her body was still warm with whatever life her trembling heart could spread.
The mountain peek vanished on the first day of the fourth week after we buried mama, and I began to wonder if I would count my life as such from now on. The desserts now filled our eyes in both our vision and the constant blowing sand that swept across the world in spinning waves. Sometimes at night I would awaken to the cold that numbed us more than the brief winter in the mountains had, and listen to the wind quick and minor toned as it sang its howling moan. It was at these times that I was grateful for Avie's small warm body, folded next to mine as it once had been folded next to mama's for I would slip my arms around him and press my ears to his chest so that I could hear its thudding and know that I was not alone.
The second day of the fifth week since we had buried mama was the first day that we saw a face that was not one of ours. He was an old man, with a short white beard that looked as if it could have cut paper, pale yellow eyes and deep curves of wrinkles flowing from his cheeks to where his hairline once may have started. He didn't say anything to us, just watched us as we passed, leaning on his long rifle with both hands clasped around it. Papa only nodded and slapped Bessie's bottom a little harder, and shifted in his seat.
A short time after that we stopped and papa took out our chests and took out clean clothes for himself. "Find something clean to put on." He said, and I leaped away from him, fear slicing through me at the sound of his voice that I had not heard for so long. He did not seem to notice but walked away, carrying his clothes and shaking his head.
On the fifth day of the fifth week since we had buried mama we entered Willington. I do not know if it was a town, but assumed so, since it had a name. Nothing else about it would have made me think that it was a town. There were about fifteen to twenty buildings splattered in a semi circle around a larger building that announced itself as a "saloon" in large crooked letters above the door. Spilling out of this building were men in high boots and ragged clothing of faded colors. There faces all wore the same expression of suspicious distrust while their mouths moved in cow like motions as they chewed and spat their tobacco in long goblets of brown. Papa, freshly shaved and red jumped from the wagon, suddenly looking young and vulnerable as he reached up for me, his eyes meeting mine briefly in a sideways guilty fashion. I touched the ground, my boots that I had not worn for so long, crunching my toes together in a vice grip, and helped Avie down.
Avie, all eyes, gripped me around the neck in his sweaty hands and did not protest when papa pulled his thumb from his mouth. We walked past the men, papa nodding and smiling, sometimes touching his hand to his hat, and up towards what passed for a saloon in this town. I held Avie, tightly, my eyes clasped on the ground watching the men's booted feet kick the earth into sandy clouds causing their silver sharp spurs to jingle.
Inside, all was a dark shade of yellowy brown, from the floor littered with broken bottles to the tables crusted with foods from past meals. The back wall of the room was the only area lit with candles and it was here that several women sat, on bar stools and in men's laps throwing their voices and words around in loud hoots of praise. They stood out next to the men's drab colors, for they wore colors of bright reds, greens and blues, gold lined and feathered, their dresses spreading out around them like peacock feathers.
We stood their for a few moments, before they saw us, and then they stopped one by one, frozen in both body and sound, staring at us with wide open eyes, like a doe in the sight of a hunter.

Things

Acid Things

1. My sister's tongue
2. Lemons
3. The Bloody Mary my friend and I had at lunch today.
4. The glass I stepped on at the beach that sliced a slab of skin from my foot.
5. My husband staying out way too late.
6. My daughter's rolling eyes.
7. Unreturned phone calls.
8. Steaming water
9. The truth.
10. Father's disapproval.
11. Rejections
12. My son's nightmares.
13. The cleaners I use in the shower
14. Whatever it is I am allergic to, that is making my eyes water.
15. Rain
16. Cold cold winter air.
17. Some of my cooking.
18. The sound of the wind through windows.
19. Lies
20. My husband's undying love for all things football, and his inability to see my hatred for them, all of them!

