The Pillar

I was experiment with a few things when I first drafted this story. This my first attempt at writing in the third person omniscient point of view, setting my story in a real location, and having such a large cast of characters. I have to say I'm proud of what I created. Still, this is not a perfect draft there are errors that I will fix. Special note to all my Augusta readers, I realize it list of stops on the tour are not geographically feasible, specifically walking from the James Brown statue to the Augusta Canal and then to the cursed pillar. It will be changed. I promise. So slow your roll. Also, the names of the characters do not reflect real life people. When I write about the people in my life, I always change their names. Otherwise I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing. Can you guess my favorite character (s)?

The Pillar

It wasn’t everyday that the patrons of downtown Augusta saw a fully uniformed confederate soldier standing in front of the James Brown statue. Only Fridays and Saturdays after dusk, given good weather. When Thaddeus first appeared, the regulars who populated the bars and restaurants paid little attention to him because they assumed he was just a passing apparition. No one imagined that Thaddeus and his haunted tour would get a steady stream of customers. Augusta had not figured out how to set a tourist trap. The first week of April always brought droves of out-of-towners for the Master’s tournament but the golf fans weren’t particularly interested in ghosts. The regulars were right about the steady stream. The best Thaddeus could hope for were trickles, but they had underestimated his commitment. He had been returning to his post every fair weather weekend for over a year. Long enough for the regulars to accept Thaddeus into their circle. It started with the drunks heckling him. Then the more sober patrons talked the drunks into taking bets each night on how many fools would show up for the tours. The heckling and the gambling convinced the rest of the regulars that there must be something interesting about what kind of people paid for these tours. It only took three months for that confederate soldier to become the highlight of their weekend, but it wasn’t until Thaddeus sweated out a summer in that itchy, wool costume that he earned the downtown inhabitants’ respect and compassion.

As he leaned against James Brown, Thaddeus thanked October for both the cooling temperature and the growing clientele. With Halloween approaching, more people embraced the opportunity to be scared. When he began this venture, it had been a labor of love. He had a B.A. in History but drama had always been his true passion and he had figured that running his own ghost tour would be the perfect combination of the two. Still, the months of low turnouts and skeptic listeners had taken their toll and the fact that he hadn’t yet earned enough to quit frying chicken at Wife Saver’s restaurant didn‘t help his morale. He had even stooped to fudging the details to encourage bigger audiences and satisfy the skeptics. It wasn’t his fault that people wanted proof that they could see with their own eyes or sensational tales to keep them up at night so he had added a bit of dramatic flare to the legends and crafted props to pass off as evidence. He found it disheartening that his clientele embraced the sham easier than they accepted the legitimate tales. Thankfully, people were more eager to believe around Halloween. The October groups gave Thaddeus the strength he needed to make it through the rest of the year.

Thaddeus straightened up his stance as dusk neared. He had a role to play and it wouldn’t do for a soldier to be caught slouching. He tugged at the bottom of his gray jacket and checked that none of the brass buttons were askew. For the millionth time, Thaddeus sighed at his empty bayonet scabbard. He promised himself that he would buy a Civil War bayonet with the money he earned this month. But he pushed these thoughts aside as the first customer drew near.

Lydia didn’t mind that none of her friends wanted to go on the haunted tour with her. It allowed her to arrive early and they would have distracted her from her purpose. Her friends didn’t understand her fascination with Augusta’s legends and ghost stories. She approached the tall tour guide with the hope of finding someone who shared her passion. He smiled warmly and tipped his hat with a “Good evening, ma’am.” Lydia tried to be as friendly in her response, as she wondered how scripted his greeting might be and debated whether the feminist in her should be offended by the “ma’am” or not. She decided to play nice for the moment and exchanged pleasantries as she studied him. His face was round with large hazel eyes and a generous helping of freckles. With his slender build and baby face, Lydia figured he wouldn’t have lasted a month in the actual Civil War.

“I’m a student at Augusta State. I’ve spent my whole life here,” Lydia responded to Thaddeus’s inquiry. Then she raised one thin black eyebrow. “Why don’t you have a bayonet?”

Thaddeus dropped his warm demeanor. “It was destroyed in battle.” Then he turned to welcome a new trio joining the group, ending his conversation with Lydia. She smirked behind his back. Forget a month. He wouldn’t have lasted a week!

The three brothers raced to the statue. At 17, Keondre usually refused to participate in such a kiddish game but he couldn’t let his little brothers think they were faster than him. With his long legs, they never had a chance. He turned away from James Brown to gloat at his brothers, who immediately stopped and tried to pretend they weren’t involved in the game.

“You babies are such sore losers.”

“We didn’t lose!!” K.J., the youngest, bristled over being called a baby and a loser. Keshaun, also bristling, jump into the argument. “Yeah, we weren’t playing your stupid game. ‘Race you to the statue’ is lame.”

“It was K.J.’s idea in the first place!!!” Keondre straightened to his full height so he could tower over his brothers. Being only eleven, K.J. wasn’t immune to Keondre’s intimidation tactic so he ease behind Keshaun, who wasn‘t so easily cowed. He might not be as tall as Keondre but he had more muscle than his scrawny limbed big brother.

“Y’all here for the ghost tour?” Thaddeus had witnessed the tensions building between the three boys and hoped defuse the situation before it broke out in violence.

“Yes.” Keondre answered without taking his eyes off of Keshaun but K.J. was immediately distracted by the uniformed soldier talking to them. He ran to Thaddeus with a million questions flying from his mouth. Keshaun glanced toward K.J.’s excitement and noticed the brunette honey standing all alone behind the soldier. Forgetting all about the fight, he went to introduce himself and keep her company. “Hey, sweet thang. You’re too pretty to be left on the sidelines.” Full of frustration, Keondre leaned against the statue and sulked.

Three Marines arrived as the brothers dispersed. It was pay day at Fort Gordon and they needed to kill time until the bars came alive. Jesus had suggested that a ghost tour might be entertaining and Jay and Ben hadn’t come up with a better idea so they called a cab and headed downtown. The trio stationed themselves near the young woman and the kid, enjoying her stunned look as the kid continued to drop pick up lines.

“If we only get to have one woman in the group, at least she’s cute.” Jay spoke lowly so only Ben and Jesus would hear.

“Here comes the real eye candy.” Ben motioned to the blond-haired goddess, walking toward the costumed soldier with two guys trailing behind her.

Tiffany turned around and grabbed Pete’s hand. “Hurry up, slow pokes,” she teased, smiling at him and his older brother, Lenny. Pete laughed at her silliness but Lenny shook his head in disgust. Tiffany looked away from Lenny, trying to keep her smile from falling. Pete slipped his arm around her waist and kissed the side of her forehead. Tiffany’s smile became a little more genuine. She needed tonight to go well so it would smooth over any bruised feelings left over from her fight with Lenny yesterday. She was still embarrassed by her behavior. Not that she regretted defending herself and her family but her mother always told her that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar and shrieking like a banshee wasn’t attractive in anyone. She wanted Lenny to accept her so desperately that she had been nothing but sweet Georgia honey no matter how ugly Lenny treated her until last night when he insulted her family. Tiffany stomped down the anger creeping up inside her as she thought about last night. Resentment wasn’t going to help her relationship with Lenny so she forced her thoughts on the present and offered a bright smile to the confederate soldier. Tiffany silently prayed that a miracle would happen tonight and Lenny would realize what a wonderful person she was or at least that he would hate her a little less.

