tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88694696033791905352024-02-08T08:42:52.413-08:00Earnestly EccentricCreated for the storage and display of literary drafts by a bibliophilic scientistE.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-22808599194183430702013-12-18T05:32:00.000-08:002013-12-18T05:32:49.856-08:00Checkpoint<div class="MsoNormal">
Nerissa stole away in darkness to the silent pond of her
youth. In the glassy waters she once waded in, she washed off her brother’s
blood from her hands. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Wasted tears,” she muttered, viciously pushing away the
wretched marks of weakness with a closed fist, as she wished it would it could impart anger to fill the void of sorrow she felt. However, her hand only left a scarlet mark upon her cheek. She thrust her head into the algid,
turbulent surface of the water, just so long that her lungs ached. When she emerged, the
tears were gone as she heaved for breath. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She glanced suspiciously at the moon as if it were a witness to the unnatural
deeds accomplished under its saturnine gaze. However, it remained no more than
a serene specter. She was perfectly alone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Satisfied that the trees would whispers no wounding words,
she rose with a struggle. That would not do. She straightened herself exactly,
hiding her pain as her mother had always taught, with a smile.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Timothy watched Nerissa Gagnon closely at Paris’s funeral.
Her little brother had been her closest companion since their parents left on
an experimental voyage to Gliese 581 G just over ten years ago, days after
young Paris graduated high school. Their parents had counted on Nerissa to
closely watch over Paris, and indeed, she had. She had been everything one
could expect in an older sister: a protector, a mentor, an ally, and an
advocate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She had her own very lustrous career in mechanical
engineering, but she was just as eager to pull her brother along in his own interests
in xenobiology. The pair was as whip-smart as their parents, and just as handsome and athletic. With parental pride, their parents had bestowed the monikers Venus and Adonis on Nerissa and Paris.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, now, Venus seemed to have lost her blush. Nerissa's face
was pale, although no emotion boiled to the surface. It was still as the untouched glade behind the Gagnons' house that Tim, Neri, and Paris used to play within as children.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After the short funereal service where Nerissa offered a terse, composed, but undeniably elegant eulogy, Timothy approached Nerissa. “I am
so sorry.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“As am I,” Nerissa said without intonation. Her blank
countenance could be taken for unfeeling in one unknowing of the Gagnons. No
matter his or her personality in normal circumstances, every one of the Gagnons
seem to freeze to ice in face of strong emotion. Timothy, who had grown up just
across the way and was a best friend to Paris, knew the habit well. He wiped away his own tears
and hugged Nerissa's stiff body. She reacted against him, as if his touch was
painful. Gradually, however, she relaxed and placed her own cold hand against
his back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In that singular gesture of closeness, his tears came more
rapidly. “God, Neri, I just can’t accept he’s gone. I don’t know what I’ll do
without him. I just expect him to come walking up any moment now, smiling about
what a scare he gave us. He always recovered before.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I know, Tim,” she said. Her voice was quiet: a lugubrious
note, not quite vibrato, on a tightly wound violin. “I know.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh man, that was awesome!” Paris yelled. His hair stuck up
vertically and his smile stretched horizontally, making his face
an array of right angles. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He walked around boldly, shaking his limbs occasionally, as
if he still had too much adrenalin wired into his system. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Pants, Paris. Pants,” Nerissa smiled as she proffered a
bundle of clothing. The laboratory was well lit, illustrating every fine curve of
the younger Gagnon’s buttocks. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Paris laughed easily and without self-consciousness. “Oh, my
prudish little sister,” he said, but picked up the trousers from Nerissa’s
hand. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Elder sister,” Nerissa corrected. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Elder sister you may be, but you’re still little.” He reached
out to muss her hair, but she ducked away skillfully. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Now, Paris, you are still in quarantine. You should not be
touching me,” Nerissa admonished. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Pardon me, Dr. Gagnon,” he said mockingly. Nerissa rolled
her eyes. “Did Mom and Dad see, you think?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I think they did,” Nerissa smiled. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Did you hear about Dr. Gagnon, Ellie?” Ajax asked, hanging
about Eleanor’s desk, as was his wont. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s awful,” Ellie agreed, not terribly displeased by
neither the information that was being received nor the messenger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nerissa had all about ascended to
godhood in how she was lauded for her groundbreaking work in matter transport she
accomplished while still in graduate school and with the courageousness of her
brilliant parents who became the first people to undertake the journey. Several
other scientists had followed into the great beyond, but even traveling at the
speed of light, it would be almost thirty years before they would receive word
back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was always <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nerissa
this</i> or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Doctor Gagnon that</i>, and
the press couldn’t get enough of her and her perfect family. Eleanor had not
quite the privileged upbringing and had to work her way through college, not
get by on her parent’s coattails. Despite the superficial benevolence of her
younger colleague, Eleanor harbored resentment toward her. She was not
completely alone in this. While the younger Gagnon apparently became student
body president of his university by sophomore year, Eleanor thought she could
count the friends of the elder on one hand and have fingers to spare. While it
was common enough to praise Nerissa, it was rare to befriend her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She’s taking it pretty well though. I mean, she planned the
funeral early in the morning last week just so she didn’t have to miss work.
You’d think she’d take a day off considering now she’s alone in this world,”
Ajax said, perhaps a little melodramatically, but Ellie forgave him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“If her graduate work does not work as planned, she’s alone
in the universe what with her parents,” Ellie said in false remorse. “With only
a Nobel to dry her tears.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You are wicked, Ellie my dear,” Ajax smiled and laughed. He
was among those not entirely enamored with Nerissa Gagnon as well </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It is terrible though. I liked her brother,” Ellie said
honestly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Everyone liked Paris. Maybe that’s why she offed him,” Ajax
suggested. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Now who’s wicked, Ajax?” Ellie giggled at her fellow
conspirators, glancing over her shoulder for potential eavesdroppers. Sure
enough, Thaisa Talbot, the vice provost, was approaching, a tight frown over
her solemn countenance. There were times that Ellie sincerely hated the
decision to get rid of private offices for a more “communicative and collaborative”
layout. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You didn’t hear it from me,” Ajax winked, seeing the approaching specter as signal to take his leave. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I spoke with the doctors. They want to extend your
quarantine,” Nerissa said solemnly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why?” Paris demanded. “I feel fine.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m not a biologist, but they seemed upset at some unknown
bacteria you are harboring. They need some time to properly dissect its genome
to be sure,” Nerissa explained, waving her hand as if the matters of biology
were no more than the musings of grown children. She was not without an
academic arrogance, although she attempted to disguise it for the most part in front of her colleagues. Her brother, however, knew her feelings well and accepted them good-naturedly. In return, he disdained mechanical engineering as math monkeys playing with wrenches. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They should show me. I’m a xenobiologist!” Paris said
irritably, pacing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You only have a baccalaureate,” Nerissa reminded him
gently. He stalked away and threw himself back on his bed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hate</i> being
cooped up,” he moaned.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mom says you should be patient.” Nerissa said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Then why doesn’t she come down here and tell me herself?”
Paris asked petulantly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She can’t. I told you,” Nerissa reminded him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m tired of this. I can only take so much. If they’re not
done by the end of this week, there’ll be hell to pay.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hello, Timothy,” Nerissa smiled as she opened the door for
him. Her expression was nothing but magnanimous. However, it was the lack of
surprise that prickled the back of his mind. Tim had never visited Nerissa
before and only knew of her address as she had recently acquired her childhood
home. Her parents had sold it when they were traveling to Gliese, but it was said she paid a substantial sum of money to entice the current occupants to leave. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite all this, she
did not seem perturbed by Timothy's sudden appearance. It was almost too perfectly
welcoming of a response. “Would you like to come in?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He shook off the suspicion. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“If you’d be so kind, Neri,” he said with half a smile. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She switched on the lights of the sitting room as she
passed. “I was making a cup of tea. Would you like one? I have chamomile, jasmine,
or green.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Chamomile would be lovely,” Tim said. Nerissa disappeared
down the hallway. It was several moments before she returned. Tim took the time
to examine the extensive collection of books displayed. There was everything
from Shakespeare to Kafka to Freud to Hawking. Not one was dusty or in any
other means suffering from neglect. It was almost as if she read each of the
handsome collection on a regular basis. From her demanding work schedule Paris
had told him about to the aseptically clean living quarters, he wondered when Nerissa slept. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He heard a muffled thump. Not from the kitchen, but seemingly
coming from the floorboards. He looked quizzically at his feet. A second crash
followed it. Just as he made the decision to investigate, Nerissa appeared,
almost imperceptibly flushed. She handed his teacup to him with a guileless
smile that, while well fitted for her callow younger brother, seemed less
suited to the older sibling. While young enough, her eyes were just a bit too
stolid to carry the expression through. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps it was the grief. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I heard a noise,” Timothy started awkwardly. “In the basement.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, that,” she said flatly. “I am renovating.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Workers can be so clumsy,” Timothy nodded understandingly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“There’s no one down there,” Nerissa said quickly. “I’m
doing the renovations myself. Something must’ve just fallen over.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh,” Tim said. A prolonged silence passed that Nerissa
seemed in no hurry to break. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Neri, how are you doing?” Tim asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What?” she asked with a slight smile, startled from her
introversion.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“After Paris, it must be difficult,” Tim said. “I know it’s
difficult for me. He was just so vibrant, so full of life. I have the hardest
time accepting he’s gone. Whenever I see something clever or something he would
have found funny, I find myself reaching for my phone to text him before
remembering he can’t answer. That he’ll never answer.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nerissa politely looked down as Tim blinked a tear away for
the man who had been his brother. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It is difficult,” Nerissa admitted. “But I have my work.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tim looked up, and saw that there was no facetiousness in
Nerissa’s solace. As some had religion, she had mechanics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ever since she was a little girl, she
had been strange in that way, desiring to build her own toys rather than wait
for Santa to bestow them on her for good behavior. Perhaps she had chosen that
route because Santa seemed to always favor Paris. People in general always
seemed to. While ostensibly she seemed a model of perfection, there was something mechanical about her aspect so it
always seemed that Paris had garnered more love and admiration.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With her success with the matter transporter, however, she had
received her share of elegies and parental pride. Timothy remember that it was only days later that Paris
had given some rousing speech on the progress of science, all of course in the
name of his sister, and the press had turned their adulation toward the younger
Gagnon. Really, it only seemed like in the wake of Paris’s death that the
camera had permanently focused on Nerissa, that she was finally seen as the
brilliant, tragic engineer on the bleeding edge of science, pushing toward a
futuristic tomorrow that people would not have thought possible in a million
years. She was finally and completely out of her brother's shadow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tim brushed away the thought before it occurred. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you want to take a walk, Neri? We could down to the pond
for old time’s sake,” Tim suggested. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, Timothy,” Nerissa said sharply. “I’m sorry, but I
can’t. I’m very tired, and I think I may need some sleep.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, I do too. It’s been a tough few weeks,” Tim said.
“Call me if you need to talk.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She nodded. “I will. Thank you, Timothy.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Dammit, Nerissa, I can’t stay here any longer,” Paris
stormed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Calm down. They are just being careful. It is for the
best,” Nerissa said, the perfect facsimile of a parent talking down a toddler
from a temper tantrum.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And don’t you dare do that!” he said, his voice edging
closer to a yell.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do what?” Nerissa asked, almost angelically. However,
innocence was not designed to suit her ancient eyes. It could not carry
through.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Act like you’re my mother. You are not and you have never
have been. And even if you were, it’s not like you could control my life. It’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my </i>life. Not your life version 2.0,” he
ranted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I do not believe I have ever been under than delusion. I
have only ever tried to help you,” Nerissa said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I have had it up to here with your help,” Paris said. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Please, Paris. Let us not fight. Let’s just talk, like we
used to,” Nerissa said, almost pleading. She was no longer mother, but sister.
She was the sister who never had a playmate so Paris shared Timothy with her. She was the sister who would stay up late to help Paris finish every project he procrastinated so that his parents didn't know he had snuck out to party the night before. First and foremost, she was his sister, she was his best and truest friend, and he hers. In a glance, they both seemed to remember this.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sat down. “I can’t. I can’t. I need to get out. I can’t
stand this. I need to see people other than you. When will they be done?” he
asked, desperately. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They are trying the best they can,” Nerissa said. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Tell them to work faster. Or you do it for them. You could
probably learn biology faster than they can figure this out. You’re the
genius,” Paris said bitterly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nerissa smiled. “I will look into it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Timothy Montague?” the mousy woman asked. She held a laptop
clutched to her chest over which a pair of large eyes peered. Tim had never
seen the woman in his life, but now she was on his doorstep. She seemed just as
off kilter about the situation as he did. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, that’s me,” he said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I need to talk to you, about Dr. Gagnon. Nerissa Gagnon,”
the woman continued. “As far as I can tell, you were her closest friend.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While Tim had mostly been Paris’s friend, he found he was
not surprised that he was also the closest friend to Nerissa. While seemingly
pleasant enough, she was often friendless. It was paradox that Nerissa never
expressed as distressing, but Nerissa was a private individual. Tim believed
there were many things Nerissa thought and felt but never expressed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Okay,” Tim said, still standing at the doorway, wondering
why the woman was here. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Can I come in?” the woman looked behind her shoulder, as if
suspecting someone was watching. Was she a reporter? Was she doing a piece on
Nerissa? If so, she wouldn’t be the first to wax philosophically on the
isolated genius whose close brother had so suddenly passed and whose parents
were nothing more than patterned light waves propagating through space at the
speed of light at the moment. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Um, sure,” Tim said. His dog came to greet the intruder
with a happy tongue, evidentially less suspicious than Tim. The woman perched
herself on the edge of a cushion on the couch, opened her computer, and began
to pour through files and speak rapidly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I was working through Dr. Gagnon’s files for the recent
mass transporter data. She keeps it quite encrypted, against university
protocols—” she began.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sorry, excuse me, but who are you?” Tim asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Portia. Portia Horner. I’m the data security analyst at
Nerissa’s university and a big fan of her work. I’ve read every paper she’s
ever published, watched every one of her speeches. It is why I work where I
do,” she began to ramble. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nice to meet you, Portia, but why did you come to me?” Tim
asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Because I found something strange,” Portia said. She cut
off, frowning and biting at her lip. She clicked at her computer before looking
up once more. “And I wanted to know if you thought Nerissa had been acting
strangely in the year before her brother died. And how her relationship to her
brother was.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nerissa and Paris had fought, he remembered. But that was
not so strange. Both were brilliant and strong-willed. Their parents had
granted Nerissa control over the estate, and Nerissa had a way of attempting to
direct her brother’s actions by dangling his heirdom like a carrot. She never
did so quite so explicitly, but in an underhanded Machiavellian way. Of course,
Paris responded in kind. Rebelling in slight ways that he knew could garner no
recompense, and perhaps just a little, going out of his way to steal his
sister’s thunder whenever possible. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While Nerissa and Paris could often be the best of friends,
the rivalry between siblings could extend to a prolonged clash of the titans. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Timothy considered the wisdom of airing out the Gagnon old
laundry to the woman he had barely met, who may still be a reporter attempting
to fish for a new tilt to the Gagnon legacy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Tell me what you found,” Tim said simply. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, part of my job is just to go through files and see if
they’ve been corrupted or stolen. This Chinese group has been replicating data
from the mass transporter that’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">very</i>
similar to our own. So similar, in fact, that the provost assigned me to
carefully comb through the entire group’s computers. They were seized without
notice, and of course everyone threw a fit, besides Dr. Gagnon. And when I got
to her laptop, I saw she’s encrypted the hell out of every piece of data. I
couldn’t get in, and she refused to let me in. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She said, ‘If you can’t get in, what makes you think a
Chinese group without access to the physical copy would be able to get my
data?’” Portia said. “She let me in eventually, but I was pretty sure it was to
a dummy desktop. Not the one where she does all her real work. I did not dare
confront her, but I told the provost.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That sounds a lot like Neri,” Tim nodded. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s what everyone seemed to think. From the other scientists' laptops, I was able to find a few leaky
files that might have been skimmed, but
nothing too bad, so the provost encouraged me to get onto Dr. Gagnon’s computer
by whatever means necessary. She figured that Dr. Gagnon would never admit to
being wrong or making a mistake, and we needed to make sure that was the case.
I downloaded a keystroke-tracking program and a data tracker, which would make
copies of any files changed or deleted and gave the computer back to Dr.
Gagnon. I figured since they would just save the data internally and not try to
export it, she might not noticed,” Portia explained. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But Neri did, and your programs were deleted the next time
you tried to get into her computer,” Tim said. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, that’s correct. So, I asked Ajax to watch her. He was
able to visually see her keystrokes and make a long list of passwords, and he
reported them back to me. After she left for the day, I took her computer. It
took all night, but I was able to get on, and I found this hidden file,” Portia
said. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Checkpoint?” Tim asked, reading off the dimly lit, grimy
screen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah. It was well hidden, so I figured it must be
important, but I couldn’t figure out how to open these files or what they were.
Mostly, the names are two distinct letters followed by a numerical code.
However, “NG” with different numbers is repeated several times. The earliest
file is one of the NG’s, and I figured out the numerical code refers to a time
and date. It from a few months after Dr. Gagnon completed her first prototype.
AG and JG correspond to the dates that her parents left, and there are initials
as well for every other member sent to Gliese. Each file’s enormous, and with
the dates and title, as far as I can tell, Dr. Gagnon’s been saving a, well, a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">copy</i> of each person who has used her
device,” Porita said, sitting back from her computer and blinking. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Okay. I mean, that’s strange that she hasn’t mentioned it
to anyone, but I don’t think we should be that worried. It’s just data, right?”
Tim said with a shrug.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I haven’t gotten to the really weird stuff yet. There’s a
PG here too. Two files, actually. One, as far as I can tell, is just a normal
file from about six years before Paris’s death. The other has been altered,”
Portia said. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What do you mean ‘altered’?” Tim asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I mean someone’s been messing with the code. There’s no upload
date. It seems to be a copy of the original PG, but there are several
differences. I pulled up the two side by side. And if I didn’t know better, I
would swear that Dr. Gagnon had been messing with her brother’s data, to change
him somehow. But, that’s basically impossible. The files are the pattern of
atoms, and to build up macroscopic changes, whatever they might be, by
modulating by the patterns of atoms,” Portia said, waving her hands about, as
if trying to erase the idea from her mind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It would take a genius,” Tom said. He met her eyes. He
imagined all the things that Nerissa had complained about her younger brother
and her insatiable desire to engineer past perceived problems. What things
would she try to fix about him? Would she try to make him more compliant to her will?
Would she decrease his intelligence slightly so that she felt smarter in
comparison? What was Nerissa capable of? What did Nerissa want?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes. A genius. But that’s not the end of it. I can see how
many times each file has been downloaded and uploaded. Most of them, it’s a one
to one ratio, like look at her parents. Someone steps inside and is downloaded
at another terminal. I haven’t quite deciphered her code for what terminal it
is, but I can see that they have been downloaded,” Portia said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But the modified copy of Paris. That was never uploaded. It
was just copied. But, it has been downloaded,” Tim said, in sudden
comprehension.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“More than once,” Portia concluded. Tim thought about the
noise in the basement. What if Paris, or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a</i>
Paris, was still alive?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We have to tell someone.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nerissa, you’ll get me out of here, right?” Paris begged.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m doing everything I can,” Nerissa responded.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I feel like I’m going to die in here. Please, Nerissa, I’ll
take back everything I said those months ago. I won’t tell Mom and Dad. You
just got to get me out of here,” Paris said desperately.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Please, Paris, don’t be so dramatic. It’s not so bad in
here,” Nerissa said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s what you say, but you get to come and go, talking to
those doctors. Sometimes I swear there are no doctors, and it’s just you,
keeping me in here because I was never the little pet you wanted me to be,”
Paris spat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nerissa turned to leave.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, please, Nerissa. Don’t, no, I’m sorry. Don’t leave me
here alone. I need you. I need someone to talk with. You have to get me out.
You’re my best friend, Nerissa. You’re my sister, my big sister. You protect
me. Please,” Paris whined. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re not yourself when you’re like this, Paris,” Nerissa
whispered. “I have to go. There’s something I need to fix.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Officer Dennis Percy knocked on the door. “Dr. Gagnon, open
up. It’s the police department. We have a search warrant for the premises.”
Dennis had a certain distaste for the arrogant academics who, as a lot, seemed
a whole bunch nuttier than your average folk. They didn’t seem to quite get
that laws other than that of physics applied to them. He relished the task of
setting one right, however the blood found by the pond in the backyard suggested
this particular crime was darker than those with which he commonly dealt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Quiet footsteps answered. He could hear her rise on her
tiptoes to look through the peephole. “I’m sorry, Officer, what is it you require?”
Nerissa answered almost listlessly, as if the armada of police cars and
officers deserved no more notice than a raised eyebrow. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We have a warrant to search the premises,” Dennis repeated
irritably. <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It is dreadfully late. I kindly ask you to come back
tomorrow, if you feel so inclined,” Dr. Gagnon said. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dennis really hated academics. “This is not a request. Open
the door, or we are authorized by law to break the it down.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That will be decidedly onerous task, I would assure you.
Come back tomorrow. I am busy,” Dr. Gagnon replied without intonation.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You have received a verbal warning, Dr. Gagnon. I—” Dennis
started.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shall I offer my own verbal warning?” Nerissa asked. “In a
minute’s time, I will detonate enough TNT to level this house.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Officer Diana Kent beside him murmured a curse and backed
away a step. “Officer Percy?” she asked, “Should we withdraw?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dennis considered it a moment. He realized the crazy
scientist bitch might be telling the truth. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, stand down,” Dennis nodded. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“All units are ordered behind the perimeter,” Diana
commanded into her radio. “Repeat, all units are ordered behind the perimeter.
Code 287, suspect has made a bomb threat.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As Diana and Dennis hustled back to the squad car, they were
met with a wild young man who was surging forward. It was difficult to see the
resemblance to the man who entered their station an hour earlier. The stress
seemed to be slowly unraveling him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What? My best friend’s in there! Or, at least, his clone.
We have to go get him. I can’t lose him again!” Tim yelled, struggling to get
past the officers who already held him at bay. Behind him, a mousy woman
continued to click between two laptops held on her lap, only moderately
concerned with the happenings before her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mr. Montague, while considerably suspect, we do not know
for sure that Paris Gagnon is within the premises,” Diana said, attempting to
keep the man back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Just let me talk with her. I knew her,” Tim said. “Please.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Memories did not flash before Nerissa’s eyes. They ambled,
slowly, almost three decades, mulling together languidly. There were happy
moments, usually alone or just with her brother. The moments spent reading in
the noonday sun trickled brightly past her eyes, as if she were walking in a
dream. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were darker moments as well. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“No!” he yelled. “This
isn’t right. Dammit, you can’t play God!”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The darker moments seemed to be made of more viscous stuff.