A Day in the Life

"Damn, Rooster!" Trudy muttered under her breath, staring out her window at the shadow of the multi feathered creature, and for a moment wondered what it would taste like, for dinner, tonight. For a moment, a smile creased the deep lines of her face and she cackled, somewhat hag like, before shuffling into the next room to gather up her wailing infant baby boy.
"Come on, Ted!" Her voice monotoned and loud and aimed at the heap of husband buried under the blankets. "Up and at um!" Trudy didn't look back, she knew that it would be at least ten more reminders before he even moved. She pulled back the curtains and opened the window, letting in the morning air, that shuddered into the room cold and smelling of rain. For a moment, while she undid the front of her thread bare night gown she wondered what it would feel like to take flight over the sweeping hills of growing corn and crooked trail of blue rivers. She closed her eyes and pretended she was weightless like dandelion wisps floating where the wind took her, away, away, anywhere but here.
It was only a moment, and then she heard Charles down the hall, moving with his stealthy stride down the creaking back stairs and out the back door. She gathered her baby to her and sat down slowly in her old rocker, that had been made for her great grandmother Edna by her great grandfather, Arthur as a betrothal gift. This rocker had rocked forty five infants and five grandparents into adulthood and oblivion, and Trudy could feel the weight of all that ancestry on her every time she sat down in its well used polished seat.
This baby was her biggest so far, weighing in at twelve pounds at birth, with a small thatch of yellow hair, rosy cheeks and deep blue eyes. Already at three months he could hold his head up and sometimes teeter back and forth on his little bottom in an almost sitting position. Trudy blamed it on all of his fat and health that oozed out of him in smiles and coos. She hadn't named him yet, fluttering back and forth between Thomas and Henry, mattering on the time of day or the way he looked at her. Ted didn't care, he was just glad that it was a boy, and healthy, unlike the prior one. The one who had been born with dark wispy hair, long lashed pale eyes and puckering blue lips that refused the breast that Trudy had offered, sobbing into the late hours of the night. The one that had lived only one day and had thrown predictable sturdy Trudy into a state of cautious restlessness for three years.
Sometimes when she watched this one, this greedy healthy one, she resented it for its own need for survival that the other one had lacked and refused. One pudgy hand curled and pink always struck her while his mouth sucked and sucked, taking its food from her elongated breast with a zest that sometimes startled her. This one, Henry now, for its hair seemed slightly red in the rising sun, reminding her of pictures of King Henry the eighth, gazed deeply at her, into her eyes as if he was aware of the resentment she felt towards him, even though she attempted to disguise it behind her high pitched words of endearment.
"What?" Ted suddenly thrust himself from the bed, eyes wide and bewildered.
"You're still asleep." Trudy turned and watched him for a moment as he stared at her, first sightlessly and then slowly recognizing himself.
"Why didn't ya wake me?" His voice sounded slurred as if he were still drunk from the night before. Without waiting for an answer he stood, scratched his head and moved towards the bathroom, closing the door with a gentle click.
Trudy let her gaze return to the window where dawn lay like a pale yellow saucer across the sky. For a long moment the only sounds were the water in the bathroom and the rhythmic sound of her son's constant sucking. She forced herself to concentrate on today's plans and lists. Starting with breakfast, eggs, ham, applesauce and oatmeal. She would have Katie gather the eggs while she started the kettle for the tea and then, then. Her thoughts stopped and passed to other things.
She remembered a time when she was able to do everything. When it wasn't such a struggle to get up, or to remember what to do or where to go. That Trudy, as she called her previous self, was someone she had loved and admired. That Trudy could do anything, quip a joke, cook for ten men without batting an eyelash with a baby slung on one hip, clean up after breakfast and do the laundry all before lunch, which was always on time, and always something different. That Trudy, could still make Ted's eyes flash and grow quiet like the earth before a storm and that Trudy, had loved that look in her husband's eyes and the dance that followed it. That Trudy was dead, and this Trudy hated her with a passion for all that she had been and all that she could have been.