After collecting everyone’s payment, Thaddeus led the group over the cracked and uneven pavement toward the Springfield Baptist Church. He was pleased with the group as a whole. Ten clients was a respectable number, though he could have done without the know-it-all college student. Still, everyone else seemed to be getting into the spirit of the tour.

Keondre, Keshaun and K.J. were the most enthused. The older boys delighted in scaring K.J. at every opportunity, while K.J. denied any sign that he was frightened. To escape his brothers, K.J. walked next to Thaddeus and launched even more questions at him about ghosts and the life of a soldier. Since he could no longer torment K.J, Keshaun decided to flirt. He decided to try his charms on Tiffany. He might only be 14 but he already had a reputation as a player at his high school and he certainly was not going to limit himself to just Lydia.

“Hey, hot mama, where you been all my life?” He waited for Tiffany to melt, knowing she wouldn’t be able to resist his golden brown eyes.

Tiffany put on her pageant smile, which was her go to response whenever she was at a lost for the correct answer, and hoped the words would come to her when Pete rescued her from the awkward moment. Laughing, he held up her left hand so Keshaun could see the engagement ring. “Sorry, Romeo. This one’s taken.” Then he kissed her.

Keshaun didn’t doubt that he could steal Tiffany away from Pete but he decided to leave them alone and pursue Lydia. He knew she probably heard him chatting up Tiffany but he figured she would be thankful that he came back to her. “Sweetness, if you’re scared, you can hold on to me,” He flashed his lady-killer smile.

“You’re cute but it’s illegal for 20 year olds to ‘hold on to’ 14 year olds.”

“That’s only if people find out.” His persistence left Lydia speechless as she scrambled for a way to let him down gently. The three Marines laughed at her predicament. The tour was just starting and they were already entertained by the teenage Casanova chasing after Tiffany and Lydia.

As the group stopped in front of the church, K.J. continued to question Thaddeus. “Is that a gun holder?”

“It’s for a bayonet.”

“What’s a bayonet?”

“It’s a blade that goes on the end of a rifle.”

“Cool. Where’s your bayonet and rifle?”

“I left it at home.” Thaddeus flushed when he realized that the rest of the group had overheard. Several of them snickered, including Lydia and the Marines. Thaddeus took a composing breath and jumped into the telling of Springfield Baptist Church‘s history. “The church was founded in 1787 and had survived the Civil War and the Great Fire of 1916, so it made the perfect home for a ghost or two.” He knew he had the group captivated as he began to list the evidence that spirits continued to inhabit the building: unexplainable sounds, objects moving on their own, and strange voices.

“This picture was taken a year ago.” Thaddeus held out a photo of the church with bright circles floating in front of it. “Those glowing circles, called orbs, are ghosts.”

“That’s just light reflecting off dust,” said Lenny, the businessman from New York City. He had been dragged on this tour by Pete and Tiffany. The ghost tour was Tiffany’s idea and Lenny wanted to prove that it was a foolish one. The only reason he had taken a long weekend and flown down to this hick town was to keep Pete from marrying the gold digging queen of the trailer park. Lenny was certain that Pete had been thinking with his dick when he proposed to the blond-haired, blue-eyed, big-breasted Tiffany. There was no other explanation for Pete to leave his family and career behind to settle down in Augusta and marry that bimbo. Lenny refused to allow Pete to throw all his potential away for a good lay. Still, Pete could be stubborn, so Lenny strong evidence that Tiffany was a shallow, money hungry moron.

“No, it’s definitely orbs,” Thaddeus explained, when Lydia snatched the photo out of his hands. She sighed in disappointment. Despite Thaddeus’s incomplete uniform, Lydia had carried high hopes for this evening. Since he chose this profession, he should have loved the quirkier side of Augusta’s heritage and felt the same passion to preserve it that burned in her. Then, why did he have fake proof? It had to be out of laziness or ignorance. Either way, it was irresponsible because such fraud held the potential for making skeptics out of believers. She couldn’t let his hoax continue.

“Nope, it’s definitely dust. Orbs would be brighter and there wouldn’t be so many. You should know better.”

Thaddeus gritted his teeth. Of course, he knew it was only dust. The picture was one of his props. He would have shown them a photo of real orbs, if he had one, but the spirits seemed to be camera shy so he presented the dust particles as orbs and everyone was happy until this group came along.

“All orbs are simply dust or debris in that air.” Lenny smirked at Lydia. “And a building that old must be full of vermin, which make all the strange noises.”

His words sadden Lydia and she blamed Thaddeus with his fake orbs for Lenny’s disbelief.
Thaddeus was mortified and pissed. What happened to his scare-easy full-of-faith Halloween group? He considered ending the tour right there but then he spied the hope and curiosity in K.J.’s eyes. Someone believed in him so Thaddeus would persevere. “Let’s move along.”

He continued the route, hitting the Augusta Canal, the Confederate Powderworks Chimney, and the boyhood home of President Woodrow Wilson along the way. Each stop brought more of Lydia’s critique and Lenny’s cynicism. While K.J. remained engrossed in every tale, the older boys much have picked up on the tensions created by Lenny and Lydia because Keondre and Keshawn came to blows before the whole group could gather around Thaddeus in front of the old Medical College of Georgia. Two of the Marines, Jesus and Ben, pulled the boys apart. Jesus dragged Keondre to one side of the group, while Ben led Keshawn to the opposite side. “Cool down and listen to the story.” Thaddeus took Ben’s order as his cue to start.

“This was the original Medical College of Georgia building. A man named Grandison Harris had the duty of providing the students with cadavers. Most of students knew him as the Resurrection Man because he stole the bodies from Cedar Grove Cemetery. After the students finished practicing on a corpse, the Resurrection Man would dump it in the basement of the school.”

Jesus nudged Keondre and made him start, which Keondre tried to cover up with a stretch. Jesus smirked but didn’t comment on Keondre’s behavior. “K.J. is completely sucked into the story,” Jesus pointed out in a whisper. He nodded his head toward the youngest brother, who stood at the front of the group with his mouth gaping open and his eyes glued to Thaddeus.
Keondre grinned so wide all this teeth showed. “Yeah, K.J. eats this stuff up. He gave up on Santa years ago but he still believes in ghost.”

“And you don’t?” Jesus teased.

Keondre shrugged, “Do you?”

“I don’t know. Every place that I have been stationed has come with its own set of ghost stories. So many people believe in them, who am I to say any different?”

Lenny chose that moment to interrupt the story with his arguments against everything Thaddeus had said.

“That guy definitely isn’t a believer,” Keondre whispered.

“That guy’s an idiot.” Keondre started to laugh but stopped when he saw how closely K.J. listened to Lenny. Jesus noticed it, too. “Why don’t you go distract K.J., while I try to get the idiot to shut up?” Keondre headed straight for K.J.