It stuck to her brain, refusing to budge, as if inertia exponentially increased
with the unpleasantness of the memory. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Please, Paris.
Please. Just listen to me! I </i>fixed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you,”
she begged.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Not everything is
here for you to fix. Life isn’t a plaything, Nerissa,” he retorted. “This
machine is a monstrosity.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“You are being
unreasonable. Just think about it. The machine is just parts. It’s just
mechanics, just physics, chemistry, and biology. Paris, can’t you just think
what this means? Paris, I fixed you. I could fix anyone. We would never have to
die,” she said. She tried to touch him, as if to make sure he was real. He shoved
her away so viciously that she fell back hard. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She rose again and
tried to hold him still. He hit her sharply. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“No,” he said, backing
away. “No.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Trinitrotoluene, although archaic in comparison to modern
explosives, is surprisingly easy to make. When one works in a university,
chemicals are easy to come by. Of course, with the quantities she needed, it
was often difficult to avoid suspicion. However, she was the university
darling, and storerooms are not well observed after dark. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She had felt so silly when was she began first acquiring her
stocks. Surely she needn’t go to such extreme to protect her basement
laboratory. It was just examining old data and experimenting with a new
prototype. It was a faint wish, an uncertain hypothesis wavering on the edge of
nothing. However, time had proved her wisdom. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Paris, what are you
doing?” she asked with alarm. The certainty, the elder sibling authority, she
often used to address her younger brother was fading fast. “Paris, put that
down! You’re going to hurt someone.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">His eyes glinted in
the metal of her earliest form of protection for her basement laboratory. She
couldn’t quite remember why she brought it down. Perhaps she was afraid her
experiment would go horribly wrong. But, it had worked. It had worked
perfectly. Almost. “It probably won’t hurt for long,” he said. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He raised the gun. She
felt it rise level to her chest. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears. Her
brother’s eyes were steely. Her feet were moving her backward before she realized
the motion. She bumped against a bench and lost her balance. Even so, however,
the muzzle slipped upward.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“No!” she screamed
with acute realization, standing up and stumbling forward. “No, you can’t die,
Paris!”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The pain felt so real as it shot forward from her memory,
but she would never feel it again. Not all do fade as leaves; some are burned
in fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had made mistakes.
She had made discoveries, breath-taking, world-changing discoveries. How could
those selfsame discoveries be mistakes? Was she but a modern Prometheus, bringing
flame to mortals only to be prosecuted for it? Was she a Dr. Frankenstein?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hardly realizing she had traveled, she was in her basement
laboratory, her sanctum sanctorum and sepulcher. She went to the fuse box,
finger trembling at the button. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“It’s not dying, Neri.
Not really,” Paris smiled. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The childhood home where Timothy had spent many a summer day
collapsed in on itself, almost delicately and neatly, like a prim and proper
elderly lady folding her hands upon a lace-covered lap, with only a gently
burning fire quickly taking to the remains. His response was neither delicate
nor neat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh God!” he choked. He collapsed messily, limbs splayed. It
was hope rekindled from ashes before being doused in a flood. If only he had
known sooner, he could have stopped her. “Oh God! He’s--.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The police officer shifted uncomfortably as they radioed in
the new situation, calling for firefighters on the scene. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Portia, meanwhile, stopped her examination of Dr. Gagnon’s
data and sidled up to Tim. There was something strange there in the data she
was examining, but it did not seem to matter anymore. She pressed her arms
around him and said nothing. “He was my brother,” Tim mumbled as she buried her
head in his collar. “I loved him, and I hoped—”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We all hoped,” Portia murmured. “We all did.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’ve got you cleared!” Nerissa announced triumphantly. Her
younger brother encircled her in a hug that lifted her off her toes and spun
her around wildly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My sister, the genius!” Paris said. “I knew you could do
it!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Come on, Mom and Dad want to see you!” Nerissa giggled in
the euphoria her younger brother exuded.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My beautiful son. My brilliant daughter. Oh God, I don’t
know how I thought I could live without seeing you two grow up,” Adam Gagnon
said, holding each of his children in an arm and burying kisses on their heads
through his thick beard. “I’m so glad you decided to join us, whatever the
reason why.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hell, I can barely remember why. It seems like Neri was
just showing off her machine to me, and boom, I’m here,” Paris grinned.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The confusion is the result of some changes Nerissa made in
the program,” Juliet Gagnon explained. “Apparently the change allowed for more
efficient transportation of data and less chance of data corruption. It also
changed lengthened the travel time by a several of years.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We probably wouldn’t have been able to make heads or tales of
Neri showing up without a clue of how she’d got here if she didn’t send the
note ahead of time. God, I now know what the old settlers felt like when I
jumped off their matter analyzer,” Adam laughed. He kissed his children again.
“Now, let me show my Venus and Adonis off to the old settlers. They’ve never
even been to Earth, nor have their parents or their grandparents, what with how
slow rockets are, and I’m sure you have some stories to tell.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What my loving husband means to say is that he is a
hopeless braggart and has been continually boasting of your accomplishments,
and Nerissa’s recent foray into microbiology and Paris’s cure for his own
cystic fibrosis is no different,” Juliet explained.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Did I do that?” Paris mouthed at Nerissa, who nodded
eagerly. He sat back with a self-satisfied smile while Adam answered his wife’s
slight with a peck on the cheek and a wink. He led his children triumphantly
forward. However, Juliet held her daughter back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nerissa, Neri, I am proud of you,” Juliet said simply. With
the unheard of pure sentiment from her mother’s lips, Nerissa smiled. She could
not quite remember why she decided to leave all of her research and awards back
on Earth lightyears away, but Nerissa was glad she did. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She had been so worried about her brother all those years on
Earth, but now he was fixed. Now, she could smile, honestly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-56722977551244486542013-08-04T18:19:00.004-07:002013-08-04T18:19:53.532-07:00Nibblers<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I’m not sure why people think ghosts will devour your soul.
They have to be some stupid, ignorant, dumber than death ghosts to do that
since the moment you go eating up souls, you call down every half-wit
ghost-hunter and whatever superstitions he or she has, and one of them is bound
to “banishing-to-hell” thing right eventually. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">No, real ghosts don’t really do that. They nibble at souls,
delicately around the corners where no one notices. They act more like moths in
a cedar chest than monsters in the closet, taking little bits that no one
notices until years and years have past and someone finally brushes out
Grandma’s old wedding dress to realize the pearls and lace of yesteryear do not
stay encased within history.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There are a lot more ghosts than people realize; they just
don’t notice them, as those translucent forgotten figures daintily nosh at our
élan vital. I see them though. And the souls they eat. I don’t know why. My
parents thought I had a lot of imaginary friends when I was little, and I did
as well. I mean, if your parents call the misty forms wandering around
imaginary friends, then you just take their word for it that that’s what
they’re called. In their defense, I was a dreamy, lonely child in a big, old
house by myself. It seemed only natural that I would make up imaginary friends.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">My friend freaked out though when I invited him and his
imaginary friend over for a play date. All was going fine until one of my
“imaginary friends” closed the door. I swear his screams still ring in my ears.
It didn’t take too long after that to realize my “imaginary friends” were a
little different.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Most the times, ghosts don’t close doors. They don’t rattle
chains. They don’t make blood fall from the walls. They don’t talk. They can
moan a little on occasion, but not more than that, I think. It takes a lot of
energy, I guess, and they would need a big meal first, like maybe a whole soul.
But, as I said, that’s a bad idea, and I’ve never seen a ghost go as far to do
that. Ghosts just kinda float around a lot, languidly nibbling at souls. Just
add in some art and literature, and you’ve got yourself a lot of Victorian bohemians.
Really, they are quite amiable companions for an introverted, melancholy little
kid, especially since as soon as they realize you can see them, they don’t eat
your spirit. It must be bad manners or something.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Sometimes I wonder if that’s why people just seem to be more
tired as they age. I kept my ghost buddies off my parents when I still lived
with them both, but even then, their spirits were threadbare and worn. They
wore them heavily, like a cilice of steel wool. Even when my parents smiled, I
could see through their teeth and thinning soul to the empty echo of a chest
where a shrunken heart lugubriously beats. You can see why I was a bit dark as
a child.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It freaked me out as a kid to see all the adults walking
around with shredded souls. It made me afraid to grow up. Of course, not only
ghosts do a number on our souls. We are quite capable of destroying them
ourselves, the way we throw ourselves into temporal pleasures, seeking some
release from the ennui of a meaningless existence. However, being able to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">see</i> your soul fray when you do that kind
of stuff puts a damper on your enthusiasm for it all. I mean, where is the fun
in drinking the day away when all you can see is your spirit withering?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Yeah, I’m not quite a hoot at parties. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">However, the old veterans are the worst. Their vaporous,
ephemeral soul barely clings to that thousand yard stare. It’s horrifying.
There’s just something so utterly wrong about it. If everyone could see souls,
I think, no one would go to war. Not after seeing what it does to even the
people that survive it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I don’t know much about death, but I think having your
spirit slowly undermined and sloughed off layer by infinitesimal layer is worse
than shrugging it off in one get-go. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The weird thing with this whole ghost and souls thing for me
is that I’m not religious at all. I’ve been an atheist since by parents split
and were too ground up by depression to make me go listen to someone describing
how most of the people I love will face some eternal punishment for believing
in the wrong dude in the sky. I study science. I have a degree in chemistry,
but, I just can’t explain what I see. I know full well, I could be crazy, and
if I told people, they would think I’m crazy, but, I don’t really think I am. I
don’t know why. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I guess all we can rely on in this life is our fallible
senses. They tell me the sky is blue, that there’s ground beneath my feet, that
my stentorious professor really could use a breath mint for the poor students
on the front row, and that there are ghosts. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Honestly, I don’t know how to fit souls into my worldview. I
can kinda see them on animals, very faintly on plants in the right light. I
tried to see them on bacteria whenever I get the chance with a microscope, but
then again, I can’t see souls through glasses or photos, so I’m not terribly
surprised when it doesn’t work. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">As far as I can tell, we each carry some sort of life force,
and when we die, it doesn’t all decay at once. It can stick around a bit, by
nibbling at the life forces of those still around. I think animals and plants
can’t figure that out though, judging by the late Neptune the goldfish and all
the flowers in vases I seen, so their souls go kaput pretty darn quickly. I’m
not sure what souls are made of or how I would go about figuring that out. I
mean, it’s not really a question I can discuss with my scientist friends
without sounding like a lunatic. I’ve tried checking campus ghosts out with
Geiger counters, spectrophotometers, and even GC-MS, with no dice. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Nevertheless, I think they’re real.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Yeah, I know, not terribly scientific, but it’s kinda hard
to get significant data with my own wide margin of error in being seemingly the
only person alive to observe them. I’ve talked to the ghost hunters; they don’t
know anything. It’s physically painful to be around most of them as I can feel
my intelligence diffusing away, as if pulled by the steep concentration
gradient. I think there must be some other people who can see ghosts, but I’ve
never run into any of them. All the souls I see are pockmarked and nibbled on. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Maybe I’ll find someone else who can see them too eventually,
and we can figure out some scientific mumbo jumbo for elucidating everything. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Until then, it’s just me and the ghosties. </span></div>
E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-38629484909800805832013-07-29T03:06:00.000-07:002013-07-29T03:06:36.128-07:00The Donor<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Andrew knocked on the door and pushed his hair out of his
eyes irritably. It was too long. He should cut it. His mother had commented to
the same effect, and he now felt he was morally obligated as a teenager to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> get it cut now. He was not so myopic
that he could not see the irony in himself holding it against his mother to
suggest such a thing, thus preventing him from accomplishing the task. However,
he pushed most of the thoughts away brusquely with his hair. He had other
things to consider.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A woman with graying hair tied back into a fraying braid
opened the door. She was a few inches shorter than him, but her steely,
authoritative blue gaze made her seem half a foot taller. Her skin was relatively
smooth for her years, softened slightly by wrinkles but without blemishes or
makeup. She wore a blouse that at one time might have been nice but had since
accumulated small holes, which she seemed to neither notice nor care about. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Hello. May I help you?” she asked, just quickly enough to
show that she had no desire to entertain visitors without reason. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Uh, are you Lucetta Holden?” Andrew asked, smoothing his
hair back again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Yes,” she said. It was a single syllable expressing an
unstated but clearly understood idea: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What
do you want?</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Did you donate your eggs eighteen years ago?” Andrew asked,
in that particular tone of a person who had practiced a line many time, seeking
out the perfect iteration of not only words but also stress on the syllables
and enunciation. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Yes,” she said simply. Her eyes quickly glanced over, as if
cataloging him as a newly discovered scientific specimen. She did not state
what was so obviously implied. Neither did he. Several long moments passed
where nary a word was exchanged, only glances, as if each expected the other to
somehow broach the topic and harness the elephant in the room. Andrew was very
uncomfortable.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I suppose you should come inside. Would like a cup or tea,
or water?” she asked. She opened the door more widely. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Um, no thanks,” Andrew said. He pushed back his hair again.
Her home was Spartan. It smelt very clean, faintly of vinegar and lemon juice.
No whiff of dog, cat, or even human odor. Andrew wondered if she lived alone. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">She seated herself on one of the two chairs in the sitting
rooms whose only ornamentation was a single upright piano, whose reams of music
stacked on top of the instrument revealed it too had a utilitarian purpose. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Am I correct in assuming your parents do not know you are
here? And if I am not mistaken, you learned about me recently,” she said,
segueing roughly into the subject matter. She was keen and sharp, and it seemed
like she was trying to remember the social mores she had flushed from her
memory to make way for other things.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Yeah,” Andrew said awkwardly. “It was kinda an accident that
my dad let slip.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I would like to remind you that while I am a contributor to
half your chromosomes, there is still substantial epigenetic changes that occur
within the womb, which your mother would be all responsible for. In addition,
the environment cues pre and post partum are known to be extremely influential
in the characteristics we have as individuals. Thus, your mother is very much
still your mother. Any deep, philosophical conversation about who you are may
be best reserved for her. If you wish to have any knowledge of myself that
might affect your life, it would be limited to the medical history of my
ancestors, which I assure you, is quite fine. My parents are still alive and my
grandparents lived well into their eighties. No heart disease, no diabetes, no
depression, no cancer besides early stage prostate cancer in my paternal
grandfather at eighty three,” she said quickly. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">This was not quite the conversation Andrew was expecting. He
wasn’t sure what he was expecting, just not this. He sat back on the edge of
his seat, wondering if he was about to be booted out from the living room of
his progenitor so quickly. He had driven all the way here. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“What are your college plans?” she asked, more softly. “You
are going to college, yes?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Uh, yeah. I got a scholarship to the University of
Arkansas,” Andrew said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“And what will you be studying?” she asked. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Chemistry, I think. I mean, you don’t have to declare a
major until later, but I think chemistry,” Andrew said. There was a faint nod
of approval. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I have yet to hear that academic preference is a genetic
trait. Any particular reason for chemistry?” she asked. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I don’t know. I mean, it’s kinda like a puzzle, right? Our
lives are made of chemistry. It’s not quite so esoteric as physics or as
inexact as biology. You do chemistry, right?” Andrew asked, inelegantly
wavering between crude vernacular and more refined eloquence.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Yes, I study the application of carbon allotropes in solar
cells,” she stated factually. She paused before adding, “Perhaps if you live up
to the potential I believe possible of you considering your genetic makeup, you
may be a graduate student in my lab.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Andrew laughed, the only thing possible when being
introduced to such forward and unhidden declaration of conditional love. “Haha,
no nepotism?” he asked. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I am afraid that is frowned upon in my academic field,” she
said with a sly smile of someone who did not display emotion with any
regularity, did not often indulge in the communal pleasure of light-hearted
banter, but had a fine mind which was more than capable of wit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Another moment of silence rasped on. She did not seem
uncomfortable with it. She looked out the window with her thumb to her chin, as
if considering some intellectual conundrum without any concern as to how else
might be in the room.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Why did you do it?” Andrew blurted. “Donate your eggs, I
mean. My parents don’t know you. I asked. So why did you just give your eggs to
strangers.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“When I was in graduate school, the associate professor who
ran the lab next to mine discovered that she was infertile. She had waited for
tenure attempting to have children, and she then realized that an earlier
surgery to remove a few ovarian cysts she had permanently scarred her ovaries
to the extent that she could no longer produce eggs. They eventually found an
egg donor, and their healthy baby girl was born nine months later,” she said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“So, you like wanted to do it in their honor or something?”
Andrew asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Or something.” She nodded. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Another silent moment passed. Suddenly, she stood up. “I
must be going into lab. One of my graduate students needed additional
assistance in setting up an experiment and I have a grant to write,” she said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, yeah, sure,” Andrew said, standing uncomfortably. He
pushed the hair out of his eyes. The pair made their way to the front door
again, which she opened. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well, it’s been nice talking to you,” Andrew said,
attempting to tie up the unconventional, abbreviated conversation. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Likewise,” she said with a curt nod. Andrew turned to
leave, glancing at his watch. The dialogue had been much shorter than expected.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I do not believe I caught your name,” she said. He turned
back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“It’s Andrew. Andrew Solis,” he said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“My grandfather, your great-grandfather, was named Andrew,”
she remarked. “I would recommend either growing your hair out to the extent it
can be a restrained by a ponytail or similar mechanism over the summer or else
cutting it short. The state that it is at now, you risk being balded by a
Bunsen burner in your chemistry lab next year, Andrew.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I will keep that in mind,” Andrew smiled. He had driven two
hours for a ten-minute conversation, and, strangely, he did not regret it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-86712025959576401452013-07-28T12:34:00.002-07:002013-07-28T12:34:46.613-07:00Poking Holes<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I learned a long time ago to poke holes through me and let the furies whistle through. Forces far greater than I, tsunamis, typhoons, and hurricanes surge like barbarian battalions toward me, but they scream on past. They posture and pound, rage and roar. They rattle through my body and shake my sinews, but they do not move me, for they rattle out all the same. I stand tall and watch while the world rushes on.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"> </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I once crouched in the face of storms. I tilted my chin to my chest, enraptured my knees with all my strength, and hugged the ground beneath me as a friend. The storms did not hurt me, but neither could it touch me. Nothing could. I could not taste the breath of a thousand new flurries or hear the cacophonous music of a thousand contradictory passions clashing and bending and rebranding a new against an ever-changing landscape. I knew nothing but the words painted on my sleeves, and thought there was nothing more than that within. The world rushed on, but I did not.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"> </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Then, I stood. I turned my face toward the heavens and embraced the gale. I let the winds carry me. I surrendered my body and soul to the tempests and was flung farther than the eye can see. I could not see the trajectory of my journey. I could not see where I would land, but I knew in my travels mirth of exploration but also fear and terror of the land slipping away beneath me never to be seen again. I found that the winds have no concern of us small people but as simple decorations for pulsating, vehement creeds which have lined the skies for as long as memory spans. As a leaf in the wind, the world rushed me on.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"> </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Now, I fracture myself against the forces. I let it greet me as its own. I let it trace the contours of my body and welcome it into me. Then, I exhale, and it passes through, and I emerge renewed. </span></span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-3862b13d-26c5-9b48-5d13-0aa1c3c7f5e4"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span>E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-73805414794298869772013-07-21T06:52:00.004-07:002013-07-21T06:52:51.063-07:00The Fall of a Sparrow<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Jay blinked slowly. The
world seemed to swim in some viscous substance, slowing time, making every
movement forced. It hurt to breathe, yet his chest rattled in dim concurrence with
the beeping machines at his right. Just beyond those mechanical sentinels, his
sister sat. Wren had been there since yesterday morning where their father had
dropped her to attend to some work-related task. The girl had curled up
silently with a book and had not spoken, but merely offered her presence as
succor. There was not much to say now. All true words had already passed
between the two, and what were left were dull platitudes that the two would
never indulge in. She was drowsing as the sun set, her eyes half closed and her
book lulling in her half-relaxed grasp. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The next breath came not so
easily for Jay. It hung against his lungs, refusing to free itself, the breath
dying where it lay. The machines beeped irritably against the intrusion. The
book slipped from Wren’s hands as she awoke. She looked around in shock like a
frightened dove before finding the source of her confusion. The words of her
books still twisted sleepily around her mind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Thou know’st ‘tis common; all that lives must die,
passing through nature to eternity</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Jay?” she whispered. “Jay,
it’s Wren. I’m here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Jay was afraid. Even after
so long of viewing that approaching specter of mortality, it did not help. He
was afraid, even as his sister held him. He did not want to die, and he clung
desperately to life, even when it was filled with passive doctors and foul
treatments. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">To die; to sleep; no more. And by a sleep to say we
end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Her brother trembled, air
escaping through a tight throat in despair. He was crying, tears running down
eyes open to desolation. And hers as well, the salt water comingling on their
cheeks as she held pressed her lips to her cheek. A nurse poked her head in and
promised to call their father and no more, for there was no more. Not for Jay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">To die, to sleep; To sleep perchance to dream</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Jay wanted to believe in
heaven, in angels, and in God, but his short life had stolen from him such
faith. It was but him and Wren in a bleak, dark world, and even now, he was
fading. He could see it reflected in Wren’s clear, liquid eyes. He was melting,
into oblivion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Wren and Jay had been the
closest of friends. Their home was often empty besides the two of them, with
their father working most of the time. They grew up teasing, chasing, playing with,
and fighting against each other. In every childhood moment, there was a touch
of Jay, as equal parts compatriot and conspirator. Wren felt as if she could
not breathe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. Pray you,
love, remember.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The panic was fading now.
The world grew still, but not dim. The borders of objects blurred. Wren’s face
disappeared amongst the ceiling and walls. He could still hear her, just
barely. She was whispering some lullaby from when they were young, when there
was no one but her to tuck him in at night. He was not so scared now. It was
calm. There was a peace he had not known since his first doctor’s appointment.
It was just him and his sister’s song, which was fading even now, quietly
stretching into infinity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The rest, is silence</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Her brother did not breathe.
No heartbeat murmured within his chest. His body had lost its warmth many months
ago, but somehow it seemed colder; it seemed heavier. She couldn’t breathe; she
couldn’t breathe. She forcefully relaxed her arms around him, lying him back on
the pillow. She pulled the covers to his chin. His eyes were closed, as if
asleep. It was as if she was but tucking him in to bed, one last time. She
kissed his forehead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Goodnight, sweet prince; and flights of angels sing
thee to thy rest</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Her father came an hour
later, after they had already removed her brother. Her book sat on her lap as
she stared past the world into eternity. It was wrong that life could be wrest
from those so young. It was wrong. The world was wrong. Life was wrong. Her
father had to touch her shoulder to wake her to his presence. She jumped; the
book fell to the floor to which it was already well acquainted. Her father
picked it up and noted its title. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“There is special providence
in the fall of a sparrow,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">She looked up at her oft
absent father with hollow eyes. His face was gray and thin, but such was the
norm. She could not remember the last time she had seen her father smile. She
could not remember the last time she had done the same. “No. There is no providence
in death. I defy augury,” Wren said fiercely, wrenching away from him. She shouted
silent accusation with a glance. They need not leaver he lips to sting him.