Story in one hour

Exercise
Part I: The Voice
C: God! I never thought it would be so hard to find a babysitter!”
R: Are you sure we can trust her? I mean she did have her nose pierced.
C: She baby-sits for the Thompson’s all the time. I guess their kids love her. My nose was pierced when we first met. You had no problems with it then.”R: That was different, it was your nose.”
C: So, what are we going to do.
R: I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
C; Seriously? You didn’t make any plans?”R: Of course, I just thought if there was something you would rather do, we could do that.
C: You’re the one who asked me out. You’re the one who told me to get the babysitter and get dressed up. What are your plans?
R: I thought we could go to Slumberland and look at that bed for Rosie, and then go by my sister’s. Or not.
C: That was your plan?
R: No. We can do something else. C: No. That’s fine, if that is what you want to do on our night out, go a ahead.
R: We don’t have to do that. I just thought it might be fun to go see Becca and have something to drink.
C: Let’s go! Sounds great!
R: Fine. Let’s go.
C: Do you know how long its been since we’ve had any time alone together?R: No, how long?
C: Five months! Five months and this is what you purpose we do? Can’t we forget the kids for one night? Can’t we just be a couple and go out to the movies and dinner? Why does everything always have to involve them?
R: Really? I just thought we could make a decision about the bed with out the kids jumping around, maybe even apply for some financing if that’s possible with our credit. Dinner? This is what we have. We can’t afford anything else right now, and you know that.
C: I know, I just thought you had maybe saved up some money for tonight. I thought...
R: I’m sorry that we have no money. I’m doing what I can.
C: I know. I’m just being a bitch.
R: Yeah.
C: We do have to talk though.
R: Now what?
C: Now what? Now what?
R: God, just say it. I’m listening.
C: Are you? Can you please, stop being so angry. Look at me! Lately, I have just felt that you don’t want to be with me, that the only reason we are together is because of the kids. No, wait. Hear me out. I wish you could see yourself with the kids, how happy you are. It seems like every time they are asleep or busy you just go somewhere to be by yourself, as if you don’t want anything to do with me. And tonight just proves it. I feel like you dread being alone with me and that’s why you chose to do stuff that is in public with other people.
R: I am so tired of this shit.
Part II: Your Character’s Place in the World
This conversation is taking place in a minivan, that is filled with car seats, kids toys and littered with unfinished food from fast food restaurants. The smell in the car is that of the left over food, that smells strongly of French fries and ketchup. The couple are driving around a suburban city road that is surrounded by different restaurants, grocery stores and mid sized houses. The cars that surround them are somewhat nicer then the minivan that they are driving, but not much.
The sun is setting, leaving the sky streaked with grey and pink clouds out the back window and the front of their minivan is heading into the darker night sky where the lights from the different stores shine brightly and rather obnoxiously at them.
　
Part III: Who are You?
1. Describe your character physically, from head to toe.
She is a pretty woman, about 31. Thin, and dressed in a cheaper version of the latest styles. She wears her dark hair lose and curling around her face that she has made up for her night out. The make up is a little bit too much for her, as it is wearing her, rather then her wearing it. It appears to be a mask rather then something to enhance her beauty. Her fingernails are bitten down the quick and her toe nails have an old coat of blue polish on them that is rough around the edges and missing entirely on some nails. Her shoes are black and rather skuffed, if one were to look closely they would see that the buckle has been sewn back on, most likely by her.
2. What relationships are important to your character? Why?
The relationships that are important to my character are her children and her husband. While the dialogue does seem to lead the reader to think she may be comparing her relationship with her husband to the one that he has with their children, it is only the part that is missing in their own relationship that she recognizes. Her relationship with her husband and children are important to her, because this is her life and she loves them more than she can express.
3. What does your character do? Profession? Pleasure?
My character’s profession is a stay at home mom. Before she had children she worked as a receptionist at a doctor’s office, but gave it up gladly when her first child was born. She loves being a stay at home mom, but feels sometimes as if she is underappreciated by others around her. She is not always the best mother or the most organized as this is part of her personality, but she feels that she makes up for that in the role she plays as a mother to her children. For pleasure, my character reads and when she can she loves to garden. Because her children are so small she finds it hard to give her full attention to anything else in her life for a long period of time, besides them.
4. What is your character most afraid of?
My character is most afraid of not being loved. She feels that she has lost something between her and her husband and while she is desperately trying to attain it, she is blinded by his attempts to rebond with her by the negatives she perceives between the two of them.
5. What does your character want?
My character wants to be happy. She wants her children and husband to be happy and she feels responsible if they are not. She is willing to fight for them to be happy, not realizing that fighting with them for it doesn’t make it a given.
Scene I—Before the Conversation
Rick stood at the door, his backpack thrown over his shoulder and his hand on the knob ready to leave when he hears her calling him. Her voice is soft as it has been for the past few days, ever since Chloe was born. She is coming to him, tears streaming down her face and he smiles, lopsided. “What is wrong?”She reaches her arms up, almost like his baby sister used to when they were kids so that he could pick her up, and coming towards him lays her head on his shoulder. “Do you have to go?”For a moment he stays in the moment, enjoying the feel of her next to him and the way she so trustingly wants him, needs him. “Someone has to pay the bills.” He says through her hair that has come undone and is floating up and into his mouth.
She pulls away and nods, looking down and then up at him her eyelashes wet with tears. “I just don’t want it to end. I wish you could stay.”