Jesus glared at Lenny. The guy was such a prick he probably spent his free time telling kindergarteners that the tooth fairy didn’t exist. Jesus knew that the ghost stories were a bunch of bullshit but he had seen enough of the world to realize that you didn’t shit on other people’s beliefs. Sick of Lenny’s mouth, he spoke up, “Look, I don’t want to spend my whole night on this tour so let’s move along.” Ben and Jay had reached their limit with Lenny so they took Jesus’s suggestion as an order and began to head in the general direction down Broad Street that the route had taken. Thaddeus rushed to take the lead and the rest of the group had no choice but to follow.

As they approached the Augusta Chronicle Building, Thaddeus announced that it was the second to the last stop. “Thank you, Sweet Baby Jesus,” Tiffany mumbled under her breath. Pete squeezed her hand, letting her know that he had heard her. “I don’t know how much more I can take,” she whispered, half explaining and half apologizing.

“You shouldn’t have to take any of it. Lenny is acting like an ass.” Tiffany didn’t voice her agreement but she felt it. This night had turned out to be a complete failure. Instead of getting Lenny to like her, Lenny was making her hate him. She cringed over the word hate but she couldn’t feel any other way towards someone who kept attacking the things she held dear. Last night it was her family and tonight it was her hometown. She didn’t want to think about what Lenny would go after tomorrow night. Plus, the way he insisted on publicly arguing with Thaddeus made her mortified to be connected to him. She was going to have to apologize to the tour guide for bringing Lenny. So yeah, Tiffany definitely hated her future brother-in-law but she couldn’t let Pete know. She would not be accused of causing problems between the two brothers, so she kept her mouth closed and hoped she could make it to the end of the tour without giving Lenny a piece of her mind.

Pete wrapped his arms around Tiffany as Thaddeus began to talk about a ghost named Isabella. Pete tried to focus on the story but he was too pissed at his brother to concentrate. He had looked forward to the ghost tour. Tiffany had gotten him to fall in love with her home town almost as hard as he had fallen for her and he enjoyed uncovering the town’s and Tiffany’s quirky little secrets. He should love every moment of the tour but Lenny ruined it. Pete was an intelligent guy and he knew his brother well so he had a good idea why Lenny kept acting like an ass. By choosing to start a life with Tiffany in Augusta, Pete refused to follow the plan his family had charted for him. Lenny and the rest of their family expected Pete to become a partner at a major law firm, marry some Ivy League heiress, and have a New York style happily ever after. Instead, Pete found Tiffany, the beauty queen who wanted to save the world or at least her little slice of it. She taught him what it meant to have a home and he couldn’t imagine ever leaving her or Augusta. All of Lenny’s efforts to drive the couple apart only succeeded in pushing Pete away from his brother.

As the group moved on the final stop, Lenny decided he needed to something drastic. He had managed to shoot down the tour guide time and again, but he couldn’t get a response out of Tiffany. It would be easier to prove to his brother that Tiffany was a superstitious fool if she would argue with him. He had to get a reaction out of her. Lenny overheard her whispering to
Pete, “Oh, the Cursed Pillar. It’s the one I told you about. Remember?”

Pete laughed at her excitement. “The one that will kill you, if you touch it?”

“Yep.” Lenny knew what he needed to do.

Relief flooded Thaddeus, the worse tour night of his career was almost over and he would be able to escape from Lenny and Lydia. The group gathered around the pillar, while he paced between them and it. “This pillar used to be part of a large farmer’s market, which stood from 1830-1878. Farmers traded all kinds of goods here: cotton, tobacco, livestock . . . and slaves. Legend has it that many of the slaves were chained to this very pillar and whipped, until one of the slaves put a curse on the pillar. On February 8, 1878 a tornado blew through town and toppled the entire market, except for this lone pillar. To this day the locals believe that if you touch this pillar, you will immediately be struck dead.”

Thaddeus paused for the group to react. He waited in dread for Lydia to bring up the fact that this wasn’t the original pillar. The first one had been destroyed when a car hit it in 1935, but that fact took away from the magic of the tale.

This time Lydia remained quiet until Lenny spoke up. “That’s a bunch of bull. I’ll touch the pillar and prove it.”

The entire group shouted “No!” There was something about ten voices raised in unison that made even a self-assured man like Lenny pause. Thaddeus took the moment to put himself between Lenny and the pillar, “You really should leave it alone.” He prayed he had enough authority to make Lenny listen. He didn’t want to think about how everyone would react if Lenny touched the pillar and nothing happened or if the impossible happened and Lenny actually died.

“You can’t touch it,” Lydia chimed in and stood next to Thaddeus. She thought he was a completely inept tour guide but she supported Thaddeus in guarding the pillar. They couldn’t allow people to stop believing in the curse.

K.J. stared at Thaddeus and Lenny in wonder and dread. He hoped and feared that Lenny would touch the pillar. Keondre and Keshawn didn’t want to deal with K.J.’s broken heart, if Lenny proved the curse was made up, or K.J.’s horror, if the curse proved true.

The Marines were disgusted by Lenny’s disrespect for the town and his carelessness over the influence his actions had over the three boys. They moved to stand in front of the brothers in an attempt to block their view of the train wreck the tour had become.

“Lenny, please don’t do this.” Tiffany’s big blue eyes welled up with tears. She knew if he disillusioned her and the rest of the group, she would never be able to forgive him.

Pete didn’t think he had ever been so angry at his brother, but he knew fighting with Lenny would only encourage him to touch the pillar. Instead, Pete forced himself to speak in a calm tone as he put his hand on Lenny‘s shoulder, “Yeah, man. Let’s just go home.”
Lenny felt victorious from finally getting Tiffany to react, but it was the urgency in Pete’s eyes that sealed Lenny’s fate. He couldn’t believe that his intelligent, educated brother had bought into this shit. He shrugged off Pete’s hand, stepped around Thaddeus, and placed his hand flat on the cold stone pillar. Everyone stared at him. Not even their breathing interrupted the silence of the moment. As the seconds passed and nothing happened, Lenny removed his hand from the pillar. He threw his arms out wide, embracing his fate, and still nothing happened. He laughed but the rest of the group remained silent. He smirked at them. “See, no curse.”

K.J. looked up at Keondre. “So it wasn’t true?” Keondre could only shake his head as a tiny bit of K.J.’s faith and innocence faded away. Thaddeus felt the waves of anger rolling off the group and he waited for them to turn on him. After all, he had sold them a lie. But everyone’s rage focused on Lenny.

“You had no right,” Tiffany started yelling at him. “You’ve acted like an ass this whole time and I’ve tried to turn the other check but you’ve gone too far this time!” She stormed off before Lenny could respond. He expected Pete to finally understand but he seethed at Lenny. “Your plan failed. You haven‘t broken Tiffany and me apart. You can‘t break us up. But you did manage to ruin mine and your relationship.” He followed after Tiffany.

Lenny watched their retreating forms and then he turned back the rest of the group. They all had violence in their eyes as they stared him down. Lenny kept his mouth shut and wander off back up Broad street in the direction of Pete’s car.

