The Hollows

 There is nothing to fear. He thought about it for a moment. It wasn't the first time he had heard that phrase ,or a variation of it. Why did it come to mind now? It was mid-morning. He was in no rush for anything, and he hadn't had to work in years. When he worked, he would usually get up early, just before dawn most of the time. He enjoyed the smell of coffee spreading from the kitchen. His wife was alive back then. He used to let her sleep in a little so he'd have some time to himself and give her some extra rest. That was all in the past. Her clothes were still in the closet and drawers. He'd never had the strength to get rid of her. Some part of him still wanted to imagine he'd walk into another room and see her. It never happened. He never thought he'd be a widower. 

When Ophelia passed everyone had him in their thoughts and prayers. Everyone wanted him to know that if needed absolutely anything, to just ask. They all meant well. He just wanted her back. He wanted to be left alone. He got that, eventually. People reached out, wanted to be in touch, but he never reached back, and eventually, they stopped altogether.

He looked out the kitchen window and saw that it was shaping up to be a very beautiful day. "Maybe I'll take a walk later", he thought to himself. 

After his simple oatmeal breakfast and tea he sat in their living room to read one of the books he'd checked out from the library. It was a book about an Earth where people had developed a cheap and easy technology that allowed them to travel to parallel Earths that were largely free of people. "Just imagine", he thought, "...if this were real." He knew what would happen if it existed. It would be the Wild West all over again on an unprecedented scale. People and companies racing to lay claim and strip the resources of these worlds for the benefit of this one. That's what we've done. That's what we've always done. 

Ding-dong. The doorbell rang in that classic way that everyone has heard. It was unusual. Jim Grey, the mailman, never rang, even if he had a large package to deliver. He'd just leave it on the doorstep. He never got solicitors, it was too out of the way to be worth their time. Who was it?

He looked through the keyhole. He was just as surprised at who it was as he was at hearing the door bell. It was Melanie. He opened the door and immediately heard her voice for the first time in a few years."Oh my God! Elliot! I'm so happy to see you!" She reached in and hugged him. It took him a few seconds but he put his arms around her and squeezed. 

After he invited her in he fixed her up a cup of Earl Grey tea with a lump of sugar and just a splash of cream, just how she always liked it. He set the cup in front of her. She looked at him and said, "You still remember." He smiled. "Of course I do."

"I'll be honest, Elliot, I didn't think you'd answer. I haven't heard from you in so long. No one has." That simple fact hung in the air. A pause. A declarative. "You know, Mel, when Ophelia passed away I just didn't know what to do. I didn't want anything. I didn't want anyone around. Everyone was so kind but I couldn't deal with everyone else's expectations of my grief." He took a long breath in and let it out slowly. "I didn't mean to shut everyone out the way I did. It just happened. I don't blame anyone for giving up on me." She picked up the cup from the saucer and took a sip. He never ceased to be amazed at the grace in even the smallest things Mel did. It's just how she'd always been as long he had known her. 

"Elliot. Frank died two years ago. I don't know if you'd heard. So yes, I understand." His stomach dropped. Frank had once been one of his best friends. "It was cancer. When the doctors found it it was already at stage four. They told him with treatment he could have another six to eight months. He didn't go for it. He wanted to live out the days he had left at home with me. They gave him medications for the pain and sent him on his way." This was the price of his sorrow. 

"I'm so sorry, Mel." He reached out for her hand and held it in his. She placed her other hand over his. "I've made peace with Frank's passing. The hardest part was getting rid of his old clothes. I donated most of them to the Goodwill. I did keep a few small things for me, like a couple of his favorite hoodies. You know how he would never go anywhere without wearing one of those damn things." She laughed, just a little bit, saying those words out loud. 

"You know, I've never been able to bring myself to get rid of any of Ophelia's clothes. I've left them in the closet and drawers." She looked at him with compassion, "Oh, Elliot". He thought for a moment. "Would you like to see the closet?" She nodded. Ophelia had a keen eye for always picking out clothes that would look great on her. They weren't necessarily expensive designer pieces, though she had a couple, but they fit her well and suited her personality. He led her to the bedroom and opened the walk-in closet. 