For the past four days they have been inseparable, spending every waking moment gazing at their new daughter. To them, she is the most perfect creature in the world, with downy soft hair, wide wailing mouth and all ten long fingers and slight curling toes. Nothing has brought them this close, opened up more portals of love and honesty then what they have just shared.
“I know. But I’ll be home,” he glances at his watch, “in nine hours, and I have to go, honey! I’m late.” He bends down and pecks her on the cheek, but she moves quickly into him, mouth pressed to his so that he can smell her breath which has been oddly sweet and lemony ever since Chloe was born.
She clings to him for a moment longer then she should for she can feel him pulling away and it takes all of her strength to pull her hands away and smile up at him. “Well go then!” She waves him away. “What are you waiting for?”
“Kiss Chloe for me,” he yells over his shoulder as he rushes down the hall, his backpack bumping on his back. She watches him for a long moment, feeling an ache and lump grow in her throat. By evening, this need will be gone, she will have moved on to the next stage in her life, but for now, for a brief moment she watches him with the same intensity and slight possessiveness that she had for him when they first met.
Scene 2—During the Conversation
　
“God! I never thought it would be so hard to find a babysitter!” Claire says, pulling down her visor and observing herself in the mirror. She turns her head back and forth, wondering why she looks like she is wearing too much makeup. She reaches into her purse and pulling out a Kleenex she starts to wipe away some of the makeup.
“Are you sure we can trust her? I mean she did have her nose pierced.” Rick glances at her sideways, one hand on the wheel.
“She baby sits for the Thompson’s all the time. I guess their kids love her.” Claire pauses, and glances at him skeptically, her lipstick poised inches from her lips. “My nose was pierced when we first met and you had no problems with it.”“That was different, it was your nose.” He reaches out and tweaks her nose as she ducks away from him, smiling.
“So, what are we going to do.” She is more serious, pressing her lips together the way she does when she is getting down to business and snaps the lid on her lipstick and tosses it into the vastness of her purse.
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?” He smiles at her. This is a joke between the two of them, where they both pretend that they don’t know what they want to do, and trade the same sentence back and forth.
Claire slants her eyes at him and doesn’t bite. “Seriously? You didn’t make any plans?”He sucks in his lips, shakes his head slightly to maintain his patience. “Of course, I just thought if there was something you would rather do, we could do that.”
Shaking her head she adjusts herself in her seat, clutching her hands together. “You’re the one who asked me out. You’re the one who told me to get the babysitter. You’re the one who told me to get dressed up.” Each statement erupts from her like a bullet shooting from a rifle and darting its way through out the confines of their minivan. “What are your plans?”
He stares at her for a moment before returning his concentration to the road in front of them. The light from the setting sun is behind them, and in front of them the lights of the fast food restaurants and grocery stores throw their obtrusive colors on Claire, bathing her in a purple red glow that makes her look younger then her 31 years. “I thought we could go to Slumber land and look at that bed for Rosie, and then go by my sister’s.” He glances at her somewhat nervously. “Or not.”
“That was your plan?” She is baiting him, her anger apparent and quick.
“No.” He pulls the minivan to a stop at a red light and rolls his window down, the cool night air immediately poured in relieving the minivan of the smell of left over French fries and ketchup that are strewed underfoot through out the back seat and in between the three car seats. “We can do something else.” “No. That’s fine.” Her voice holds a note of finality and defeat as if she has martyred herself to the night and his plans. “If that’s what you want to do on our night out, go ahead.” She looks out her window, a tear pooling and then cascading down her cheek, picking up mascara from her made up face and streaking it down her cheek.
Sighing he glances away. “We don’t have to do that. I just thought it might be fun to go see Becca and have something to drink.” He can’t keep the anger or impatience out of his voice. “You had a hard week, I thought it might be nice to unwind with some wine.”
She is silent for a long pause in which the light changes and he pulls forward, not really sure where he is driving, but refusing to stop. “Let’s go! Sounds great!” Her voice sounds muffled and strained.
“Great! Let’s go!” He glances at her, shaking his head anger sweeping through him as he steps on the gas pedal a little too quickly and the minivan spurts forward.
Her body jerks forward with the sudden sway of the minivan and she quickly snaps her seat belt on not making eye contact with him. They get on the highway and he turns the radio on, turning the music up and tapping the dashboard with the beat of the music and he feels some of his stress begin to sweep away. After a long pause in which he thinks the night can be spared her drama she suddenly turns to him sharply, her face streaked with tear marks. “Do you know how long its been since we’ve had any time alone together?”He shakes his head. “No, how long.” His voice is monotone, overwhelmed.
“Five months.” Her voice rises. “Five months and this is what you think we should do? Can’t we forget the kids for one night? Can’t we just be a couple and go out to the movies and dinner? Why does everything always have to involve them?”
“Really?” He stares at her and then pulls over two lanes to curve off on the upcoming exit ramp. He races up the ramp and slides the car over into a Wendy’s parking lot, slamming on the brakes and jabbing the car into park. “I just thought we could make a decision about the bed with out the kids jumping around and driving us crazy. I thought maybe we could even apply for some financing if that’s possible with our credit so that we might not have to pay for it right away. I just thought we could do it first, and then do something after.”
She pulls away from him as his voice rises, and cringes in on herself backing away from him and into her door.
“Dinner?” He turns to her, pulling out his wallet and showing its meager contents to her. “This is what we have. We can’t afford anything else right now, and you know that. What do you want me to do?”