Where was he? Why had she been alone in facing this? How come he could not save
her brother? Did he not care? She had her mother’s ferocity, but a tear still
clung to the young cheek. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A countenance more in sorrow than in anger<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">He collapsed, onto his
knees, suddenly the child once more. His tears came swiftly with his sobs. All
tragedy broke forth as if from a dam. He could not help himself. Each
denunciation met its mark. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">O! What a rogue and peasant slave am I!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">For the first time, Wren saw
her father’s resemblance to her brother who had been heretofore all
memorialization of their mother. The curve of their cheeks was the same, the
crinkle at the edge of their eye, the shape of their ears. The man, suddenly
shrunken before her so that she now towered over him, was as much kin as her
brother was. He was more than that. He was her father, and he grieved deeply.
He felt the pinch of death just as sharply. She hugged him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Doubt that the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun
doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">When father and daughter
left, the sun was brimming across the mountains into the valley, filling the
bowl of land in red rays like tomato soup. Their hands were enlinked, their
expressions, solemn. Nothing could replace the void within their hearts.
Nothing could stop the pain. There existed no shield against the grief, the
torment of loss that clawed viciously into every thought and moment. Yet, even
though poor recompense for what they suffered, they had one another. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-20153310493211581852013-07-09T06:33:00.000-07:002013-07-09T06:33:07.009-07:00Those Gray Doors<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There is a castle by the sea</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And its gray doors I’ll never see</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Long it’s been since they fled from me</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And I now fear I’ve lost the key</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Across the glinting sands like jewels</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Amongst the crystal clear blue pools</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And where the salt breeze whisper cools</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Lay those gray doors of happy fools</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Time and fortune did strip me from</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">That merry place of bells and drum</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Where singers serenade to dumb</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Where those gray doors have left me numb</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It slipped from eye and fled so fast</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">As if it were some story past</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And as if some dark spell was cast</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Without those gray doors, the pains last</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And once without, not once within</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A once pure soul now plagued with sin</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A dirty chest holds now to chin</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">My back to those gray doors and kin</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And with time past my memories fade</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">As dew drops in a sunny glade</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Bright visions sully as I wade</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But those gray doors have always stayed</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And I return to open sea</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Where land or home I will not see</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">For those gray doors do call to me</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A siren’s song without a key</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-14839071414588218152013-05-20T05:44:00.004-07:002013-05-20T05:44:37.944-07:00Creation
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In the beginning, there was nothing. It was not dark, for
there was no such thing as dark. It was not cold, for there was no such thing
as cold. It was simply nothing, a void in which the world would fill. Then, a
bang. Energy condensed, blowing protons and electrons into the cosmos. They
funneled together, bound by gravity’s pull, huddling against the emptiness
surrounding. And, they began to glow. Their nuclei pressed together forming
heavier atoms and more complex compounds. They spit out the carbon, iron, and
silicon without regard as they tumbled further in upon themselves.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The cloud of forgotten ash condensed, bundling together
against the void. The round surface was a tempest of fire, boiling, moiling
with the heat of its progenitor stars. It exhaled, shedding atmosphere in a
fury. Until, day by day, it grew weary and calm. A thick, caustic atmosphere
settled as the inky depths of oceans swirled. A strange phenomenon occurred
amongst the hydrothermal vents that eeked out sulfur compounds and heat, sugars
spontaneously linked. Phosphates knitted them together, and with a
conformational twist, they begat more. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">More sugars, different sugars, and new molecules swam in
phospholipid bubbles, reacting eagerly to replicate themselves. It chewed
through sulfur compounds hungrily, searching for more and more. Then, it found
the sun. The glimmering rays of light beckoned and fed. And the creatures gave to
the sky clean air. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The ocean began to bubble with life, spilling the contents
onto the shores. Creeping, crawling, twirling, rooting things colonized the
space, and with a leap, they caught in the air. They inhaled and exhaled new
gases, transforming the atmosphere and altering the climate. As the planet
wobbled around the sun, occasionally bombarded by fellow explorers in the vast
nothingness, and the life upon in changed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A creature without much hair and a big brain crawled from
Africa across the continents. They brought fire, stone, bronze, iron, steel,
and silicon. They transformed the world to fit ever more and more of them
inside. They fought bitterly and often acted without thinking, laying waste to
land without second thought. However, they would learn and do their best to
undo their mistakes in the aftermath. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We are part of a history of voids, stars, sulfur-eating
bacteria, and aerobes. Whether we are alone in the universe matters not, for
either way, we are privileged to enjoy some moment amongst the impossibilities
that arose from nigh nothing. It is enough. </span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-23799250672027071462013-03-16T17:51:00.000-07:002013-03-16T17:51:02.560-07:00The Day I Died
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The day I died, my atoms began to slough away, in groups of
molecules. Some assisted by bacteria, others by little bugs, still others by
the gentle roots of plants, and some simply by the wind that carried them into
infinity. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The day I died, a phospholipid that had spent its life in me
guarding the lining of my intestines was eaten by a bacterium. It was after the
cell had apoptosed and its remains were an offering for those that still
carried on. That bacterium enjoyed
the meal greatly, eating sugars with abandon. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The day I died, a root tickled my nose, asking kindly if I
were done with the fluid in my eye. It absorbed my sustenance, feeding it up
toward green leaves photosynthesizing above. They enjoyed their drink and
offered gratitude in a bright display of petals for the newly sprung spring. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The day I died, a worm cosied up to my lips. There were
decaying juices, the last rites of dying cells, and it offered its solemnity in
response. It took what was presented and grew stronger and haler. It gave life
to ten little eggs which hatched into ten tiny little worms, whose lust for
experience could barely be contained by the soil they inhabited. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The day I died, an epidermal cell was caught by the wind. It
danced in the breeze and met dizzying heights. It laughed its way into the
upper echelons of the atmosphere where, bit by bit, its pieces were plucked
away. Some were precipitated in a drizzle of rain. Some coated the sand of a waving
desert. Some were caught in an inhale of expanding lungs. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The day I died, I became a thousand new things. I died, but
I lived. </span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-36438144553249389212013-03-03T18:25:00.003-08:002013-03-03T18:25:33.060-08:00Bubbles
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> The
rain fell like an avalanche of stone, a mass of brown-gray beating down the
occupants underneath with a fury. My grandmother used to tell me the old
stories, which were old even when she was a little girl. They were the stories
of a bygone era when scientific explanation were wanting, and we turned to our
imagination over experiments. She told me of a woman with long, white curls who
rested in a bed of blue. She said her son was the sun. When the sun would hide,
the white woman would cry and cry, with big tears of grief thundering on the
ground like the daggers through her heart. Sometimes she would scream and shake
the world with her flashes of anger at how her son was taken from her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> It
was a much more romantic story than gaseous water condensing on soot particles.
Perhaps those times were more romantic. Perhaps ignorance is inherently
romantic, and in this era where all our answers came readily to our fingertips,
ignorance and its romance had been lost. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> The
puddles were slick with oil, refracting the bright, piercing glow of a thousand
LED lamps into a dirty rainbow across the brown surface. I had heard that the
upper levels of the city were much cleaner, but passes into them were
expensive, and I was only to stay here a night, my last night of freedom and
perhaps my last night alive. Dirt didn’t bother me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> I
sometimes traced the path that led me here as I stared up into the starless sky
while a background concert of grumbling voices, mechanical whirring of vehicles,
and gasping generators streamed noiselessly across my ears. It was simple
really. There was a war far away, across the expanse of space. The distance
could not eclipse its importance. The nobility of the crusade was poured
through every media, only matched in quantity by the pressed gray uniforms
returned to families instead of the person inside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> It
had happened to the family next door of grandmother and I last week. In another
war (or perhaps the same war a decade previous; it was difficult to demarcate
the passing of one war to the next) it had happened to my parents. Now, it was
my turn to take the gray uniform so it might be returned to my grandmother one
day, politely folded. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> It
was a warm night. The teardrops of the white woman traced the curvatures of my
face tenderly, as if my own mother could see me now and bemoaned by end. It
trickled pass the collar of my jacket. It was probably too warm for a jacket,
but I kept it on anyway. It marked my fate, but it still smelt of home where I
had unpacked it the week before with a note of my calling. My grandmother had
taken to washing it carefully, fixing a loose seam at the cuff. It was as if
she wished it to be in perfect condition when it returned home without me. Now,
it would smell of pollution, with dingy stains across the shoulder from
whatever this rain carried with it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> I
should turn myself into the barracks, out of the rain and out of this phantasm
of reality, for this moment could not last. It would melt away with the hours,
and leave me back toward the specter of death with all my gray-clad comrades.
It meant nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">I could write a
note to my grandmother, although I did not know what I could say. We had spent
the last week in silence, for words no longer held any power to my fate. What
would happen would happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> I
did not turn back however, as logic dictated. Instead, a low building with a
red, glowing sign and a large corrugated awning welcomed me. The structure was
nigh empty and quiet. Although I had never had one before, I suppose now I
could use a drink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> The
inside was dimly lit, and the few occupants seemed likewise dim. There seemed a
heavy film over everyone and everything, as if some cosmic maid forgot to dust
this corner of the universe and had left it to accumulate the grime of life.
That is, everyone except one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> A
young woman sat on a barstool. Her hair was an electric blue, her skin a burnt
umber. A tribal tattoo wound it’s way around her bicep and another at her
thigh, which her short skirt and holey tights allowed vision of, but was almost
obscured by her thigh high boots. She had a bright smile, that seemed to light
the place more than its faded lamps. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> She
did not look up from chatting with the bartender, all smiles and jokes. I went
around her to the right, well within the shadows to which I now belonged. My
separation from them was temporary, my rejoining impending. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “At
ease, soldier.” I turned. She stood behind me, saluting with a facsimile of a
hard frown. She broke into a laugh. “Are you one of the recruits?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> I
nodded. She sat beside me. Her eyes matched her hair. The antihelical fold of
her ear had a trio of stars carved out of it so that I could see the blue locks
tucked behind it. A silver wire twisted across the rim of her ear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“How come you guys
are always so grim?” she asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “I
suppose we know our fate,” I returned quietly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “Higgs,
get this kid a drink,” she called out, shaking her head. “Where are you from?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “Does
it matter?” I asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “Um,
yeah. You’re not from around here, so that means you’re from somewhere
different. Different is cool,” the woman said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“Amazonia, you
know, on Earth,” I said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “This
your first time outside the planet, soldier?” the woman asked with a smile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “My
family never had much money,” I explained. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “Well
then, merde, I should show you around,” the woman said. The drink the woman had
ordered for me arrived along with another for her. It was colorless and came in
a thin, tall glass.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “Bottoms
up, soldier,” the woman ordered with a smile. I took the glass and she held
hers up at the same time. I do not know why, perhaps the belief that nothing I
did tonight would matter if my end were so close, but I listened to her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> I
sputtered, coughing. She laughed like lightning, bright and electric. She
grabbed my hand, wiping her mouth with the other. “Come on, soldier.” She
pulled me away from the bar with my eyes burning. My brain seemed fuzzy in face
of such untarnished optimism. It could not object.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> The
rain met us. She smiled and let go of my hand for a moment. She spun in it,
puddles splashing against her boots and coating them with muck. She seemed
abuzz with a strange joy that seemed to have no origin. She looked at me; with
radiant teeth exposed, she laughed. The laugh hit me like a physical force, as
if her spirit had enraptured my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> She
grabbed my hands and spun with me, laughing all the more at my expression.
Then, we ran. She pulled me through the streets, past the huddling crowds and
faded buildings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “Where
are we going?” I asked her as we ducked around a signpost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “I
don’t know!” she replied breathlessly. The exertion cleared my brain of
extraneous thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> We
stopped at a fountain, an old fixture from when the city was new. It was no
longer working. There was once a green around it, but all that remained was
rocks and mud. In this dingy part of the city, no one had taken the time to
repair it. I doubted anyone cared when so much of this borough was gray and
dirty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> She
sat against the fountain, panting and radiating. Her blue hair seemed
luminescent, brightening up the area with impossible light. She was a candle in
the dark. She looked at me and laughed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “Take
off your coat, soldier,” she said. “It’s hot.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “I’m
not hot,” I lied. Sweat was creeping down my brow, but my earlier assertion to
keep my jacket hung on to me. Perhaps I considered it my grandmother’s last
gift. Perhaps I had an irrational fear of losing it because of its loss was so
closely associated with death. Only death could take it from me. If the woman
could see my grim thoughts, she gave no notice. Instead, she batted her bright
eyes and laughed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “Of
course, you’re hot, soldier. Anybody with two eyes can see that,” she smiled.
“Hey, what’s that over there?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> She
pointed to an old shop with multicolored lights. She didn’t wait for a
response, not that I could provide one. “Come on, soldier. Let’s go see.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> She
grabbed my hand and pulled me over. Inside was a candy shop and gray-haired man
with a beard like the candy floss that sat to his right. The shop gleamed with
the colors of the rainbow; candies were displayed on archaic wood shelves with
great care. The lower shelves were polished with a thousand, tiny, eager
fingers, but the upper stood untouched, with dust mites dancing above them in
the overhead fluorescent lighting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">There were still
children in this dark, dank level of the city, children who so few people cared
about that they hadn’t taken the time to repair the fountain in which they
could play. But those children had a few that could still care, that would take
them to get candy, a momentary diversion from a dark fate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> “I
love cotton candy,” the woman declared. “My dad used to get it for me when I
was little. You ever had it, soldier?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"> I
shook my head, my dark thoughts scattering with her words and smile. She seemed
to flash across the darkness around her like a shooting star. She pulled a cone
of candy floss down, swiping her card across the counter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“The blue matches
my hair, don’t you think?” the woman said, pulling the confection close to her
head for comparison’s sake. I found words a little awkwardly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“Almost,” I said.
“But, I think your hair is a little brighter.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">She laughed. “You
should get the pink!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“Why?” I asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“Because I said
so, soldier!” she smiled, paying for the second cone of candy floss. She thrust
it into one hand and grabbed the other, pulling me impatiently. “Come on.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">Trying to save our
confections from the pouring rain, as impossible a task as trying to save the
lives of soldiers in war, we ran forward into the night. She laughed as the
candy stuck to her fingertips, as brilliant as blood but of an opposite color.
Likewise, her expression betrayed the opposite emotion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">She brought us to
a stop, as she held her ribs aching with laughter. “You have cotton candy on
your face,” she said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“Where?” I asked.
The candy floss had melted in the rain, like I feared my life would soon. I
felt upward at my face, trying to find the location of the misplaced
sugar. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“There,” she said,
leaning in next to me. She licked my cheek. My brain went numb. I stood
stock-still, unsure of how to respond. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“Now, you match
your cotton candy,” she laughed. “It’s all wet now though. Come on, soldier!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">She threw our
candy flosses away, and pulled me forward into the dank, dark cave of a mall
half way through closing down. We ran up the stairs until we reached the
atrium. A glass ceiling stood above us, and through it, you could see the
glimmering buildings of more prosperous people. It was like the film that
dissociated condemned soldiers from reality. It was for those people above that
I gave my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">Absent-mindedly, I
took off my soaked jacket and folded it under my arm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“Did you see the
stars back on Earth, soldier?” she asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“I did when I was
little. I lived way away from the city with my parents. They died though, so my
grandma and I had to move back into the city so she could work,” I said. I
could picture our perfect little house so clearly in my mind before death had
taken its hold over my life. Yet, death was still not done with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“Did they sparkle
like everyone said? Were they really so bright that they looked like milk spilt
across the heavens?” she asked, forgoing the normal apologies people usually
offered when hearing the passing of my parents. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“Not quite like
milk, but there were a lot of them on clear nights,” I said. Sweet memories
made bitter by the fate of their occupants danced across my cerebrum. “My
mother knew their names.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“Names don’t mean
squat, do they, soldier?” the woman said. Her eyes sparkled with the
understanding she had no desire for my name, and I should expect none from her.
She laughed, and stole my jacket from underneath my arm. She placed it over her
own shoulders and grabbed my hand. “Come on. There’s more to see.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">We ran out of the
building and into the rain once more. She smiled and laughed, as if the rain
were a glad song only she could hear. We stopped at a toy cart, and she bought
bubbles and a red balloon with a swipe of her card. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">She handed me the
balloon and spread a ring of bubbles around us as she laughed. The punctuated
quickly with the oncoming rain, but it didn’t seem to matter for the woman. She
smiled and laughed with the mirth of child a third her age. It was as if the
bubbles were filled with hopes and dreams. “Come on, soldier!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">We left a trail of
bubbles as we ran, and as the night passed, the rain lessened then dispersed.
The bubbles lasted longer, iridescently refracting light into a thousand tiny
rainbows as beautiful and poignant as any artistic masterpiece. They were like
will-o-wisps that guided its followers toward dreams. Perhaps they were crafted
from the fabric of dreams themselves, like this mysteriously mirthful woman
with blue hair. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">We found ourselves
back in front of the low building with the glowing red sign. She grabbed the
balloon from my hand, kissed it once, and then thrust it into the air where we
watched its ascent through the high reaching towers into the upper echelons of
society. It was like watching a representation of the dream we all dreamed come
into reality. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">She swept her arms
around me and kissed my cheek. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">I was smiling. I
did not know when it had happened, but there was a smile I found somewhere in
the last few hours that I had thought I lost many years ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“This is where I
leave you, soldier,” she said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“What?” I asked.
The world closed and narrowed. The possibilities drew back darkly toward the sucking
black void of reality. “I thought-.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">She smiled.
“You’re beautiful, soldier, and so am I. Sometimes, the most beautiful things
are temporary, like bubbles.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">She turned to
leave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“Wait!” I said,
running to catch her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">She smiled. “What
is it, soldier?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">“My jacket,” I
said. She took it off and placed it around my shoulder. With her hands behind
my neck, she pressed her lips to mine. They tasted of sugar. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 15.0pt;">She laughed. She
placed her lips to my ear. “Bubbles, soldier,” she whispered. She ran off into
the night, still leaving bubbles behind her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-82911847371569456622013-03-03T17:16:00.002-08:002013-03-03T17:16:32.756-08:00Ordinary Whispers
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“It’s me, Sam, again. God, I wish I
could hear your voice now. I mean, sometimes I do, in the whispers of ordinary
things—a rustle of someone’s sleeve, a breeze through the leaves of that oak on
first, even my own breath when it hits the early morning frosty air—but, it’s
not really you, you know? It’s just what I have left of you, broken fragments,
memories. It’s me, trying to bring you back into my life. It’s me, plastering your
facsimile on my world without you. It’s me, alone. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You’d laugh. God, how’d you laugh
at me now. Me, sitting here, spilling words instead of tears like normal people
do. You always said that God crossed some wires in my brain, attaching emotions
to my hands or my feet or my throat, just not my face. You said you could never
see anything in my face, but just by listening to how I walked, you would know.
If I was happy or sad or angry, you said I walked just a little differently.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I was always happy to be with you
though, so I guess it was probably pretty easy to tell. At least, I should have
always been happy with you. You said I was a grouch, so maybe I wasn’t. But,
maybe it was my kind of happy, you know? A grouchy happy. You’d be laughing
again. I wish I could hear your laugh. It always rumbled across the room like a
giant, golden retriever. It was a pandemic, sending fevers of joy and spasms of
mirth into all that heard it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“God, I need to stop doing this. I
know I do, but sometimes, I guess it just hurts, you know? And, I need to talk.
I am staring at your coffee mug. I don’t know what to do with it. I mean, it’s
yours. I feel like it should make me happy to see it, to remember your silly
morning face with your hair skiwampus and your eyes glazed, but you were always
smiling. The mug’s yours, so it should be happy. And, sometimes, it does make
me happy, for a moment. But afterward, it’s just worse. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I’m sorry. God, I’m just so sorry.
I just can’t let go. I can’t. Every month, you know, the phone bill comes. I
see your name. You stare at me through a void of black ink. I can almost see
your face, I can almost hear your voice, I can almost feel your lips on my
cheek. And, I can’t stop it. I can’t stop that tiny part of you that’s still
out there, that’s still alive, because it’s all I have. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I can’t—Oh God, I just can’t—</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“ …I think I still hope you’ll pick
up, even though I know you can’t. I guess this is love. You hope when you
shouldn’t, when it doesn’t even make sense to hope. And, I love you. I don’t
think I even realized how much I loved you, or even what love could do, until
you—until you d—… God, I can’t say the word. Can you believe it? Even now, I
can’t say it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I love you. I hope you knew that.
I hope you know it. I love you so much that I sit here and pretend you can hear
me talking, that you’ll be there tomorrow morning to listen to your messages
and drink a cup of coffee. I love you, and I love all the ordinary whispers I
have left of you. I can never let them go.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-45935678063606764232013-01-07T06:31:00.003-08:002013-01-07T06:31:24.287-08:00Walk in the Dark
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I can’t sleep anymore. I close my eyes, and the images flash
and blur. There is a sea of bursting, roiling colors that should not mean
anything, but does. It represents moments so seared onto my brain, that even
the random phosphenes of tired eyes translate into recreated history. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There is so much red. God, my memories drip with it. I can
smell it. I can taste it, metallic and bitter, sticking in my mouth because I
can’t swallow. I can’t eat. Because, when I do, all I taste is blood, and I
think of you. I think of you. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The tinnitus in my ears is always gunfire. I feel as if I
should cower on the streets, run from the hail of bullets, because it is always
there like it always was before, chasing me for eternity. I’ve learned to
pretend to ignore it, to pretend that my past doesn’t now control me, to walk
along the sidewalk without taking cover in nearby alleys. My heart still beats
with the power of a freight train within my chest. Sometimes, I wonder if
people can see it, if they see my sternum jumping up and down in a quick
tattoo, if they can see the fear I cannot forget. People don’t though. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I can feel it too. The pain flashes intense and acute at odd
moments, from any part of me, as if some long forgotten bullet has finally
found its mark. I imagine that it will cause me to join you, but there is never
anything actually there, just ghosts. The only pain I know is real is that ache
which won’t leave my heart, that makes every moment so hard to breathe in. You
took with you something there, something that can never be replaced. I can
never be whole without you, and I wonder if life’s worth anything when I feel
so broken. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I can’t sleep anymore. I roll back and forth on my bed,
trembling and shaking, with a pain too great to express. One time, when my eyes
too weak to hold their own, they fluttered to a close, and I dreamt of you
before. I had felt nothing like that happiness, that pure and unadulterated
bliss in so long. It must have sent a spasm into my brain, forcing me to
consciousness once more before I could even savor the moment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It hurt so much to have had you, even an imagined image of
you, in my hands, and to lose you once more. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Is it wrong that I sometimes blame you? For having my heart,
then leaving me alone? I know you did not mean it to end this way, in blood and
sweat and tears. It is not the future we imagined. We were idealistic idiots,
weren’t we? We were just mere children believing in a better future, which
would never come. Now, I feel the ages the world pressing down on me like a
smother. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Sometimes, I think living will kill me. I don’t know for how
much longer I can continue subsisting. Surely, without sating basic
physiological needs such as sleep and food, I will die soon, right? I can meet
you in death, but we would both be dead, so it is likely that neither of us
would know of it. However, if life brings no pleasure, at least death can be a
panacea to the pain of living.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You wouldn’t like it though, would you? God, you were always
so bright, kind, and impossibly moral. How is it that you’re gone and not I?