Keondre motioned to his brothers. “Come on, let’s go home.” The three boys headed back up the street. The Marines joined them, doing their best to make the brothers laugh and fix whatever damage Lenny caused.

Thaddeus and Lydia lingered behind.

“Thanks for not mentioning that the pillar is a replica.”

“And make a bigger ass of myself than Lenny! No, I could never. Did you really think I would?”

“Well, you had plenty to say at all the other stops.”

“That was because I wanted you to do your job better. I would have never destroyed the legend like that. The cursed pillar belongs to all of us Augustans. It’s our story, our superstition. Regardless of what an individual person believes, the community believes that the pillar is cursed and so it must be.”

Thaddeus smiled and nodded in agreement. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

They walked back toward the James Brown statue. Lydia couldn‘t stop herself from pointing out, “You know it would make more sense, if the route of the tour made a circle . . .”

Thaddeus groaned. “Not if the stops won’t fall into that circle.”

Revised Joy Formidable

I took my professor's advice and made some changes to the story. Let me know if you like the changes. Also, I changed the font because I was told that the old font was difficult to read. Is the new font better?

Joy Formidable

The walk through the park held all the signs of spring. The birds called to one another. Tiny mammals scurried here and there. The sun shone bright and warm. Insects creeped and crawled amongst the vegetation. Flowers occupied every bit of space and even spilled over onto the cement path. I noted these things but took no delight in them.

I had given up all feelings of joy so that I wouldn’t feel sorrow. Emotions are a package deal that I could no longer stomach. My life dealt in logic, reason, and whatever my senses received. I was numb to everything else.

The last time I felt acute emotion was the night my sister told me that her cancer had returned. Emily’s voice sounded fragile through the phone as she asked me over to her house. We curled up in opposite corners of her stained, scuffed up couch. Emily hugged a pillow as she affirmed all the conclusions I had been trying to avoid in my mind. She was trying to be strong for me and I wanted to be strong for her but the ragged, rusty pain kept impaling my stomach again and again and the fear filled my lungs so I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stop the liquid grief from pouring out of me and Emily began to cry, too. We held each other and let our sobs echo through the empty house until my nephew and brother-in-law came home.

After that night, my emotions began to deaden. By the time we gathered around Emily’s coffin, they had ebbed to a slow drip that leaked from my eyes. It was a few days after the funeral when I realized that apathy had taken over completely. I had never made a conscious decision to pursue this numbness but once I realized it had swallowed me up, I snuggled deeper into the cotton cocoon.

My apathy forced me to distance myself from my love ones, especially my nephew. My emotions for him had always been profound. My last moment of pure happiness was felt in Benjamin’s presence. It was the summer before everything went to hell and Benjamin’s first trip to the beach. He had made a game of tag with the lapping water. I hadn’t been able to help myself from laughing every time Benjamin squealed as the water caught his ankles. When he ran to me for protection, I had felt as though my joy was out growing my body and would surely destroy me.

I knew seeing Benjamin again would destroy the numbness. I pretended to be busy every time my mom mentioned how much Benjamin missed me. I accepted that this made me a shitty person.

I had finally run out of excuses so I approached the playground where my mom and Benjamin waited for me. I saw him before he saw me. He looked so much like his mother and, since Emily and I had always favored each other, I was proud that he looked like me. He let out a high pitched giggle as he flew down the slide and I knew I was in trouble. Then he turned my way. His smile broke me. As brilliant as his emotions were, my joy overshadow his. I laughed and wept as we raced toward each other. Then, as I caught him in my arms, he called me “Mama” and my legs gave out.

Joy Formidable

First work of flash fiction for the semester. Again I just wrote this so it's an extremely rough draft. Just an interesting fact, this piece was inspired by the name of a band.

Joy Formidable

The walk through the park held all the signs of spring. The birds called to one another. Tiny mammals scurried here and there. The sun shone bright and warm. Insects creeped and crawled amongst the vegetation. Flowers occupied every bit of space and even spilled over onto the cement path. I noted these things but took no delight in them.

I had given up all feelings of joy so that I wouldn’t feel sorrow. Let me clarify. I had given up all emotion so that I wouldn’t feel sorrow. Emotions are a package deal that I could no longer stomach. Instead, my life dealt in logic, reason, and whatever my senses received. I was numb to everything else.

The numbness had been a gradual process. It started after my sister announced that the cancer had returned. That night was the last that I felt extreme emotion. The ragged, rusty pain had impaled my stomach again and again and the fear had filled my lungs so I couldn’t breathe. Each day that followed lessened my pain one minute degree at a time. I suffered through my sister’s chemo treatments but the harder the side effects hit Emily, the stronger my shield became. When Emily spent the night sobbing in my arms because her husband had decided he wasn’t equipped to go through this again and so he abandoned her and their toddler, I knew my outrage and anger should have moved me to track his ass down and unleash all my anguish upon him but all I felt was pity for Emily, concern for my nephew, and disgust for Phillip. When we finally accepted that Emily’s treatment wasn’t working, I was pained but mostly I felt tired. By the time we gathered around Emily’s coffin, my emotions had ebbed to a slow drip that leaked from my eyes. It was a few days after the funeral when I realized that apathy had taken over completely. I had never made a conscious decision to pursue this numbness but once I realized it had swallowed me up, I snuggled deeper into the cotton cocoon.

My apathy forced me to distance myself from my love ones, especially my nephew. My emotions for him had always been profound. My last moment of pure happiness was felt in Benjamin’s presence. It was the summer before everything went to hell and Benjamin’s first trip to the beach. He had made a game of tag with the lapping water. I hadn’t been able to help myself from laughing every time Benjamin squealed as the water caught his ankles. When he ran to me for protection, I had felt as though my joy was out growing my body and would surely destroy me.

I knew it would destroy the numbness if I saw Benjamin again. I pretended to be busy every time my mom mentioned how much Benjamin missed me. I accepted that this made me just as shitty as his father.

Currently, I had run out of excuses so I approached the playground where my mom and Benjamin waited for me. I saw him before he saw me. He looked so much like his mother and, since Emily and I had always favored each other, I was proud that he looked like me. He let out a high pitched giggle as he flew down the slide and I knew I was in trouble. Then he turned my way. His smile broke me. As brilliant as his emotions were, my joy overshadow his. I laughed and wept as we raced toward each other. Then, as I caught him in arms, he called me “Mama” and my legs gave out.

Mrs. Brown

This is a very very rough draft of a short story I wrote for class. Let me know what you think.

Mrs. Brown

To Abby’s ears the doorbell chime sounded more like a bridal march than a typical ding dong. She heard her mother open the door to let him in and Abby had to fight the urge to jump up and down squealing, “Zack’s in my house!!” She promised that would come later, when Zack had left and she was on the phone with her best friend.