“I know, I just thought you had maybe saved up some money for tonight. I thought…” She swipes at her eyes angrily. “I just thought we could do something like we used to.”
“I’m sorry we have no money.” He covers his eyes with his hand and turns away. “I’m doing what I can. Its not easy.”
“I know.” Her voice changes, softens at his defeat. “You know me, I’m just being a bitch. I‘m sorry, honey. Honey?” He pushes his hair back from his face and looks at her, hesitantly. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” He turns the key in the ignition, but she puts her hand out to stop him.
　
“Wait, since we’re alone, I do have something I want to talk to you about.” She is turning her body towards him, flinging her hair back over her shoulder and bringing her face up as if she is gathering the strength to fight an army.
“Now what?” The words escape him, ringing all the defeated dread he feels.
“Now what?” Her eyes grow large and stormy. “Now what?”
“God, just say it. I’m listening.” He looks straight out the front window, sucking on his lower lip.
“Are you? Can you please, stop being so angry. Look at me!” Her voice is now soft and wheedling, and he turns somewhat hopeful eyes on her, but her face doesn’t match her voice. He sighs and continues to stare at her. “Lately, I have just felt that you don’t want to be with me, that the only reason we’re together is because of the kids. No, wait. Hear me out. I wish you could see yourself with the kids, how happy you are. It seems like every time they are asleep or busy you just go somewhere to be by yourself, as if you don’t want anything to do with me. And tonight just proves it. I feel like you dread being alone with me and that’s why you chose to do stuff that is in public with other people. I just need to know if you are with me because of me, or the kids.”
He starts up the car, shaking his head and begins to drive home. “I am so tired of this shit.”
Scene 3—After the Conversation
“No, Rosie! Over here!” Chloe stands with her arms wide open reaching for the ball that Rosie is holding in her two chubby little hands. Rosie looks at Chloe and throws the ball in the opposite direction. “NO! Rosie! Over here!” Chloe starts stomping her foot in anger. “Mom! Why doesn’t she ever listen to me?”
Claire smiles at her and shrugs. “She’s two, honey! What ever you say, she’s gonna do the opposite!”
Chloe stares at Claire for a moment before turning back to Rosie. “Hey Rosie!” She yells, her voice the tone of a fog horn. “Don’t throw that ball over here! Throw it over there!”
Rosie looks at her big sister and walks away, her little legs toddling as fast as they can. “Chloe, why don’t you see if Jenna wants to play dolls with you!” Claire calls to her as Rick comes outside, carrying two bottles of water.
Evening is coming quickly to the backyard, hiding the edges of the yard in dusty colors of grey purple shadows and pressing some of the oppressive heat away in its shadow. “What’s up?” Rick asks, sitting down beside her on the back steps.
“Chloe wants to rule the world, Rosie knows she’s in charge and Jenna is trying to make everyone happy!” Claire stretched her legs out, admiring her newly painted toe nails that are mostly red, along with half her toes.
“So, the usual?” Rick smiles as he watches them run to and fro in their own determined ways.
“Exactly!” She smiles up and back at him, her hair titling back and brushing the step behind her. He smiles down at her, his face framed by his dark curls and she realizes suddenly that he has aged slightly. The once firm face, now has some hints of lines around the eyes. Smile lines, her and her sisters used to call them on her parents, and she remembers how they had always wanted them so that they would always look as happy as their parents had. She reaches out her hand and cups his cheek, her thumb tracing the lines, gently. He smiles.
“Where Oh oh and e’na?” Rosie stands in front of them, her face smudged with dirt, the ball clutched in her hands. Oh oh and e’na translates into Chloe and Jenna and as the two of them glance around they realize that neither Jenna or Chloe are anywhere in sight.
They rise, Rick grabbing Rosie and tossing her onto his shoulders. “Lets go find ‘em!” He says as she crows, pulling on his hair and bopping him on the head. Claire follows behind them, her hands out just in case Rosie decides to throw herself off of Rick’s shoulders.
Their search is short and startling, as they discover the girls in the remains of the garden that Claire has just finished planting, Both girls have plastered themselves with dirt from head to toe, their eyes bright in the fading light.
“Um! Girls?” Rick can not move, he just stares.
“She made me!” Jenna yells, her voice a screech of panic and Chloe begins to violently shake her head.
“Don’t move! Any of you!” Claire says, her voice surprisingly calm. She runs around the corner and unwinds the hose, spinning the water on and runs back. “Don’t move! Or…I’ll get you!” She presses the spray nozzle down and a sheet of cold water sprays out, in between both girls. For a moment they don’t move, staring at the shadow of their mom’s face, and then Jenna squeals and begins to race away.
Back and forth across the lawn, leaving traces of water and dirt in the somewhat too long grass they chase each other. At one point Rick pulls the nozzle from Claire’s hand and cascades water over her head and screaming she runs away. By the time the girls are no longer muddy, but only wet the sun has set completely and the moon a small crescent floating in a small puddle of clouds. Claire goes into the house to find towels and returns to her back yard quietly and realizes that this is her life.
This is her moment to be a mother and a wife. The three little bodies that roam ceaselessly between her and Rick with thousands of questions and endless problems that need to be solved are her children, and she adores them. For now, in this brief fleeting moment of her life, all else can wait, these three need them to be parents, together. A couple of parents. Her and Rick had their moment of being a couple, but for now there is nothing else. Date nights will include talk of the children, plans for the children, beds for the children because they are for this time parents, needed, loved and adored. She can wait for what ever she thinks she wants, but she suddenly can’t remember what the fight was about the other night, why she had felt that she must exclude what they had created together and to limit themselves to just themselves.
Jenna races at her, screams erupting from her small frame and she leaps into her arms. “I’m so co..co..cold, mama!” She wraps her in the towel and watches Rick sweep Chloe and Rosie into his arms and run to her, smiling.
　
　
　