What kind of messed up god would ever allow that? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You would want me to live. Sometimes, I picture you at my
side. I can smell you. I feel your breath on my cheek, your hand on mine. You
hold me, like I held you when life fled your perfection. You tell me I should
go on, that I’m strong enough to leave this behind when I feel so weak. You
tell me that I will learn to walk alone without your bright light, though I may
stumble now. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You were always right about everything then, but the distance
between us mutes your voice in my head. Sometimes, I think you, at least my imagined
representation of you, are wrong. Not enough though that I will stop trying,
not yet. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I saw a kid in a park the other day. He had one of the white
canes reserved for the blind and glasses around his eyes. It must have happened
recently, as each step was hesitant and quiet. His mother hovered in the
background, but I think the kid didn’t even realize she was there. He was
frowning intently, trying to figure out the world when he had no eyes to see it
by. He had been so dependent on his vision and never even thought that he might
lose it. It was obvious he was grief-stricken, and yet, he was moving on, one
minute, careful, clumsy step at a time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You were my eyes, and now I must learn to walk in the dark. </span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-52133374958374279682012-12-29T14:38:00.000-08:002012-12-29T14:46:00.409-08:00The Price of Forever<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was one of those odd instances in life where the greatest effect is done by the bystanders. We clustered together, most of the second grade class around Ava and Bruce. Ava had one hand on her hip, her chin thrust forward, and her blond ringlets jangling about her ears. Her blue eyes were narrowed and her pink lips poised into a superior smile. In her hand pressing into Bruce’s chest was a morsel of salt water taffy. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">Neither I nor any of my classmate knew the name. Myra had smuggled the item into school that day, only knowing that her cousins in the city ate them a lot during her aunt’s funeral and her parents said she wasn’t allowed to eat one. While such admonitions were common, what was not common was the open bowl sitting within reach. Myra had stolen the candy during the service for her aunt and skipped with her parents back to safety in the Oak Glen. Now, she had presented the illicit article to us. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">Ava had taken it immediately, more brazen than any of the rest of us. Her parents were rich and she was beautiful, which meant she had every reason to act boldly as she often escaped consequences. We children of parents of lesser mean, those whose mothers and fathers eked out every last penny to move from the city and protect us from the evil therein, were much more shy, as if we knew how precariously our position was in this world, that our parents would not live forever, but they wished that we might.</span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bruce was one of us, but uglier and slower than most. He wore glasses and mumbled when he spoke. His twin brother, who was brighter and cuter, only highlighted his oddness. And now, here he was, cornered at the edge of the playground as we bystanders formed a barricade of bodies to keep him in and Ava stuck the candy under his nose. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Eat it!” Ava demanded.</span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“My mom said you’re not supposed to eat it,” Myra begged, but no one paid much attention to her. Bruce looked more closely at his shoes, biting his lip. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Eat it, Bruce,” Ava said. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m going to tell Miss Merriam,” Quentin shrieked, running away. He was always a tattletale and a compulsive liar. It would probably take several minutes for Miss Merriam to believe his story, so we ignored him too. All the same, we bystanders seemed to realize that our congregation would attract attention.</span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Eat it, Bruce,” Ava said. She shook back his curls. “I’m telling you to eat it.”</span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bruce grabbed the candy out of her hands. We gasped, entranced by the closeness of mortality. We had not yet been long on the Earth, but we knew the cost of food. We knew that to eat extraneous food was to sacrifice everything.</span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bruce looked up at our sudden and guttural reaction. He seemed to find my eyes, and ask “Is this what I have to do? Is this what you want?” I think he only saw hunger in my open expression. The forbidden fruit was so close and someone might partake. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whispers rose and fell from us bystanders, unable to elucidate a clear desire. All we wanted to see was what came next, too afraid to step forward. I felt I could not stop nor hurry this process. I was only an observer. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Bruce, don’t do it! Dad says not to!” Bruce’s brother, Timothy, said, breaking past the line of us. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bruce shoved Timothy away. Bruce may have been ugly and slow, but he was big. Timothy tripped back into me, his mouth agape, as if that brief physical motion was the most surprising thing he could have ever imagined happening. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Eat it,” Ava ordered. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Miss Merriam was squawking in the background. Our time was short. We bystanders leaned forward, unable and unwilling to hide our expectation. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bruce ate the salt water taffy. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Miss Merriam diffused the crowd swiftly as we all set to running in opposite directions to avoid punishment. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Bruce was silly and ate a candy,”Ava declared, as if she had not been ordering him to. Miss Merriam, panicked, picking the child up and beginning to run to the school nurse. Timothy collapsed on the asphalt and began crying. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Seeing the attention was away from us and focused on Bruce, who had no external effects for his sudden mortality, we stopped and watched. The question was all on our minds, “Why did he eat it?” A moment of peer acceptance versus eternity? But, it was never a choice. When we gather and egg another to his death, what else could he do? We were hive creatures sharing a communal mind. The desires of the many could overcome the desire of an individual, and our mere enjoyment at playing in the power of life and death had overridden Bruce’s desire for life. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And Timothy cried and cried. </span></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The principal sent a note to all of our parents, and, in turn, all of our parents sat us down for the talk. Mine decided that I should the history of immortality, a story of two scientists working fruitlessly for their parents, then their own lives. When their breakthrough came, it heralded a new era, but not for them. A complex mixture of drugs was not enough. It had to be combined with a specific diet and environment, a proper mix of oxygen and a tasteless broth of green-gray sludge. The couple’s own newborn daughter was their test experiment, and she was still alive, 273 years later. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My father was raised on the diet. However, my mother was not. She was doomed to die, so he ate their wedding cake without remorse or hesitation. They would leave me. However, I had no such impending mortality, but I could never eat the candy. I couldn’t go outside to play without my respirator and special clothes. If I followed all the rules, then I would never have to die. If I loved them, I would follow the rules for them, because they had worked very hard to provide this opportunity for me. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I loved them. I wondered if Bruce loved his parents. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ava told us that Bruce would go away now since he was going to die. He didn’t. Instead, a week later, Bruce and Timothy came back to school. The principal told us we were to treat Bruce in the same way we treated him before, but I don’t think she knew how we treated him before. No adult would ever admonish us to continue that behavior. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 15px;">We barely talked to Bruce. Ava took pains to loudly tell the other students that they should be extra nice to Bruce since he was going to die when he was in hearing distance, but otherwise, he drifted to the margins. Timothy would talk with his brother sometimes, but not often. For the most part, it was as if Timothy never had a brother. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“My parents decided to stay in Oak Glen for me after the candy incident. They wanted to keep things normal as possible after everything. I mean, him and me both knew what was going to happen, but they wanted to pretend like it didn’t,” Timothy told me at the high school prom. His cute upturned nose as a child did not fit a growing man’s face. It made it look pinched, and his voice had barely dropped since then. He was thin as a reed, but still I had asked him to be my date. He was intelligent and he held the key to the story that interested me throughout my schooling experience.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Where does he go now?” I asked. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Oh, Bruce?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">I nodded. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Well, eating gray-green mush and wearing masks loses their appeal when it isn’t helping you survive, doesn’t it? He moved out after he convinced my grandpa to let him go live with him in the city,” Timothy said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Sophomore year?” I asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Yeah, I think so,” he said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Your grandpa, is he going to die soon?” I asked. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“He’s in good shape so far, but he probably only has a decade or two,” Timothy said with a shrug. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“My maternal grandparents are dead, but my dad’s parents are alive, and their parents too,” I said. “But my mom and dad are going to die sometime. My dad ate the wedding cake.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Mine are going to die too,” Timothy said. “All my family is.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“I’m sorry,” I said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Me too,” he said. “It makes me wonder if it be better just to die, you know?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">I looked horrified, which caused Timothy to smile in a way that made his face look not so pinched. “Look at us, we’re dancing at prom and we’re discussing mortality. Shouldn’t we be partying or kissing?” His face flushed pink as he wondered how I would take the comment. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“How about the latter?” I said, reddening to match his shade.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Okay,” he said. We kissed. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Bruce Wallace died today,” I told Walt as I checked my email during break. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Who? Is he an old boyfriend?” he asked, leaning back from his computer terminal.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“No, I knew him from elementary school,” I said. </span></span><br />
<b style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I thought you went to one of those fancy, enclosed, immortality schools,” he said. His parents had put him through public school with masks and thermoses of gray sludge. He always held it against me that my upbringing had been without kids threatening to take off my mask and make me live a normal lifespan.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></b></span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b><br />
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b id="internal-source-marker_0.6819632377009839"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“I did, but one of the children ate a candy one day at recess,” I said. </span></span></b></span></span></b></div>
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He whistled, “Tough break. Imagine going through all of that just to have your five year old eat a piece of candy.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b><div>
<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“He had a brother who saw the whole thing too. He tried to stop him. I saw it,” I said. “I actually ended up dating the brother. That’s who invited me.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“That sucks. Are you going?” Walt asked. “I mean, have you seen this guy since elementary school?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“I think I will,” I said, opting for brevity over trying to explain my part in this death seventy years in the making. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Do you need someone to go with you then?” Walt offered.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Thanks, but you don’t have to. Funerals are the worst, a monument to our fragility and impermanence. This one especially, when he was born with such high hopes of living forever. Nana Nguyen usually comes with me. She was one of the first generations, you know. She knows how this works,” I said. I remembered when she held my hand at my father’s funeral. My mother had already past at that point, but Nana Nguyen comforted me, swallowing her own grief at the loss of her grandson. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Alright. Do you mind checking out this coding bug. I’ve been staring at it for the last hour, and I swear I’ve made no progress on it whatsoever,” Walt said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The city was cold and murky. My office building and home were environmentally isolated. I worse my respirator so little, I was afraid it would not fit, but it did. It seemed strange that my only clothes for braving the harsh elements of outside life were mourning clothes, but I realized the only times I ventured out from my protected shell was to attend a funeral. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">Nana Nguyen met me at her home. Her genetics seemed to scramble in its passage to me, as there was little resemblance between us. I was much more phenotypically similar to my mother’s side of the family, which I was hardly able to meet as they all died so young. My Nana Nguyen and I looked more like best friends than relatives as we came into the funeral as a pair. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">There were few people wearing masks, but only one I recognized. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Hello Ava,” I said. “I haven’t seen you in a lifetime. I hear you are getting married?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Yes, Irma and I are tying the knot in, oh, is it only three years now? My, how time flies. Thinking about it always makes me so twitterpated. It’s like falling in love all over again. I heard about your loss. So terrible to lose one’s parents so young. I am sure it is difficult. Who is this?” Ava asked, switching from ecstatic to lugubrious to curious in smooth succession. “Someone special?” Ava winked with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. She had not lost her bravado. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“Oh, this is my great-grandma Hee Young Nguyen,” I said. “Nana, this is Ava Kennedy.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“I’ve read your articles, Miss Kennedy. Quite fantastic. There are so many preconceptions about those who make our choice, that I feel those less educated than us make grave mistakes which are perpetuated in their children,” Nana said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“I know the pain of loss, so it is my only hope that I might convince parents to make the responsible choice for their children,” Ava said seriously. “If just one parent chooses to raise their children within the confines of the Herriman Lifestyle and eliminate their risk of age-related disease and many other terminal illnesses, it would make it all worth the effort.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">The service started. I looked for Timothy, but could not find him. I wondered if it would have been too difficult for him to lay his brother to rest. I would understand. It had taken every part of me to lay my father to rest, and I had Nana Nguyen to lean upon. To bury one’s brother would be nigh impossible. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">Several people spoke. An elderly, grieving widow recounted their life together. With mortality ever approaching, they had married so young, to try to carve out some happiness before it was snuffed out. A balding man spoke of his memories of his father and siblings. When people die so quickly, raising children could be done in quantity. The man had had two brothers and two sisters. A young woman, in the prime of her youth, whose only mark of accepting mortality was her missing respirator, spoke of the grandfather she knew who encouraged her into geriatrics at the local hospital. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">A man approached the podium with white hair and a gnarled cane within an equally gnarled fist. I gasped after he spoke two words: “My brother.” </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">Beneath the wrinkles, beneath the age spots, beneath the baldness and sunken eyes, it was the boy I danced with at prom. It was Timothy. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">Timothy, concerning himself with neither my astonishment or that of Ava’s, continued to speak. “My brother and I were inseparable as twins as ever were. We often claimed to be identical twins, although a half-blind monkey could see that we weren’t. Other times, we claimed that we used to be conjoined. We always had a good laugh at the quantity of people who would believe that lie. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div>
<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“As many of you may know, my parents spent their life fortune trying to build a better life for my brother and I. On boths sides, there were early deaths of aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Our parents wished to save us from that. After they took us from my mother’s womb, we were given a processed blend of amino acids, essential fats, globs of carbohydrates, and a special mixture of supplements so that we may forgo aging. As most of you know, it was imperative that we only receive this nutrient mixture and breathe a special mix of gases in order to achieve our parents dream of eternal life.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div>
<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">“When my brother was eight years old, he ate a salt water taffy. It was watermelon-flavored. He had never tasted watermelon. He had never tasted simple sugar. They pulled my brother away from me. They tried to take it away. They made him throw up. They put him in the hospital. They attached him to more wires and tubes than a child can dream of, but my brother exited the hospital with the same diagnosis he had upon entering. There was nothing he could do. He was going to die.</span></span></b></div>
<div>
<b><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><div dir="ltr" style="font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It was difficult for me. I represented what my brother could never have. All the other students at our school, who had been raised on the same nutrient broth, would never have to face their mortality. They treated Bruce as a pariah for his lifespan, as fully as they accepted me for sharing their fate. With Bruce so angry, a truculent rebellious youth, it was easy to slip away from him. Bruce and I became separate people. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It wasn’t until my last year of high school that I really thought on it. I was lucky enough to be invited to prom, and there, my date and I discussed mortality. It made me think. I never thought so hard in my life. It made me realize how much I was missing my brother. How much I was missing life. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I drove down to see my brother and my grandfather that night. Bruce was a funny guy. The first thing he asks when I show up after not seeing him in a couple of years in a rented tux, a borrowed respirator, and a rented limo already speeding off behind me was, ‘Do you want to join gramps and me for dinner?’”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Bruce told me about his new school, all the new friends he made who didn’t care he was going to die in sixty years, all the foods he had tried, each one having a different flavor, the different sites he had seen outside the bubble we had lived in so long, and his new girlfriend who would later be his blushing bride. Gramps prepared a big pot of spaghetti. All of my food had come powdered in vacuum-sealed containers at this point, so I was mesmerized at the complex process of cooking. Then, I did something I thought I’d never do. I took off my mask and ate with them. The spaghetti was undercooked, the sauce was from an old jar that might have been expired, but it was the best thing I tasted in my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I returned to school the next day, changing nothing. I ate the same muck. I was careful to use my respirator when leaving environmentally optimized structures and protect my skin from the pollutants and excessive UV light. I continued this charade until the day my parents died, then I began living for me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Bruce taught me that life is made in imperfect moments. In grasping what you had now instead of yearning for a better tomorrow that might never occur. Without death, there was nothing anchoring me, nothing making me treasure my life, since the seconds meant nothing. There would always be another to replace it. Without Bruce, I would have never stepped outside my life to look at the world. I would have never traveled. I would have never enjoyed good food or have met my wife. Because of Bruce, my life was fundamentally changed in so many amazing ways. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Bruce was braver and more sage at all of eight years than I could have ever hoped to be. Bruce died, and I soon may follow in his footsteps, as I was always wont to do. But, because of Bruce, I have lived more fully than I would have in an eternity. Good bye, Bruce. You have been the best brother a man could hope for,” Timothy said. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Thank you for coming. It has been a long time,” Timothy said, grasping my soft, unlined hand, enclosed in a special glove, with his bared aged one. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It has,” I agreed. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Interesting speech, although it did rely on several logical fallacies whose propagation could prevent the longevity of an entire generation,” Ava said, while retaining her smile. She gave her curls a little jiggle, as if expecting Timothy to appreciate her beauty and thus accept her comment. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I thought it was excellent. I never really got to know Bruce, but I think I know now,” I said. Timothy’s warm eyes glistened. His nose still looked pinched, but it fit his lined face better than it ever had in high school.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Thank you,” Timothy said. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You continue to perpetuate the myth that it is impossible to travel and stay within the confines of the Herriman lifestyle. New improvements in respirators and protective clothing has made traveling easier than ever. And, the nutrient supplements are now being introduced in three separate flavors,” Ava said. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Nana Nguyen needs to meet her bridge club at four, but I would really like to thank you for inviting me,” I told Timothy. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; white-space: pre-wrap;">“The pleasure was mine,” Timothy said. He grasped my hand again. As it left, an object dropped into my palm. Instinctively, I clutched it and slipped it into my pocket without a word. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I sat at my kitchen counter, staring at the object on the granite counter. I often found it ironic that I possess a kitchen at all, but it was one of the old houses that were reconfigured to meet the needs of the new booming market catering to those trying to reach immortality. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I hit the edge of the wrapper, and watch the salt water taffy twirl. It was pink with a green border. It had little dark spots in the pink. I recognized the image from old picture books of my mom and dad. It was a watermelon. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had never tasted a watermelon. I would never, unless the newest sludge decided to adopt such a flavor. Even then, I suppose it wouldn’t be the same. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My maternal grandmother was full of old adages. One such was, “everything in moderation.” It was deliciously ironic, which made my grandmother all the more likely to repeat it. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Moderation was impossible here. Any mistake cost everything. There only existed a dichotomy. Inside or outside. Light or dark. Life or death. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had lived eighty years. I had never gotten married. I had never had a child, although even assuming I was married and wanting a child, many couples had to wait for decades in order for approval for conception. I could still have both those things. I could have anything, but instead, I had so little. So many things in life had been good, but I left them in hopes of finding something better. I could not blame it on such an exterior factor as a diet. The fault rested with me, but was this apparent immortality preventing me from living? </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I could be hit by a car and killed like any other. And what would I have for it? No widow or widower would speak at my funeral, no child, much less grandchild, no brother. Many people died before eighty, but I hadn’t lived, because I was waiting for a better time to do so. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I unwrapped the candy. It was harder than puddy. My brain had difficulty accepting the item as food. The food had I had eaten previously the last eighty years did not resemble it in the slightest. If anyone Ava or Walt or Nana Nguyen could see me now, they would think I was crazy. My parents would say I didn’t love them. I could be charged with reckless self-endangerment. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I raised the candy to my mouth, letting it hover by my lips, untouched by time. I could smell its intoxicating aroma, more intense than any food I had ever eaten, than I ever would eat. The surface of the taffy was as smooth as my skin, and its colors were seen pristinely in unaged eyes that had seen so very little. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Frozen in such a position, I wondered, what is the price of forever?</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span></div>
E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-74002899182882952692012-12-22T00:19:00.000-08:002012-12-22T00:19:11.408-08:00The Little Hill
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There once was a very little hill
who slept on a great plain. At the top of the mere swelling of dirt (it was as
if the Earth had taken one large breath and forgot to breathe it out once more)
you could see the forests expand for farther than a crow could fly in a day. It
was a nice quiet hill, and a sort of tranquility and peace existed around it
that all life seemed to feel. The deer, rabbits, and the wolves alike would
rest their heads against its downy grass and dream of sweet nothings, flowers
bloomed as thick and fresh as the fluffy clouds above. Trees sang, serenading
to the sky their supreme bliss with all that was there. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A day came where a little
two-legged creature called boy discovered the place. He felt the peace, the
happiness, the tranquility, and immediately told every boy, every girl, and
every man and woman he could find. One such man held an occupation called a
preacher. He worked in understanding the Earth and peace. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Let us build a church here,” the
preacher said, “because peace is here.” The other men, women, boys, and girls
agreed. A small white church was built upon the hill. It was the color of
clouds, cottontails, and daisies. Every week, the men, women, boys, and girls
would scurry from their homes, from their work, from their sorrows, and come
partake of the peace of the hill. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">One day, a tragedy happened. The
wife of the preacher had a child too soon. The mother and babe went from life
together, leaving the preacher all alone. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The preacher was much distressed.
So much he loved and hoped was gone so quickly. Tears came, clinging on his
cheeks like dew, as if their continued presence could keep a memory of his wife
with him but a moment longer. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">He buried his wife and his child by
the church, in the hill. And he never left, staying in the church, trying to
find the peace once more when he could not feel it. Tranquility was with the
church, with this hill, so he knew he must stay. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Then, winter came like grief, sharp
and cold. Quietly, without much fuss or hassle, more and more of the men and
women, boys and girls, left life like candles in the wind. More and more days
were spent shuffling up in thigh high snow to hammer at stone-hard ground on
the hill. More and more tears were split on the frozen ground. More and more
hearts were broken into dust that blew away in a gust of frost. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Spring came slowly. The deer, the
rabbits, and the wolves stared curiously at the strange new rocks decorating
the hill in a very particular manner. More curious yet was that they no longer
felt the peace and tranquility. The animals turned away from the hill and left.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The girls and boys, women and men
felt the change to. They no longer felt the peace of the hill. They were so
very few, they found they could not bring themselves to the church so often as
once a week, then once a month, then ever. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The preacher stayed in his church
on the hill, but there was no longer anyone to preach to. Without anyone to
preach to, his mind was forced to turn in upon itself. He wept for days and nights
with nothing to comfort him. The peace had long since fled. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">At his darkest hour, a girl came,
dressed in gray. Her face was hollowed with hunger and dusted with dirt. He did
not remember seeing the girl before, but her appearance was so sudden, he was
unable to hide his tears. He simply looked away quickly, sitting within a pew.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Please, sir, why are you sad?” she
asked, sitting beside him. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Because I have lost those dear to
me,” the preacher said quietly, unsure of why he was settling a child with the
burdens of his heart. Her face was open. “Because my friends have left me alone
and cold.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“How did you lose your dear ones?”
the girl asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“My wife and her child passed away
in childbirth,” the preacher said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Then, they aren’t lost after all,”
the girl said. “You know exactly where they are.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I am no longer sure I do,” the
preacher said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I do,” the girl said. She leaned
over and placed both her hands on opposite sides of the preacher’s face.