Melanie had always admired Ophelia. She did her best to make sure that she and Frank were there for Elliot after she had passed. Elliot eventually let the waves wash him out to sea. 

He watched Mel as she walked into the closet. Her hand fell upon the red dress that Ophelia had worn at the twentieth anniversary party they had thrown for themselves. Mel remembered feeling just a little envious that night as she watched them dancing across the floor. How could someone so happy in their own marriage feel this way?

"If you want to try any of her clothes on you're more than welcome to. She always thought the world of you." His words hung between them. "Are you sure? Wouldn't that be a little weird for you?" He thought for a moment. "Sometimes it feels like I've been living with her ghost longer than she was alive. I know that's not true, but if you want to see if anything fits then you're more than welcome to try anything on. I wouldn't mind seeing a little part of her being around." She nodded at him and he closed the door behind him.

He sat on the couch and picked up yesterday's newspaper. He hadn't finished reading the article about the current state of the public schools in the state. He always admired Mel's beauty. She didn't like to use much make-up, just enough to highlight her features. 

He heard the doorknob turn as the hinges on the door creaked slightly. Her footsteps were light John the hardwood floor. She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. The dress fit her just so. The corners of his mouth turned up. "You look just as wonderful as Ophelia did when she wore that at our anniversary party." She tugged at her hips. "I feel like I just barely fit into this dress. She had such a great fashion sense. I always admired that about her."

Mel sat down next to Elliot on the couch. "I don't think I've ever stopped mourning her. When I got home from the service I just didn't feel right being alone at home but I didn't have anywhere else to go, and I really didn't want to be a bother to anyone."

"When Frank died I was besides myself with grief. Everywhere I looked he was there. I had to give my grief it's own space. It carved out a space in me. It carved and carved until I felt like a shell. If it had carved anymore I would have collapsed. you know what I did, Elliot? I started to fill that space up bit by bit. I had to keep living. Frank wouldn't have wanted me to mourn forever. He wanted me to keep living. To find new joy. To do more because I could. It was hard. It was so hard. I was crying my eyes out when I bagged up all his clothes and donated them. But I did." 

"If I had known, I would have reached out, Mel. I'm so fucking sorry."

"Don't be. just don't" He could see the rivers of tears that had flowed down her face.

"I wanted to see you because I wanted you to know. I only regret it took me so long to get here. I know you understand."

"I remember the night of our anniversary party she told me how much you loved the dress. I think you should have it. She would have wanted to see it out in the world and not just sitting in the closet."

"You sure?" she said.

"Yes." A wave of silence sat between them. An understanding that needed no language and could fill all the hollows.

11/18/22

Close The Door On The Way In

 The clock on his desk read 9:55a.m. The work day was young and the hours were many. What was it about the work day that made the hours go by so slow? The slowness, was, of course, and illusion. 9:57a.m. stared back. He craned his head and saw everyone else in their cubicles, hunched over, typing, reading emails, talking on the phone, or otherwise pretending to work. He grabbed his chipped red coffee mug and went to the break room. No on noticed him on his walk. He was thankful for that. He walked into the break room and was greeted by beige malaise. The break room table was was a little dirty and had rings of dried coffee on it. The microwave looked like a holdover from the final years of the Cold War. The coffee maker sat next to it. The pot was empty, or course. He found a paper filter and scooped the needed grounds into it. He rinsed off the pitcher next to the sink and used it to fill up the machine. When it was all set, he turned it on and heard the familiar sound of brewing alertness. 

Coffee began to percolate and drip. The smell was always pleasing. When the last drop fell he grabbed the pot by the handle and filled the chipped red mug. He took a small packet of artificial sweetener from his pocket, tore it open, and poured it in. He walked to the fridge and hoped his cartoon of creamer was still there. The fridge was full of lunches. Some in plastic shopping bags, a few in the traditional brown paper bags, and a few in very nice lunch boxes. He grabbed the carton of creamer and saw that it would expire tomorrow. From the weight of it, there was just enough left for this cup. He opened the pointed mouth of the carton and poured it in. He stirred his drink with his right index finger, no sense getting a spoon dirty. 

