They Always Leave the Light On

As a beacon in the dark, the house in the cul-de-sac of Maple Street always leaves the porch light on. Even when they’re away the light remains on day and night and night and day. That’s where he stood, looking to the house three doors down from his parent’s house, his childhood home. He had returned home from college just two days earlier. He was told by his mother that Mrs. Michaels was doing rather well, ten years since the disappearance of her daughter Morgan.

Pretty Morgan Michaels, the girl was just twelve. He was thirteen, and remembered her like it was just yesterday.

He was Keith Harrison, and his mother was known as the queen of the cul-de-sac, not because she was rich, they were far from being rich, and not because she was a gossip queen, but because she was Mrs. Betty Crocker herself. Any bad thing that happened, his mother was always ready with a casserole or kind card, expressing her deepest sympathy, and though she was his mother, he believe that she was genuine. He saw the tears in her eyes when, after two weeks, Morgan didn’t return. He saw her sneaking peeks into his room, making sure they were safely tucked into their warm beds.

His mother had just cooked dinner for the family, a tender roast, his favorite, and because of this she cooked it. He was smoking a cigarette, something his mother wished he wouldn’t do. He laughed ever time she told him that he could die from such a habit. There were many other things that he could die from, but every time she reminded him of this, he instantly put it out. His mother was staying inside tonight, so he puffed away. He heard them moving things around in the home office, which was once his old room. That was where he would be sleeping. He was staying three weeks before going away to his new job, a marketing intern position in the big city. His mother didn’t understand why he had to move so far away, but his father understood his reasons.

It was way over tweleve years ago that he realized Morgan Michaels lived just down the street. They were in the third grade when he saw her riding her bike around her driveway. She rarely ever left her safe lawn, and it wasn’t until they started their friendship that she became so brave. He teased her, calling her a baby that she was a chicken simply because she was a girl. She had so much determination to prove him wrong, showing up at his house after homework nearly every night. It was fun, picking on her.

Morgan was already a beautiful girl at the age of eight, and had the curliest hair he had ever seen. It was usually tied back in a braid that bounced around her back as she ran after him. Usually she was going for him after he had pushed her or said something in jest. Maybe that was why she disappeared. Maybe someone thought she was too pretty to resist.

She had brown eyes.

She had a small nose and pretty almond shape eyes with eye lashes that facinated him at nearly every blink of her eyes.

She had a smile that would light up any dark room, and she was just a girl. Imagine if she had made it to adulthood.

He took the last hit of his cigarette and flicked off the hot cherry. The remainder of the cigarette he crushed in the palm of his hand, preparing to throw it away, and he was about to turn away when someone caught his attention. Over the way he saw Mrs. Michaels and her younger daughter Allison, carrying a few duffle bags into the house. Allison was a year younger than Morgan, but they were more like twins. He hadn’t talked to Allison since going away to college. In fact, he was supposed to go to her open house for her high school graduation, but was too busy with summer classes to return home. He felt terrible especially since he finally saw the woman she became. Her legs long, even longer looking in her short gene shorts and her straight ponytail dancing around as she pulled a box out of her mother’s station wagon. She had a bounce in her step as she moved, and for a second he was completely in a trance.

The scene was over when she and her mother got into the car, and backed out of the driveway. In the distance he could see the red tail-lights showing bright in the dusk of the night. He looked back to the end of the cul-de-sac to the house that sat with the porch light on. It had been ten years, but he couldn’t help but think of Morgan being there, inside the house as her sister and mother were away. There had never been a year that he hadn’t thought about her. Something would always trigger the memory of the girl who never returned home from the park, and he wondered if there was some way he could have prevented her disappearance. He was too lazy that day, to go anywhere outside, but she was too adventurous to stay home on a prefect night to be outside.

He turned the cigarette butt in his hand then finally headed inside to throw it away.

***

He was off to the store, going for a few things that his mother had put on a list for. She insisted that they get ice cream and toppings for sundaes after supper on Sunday. He’d probably sleep until eleven then get out of bed to smoke a cigarette before going to take a shower. He knew how he slept, and knew eleven was really sleeping in. Soon he’d be starting a new job, a grown up job. It was something he was able to do, grow up.

He walked into Carl’s Groceries, and took a basket from the three that were left. He doesn’t really even need a list for the items he was going for. It was his boyhood craving that made his mother insist on Sundaes in the first place, meaning he never needed a reminder of his favorite ice cream toppings. He would need bananas, chocolate, and caramel, lots of caramel. For his father he would need ground nuts.

He headed for the produce section when he saw Allison pushing a cart towards him. She saw him too and he felt something that he never thought he would when looking at her, complete ease.

“Keith Harrison,” she said as she stopped the cart and smiled at him.
“Hey Allison…how are you doing?”
“Good…I’m at my mom’s for a while, so I’m doing a little grocery shopping.”
“Same here,” he said as he rested his basket to his side.
She leaned over, peering into his basket. “Ah huh…nuts…you’ll need a little more protein than that.”
“No, this is for my father…”
“Than you’ll really going to need more than that.”
He laughed.
“It’s for Sundaes for Sunday.”
She smiled and nodded her head. “I see.”
“So you’re staying with you mom for a while?” he asked.
“Yeah, I have a college semester in England in two weeks, so I’m staying with her for a while, so I don’t have to worry about leaving all my things at the college. Then afterwards I’m going to stay with her again while she decides what to do…”
“To do?”
“The house,” she said. “She’s alone now…really alone and should move into something smaller, but she’s afraid to leave.”
“Right.”
The subject changed quickly. “Sundaes huh?”
“Yeah, I’m heading for bananas now.”
“Well, I hope you enjoy the Sundaes, and tell your mother I said thanks for the cookies.”
“Cookies?”
“Yeah, she made a whole batch of white chocolate chip cookies for me.”
He, for some reason, was surprised by this. “She did?”
“Keith,” she said as if to imply that he was asking a rather odd question. “She’s your mother…she’s always making or baking something.”
“I know.”
She laughed again. “Okay…you seem really unsure.”
“Come over,” he said unexpectedly.”
“Pardon me?” She gripped the handle of the cart until her knuckles were white. “On Sunday?”
“For Sundaes,” he said. “You and your mother could come over for dinner then join us for Sundaes.”
She nodded. “I’ll run it by my mother.”
“My mom’s making her famous potato salad…”
“Okay…pull out all the stops now,” she said as she bent her knee out and switched her weight onto her left leg.
“I know you couldn’t ever resist my mother’s potato salad.”
“I’ll run it by my mother…I owe her as much time as possible before I jet off to another country.”
“Okay…fair enough.”
She smiled and shook her head. “By Keith,” she said as she pushed the cart again. “Hey Keith,” she called back as she turned, but he hadn’t moved yet.
“Yeah?”
“Make sure you get strawberries too…really big ones okay.”
He smiled and nodded his head. “I will…big fat ones.”

***

He smoked another cigarette as he waited for the light down the street to turn on. He made sure to pick the same time every night after dinner to come out, and though he knew the light would always go on, he couldn’t help but feel part of the ritual, watching and waiting for the time Morgan’s beacon would come on. Perhaps he was expecting to see her run up the steps to the front door, swinging it open, yelling here I am then quickly go into her room, plopping down on her bed.

Allison was grown up, and he could remember what she looked like as a child. Not for all the money in the world could he imagine what Morgan would be like, all grown up. She was all four foot tall the last time he saw her, and still had an adolescent tone about her, trying to be so adult, but failing at every turn because she was just a girl.

Instead of going inside he lit up another cigarette, sitting on the edge of his parent’s small front deck. How was her mother now? He wondered about her state of mind, knowing that she had to of pulled herself together somewhat since Allison was still left. Left…like there were two girls now, but only one was left. He released a puff of smoke, and thought of how insensitive that sounded. They’re humans not apples or oranges used in mathematical terminology, three apples, take one away and how many are left?

He hoped Allison would visit on Sunday. Oddly enough, he even said a little prayer to God that she’d just come for even the smallest bit of time.

***

Morgan Michaels was supposed to return home at about five-thirty for dinner on Thursday August 23rd…. but never showed. It was around eight that her mother informed the police, her neighbors being informed prior to any law enforcement, of her daughters failed homecoming. The small niche of Maple Street was out searching by eight, the time the police had rolled down into the cul-de-sac and up the Michaels’ driveway where Mr. and Mrs. Michaels met them. Allison was sitting on the porch steps, clinging to something, but she never allowed anyone to see what was in her arms.

Come morning there was still no sign of the girl, and two days later a shoe was found, and her mother identified that it, in fact, was her daughters. The area more than five miles away from the cul-de-sac was searched. Inch by inch was stepped on, searched over, and torn up before it was determined that Morgan was nowhere to be found. It was dead end after dead end. Most everyone figured Morgan to be dead, but no one dared mention it to her mother. No one had the nerve to tell a mother that her child was dead, everyone except the sheriff who had braced the Michaels’ for the worst.

“Hope for the best, but please, expect the worst…Morgan may never come home,” were the words that were said.

It had been ten years and Mrs. Michaels’ remained in the same house all by herself since her daughter had gone way to college. A year or two after Morgan’s disappearance Mr. Michaels left the cul-de-sac for good, and no one, especially Allison had ever seen him again. It was believed a divorce had never been requested.

The remaining Michaels had become the family of pity despite how upright Mrs. Michaels had remained and how outstanding of a daughter Allison truly was. If they achieved something they were overcoming an obstacle and if mother and daughter failed then it was because of the sadness in their past. It would always be that way on Maple Street, but for some reason neither of them requested that it be any other way.

***


Sunday morning came and just as he had anticipated he woke around eleven and went outside to smoke his first cigarette of the day. By one in the afternoon his parents had returned from church. He was standing in the backyard at his father’s grill, cleaning the remainder of the night’s previous dinner, steak kabobs, when he heard voices in the kitchen. Out stepped the prettiest woman he had ever seen. Allison wore a white dress likely worn to church, which she attended with her mother. Her hair was in a ponytail due to the summer’s warm air, and she brought him a plate of cupcakes, which she held up for him to see, saying something about having cake with the ice cream.

Her mother looked older and much harder than he had remembered her to be, and he was unsure if this was because of time or tribulations. His mother still looked the same, but then again she would always remain ageless in his eyes.

Through dinner they all laughed and talked, and even Mrs. Michaels said a few humorous things. Afterwards, after about an hour of talking over lunch he went into the kitchen, Allison following, to get the ice cream and toppings. Everyone that was left removed the condiments and every other little thing that had absolutely nothing to do with ice cream. He laughed and flirted with Allison and she flirted and laughed back. He nudged her arm like they were teenagers in high school, and she mocked and innocently made fun of him.