Abby knew she had found everything she could ever want the day Zack walked into her homeroom half way through freshman year. Abby thought he was the reincarnation of Cinderella’s Prince Charming with his eyes the color of Hershey’s milk chocolate kisses and his dark hair. For almost two and half years, her life goal had been to move their relationship past the point of polite conversation. All her attempts had failed so far. He wasn’t interested when she tried to be silly and playful or studious and somber. He didn’t seem to notice whether she played the badass or the angel. Her cheerleading uniform didn’t even work. Abby couldn’t figure out who Zack wanted her to be and his eclectic list of ex-girlfriends didn’t help.

She settled all remaining hope and positive thinking on tonight. She never imagined her fairy godmother would come in the form of Mr. Holcombe but she was certain he had assigned Zack as her partner for the history presentation so she could make her move. Her house was the only place where she felt free to just be Abby. There was nothing to steal his attention away and they had a week to work on the project, which meant seven days of concentrated Abby and Zack time.

Her mom called out the she had company and Abby checked herself out in her vanity mirror on last time. She had pulled her honey colored hair into a high pony tail, allowing loose curls to sweetly frame her heart shaped face. She hadn’t bothered with blush because her excitement infused her skin with a healthy glow. She did add mascara to her invisible lashes so they would bring attention to her lagoon blue eyes. Abby knew better than to use eye shadow, something she only got away with on game nights, so she settled on dabbing a little pale pink lip gloss.

She glided down the hall and into the living room. She stood far enough away from Zack that he could get the full effect of her athletic legs in her too short for school jean shorts paired with her formfitting white t-shirt. Abby caught her mom’s eyebrow raise at the shorts but no comment was made about them. She knew the lecture would come later but that she could handle as long as she wasn’t embarrassed in front of Zack.

Zack, who at this moment stood in her house and stared at her in confusion. “You changed?”

Abby panicked that her wardrobe change had given too much away. She tried to cover it up by explaining, “The house is so hot in April . . . I always change into lighter clothes when I get home . . . and classrooms are kept so cold . . . have to dress warmly for school . . . Have you met my mom?”

“Yes, Mrs. Brown introduced herself when she let me in.” He looked to wards her mom as he spoke but Abby noticed the smile playing at the corners of his mouth and knew somewhere inside he was laughing at her.

Abby was too caught in the agony of her humiliation to speak so her mom took over the conversation. “Will, Zack it was nice meeting you.” She settled herself on the couch. “I’ll just be reading here, while you kids work on your project over there.” Her mom pointed to the dining table only feet away in a small corner of the large open room that held the kitchen, dining area and living space. Then she picked up her romance novel and pretended to ignore them.

In all of Abby’s daydreams about this evening she never envisioned them sharing a room with her mom as she read Beyond a Wicked Kiss and Zack laughed at her. Completely disillusioned, Abby forced on her brightest game night smile as Zack pulled a chair out for her. He caught her eye as he sat down next to her and gave her a wink. Just like that her world went all unicorns and rainbows again.

Zack’s textbook clapped against the table top as he let it fall open and began to aimlessly flip pages. “Sooo the Berlin Wall . . . didn’t Hasselhoff perform there or something?”

“Um yeah, he sung at the fall of it.” Abby melted at the confused look on his face. Her confidence lifted at this chance to prove her usefulness. “I started taking notes as soon as Mr. Holcombe assigned out topic.” She reached over to Zack’s back and turned it to the right section.

“Uh, thanks.” His eyes skimmed over the page and then turned back to Abby. “So what have you learned so far?”

Abby pulled out her notes and moved closer to Zack so they could both view the pages between them. Then she recited all the information she had gathered. Occasionally her left arm would brush against his right one and Abby would get a thrill from the feel of his warmth and nearness. When she had exhausted the textbook’s knowledge, Abby brought her laptop to the table so they could research. Well, Abby researched, while Zack spectated. Sometimes she caught him not paying attention. She didn’t mind because it gave her an excuse to touch him. She’d bump his elbow with hers or tap her fingers on his arm and one time she shoved the upper half of the left side of her body into his.

“Sorry. I guess the Berlin Wall isn’t my thing.” Zack softened her with his please-don’t-beat-me puppy eyes.

“No, I get it. But we have to do it,” Abby empathized. Sighing, Zack nodded and glanced at his watch. He started to speak and her whole body tensed knowing he was going to leave but he was cut off by the bang of the garage door hitting the hallway wall. Between the anxiety Zack caused her and the abrupt noise coming right behind her, Abby couldn’t keep in her shriek as she simultaneously turned and jumped to her feet, which toppled her chair over with another loud bang.

She watched her little sister rush towards her as her mom yelled, “Lorelei and Abigail! Have y’all lost your minds?!” The commotion had pulled her away from all the wicked kissing in her book.

Lore stopped in front of Abby. She had the bottom of her shirt pulled up in a makeshift pouch. “I need you to take them.” She held out the shirt so Abby could see the squirming mass of shiny pink inside. Abby jumped back and hid her hands behind her back.

“No way am I touching that!”

“They’re baby opossums and you have to.” Lore tried to approach Abby once more but she skittered to the other side of the table.

“Here. I’ll take ‘em” Zack offered, holding out his shirt the same way Lore did.

Caught up in her own disgust, Abby had forgotten that Zack was there witnessing her family’s oddness. Now all she could do was pray that someplace existed where she could apply for a new family as Lore dumped the tiny monsters into Zack’s shirt. Abby felt nauseous from watching Lore put her hands over Zack’s and pushed them into his abdomen, closing the pouch. She then ordered him to keep them warm and ran down the hall to her room.

Abby knew she needed to do damage control before Lore returned so she forced herself to move back around the table and picked up her neglected chair. “I’m sorry about my sister. She’s uh passionate about animals.” Zack gingerly sat down as she spoke and she returned to her seat.

“No problem. I think it’s sweet.” He smiled at her and cradled the wriggling bulk in his hands. She thought she would be relieved by his acceptance of the situation but instead she felt more nervous.

Rattles, clangs, and thuds kept coming from Lore’s room. “She’s probably searching for her orphaned animal kit.”

“She had an orphaned animal kit? Can you buy those at a store?” Zack questioned with mirth in his voice. She could only hope his humor wasn’t at her expense.

“No, Lore put it together herself. She’s been rescuing baby animals for years so she eventually created a kit to make things easier.”

Her explanation brought a soft smile to Zack’s lips. Abby’s stomach twisted painfully. Before she could analyze what was wrong with her. Lover came back with a plastic container. Standing at Zack’s other side; she made a home for the opossums out of a small tin can and a bit of cloth, which she places on a heating pad for warmth.

“You’re not worried about roasting the little guys?” Zack asked as Lore put her hand into his shirt and fished out one of the opossums.

“Of course, that’s why I constantly check the temperature.” Lore spoke as if she was talking to a four year old. Abby buried her face in her hands but Zack responded, “Ah, smart.”

The three remained silent-Lore in concentration, Zack in fascination, and Abby in horror- as Lore collected each opossum from Zack’s shirt, administered fluids, and then tucked it into the tine can. When the ordeal ended, Lore carried her new patients into her room and shut the door without a backward glance or thanks or good bye to either of them. Abby couldn’t even be certain that Lore knew Zack’s name.