No one paid any attention to him on the way back to his desk either. Good. Good. He opened an email from the regional director. Production needed to be increased for the impending war time effort. Great. Where would this one be? As soon as the thought passed through his head he realized he didn't care. He hadn't cared in a long time. It was nothing but news stories in places he would never know. He knew people would die directly because of his government, and indirectly because of his work. It wasn't here. It would never be here. They were safe.

"Knock, knock." said Janet from H.R. "Mr. Banks wants to know if you're free after lunch for your quarterly review?' Before he had a chance to answer they heard it. The sound of an explosion tearing through a building. The shudder and shake of an unnatural earthquake. Wordless screaming was everywhere. The next explosion exposed a a blue sky being infected by smoke and debris. He could feel himself falling, the red cup still in his hand.

11/17/22

The Box

 The story doesn't begin where you think it should. It begins twelve years ago in the middle of the night during a dream by a boy named Josef. He wakes up at 3:27a.m., disturbed by what he's seen and unable to sleep. He remains awake and sees the sunrise. He writes the dream down on a piece of paper and puts it in the box on the shelf in his closet. He falls asleep for an hour before his mom comes to wake him up. It's Saturday morning. "Wake up, Sleepyhead." His eyes open just enough to see his mother is wearing a green sweater, the same one that once belonged to his Grandmother. "Did you sleep well last night?" He looks toward the closet and his eyes pause there for a moment. "Yes, Mom." That's how it all began.

The years went by and it would feel like he had forgotten all about the dream. In that lull of memory, it would race back like a wave crashing onto the shore. He would close his eyes, focus his breathing, and try to move on. On and on it went this way for many years. The box moved with him when he left his parent's house and went to college in a neighboring state. It would move to his first apartment the city over from his parents at his first real job after graduation. In his thirties he married Marcia. The box moved in, too.

Marcia and Josef had two children, Jane, and Eberly. The girls were as joyous and full of life as they could have hoped for. They had all the usual fears The box, as much as he wished to forget it, he could not. He couldn't bear the thought of his wife and daughters reading the page in the box and destroying everything. The fear grew like the grey hairs in his hair and beard.

The cursed dream had haunted him for most of his life. He had never burdened another soul with the knowledge on the page. 

One week Marcia asked him if it would be ok for her to take the girl's for the weekend to her aunt's house in Brighton. He agreed, but only on the condition he stay home that weekend to work on repairs around the house he'd been meaning to get to. She grudgingly agreed.

That Friday, as Marcia, Jane, and Eberly, were about to leave, he hugged them tighter than usual, told them just how much he loved them. He kissed Marcia with a tenderness she hadn't felt since they first started dating. She looked into his eyes and said, "It's only the weekend. We'll be home before you know it. The girls took turns saying "Bye, Daddy" as he hugged them.

He watched the car drive down the street beneath a sky so deeply orange that it could have been another color.

He slept fitfully that first night and dreamt. In bed, the room dark like a moonless midnight, a crushing weight bore down on his chest. He couldn't breath. He couldn't open his mouth to cry out. He could feel its eyes in the void, gazing down at him, laughing, mocking him in a language no man has heard.

It was a dream. It was a bad dream. It was a very bad dream. That's all it was. He told himself that over and over when he woke up, until he was ready to get out of bed and do the work. 

Marcia called midday to check in. The girls said hi to their Daddy and just how much they missed him at their aunt's house. He told Marcia he loved her. She told him she loved him back. When they got off the phone she could feel a knot growing in her belly. 

Later that Saturday afternoon, after having replaced the burned out bulbs in the recessed lighting, mowed the lawn with old mower, and pulled the weeks, he decided to have lunch on the back deck with a beer and a couple of slices of leftover pizza from two nights ago. The clouds had grown a dark pregnant grey and appeared to be growing darker. After just a couple of minutes, the first heavy drops began to fall with pummeling splats. He went inside and latched the sliding door shut. He turned on the lights in the living room and sat to finish his meal.

It was strange for such a heavy rain to fall. The forecast hadn't said anything about rain. What must have rain been like on a tropical and ancient earth, he wondered? Was it anything like this? 