She ate cake with her ice cream and two big strawberries with chocolate syrup drizzled all over, covering the red fruit. He ate his ice cream with the same enthusiasm as he did when he was as a kid, but not because of the taste. Afterwards, he and his father were volunteered to go over to the Michaels’ house to look over what repairs needed to be made, but Mrs. Michael refused the help. It was clear that she really didn’t want to move out of her home, and he couldn’t blame her. Still, he decided that on Monday he would visit with Mrs. Michaels to once again offer his help with any repairs she wanted done.

***

It was around nine, he woke up early to go over to the Michaels’ house. He pulled a t-shirt over his head and finished his pop tart breakfast before exiting the house. He was tempted to lit his first cigarette of the day, but he felt like doing little of anything else as soon as the house came into view, but getting over to the blue door as soon as possible. Though determination was fierce the sense of reality was too, and he paused just as he was about to knock on the door. Last time he was knocking on this door was to get Morgan for school one morning. She wasn’t at the bus stop, and it wasn’t like her to be late. Ten days later and she was gone. Had tens years really passed between then and the time he had last stood at the Michaels’ doorstep? He turned, looking out over the cul-de-sac, and he felt as if everything was different. It didn’t necessarily look different, but felt different, almost surreal. Everything was quite, and for a moment he felt as if he had been looking in on some small community that was all shut up in its homes.

He finally knocked, and Mrs. Michaels came to the door.

“Oh Keith, I really didn’t need you to come and help me…I was just going to do some minor repairs that’s all…you’re mother…” she protested, but still stepped aside to let him come. “You’re mother is so sweet she really is, but Ally and I will be fine fixing things.”

“I know,” he said though he wasn’t sure what response he was supposed to even have. “It’s alright,” he continued as if to say something more appropriate, more cliché. “I had the time.”

“Just some small things…painting really and Ally wants me to get rid of some old things…and…” She moved further into the house, leading him into the kitchen. “I needed some updating in here.”

“Painting,” he said with a smile, taking full note of the old blue paint and stained white counter tops. The kitchen was well used and outdated. He had some ideas, but he was a male, marketing major not a decorator. “I’ll help…that’s final.”

“I can pay-”

“No, I don’t need anything,” he interjected. “That won’t be necessary.”

She pulled a chair back from the metal Formica dinning table. “Sit…please let me fix you something…you used to like pancakes and lots of syrup.”

He was taken back. “You remembered.”

“How many mornings did you come and get…” She paused taking in a deep breath then she smiled. “How many times did you come get Morgan on pancake breakfast day?”

He smiled a completely guilty smile.

“I think she requested them for you.” She turned away from the table and began taking out things to make pancakes. First she went into the fridge for milk then the cupboards for bowls and pancake mix. “They’re not from scratch any more, but-”

“They’ll be fine…I eat anything,” he said as he sat down. “I’m sure they’ll be just as tempting no matter what source they’re from.”

She didn’t say much as she whipped together the mix and milk then dove down beside the stove for a frying pan. “Thin?” she asked.

“Anyway.”

She poured one pancake then two more before she stopped and handed him a plate of fat cakes. He smiled as she handed him the syrup, and a glass of milk she had poured, foot holding open the fridge, before returning the carton to the cold. She didn’t sit, but began pouring more pancakes. He took a bite then took a drink. They were tasty compared to the boring pot tart he had had before coming over. However, it was her distraction that made him uneasy. She wanted to say something and he could feel it.

He was nearly finished when she turned to him, and he looked up at her, chewing. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded.

“When Morgan…” She fought back something, tears or words. “When Morgan disappeared what did you think?”

“Think? I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what you’re asking? Are you meaning when I was little?”

“Yes.”

He thought back as he pushed his plate away from; he couldn’t eat any more. There was no easy way he could describe what he had felt when Morgan disappeared, and he wasn’t sure that he could give her a detailed explanation without some adult thought getting in the way. They were just kids then, but now, knowing what he knew, the fear and anger that had been because of Morgan’s disappearance. He wasn’t sure what he had really felt. Things were supposed to be uncomplicated back then, and he must have thought some uncomplicated thought about her disappearance. She wasn’t his best friend true, but she was always there and then one day she wasn’t.

“I don’t know if I can answer that.”

She finally sat down, her hand sliding across the table as if she wanted to touch him. “Try…please.”

“Morgan,” he said, realizing that he hadn’t said her name in years. Thinking it was completely different then saying it out loud for everyone to hear. “One day she was there and the next day she was gone…it’s that simple…was that simple for me back then. I felt sad if that’s what you’re asking.”

She didn’t respond.

“I think about it more now than I ever have. I wonder…I feel saddened and think about her more now when-”

“You look at my Ally?”

He didn’t respond, but nodded.

“One day Keith…I’m going to look in her eyes…I’m going to tell Morgan that I still think about her and love her. She might have forgotten us, but I will tell her that I have never forgotten her…never.”

He believed that she believed this was true.

There was a creak in the old floors and he saw Allison, her head down, and then she looked at him, releasing a deep breath. They both turned to stare at Allison as she came into the kitchen. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a loose, old high school t-shirt with a blue bulldog in the center, and her purse was over her shoulder. She wore sandals that flipped and flapped as she walked.
“I made pancakes dear…are you hungry?” her mother asked as she stood.
“No, thank you though. I wanted to get to the hardware store, so we could get some painting started.”
“You’re so determined to help me before you go.”
“You know it.”
“And Keith is going to help too.”
“Okay,” she said with a smile.
He stood. “I’ll go with you.”
“Okay.”

She drove her mother’s Ford Taurus; a new blue vehicle with power windows that she had put down the very second the car was turned on. The air outside was fairly cool yet, but soon the summer heat would filter into the car, and she would no doubt die for air conditioning. She didn’t say much only backed out of the driveway and made her way out of the cul-de-sac. In fact, she didn’t have much conversation the whole time they were in the hardware store. She looked at paint, attempting to pick the right color that would suit her mother or rather a new buyer of the home. Truth was, he was hoping that she wouldn’t push her mother to sell the home, at least not yet. She could at least wait another summer or two, so she could have a place to return to.

“How about off white?” she asked.
“As opposed to the egg shell blue it is now?”
“Right…but if the house-”
“Is supposed to be sold?”

She retuned the off white pain swab, and said something under her breath, but he didn’t catch it nor did he ask her to repeat it. She didn’t speak again, only searched the colors over and over again before turning to him. “I don’t know…you pick. I don’t want this decision on me.”

He wanted to protest, but she had already walked away, looking at brushes and other supplies they would need. He looked at her then back at the many colors, different shades of the same hue over and over again in his mind. Then he picked up the first piece of paper with the most reasonable color that he saw for the kitchen. He couldn’t really see the home with any other décor than it had already had, and figured that her mother didn’t either, but upon Allison’s insistence that she move altogether and that was why she didn’t want to pick the color. She didn’t want to be responsible for her mother’s unhappiness at the thought of change or a color scheme that Morgan wouldn’t recognize if, by chance of a miracle, she came home.

“This,” he said as he handed her the small piece of paper. “Cream yellow.”

“It will have to do,” she said as she looked down at the piece of paper, staring blankly as if trying to imagine her childhood home any different than it had become ten years earlier.

She bought things on his suggestions and paid with her own Visa card. It was all on her now, the payment of her mother’s change. He tried to put everything in the trunk, but she wouldn’t allow him to, and had grabbed almost everything before he had a chance to even put one bag in the trunk. She had something on her mind that she was refusing to talk about, and he felt it hard in the chest like someone had just punched him. It was like knowing you were in trouble, but just waiting for someone to say something or the punishment to come.

“Keith,” she finally said after turning at the first light.
“Yeah.”
Her hands squeezed the steering wheel tighter. “You know that you really don’t know me right?”
“We grew up together-”
“But you didn’t even come around again after Morgan disappeared.”
He was silent, unknowing of what to say.
“I mean if you…if…damn it!”
“What?”
She shook her head. “I can’t have this right now…not right now.”
“What Allison?”
“Us…this…I know you know?”
“I could play dumb…”
“No.”
“If you would like me to I would-”
“No please don’t, but you gotta tell me honestly…is it because of Morgan?”
“No…I promise…this has nothing to do with Morgan. Does it for you?”
“For me?”

“The timing…I know you’re going away Ally, but that doesn’t mean its bad timing you know. Is it because of Morgan do you think that even after ten years I have some strong connection to her? We were just kids when she disappeared, and I could lie and say that I wish she was here, but I really don’t care when I’m with you. What is, is what’s now, right here, and not what could have been.” He sat silent. “I’m sorry Ally, but her disappearance won’t reverse itself.”

“I know.”

***

It was around noon before everything had been cleared away in the kitchen, and they finally got to painting. The yellow cream color was soothing, but often, as he looked at it, he had a hankering for frosting, a cake with yellowish cream frosting, and because of this he was often thirsty. Allison couldn’t understand his constant need for a drink when the weather wasn’t all that bad, a little humid, but not that bad. All the windows were open, and Mrs. Michaels brought down all the fans that she could find to circulate the air. She, at one time, had them all pointing into the kitchen, but upon Allison’s strong suggestion that the paint would dry too quickly before they were finished, she spent the rest of her time devising the best possible directions for the perfect air flow.

After each wall was covered with primer and one coat of yellow cream Allison reached into the fridge, pulling out two bottles of water, and she handed one to him. There were speckles of paint on all of her body, and he looked down at his hands and arms, finding that he too was equally matched with little yellow and white dots of paint. He twisted open the bottle and followed her outside to the small front porch steps. Just as they sat down her mother made her way between them, her purse on her right arm, and keys in her hand. She turned to look down at them.

“I have a dinner date with a friend of mine, and I thought I would take it as a chance to get out of your guy’s hair. I’ll be back by night, so don’t worry about me.” She leaned down and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Love you sweetie.”
“Love you too mom,” Ally replied as she touched her mom’s shoulder.

They both silently watched her mother back out of the driveway and make her way down to the stop sign that would take her out of the cul-de-sac. On the right side, along the row of houses, a man was mowing his lawn, the scent of the grass mixed with the humidity. It was a strong, fresh cut smell.

“I love the smell of fresh cut grass,” she said then took a drink of water. “It reminds me of life…however oxymoronic that sounds.”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “Like being alive to mow the grass in the first place like it’s a normal, natural part of life, doing yard work.”
“Yeah.”
“Allison,” he said in the tone of a question.
“Keith.”
He took a drink; the popping sound of his lips releasing the rim of the bottle filled the silence. “I want to see you again you know?”

She looked at him, and for the first time he really took in the depth of her eyes. They were hazel green unlike her mother’s or Morgan’s brown eyes. “I don’t know what to say…I wish that I did.”

“Like I said, your going away doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It’s a good thing you know.”