Urban Legend

The night held the creaking sounds of old tree branches leaning into each other and rubbing slowly back and forth when Sarah thought she heard the cry of a small child bleating in between the rhythmic moans. She stopped walking and breathing for a long pause, waiting to hear the sound repeat itself, but there was nothing. She walked forward a few paces when it was repeated, only this time louder and nearer. She glanced around wide eyed, seeking the shadows for a human child's shape, but saw only the pointed silhouettes of dark naked branches reaching skyward in front of darker shadows.
Sarah always walked this path home through the small woods that separated her family's farm from the S'okay Bar and Grill where she worked as a waitress and she had never felt fear or that she was being watched, until tonight. It had started earlier in the evening, right after the Wild Wolves finished their game, winning the first game of the season and bringing in most of the small town into the S'okay Bar and Grill for drinks, ice cream and dinner. The talk had been fast and furious between the players and their fans, money and words sloshing around with the drinks that seemed to be never ending coming and passing hands. It was in this rush that the hairs on the back of her neck had risen and she began to look around warily for the person who she felt was staring at her. But there hadn't been anyone accept for the patrons, who had not really made eye contact with her when they made their demands.
She had worked later than usual, her shoes biting into her feet by the end of the night and she had put her them up for twenty minutes and talked with Bertie the manager until he closed shop, and they had left at the same time, him offering her a ride as always, she declining as always.
Now, in the creaking sighing woods she regretted that decision, for the feeling of being watched pressed on her stronger and the weeping child, for it was weeping seemed to bounce around her off the trees and into the ground below her feet. Through the branches she could see the lights of her home gleaming at her, winking in a teasing fashion through the black lashed shape of trees.
Her feet seemed to be pulled down with each step, as if they were sinking into quick sand or being pulled back as if she only walked a tread mill instead of her usual nightly walk home. Pausing briefly she removed her feet from her shoes, immediately relieving them of extra weight and taking the pressure off of her newly gained blisters from a full day and night on her feet. She found it easier to walk, and with her heavy shoes no longer clomping along the forest floor she could make out the noises around her better, allowing her to hear the distinct voice of the child who was now weeping the one word, "Why? Why? Why" over and over again.
Sarah dropped her shoes and took flight, her bare feet pattering through the woods, and up the rocky terrain to her house, where she struggled momentarily with her keys, putting the wrong one in and sobbing softly in breathy rasps as she twisted and turned it back and forth before realizing it must be the front door key. Moments later, having found the right key and forcing it in to the hole and unlocking the door, she stood on the inside of her house, leaning against the locked door, relief filling her.
She forced herself from window to window, snapping shut each and every shade, turning on every single light until the safety of her own home allowed her to relax slightly and convince herself that what she had heard was the workings of her over active imagination and her sleep deprived self.
Upstairs she started the bathwater, carrying her cell phone and home phone with her. It had been three days since she had heard from Eddie, and she knew that if she didn't have the phone right beside her, it would be while she was immersed in the white noise of her running bath that he would call her. She slipped into the bath, placed a warm wash cloth over her pounding forehead and closed her eyes. It was then that the intense feeling of being watched pounded into her, so strong that she startled up as if awoken from a bad dream and knocked her home phone into the bath tub. Swearing she retrieved it quickly and started to shake the water out of it, while her eyes traveled around her small pink tiled bathroom. There was no window in this room and the door was closed and locked, there was no way anyone was watching her. She decided it must be a side effect of her head ache that was now pounding in her ears with the sound of her pulsing blood. She dried off the home phone and pressing the on button she brought it to her ear. For a moment she heard nothing and then above the sound of her pounding heartbeat she could have sworn she heard a child whisper one questioning word in her ear before the low buzz of the phone reverberated through her ear.
Scared and shaking she tossed the home phone from her and on to her pile of towels. She stood, water streaking off her body and down into the bath, the bottom of her hair dark and wet clinging to her shoulders as she began to shake in fear. The bath grew cold around her feet before she became aware of herself again, and she stepped methodically out of the water, picking up the towels and wrapping her hair and body in them, letting the home phone roll on to the floor without touching it. She had just placed her hand on the door knob when she heard the small ting of her cell phone coming from behind her. "Eddie!" She thought, relief filling her and she picked it up quickly and froze staring at the caller I.D. box that said simply, "Home." Slumping down on to her knees, she raised the phone to her ear, as she opened it. "Why?" it whispered at her before she slid into oblivion.

Little Mermaid Today

When Suzanne fell in love with Peter, she didn't know what to do. She had thought she was in love before, many times. The names would roll off her tongue at the speed of thought, each capturing an image that she held in her mind's eye for a moment, before she tossed it out, with a list of his flaws. Each time she had "fallen in love" her recovery had been met with the "falling in love," with someone new, and it had happened instantly. Therefore, she was confused as to what she felt for Peter.

Peter, tall and fair, with eyes that smiled at what ever she said, for she found that her sense of humor carried him to her and kept him near her, did not love her. He loved Bella, as beautiful as her name, with hair cut short and sharp around her pixie face, eyes large and staring almost ethereal in their ability to mirror ones' image back at them. Bella who had little to say with her mouth, but could say mountains with her face and body, was not threatened by Suzanne, who carried a mountain of flesh upon her frame and peered at the world through her thick tresses of dusty hair.

Suzanne caught in a pool of confusion confessed one night to her Aunt Anne what she felt. It was her Aunt, who told her that she was in love with Peter, not the puppy dog love that she had felt for the twenty other boys that she had hardly known, but the true love one feels for another when it is born out of knowledge and friendship. Suzanne caught off guard dropped into a puddle of tears, the truth of what her aunt told her, sunk into her deep and for the first time in her life, she realized true loss.

For one week Suzanne did not leave the house, or even her bed. She lay staring at the ceiling or drenched in sleep consumed with a loss of something she had never had. The phone rang, unanswered and the mail grew large by the front door, until it was knocked down in a flurry of advertisements and bills by Aunt Anne breaking in to find out what was wrong.

The house was dark with the odor of sweat and must when she charged in, her purse slung over her shoulder, her designer clothes slashing past her swift high heeled shoes as she clipped into Suzanne's room pulling back the curtains with a snapping motion.

Suzanne startled by the noise and swiftness pulled herself up, one hand blocking her eyes from the sudden sunlight. Her Aunt Anne stood staring at her, arms crossed and one foot tapping impatiently waiting for an explanation.

In stuttering words, Suzanne who could flash out jokes and clips of humor with little thought, attempted to describe what she felt. By the time she had finished her Aunt Anne held her in her arms crooning words of knowledge and pity for her.
"What should I do? What can I do?" Suzanne whimpered into her Aunt's shoulder. Aunt Anne, tentatively patted the back of her head, sweeping her hand down the long expanse of Suzanne's hair.

"We need to make him want you!" She said after a long pause that was filled with the gulping croak of Suzanne's sobs.