She looked towards him to gauge his reaction to Lore’s rudeness and found him chuckling to himself and shaking his head. When he noticed her watching him, he stood and began to collect his things. “I guess I better get going.”

Oh right, you can leave now that the freak show is over. “Yeah, it’s getting late,” Abby mumbled and organized her own papers and books, no longer about to look at him.

“See ya at school. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Brown.” And then Zack was gone.




Abby figured Zack would never speak to her again. He would most likely avoid her as if her family’s level of crazy was contagious. She wondered if it was possible to give a group presentation with the other member of the group standing on the opposite side of the room. Mostly, she worried that Zack would tell everyone else at school about her weirdo little sister. So when Zack stopped her in class the next day with the offer to drive her home so they could work on the presentation, she almost fainted from relief. She feared that if she spoke she would jinx everything so she accepted with a smile and a nod.

Overwhelmed by the mixture of relief, joy, gratefulness, and excitement, Abby remained silent for most of the trip home. Zack filled the silence by flipping through radio stations. Somehow he landed on an oldies station right as Herman’s Hermits began to sing, “Mrs. Brown, you’ve got a lovely daughter.” Abby recognized it immediately and blushed.

“You know this song,” Zack half-asked, half-accused.

“My grandma and aunt have sung it to me for as long as I can remember. Please, feel free to turn it.”

“Why? I think it might be my new favorite.” Zack turned it up a little bit. “These guys get me.”

Abby’s inner cheerleader did hands free back flips. Surely, this was the moment that Prince Charming would declare his undying devotion to her. Zack bobbed his head to the music. Well, maybe after the song ended, he would tell her that he likes her. Nope, now he’s flipping stations again. Abby began to consider that this time Cinderella might have to make the first move, when Zack finally opened his mouth to speak.

“Why doesn’t Lore go to our school?”

The abrupt change of topic angered Abby. She had been on the verge of unloading two and a half years of secret longing and he wanted to talk about her sister.

“She’s still in the 8th grade.”

“How old is she?!”

“14. She failed Kindergarten the first time.”

Her explanation wasn’t completely true. Their mom had kept Lore back a year because of difficulties with her speech. Abby had dealt with similar speech problems but at a lesser degree. For reasons she didn’t care to explore, Abby kept these details to herself.

“When does she turn 15?”

“In June.”

Abby hadn’t realized how tense Zack was until she watched him relax at her answer. “Who cares about Kindergarten anyway?” Zack smirked at her.

Abby was furious and she couldn’t figure out why. In the past, she had broken up with boys for being mean to her little sister. Shouldn’t she be happy that Zack was so accepting of Lore? But she wasn’t happy instead she felt violent. Zack pulled up the gravel driveway to her house and she jumped out the truck before it was in park. She needed space and time to sort out her feelings. It angered her that Zack followed her into the house to do homework. Stupid presentation. Stupid Mr. Holcombe. Stupid boys. Stupid little sister. Abby slammed her book bag on the kitchen table and began rifling through it.

“Did I do something wrong?” Zack looked so bewildered that Abby forced herself to calm down. Good job proving to him that the crazy in your family is contagious.

“No. Sorry. Just something else on my mind.” Abby made herself sit at the table and gather her history notes.

“Okay.” Zack perched on his chair and studied her movements.

She laughed. “Seriously, I’m fine.” Then she buried her anger beneath their school work. Everything went smoothly for the first hour but then Lore came home. Zack had to ask her about the opossums, which Lore was eager to talk about. She even brought them into the dining room so Zack could help her feed them. Fortunately for Abby’s blood pressure, the opossums only needed so much attention. Then Lore was putting them away and heading out the door probably to find more orphaned animals.

As soon as she left, Zack commented that he needed to head home and packed up his things. Abby’s anger made her restless so she followed him out the door. They both stopped to watch Lore’s short frame stretching and jumping to try to reach a branch that was a good four feet about her. Lore still when she noticed them.

“Hey, you. Lift me up so I can see into this bird’s nest.”

“His name is Zack.”

“Yeah, Zack. Help me.” Like every other animal, Zack obeyed Lore. The urge to kill returned to Abby as she watched Lore climb on to his shoulders. It took less than a minute for Lore to check on the chicks and then find her way back down, which was good since Abby couldn’t breathe while her sister’s thighs were so close to Zack’s head.

It was when Lore’s feet touched the ground that Abby’s life stopped. All her dreams came crashing down. And she realized she wasn’t a princess. Because that’s when her Prince Charming kissed Lore. Right in front of Abby as if she wasn’t there or worse as if she didn’t matter. The violence in Abby was reaching for something to throw at them, when Lore broke away and put all her weight behind a blow aimed for his mouth. “I didn’t ask you to kiss me!” She yelled over her shoulder as she stormed into the house.

Zack touched his bloodied lip and looked at Abby in disbelief. “Your little sister is psycho.” And that’s what made Abby snap. She grabbed up handfuls of gravel and launched them at his head. “Don’t talk about my sister!”

“You’re both psycho!” Zack yelled back as he ran for truck, ducking under the rain of the rocks and dirt that Abby kept tossing at him. Abby could barely make out Lore’s giggle over the roar of Zack’s truck racing out of the drive way. She turned toward her little sister.

“Come on, Sissy. It’s time for dinner,” Lore said, holding out her hand. Abby took it and Mrs. Brown’s daughters sauntered back into their home.

Let me do my one, two step

Step 1 - Location, Location, Location.

I have spent the week narrowing down where I want to live in Britain.

First, I researched the safest and most dangerous places to live in England, which is how this map came about:

Key: Green=safe and red=dangerous

Then I looked up the location of publishing houses and advertising agencies (where I hope to work one day). Of course that lead to the creation of another map:

Key: I think red symbolizes the publishing houses and yellow symbolizes the advertising agencies but I don't remember exactly . . .

It doesn't really matter because after I put the two maps together - like so:

I discovered that

a. I know oh so little about British geography,

b. I am not a cartographer,

and c. the counties of Kent, Suffolk, Essex and Norfolk (roughly the big green circle) are safe places to live and house publishing houses and advertising agencies.

Once I had these four counties selected, I searched for places to live in these areas. In each county, I found loads of flats and houses that offer a room to rent with prices comparable to what I pay now (many of them included utilities)! Yes, this does mean that I will be sharing a living space with complete strangers. While this idea would bother me if I was looking in the U.S., I find it oddly comforting in the context of Britain. I believe I will have a better chance of making it with other people (especially locals) than on my own. I know absolutely no one across the pond and I am certain to need guidance along the way.

All and all I think it was a very productive week. Granted, I still only have a vague idea of where I plan to settle but that will become clearer other the next 15 months as I search for employment. The important thing is that this whole adventure just became a little more possible.

Now what was step 2 again?