“A ‘good thing’…really…just in the time that I really find a great guy, I have to go away to another country.” She took a drink of her water, so she wouldn’t have to say any more. She was using her water bottle as some sort of safety net like she really needed to try and protect herself from him.

“You’ll come home.”

“I know…I just feel like I miss you already.”

He took her hand, and she looked straight at him again, but this time she rested her head on his shoulder. The lawn mower in the distance ran as some sort of soundtrack to the moment; a reminder of what Allison had just said about life and being alive. He kissed her hair where speckles of paint mixed with straight strands of hair.

“Wow,” was all she said as she closed her eyes and squeezed tighter to his hand, but she never explained her exclamation.

***

Through the whole time she was away in England they never lost touch of each other, and she called him or he called her at least once a day just to make sure he or she said I love you. Three months later and she returned, and they were more into each other, more in love than either of them thought possible. On their wedding night Allison again looked at him, and again she leaned her head upon his shoulder, and utter the exclamation of wow, meaning, wow, she couldn’t believe this had happened. She couldn’t believe that Morgan was gone, but had somehow found a way to return. In spirit or in some form of matchmaker or a big sister to guide a little sister on the path to the natural path of life. The light's still on, but this time, it's inside.

Better To See When You're Blind

He swirls the ice in his cup then lowers it to the bar. Outside the weather is nice, the sun hangs high in the sky, throwing rays of sun down on bare arms and sun glassed eyes. He peers over his shoulder then back at his cup, the Scotch is diluted now, the ice is practically melted. He pushes the cup to the bartender to signal he needs another shot, and is obliged almost immediately. The rusty liquid sits in front of him, but he doesn’t pick up the glass instead he looks over to his left, wondering how he hadn’t noticed her before, when he walked in. She sits a stool away from him, her head is tilted down, her long blonde hair is in curls around her shoulders; they’re big loose curls. She’s staring blankly into her cup, its half empty; her fingers are wrapped around the clear glass, her thumb is wiping down the condensation. She’s young, has to be at least ten years his junior. Then she straightens herself, she’s still staring ahead, and she perks up as if she’s heard something. Finally he takes a drink from his glass, swirling the ice again as he goes to set it down.

“So much tension for the noon hour,” she says as she smiles, but she doesn’t turn to him.

“No tension here,” he says as he slightly turns towards her.

“None?” she asks.

He is lying. There are many things that have agitated him recently. She smiles and he takes another drink, the Scotch dries his throat. He’s come from his apartment down the street, working all day and night on his music; his ex-wife is calling him constantly asking when he’s picking up their thirteen year old son for the summer. On top of that, he has to write a career maker song full of tenderness and conviction. He hasn’t felt tenderness or conviction in years. He concedes to her, the woman sitting at the bar with him, and he nods, but she doesn’t notice it. “I suppose you’re right,” he says to get her attention.

She smiles.

“It just things, there are always things,” he says.

“Life’s that way.”

He laughs.

“What?”

“I’m not convinced it’s just life. I think it might be me. Maybe God doesn't like me.”

“That’s a strong assumption.” She takes a drink. “I’m sure God has other things to do than torture you.”

Again he laughs. “You think so?” He moves down a stool, sitting next to her. Still she doesn’t turn to him. “I’m Jack.”

She holds out her hand. “Tawny.”

He slips his hand in hers, it fits, the touch of her skin against his. He releases it, but only because she pulls away. He begins watching her, the movement of her chest as she takes each breath, the line of her neck as she continues to stare straight in front of her. He takes in her profile, the only view of her he has seen so far. Then he notices it, feeling like a fool. She’s blind.

“What are you doing here Tawny, and by yourself?”

“Ah, you’ve caught on. I was wondering how long it would take.” She smiles, turning her body towards him. “I was going to meet my husband for lunch, but he had to cancel.”

He looks to her left hand as she rests it on the edge of the bar. It’s beautiful, the diamond engagement ring that matches perfectly with her silver wedding band. It’s a little disappointing really. Then he looks up into her eyes, they’re clouded, but a beautiful gray.

“Married Jack?” she asks.

“Ah no…use to be. We divorced a few years ago.”

“Children?”

“One, a boy…he’s thirteen.”

“He must be wonderful…are you a proud father?”

“Yeah, I am…very proud of him.” He takes a drink from his glass. “How could you sense it…the tension I mean?”

“The sound of the ice in your glass…you swirl it around after every time you take a drink.” She smiles. “What are you doing here…by yourself I mean?”

“Taking a break.”

“Can you tell me what time it is?”

He looks down at his watch. “Around one.”

“Oh,” she reaches beside the bar, taking her walking cane. “It was nice talking to you, but I should be getting back home.”

“Can I walk you?” he asks as he stands from his seat.

“I’ll be alright, I know the way…thanks though.”

She knows the way. He doesn’t understand it; how she can possible know her way around the big city? He sits back down as she searches her way out of the restaurant. He’s watching her, can’t take his eyes off of her. It’s as if she doesn’t even need the stick, as if she knows where to put her feet. He wonders how many times she’s been to the restaurant. Again he swirls the ice in his glass, but he doesn’t take a drink. There’s nothing to drink. He throws his money on the bar, sitting for a second, thinking of her again. He’s feeling something return, something he’s not sure ever would.

***
He sits in the theater at the piano, there are a few measures of his song already written, some he wrote after meeting Tawny and he plays them over and over again. He likes it, the song so far, and is proud of himself. Yet, he’s stuck. Something catches his eyes. In the corner someone appears, walking towards him, it’s a woman; her hands are touching each seat as she passes. Her gaze is straight forward. She’s wearing a white blouse, thin straps and a red skirt, it pushes against her legs as she walks.

“Don’t stop playing,” she says as she stops. “It’s beautiful.”

He smiles. It’s Tawny. How did she know where he was? He only met her the other day. Then again, does she even know it’s him? He plays it one more time then stops, seeing her blissful reaction. “I’m sorry there’s not much more to it.”

She cocks her head to the side, just slightly as if she’s recognized something in his voice. “Jack?”

“How’d you know?” he asks as he turns on the bench.

“Your voice…”

“Oh, right…”

“You write music?” she asks as she begins to slowly make her way to the stage, the steps are close by.

“Yeah I do.” He stands to meet her halfway, but she doesn’t really need his help, she’s slowly, but efficiently making her way to him. Then he backs up as she comes over to the piano, sitting down at the bench. He sees her scoot to make room for him; her hand searches for the edge to make sure she doesn’t fall off, and he sits beside her. “Can you play?”

“Oh no…”

“Right…”

“Not because I’m blind…I just haven’t learned.” She touches the keys. “Will you play something else for me?”

He does just as she asks, playing a few measures of Moonlight Sonata. He looks over to her, she has her eyes closed; she’s beautiful, the way she listens to music. He stops, the song is finished and he waits to see if she wants to hear something else, but they sit in silence for a while.

“How old are you?” she asks.

He laughs, odd question to ask. “Around forty-”

“Above or below?”

“Below.” She turns to him, and he watches her, as if she’s looking at him. “Would it help, to touch my face…I mean if that really works.”

She smiles. “You assume I want to know what you look like.”

There’s silence. He feels a little foolish like a pubescent school boy being mocked by the high school prom queen. It’s a foreign feeling to him. Then she laughs.

“I’m kidding…you don’t have to get so tense again.”

She raises her hands, and he touches them, bringing her delicate fingers to his face. She closes her eyes, and he does too as she brushes the hair away from his face then brings them down his brow, around his eyes, brushing her fingers over his lashes. He holds his breath as if breathing on her would be committing a sin. She brings her fingers down his nose over his cheeks, and she traces his jaw, ending at his lips. He opens his eyes; she brings her hands over his shoulders.

“They’re broad and strong,” she says as she opens her eyes and lowers her hands into her lap.

“What do I look like to you…am I acceptable?”

“You should smile more often.”

He rubs his neck. “And how do you know that?”

“Your lips, the lines around your lips…”

“I have lines around my lips.” She laughs, and his skin raises each hair on his body. “I suppose you’re right though. I should smile more often.”

“How often do you see your son?”

“Not enough I suppose.”

“Your fault or hers?”

He has never admitted it before. “Mine…all mine.”

There’s a noise in the back of the theater and he looks passed her. Someone is coming in, his hair wet as well as his shoulders. It’s raining out. Tawny turns toward the noise, but doesn’t get up. A tall man, Adam Phillips the manager of the theater, comes on stage, leaning over Tawny, kissing her lips. A bit of jealousy rises and falls in his stomach. It’s her husband, he’s her husband. She was here for him.

“I see you’ve met Jack,” he says as he helps his wife stand, both of her hands in his.

She smiles. “I have.”

“This reminds me Tawny, I have some work to do, so I won’t be around for dinner tonight.”

There’s silence. He sees Tawny’s disappointment, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead she smiles, closing her eyes as he kisses her lips again. Then Adam turns to him. “So Jack, soon you’re going to have something for us to listen to?”

He nods. He really isn’t sure he’ll have anything for them to listen to, but he lies anyway. Then they’re alone again, Adam has left as soon as he came. He plays a small little medley, breaking the silence, and she turns to him, resting her hand on the piano. He wants to ask about Adam, but doesn’t want to upset her.

“I should be going," she says, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

He nods then realizes that she can’t see it. “Ah Tawny.”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

She contemplates then smiles. “Yes, I would like that.”

He stands, closing the piano cover then he waits next to her. She reaches for him; she wants his help back down. He wraps her arm around his, and slowly leads her back down. Together they walk to the doors, and he opens them, the sound of rain catches her attention and she takes a deep breath. She’s reaching down for a blue umbrella that stands upright against the wall, and he tells her that he’ll get it, and opens it as they step outside. Again she wraps her arm around his, and they walk out into the rain, she’s holding tight to him to make sure she’s covered by the umbrella. Then they stop at a cross walk, and she holds her hand out, catching the rain drops, moving her fingers the same way she did when she touched his face. She’s feeling each one, getting the best look she can. He smiles and they start walking again.

“How do you know you can trust me?” he asks.

“I don’t.”

He leads her up to his apartment. He wants to show her pictures of his son, but he’s not use to the fact that she can’t see that she’ll never see him. He sits her down on the couch, and gets her something warm to drink, tea that he's surprised is even in his cupboards. He has a glass of Scotch two ice cubes and she’s picked up on this.

“How often do you drink?”

He takes a drink, wondering if he can just lie to her or not, tell her it’s really just water, but she’s no fool, and isn’t going to make her out to be one. “A few times…I’m not an alcoholic if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, that’s not what I’m asking.”

There’s silence.

“How long have you been blind?”

“Since I was a little girl.”

“You mean you were able to see before?”

“Clearly for a while then it went away…slowly went away.”

“What do you do all day?”