“They’re here, but they’re not happy.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Why not?” the preacher asked
through his tears. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You are holding onto them too
tight. You have to let them go for them to be here,” she said. Without another
word, the girl jumped from the pew and skipped down the aisle. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The preacher walked home that
night. It was a cold structure that was far from the church. A rabbit had made
its burrow underneath the woodpile and a family of mice had harvested his
pantry. In his bedroom, a dark stain remained on the floor. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The preacher scrubbed the floors,
aired the blankets, and put a fire in the fireplace. The next day, he went to
each and every woman and man, boy and girl in the area. He said that tomorrow there
would be a special sermon at the church. However, he did not see the girl. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“There is peace in the Earth and
the sky. When we try to take our loved ones away from their rest, we take them
away from the peace. This is not our peace to take,” then the preacher took one
of the graying panels of wood from the side of the church and pulled. Piece by
piece, the men and women, girls and boy disassembled the church. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Then, they left the hill, leaving
their loved ones behind to rest. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Slowly, the deer, the rabbits, and
the wolves came back to the hill. Birds made nests among the sacred stone
structures and foxes nursed their young in the shadows. Peonies and violets
sprouted among clover above a happy, little girl in gray. </span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-3792235676732688022012-12-06T18:33:00.000-08:002012-12-06T18:33:08.626-08:00Sleep<b id="internal-source-marker_0.13647922151722014"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The walls were gilt with mirrors in an antiquated, dated look with faded, plush carpet to match. The stairwell, far from the expansive or industrial items I had seen before on my apartment hunt, was tight and as Baroque as the landing. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“This building was built in the 1904,” the landlady, a serene and comely woman who must be in her eighties. “Not too long before the Great War. My great grandfather built it with his brother when this city was but new and barely beginning.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>For an elderly woman, she had great stamina, I realized as we crested the fourth floor. Perhaps something can be said that the ceilings were not the twelve-foot-tall, appropriate-for-behemoths caverns I had observed at the hospital where I had just found work. Still, even I, a little over a quarter of her age, was slightly winded while she smiled calmly. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Is it considered a historical site?” I asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“A highly pertinent question. It is, in fact. Are you a student of history?” she asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Um, not really. At least, not formally. I mean, I like reading historical books sometimes, but I’m a pathology lab tech,” I said. I glanced away from her open face and caught my reflection in one of the many mirrors coating the walls. A reflection dappled with the persistent black spots I had seen on antique mirrors but did not know the origin of looked back at me, betraying all the uncertainty I was trying to hide as a first-time apartment shopper.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well then, I won’t bore you with the details, but this building was one the first of its type in the area. The doors and windows are vintage, beside the one in the far corner where an accident happened in the fifties. Allow me to show you,” she said, unlocking the front door with an archaic key, the kind with fat notches on a narrow cylinder. I searched my memory for when I might have seen such a key before in the context of actual use, but could find no recollection. I was immediately distracted from the thought, however, when she opened the door.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh, it’s beautiful,” I said, before wondering if it were wise to express such admiration. My parents had offered to accompany me, but it seemed that in starting out one’s life, most activities should be at least attempted on one’s own first. Now, I thought distantly to their guidance. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The landlady seemed pleased with my comment, “It is indeed. That is the actual oak bookcases from when my great grandfather built this building. The molding, the paint, and the carpet is new, but the wood floors have just been sanded down and refinished. The kitchen is smaller than one might expect at a modern apartment, but it still has all the necessities, and there is an airconditioning unit in the window over there. Feel free to explore the home.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I did as she suggested. The floorplan was less open and much more circuitous and serpentine. It was truly exploring. I tried to make note of things my mother had suggested when I decided to begin my apartment hunt: electrical outlets were few but evident, no evidence of mold or mildew, faucets worked fine as did the toilets, only the new window seemed able to open but was half-filled with the air-conditioning unit previously mentioned, however the apartment seemed cool enough. Even against the oppressive summer heat outside, I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stiffening in a chill. There were plenty of windows, which gave a pleasant view of the hillside on which the building was situated.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Completing my search, I thanked the landlady. I inquired about the utilities and the area, to which she responded confidently and succinctly. Once I emptied my brain of all the minutiae I could remember my parents telling me was of the utmost importance, I thanked the landlady for her time and continued the rest of apartment viewings I had set up.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey, Dad,” I said, my cell phone cocked under my chin as I leafed through the pile of documents on my hotel room desk. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey, sport,” he said, his jocularity easing through the phone and inundating the dark hotel room with his easy smile, even when I could not see it.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I think I know which apartment I’m going to get. It’s really close to the hospital, so I can finally give your car back to you,” I said.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I have another car? I thought that one was lost to the ages,” he exclaimed. “Although it’s probably on it’s last wheel by now. Does it still run?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s doing fine, Dad. I’m not that irresponsible. But the apartment, it’s on a bus route, only four blocks from a grocery store, AND it’s less than $800 a month with utilities. It’s on the fourth floor of this really old building-”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Does it have an elevator?” he asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I don’t know. Maybe? We took the stairs. It’s a historical site, so I don’t know if they’re allowed to put one in,” I said, thinking.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Four flights is an awful long way with arms full of groceries,” he said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Gotta get an arm workout in,” I retorted. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That’s my little warrior,” he said.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh Dad,” I shook my head, smiling at the old nickname.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’m glad it’s worked out. I’ll ignore my worried father tendency and trust my adult child’s judgement that’s it the best place on the market. Do you need any help closing the deal?” he asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I think I got it. The landlady’s about ninety years old and really nice, so I doubt she’ll try to cheat me. I’ll call you and let you know tomorrow how it works out. I figure I should sleep on it though,” I said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You’ve got your good father’s keen judgement,” he said proudly. “You should probably call your mother and let her know as well.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I will, Dad. Talk to you tomorrow?” I said.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Of course. I’ll be done after seven, since there’s a long board meeting, but then I am all yours,” he said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Love ya, Dad,” I said.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Love you more than your poor scientific mind can comprehend, my little warrior,” he said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Am I ever going to be your big warrior?” I asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Only when you grow taller than me,” he said simply. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Dammit. Good bye then,” I said.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Bye, kiddo,” he said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The boxes were quite heavy. I never realized how much raw stuff I had until I tried to move it. It was by no means the complete parts for a house. Several key components like silverware, a coffeepot, and my keyboard from college, which I could not justify shipping, were missing. All the same, the college textbooks more than made up for it as I wondered when I was ever really going to use psychology again. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>To make matters worse, I caught someone’s gaze behind me as I did my best not to grunt too loudly as I laboriously climbed each stair. I could almost imagine him or her laughing at my strain and muscles gone to seed without the college gym to train them. I had no idea why it would be important to impress the presence behind me, but I felt embarrassed all the same. Thankfully, whoever it was seemed to live on the third floor, so I could summit the building in peace. I was sweating and somewhat irritable when I finally reached the fourth floor landing. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You must be the new tenant!” I heard an elderly voice exclaim. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I set down the box with relief and tried to casually wipe the sweat from my brow. “Yes, I’m Ridley Summers.” The woman had a pile of gray curls primly atop her head and was smiling warmly.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s so nice to finally have some young faces around here,” the woman. “I’m Hortense Evergreen. Are you a student at the university? Do you have a special someone there?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No, I actually just got a job at the hospital as a lab tech,” I said, wondering how she had gone from introduction to probing about my love life so quickly. “I’m a little older than I look.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“All the same, youth is much appreciated in a drafty, ol’ place like this. I’m sure Madison will love you. I must be off to my reading club, but if you require anything at all, don’t hesitate to come by. Mr. Evergreen and I are at 4C, just down the hall,” Mrs. Evergreen said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Thanks so much, Mrs. Evergreen,” I said, inclining my head in some semblance of an anachronistic bow without knowing why.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Please, dear, call me Hortense,” she said with a smile. “But I really must be going. I am sure I will see you soon and you can have a cup of tea with Mr. Evergreen and me.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Alright, uh, Hortense,” I said, much bemused at the sudden familiarity I hadn’t even received when I was living in the college dorms. “Have fun at your reading club.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh, thank you so much, dear,” she returned with a smile. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I wondered at how I had been invited to tea, which seemed an event much more at place in a period British drama than in modern times. I picked up my blasted box of textbooks again and stumbled to my door.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I left my wrapper for my trail mix bar on the garbage bag on my kitchen floor. It was right next to the half-unpacked box of et cetera kitchen supplies that was the exact pitiful quantity you might expect from a recent college graduate. It had a mug though, which I had moments before drained of chamomile tea and stashed in the sink with a plate I had scraped pizza off earlier. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I was tired enough just trying to get the beginnings of my life up four flights of stairs that the idea of unpacking anything or even washing my dishes was laughable. The idea for conversing for another hour with my mother today was equally unthinkable, so I sent succinct texts to both parents instead. I could call them later. That was what tomorrow was for, along with completing the first day of my career. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My mother had said this experience would be enough to push me into medical school, the path she had not-so-quietly been rooting for since I was born. Maybe it would. Maybe it would convince me that business was far more lucrative and interesting, and I would soon find myself tailing my father. Or, maybe I would figure out that I knew myself better than either parent and I would be perfectly happy, and my parents would not be disappointed with my life choices.</span></span></b><br />
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.13647922151722014"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I put my hands to my temples, trying to massage my headache. </span></span></b></div>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.13647922151722014"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I needed sleep. Despite the summer heat and the singular air-conditioning unit hung out the back window, the apartment was cold. I needed socks to keep my toes from going numb and I pulled my blanket up to my nose and fell asleep on the floor where I made a note that mattress shopping (with shipping up four flights of stairs) should be one of my priorities.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I was awake, and I was terrified. Each and everyone of my muscles refused to listened to my frightened brain’s command. I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move. Why couldn’t I move? I had the strange sensation that something bad was going to happen to me if I didn’t move. Something was going to hurt me, and I needed to run away. But, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The sun tickled me awake. I took one look at my watch and let out a stream of expletives. I did not notice the dampness of my pillow, but jumped from my bed tearing off my pajamas while rummaging through every cardboard box I could find. I ran out the door exactly two minutes later, thundering down the stairs three or four at a time without any care to whose slumber I might be disturbing. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I could </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">not</span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> be late to work of my first day. This was hardly an auspicious start to my adult life. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey, I’m Jing,” a white-coated, stethoscope-slung figure said as I attacked an apple for lunch at the commons. I checked the ID badge of the friendly person to be sure, but the white coat was kinda a giveaway. MD. Big shot, but still young. “Do you mind if I sit here?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No, of course not. Go on ahead. I’m Ridley,” I offered, before realizing the information was emblazoned on my own ID badge.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You new here?” Jing asked. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Just moved in yesterday,” I responded brightly.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“And a lab tech?” Jing said, checking out my ID badge. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yep,” I said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You look young,” Jing said.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I get that a lot. Even when I was a senior in college, I had people triple checking my ID whenever I would go out,” I said with a shrug. “You look pretty young though too, for an M.D., so I’m sure you get that a lot as well.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Jing shrugged. “A bit. You said you just moved. Did you get into the new condos near the Avenues?” Jing asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No, those places were really pricey. I’m in this old apartment building on Main. I was able to find a 1 bedroom for the price of studios other places, and it’s really close,” I said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“First time by yourself?” Jing asked. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Is it that obvious?” I asked. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Jing laughed. “Maybe it’s just because you look so young. I remember when I first got my own place in med school, I triple locked my front door, double checked every window, and slept with a butcher knife on my bedstand because I was so paranoid. Not to scare you or anything.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I smiled politely. “I don’t scare that easily.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I kicked off my shoes and attempted to control my breathing as I locked the door behind me. If I was getting winded just walking up stairs, I needed to start running again. I would try to get up early tomorrow, if I didn’t prove to myself once again my amazing ability to sleep through anything and everything. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I clutched the wall, fumbling for a lightswitch that wasn’t there and managed to bang my shin against my stupid, stupid box of textbooks. With a chorus of groans, I found the lightswitch and surveyed my impressive pile of boxes for a person that claimed not to have much stuff. I really needed to unpack. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Despite my exhaustion, I managed to nestle all my books in the bookshelf, shove my clothes unceremoniously in my closet, sprinkle all office related supply on the kitchen table current serving as my desk, and empty my pitiful supply of kitchen related items into various cupboards. </span></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I needed to go to the store too sometime I realized as I licked my fingers clean from a couple of cold Pop Tarts. And I needed to buy a mattress soon as well I realized as I hit the hard ground once more. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I then remembered the nightmare I had the night before. Except, it wasn’t really a nightmare since I think I was awake, but I couldn’t be. It had felt so real. Could it be real? I knew sleep paralyzed the body, a mechanism that only really went awry in sleepwalkers. What if I had been doing the opposite of sleepwalking? It didn’t explain the strange sense of terror, of course, but could easily been the natural response to figuring out one couldn’t move. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I would Google it in the morning, but for now, I was tired. I think I fell asleep before my eyes were closed.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Something drifted across my neck like a cold breath, slithering over goose bumps and along my jugular and carotid. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t yell or fight. I needed to get out. I needed to move, but I couldn’t. I was helpless yet completely conscious to the cold fingers of air tracing my cheek. I could hear the soft groans of old voices within old wood. I could sense something was wrong. I needed to wake up, get up, or something. My heart was beating violently against my chest, but to no effect. I needed to get out. I could do nothing. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">My pillow was soaked in sweat, but I was relaxed when I woke. A bleary-eyed look at my watch confirmed I had done much better with waking this go around, and I pumped a fist for victory in the pre-dawn light of the bedroom. Still, it was so strange what had happened two nights in a row now. I would definitely Google it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I settled with a cup of tea as I added a coffeepot to the absolutely necessary items I would soon have to purchase. I flipped open my laptop, my fingers ready at the keyboard. I quickly switched them to my chin where I drummed them against my mandible as I considered what phrase to describe my strange experience. The internet had taught me that I was alone in nothing in my experiences, so someone else upon the web must have catalogued this as well.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sleep paralysis</span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, I decided upon. Google instantly obliged me with Wikipedia.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It was exactly as I expected. It wasn’t a serious condition or anything. I needed to stop sleeping on my back and get off caffeine to make it go away. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Well, that was easy. I glanced at my watch again. It was still early enough that I could take myself up on the promise to start running again. I sifted through the clothes I poured into my closet until I acquired the requisite articles, and then I started for the front door and tripped on a textbook lying in the middle of the hallway, open.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Stupid anatomy,” I muttered, rubbing the knee that had impacted the antique wood floor that had been no more giving than a slab of cement. I grabbed the book, shoved it back onto the shelf, and began a short run around the neighborhood. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Hi, Ridley,” Jing said.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Hey, Jing,” I coughed, wiping my mouth on a napkin.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You coming down with something?” Jing asked, sitting down with a knit forehead.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“No, I’m vaccinated out the hoo-hah. Sometimes my throat gets scratchy after I run,” I said with a shrug.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You run?” Jing asked.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Don’t seem so surprised,” I said, faking affrontation. Jing laughed.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“No, not that. It’s just I run too,” Jing said.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Awesome. Do you know any good routes around here?” I asked. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well, how far do you like to run?” Jing asked.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“How far do </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">you</span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> like to run?” I asked.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well, I have this favorite route. It’s about seven miles up on the hill behind the university. It’s beautiful in the early morning,” Jing said. “Oh, I have a picture of it on my phone.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Jing wrangled the phone out and presented it across the table to me. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, it is beautiful, but I don’t think I’m up for a seven mile hill run quite yet,” I said. “Three miles is more my speed right now.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“It’s more your distance, you mean,” Jing said slyly. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I laughed. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I have a good three miler too. Maybe if you’re free one of these Saturdays I’m not on work, which supposedly exist, I can show it to you,” Jing said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“That’d be nice. I seriously need to do some mattress shopping first, but if you ever get free, let me know,” I said.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You don’t have a mattress?” Jing asked.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Hence my serious need,” I said.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“God, go get a mattress for hell’s sake,” Jing said. “I’d be dying without a mattress. I guess I know why you look tired then.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“And my oh-so-strenuous three mile run,” I protested. “Pretend to be impressed so I don’t have to writhe in my unworthiness. Let me guess, you probably run marathons, right?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I’ve only run one yet-” Jing started with a shy grin, trying not to look too pleased. I laughed.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, hello dear. How is everything? Are you all moved in?” Mrs. Evergreen caught me on the fourth floor landing.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Just about, thanks for asking. Did your book club go well?” I asked. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, you are so sweet, you’re sugar-frosted!” Hortense quipped. I smiled. “Have you met Madison yet?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I don’t think I have. I haven’t really met anyone yet,” I said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Madison loves to wander, so I’m sure you’ll run into each other soon. You’ll love Madison once you finally get a chance to meet. Madison’s as sweet as cherry pie and just loves the young folks,” Mrs. Evergreen said. “I really must be getting back to Mr. Evergreen, but you must come around for that cup of tea sometime, dear.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, I will,” I said brightly. Mrs. Evergreen gave a cheery wave, and I turned the corner back to my apartment. Curiously, I checked around the floorboards. Was Madison an apartment cat that wandered throughout the building? It seemed unlikely that a “sweet” tenant would have a wandering behavior. One with such behavior that enjoyed the company of young people would probably not be taken lightly. Maybe Madison was a dog, or even a bird. A favorite insect? It did not seem past belief that Hortense would take an insect under her wing and nurture it. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I turned back thinking I could ask Hortense about this mysterious Madison, but she had already disappeared back into her apartment. Next time, for sure.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Is the apartment up to your expectations?” the landlady asked.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Yes, of course. Everything’s great,” I said, tucking my cell phone under my ear as I browsed the internet for a mattress, box spring, and bed frame. I was wearing a sweatshirt and sipping tea despite having turned the air conditioning unit on low, wondering at the remarkable efficiency of the archaic-looking device. However, powerful air conditioning hardly seemed something to complain about. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Splendid. I’m so happy to hear it. Do not hesitate to call me if you run into any issues whatsoever,” the landlady said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, I was going to ask, who is Madison? Mrs. Evergreen mentioned a Madison wandering around a couple of times. Is there a sort of apartment cat or something?” I asked. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There was silence for a moment on the other end. “Madison is very timid. If you haven’t met Madison yet, you probably never will. Do not worry about that for a moment. Mrs. Evergreen is usually the only one that sees Madison. Is there anything else, Ridley?” the landlady said soothingly, although rapidly.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Um, no, not really,” I said, suddenly distracted by finding a good deal on a mattress with free shipping and installment. The box spring was thrown in half off. There was even a cheap bed frame they would assemble.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Do not hesitate to call if anything seems amiss,” the landlady said.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Okay, I won’t,” I said, clicking for reviews on the mattress.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Goodbye,” she said.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Bye,” I said. The phone clicked off, and I pressed the purchase button. I would finally get a mattress!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I couldn’t move. Why couldn’t I move? An unmoveable weight seemed to be pressing down on my every limb as my breath quickened in pace with my heart. I could feel the epinephrine leaking out of my adrenal glands. Cold air traced my collarbone up to my cheek and ear. I needed to move. I needed to get away, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I woke up. It really was an odd experience, I decided. I slept supine, which the article I read explicitly warned against, but it was about the only comfortable position on the floor. Once I had my mattress, I could finally stop having the weird sleep paralysis thing. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Unless it was due to stress, which the article also cited as possibility. But really, I was reading a Wikipedia article, which had about the same claim to veracity as any random source on the internet. I should look at PubMed or at least something outside of Wikipedia. I grabbed my laptop, ready for a search.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It turns out the internet has a lot of kooks claiming demons to be responsible for sleep paralysis,( or witches, or hags, or ghosts) but PubMed not so much. I rubbed my temples and drained two cups of tea in quick succession trying to bring feeling back into my toes. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I wasn’t scared. It was just strange. Any fear I had during the night seemed to melt easily away by morning. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I would just get a new mattress and be done with it soon. I got ready for work. I tripped over my anatomy book again. I placed it in a more secure position on the shelf, horizontal and tucked within the edge of the bookshelf. I did not want to pay for getting the floor resanded when it turned out thirty pounds of anatomy can leave a sizable dent. Instinctively, I pushed my hall rug to the side slightly to cover the mark and left. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Hi, Ridley,” Jing said.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Hey, Jing!” I said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Are you getting off work now too?” Jing asked.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Yep. Was just-”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I was thinking-”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We both paused in our sentences, realizing the other speaking. Jing reddened. I motioned to Jing, “You go.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I was just going to say that I have an extra hour if you want to see the running route I was talking about,” Jing said.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, that’d be great, but I didn’t bring any of my running gear,” I said, raising my arms helplessly.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“We could just walk it, if you want. Shouldn’t take us much longer than an hour,” Jing said. “That is, if you’re free.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Sounds awesome,” I said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The minor, acute distress that I had almost not realized was painted across Jing’s face broke. “That’s great,” Jing beamed. “It’s just this way.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We walked around the nearby park and underneath the tree-covered lanes of quaint little houses near the hospital before we rounded the corner with my apartment. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I tried to casually wipe the sweat off my forehead while praying that my deodorant was holding strong against the summer heat. I could use with some of the winter-strength air conditioning my apartment had to offer. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Hey, Jing, do you want to grab something to drink up in my apartment before we walk back to the hospital?” I asked. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Are you inviting me up for a drink or inviting me up for a drink?” Jing returned with an expression that was all but impossible to interpret. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Water, I mean, just a drink of water. I mean, it’s kinda hot out here, and I don’t even have any of the good stuff, since I just moved in, but I do have water since it comes from the tap and, and-” I rambled. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Jing laughed. “That’d be great, Ridley.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The laugh put me at ease as I realized how nervous being around Jing was making me. I managed to grin goofily. “Awesome. Follow me. I’m on the fourth floor and I don’t know if there is an elevator-” I started as we walked into the atrium.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You mean like the one over here?” Jing asked, pointed to a set of gilded doors I never noticed. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Yes, dammit. Excuse my poor observational skills,” I said, blushing. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We rode the elevator up to my apartment.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Wow, it’s like a freezer up here,” Jing said as we stepped inside.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I know. It just has this tiny, little air-conditioning unit in the window, but it’s freaky efficient,” I said. “Please, ignore the boxes. I promise I’ll throw them out someday.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Jing laughed. “Don’t worry. I moved here a year and a half ago, and I still have a couple of boxes floating around my place.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and filled them up with water from the sink. “Uh, here. The kitchen table has been morphed into a desk and I haven’t really gotten around to getting chairs or a couch or anything,” I said, fretting. “I think I might have a camp chair over in this closet.” I dove headfirst into the pile of unsorted boxes and objects I had shoved into the closet a few days before. I could hear Jing walk casually out of the kitchen, down the hall. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I’m fine standing; it’s supposed to be better for you. The veins in your leg operate most efficiently with muscle involvement. Oh, this is a beautiful copy of Netter!” I heard Jing exclaim. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There was a crash and a gasp.