12 Steps to a Better Life

Now to explain the relevance of my previous rambling post about travel and Britain. I have decided to move to England in August 2012. I know it is completely insane and that I am most likely setting myself to fail horribly in a foreign country far away from the people who love me but I have to try. I am terrified of my decision but I am also scared of graduating. In this time of economic crisis, my future is just as uncertain here at home as it would be in England. I am majoring in creative writing. My dream, my passion is to be a novelist. I have chosen a career path that completely depends on strangers' believing in me. If I am going to fail, then I would rather do it in England so at least one of my dreams would have come true. And if I succeed, how much sweeter would that success be in a place I hold so dear. I realize that I am romanticizing a country I know little about and that I will most likely be greatly disillusioned when I get there but I must discover these things for myself. If I never go to England, it will always be this magical fairyland in my head so isn't better that I learn the truth? I must go.

To make this happen I have developed a multi-step plan.

Step 1 - Figure out where the feck I am going to live in England (pretty important). I know I do not want to live in London because the cost of living is too expensive and also because I am simply not a big city girl. I hope to find employment at an advertising firm or a publishing house. Therefore, the first step involves researching regions that offer an affordable safe place to live and that contain an advertising firm or publishing house.

Step 2 - Price flats in the region I am going to live, price airplane tickets, and figure out how much this adventure is going to cost me.

Step 3 - Sell a kidney and do whatever else it takes to afford to move to England.

Step 4 - Make sure my passport hasn't expired and figure out how to get a work visa.

Step 5 - Write, write, and write some more. Try to get as much of my work published in the next 15 months as possible.

Step 6 - Exercise, diet, and otherwise do what I can to lose weight (perhaps it's not essential to my survival in England but I want to look as hot as possible).

Step 7 - Get an internship for Spring 2012.

Step 8 - Try to develop contacts at the businesses where I want to work in England.

Step 9 - Apply to jobs in England and try to arrange to have a place to live waiting on me.

Step 10 - Figure out if it would be more stressful for my anxiety filled dog to be left behind (with a loving person to care for her) or to fly with me to England.

Step 11 - Decide what I'm taking with me, what I'm having shipped to me later, what I can sell, and what to do with everything else that I own.

Step 12 - Kiss my mama goodbye and fly away.

My 12 Step plan is still a work in progress. I will most likely add more steps as this journey progresses and the order of my steps will get switch around. Still this is what I will be working towards for the next 15 months and I will definitely keep posting as I move forward.

My plan, humor, and romanticized prose is hiding the fact that I am oh so scared of the path I have chosen so please feel free to comment with advice, encouragement, even criticism (I am hard headed and nothing makes me more determined to do something than being told that I can't do it). Also, should a British reader stumble across my little blog, I accept any and all mockery of my ignorant American beliefs but I do ask that with your mockery you will include tips on places to live and work and any other knowledge I will need to make it in England. Thank you.

Dream Big

I graduate from college in a year (very scary) and my apartment lease will be up a few months after. My roommate and I have agreed that it would be for the best if we go our separate ways at that time (not so much the end of the friendship, more like the end of us living together for the sake of our friendship). All of these changes have led me to come up with a pretty insane plan but, before I explain my plan, I must tell you my dream.

I love to travel. I believe this world is too vast and wondrous for you to spend your entire life in your hometown. Personally, I want to experience EVERYTHING this world has to offer. I want to wander down every path and then create my own. Still, there has always been one place in particular in which I have always longed to lose and to find myself.

For those of you who are not anglophiles like myself, this a map of Britain and Britain is where I have always wanted to be.

"Why Britain" is a bit difficult to put into words. For as long as I can remember, I felt drawn to Britain. It is a strange thing to yearn for a country you have never called home. Still I cannot deny feeling as if my life cannot begin until I get to Britain. Perhaps it can be explained by the recent discovery that my ancestors hale from England, Wales, Ireland, and Scotland. Not that the discovery itself made me interested in Britain-my fascination began long before this information came to light-but maybe the homeland calls to me. Or it could simply be the literary nut in me; the one who cannot get enough of Chaucer, Shakespeare, Austen, the Bronte sisters, Spencer, etc. Or maybe it is my sensibilities as a writer, which makes me pursue a country so bursting with history that the very bricks and stones must sing about the adventures they have witnessed. Whatever the reason-be it all of these or none of them-the fact is that I have spent a good part of my life feeling like a misfit, like no one understood me, and somewhere along the way I came to the (possibly foolish) conclusion that Britain is where I will find my fit.

Which leads to the plan and my next post . . .

To Bring Oneself to Accept

This is my final assignment for my Narrative Techniques class. I was required to build on at least one of the short writing assignments I had turned in. This it was I came out of me. It was difficult for me to write and even more difficult to post. It's so close to reality that I wanted to stop writing every other paragraph but I pushed through. I've twisted the facts enough that I'm afraid of how the people who know the truth will react to it. If I have to post it, then today's the perfect day to do it. Still while this is based on real events, it is fiction. I never intended to tell the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To Bring Oneself to Accept

I watched the sunrise through the windshield of my car. I couldn’t see the water from where I the car sat but I had a perfect view of the sunlight hitting the sand. The beach was aflame with reds, oranges, and yellows. While I appreciated the beauty of the moment, I didn’t appreciate having to rise so early to catch it. I wouldn’t have crawled out of bed at o’dark thirty and driven the three hours it takes to get to Tybee Island, if it wasn’t for my dad. This part of the day belonged to him not me.

I came looking for my father, even though I knew he wouldn’t be there. I needed to feel connected to him. I needed to find somewhere that felt natural to talk to him. Some place that felt right when I told him goodbye. The beach should be crawling with memories of him.

I forced myself to get out of the car and headed to the water front. The winter wind had chased all the tourists away. Except for a handful of fisherman and some seagulls, I was alone. I looked for a solitary ghost hovering over the sand but he wasn’t there. I waited to feel some sort of presence with me but all I felt was alone. To my disappointment there weren’t even memories to haunt me.

Directionless I wondered over to the weatherworn dock and followed the planks all the way to the end of the dock, where I gazed out over the Atlantic. At the horizon, I found it impossible to tell where the sea ended and the sky began. This bothered me. My eyes couldn’t separate heaven from earth, though I tried. I lost time trying.

From somewhere out of the gray, a memory finally found me. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a shiny happy moment from a family vacation. Instead, I sat in an uncomfortable chalky blue arm chair at my father’s bedside. The a/c had turned the tiny hospital room into an icebox despite the August heat wave outside. I knew it would be hellish when I returned to my airless car that had spent all day in the cement parking garage that might as well be an oven but I couldn’t complain. I had volunteered to do this.

By some miracle, I had my Dad all to myself today. Ever since his health had become so complicated that he was constantly being hospitalized, family and friends were ever present. Yet somehow they all had business they could not get of out. Even my step-mother was unavailable. So I was spending the day assisting dad in anyway I could, which mostly involved entertaining him.

He kept reminiscing about when I was a little girl. They were warm little anecdotes that I could barely remember. At the end of one, he gave me a wistful look and said, “You used to go everywhere with me, Nutmeg.” His words immediately filled me with bitterness. They implied that it was my choice. As if at eight years old, I decided I no longer wanted to spend time with him. I wanted to shout at him that he had left me. He stopped coming to get me. But he seemed so abnormally fragile lying in that hospital bed. I was too much like my mom to yell at a dying man, especially a dying man that I loved. Instead we both turned to the TV as so many unspoken words whirled around us.