“What do you do?” She takes a drink of her tea.

Again he feels it, the foolishness. He thought it was a perfectly logical question.

“You have to release that…let it go.”

“What?”

“What you’re feeling. Some anger that you have, the sound in your voice that lets me know what’s really inside you.”

“You can tell what I’m like on the inside from my voice?”

“Everything is heightened in other areas, but don’t think if I could see I’d be a fool.”

He sets down the glass, feeling a little ashamed to be drinking. Then he takes the half empty cup from her hands. He looks at her for a second, standing above her. He wonders if she can sense that too, him looking at her. “Why don’t you wear sunglasses like everyone else?”

“I’m not ashamed to be blind…”

“But the sun, doesn’t it hurt your eyes?”

“What’s to hurt…my vision?”

“You have beautiful eyes…”

“Yeah?”

“They’re gray, a cloudy gray.”

“I’ve been told that before.” She folds the fabric of her skirt under her fingers. “What do I look like to you?”

“Are you asking it I think you’re pretty?”

“Maybe…I suppose I am in a way.”

“Then yes, I think you’re very beautiful.” He goes into the kitchen, leaning on the counter, trying to compose himself. He looks over at a picture of his son, they have the same smile. He shares an attribute with his son. Too bad he doesn’t share the same integrity as his offspring. When he returns to the living room she’s sitting back, her eyes are closed, but he knows she can’t be sleeping. He wants to ask where she would like to go for dinner, but only watches her instead.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” he says as he sits next to her. She lifts her head and sits up. “How long have you been married?”

“A few years.”

“Above or below two?”

“Above.”

“How long were you married?”

“Fourteen years…”

“What happened then?”

“We happened…we weren’t meant to be I guess.”

“Didn’t you want to make it work?”

He laughs; it’s small, telling her that he was the real reason the marriage didn’t work. The time he spent working instead of with his family.

“Did you love her?”

“I think I did, at one time I must have. Do you love him?”

“Yes…he’s my husband…”

“That doesn’t mean you love him.”

She sits up, resting her elbows on her knees. “I love him very much…I want a family with him.”

He doesn’t mention what he saw on her face earlier in the day. The disappointment at knowing her husband would rather work than spend time with her. Instead he offers to take her to a restaurant just down the street. They make more small talk together, and he makes sure she’s safely home before returning home himself. When he’s alone he takes another look at the picture of his son, picking up the phone. It’s late in the evening, but he has to call, has to make sure he’s doing alright. When someone picks up it’s his ex-wife. She says something about being surprised to hear from him, and even more surprised he wants to speak to their son. He waits, and when his son’s voice comes on the other end it hits him like a ton of bricks. There’s a change in his tone, the infection is almost deeper. Has he really missed that much time?

“Hey dad…where are you?”

“At home… “

“That’s cool…when are we going to do something for summer?”

“Oh, soon…I have work that’s due soon, but after that I’m all freed up.”

“Maybe we can go camping or something.”

“Maybe…you pick…”

“I should be going…I have a lot of chores to do.”

“Are you excited for school?”

“Yeah, but not for the homework.”

“Make sure you do it all though.”

His son laughs. “I will…I’ll talk to you later.”

“I love you…”

“I love you too dad…do you want to talk to mom?”

“No…I’ll talk to her later.”

“Okay…”

The dial tone comes on. His son has hung up the phone, one click and he’s gone. He looks over to his piano; it’s actually calling him this time. He hasn’t heard such beckoning in a long time. It’s immediate, the music that flows out of him. It’s mixed between two beings, two people that have taken all of his attention, and he pounds at the keys, scribbling the notes down like a spreading wildfire. It’s almost as if he can’t write fast enough.

***
He's sitting across from Tawny. They're having dinner again; he's been given the chance to be alone with her. The music from the piano player floats over them, and she reaches down on the table, searching for her glass. He pushes it forward to reach her fingers sooner, and she smiles, thanking him. He looks down a level below them. There are couples dancing to sweet Jazz music, it's slow, and they're close to each other. He wishes Tawny could see them, but she's content just to hear the music, and is tilting her head to better hear it. He wonders if she's ever danced before, and takes a drink of his water, something she would prefer him to drink then stands.

"Would you care to dance?"

She tilts her head to the sound of his voice. "I don't know how."

"You've never danced with Adam?"

"No..."

He's suspected so, and reaches for her hand. It surprises her, and she jumps a little then stands, both of her hands are on his wrists. He wraps her arm around his and slowly leads her to the dance floor. There are people that are looking at them, he figures its because she's so beautiful instead of her blindness. As he leads her to the floor he stands in front of her again, pulling her close. Now she's tight against his body, her arm is around his neck and her hand is in his. She's beautiful.

"There's nothing really to it," he says and she laughs. He pulls away, turning her. It's a little much for her, but she recovers gracefully, her hand is on his forearms and she moves it up his shoulder to put her arm around his neck. There's a sweet scent floating around her, and he closes his eyes, resting his chin near the top of her head. This must be how she feels, the music engulfing her mind as it is his, and the touch of her close is enchanting. He wants more.

“I’ve called him?”

“Who?” she asks as he dips her, causing her to smile.

He smiles at her happiness as he brings her up. “My son…I called him.”

“Is that an accomplishment for you?”

“Oddly enough, it is.”

***
Adam is watching his wife. She’s with him, her eyes closed tight as Jack plays at the piano. He wonders why she’s taken such an interest, and feels jealous. As the notes float into the room she’s holding her hands tight together, her eyes are closed. Even when they make love she’s never been so entranced. She’s beautiful. Afterwards his kisses her on the cheek, touching her soft hair, and rest his forehead against the side of her head. He can feel her already asking if something is the matter, and he resigns himself, pulling away to keep his feeling a secret.

***
Jack closes the cover to the piano, he’s alone in the theater now, and everyone has left, hopefully feeling the same sensation he was, the love he was feeling. Then he hears the doors open, and feels, wishing its Tawny, but it’s Adam. There’s a look on the young mans face he’s seen before on is own face, looking in the mirror. The look is fear.

“It was perfect Jack,” Adam says as he comes up on stage. He runs his hand along the piano. “I love her you know…”

“Do you?”

“She’s my wife…”

“Doesn’t mean you really love her.”

“More than you could ever know,” Adam says defensively.

He laughs. “Pay more attention to her then, if you really love her.”

“Have you been with her?”

He shakes his head. “No…she loves you. You really should be more careful…take more time with the people that really matter.”

“I love her-”

“Then show her!”

“You think you know about us…you think you know Tawny.”

“I know about you all too well…I’ve lived more years on this planet than you have. I’ve made more mistakes than you have, so I know you…I’ve seen it before.” He steps down, feeling a little satisfied that such a young man would be jealous of him, of the way he looks at his wife. Perhaps it was the years he’s been alive, or the way Tawny makes him feel, but he can sense there’s something inside her that’s drawing him close to her. He looks one last time up at Adam, and can still see the look. It’s still full of fear, believing he’s lost what he loves because of his other dedications, things that use to be important to him but seem so pointless now.

He’s home only fifteen minutes when there’s a knock at the door. When he opens it, Tawny stands before him, her face is blank. “How’d you get here?”

“What’d you say to him?”

“Who?” he asks as he steps aside. She walks in passed him, stopping a few feet in. She doesn’t know his apartment yet.

“Adam?” she asks, her back is to him. “What’d you say to him?”

“Why?”

“Answer me,” she stresses.

He rounds her. “I told him he should take more time with the people he loves…he should spend more time with you…why…what’s wrong?” He tries to take her hands. “What’s happened?”

She takes back her hands. “He thinks we’ve slept together…we’ve never…I would never betray him…I love him-”

“In the past few days he’s barely even spoken to you…”

“You don’t know us…you don’t know me-”

“I’ve been in his place already. I know where he’s going, and that you should be treated better. That I can treat you better.”

“No.”

He takes her hands, but she takes them back. “Tawny I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel for you.”

“No…”

“You’re my inspiration…the music is for you…”

“You don’t understand…”

He pulls her close, kissing her before she can deny him, and he feels her release just a little bit, but only a small amount. He wonders why, how it is she can love Adam when he doesn’t even know how to love her. When he pulls away from her she’s silent. He can see she was feeling for him too, but she doesn’t say anything.

“I can’t Jack…he’s my husband.” He tries to grab her hand again, but she backs away as soon as his fingertips touch her skin. “No…we’re going to be a family…I’m having his child.”

He stops, looking at her, wanting to beg her to stay, but nothing comes out. He wants to ask if she loves him, but he can’t move his tongue. He wants to kiss her again, but he can’t move his feet. He’s a fool, a complete fool. She stands, seemingly petrified of him, but she doesn’t run.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to lead you on…”

“No, you didn’t lead me on.”

“Then why are you telling me this…why are you saying you love me when you know nothing about me?”

He stands silent, contemplating an answer that might suit her. His face is twisted in anxiety, knowing the next words he says to her are crucial. How can he ask a married woman to forsake her vows? Does he even want to? Would she be tainted then? He backs away from her as if the distance will slow down his rapid, beating heart. She’s turned her face away from him again; her arms are crossed over her chest. He can see that she feels vulnerable like a defenseless creature in a wild jungle. However, there is nothing he would do to dishonor her, and he concedes, resigning himself to respect her decision.

“Tawny…”

She looks up towards the sound of his voice.

“I’m sorry; I was out of line…” He moves a little closer to her. It’s hard to give her away even though she was never really his. “I respect you I do, and I sincerely apologize for my behavior.” She reaches her arms out, she’s searching for him, and he moves closer. Slowly she moves her hands to find his face, closing her eyes as she moves her fingers down his cheeks. She stops at his lips, pulling his face closer to hers. She whispers something to him, it’s a good-bye, and she kisses him. As she turns away he doesn’t try to pull her back. He lets her leave on her own, hoping she’ll get home okay on her own, but she’s found her way to his apartment. She doesn’t need him. She’s not helpless far from it, and he realizes how much he has been lacking in the years. He looks over to the picture of his son then to the door. He’s done the right thing; she’s made a vow before God, and he knows she must honor it despite what he believes. He can hear her now are you a proud father. He is, very proud, and picks up the phone. It’s time, stop wasting it.

To Be My Mother's

I am the younger of two brothers though I feel like I am the oldest. My brother was born with an illness, Down Syndrome, to be exact. He is happy nearly all the time unless he’s not then no one is happy. We grew up just outside Fort Worth, Texas, born two full blooded Texan sons to full blooded Texan, middle class parents. Our parents have always been good to us, and my mother, had always been a good mother to my brother and myself. Growing up, I was always interested in cars and the typical boy’s stuff like sports and how much dirt I could accumulate on my clothes, but my brother had always been interested in whatever my mother did. I’m not speaking of being interested in baking or being interested in looking pretty just for the sake of these being woman things, but it was a simple fact that just being were she was made his day. It was like hearing my mother’s voice put a light in his eyes.