He wasn't sure if it was the peal of thunder he heard first, or the bolt of lightning scarring the horizon he noticed first. The lights flickered and steadied. "It's ok", he thought, though he had his doubts.

Suddenly, the house shook, and the lights flickered into darkness. He wanted to run, but where? He knew he could not escape. He grabbed the flashlight from the kitchen and went to the garage. He stood before the box, while the sound of the pelting rain filled the world outside. Was it reading his thoughts? His body began to feel electric, the hairs raising all over his skin. Finally, finality.

The firefighters told Marcia it was a million to one shot that the lightning would strike him in the garage. Almost everything had been charred except for a couple of boxes.

Waiting

He was leaning against the wall out in
front of the building waiting for every
one else to arrive. That's what happens
when you make it a point of getting
twenty minutes early to every meeting.
The cigarette was almost down to the
filter. He took a final drag and felt the
fire press close to his skin. The butt
flew into the street like so many bodies
forgotten at the morgue. Out of the
corner of his eye he could see a woman
approaching from his right side. She
was carrying what appeared to be small
pieces of luggage in each hand. Each
of her steps felt hurried. She got close
to him and stopped. She set the cases
down and and wiped the sweat from
her brow with her left hand. "Excuse
me" she said, "Do you know where
1421 is?" "This is 1460 where we're
at right now. Maybe if you walk down
the block that way you'll hit it. It can't
be too far from here."he said. "I'm
running late to do make-up for a
video shoot and can't seem to find
the place." "Yeah, I haven't seen any
one else that looks like they're part of
some shoot. It's been pretty quiet
here since I've been waiting." he said.
"Would you happen to have a
cigarette?" she asked. He reached into
his coat pocket and pulled out the
pack. She looked inside and asked
"Are you sure? It's your last one?"
"Of course it is. Go ahead, take it."
She took his last cigarette and pulled
out a neon green lighter from her
right pants pocket. It quickly caught
the spark as she took a long drag.
"I know I'm already late but at this
point I sorta don't care. I got a flat
tire on my way over and now I can't
find the damn place. But thanks for
the smoke." she said. She seemed
to be around his age, young enough
but older than some. "Of course."
he said. "My name is Rand. I'm just
waiting for some friends. They'll be
here in a few minutes unless they're
running late." She was finishing the
cigarette and flicked it out into the
street. "My name is Cathy but you
can call me Cat." She reached into
her pocket and pulled out a card.
"Look me up sometime. If you ever
need a make-up artist or know
someone who does just let me
know. I swear I'll be more punctual
than this gig." "Thanks. I'll look
you up sometime." he said. " I should
get going. Don't want to be later
than I already am." she said. "Well,
good luck finding the place, Cat."
he said. "Thanks. See you around."
She grabbed her two cases and kept
walking down the street. Around
the corner he could swear that Brian's
car had just turned onto the street.
Now it was time to get down to
business.

File Away For Future Use

Sad Conversations with Happy People

The Crossing

Chavez stood at the intersection and watched the mid-afternoon traffic 

as it whizzed past him. People leaving work for home, parents picking 

up children from school, squad cars cruising for speed demons with 

heavy feet; all of them and more were lost in their own thoughts as 

they sat encased in hurtling means of movement. None were aware of

the others movements as long as they did not cross paths. He set his 

heavy bag at his feet. His left hand was sore from carrying it. There

were still a few more blocks to go before he would be home. He grew

up not too far from this corner. When he was a child his mother would

walk him to school, he always felt safe with her around. She had been

gone for quite some time now. He hoped his car would be ready at the

shop by tomorrow like they had told him. The lights turned green and 

the solid red hand was replaced by the gray lights in the shape of a man

in a walking motion. He grabbed the bag with his right hand and moved

as briskly as he could. He disliked the fact that the lights at intersections

never felt like they gave you enough time to cross unless you were 

sprinting from one side of the street to the other. He could feel eyes of 

impatience glaring at him from behind windshields and being cursed

at under breath. He felt the rush of energy as a car turned behind him

as his feet touched the sidewalk. His pocket began to vibrate and he 

ignored it, he had a good idea of who it might be. When it stopped,

he reached into his pocket to read the text message. It was exactly

who he expected. She must be drunk, lonely, or both to be trying 

to reach him at this hour. Her boyfriend had broken up with her 

recently and there weren't very many people she liked to talk to. 