It was strange hanging around a funeral home with only a handful of people around me. I had never before been close enough to the deceased to participate in the pre-visitation setup or the close family only time with the body. It struck me then, while standing in the mostly enclosed room with my father’s body, how odd it is that we spend hours gathered around a corpse dressed in suit. I approached the coffin and stared at the body. The sharp angles of his face were foreign to me and his nose was much too prominent. When my sister, Bea, came to stand beside, I had to comment, “He doesn’t look like Dad.”

“Meg, he stopped looking like Dad months ago.” I only nodded in agreement. Fucking cancer.

A tearing sound from the outer sitting area alerted us to the fact that our step-mother was no longer in the room with us. Bea and I rushed out the door already knowing what the sound meant. Our step-mother had discovered the photos from Mom and Dad’s wedding that we had included in the memory collage we made. Sure enough, our step-mother was ripping them off the poster board. As soon as she saw us, she began her defense.

“Your father and I discussed this. I know after all this time I should be okay with it but I’m not. I knew if you put picture like this up I wouldn’t be able to take it and he said I didn’t have to.”

Of course, she would base her argument on a conversation that no one knew for sure if it really took place to not. I considered stooping to her level and claiming that Dad told me I could put those pictures up but I knew it was possible that she was telling the truth. Dad typically said whatever necessary to placate his wife without any regard to how it affected his children.

“Give me the pictures back.” Since she hesitated, I added, “I’m not going to put them up. I just need them back.” She finally handed the pictures over. “You know I really don’t understand. You won. He left Mom for you. So then why does it bother you that Mom had him first?”

“Because for all those years Dad was screwing Mom at the same time he was screwing her.” I grimaced at Bea’s choice of words. She was eluding the decade and a half long affair Dad and our step-mother had before he finally left Mom for her. As our step-mother stormed off, I turned on Bea. “Seriously?! You just made Mom sound cheap and easy.”

Bea shrugged her shoulders. “She knew what I meant.” All I could do was shake my head.


Everyone behaved themselves at the funeral. A blessing after all the tension between Bea and our step-mother during the visitation. There had been another heated confrontation at the very beginning of that evening, which left everyone on edge. After that they stayed mostly separated with Bea bunkered down in the outer room and our step-mother keeping to the room with Dad’s body.

It surprised me how subdued my step-mother was during the funeral. I had been expecting a huge scene. All the times Dad had been rushed to the hospital or had to have an emergency surgery, she always fell apart and announced that she would kill herself if he died. Yet now my step-mother was calm and collected. Only shedding a few tears. I puzzled over this until a cousin explained that she had slipped my step-mother a valium that morning. Nice. Without a dramatic production from my step-mother to distract me, I was all too focused on my own discomfort. I felt like I was on display and everyone expected me to fall apart at any second. I hated crying in public. With everyone watching me, I found it impossible so I was sure they all thought I was a cold-hearted bitch. Anyway I had spent the last two years mourning over my father. I didn’t know if I had any tears left.

As Bea and I made our way from Dad’s graves side to the car waiting for us, we overheard Mom inviting our step-mother to our house for dinner. Of course, everyone planned to head to Mom’s house after the funeral. Her house was the closest to the cemetery. Plus, most of the people on Dad’s side of the family preferred Mom over our step-mother. Still, did she have to invite our step-mother? Yes, because she’s Mom.

“Mom’s a saint,” I said in response the angry look Bea shot me.

“Or a masochist.”

“Maybe they’re the same?” My suggestion earned a smirk from Bea.


The house was filled with people and food, when what I really needed was solitude. I still longed to feel some kind of connection toward Dad. There were so many things that needed to be said. He didn’t show up at the funeral home or the cemetery. I serious doubt I would find him in my bedroom but at least there I could strategize my next move.

I planned to grab some Wifesaver chicken-the quintessential funeral food that Bea and I refused to eat unless someone had died-and disappear upstairs. I managed to fill my plate and had almost made it to the stairs, when I heard my step-mother calling “Nutmeg.” Oh, she had better be high. I had no idea if my step-mother was better or worse drugged but I didn’t care to find out. Anyway I didn’t know how long valium worked. The drug could stop being effective at any second. I considered pretending like I hadn’t heard her but I was afraid she would follow me upstairs so I surrendered.

I could tell she meant to hug me but the plate in one hand and drink in my other thankfully deterred her. Sadly, they didn’t stop her from opening her mouth.

“You look so much like your father.” I had only heard that my whole life. “The eyes. The nose. The mouth.” Creepy. “You know you are always welcome in our home. You have to come see me.” Not happening. “Don’t you forget about me now.” That was the plan. “Your father and I are so proud of our little Nutmeg.” Please, make it stop. “And we love you so very much.” Okay, enough. Time to make my escape. “Oh, your father wanted you to have this.” The small buddle of cloth she held out to me stopped me in my tracks.

I didn’t know what surprised me more that my dad had left something for me or that my step-mother was actually willing to part with it. I set my plate and cup on one of the steps so I could accept the bundle. My step-mother took advantage of my suddenly empty arms and hugged me. I was in so much shock that I let her. She gave me a watery smile before moving on to bother someone else.

Aware of the bundle in my hands and the people crowding the room, I slipped upstairs without bothering to grab my meal. I wasn’t hungry anymore and I needed to be alone with my final token from Dad. I sat on my bed and carefully unwrapped the bundle. A giggle escaped my lips, when I found the round gold-rimmed reading glasses that had been hiding in the bundle. I still remembered the first time I ever saw my dad wearing them. He had taken Bea and me out to eat. We didn’t know he had glasses. We didn’t even realize he had put them on until we looked up from our menus and immediately started laughing. Cancer free Dad was short and round with a full beard that had gone white, rosy cheeks, and a receding hairline. With the gold-rimmed glasses the image was just too perfect. Bea and I were eating lunch with Santa! He had tried to act hurt that we were amused at his expense but the three of us knew our laughter pleased him.

I had started laughing all over again at the memory. Before I realized it, my laughter turned into sobs as I held the glasses to my chest. When I had composed myself, I studied the glasses and traced my finger around the gold-rimmed circle. Then Bea burst through my door.

“I’ve been looking all over for you. You can’t hide up here all . . . Are those Dad’s glasses?! What are you doing with them?” Bea’s expression made me wary as she sat down on my bed.

“The step-monster gave them to me. She said Dad wanted me to have them.”

“I wonder why he didn’t leave something for me . . .” Bea’s voice was deceptively light. I knew she was hurting and it was only a matter of time before that hurt turned into anger and jealousy. I had to think fast.

“Maybe he did but the step-monster won’t give it to you because you’re the mean sister.”

“I bet that’s exactly it! Oh, that bitch!” Bea jumped up and stormed out of my room. I knew I should for guilty for the chaos that was about to ensue downstairs but it was completely possible that I was right and at least I had provided the guest with some entertainment. As the undeniable sound of raised voices reached me, I realized that I didn’t want to miss all the action. It was probably just my imagination but I swore I heard Dad laugh as I left the room. My lips curved in a mischievous grin. Dad always was a bad influence.