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I immediately disentangled myself from the closet and skidded into the hall, “Jing?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Jing said, crouched by the floor in a puddle of shimmering wet glass, some of which had embedded into Jing’s slacks. My anatomy book also lay in the ring of destruction.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, God, are you okay?” I asked. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I’m fine. It’s just, the, the glass just slipped,” Jing said. “I’m really sorry about the floor and the rug.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, it’s fine. I’ll just grab a rag and mop this up,” I said. I looked up and realized Jing’s face was very pale. “Are you sure you’re alright?’</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, yes, I’m fine. I think I should be getting back to my car at the hospital though,” Jing said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Here, just wait a second for me to wipe this up, and I’ll walk back with you,” I offered. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“No, it’s fine,” Jing said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well, I guess I could always clean it up when I get back,” I said, considering the mess. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“No, no. I’m fine, really. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Jing said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Uh, okay,” I said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Jing left. I cleaned up the mess wondering what the hell just happened and where did that leave me with Jing. I had a habit of over-thinking things, so I did my best to convince myself I was doing just that with Jing. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We were just friends, and Jing wanted to get back before it got too dark. That was it. We were just friends. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I could not move or see or think. Fear. The cold that traced my face was no longer languid, but sharp. I needed to run away. I needed to move. I needed to escape. God, I needed to escape.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I did not see Jing that day, but I did think about Jing a lot. Jing was always in my thoughts. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, thank God!” I exclaimed as I opened the door to find the two people currently lugging my new mattress up the stairs. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You’d be surprised at how often we get that response,” the first man said. “Do you want us to move it into the bedroom?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Please do,” I said. “It’s down this way.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I wish I could keep my place this cold, but it’d cost me an arm and a leg,” the man said.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I don’t know how much it’s costing me; I haven’t even been here a week, but the air conditioning unit’s on low. I guess it’s just great nineteenth century engineering,” I said. “Sorry, let me shove all these blankets out of the way. I’ve been sleeping on the floor.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“No wonder you were glad to see us,” the man said. They set the mattress down. “We’ll go grab the box spring.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Awesome possum,” I said, wondering where the eccentric turn of phrase came from as soon as it left my lips. Probably some remnant of college yet to be scrubbed off by a mature career. They left. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I went over to the window unit. It was almost unbearably cold now. Maybe I should just turn it off and let the apartment warm up a little. I did so, rubbing my arms where gooseflesh had already pimpled the surface. I should get the mattress movers a drink. While it was freezing in my apartment, a sauna existed outside. It was only polite. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I went into the kitchen and filled a couple glasses with lemonade I had made from the powdered drink mix I had found at the bottom of one of my boxes. I was trying to figure out the ice tray in my freezer when I heard a crash coming from the hallway. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I stopped what I was doing and ran to the source of the noise. The two men were tangled up in each other on the ground, squished between the box spring and the wall. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Are you okay?” I said hastily, moving the box spring off of them. I dragged it several paces down the wall and went to help the first one up. However, he was already on his feet. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“We have a tight schedule. ‘have to be going,’ the man said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Um, okay. Sure. I bought a bed frame too though, right?” I said, sitting back on my heels, feeling uncomfortable exerting my authority as a customer, but not willing to stand down. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Yes, of course. Sam will-” the man started. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“No, I won’t,” the other man, Sam, cut in forcefully. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“We’ll just leave it on the front steps,” the first man said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Okay,” I said. It said free delivery, but in the face of two men who clearly seemed at extreme unease, I really didn’t know how to bring it up.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Without another word, the men left. I saw what they tripped on. Somehow my damn anatomy book had fallen off the shelf again. What the hell was wrong with it? Or the shelf? </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">With equal parts frustration and confusion, I picked up the book again, surprised it was still in good condition considering how many falls it had taken lately, and tucked it under my arm. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Apparently the shelf’s too dangerous for you, my friend,” I said to the book, tapping it. I brought it into the kitchen where I examined the two cups of lemonade I had poured. I drained both and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. I guess I better go get my bed frame. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I was dead tired when I fell asleep. I had discovered my bed frame was exactly the wrong shape to fit in the elevator, so I dragged it up four flights of stairs, which was really too small for it as well. I felt for sure I was scratching the paint, despite my best efforts. However, no one saw me, so I hoped the flecks would go unnoticed.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Then, I had to assemble the damn thing when I accidentally set the instructions down on the wet counter, so the ink instantly blurred. Then, I realized I had no tools, so I had to ride the bus to pick up a screwdriver. After all that, I figured out halfway through I did it wrong and needed to disassemble everything again and flip a part. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Then, of course, I had to stack my ridiculously heavy queen sized mattress and box spring on top of the bed frame by myself. God, I should have just grown a backbone and demanded the mattress mover guys assemble my bed. I was sore all over and tired, so very tired.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I couldn’t move. There was something there. It was angry at me. It wanted to hurt me. I needed to run away, for heaven’s sake, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t hide. It was clawing at my face. God. Please, God, I was afraid. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I stumbled to the kitchen. My toes were frozen. My head hurt. My hands were shaking. I turned the tap on and filled a mug, which I shoved into the microwave. I pressed buttons without knowing which ones I was pressing. I found a jacket and wrapped myself in it. I pulled my mug out of the microwave and shoved several tea bags inside it. I gulped it down as it scorched my throat. I was so cold, but I didn’t think I could ever get warm. Not in this place. There was something here. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">What the hell was I thinking about? God, sleep deprivation was not good for my brain, drawing nightmares into a sharp poke of real panic like a spinner draws thread from wool. I needed to calm down. I looked down at my empty mug. I had no idea what tea I had just drank. I checked the counter where four crinkled wrappers of Earl Grey informed me of my choice. So, I was going to be hopped up on caffeine. I probably wouldn’t be able to sleep. Great.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I sighed and rubbed my temples. I didn’t know why I was so agitated. I just needed to calm down. I grabbed the wrappers on the counter and threw them away and sopped up some of the tea I had spilt because of my trembling hand with a rag. My anatomy book thankfully stayed dry, which was a miracle. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I stared at the finely illustrated open pages exposing the major nerves of the face sitting like a spiderweb atop the parotid gland. The facial nerve had five branches, and a handy mnemonic made it difficult for me to forget their order. The Zebra Bit My Cookie. Temporal, zygomatic, buccal, mandibular, cervical. That had been an interesting day in anatomy lab. Really, there was something terribly disconcerting about cutting into the face of a person who could be someone’s mother or father, grandmother or grandfather. I think dissection of the face was definitely the toughest day.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I closed the book. It would be difficult to sleep now, so I went to the hallway and picked up an old, well-thumbed copy of Hamlet. Nothing like some good ol’ Shakespeare, which had the dual benefit of being mildly education while still essentially soporific. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I read the first couple acts, but felt no inclination to sleep again. I set the book down, and went for a run. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“What happened to your face?” Jing asked, coming in for lunch.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“What?” I asked, feeling up for evidence of food or some other embarrassing accompaniment. Instead, I winced as I felt a few scratches starting around my maxilla and branching out in several directions. “Oh, I didn’t even notice. Must have got swiped by a tree when running or something.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Still running strong?” Jing asked.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Yep. I like that route you showed me,” I said, but then paused. I reddened reflexively at the memory of how awkwardly that day had ended. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“No problem,” Jing said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There was a long pause. I examined my carrots while trying desperately to think of something interesting to say.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“So, this is going to sound weird-” Jing said slowly.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“What? I’m all ears,” I said, perhaps a little too eagerly. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well. I did a little research on your building,” Jing said.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, really? Why? What did you find?” I asked, grateful for any conversation.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well, a few people have died there,” Jing said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Makes sense, I guess. A building that old is bound to have people die in it,” I shrugged. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You don’t think-? Sorry. This is silly,” Jing said, shaking short, dark bangs away with the conversation. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I tried to grab it back. The conversation that is, not the hair. “No, what? Now you’ve made me curious,” I said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well, your apartment is creepy,” Jing said.</span></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Wait, what?” I said, half-laughing.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I mean, something is seriously wrong with that place. Why are you laughing?” Jing asked. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“It’s just an apartment. What do you think, some ghosts are haunting it?” I asked, still chortling without restraint. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I’m not hungry anymore. See you around, Ridley,” Jing said acerbically, picking up the remains of the sandwich. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Wait, Jing!” I said, cursing my stupidity. Dammit. Why did I laugh. I mean, it was ridiculous what Jing was saying, but I shouldn’t have laughed. Dammit. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Firmly encased in my warmest pajamas, I pulled a carton of ice cream out of my freezer and dug in with a spoon. My head hurt, and I needed a sugar rush. My anatomy book was still lying open on my kitchen counter. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You know, this is your fault,” I said, pointing my spoon at it. “If you hadn’t made Jing trip, then we wouldn’t have had that conversation, and then we’d probably be at the ‘let’s go get coffee after work’ stage.” I glowered at it. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Damn you, Netter,” I said, shaking my fist at the sky. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Laughter echoed in the hallway.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I turned around quickly. Then, I looked out the window. God, these walls were paper thin. The laugh was probably too young to be coming from the Evergreens, but maybe some of my other neighbors were younger. Wait, no, Hortense had made it seem like there weren’t very many young people in the apartment building. Maybe someone had the TV on or had grandkids over or something. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I turned back to my ice cream. Why was I eating ice cream when it was so freaking cold in this apartment? I needed to open a window and let some of that sweltering heat inside, except none of the windows opened. Well, besides the one with the damn, high-powered air conditioning unit. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Maybe, it had a short or something so that it couldn’t tell that I had set it to off. I put the ice cream away and pulled the plug on the air conditioning unit. Hopefully the apartment would begin heating up soon. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I shoved my anatomy book in my closet on top of a pile of jeans. “Stay,” I ordered. But really, it seemed highly unlikely I would be having any visitors to my bedroom anytime soon, considering my recent strike out with Jing, which I managed to destroy before it even developed. Hell, the book could fall all night to its heart’s content. I then realized that, in this case, the book did have a heart (at least several figures of one), and that made me snort in a sort of pitying self-humor. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Sleep. That’s what I needed. Sleep on my new, comfortable bed. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I couldn’t move, but I could feel. There was something on top of me, weighing down my chest. I could barely breathe. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it. It’s hands were lightly on my face like cool wisps of smoke tickling what they touched. They descended down my neck to my chest. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I was terrified. I had no idea what the thing was, but I was helpless to its touch. I needed to move away. I wanted to yell, but no sound could echo from my throat. Instead, I heard soft laughter. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I was freezing cold, but I was sweating. My chest ached as I heaved and huffed, trying to catch my breath. It was like I had gone running during my sleep. The fear remained. It felt like panic, because I didn’t think the nightmare was gone yet. It was still here. I could feel it. It’s laughter still echoed, and its fingertips burned my flesh like dry ice, clinging like oil. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In a fit of terror, I fumbled out of bed to turn on the lightswitch. Nothing. Just one sorry excuse for a semi-adult in pajamas, clutching a blanket. I tried to control my heartbeat.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It wasn’t real. I knew it wasn’t real. It was a documented neural phenomenon, a hiccup in the brain. My body didn’t wake when my brain did, so my brain concocted terrors, including a mysterious figure touching me and laughing? My psyche was messed up. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I was so incredibly cold in this apartment. Maybe that was it. My breath was practically frosting in the air in front of me. I needed something hot. Tea. Tea should work. I went back to my bed to return the blanket when my anatomy book fell open by my feet. I threw the blanket on my bed and bent to retrieve it. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It was on one of the pages pelvic anatomy. That was also a disconcerting day of anatomy lab, to dissect something so private and special for a person, suddenly laying it bare on a cold metal table with a flash of steel scalpels, tweezers, hemostats, scissors, and saws. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There was laughter behind me. I jumped around as my panic reached a climax. Nothing. There was nothing. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I had read once that aural hallucinations are the most common. Maybe the stress of the new job, living alone for the first time, and the Jing fiasco was getting to me. For hell’s sake, I was talking to my anatomy book while eating a carton of ice cream. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I shoved the anatomy book under my bed. Despite coming to a reasonable conclusion, I still found myself turning on every light in the house. I waited until morning uneasily.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“What happened?” Jing asked.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“What?” I said, looking up bleary-eyed from my coffee.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Your neck, it’s all bruised,” Jing said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I felt upward and winced. “I have no idea how that happened,” I said honestly.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Are you alright?” Jing asked. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I just can’t sleep very well. It’s the weirdest thing,” I said, suppressing a yawn. “I think it’s just the stress of, um, everything.” I reddened. Although Jing was acting amicable, I had no idea where we stood.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“A nightcap always helps me sleep,” Jing said. “Red wine has resveratrol, which has been shown to extend lifespan in mice.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I shrugged. “I just barely got a mattress. I haven’t got any wine yet.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I do,”Jing said, quietly, hesitantly. Enough so that I spent a good five seconds trying to decipher the expression that I doubt of team of psychiatrists could crack. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Let’s go out. My treat. I think we both need to unwind a little,” Jing said, which was definitely a more forward step. I was tired before, but wide awake now.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Um, okay, sure,” I said, very confused, but also happy at the turn of events. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Jing gave a critical look at the building. “You know, you can sleep at my place tonight,” Jing said. Seeing my bewildered expression, Jing was quick to add, “I have a couch. Since, you were having trouble sleeping.” Jing reddened and looked away.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“No, it’s fine. I mean, it really is a nice place, even if a little creepy. I have the nicest neighbor named Hortense Evergreen who treats me like her favorite grandchild. She’d probably be worried sick if she didn’t hear me come home,” I said. “Anyway, thanks for the night out.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“No problem.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Jing was about to drive away, but I quickly returned to the car. “Jing?”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Jing rolled down the window, looking expectant.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Um, there’s this new movie coming out soon based on this book I really like, and I wasn’t sure if you would have an evening free anytime soon,” I started. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, I think I know which one you’re talking about. I loved that book,” Jing said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well?” I said. “How about it? Do you want to go see it with me sometime.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I’m free next Friday night,” Jing smiled.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Sounds like a date!” I said. Jing not only didn’t correct my terminology but grinned happily. I finally understood where we were at. I felt like dancing, but instead just smiled back goofily and waved Jing away. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I was practically flying up the stairs, singing a song Jing had played in the car under my breath. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Back so late?” Hortense asked. “You’re such a hard worker.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">From anyone else, the comment would have smacked of sarcasm, but the quietly smiling older woman seemed incapable of such a biting comment, like she genuinely believed I had been working late instead of getting a drink with Jing. I glanced down at my watch, shrugged sheepishly, and gave a half-grin that I hoped would spare me further conversation. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Madison tells me you’re quite the catch,” Hortense said. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Really? I don’t think I’ve seen Madison,” I said, my smile faltering a little with the return of the mystery of Madison. Besides, something seemed a little strange in the manner of Hortense, despite her warm grandmotherly overtones. I just wanted to sleep. “It’s been great chatting with you, but I have work tomorrow.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, I understand, dear,” Hortense said. “You have a pleasant night.”</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You too,” I said, trying to fake cheerfulness, but my silly grin was melting off my face. I turned away quickly and went inside my apartment. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A gust of cold wind met me like a physical wall. I grasped wildly for the lightswitch, my slight intoxication granting me no favors. I found it. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The light revealed an empty hallway. The wind disappeared, although bone-chilling cold remained. Gooseflesh prickled my neck and arms. I tried to warm my arms by rubbing them vigorously a few times. I needed a coat and to throw that damn air conditioning unit in the trash where it belong. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A door slammed on my right. I jumped out of my skin, turning around rapidly to find my bedroom door open. Were my ears playing tricks on me again? Damn aural hallucinations. I stomped into the kitchen, turning on every light switch I passed. I think the tea would be the only way I could survive this antarctic wasteland, I decided bitterly as I shoved my mug in the microwave. God, I couldn’t even imagine what winter was going to be like. Probably blistering hot, or something weird like that. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I gripped the mug tightly with my frozen fingers. I needed a coat and sweat pants and two more layers of socks. I flipped on the lightswitches in my path as I made my way to my bedroom. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I tripped, just managing to not fall flat on my face but covering myself in scalding tea. I pulled off my shirt quickly, trying to keep the scorching liquid away from my skin. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I heard it again. Soft laughter. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I stood up straight, half naked and fearing to look behind me for what I might find. The chills racing down my spine could not just be blamed on the cold. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I gathered my courage and spun around. There was no there. Of course there was no one there. I needed to get to sleep. Alcohol and sleep deprivation did obviously not work well. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I found my pajamas and kicked my wet clothes to the corner of my closet. I examined the burn briefly in my bedroom mirror, pulling up the sweatshirt I was wearing. It arched down my chest, passing over dull purple bruises I hadn’t noticed before. They looked like handprints. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I saw a shadow behind me. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">My heart stopped as I turned. It was nothing. There was no one there. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I heard a subtle pop in the hallway. I grabbed the heaviest thing I could find nearby, my anatomy textbook on top of my bed. I gradually poked my head out of the bedroom. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">One of the lights had gone out. I stepped out into the hallway to look up at up, awash in relief of such a prosaic problem. I just needed to buy new lightbulbs. No big deal. I would just go to the store like a grown up and buy lightbulbs tomorrow, not cower in my doorway like a child.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The next one began to flicker. Then, it went out with the selfsame pop. The next began to flicker as well. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I dropped the book, too stunned to move or react. The third bulb went out, and the fourth began to flicker. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“No. It’s a short. It’s just a short. It’s like old Christmas lights,” I said out loud, hoping the sound of my own voice would reassure me. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Soft laughter. I whipped around, but was met with nothing. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Was I hallucinating so vividly now, both aurally and visually? Was I having a stroke? I needed to call someone. I didn’t care if it turned out to be nothing. In fact, that’s exactly what I hoped it was. Where was my phone?</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Closet. It was in my pants pocket in the closet. I tripped on my anatomy book as I tried to run to my bedroom. I hit the ground painfully, but regained my feet. The book lay open, and it’s pages fluttered rapidly in a non-existent breeze, as if someone was turning them. Or something.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The lights began to flicker out more rapidly, down toward the kitchen and to my bedroom.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I reached forward to steady myself on the doorframe of my bedroom. The door slammed on my fingers. I cursed, trying to shove the door open to remove my smashed digits, but a force much, much stronger than I fought back. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Then, it was gone. I fell back, clutching my throbbing fingers. The last light in the house went out. It was pitch black. I heard laughter.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The front door. Damn it, I would just run out the front door and find someone, anyone. I could run to the hospital if need be. I needed help. I stood up and went to move forward. I tripped. I stood up again, and something grabbed my arm. I ran like hell face first into my front door. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">More laughter, right behind me, up against my neck. I clawed at the front door like a dog, trying to find the handle. I found it. It was locked. It was freaking locked, and it wouldn’t budge. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The soft laughter tinkled in my ear with a breath of cold air, as something had leaned in close and place its lips to my earlobe. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I slammed on the door with my fist. “Help! Help! Can anyone hear me! Please, you have to help me! Call the police! Call anyone!” The door was impossibly solid. Maybe no one could hear me through it. Maybe the Evergreens were deep sleepers. No, someone had to hear me. Someone just had to.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Something heavy was beginning to slide over me, weighing down on my chest like a load of bricks with fingers of frost. It pushed me down to the floor. It reached out, cradling my face in daggers.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">My phone rang. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I had to get to it. Goddamn it, I had to get it. I struggled, but managed to roll aside, pushing the heavy thing off my chest. I army crawled forward. Something grabbed my foot and dragged me backward. I grabbed hold of the bookshelf in the hall and threw a book back in the darkness in the vague direction of the mysterious force. I managed to gain traction on the floor. I launched myself forward into my bedroom. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The door slammed shut behind me as my phone stopped ringing. The lights flickered on for a split second. Jing lay disemboweled on my bed. Written in the blood, “Why won’t you love me.” I yelled, and the lights went out again. I stumbled forward to the bed, grasping to where Jing had been moments before, but there was nothing, only blankets. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There was soft laughter on my neck. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I swung around, arms flailing but hitting nothing. “Get the hell away from me!” I yelled into the blackness. “Just, go away,” I pleaded. Laughter answered, as soft as a kiss echoing in my skull. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">My phone rang again. I had to get it. I leaped forward in the direction of the noise. I tripped and ran into the wall instead with a crunch. I didn’t worry about the blood running down my chin. Instead, my fingers reached forward to find the ledge of my closet and reach inside, digging through fabric. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I felt a bare thigh. My whole body convulse backward at that contact. Laughter. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. The phone stopped ringing, but I threw myself back in the pile of clothes anyway. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I found my phone by touch. A pair of arms wrapped around my like a vice, constricting against my touch. A pair of lips like ice found my ear once more. They nibbled. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I turned around rapidly, trying to throw off the attacker. Nothing. There was nothing. Then, there was pain like a knife across my leg. I collapsed. Achilles tendon, some part of my brain answered, too drilled in anatomy to forget a term in panic. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I tried to get up on my good leg. There was laughter. Goddamn that laughter. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The phone rang. Something sharp was shoved in just below my clavicle. My arm went numb and the phone fell from my hand. Brachial plexus, my brain offered.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I grabbed the phone with my other hand, trying to fumble with the buttons with a shaking and unfamiliar grip. It stopped ringing. I tried to lean against the door so I could steady myself enough to dial 911. The door fell open. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Laughter, like windchimes. Fingers, like icicles. Kiss, like death, across my lips. No, I couldn’t die. I wouldn’t. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I scrambled up, leaning heavily against the wall. My hand was sweating too much to fumble with the buttons. I could press the answer button. I needed someone to call again. Please, please call. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Then, a thin slit opened across my throat, not across my carotid or jugular or something immediately lethal. Instead, at my larynx. Vocal cords. I tried to yell. Air hissed out. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I couldn’t call for help. No one would come for me. I couldn’t get out the front door. I didn’t want to die.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The window. Dammit, it was the only option left. I sputtered down the hall. I was bleeding. I could feel my strength sapping way with the warm liquid. I couldn’t die. I didn’t want to die. But, even more than that. I didn’t want this, this thing, to kill me. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A pair of icy fingers traipsed my shoulder. I spun around, and tripped. Laughter. Go to hell, you freak.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Another icy dagger deep in my thigh exploded in fire, only to weaken. Sciatic nerve. I had one arm. I dragged myself forward on it. I wasn’t going to die. I wasn’t going to die. I had to get to the window. My fingers felt the far wall. My phone rang. A blow swung upward toward my temporal bone, or was it targeting the Wernicke’s area behind it, trying to target my use of language? Fat lot of good that would do if I couldn’t speak anyway. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I was disoriented. I couldn’t find my phone. I grasped around for it, and pressed randomly at the screen. I used my good arm to pull myself up onto the window ledge. With the force of my body pressing against it, the air conditioning unit fell. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Ridley, Ridley is that you?” Jing’s voice crackled to life on my phone. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Jing!” I wanted to say. “Help me!” I wanted to beg. Instead, coughs of air echoed from my throat. My arm was shaking as I tried to pull myself further up on the windowsill to stabilize myself.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Are you there, Ridley?” Jing asked. There was an exasperated noise and the phone clicked off. I looked into the darkness, as a sudden comprehension slowly dawned.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Madison, I thought. This was Madison. And Madison just loves the young folks.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There is was, that soft laughter. A icy kiss met my lips as a sharp pain like a dagger slowly began to pierce into my chest to reach my heart. Madison had had all the fun needed and was going to finish with its game.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Screw you, Madison, I thought. I shoved myself out the window.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The phone rang in the grass. It pressed up against a cold finger in the warm breeze. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Ridley?” the phone asked. “God, Ridley are you there? Get the hell out of your apartment. I’m at the hospital, and Mr. Evergreen is here, from your building is here. I know this is against HIPAA, but he had an MI, and his wife, Hortense? She’s dead. She and her child died in the fifties in your freaking apartment. For God’s sake, please pick up the phone!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">An irritated, desperate grumble emanated the phone, and then quiet. All that could be heard in the silent night was the wind filtering through the trees, which almost sounded like laughter. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span></b>E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-51177224633049543712012-12-05T14:10:00.000-08:002012-12-05T14:10:04.218-08:00Waiting<b id="internal-source-marker_0.9400330595672131"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is a strange thing to wait for death. It is difficult to conceive a world of not existing, as I can only remember existing. I am inclined to tell myself that this odd, bone-chilling, heart-stopping dread will be worse than the death itself, but it so difficult to lie convincingly to oneself. Even as I stand, barefoot, shrouded in dark, supporting myself on a wall to spare my wounded legs the agony, I wish to cling to life. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My brother claimed we understood death much better than the average Roman since we were suckled at its teat. My mother died in childbirth, all by herself, in a stable. We were found nestled by her breast, the pair of us. We came with death, he said, so death comes with us.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He’s dead now. Cold and rotting. I do not know where his body is. I do not know where his soul is. I have been told so many unfettered falsehoods and rank lies that to believe in anything is difficult. Except death. I can believe in death. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The guard leers at me. The sounds leak through the wooden door like a noxious vapor. Screams and desperate cries. Growls and yells. They say in war, we become as animals. I have experience the fog of battle myself, where it is all but impossible to see beyond one’s face. Where everything blurs and where you can barely recall how you survived ,should you be among the lucky ones who Death stayed. But now, with guttural howls and fierce roars, I can hear it very clearly. I cannot differentiate man from beast. Perhaps we are all the same, in the end. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wonder if I will shriek. Can I stand bravely and watch my death as stoic as a soldier should? Can I fight when I know I cannot win, instead of fleeing to the edges for just a moment more of precious life. There are some Christians behind me. They pray to their singular God with increasing fervor, but too many have died before them for me to expect it to do them any good. One may believe in God or Gods, but the beasts do not, and they treat us all the same. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wonder if they know me, which I know is a ridiculous thought when death is so nigh. Do they know what my brothers, my friends, and now I must die for? Do they assume me a common criminal, a ransomer, a deserter, a kidnapper? Do they know that when we fought, we fought for not just our kin, but for them as well, so they might not stand beside me now? The cheering throngs must not know, or perhaps they are convinced that an attempt to usurp a bloody crown is just as vile as taking a sleeping child from its bed.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Will you pray with us to God?” A young woman asks. She has large eyes, reflecting dimmly against the torchlight. It takes me a moment to realize that she is earnest and is not teasing my condition. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I know not your god, maiden,” I say quickly.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“He is the one, true god!” she insists, in her last moments, proselytizing in the manner much detested by the public. A patriarch, perhaps her father, begins to guide her gently away with a warning whisper. Then, the door opens. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The light is bright and blinding. Perhaps, death was quick, and I am now stepping into Elysium. But, I hear the wails and cries from behind me and my eyes adjust. The sand is stained with blood. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Did my heart ever beat as it did now? I have faced death so many times, but there was always hope to counter the fear. I have no hope now, as if Pandora has squashed the delicate thing as it attempted to escape from her box. I have never realized how important hope is until now, when it is gone. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some of the patricians are leaving. Not as a form of protestation, to be sure, but simply because they are hungry and long for some wine to fight the day’s heat. Did I feel hunger once? It is difficult to imagine now. I must own my death, so I walk calmly into the light as the guards push and shove at some of the more recalcitrant Christians. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“May God have mercy on your soul,” an old Christian says to me. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“May death stay his touch,” I return, nodding. Heat glistens against the blood-stained sand, but my eyes are drawn upward by movement. I see the pale beast across the ground. He is stained in blood, from others or himself, I cannot know. I am naked as I face my death. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The blood pounds heavily in my ears. My vision narrows. I cannot hear or see the crowds that cheer my death. Perhaps it is for the best. The lion spots us, raising his noble head, covered with a full and bloody mane. It has dark eyes; it was like staring into the black currents of the river Styx. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I limp forward toward it. I do not know why. Perhaps I am anxious. What must be done should be done quickly, and if I am to die, I should die soon. My brother is already dead. He was also so prone to rush before me, taunting my dogged footsteps behind him. As we were together in life, so should we join in death. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I do not feel pain. Even as its jaw enrapture my arm. Fight comes naturally to me, with my other hand engaging in jabbing at the beast’s eyes and nostrils. I am a soldier. I cannot help but fight. In that same vein, the beast cannot help but savage. I feel as if I am floating away. Emotions and memories fade with each beat of my heart, like footprints on a shore, until there is nothing left but a purity I find difficult to recognize as myself. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The world is darkening, as if a guttering candle has met its end. My brother once said we are living to die, but perhaps we are simply dying to live. </span></span></b>E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-78817175118750112952012-11-30T08:37:00.001-08:002012-11-30T08:37:44.260-08:00Found<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5301642213016748"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Phillip kissed a pale forehead nestled among curls. The girl did not wake, but smiled in her sleep, the image of a cherub, as if God had breathed life into a Romantic painting, like Blake’s illustration in </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A Little Girl Found</span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. The depth of night enraptured her as if it understood the sweetness of what it held, while the glow-in-the-dark stars attached to her bedroom ceiling had faded since the start of the little girl’s and the sun’s sleep. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He could watch Jaquenetta for the rest of his life, in sleep and in wakefulness, as a sleeping angel clothed in white and as a rambunctious child with paint smeared across her face and dirt beneath her nails. He could watch her as she left the confines of small playrooms ill-equipped for such an epitome of brilliance, toward schools and universities, towards podiums and laboratories and hospitals and museums and wherever she would press her potential. He could watch as she grew tall, when she would blush as the mention of a name at school, as some strange car would come to whisk his bedazzled daughter toward a high school gymnasium, and as she met a yet unknown figure at the alter. He could watch her forever and always. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Except he could not. He slipped from the room, her plush carpet littered with the remains of crayons, blocks, and play-doh figures. The smell of her still lingered at the threshold of her room: the faint scent of baby powder, apple juice, and mud lingering with traces of fingerpaint and books. She had just learned to read, and now loved to do so at every possible opportunity. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The house was silent as he descended the stairs. A teddy bear lay discarded at their end along with a small book about the alphabet that she had been loudly dictating throughout the entire day. </span></span></b><br />
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5301642213016748"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“A is for airplane. Airplanes go zoom!” she would announce. She liked the ‘zoom’ part the best. She had found a blanket and tied it around her neck. She would run about the house as every ‘zoom,’ extending the vowel into a breathless canter through the kitchen and around the dining room. He did not know where she learned of superheroes, perhaps from another child at her preschool. She almost always wore a cape now, and she had declared she was a superhero named Zoom who saved worms and ants.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5301642213016748"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her mother, Bianca, had been bemused, wondering why the girl focused on insects, but Jaquenetta calmly explained that the other children at her preschool squished them, so she must save them, because that’s what superheroes did. Bianca did not understand her as well as he did. She never saw the genius of little Jaq as he did. Bianca could not understood the ferocity with which Jaquenetta observed and absorbed everything, eager to imbibe the world as a thirsty traveler. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5301642213016748"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He paused by a wall whose baseboard had been recently decorated by series of colored thumb marks. Bianca would be upset when she noticed. Perhaps she already had, but had been too tired to attempt any attack to remove them. The little tornado, as Bianca called Jaquenetta, was difficult to clean up after when she thrust through experiences like a knife through tissue paper. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5301642213016748"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Every day was something new. New words. New artwork. New structures. New stories. New facts. New. Jaquenetta was yet at the early age where each new day brought forth enough information that she needed to reinvent herself each time she woke, but the child relished in it. He never could understand how Bianca was able to frown at Jaquenetta, even for a moment. Jaq was sunshine personified. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5301642213016748"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The breath of fresh air hit him like wind in a sail as he stepped into the blackened backyard. Shadows hugged the ground like lovers. His heart stirred, with half-memories and undecipherable images. And the dark, lurking things. He brushed them away as best he could as he strode purposefully to the sandbox. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5301642213016748"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The surface was pitted and marred by a dozen structures, decorated by leaves, twigs, and blades of grass. She loved this canvas of dirt more than that of paint and wax and colored clayed she explored inside. She loved the way the dirt felt beneath her fingers, the guttural connection to the Earth, so often lost in sanitized houses, spritzed clean by busy maids and mothers. Jaquenetta understood more than many adults could ever hope. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5301642213016748"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He found of corner of unperturbed sand. He could not bring himself to touch any of her structures. His first handful of sand pushed irritating granules beneath his fingernails, but he welcomed the pain. It cleared his mind of the dark cobwebs that so firmly coated it, if just for a moment. He took another handful and another. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5301642213016748"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">His arms remembered the work of youth, although many years had separated them two. Sweat traced his hairline, even in the cool quiet of the night. His arms were throbbing when at last he hit the cement bottom of the sandbox after the hole had reached his shoulder. Blood leaked from his fingernails now, but it did not matter.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5301642213016748"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He reached into his jacket and pulled out the object in the plastic bag. He kissed it, imbuing it with the tenderness of all the lost years to come, with the love too great to be expressed in words, with all the passion of a father. He placed it into the earth and covered it with sand. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5301642213016748"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She would find it, when she was ready. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5301642213016748"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He let himself out into the front yard. He faced the moon, and walked into the night. </span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jaquenetta fought with her mother again. They never saw eye-to-eye. It was always, don’t do this, don’t do that, don’t get wood-shavings on the carpet, don’t bring bugs inside, don’t cut your own hair, don’t draw on books, don’t talk back. Don’t, don’t, don’t. He mother shrieked too, like a high-pitched howler monkey or a particularly loud whine of a mosquito. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jaq just wanted to be left alone. It was enough that everyone at school made fun of her and called her names. It was enough that her teacher was always upset that she was off-task, even if she had figured out her work ages ago. Alone would always be better than with people that didn’t like you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jaq dug into the sand with a fury. A kid in her class claimed that he was going to dig to China in his backyard and he had the plans to prove it. All the other kids were impressed. Jaq explained the center of the earth was really hot and you would die if you ever tried to dig into it and that China was too far away and that things always fall down, so even if you survived the molten magma at the center of the Earth and dug very fast, you’d have to start digging up, which he didn’t have the brains to engineer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The kids laughed at her. They said the Earth was cold. Jaq tried to explain volcanoes to them, but they didn’t understand. Jaq even showed them a book. Then, they just laughed at her, saying if she liked books so much, she should marry them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was no winning with the other kids. If they didn’t believe her, they called her dumb. If she proved herself right, she was weird. Maybe she was weird. None of the other kids felt the texture of numbers like she did or tasted words. None of them listen to the stories of the bugs or the whisper in the winds. None of them had a buzzing brain that could not stand still even for a moment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her mother wanted to take her to a psychiatrist. Jaq knew psychiatrists were for crazy people. She did not want to see one. Jaquenetta was better off alone because there was no one in the world that could ever understand her brain. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dirt covered her overalls as she dug deeper and deeper. Sand coated her lips and decorated her eyelashes. If only she could become very small and live in the sand castle she created, without a mother and without the other kids, where no one would laugh at her or call her names. If only she could dissolve into music and fly into the sky. If only the ink would take her into worlds unseen yet by more than her mind. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her hand scraped cement as the sun dipped in the sky. It was deep. Almost a meter. Meters were better than feet because they were divided into logical units. Nobody at school used meters and they laughed when she did. Her teacher said she needed to use feet like everyone else. She argued meters were more logical and used them anyway. Her teacher did not like that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was not just cement. There was something else. Could it be a fossilized bone or a shell? The sand must come from somewhere, and perhaps that place had fossils, and maybe she could tell where the sand came from just by the fossil! Maybe it would whisper secrets like the bugs. But, no, it was not so cold as stone. It felt like plastic. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was too deep to properly use her arm, so she stuck her leg into the hole and felt with her toes. She tugged at it determinedly until she freed it. She brought up her prize with utmost curiosity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was an envelope, yellowed and dirty, but whole, surrounded by an ancient plastic bag. It had her name on it in a careful hand she was sure she must know. She lept from the sand and flew back inside in a flurry without knowing the source of the urgency. She just knew she must consume the letter immediately, in private, where no one would interrupt her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A certain magism and sanctity reserved for items long since their origination whirled around the object, but there was more. It had her name, in lettering she once knew. The stairs disappeared beneath her as she collapsed into her bedroom. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her mother was shrieking below. Something about dirt. It hardly mattered, not with this letter. Jaquenetta found her heart thrumming like a plucked string within her chest. In the note of G she decided. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She carefully opened it. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My dearest, most beloved treasure, my Jaquenetta Lyca Lamar,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have left you, my child, into the dark with creatures unknown. I loved you and will always love you more than my own poor, prosaic words may ever express, and that even works of Keats and Byron and Blake cannot begin to touch, but I left you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can barely fathom the depths of the ambivalence within this decision, so I am but a low, meager tool to use to explain. The dark shadows threatened to overwhelm me. They watched and whispered wicked words in the dark. The veils spun of slinking, scelerate, slitherers clung to golden, musical moments that should not be tarnished by their foul presence. I needed to be free of their rancid breath; I needed you to be free of their cloying touch. You were my angel, my purity, my hope. You were life beyond mine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thus, I left you, as I was not strong enough to fight away the menacing, mendacious mares of troubled pasts and morrows. I could not let them color your world as they had illustrated mine. I would have gladly watch you grow from but a sproutling to a startling redwood, beautiful in an expanse, a majesty, and a timelessness that few others can but hope to understand. You are my daughter, and I would have loved you all the more with each and every passing day as you became the brilliance that shown through your every moment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You are not your mother’s daughter as you are my own. I need no gift of prophecy or winsome oracle to reveal that you will have troubles as you age. The world is not prepared for brilliance, but for crippling mediocrity. Every star that shines the brightest must work against comets and meteors who can never compare. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You are a star, my Jaquenetta, and no matter what astrological bodies may attempt to dull your shine, you are stronger than all of them, you are brighter than all of them. You are my daughter, better than I could ever hope to be. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is always the better of a pair that offers forgiveness, and thus I must ask forgiveness from you, for leaving you without a word and only a kiss in the middle of the night, for leaving you with those that will never understand, with only whispered words withering on wrinkled paper. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This path I walk away from you, where my troubles and tribulations may not terrorize or torment you, I know now where it ends. The path is cloaked in darkness, fitting to my shadows, but if I find a fork leads back to you, where I can emerge freed from darkness, I would follow it across the universe and galaxies to find you. I may only dwell in drawn dramas dreamt of diminished, dwindled memories, days long past, but I will always live in you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There are lessons learnt and follies felt that a more audacious man than I may attempt to use to educate a daughter. However, I have much too much confidence in and knowledge of your brilliance to attempt to illuminate your path with my own poor flame. Only know that I love you. I will always love you, and love is armor thick as plate and as firm as diamond. It can withstand the darkness between us and reach across eternity to kiss your brow as you sleep. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With eternal love, always,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Daddy</span></div>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jaq did not feel alone. </span></span></b>E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-444785953699250152012-09-28T19:27:00.000-07:002012-09-28T19:27:43.935-07:00Pieces<b id="internal-source-marker_0.6989545072428882" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I pick myself from broken pieces</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Crushed upon a stony shore</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wait until the trembling ceases</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Build all over but once more</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With heartstrings thread through fractured faces</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Friends stuck on with bits of glue</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And ideals act as struts and braces</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hammered strong in forges blue</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I mold a heart with discarded wax</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Plucked from molten, hallowed past</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With a careful eye, I fill the cracks</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wishing that this one may last</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I then smooth and sand the edges down</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Let the bitter fade to dust</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I reshape my former, once loved frown</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now reemerge, free of rust </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am patchwork of worn and faded</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A new cobbled from the old</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">An automaton not yet jaded</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Butterfly whose wings unfold</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even when I am lost in fracture</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I feel I cannot cope</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can always rebuild my stature</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I will never lose my hope</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-52991547916569020762012-09-24T05:49:00.000-07:002012-09-24T05:49:45.248-07:00Snow<b id="internal-source-marker_0.35438844049349427" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I walk a path I may not know</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Among the fresh and fallen snow</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From here to there it seems to go</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Footprints filled by a wispy blow</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A face, a room, a ceiling pass</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Like light upon a fractured glass</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Without a word, a hope, or mass</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Created of a misty gas</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I think I’ve heard a voice before</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It cries and weeps beyond my door</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Has our old father come back poor?</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Without a job and begging sore</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have no child, not as yet</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As my mother is sure to vet</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yet now your cheeks turn startling wet</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we are but two strangers met</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is cold and I’m yet to sleep</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dark nightmares seem to haunt the deep</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cool shadows whence I long to leap</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From the seems of worlds, black veils seep</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bright green grass between my toes</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Like a hungry child grows</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Safe along in faithful rows</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tulips, daisies, and a Rose</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-39406736912801359782012-09-17T07:06:00.002-07:002012-12-05T14:17:53.320-08:00Sisters<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Caroline wrapped her arms around her younger sister, who had one knee to her chin and the other supporting a novel while she lounged in the window seat.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Bug off,” Aubrey said in a voice resounding menace but just barely audible over the thunder of rain to her left, irritably pushing away her older sibling.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Come on, Bree, just showin’ you some good ol’ sisterly love,” Caroline announced drawing her sister closer to her chest. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Aubrey retaliated by grabbing her sister’s ponytail. “I’ll let go if you will.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Ow, ow, okay!” Caroline whimpered, bending her spine backward as Aubrey pulled downward. Aubrey let go as did Caroline. Without another glance, Aubrey delved back into her book.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Scoot your butt, Aubbie,” Caroline demanded, wedging herself between the wall and Aubrey’s feet. Aubrey did not move so much as Caroline bodily forced herself in. “Whatcha readin’?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Aubrey directed the cover at Caroline momentarily before diving flipping back to her page. “A Tale of Two Cities, ay?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes,” Aubrey replied without intonation.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“They made me read that back in high school,” Caroline said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No one has to force me to read,” Aubrey said.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“‘Course, bookworm. How didja think you earned those glasses?” Caroline asked. She reached out and thwacked the pair down Aubrey’s nose. Aubrey pushed them back up without sparing her sister a glance. “Whaddaya think?” </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What do I think of what?” Aubrey asked as she turned the page.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Of the book, silly brain,” Caroline said. “Redemption, true love, sacrifice, and all that jazz.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It seems to rely on an abnormally large number of stereotypes and applies only superficial characterization. The story line relies on the fact that two unrelated males look so similar that they can change places with one another without anyone the wiser. Women are treated as either pseudo-religious objects of innocence or hags of war. I think Dickens could have done much better, especially when discussing such an interesting time period as the French Revolution,” Aubrey explained dryly. “I also dislike the determinism implicit in the story in which the only way Sidney Carton can be redeemed is by dying instead of the far less dramatic manner of changing one’s actions.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Some of it may simply be regarded as the result of the milieu in the time that he wrote. He was a writer of popular works, so he must have felt the need to bend to match the views of the times.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“How do you know Carton dies? You’re not done yet?” Caroline asked. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I like to read books twice. Once for the story. Once for the analysis,” Aubrey returned. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So, do you eat food twice, once for the nourishment and once for the taste?” Caroline asked. Aubrey did not respond. “Oh come on, Bree-Bree, that was funny. You can smile.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I dislike the use of metaphors inappropriately applied,” Aubrey said. “Including but not limited extensions created for comedic purposes.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Caroline watched her little sister for a long moment. She had wrinkles in her brow like an old woman as she tensely examined each page, eyes jumping from one word to the next. There was determination and militarism, as the young woman fought through the text like a soldier in battle, triumphant in each weakness she found as evidence of her superiority. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Why are you staring at me?” Aubrey asked. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I wasn’t staring at you. I was staring at the rain,” Caroline said, hastily averting her eyes. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You’re lying,” Aubrey said, in an almost sing-song voice that harkened back to the thousand and one arguments they had repeatedly in their youth. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Caroline ignored the accusation, as she was wont to do. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? The rain?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s precipitation. Gaseous water condensing on particles of dust and soot. It’s probably acidic because of all the sulfur dioxides up there,” Aubrey replied dryly.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Caroline picked up the pillow that belonged to the window seat but had been thrown off by Aubrey hours before. Caroline waited for Aubrey to glance up before she tossed it at her sister’s face.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Come on, be more poetic. Read some ‘Walden’ or something nature-like,” Caroline said as her sister flustered. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Have you even read ‘Walden,’ or anything else by Thoreau for that matter?” Aubrey demanded. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No-puh, but I’m just trying to speak your language, sister dearest,” Caroline said. “Do you remember when we tried to make up our own language?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Vaguely. We just jabbered in gibberish to one another for a day and a half to the bemusement of our parents, correct?” Aubrey said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Pretty much,” Caroline said, laughing. “That was great, especially since that was when Mom had her book club. So we were shouting to one another babbling nonsense while they were trying to discuss ‘Jane Eyre.’ Didn’t one of Mom’s friends suggest an exorcism?” </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I do not believe she was serious,” Aubrey said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Still though, good times. Why did we ever stop?” Caroline asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I think Dad said he would give us ice cream if we would speak English,” Aubrey said, thinking. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Curse him and the lure of frozen desserts!” Caroline declared dramatically. Aubrey ignored the outburst.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“The strange thing is, from what I remember, I had no idea what you were saying, but I always knew what you meant,” Aubrey said, quietly.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah, same here,” Caroline said. “Do you remember when we tried to build a pool in the sandbox?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I don’t think Dad ever truly forgave us for flooding the basement,” Aubrey said, shaking her head. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Or when we tried to see who could climb higher up that tree in the park?” Caroline asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I think I still have pinesap under my fingernails from that,” Aubrey said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Or when we illustrated all of Mom’s books?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“If you become an artist yet, they may be worth something,” Aubrey noted. “Although if I remember correctly, you lied and said I was the only one who colored on them.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey, it’s always better if one of us avoids punishment,” Caroline said with a shrug.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mom never believed me when I claimed it was both of us. Perhaps it would have been better if I had been extravagant in my claims as you were, but more likely, we would just be set in a prisoner’s dilemma and punished all the more,” Aubrey said mildly.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I miss you, when I’m in New York. I mean, I think we both bare visible scars of our sisterly love, but I still miss you,” Caroline said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Aubrey turned the page.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Caroline laughed and nudged her sister. “Come on, robot, this is where you say that you missed me too.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I don’t like lying,” Aubrey said primly. She glanced at her older sister over her book before adding, somewhat laboriously, “But I suppose I missed you a little too.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Caroline announced jovially.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Aubrey gave her an amused look, leading to Caroline exclaiming, “Was that a smile? Hold the presses! Aubrey Norris has finally shown evidence of expressing emotion!”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Bug off,” Aubrey replied, returning her countenance to an irritable frown. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I tease, I tease,” Caroline said, pinching one of Aubrey’s cheeks. Aubrey batted away her hand. “And you might as well put that book down because I’m going to annoy you past your refined ability to ignore me.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Did you want something from me?” Aubrey asked, not setting her book down.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Just to chat, you know, sisterly bonding,” Caroline said.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I thought we just did that,” Aubrey said.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’ll give you kudos that sisterly bonding did take place, but it has to be a continual give and take. Like a covalent bond thingamajig, we have to share electrons,” Caroline explained. </span></span></b><br />