Chavez had liked her but that had worn off. They went out shortly

after her break up and got drunk at the The Black Crow down 

the street from her apartment. When they got back to her place they

pounded a bottle of wine and began to make out in her living room.

They were lucky because her roommate was out of town at the time. 

He liked feeling needed, he didn't get to feel that too often. There was

something different about it, something that made him uncomfortable.

He put the phone in his pocket and started walking back to his 

apartment where no one waited. 

Shortest Story

I heard a lonely voice

talking to itself again.

Trembling

He tried to steady his left hand. It had started shaking from time to time recently.
He was having trouble getting over it. He had needed it, used it for far too long
to not escape it unscathed. It was in his blood, in his dreams, calling quietly,
insistently. At least he didn't have to go in to work until tomorrow. Ghosts lay
scattered across every surface of the bedroom. They could only stare back with
blank curiosity. He needed to get out of the house. On days like this he could 
barely manage to get himself in the shower, much less out the door. He was 
trying to avoid getting treatment. He wasn't some fuck-up that needed others 
to help him out. He was a goddamned man, he could do it by himself. He looked
at his phone, no missed calls or new messages. It was 10:30 in the morning on
a Tuesday. Two Tuesdays ago he would have woken up with a killer headache
and slouched into the kitchen to get some breakfast of whatever was there. He 
remembered he needed to get his laundry done today. He had to get out of the 
apartment, he needed to get to the laundromat. He hated sitting there and waiting
for his clothes to get clean. If he had the money he would just throw his dirty 
clothes away and buy new ones when t hey became too dirty to wear. He wasn't
that rich, probably would never be. He had a bad habit of wearing the same 
clothes for years until he would be forced to buy new ones after the old ones
had fallen apart and wear one step beyond wearable. At least his parents couldn't
see him now. They had such high hopes for him, especially because he was 
their only child. They were dead. They could care less now, in fact, they couldn't
care at all. He finally got to the bathroom and took a piss. He looked in the mirror
and could see how deeply the lines were carving his face. His face started to 
resemble the drift that led to the end of Pangea.  He grabbed a pair of relatively 
clean underwear and his towel and set them next to the sink. He turned the knobs
and began to calculate the proper heat and cold ratio he deemed suitable for 
a morning shower. He wet his hands to make sure that it wasn't too hot to scald
his pale skin. He stripped off his clothes and stood under the shower head. He 
raised both hands and covered his face as the water wet his hair and soaked
his body. 

A Night at the Black Crow

"Shut the fuck up. She's at least a six." he said.

"Why?" the other man said.

"Her rack. Just look at her rack!"

The second man watched as she pulled bottles and
poured them into glasses. Her breasts hung large over
the rest of her body. Her cleavage plunged deep and
brought in good tips on that kind of night. She had just
started working there again. The two men could barely
hear each other.

"Her tits are sagging." the second man said.

"What? You've never been around older women?
You probably can't even remember the last time you
had a tit in your mouth." said the first man.

"Fine. She's not bad. I'm more of an ass man."

She had just turned around to ring up a tab.
The second man stared at her jeans with an empty hunger.

"Her ass is too flat."

"You're a picky motherfucker,"said the first man.

They finished their beers. The first man put the empty
bottles in the well of the bar, a sign for another round.
She finished serving the people at the end of the bar,
it was a bunch of young girls from the neighborhood
who had grown old by staying there. She saw the two
empties when she turned around. She pulled the cooler
open and pried the caps off the two bottles and set them
in front of them as she grabbed the empties with her
other hand.

They sat there in the midst of the blaring jukebox, awash
in cigarette smoke, the roar of a late night silencing them.

With No Tether

"Did you see the old guy walking up and down the block?" she said.

I haven't. Should I?

"Go to the window and look."