One afternoon, while my mother was baking a cake for our father’s birthday, Johnny (as he was known) stayed at her side, helping her with this and that, pleading with my mother to crack the eggs. I sat in the living room reading one of my comic books, dying to know if Spider Man was going to beat that Venom guy or not. I was fifteen then, caring little about what was going on in the oven or what dinnerware was going on the table, but I loved my mother. I loved her dearly because she and my father had given me life. So it’s easy to say that I loved both of my parents equally, but Johnny did not. Even upon being asked, he would admit that my mother was his favorite, and I knew that this was very true. It wasn’t that my father failed to give him attention or say I love you, but my mother was his world and without her, his world would cease to exist. It was years later and I hated to admit it, but I believed that my mother would cease to exist without him as well.

I listened one night to my mother and brother as she sat getting ready to go to spend the evening with our father. They were talking and laughing about so many different things, on so many different topics, that I wasn’t so sure my parents would ever leave the house. My father waited with me in the living room and we talked about school and about sports, and he gave me pointers on how I could improve my game, football, my favorite sports since I could walk. I was seventeen then, expected to baby sit my nineteen year old brother and I did this willingly as I knew my parents had a much needed break coming to them. Johnny and I got along rather well, but once in a while I would have to get after him about getting into the cupboards, taking down the flour and sugar like he was about to bake something with mom.

When we grew up, I wouldn’t stay behind, but Johnny would. He would stay with my parents while I went off to a good school, Harvard, where I put off playing college ball to study law. I met my wife, Angela at the law office I interned at, and we fell in love. We fell deep and hard in love for each other and got married my third year out of law school. When I brought her home to meet my parents they were in love with her too or at least displayed the Southwestern charm my wife said that she had found so attractive in me. She was from the Midwest, Nebraska, and she was happy to move anywhere I went.

“As long as we’re together,” she would say.

She was a scholar in her own right. Though she was not a lawyer, she often wrote law articles for distinguished journals and then managed a household of three children, two boys and a girl. I love her always.

My brother would not love another woman always like he had loved our mother, or how I connected and loved Angela. Such devotion, I thought, but then realized that this was not devotion just a disease that made him incompatible with anyone else. Still, there was a connection that my mother had with Johnny that I would never have with her. I often wondered what it would be like to be my mother’s world. I understand that she loved me dearly because I was her baby, but to be fair, I was not the one she worried about leaving alone. She would wonder, strongly I suppose, who would take care of her Johnny. She didn’t have to worry about me, and I loved this because that meant that I wasn’t another burden.

Who will take care of my baby when I’m gone? Truth was, Angela would take care of me and I her, and my mother knew that. I knew that too. For my mother, my brother would always be around. A mother looses a son to his wife, but she couldn’t loose Johnny, not to anyone. It was many a person who tried to tell my mother that she should have Johnny committed to a "special home", but she wouldn't hear of it. You couldn't get a word in edgewise if you wanted to speak about taking away my mother's "precious Johnny".

"I'd rather he died before me," my mother would say to my father's suggestions that she not worry.

If anyone knew my mother, they'd know that worrying was one of her greatest pastimes, something she did rather well, keeping the faith was something it seemed hard for her to do. I suppose that's what surprises me about the relationship that she and my brother shared. She trusted that everything would be okay, as long as she could take care of him. And, after having my own children, seeing Angela with all three of them, I could understand where she was coming from. No one, I believed, could take care of our children better than their mother.

So what was to happen with Johnny? Our mother did pass before her "special son", but not before pulling me aside, looking at me with those blue eyes of hers. There was this sense of pride and dread at the same time, welling in my heart, thrusting at my chest, causing it to thump. She placed her hands in mine or over mine, I am not so sure really who touched who first. My sweet mother looked so terrified.

"I need to ask you to do me a favor," she started. "When I go-"

Her sweet Texan accent tickled the hairs inside my ears, and I felt myself strengthen up. "You want me to take care of Johnny when you go?"

"He's not gonna be able to make it in this world without his family," she continued. "I know it ain't fair sweetheart, but I know you and Angela, you're so strong of a couple and you'll keep him well taken care of. Why, he'll be just fine living in his own room, he just needs the company now and again."

I smiled. "He needs you, that's all he cares about."

She placed her hand on my cheek and looked at me like I was some angel. It appeared as if some weighted had been lifted off her chest and I wondered how she trusted me so much. I had been so jealous sometimes, of the attention my older brother had received, but she trusted me.

"Thank you Robert," she said with a smile. It had been a long time since I heard my name sound so sweet, coming from my mother.

I'm not sure what really got to me the most, the sound of my mother's voice or that fact that family should take care of family. I talked it over with Angela and by God, she understood and accept my proposal when I suggested that we convert the room above the garage into "Johnny's room". She gave him a chance when many folks turned away, and I couldn't help but find some similarities between my beautiful wife and my beautiful mother.

It's been nearly fifteen years since my mother passed on, and exact to the day, my brother passed as well, a not so funny coincidence. He suffered from heart problems nearly his whole life, but he had a good life, a family who loved and cared about him. I'm not so sure what to make of all this yet, I'm still working through this life myself, but I'm damn thankful I've had the life I have. I feel like a better person for knowing my brother. We didn't play ball together or talk about girls, but we sure did live.

Dedicated to My great friend Raylene :) What if it all works out?

Don't Dig There

While acorns spit fire and cantaloupes dance
My love is like a fish in the water. It never turns blue
Why spit like a camel when the water is good
If I were to drown it would not be me but with the fishes I’ll see
The trees throw at me leaves from the ground
Why is it that you’re not around?
Sad words sometimes flow but smiles catch up fast
Why which did come first my love or attraction
While alligators eat bugs
I’ll fly around on smart rugs
It’s not a rhyme that I care to rethink
I’ll bear not to have pressure
This is not or lesser value
Take into consideration the time it looks well spent
Remember the camels
They are not as dumb as they look

Scarlett's Walk (this one's under work)

The girl was always alone, and damn her if that didn’t just bother me. Everyday she was alone whether is was walking to school then back home, eating alone at the lunch table, and I saw her too, sitting there with her meal neatly placed before her, sipping her white milk from a small straw. Why didn’t she just be more sociable or something, anything really other than being so damn alone all the time?

I was rarely ever alone as I had two sisters, one older and one younger. We, my sisters and myself especially, had a way of making sure that we were never alone, be it going to the movies or sitting at the lunch table, but this girl was different. I was pretty and knew it, no beauty queen mind you, but I was no ugly duckling. Scarlett was her name, and she had red hair like her name eluded. My name Betsy, from Elizabeth, was nothing shot of a little dull, but I made due with what I was given, and rather well I thought especially when looking at Scarlett, comparing myself is selfish ways. How many boy friends could I get then throw away? How pretty did people thought me to be? Scarlett wasn’t really ugly, if I had to be fair, but really, she had wild hair, untamed, like fire in the wind and these amazing green eyes that were always cast downward like she couldn’t just look ahead to where she was going. She wore clothes that were defiantly hand-me-downs, but no one knew where they had been handed down from. I suppose she isn't really ugly. In fact, with a little help she might even be decent looking.

I was walking home. It was fall, the start of my junior year, and I was very excited to be close to the real world, graduating soon. I wasn’t sure what the hell I was going to do after school, probably attend community college, planning to waste plenty of money on making my decision. I loved reading and writing and everything that had to do with literature, but I couldn’t figure how on earth I could translate that into a degree my parents were willing to pay for. I could teach, but really, how many people liked teachers and most of the time I couldn’t really even stand to help my little sister with her homework. I couldn’t teach, didn’t really like helping people learn too much either.

So why on earth, when I saw Scarlett that day, being picked on my two boys, did I go over and help her? I loved attention, positive flirty attention, but for some reason I yelled, at the top of my lunges, for them to leave her alone. They were younger boys or at least younger than me, I don't really know or care. They were calling her names and taunting her as if they had the right to.

A breeze blue up leaves around the group. Scarlett's hair touched the wind, like it was waving at me, calling me closer yet Scarlett kept her head down as they continued, so I picked up a small rock or two, and being that my father had taught me to pitch, threw them as hard as I could, knocking one of them in the shoulder. They ran off immediately and I apprehensively approached her.

She looked frightened and thankful, and then she looked at me like she was in awe. I felt uncomfortable as she thanked me, and I said, "it's no problem". After all, when someone “less fortunate” was in trouble you helped, or rather it was horrible, seeing her so helpless like some scared animal. Still, I was on my way home, kids were on their way home around us, and I didn’t want them to see me talking to this girl, so I began to walk then stopped, feeling something tug at me, a feeling I had never experienced before.

“Do you want me to walk with you?” I asked.

She nodded and actually smiled. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

She wasn’t much to look at right there, with tears her in her eyes, but she had a really pretty voice. “Okay,” I said then started walking with her beside me, silently walking beside me like she was some subject of mine who couldn’t talk unless being talked to in the first place.

“So,” I began. “What was that about?” Eek, what on earth was I doing? Was I really that interested in what she had to say or did I feel this need to talk like silence wasn’t enough? It was enough just to keep my mother shut, but I didn’t. I guess it's a stupid notion since I didn’t really care about this girl, maybe.

“Oh I don’t know,” she answered.

“Sure you do,” I countered, believing that this girl had done something, anything to those boys who ruthlessly attacked her.

She was silent for a second. “No, I didn’t do anything. They just do that once in a while.”

“You didn’t say mean things back or I don’t know, look at them funny?”

“No,” she replied plainly.

Impossible, I thought. No one’s cruel for the sake of being cruel, right? Okay, so I made a little list of things that would fix all her problems. She could tame her hair and stand up straight, and look people in the eye like she had the right to do. She could dress better like I did. She could have a plan to not make it so easy for everyone to pick on her. I know, listening in on the conversation in my head, I probably sounded so unkind, but really, the girl brought everything upon herself, right?

“Thank you Betsy,” she said and I found it odd that she had said my name even though we had never talked before. She had stopped in front of a house that was just like my own, a little run down, but it was similar to the one I lived it. Wait, that was my house, and we where standing at the gate in front of my house. She knew where I lived? I found this odd, first my name then my house. Hmm, something was up here, and I was going to get to the bottom of it.

“I know you probably don’t want to walk me all the way to my house, being seen with me isn’t exactly what you want. I know this.”

Wait, what, how did she know what I had wanted like she could read my mind? Yes, walking with her terrified me, immensely terrified me that at any moment someone could just spot us together.

“No,” I said then changed my tone, lying flat out. This was a favor I was doing for her, but I didn’t want her to owe me. “I don’t mind, people can see us together.”