"But how? He loves her!" Suzanne sat back, pushing her hair out of her face and staring hopefully up at her Aunt.

Anne staring at her niece knew what had to be done and she gently took her hand and led her to the mirror. "We need to change this." She said, sweeping her hand at the reflection of her niece. Suzanne stared at herself for a long moment before nodding.

It took five months for Anne to complete her job of changing Suzanne. Anne took it seriously, just like she did everything else in her life, and she left no part of Suzanne unchanged and Suzanne hopeful with innocence did as she was told and emerged, Anne's butterfly. The once heavy girl, had been sculpted and starved into a curvaceous woman, dressed to please others with her appearance. She wore shoes with heels and skirts that edged on the border of appropriateness. Her blouses were form fitting with plunging necklines and bright colors. Her hair, that had once swept the bottom of her back was gone, cut short and sharp revealing her long neck, and dyed a reddish blond to accentuate her eyes, that had lost their brownness behind bright blue contacts. Aunt Anne had taught her how to change her rather plain face to one of mystery and contrast with twice weekly tanning, charcoal eyeliner and bright pink lipstick. This was her new daily uniform, her new face for facing the world.

Anne had not stopped just on personal appearance, she had also delved into Suzanne's personality, picking through what she knew to find what would most attract another to her. She had found Suzanne somewhat lacking in small talk which Suzanne had mostly filled with jokes and funny stories, now Anne had convinced her to speak only if necessary. "Your body and face will speak for you!" She said, putting the finishing touch ups on her niece. With these words she had decided to put Suzanne into dance classes to learn grace and movement and surprisingly Suzanne and taken to it, like a fish to water.

Suzanne returned to the world the week before Fourth of July a new woman. Her sisters hardly recognized her, and while Suzanne had thought they would be more open and accepting to her she found that it was almost the opposite. They were skittish and reckless, attempting conversation and then discomforted their eyes shifting they would leave her side. Her Aunt Anne, simply placed a hand on her shoulder and told her they were jealous.

The day she was to meet up with Peter for coffee came. She started to get ready at noon for her four o'clock meeting with him. Every inch of her must be perfect she decided and by the time her Aunt Anne showed up to inspect her at three thirty she was flawless. Aunt Anne pressed her hands to her heart and tears appeared in her eyes. "You are lovely!" She said, her voice a soft whisper and if it wouldn't have destroyed some part of her flawless perfection, Suzanne would have thrown herself into her Aunts arms. "Now remember, " her Aunt Anne reminded her as she was getting into her car, "Let your body and eyes speak for you!" She nodded and slipped gently behind the wheel.

She arrived at the coffee shop first, and chose a back table so that she could watch him come in and towards her. He was late, as always, and slightly rumpled looking as if he had just rolled out of bed, but he always looked like that. He came in and looked around, looked at her and then away. "Peter!" She called, making her voice sing song, like Aunt Anne had taught her.

He turned and stared, "Suzanne?" He walked towards her, haltingly and then realizing it was her hurried towards her. "Wow! You have changed!" She smiled, like she had been taught, her lips curling back slightly to show her white teeth but not enough so that her lipstick might come off on them.

Peter sat, almost falling into his chair, his eyes searching her present person, trying to compare it to a past memory. At first, he said little, simply staring at her and she wanted to take control of the conversation, make a joke or tell the story of what had happened to her, but she couldn't. It was not part of the role she was now playing, not part of the elaborate come hither game Aunt Anne had taught her to play.

She sat, wordlessly staring at him, her eyes gazing her complete devotion at him, and he gave into her silence by filling it with his words. He began to talk, telling her stories in a voice she had never heard before, one that seemed to toss and curl like ocean waves that held depths and mysteries she had not yet imagined. She found that her silence gave him the opportunity to speak, to fill the void she offered like an empty seashell with the music of his words. She drank him in with her eyes, as she never had when she was partaking in the dance of their conversation and she was able to see him clearer, as he was as one without a voice to interfere with the train of his thoughts.

He spoke into the evening, at one point taking her hand and leading her away from the coffee house and back to his place, up the stairs and into his kitchen, where they poured days old wine into tumblers because all the wine glasses were dirty and sat out on his deck watching the stars careen across the heavens.

To Suzanne it was work to play the role she was cast in, to give up such a piece of herself in order to be able to sit beside him and listen to him throw his words out like a hook searching for its fish. His hand on hers was hot, sweaty and clasping possessive. At first when he had reached for her, it had been dry and gentle, an invitation or question and she had slid her fingers around his, speaking her consent, but now as the night became oppressive with his words, Suzanne began to place titles upon him she had never imagined she would. Shallow, slight, possessive, demeaning. She attempted to thrust these thoughts from her mind, but the more he talked, the more they seemed to shriek the truth at her.

"Well?" She jumped slightly, realizing that Peter was looking at her, head leaning forward, his eyes questioning the lids drooping over in a somewhat hooded fashion. "Want to see my bedroom?"

The old Suzanne would have chided him, teased him for such a stupid line, but the new one was expected to be charmed and respond with all the elegance of affirmation that he sought. She could not take her eyes off of him, watching his face crease into a larger smile, that leered his teeth at her.