It took me a moment to see who she was talking about. There was the

usual cast of surfers, drunks, and yoga moms walking up and down 

the street during the early afternoon. When I saw him I knew who she

was talking about. He was tall with a slight stoop that gave away his 

age. His hair was a dome of gray while his face was sprinkled with 

stubble a day or two old. Each step moved him forward in a stilted 

shuffle. He stood in front of the window with his back faced to us as

he gazed out at the people on the beach. Sky blue shirt and khaki pants

hung off him with a little room to spare. A plane with a banner advertising

beer flew overhead as his head tilted to the side, as if to read it better.

His gaze moved downward to his feet as he turned around. I walked

behind my desk and sat down. I saw his hand reach for the door.

"Hello." he said.

"What can I do for you sir?"

"Have you seen Barbara?" His eyes searched me, hoping I had the answer.

"I'm not sure I know Barbara, Sir." I said.

"We...we came out here years ago when we first met. It was different then.

There weren't so many people around. The people that were around were

so nice. You could talk to anyone. I first saw her near the pier. She didn't

know me but she was beautiful. I'm not sure where she is. Have you seen

her?"

"What's her last name?"

"It's the same as mine. It's...it's..." his hands fumbled to his pockets, hoping

to find his wallet and ID. "I'm sorry. It's slipped my mind." A nervous laugh

escaped and hung heavy between us. 

"It's hot out there today. I was looking for Barbara. Her hair is long and brown

and she is very kind. We talked for hours that first day we met. I talked to God

out there when I was looking for her. He said she was alright. That she some

times worried about me. I told him to tell her to not worry. That it's ok. I'm

still here and I'm doing the best I can." 

I could hear her voice in the back office speaking in a hushed tone. 

I heard the hard plastic receiver come to rest. I looked back at her, her

lips were pursed and she nodded at me. He leaned against the top of the desk

and looked out the window.

"I drove so far to get here. But I had to get here today to find her. I hope she's

not worried. That's the last thing I'd want, is for her to be worried. That's just

no way to be."

I saw the shadows outside the window get closer. They came into view of the 

window as they opened the door. He turned his head slowly at the uniformed

men as they walked in together. 

"Hi, boys. Are you here to help me find Barbara?" he said.

One of them looked no more than 25 said "Yes, we are. First, you need to

come outside with us because we know she's not in here." His face lit up

and said "I know. This young man has no idea who she is. I'm glad you do."

The older of the two men leaned over and looked at me, "How long has he

been here?" 

"Not long at all." I said.

"We got a call from here as well as some other local businesses about him.

He seems harmless but we'll make sure we get him to where he needs to be."

They walked out with him in arm. 

After they had left she walked out from the back office.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I had to call them. The guy was just creeping

me out. Didn't you feel?" she said.

I looked at her and thought for a moment, "I just hope he finds Barbara." 

She Looked Like Marilyn (Draft 1)

She held the door open for her friend as they walked into the office. 

Her friend was hunched over and moved slowly with her cane. After

her friend was inside, she closed the door. "Would you mind if we 

wait here?" she said. I told her it was no problem. The theatre wasn't

going to be open for another 20 minutes or so. 

"I hope you don't mind us waiting in here with you." Her hair was 

done in the same way Marilyn Monroe had in the movie "The Seven

Year Itch". Everyone knows that movie or at least the scene where

her white dress billows up around her over a vent in the street. Unlike 

Marilyn, she wasn't wearing a white dress, though her blouse was 

white. Her face was framed by glasses too large for her face. She

must have been very beautiful when she was younger. Even though

beauty fades, traces of it linger on. 

Her friend was resting comfortably in the overstuffed red velvet chair.

She could have sat down but instead was looking at the pictures on 

the wall. Some of them have been on display longer than I've been alive.

That's part of the charm of working in a place as old as this theatre. 

She turned to me as she pointed towards a black and white picture of 

a man playing sax. "Do you know who that is?" I told her I didn't.

"That's Stan Getz. I was here the night that picture was taken. It was

a wonderful performance. He had just put out an album with a young

brazilian guitarist. The guitarists wife sang a couple of songs on the

record as well. The music was heavenly. Have you heard the record

I'm talking about? It was called Getz/Gilberto."