“Okay,” she said as if offering some challenge, but really she had just wanted something from me, a friend or something she could hold on to. “Will you walk to school with me tomorrow then walk down the halls with me too?”

What! Oh, yeah, so what did she want me to do? I must have stopped breathing, but my pride or rather my conscious got the better of me as I answered, "alright, I’ll meet you tomorrow morning". Then she was gone, walking away from me as I stood numb to realization that everything was probably going to end for me, I was done for. Total social suicide.

The following morning I woke, didn’t eat, but dressed in my best pair of jeans and fancy t-shirt with flip-flops and I made sure every dark hair on my head was perfect. I walked outside to wait, expecting to just start walking by myself is she didn’t show up. I was determined to keep my promise though I was scared shitless, and she came, two minutes later. Her hair was pulled up out of her face in a half ponytail, and she looked right at me, and I thought she was very beautiful, small features, a prettier nose than my own.

We walked all the way to school barely speaking, and when I opened those high school doors I felt terror ride up into my throat. She walked ahead of me, waiting as I followed behind her. So, this is how it must have felt, the walk she made everyday in school. She really was pretty and though rather unsociable, very brave. I wasn’t sure if anyone was looking at us or not as I made sure to keep my eyes down the floor, walking beside her like I had promised. I was proud of myself and terrified and then so proud. So this is it huh, I thought, Scarlett’s walk?

Busted

They were like fire, uncontrollable to their very cores, but apart they were undeniably complete opposites. The most likely unlikely couple to walk down the halls of their high school. She was small: bones, eyes and lips which were raised so often in a flirty smile that every boy began to believe it was for them. No. It was his, outspoken and strong with intense eyes of blue, matching only hers in allure. Everything Janie was, Adam wasn’t. She could overflow with her temper and grudges, which could and would be held for months even years. He let things go; he had to. Though what Janie could get Adam began not to care about. She was so pretty and smart, at least that’s what everyone thought. Her parents were obviously proud of her and Adam, he never showed it too much, but he was amazed by her, captivated by her wit. It seemed that all he needed to know was that girl, the girl who sat next to him in his truck after school .The girl who would brush her dark hair behind her ears as she looked down. That’s all he needed, and it frightened him on more than one occasion.

They were intensely in love with each other. So much so that everyone began to worry. The teachers constantly took not of Janie’s distraction, and how they kissed in the hallway between classes, the most conspicuous display of public affection. He was a sort of rebel in their eyes, and she was going places far beyond his reach.

Is she loosing herself? they wondered when what they really meant was, My God is she going to end up pregnant and throw her life away? She has so much promise.

To everyone their relationship was like a cliff. The end was near, and the drop was destined to be hurtful. They could make or break each other.

They fought.

One day she practically screamed, “Why don’t you care!”

Everyone in the cafeteria tried not to pay attention to this quarrel, but all five foot three inches of Janie were dominating when she was angry, and by God the flare in her eye was something short of seductive. However, no one but Adam would tell her how attractive she was when she was angry. The very thought or mention made her even more upset.

That day she had her hands on her hips. God, was she about to cry? Adam didn’t seem to even look at her, a fact that made Jamie grab his arm, turning him to face her. This did nothing. He moved around her to the semi-empty hallway and she stood there, a sting of pink humiliation on her cheeks. However, she was not done. She took a deep breath then went to fight on. No one had any idea what was on the table this time, but then no one ever had an idea.

“Adam,” she said in a lowly as she approached him, her arms crossed at her chest.

“What Janie?” he asked, emphasizing that he clearly didn’t know what she was getting all worked up about this time.

He began joking with a friend near-by. For the longest time he hadn’t said more than small sentences to her. The longest time being a few weeks, which turned into a month. He did this everyday at lunch, pretending they weren’t even a couple. It wasn’t that he didn’t smile at her or kiss her once in a while, but what was all so intense was gone. Janie just hadn’t gotten the clue, but then nobody had.

“Why won’t you talk to me?”

He turned to her, but it didn’t even seem as if he was even looking at her. “I am talking to you.”

“No, you’re talking to him and pretending that I don’t exists.”

There was no response. Wait, yes there was in the form of two raised shoulders that went up then down.

“I don’t get you.”

“What’s to get?”

How could she respond to that?”

“Talk to me,” she pleaded as she touched his arm.

“I am!”

“No you’re ignoring me…I am your girl friend aren’t I?”

He backed away from her, said something to his friend then just carelessly looked at her, or what was played as careless. Wouldn’t anyone really like to know what was going on in his head? Janie did, but he wasn’t telling.

“Okay,” she said as she took his hand, trying to win him over by acting sweeter.

“Don’t,” he said, taking it back. “Not now.”

“Not now?” she asked, taken aback. He had never said not now before. That was something he never did, deny Janie anything, ever. “What the hell is your deal?”

“Don’t know-”

“Don’t know?” she mocked. “Idiot!”

“Yeah Janie that’s it…you figured me out…”

“What?”

“You know everything.”

She shook her head, telling him to stop. Janie was uncontrollable, contained only by Adam, but it was he who unleashed her. She began to shake; her hands were at her sides. She took deep breath after deep breath to calm herself, but she shook still. She and Adam had fought before, but never to the point of Janie’s humiliation, and she was humiliated. Perhaps that was the point. No one but Adam knew, and he wasn’t telling.

“Stop it…”
“What?”
“Being-”
“Being?”
“So mean!”
“Oh no,” he mocked in a taunting tone. “I’m being mean-”
Smack!

Janie was small, but her temper wasn’t and it gave her an odd power. So when she punched Adam it was no big surprise. She only dished out what was deserved. Everyone stopped as Adam touched his face, his warm cheek that actually had begun to sting. They only messed around before but this was real; she was really hurt by him.

This was not smart; Janie was always smart. Both of them went to the principle’s office. She sat and listened to clear disappointment in her behavior while outside of the office Adam denied an ice pack from the school nurse. He didn’t want her to be in trouble, just way from him. Could he reverse everything? Should he even begin to try?

The door opened. Janie pushed her long hair behind her ears. There was something about her that made her face radiate as she tried not to look at him. He rested back in his chair with two chair legs in the air while he rested his head on the wall, looking at her. This caught her attention. He smiled, but it was misunderstood. She thought he meant to be smug when he really meant to just smile at his girlfriend. She took her foot, wrapped it very quickly over the raised leg, and pulled, knocking him to the floor.

“Should have four on the floor at all times,” she said then left the office.

He stood, fixing the chair then rubbed his head to relieve the pain. Quickly he turned to watch her walk away. What that walk did he could never explain to her. He had tired to explain how much she meant to him when they were alone together, but she took everything out of him. He leaned in close to her, touching her cheek, thinking, my God I’m in love with this person…I can’t even speak.

“Adam!” someone called from the hallway. Through the glass he saw his friend, signaling for him to hurry outside. “Janie’s headed to your truck.”

“What?”

“You must have really pissed her off.”

He did, knew full well what the consequences could be. When he reach the parking lot she was surrounded by a few people, and grabbed a rock from the ground the minute she had spotted him. He shook his head to tell her no, but she didn’t care. However, he did, and for more than just his truck too.

Everyone saw him grab her hand, holding it. They must have just looked at each other for what seemed like hours, never speaking a single word. The rock was in her hand; the truck unharmed next to them. Her blue eyes had begun to water and Adam must have known she was about to cry because he took the rock, throwing it to the side. He wanted everyone’s attention off of her, so he took his keys out of his pocket, the jingle echoing in the air. Like the many times before he took her hand, leading her to the truck and helping her inside. No one knew what to expect when they drove away. Everyone felt as if they had just watched history or something significant like that. No one said anything as they went back into school despite the fact that everyone had an opinion and was very ready to share.

What no one would ever guess that they would cease to be that a good talk everyone thought would happen, didn’t. No one would ever know the turbulent pain Adam went through at the very thought of letting Janie go. No one would ever guess how much anger Janie felt towards the boy who was her life. Truth be told, he had just brought her home, nothing more, nothing less, and even if he wanted more he didn’t get it. He just watched as she went into her house, waited to see if she would return, making the decision to tell her everything, but only giving himself that one chance. There’s nothing to speculate about anymore because the couple that could have been, should have been, simply isn’t.

Tuesday Morning Heaven

He went to Heaven on a Tuesday morning. The walls were white and lined with paintings of cottages in the misty morning down by a creek deep in the woods. Everything was so white and sterile. Wait, no, his mistake, those were hospital walls he was walking along with people who wore kitty cat scrubs and white shoes that matched the tile floor. He felt light, so free as if he was floating, though he walked. He heard people making dinner reservations and some spoke about their patients and plans for the weekend. He stood beside a woman who spoke of chest pains and how long she had been waiting and how unacceptable that was. He tried to tell of his chest pains too, but no one pays him any attention like he isn’t even in the room. He’s there though; he can hear and smell her strong perfume floating around the room, tickling his nose. Someone says his name, but wait, no it isn’t his name; it’s someone else with the same name. He begins to walk again; it was like floating, feeling so light like when air touches your skin that’s how he feels.

Diana! What was she doing there, her head hung low as someone spoke to her? She was his wife, his beautiful wife of twelve years, and she was crying tears from those beautiful brown eyes of hers. He calls her name then calls her sweetie, his special salutation for her, and he went to touch her, but she seemed so distant, no one said anything to him. Diana stopped crying for a second, looking past him, but he was there, damn it! She was deep in thought. The woman beside her was older, a plump middle aged woman of probably forty who wore blue scrubs. She had a mask hanging around her neck, and she had something in her hands, a clipboard with papers and she held a pen out to his wife, and she took it, looking at the papers then writing.

“Why are you here?” he asked, but she walked away from him. “What are you doing?”

Answer Diana, please answer me, he chants out loud, but no one seems to care. In all the years of their relationship, she never walked away without indulging his thirst for answers. That’s what he had always loved about her, the sense of duty to always be honest. They had had an awkward meeting, he was almost certain that they couldn’t possibly have fallen in love. She was exactly three years younger than him, almost to the exact minute, and he had found this out on their first meeting.

He had been heading back from the grocery store, planning to fix dinner for a girl that he had been dating for nearly a month. He was going to be graduating college with a degree in advertising, loving the funny commercial with talking dogs and funny babies since he was a boy, watching television with his two other brothers. He wasn’t an artist, but he was witty and often wrote his own little jingles while attempting to sleep. Diana was young, in her freshman year of college, but she looked older, was wearing high heels and a knee length black skirt that hugged her curvy hips as she walked over to him. It was about four that afternoon when she had hit his black, fairly old, though his only car, a Grand Am. The hit had happened on the driver’s side, knocking into his tire. He had to crawl over the passenger seat to get out. She was immensely apologetic, crying as she came over to him, but she tried to hold herself together, biting her check every so often. He was so annoyed, his groceries were all over his car not to mention it would cost him to get everything fixed, and on top of that, he had a date in less than two hours, man was he pissed. However, he stayed calm, asking if she was doing alright and if there was anything that he could get her.