"Where, where is your bathroom?" She finally muttered at him, stumbling to her feet in a clumsy fashion, knocking over her tumbler on to the porch table and splattering it with the remains of her wine. He smiled up at her then, larger and covetously, as if he had sought his victim and found it. "Down there, first door on the left." She stumbled away, following the direction of his long pale finger.

In the bathroom, filled with crooked wet hanging towels, she gazed at herself in the small oval mirror and frowned. The vapid beauty who gazed back at her was not Suzanne, but some fool who would compromise herself for love. That was not her, but someone Aunt Anne felt she had to be. Aunt Anne who changed herself monthly to climb the corporate ladder of life, reaching the glass ceiling with different styles and different lovers and attempting to break it, but never quite succeeding. Suzanne knew that was not her, that she could not contain who she was within the confines of her body for even an evening to be what someone else demanded of her. Picking up one of the less dirty looking towels she doused it with water and then slashed it across her face, killing the image that stared back at her as if she had slashed it with a knife.

She knew who she was, and nothing could change that. If someone didn't want her for who she was, there was nothing there for them to have. She ran her wet hands through her perfectly coiffed hair, making it stand on end and grinned at herself. Opening the bathroom door, she made her way out to the kitchen where she retrieved her purse and with a backwards, "So Long!" to a startled Peter, she stepped out the front door and into the brisk night air.

Facade

I am so mad at Claire right now I could spit in her eye, right in it without missing, I'm that mad. Last night, she had the nerve to tell me that it was the last time she was gonna help me and Tommy out. Don't get me wrong, I know she's helped us out a lot, but she's the only friend we still have down here and we tell her over and over again, that once Tommy's business gets off its feet and starts working, we'll do whatever we can for her.

Last night, she just stared at me after she brought Tommy home. I came out to tell her thank you and to offer to make her some of my brownies that she loves, but she just stared at me with her eyes peering into me like she saw something there that she hadn't seen before.

When I asked her what was wrong she just shook her head and pointed at Tommy who was looking at me with a silly grin. "That man has some explaining to do." She said, like she was Ricky on the I Love Lucy show. Tommy shook his head at me and walked back into our bedroom, spinning his finger around his ear to let me know that Claire was off her rocker. "He wasn't on Main street this time," she said, "He was over off of Turner and 5th, where that woman lives."

That woman, that she was referring to, is Tommy's ex-girlfriend Amy Lollabe who keeps on claiming that he comes over all the time to visit and then some, but I know she's a liar. Everybody knows how much in love with Tommy, Amy still is, with her big sad eyes following him around whenever we go into the grocery store where she works. She just stands there ignoring all her customers and stares at him, admiring him from his long blond hair, down to his brand new shoes. I will say this about Tommy, he knows exactly the latest styles to wear and how to wear them. Anyways, Amy Lollabe went around telling half the town that she was pregnant with his kid about seven months ago and everyone knew she was lying cause he's been with me for the past two years and then when her stomach stayed as flat as a table top it just proved what a liar she really is.

Back to Claire who by this time was fuming smoke out of her ears and making the straggly pieces of hair that had fallen out of her night time curlers, curl. "Don't you get it?" She almost yelled, leaping towards me so that I backed away from her. "Don't you get it, you dumb little girl? He's been with her! Everybody knows it, why don't you?"

At this point, Tommy came running from the back room and stepped in front of me. For a long moment they were both really quiet, just staring at eachother. I could only see the back of Tommy's head, where the curls were all curling to one side from a sweat mark smack in the back of his head, but I could see Claire and the way she just stared at him with angry sparks flying out of her eyes that still had a little sleep crusted around them. It was a long stare that they shared and then I saw something leave Claire's face, and it kind of collapsed down into just her usual everyday expression and she shook her head. "This is the last time I am going looking for him, when you call me." She said over his shoulder to me, then she just shrugged, looked at us with this look of pity and left. Tommy laughed then, and turned towards me, kissed me and went to bed. Needless to say, I'm not gonna call her for at least three days, which actually works out great, cause Tommy is working on his boss' car, so we will be able to run all of our errands in that. So, last laughs on Claire!

I Wasn't Staying!

I could tell the minute I got in the door and dropped my bag, I wasn't staying. There wasn't just one thing that made me want to rush back out the door and to the waiting taxi, it was everything all at once crashing in to my senses, overpowering them and crippling me back into the child I had been. I had forgotten the darkness of the front foyer, from the dark wood, to the slanted grey light that filtered through the years of dust and grime on the high windows.
The air held a stillness in it, as if the house were listening to me, awaiting something to fill the aching quiet. The noise of my bag hitting the ground seemed to echo around the hallway, up the stairs and into the empty bedrooms in mocking loudness. I could not move, neither in nor out awaiting something more than what was here in these skeletal surroundings that shoved a past life down my mouth and into my swirling belly.
Of course I was expecting her, hair flying out of her curlers and eyes shining in an almost unearthly gleam in her excitement, to burst from the door that swung between the front foyer and the kitchen and up to me with the smells of baking and apples to follow in her wake. The door did not move, did not burst open or hit the back side of the hallway as it should, it stood silent and tall, immobile in its truth of what I had lost and it was there that I finally discovered my loss as it hit me with the silence and the very lack of life that greeted me in this once welcoming space.