I thought about it for a moment. I remember my dad would play old

jazz records in the house when I was growing up. The name was 

familiar enough. I was certain I had heard the album she was talking

about. I told her I wasn't entirely sure.

"You should listen to it some time. It's a very romantic album."

She looked across the pictures on the wall but her eyes always

came back to rest on that picture. 

"Do you see the carnation on his lapel?" she asked. I stood up

from behind the desk to take a better look. Sure enough, there

was a white carnation on his lapel. I told her I had never noticed

that before. She smiled. "I gave that to him."

"I would go see him play at The Lighthouse all the time back then.

He was always so handsome. After seeing me at a few performances

he came up to me and introduced himself between sets. I couldn't 

believe he had noticed me. He told me that he was going to be doing

a theatre show in a few weeks and that he would like to see me there

and to come by early. I made sure to be there early to see him. When

I walked up I saw him standing in the alley with the rest of the group.

As soon as he saw me he walked over and told the band he would

be back. I ad brought along a white carnation from my mother's garden.

When he saw it in my hand he asked me what it was for. I told him

it was for him to wear at the concert. He smiled and asked if I was 

going to pin it on him. I remember feeling my cheeks grow fiery hot.

Once I pinned the carnation to his lapel he came in closer and said

we should go have a drink together."

I looked over and saw that her friend had practically fallen asleep

in the overstuffed chair. I didn't blame her. If I was that old and 

in that comfortable of a chair I would probably do the same thing.

"We walked over to this small bar that used to be around the corner

from here. There were only a few other people in there beside us. 

We settled into a small booth near the back. He told me all about 

Brazil and how lovely the people and the music there were. He 

spoke in a way that matched his playing. He looked at his watch

and said we needed to get going for the show. As we walked into

the street he took my hand and held it. His fingers locked with mine

and I squeezed it. We got to the ticket window and he told the girl

inside that I was his guest. He reached in and kissed me. Find me 

after the show he said."

"The girl had the usher take me in and sat me in the perfect place

to see the performance. They played marvelously that night. I 

couldn't help but think how handsome he looked as he played 

with the carnation on his lapel."

I looked at my watch and saw that we were about to open the

doors for seating.

"Ma'am. We're about to start seating. Would you like me to show

you to your seats?"

"That would be wonderful."

She helped her friend up as I held the door open for the two of

them. 

"We were beautiful once" she said.

Twilight Sounds

When I was living in my old apartment I would often hear
the woman upstairs start singing and playing acoustic guitar
around 7 o'clock most evenings. That's also around the time
I ate dinner most nights. At first it was a bit of a nuisance
since I would get home from work and just want some peace
and quiet. I sometimes thought about hitting the ceiling with
the broom to get her to shut up but I never did. I've never been
too into music. A lot of times I would put the radio on and just
flip around the stations to hear whatever randomness seemed
the most pleasing.

After about a month or so of her doing these evening performances
I began to listen to her. I would just sit there while my dinner
would begin to get cold. Her words were heartbreaking, her
voice strained over certain lines, I could practically see the
tears streaming down her face. I can't really pinpoint what
it is that made her so different than all those other voices on
the radio or TV, it was just a feeling that I couldn't shake. It's
like her voice had set up residence in my chest.

After she was done playing it was almost always quiet upstairs.
I began to wonder about her and her life. Were all those songs
about things she had lived through? Was she a professional
musician? Did she only play for herself? I stopped myself
many times over from going up and just saying hello. I
remember when she moved in, I saw her lugging her boxes
up the stairs from the rented van. I don't remember seeing a
guitar case among her possessions but she obviously had one.

I was in too big of a rush that day to stop and say hello and
introduce myself. She had shoulder length strawberry blonde
hair, she was slender but not frail. There was a certain kind
of resilience in her motions. She had the kinds of movements
that only someone who has lived through hardship can know.
She wasn't the kind of woman who you would say was a drop
dead beauty, but there was a natural grace to her that was
greater than the images on the tv and magazines.