“I hit your car, remember,” she had said.

He called the police from his car phone, sitting in the passenger seat, watching her. She was beautiful and couldn’t be angry anymore, and though she had hit him, it was impossible to be anything but nice to her especially as she shook when handing him her driver’s license.

“August twentieth huh,” he said just before writing down the rest of her information. “Mine too, though three years before yours.”

She had smiled at this news. “Oh,” she replied, looking over to his license, which he had held out for her to see. “Cameron Michael Wyatt,” she read and upon hearing his name come from her lips, he knew that there was something about her that he would never be able to get over.

It took half a year to start dating and another year and half to finally be engaged. Diana was so smart, witty and truthful and by God, did he love her. She would nearly always admit fault if she had been wrong and she could speak so beautifully, articulating perfectly while using words that he had learned only because of her. They had large wedding with both their families present. Two years later, after she had finished her master in literature, they had their first child or rather children, twins, a boy named Alex and a girl named Lorelei. They hadn’t had anymore children since, being too busy with life as it was. He loved his life.

Diana was gone, away somewhere with that nurse, going somewhere that he couldn’t go. He felt sad, so alone, feeling like he wanted cry, but he couldn’t physically produce the tears just the pounding in his chest. Why couldn’t he go? He sat down.

“What are you here for?” a man asked.

He hadn’t notice anyone sitting beside him, especially not the old man sitting next to him, smelling of Vic Vapor Rub with a knitted scarf decorated with red and white stripes. There was a time, as a boy, that he had had a scarf like that. He had to be about seventy, sounded fifty and smart, so was he really wearing a Hawaiian shirt with hula girls on it? His hands were clasped together in his lap. He reminded him of someone, a man with dark skin, a deep voice, so tender. Ha, like Morgan Freeman.

“I don’t know-”

“Don’t know or don’t remember?”

“There both the same.”

“No they’re not,” he countered as he leaned over. “One you know and just don’t recall and the other means that you plumb don’t know whatcha did.”

“Did?”

“Yeah, what are you doing here?”

“I don’t remember I guess…do you know?”

“I haven’t a clue, can’t read your mind you know. I just came cause I got a call, so here I am, speaking to you.”

“A call, you’re here to visit someone?”

“Yeah, you.”

“You got a phone call about me?”

His hands came up, moving as he spoke. “I didn’t say a phone call Cameron. I said a call…plain and simple.”

He eyed the man. “How’d you know my name?”

“Dose it matter, really?”

“Well…yeah.”

“Does it matter more how you got here or how I got here?” he asked, tilting his head. “Isn’t it more important to know where you’re going?”

“Going?”

He pointed to the left. “Going Cameron like this way,” he said then pointed to the right. “Or that way.”

“Left or right huh, so those are my options?”

He released a heavy sigh like this man beside him was just not getting the point, so he stood and there was something familiar about him like he had known this man. The way he walked or talked, and the way he spoke about being at the hospital for a reason. There he was, following a stranger, a man who walked down the halls of the hospital like he had been living there for years, walking in zigzags around people who really didn’t seem to notice them at all. They kept walking and walking and he looked back.

“Don’t look back, the past is not where we’re going,” the man said.

“Right,” he answered, following down the hall. “No looking into the past…then how am I to know what I did or didn’t do?”

“Not no looking into the past because Cameron, we learn from the past, but we cannot dwell on the past you know? You should learn and then move on.” He stopped and looked into the room of a couple, looking over the bed of their daughter. The little girl was sleeping, and the parents were sitting on each side of her bed, watching over her. “You’d never know it, but the parents are divorced.”

“So?”

“So they’ve come together for their daughter who’s dying of cancer.”

“Will you come and get her too?”

“No, I am here just for you. By the way Cameron, where do you think I’m taking you?”

“Would it be presumptuous of me to assume that you’re taking me to Heaven?”

“It would be.” the man said as he stopped in the middle of the hallway. “What makes you think you deserve to go?”

“You say that I don’t deserve to go?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I asked what makes you think that you deserve to go. I don’t make the rules.”

“Good, because I would have to tell you that I’ve been a good father and a good husband. I’ve loved each of them without one second thought. I would give my life for either of them you know, but of course you must know that-”

“Why must I know that?”

“Because you’re part of Heaven, right? I mean friends with God and all?”

“Hmm.”

“Why are you saying that…like hmm,” he repeated like the man. “It’s like you doubt me…”

There was no answer just continuous walking. They walked forever, feeling like days and days before the man turned to him, looking at him for just seconds surely, but they felt like hours. The man, he had brown eyes, the same spiral lines around the pupils. He had spiral lines around his pupils.

“What’d you say Cameron, to her, before you left, what did you say?”

“Pardon?” he asked.

“To her…Cameron, what’d you say?”

He remembered his wife’s voice, sounding so erratic, so much like something he had never really heard before. It was a way she didn’t usually speak like she was desperate for understanding him like she didn’t already know him. Diana was the only person who knew him the most, the simple man that he was and she knew him more than anyone ever would. He loved her for that very fact. Why was she questioning him like she had never known him? He looked around, hearing her voice over and over again asking for some answer that he wasn’t sure he could give. It was his wife’s voice, floating around him, asking so many questions.

“Cameron,” the man said, not Diana, but a man.

“Huh?”

“What’d you say?”

“This isn’t Heaven…is it?”

The man released a heavy breath. “One doesn’t remember or plumb doesn’t know what one has done?”

“Do,” he repeated. “…done…I haven’t done anything?”

“How’d you get here Cameron?”

He wasn’t sure how he had got into the hospital. Really, he couldn’t remember. All he could remember was sitting with Diana, arguing over something that he had said to their daughter. It was about an outfit she wanted to wear, something he thought was inappropriate for a ten year old girl. Diana came into his office, asking what he had said to her, but he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t fathom might send Diana to him in such a frenzy, eyes all aglow with anger. Was it what he had said to their daughter or was there something else?

“I got up and left the house, grabbing my keys from the kitchen counter as I headed to the garage. She told me not to leave, begging me now that I think about it. Yet, I left because I felt like I was being attacked, and I didn’t understand why.” He turned, seeing the man looking at him, waiting for more…more story. “I started the car, debating on whether I was going to go or not. I saw that the tank was near empty, so I thought that I would go and fill up the car then come back. I would come home, yes, I would be gone for a short while and she would calm down and then I would go home to her, and ask her what was wrong. We would work things out.”

“Where’d you go instead?”

“No, I went to the gas station, I filled up the tank…wait, no, I didn’t…I had forgotten my wallet at the house, sitting in the bedroom where I had taken it out of my pocket. I couldn’t get gas…there was enough left to make it home. I had planned on filling it up after talking with Diana…”

“But?”

“I saw her; she was looking at me with a smile, the daughter of one of the men that I had worked with, a campaign that I had successfully pitched. She was younger than me by eight or so years, really pretty. Odd, I don’t even remember her in details. I had no attraction to her though, not in comparison to Diana, but she was smiling at me from over by her car, and she had recognized me. I thought that I would get out of the car and ask about her father, but somewhere, somehow something went wrong. It was like suddenly I was with her then, looking at her naked as I sat down on her bed, and I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t think much though, I had put everything I could from my mind, thinking that for one moment that I would forget about everything that I had waiting for me at home, the woman who was upset with me, had seemed upset quite often with me, but I put that from my mind…”

“What’d you say to her Cameron?”

“Nothing, I didn’t say anything just looked at her as she came towards me, naked coming towards me, and that’s when it hit me. I saw how different, how young her body looked, the size and shape of her breast. Yes, that’s what hit me the hardest. Diana’s look different now, different then they did before she had the twins, but I love them. I love every damn thing about her body even though she doesn’t, the lines, the color of her skin in the light, how it looks olive sometimes, and how when she leans over, I can tell that she’s a mother. Yes, I love her, and this woman, who was before me, was not her, though I touched her, feeling felt sick. Yes, I felt like vomiting, and I stood up so fast that my head spun around in circles, moving faster and faster and I felt nauseas, but I felt my feet moving underneath me like I couldn’t move fast enough to get to my car.

It wasn’t raining or fogging or even cloudy for that matter, but to me, it seemed that way, driving like some divine part of nature was all around me.”

“That’s it!”

“Yes, that’s when it happened. The car caught on fire when I hit the tree, not right away mind you, but it took a while as they pulled me out.”

“And now, you are here.”

“Yes.”

“And now, you remember what you did-“

He nodded.

“So now, when you wake up-”

He looked at the old man, the gray hairs around his ears sticking out.

“Yes…Cameron…you are going home.”

“I have to tell her?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because, you’re His friend…you’re telling me that I have to tell her or I won’t get into Heaven…”

“No, I’m not telling you anything…”

He began walking again. “Good, because I don’t know if it’s right-”

“Telling her?”

“Yes, because then she’ll be hurt over nothing…because that’s what I did…nothing happened, so telling her would just cause this whole whirlwind of events that she doesn’t deserve to go though…”

“Ah I see, so is this really for her or you…you don’t want to loose her then?”

He stopped, turned, staring into nothing. The hospital was buzzing with people, nurses who scurried to and fro on their rounds and doctors who grabbed charts of this patient then charts of that patient, and he was alone. He’s standing beside Diana. He looks down, he is in a hospital bed and she is resting her head on his hand; her hair back in a ponytail.

How long was he gone? It is too long, yes, too long while she waits for him. He hates to make her wait, and prays that this has not upset her.

“Cameron,” she says as she moves to look at him, lifting her head. “Cameron,” she says again sweeter than the first.

He smiles, though he’s barely able to.

“Don’t talk,” she says as she sits up, straitening her slender body, showing him that her eyes are all red, though still beautiful. “I love you,” she says with a return smile.

He knows that it will hurt to talk, but he can’t keep silent. “Diana,” he says in a whisper.

She comes closer to him, brushing a few loose hairs behind her ear. “Yes sweetie?”

“Do you…want to know…where I’ve been?”

She smiles. “Oh sweetie…yes, yes I do, but not right now okay...right now I’m going to get the doctor.”

He nods, and then, she’s gone.