I began to think about her more and more outside of those
evenings that we shared together apart in our apartments.
I had never seen or heard anyone else but her come in or
out of her apartment. She had no boyfriend that I could
tell, or girlfriend for that matter.

One afternoon at work I finally decided that when I got
home that night I would finally go up to her apartment and
introduce myself and tell her how much I had been enjoying
her music. I prepared my dinner in the same I always had
and waited for that familiar sound.

I waited and waited but it never came. Was she running late?
Did she stay late at work? Was she caught in traffic? Was she
visiting with family? Had she gone out of town? It floored me
that the one night I finally decided to meet her she would not
be there. Once I realized that she wasn't coming home to sing,
I turned on the radio but I quickly shut it off because it wasn't
the same, it wasn't her.

The next two days passed in the same fashion. Each night I
got my dinner ready and waited to for her to come back but
to no avail.

On the fourth day as I was walking to my door I saw her
at the bottom of her stairs with an older woman at her side.

Her arm was in a cast and her face looked bruised. She had
her castless arm over the older womans shoulder. They moved
up the stairs one step at a time. I could hear the pain in each
step by way of a groan escaping her lips.

I walked up to the base of the stairs and asked "Do you two
need any help?" They paused and looked down at me. The
pained look on the older woman's face said everything.

"Could you open the door for us?" I walked up a couple of
steps to join them.  The older woman had produced a key and
and put it in my hand. The young woman looked exhausted
and still in pain. "Thank you very much."

I opened up the door to the apartment and waited for them to
reach me at the top of the staircase. In her apartment I saw
her guitar sitting there on a stand next to a loveseat in front
of TV that I had never heard once.

Once they reached me I gave the keys to the older woman
"Thank you once more." The young woman looked up and
feigned a painful smile. "Thank you for getting the door."
"No problem. I just want to introduce myself. My name is
Jacob and I live in the apartment downstairs. Let me know
if either of you ever need anything."

"Thank you Jacob" the older woman said. "My name is
Sylvia and this is Nancy." as she motioned to the fragile
frame in her care. "Have a good night you two." I walked
down the stairs and into my apartment to prepare my dinner
like normal. I sat down in silence and wondered what could
have possibly have happened.

As I lay in bed that night, my conscious mind fading from
this realm, I could have sworn I heard an older voice singing
 quietly, sweetly into the night.

Between (part 1)

It's not too often you wake up on your back inside a

lifeboat staring up at an ashen sky. I suppose thats 

the most normal part of what I'm going to tell you. 

There is nothing particularly normal looking about

this place, wherever the hell here is. Once I began 

to look around all I could see was water and trees;

large, gnarled, dead trees jutting from the water like

a field of skeletal hands begging the sky. 

I'm not sure how long I sat there at first as I drifted

through the trees. It was a strange and terrible beauty

being there. I didn't want to chance getting out of

the boat and into the water because I had no idea

of what could be there. From what I could tell

there were no creatures moving about to speak of. 

I couldn't see into depths. 

In the boat I did have a pair of oars along with an

old note book full of missing pages and a pen.

The note book didn't look familiar but I assumed 

it was mine, otherwise why would it be there? I 

didn't bother rowing for some time because the

water seemed to know where I was going. It was 

good enough for the time being. 

The sky never broke from its one color palette. 

There was no sun to speak but there was no moon

either. I assumed there had to be a sun since there

was enough light to see around that place. If I had 

to say what time it looked like it was, I'd guess it 

was somewhere around 5p.m. at any given time. 

That's just a guess. 

I had a lot of time to think then. That's really all I

could do besides watch the scenery. Even the 

strangeness of the place became boring after a 

while. It just goes to show that we can get used to

just about anything. 

What I began to notice was how mutilated and dead

all these trees seemed. They were shorn of all their

leaves like an endless winter, the bare branches 

lonely without their adornments. Some of the trees

looked utterly dead, others looked like they were

struggling to maintain the flicker of life. 

There was a lonely silence that was only broken by

the sound of the boat slowly pushing through the

water. For all the trees around there were no other

signs of life to be found. No small creatures scurrying,

no birds nesting, chirping. Just a perpetual loneliness

that held on tight like a mother to her newborn.