Dog Days

And it was, they say, a damn hot day. To an inth degree Samuel Rogers was satisfied, a hot and sticky satisfied when he looked around the lake, looking at not one, but two tempting, able bodied females, who lay, skin dripping with tanning lotion and sweat. Then she popped into his vision, that girl who everyone desires to talk to, to be able to touch just once, if only to make sure she was real. A second daughter to the Grays, Eliza had eyes of a blue fire burning in the night. To say the least, they stood out against her tan skin. He swore they were barreling deep into his chest from across the lake. Hot sand, burning hot sand forced him into the shade, but she walked, a strap of a white, terrycloth dress dangling over her left shoulder. Her swimsuit was hot pink; the dark hair on her head was like a bushel, bouncing on her head as she walked, angling through people on the beach. Yes, she moved closer and closer to him, walking with her head bent away from the scorching sun.

Eliza lived beside him, or rather, across the street, and he saw her often, watching as she made her way to and fro. They were in grade seven when she moved into the Tudor house across the street, something he had relished in, especially when fellow classmates commented about her, how pretty she was. Eliza, was, and will remain that pretty little thing, and has been since being elected homecoming representative for their freshman class. Indeed, she could stare, into space or right at you with a smile, mocking and calling at the same time. He loved it, wasn't in love, but something welled in his chest every time he saw her, or imagined that she was looking right at him.

She talked to no one and no one talked to her as she made her way out of the hot sun. He saw beads of sweat drip down her skin as she walked by. He counted the seconds until one drop disappeared into the terrycloth...one...two...three...four...five, rolling down from the nape of her neck to the line of clothe above her chest, disappearing into the crease between her breast.

Then she was gone. He scanned the beach again, forgetting the reason he was even there. A hot day for swimming, a perfect day for a dip in the water, but he felt inclined to go back home, bask in the glow of the sun through his bedroom window.

The town was vast, outlined by homes and the school district, but it was really very small, moreover, it was intimate. The separation of six degrees could have been cut in half, everyone was connected in some way or the other. You might not know it at first, but some how he knew her and she knew about his uncles' cousin's drinking problem, which of course lead to the conception of someone’s little sister. Somehow and in someway, everyone knew nearly everything about everyone else, but for some reason, Samuel was the last to learn anything. It had been the way since he could remember, and no one made a move to change this, not his best friends or his mother or his father, who decided that he was going to leave after a fourteen year marriage.

I thought you knew things weren't going well.

Nope, guess you hid things pretty well.

Sam, I'm sorry, but I have to go, I can't stay here anymore. Your mother and I just...well, we're just not compatible.

Yep, could have fooled him, but apparently not his little sister or his older brother, who stood in his bedroom, telling him all the signs that he missed. Perhaps it was him and not the ability of others to fill in him in the latest news. He was just not very good at perceiving things.

He walked down the none-to-shaded sidewalk to his house a few blocks away from their little watering hole. There she was, coming towards him. There was a glow about her, she was walking again, with her head down. It was like that, she was getting closer and he was breathing heavy, partly from the sun, but mostly from the very sight of her.

"Hello Eliza."

She stopped, looked right at him, looked so deep into his eyes that he felt a chill wash over his body. It seemed as if she wanted to ask, are you talking to me? However, she didn't say anything, not at first. She did smile though, sweetly and calmly, though it seemed to mask something.

"Heading back to the beach?"

"I forgot something," she answered, still looking rather surprised that he would utter anything to her in the first place. "I don't think I care anymore."

Odd, the tone of her voice as she said that last part. She turned her body as to walk beside him; her shoulders were turned out, pronouncing her collar bone. Again she smiled, sweetly and seductively with a hint of ah ha. Whatever that meant, he wasn't so sure.

"Can I walk with you?"

"Sure."

She pushed a fallen hair behind her ear. "Going home?"

"Yeah, to bask in the air conditioning."

She laughed. "Can I come?"

"Ah," he paused first, though he wasn't sure why. "Yeah, you can come. It's just going to be me though."

"Okay, I don't mind."

They walked together, for a second it felt as if he should take her hand, holding her close, so she couldn't get away. He felt such an insatiable need to keep her within his reach, to hold her like he had never held another human being before. There was such electricity floating between them as they were silent, idling words, conversations to be had.

Her house was across the street from his, silent in the summer sun. Hot summer sun that made his face beat, pulsing one...two...three times over and it got worse once he was in the air conditioning. He slipped the house key back into his shorts pocket. His mother was working late that evening, a second summer job that took most of her time, but he didn't really seem to mind. His little sister was away with friends, a camping trip up north. His older brother had gone off to college nearly two years ago and was rarely ever around for anything let alone for his younger siblings. The house was cold, bitter cold almost once his skin began to adjust to the new temperature. She walked close behind him, waiting to be taken to his bedroom, and though it was weird to have her in the house, it felt normal that they should just venture into his house, making their way to his bedroom.

"I like it," she said as she entered his bedroom, a gray blue on the walls, and sports memorabilia on the shelves beside and above his bed. "It's you, very much you."

She complimented him once more, when she spotted the few books on his book shelve. He wasn't much for reading, but did have a few treasured favorites...The Catcher and the Rye seemed to have really caught her attention, striking it odd in his brain that she would find him fascinating at all. She sat down on his bed, her tan legs outstretched before her, and she moved like she knew his eyes were on her skin, looking her over. And if this was her assumption, she was right. He was looking at her, stealing glimpses of her as he kicked a few things from the floor, clothing that he had thrown there the night before.

"I don't care about the clothes," she said.

He took that into full consideration and sat down beside her. This was the first time they were together, really...EVER. They hadn't converse leisurely before in school or even thought to hang out at each others houses, since they only lived but a few good feet from each other. Something clicked in his brain as they began conversing suddenly about everything and then nothing, talking about plans for after high school. They were so close to graduating and yet so far from anything important at all. She kept moving in her way, saying this and that and he touched her and she touched him on the arm with her elbow, in the side as she teased him.

"Have you thought about me very much?"

He didn't understand at first.

"You have, haven't you?"

He felt sick, a thump in his throat, keeping him from nearly vomiting. Had he done this before? He wasn't so sure he had ever done this before, seeing such things, a human full of temptation in front of him. Was he a virgin? Looking at her he wasn't so sure any woman had ever existed before, especially as she moved around him, her skin barely touched his and he felt such sweet air between them. That was the first time they had ever been together...EVER. It was the first time he had kissed her...touched her...made any attempt to care about anything before.

"Show me," she said in the paused between breaths, in the time she should have gone for air. "I want to see it...I want to see everything you've ever dreamed of with me."

He felt such a heavy feeling in his chest as she lay beside him afterward, there was a bead of sweat that rolled down her shoulder again, and this time he took his hand, wiping away from her chest. "Eliza," he said.

"What did you leave at the beach?"

"Yes," she answered, her voice sounding tired, like she was about to doze off.

"Just my book...that's all...nothing important."

Odd, he woke in a cold sweat, feeling sick, so sick. He ran to the bathroom, finding it to be morning. His body ached and he felt chills all over, and he began to cry, falling in front of the toilet, hugging it with both arms. Why was this feeling coming over him, such sickness? He thought of Eliza, feeling sad and sick all over again. He thought of her in his arms like it had happened just a few seconds ago, but it felt like a few seconds ago that it had happened many more times than just once.

There was a sound above him, his brother was there. What the hell was Patrick doing home? He said something, asking about something, though he wasn't so sure what his brother was even talking about. He felt sick again and lunged into the toilet, but nothing came out, it was only a dry heave.

"Jesus Sammy, you should get back to bed."

Why, he couldn't sleep, not with such pains in his stomach, a thumping pain right where his heart was. It was just the other day when he had felt Eliza beside him, sleeping beside him. She was in his arms, and by God, this feeling in his stomach was so far from that feeling, being beside her.

"You should get back to bed Sammy. I mean really, this is affecting you bad. You should get back to bed and sleep it off."

"Sleep...sleep what off?"

He felt his brother's gaze on his back, burning into the middle of his spine. If it had been any stronger, the gaze, he might never have moved again, becoming paralyzed by his brother's intense look of question. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his forehead as he turned just slightly, so he could see his brother. There was a look in those brown eyes of his, those eyes of their father, the look of their mother, sympathetic to a degree and dreadful to another. News, there was something that needed to be said. Patrick looked like his mother before she had told him that she would be working more that their father wouldn't be coming around nearly as much as he should. It was a look or regret. I'm regretful in informing you that... Ah huh, that's the look just before he was told what everyone had known since the beginning.

"I came down when I heard about Eliza. I thought you might need a big brother to lean on. God knows dad won't be coming by. He's in Vegas with Laura, you remember don't you, Laura, dad's latest girlfriend?

He nodded, yeah; he knew who Laura was and where his father was. Eliza, what the hell?

"Mom said you've been like this since Monday when you found out. I didn't see it coming that's for sure. She said you two were "cute and happy" whatever that's supposed to mean. Really, I don't know what mom means half of the time."

His brother was rambling. Just shut up for a second or two, at least a second. He felt his brother's hand on his shoulder and he felt sick again, lunging forward in another dry heave. His face must have been beat red already, most of the blood felt like it had rushed out ages ago.

"What about Eliza?" he asked. "What about her?"

He felt that burn again, that staring in the middle of his back. "She's dead, has been since Monday."

"I was just with her."

"Yeah, mom said you two went to the beach on Saturday and that afternoon she saw you two sleeping in your bed...you've been with her all summer...don't you remember anything? Don't you remember…she committed suicide...her mother found her in the Monday morning."

Ah that was it wasn't it? She was a dead girl, his dead girl. His head hit something hard, and his brother leapt forward, grabbing him by the shoulder's to lift him back. He apologized for something, probably for seeming insensitive, but he had remembered about Eliza. He had remembered learning from Mrs. Gray that she had had found her daughter dead in the bathtub with both her wrist slit, bleeding into the water around her. That memory, that first time they had been together and that last time they were together melted and merged in his brain. He felt like crying or vomiting or maybe screaming. He was angry or maybe that was the insatiable need to hold her that was taking over his body.

It was so hot. He stood; he was sure of that, feeling his brother help him.

"Eliza."

"Yes," she answered, her voice sounding tired, like she was about to doze off.

"What did you leave at the beach?"

"Just my book...that's all...nothing important."

He went to his room to find that book, to hold on to something that belonged to her. It wasn't love, and if it wasn't then why did he hurt so much? The first time with her, that last time with her seemed so distant, and yet so close that he was sure it had only happened once, and not at the beginning of the summer, continuing through the hot, dog days of summer. He gripped the thin stock of paper, a little novel by Steinbeck, a little memory of how she was his. He gripped it tight, feeling the book bend in his hands. A million minutes away Eliza had been there, she had looked at him like it was some surprise that he dare speak to her, a time too long ago to count, or so it seemed. She had poured her sweat onto him, onto his bed, that girl.

"Show me," was more an accurate account of what she had said in his ear that very first day as she paused between breaths, in the time she should have gone for air. "I need to see it...I need to see everything you've ever dreamed of with me."

And so it was done.

In vain?



(please bear with the rough draft)