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Aubrey looked up, mildly surprised.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Hey, I passed chemistry in high school. I know the science!” Caroline said indignantly.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Aubrey ignored her and turned a page.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“So, do you like anyone?” Caroline egged, with a broad smile that infused her words. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Aubrey scowled, blushing as she dove farther into her book.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Joking! Joking! Although, I think I might take a line from Shakespeare in that ‘I think the lady doth protest too much,’” Caroline said.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I didn’t saying anything,” Aubrey said, attempting to regain her composure. “Thus, I couldn’t have ‘protested too much.’”</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“What’s his name?” Caroline asked, leaning closer to her younger sister. “And remember your own no-lying schtick.” </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I am not going to dignify this with a response,” Aubrey declared, righting her glasses on her nose and determinedly keeping her eyes to the page.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh my freaking gosh, you </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">so</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> like someone,” Caroline giggled. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Aubrey remained the color of a piece of salmon, but said nothing. She turned the page. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Once I’m gone again, who’s going to tease you for me?” Caroline asked.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I go to high school,” Aubrey reminded her.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Do you get teased?” Caroline asked, accepting a worried expression much more likely to be in place on the younger sister.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Not so much,” Aubrey said dismissively. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Breena, you know you can always talk to me, if you need to, even when I’m in New York,” Caroline said.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Breena? When did I become Breena?” Aubrey asked.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Bree, Bree-Bree, Aubie, Breena, Breenster, Aubnopolis, Aubocracy,the green, mean, Bree machine. I’m an artist; creativity is in my blood. I can’t control it!” Caroline said, throwing her arms in the air. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You’re silly,” Aubrey said. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You’re sillier. And silly billies get wet willlies,” Caroline declared, licking her finger. Aubrey’s eyes grew wide as she rolled off the window seat. Caroline shook with laughter as tears rolled down her cheeks. </span></span></b></div>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I love you so much, Aub-goblin,” Caroline said, reaching down to help her sister up. Aubrey threw the window seat pillow she had tumbled onto at her sister with a victorious smirk. Caroline was about to retaliate before she grasped at her pocket quickly. She removed her cell phone and checked the caller ID. </span></span></b><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07274084771052003" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh, it’s Phil. I gotta take this,” Caroline said. Caroline clicked a button and began to walk out of the room. “Oh, hey, Phil. Um, yeah. I’m not actually in New York right now. I’m visiting my family. And what?”</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Caroline?” Aubrey called softly as Caroline was about to exit the doorway.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“What, Aub Job?” Caroline asked, placing a hand over the speaker on her phone. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I love you too,” Aubrey said. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Caroline smiled. “I know, Aubie-lou Bree.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-4689148916392288492012-09-02T08:47:00.001-07:002012-09-02T08:47:21.336-07:00Sister Ella - Chapter Six<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span></b><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Reporters were still milling about as Ellen stepped out, doing her best not to limp on a foot that still stung. They were charging again. She had to remember who she was. She had to protect Clara and Anabelle, even if she had already hurt them. She was their sister. She would protect them. She was Sister Ella. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Miss Metcalf, will you offer a statement?” someone asked, placing a microphone beneath her. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I will offer a statement if I have your word that any piece you are intending to produce will only include myself and will not go as far as to attack my sisters. As the internet has accelerated the speed of rumors, I would also like to ask that anyone who has posted hearsay and accusations about my family would kindly remove them at once,” Ellen announced. “I would also like to request that the members of the press please leave the area surrounding this property in order to conserve the privacy of my family. All those wishing to hear my statement, I ask that you kindly follow me some distance from this residential area as to preserve the quiet during the early hours of the morning. I will answer questions after my statement.”</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She turned and began to walk. They followed. They did not ask questions. It was almost quiet, besides the trucks, the clack of heels on a sidewalk broken by roots, and the whispers. The whispers were not so quiet, but she couldn’t hear them. Sister Ella did not listen to whispers. Sister Ella stood up for her sisters and protected them, and listening to whisperings would not do that. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She stopped when she reached a nearby park. She turned and faced the crowd. “Hello. My name is Ellen Metcalf. Over a week ago, I met Atamai Iona, Crown Prince of Nuan at the UNICEF Gala sponsored by the UT-Houston chapter of UNICEF. I was volunteering as a server, however, during a lull in the festivities, I borrowed a dress after being granted permission by a person other than the owner of the gown. At the party, Prince Iona was kind enough to deign talk to me, and I returned his kindness by offering him a false name as my ignorance turned curtesy into play. I acknowledge that this was a mistake. I regret the misinformation I have given Prince Iona, and I will take this time to make a public apology. I am deeply sorrowful for the harm that this might have caused. I know that no words will rectify my mistake.”</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen breathed and looked up at a crowd of blinking red eyes. It was strange, when so much emotion had preceded this moment, that she shouldn’t feel anything now, but she didn’t. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I will take relevant questions at this moment. I would like to add that this is not a personal interview, and if at all possible, I would like to retain privacy, especially for that of my family. Thank you so much for your cooperation.”</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Immediately hands shot into the air and voices clamoured for triumph over the others. Ellen pointed to a woman near the front.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Why did you disappear?” the woman asked.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I did not understand who Prince Iona was when I first met him. The revelation astounded me, and I began to understand the effect of my ignorance. I did my best to reveal to Prince Iona the truth, but an attempt to retain my dignity by obscuring my identity left my correspondence vague and unintelligible. In my will to distance myself from my mistake, I did not return any subsequent emails, thus exasperating the consequences. As I have previously stated, I have made mistakes. I am sorry,” Ellen said.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Do you love him?” a man shouted out.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen paused. It was there, suddenly. She was supposed to be empty, but it was still there. Even if he didn’t love her. Even if he didn’t recognize her. It was still hidden in her chest and clawing up her throat, pounding in her heart. After everything, it was there, even when it was completely illogical that it should be. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She swallowed, trying to press it down and be hollow once more. “I’ll ask that you excuse me. I am still a student and have classes to attend. I also ask that you please refrain from disturbing the learning environment by conducting investigations on campus. If at possible, I would like this misunderstanding to be resolved with minimal obstruction of daily activities to any party. I will answer more questions later so that you needn’t rely on rumors. However, now I must be going. Thank you for your time.”</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him?</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> It seemed to echo in her head as she walked to class. </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him?</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> It was as if he knew that she did, as if he wanted to make her say it and admit her weakness to everyone. It was stupid to love someone who didn’t love you. It was stupid to love someone you hardly met. </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him?</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> She was stupid. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At the university, someone was checking IDs and trying to keep back the press. They all turned as they noticed her. It almost felt as if they were looking at someone else, just over her shoulder. Then, they were shouting questions. </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him?</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> He could talk about robot revolutions and poverty problems in the same breath. He made her feel again. She wasn’t empty when he was there. Was that love?</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I am Ellen Metcalf. I have already issued a statement, and I will not answer any questions at this time as I am still a student and have class to attend. I would kindly ask that you vacate the premises, as I think the press would be a distraction to the learning environment and I will answer no questions here. However, at a yet undetermined time, I will answer questions once more. I would thank you to respect the privacy of my family and my friends, and the calm required for a university,” Ellen said. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him?</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> She really was an adolescent when it came to emotions. She couldn’t control them. They had tore through her life like tissue paper, and she couldn’t even identify them.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was funny, even as she left the professional press behind, she met the amateur press. Video phones and camera phones were trained on her as she walked. No one approached her though, but hung away, goggling. </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him? </span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was like a train wreck which everyone had to slow down and get a good look at. They whispered too.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Years later, she was never really sure how she got through all her lectures without collapsing underneath the pressure of stares, but she did. She could not remember a word from any of the lecturer’s mouths, but she simply heard, again and again, </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him?</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Somehow, she found herself in her lab. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Are you alright, Ellen?” her PI, Dr. Moldova asked, with a furrowed brow and a large knuckle tangling in his keys, indicating his extreme discomfort with the conversation.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him? </span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes. I’m fine. I hoping this will all blow-over shortly and I apologize for any negative effect this may have on your life. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just work on my program. If anyone asks for a statement about me from you, you are under no obligation to acquiesce. If you could though, if anyone wishes to speak to me, tell them I’m not currently answering any questions and I’ve previously issued a statement detailing everything I wish to say on the matter at this point. Thanks so much, Dr. Moldova,” Ellen said. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He nodded and seemed relieved to retreat back to his office. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dr. Moldova’s lab was small and only had one grad student, who was off at a conference, and another undergrad who would occasionally come around only to spontaneously disappear for wide swaths of time. No one else was in the lab, but there were a pile of newspapers on Ellen’s desk. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her own face loomed up at her. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Royal Seductress Offers Statement</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Girl Pleads Ignorance in Media Cascade</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Golden Gown “Borrowed” by Volunteer Server</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lost Love is Frumpy College Student</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sources say Metcalf “Antisocial” and “Manipulative”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She sat down, folding out all the newspapers on her desk. She carefully scanned through the lines. They only talked about her. They didn’t talk about her sisters. Only one mentioned Marie, but only because her little sister Sophia had stepped up to claim ownership of the dress. Someone who was in her organic chemistry class a couple years ago recognized her at the audition and realized she would have been at the gala as a volunteer. He had told everyone, along with a description of her person as “very quiet” and “academically arrogant.” The news spread like wildfire.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They had said things about her, her personality, her appearance, her deceased father and mother, but any mention of her sisters was brief, detailing only names. She’d protected them. She couldn’t think about the rest. She couldn’t. It wouldn’t do any good now. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She stood up and locked the lab door. She needed to work and not think. She had to get empty again. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She worked for hours, but it didn’t stop her from thinking. Again and again, it echoed. </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him? Do you love him? Do you love him?</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was a knock on the lab door. Ellen put down her mouse to find Marie waving through the small window reaching out to the hallway. Ellen unlocked the door. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I thought you might be hungry,” Marie said, quietly. “I brought pizza.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You’re not supposed to bring food into the lab,” Ellen said tonelessly. </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him?</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh. Should I go?” she asked. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No. It’s fine. It’s mostly for the other more practical chemistry labs anway. Just put it on the desk. I’ll just, you know, not dump a vat of hydrochloric acid on it,” Ellen said. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Marie smiled. “I’m sure it will be a big challenge for you.” She turned to find the desk covered in the newspapers. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Ellen-” she started. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Someone put those on my desk,” Ellen said, as way of explanation. “I don’t believe anyone has called me a seductress before. Pat would laugh.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“She would. I told them to keep quiet though. People are asking about you a lot, but I wanted to talk to you,” Marie said. “You’ve been handling it quite well, actually. I heard your statement.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Don’t sound so surprised,” Ellen said. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I mean, it’s one of your talents, to hide all your emotions, but I know its been rough on you, even if you won’t say. Well, I know it would be rough on me. Did I ever tell you a few years ago my dad was indicted over this big financial crisis?” Marie said. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen shook her head.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It was all over the news. I was still in high school, but if I ever stepped outside, there would be reporters trying to get a statement out of me. I could never spit anything out, even if I wanted to. They all frightened me. But I found quotes from people I thought were friends in the newspaper. My dad thought he might go to jail. It was like there was no one I could turn to. And, do you know what happened?” Marie asked. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What?” </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It all went away. Slowly, day by day, people lost interest. My father won his case and the reporters left us alone. And now, almost no one remembers. People have an incredibly short attention span,” Marie said. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen said nothing. The truth was, the reporters didn’t frighten her so much, not after she figured out that they had respected her wish to not involve her sisters. There was something more that shouldn’t be here that she would eventually have to face. </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him?</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“He wants to talk to you,” Marie said. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Who?” Ellen asked. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Prince Iona,” Marie said. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I, I wouldn’t know what to say,” Ellen said. Her voice cracked. She wasn’t empty.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“He’s a very nice guy. I met him at the party too. He congratulated me on my ‘exceptional planning capabilities,’ and he donated quite a bit,” Marie said. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“He’s very nice,” Ellen agreed. Her throat was so tight, she didn’t think she could breath. Some part of her wished to scream out all her emotions and tell Marie how he hadn’t even recognized her. She wanted to blurt out everything. She didn’t want to be empty anymore. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A long moment passed. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“My parents are probably getting worried now. You can stay at my house, if you want, so they don’t follow you home,” Marie said. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s fine, Marie. I need to do more research,” Ellen said, struggling to retain calm. She had to be empty. It was the only way to survive. If she were empty, it wouldn’t hurt. Marie stared at her for a few seconds, concern creased in her brow. She seemed on the edge of saying something or placing her hand on Ellen’s shoulder. Instead, Marie sighed and smiled sadly. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Don’t stay up too late. See you tomorrow, Ellen,” Marie said. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“See you,” Ellen said. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen locked the door again after Marie left. She returned to the desk with the newspapers and the pizza. She stood stared at it. </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him? </span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She threw it all away and walked to her computer terminal. If anything had the ability to kill extraneous thought, it was this minutiae of hashing out a model. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him?</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Several hours later, her watch beeped to inform her it was morning again. Ellen couldn’t decide if it felt as if the night had lasted a thousand years or a single moment or if it mattered. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She splashed cold water on her face and changed into her spare clothes in the bathroom down the hall from the lab. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hollow, bloodshot eyes stared back at her in the mirror, underlined in dark blue bags. She looked pale. She turned away from the mirror forcefully.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If she answered questions again today, she was sure they would ask it again. </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him?</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> It was a popular interest piece, so of course they would want the romantic angle. She would have to answer, but what would she say? What could she say? Why did they have to ask it? Why did she have to feel anything when she knew she shouldn’t?</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him?</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She went to class, and her heart stopped. Atamai sulked in the back corner of the large lecture hall, dressed in baggy jeans and a t-shirt. His polished hair and been composed into a rough patch of unrestrained tangles underneath a ball cap. He wore sunglasses and clutched a backpack, but there was no mistaking him. No else noticed the one extra student in their class, having eyes only to stare at Ellen. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen found she couldn’t move. Or breathe.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then, he looked up at her. She caught the flash of his dark eyes beneath the edge of his sunglasses. She gestured out the door with her chin slightly, then turned and left. She waited. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hello,” she said quietly as he came through the door. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hello,” he returned. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A hundred people filed through the lecture hall door as they continued to stare at each other. There were so many things to say, but suddenly her mind had gone blank.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We can go up to my lab. To talk. It’s in this building,” she said haltingly. “Follow me.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He nodded, and she led him up the stairs. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s nice,” he said, as she opened the door for him. She locked it behind him and leaned back on her desk. He leaned back a few feet away from her on the grad student’s desk. She couldn’t really breathe still. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s a nice lab to work in. Dr. Moldova and I are working on a paper that I might just get first author on,” Ellen said. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Congratulations,” he said. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, you might want to save that until we get published, but I’ll thank you in advance. Did you know on Dr. Moldova’s first paper, he ended up putting down the wrong name?”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What?” Atamai asked.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“His family name isn’t Moldova. It’s where he’s from. His geography wasn’t exactly up to par, so in the paper he was using as a reference to write his own, he saw Petrova, D. He thought Petrova was a country, so he wrote Moldova, S. for Snegur from Moldova. He was too embarrassed to admit his mistake, so he just changed his name instead. For thirty eight years he’s been Moldova, because of one mistake,” Ellen said. “I’m just glad he wasn’t from Puerto Rico, as I think that would be a little harder to pull off as a last name. Dr. Moldova almost works, but I think Dr. Puerto Rico may raise some eyebrows. Dr. America would just sound like a super villain. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s strange, isn’t it? When I hear ‘Doctor’ in the context of comic books, I almost always think villain while ‘Captain’ or ‘General’ generally means protagonist. In real life, however, doctors save people and captains kill people,” Ellen said. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, captains kill people to save people,” Atamai argued. “And if you look at it from a mouse’s point of view, I think many current scientists would qualify as super villains.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Animal testing, eh? That eternal struggle of how much harm we had bestow for a greater good,” Ellen smiled. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“That sounds a lot like a military captain. Doctors and captains are very much the same,” Atamai said. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“And yet we discriminate the ones with higher degrees in comic books. Well, I guess some of the alter egos have degrees, but never the actual heroes while villain names often integrate their degrees into the title,” Ellen said. “Perhaps it works under the assumption that only villains would require the advertisement of their degrees to conflate their self-importance.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“And ‘Captain’ isn’t a form of advertisement?” Atamai asked. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Touche,” Ellen admitted. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Atamai smiled. “I like this. You’re the only person I’ve met where anything turns into an intellectual conversation that still manages to border on the absurd. It’s unique. Even after everything. I’m sorry to have caused this trouble.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I was the one who just wouldn’t come out and tell you who I am. It’s my fault. I’m sorry,” Ellen said. “I don’t know. I think I kinda panicked, because, you know, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re kinda a prince. I was being rather presumptuous throughout the whole affair. My thoughts were jumbled. I can’t even remember what I wrote.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“‘Prince Iona, I haven’t been honest with you. I’m not who you think I am. Joelle isn’t even my name. I’m sorry for leading you astray, but I never meant it. I’m sorry. Please don’t respond to this email or try to contact me,’” Atamai repeated. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You memorized what I wrote?” Ellen asked.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes. I read it many, many times,” he said quietly. “You really, well, confused me.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I guess that makes sense as I was confused myself,” she said. “Almost terrified, and very, very confused.” </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was a long silence. Ellen was still confused. Her brain was locked and refusing to think. It was feeling, swimming in a pool of emotion where she couldn’t find the edge. She thought she might drown.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you love him?</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I am returning home soon. My father has decided to cut our tour of America short. I leave tomorrow,” he said slowly. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh.” It was all she could manage. Her heart was tired, but it still felt the pang and wrench of profound sadness, even when she logically knew it would be for the best. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, I guess this is goodbye,” he said heavily. He stood up and offered her his hand. “And let me reiterate my apologies for this media spectacle. My brother spoke unwisely.” </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She took his hand quietly, almost numb, but that brush of flesh seared fire in her chest. She didn’t want to let him go. She wanted to say something. She knew it was silly, but she had to say something. Something. To let him know what she had felt. Perhaps it would only further burden him. Perhaps he would laugh at her or smile pityingly. Perhaps he would be disgusted. But, he hadn’t recognized her. No, she should keep her peace. She shouldn’t say a word. She couldn’t place the burden of her feelings on him. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">His hand slipped from hers, and it was as if the world sloughed away. The emptiness enveloped her completely, as it always did before. He was turning toward the door. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Wait,” she squeaked, far higher than her normal vocal range. She did not know when she had decided to make the noise, but suddenly it was there, zooming as a compaction of air molecules to touch his eardrum. He turned with eyebrows raised. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I need to say something. It’s silly, but I think it needs to be said. After everything. Before you go away,” she started, her voice still high. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He faced her. Those dark eyes that had once melted off of her now stood politely transfixed.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I don’t think there’s an easy way to say it. I don’t know, maybe people with more experience than I have know a way, but I don’t. So, I guess I’ll just be blunt and hope for the best.” She found she could not look at him anymore, so afraid of what emotion his eyes might betray. There would be no good that would come of this besides closure. She could hope for that. She squeezed her eyes shut and threw herself off her precipice.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I think I kinda really like you, in a romantic-ish sort of way,” she said, flushing as the words passed her trembling lips. Her heart stopped; her brain numbed. What was she saying? </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She managed a horrified sort of grin, more full of anguish than mirth, still not daring to look up. “If that wasn’t Shakespeare, I don’t know what is. I know you don’t feel the same way about me for a multitude of very appropriate reasons, but all these problems came up because I wasn’t being completely honest. So here’s me being-” she started, her voice growing increasingly tight. She realized she wanted to cry, except she really didn’t want to at all. She couldn’t do that. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Stop,” he said softly. “Please.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her breath was haggard as she valiantly fought from letting it turn into a sob. She was such an idiot. Of course he wouldn’t want to hear her inarticulate jabberings on emotions. He was a prince who probably had a legion of women throwing themselves upon him at every instant. He didn’t need another, especially not one like her,who wasn’t pretty, who wasn’t good at getting people to like her, who wasn’t fashionable, who didn’t even want to be a princess. She just wanted him. No, she wanted the emptiness. No, she needed it, or she became this blibbering blob of female emotions she always swore she would never be. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Ellen Metcalf, I think I kinda really like you in a romantic-ish sort of way.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen looked up, to see if he was joking, too stunned to do anything else. It felt like a dream. Any moment now, she would wake up in the normal universe where she didn’t fall for princes and attract media storms. Any moment, it would all flutter away, but it didn’t. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A smile was stretching across her lips without her giving it permission. It felt silly to stand there grinning, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was giddy. “I know this sounds insane, but I think that was the single most frightening moment of my life,” she said, doing all she could to stop from laughing. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He was smiling as well. “Not insane at all. Expressing emotions in that manner is terrifying!”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They smiled goofily at each other, before Ellen gradually grew solemn as her brain caught up with her. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What is wrong?” Atamai asked.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, I guess, I mean, where do we go from here? You’re a prince, and I’m not a princess. It could never work,” Ellen said sheepishly. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We don’t have to get married quite yet,” he said with a small smile. “There is time to address the questions as they come up. I understand if you not wish to continue this any further for what I am. Royalty is subject to continual public scrutiny that you may find intolerable. Although, I thought of a possible solution.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What?” Ellen asked.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I could step down from the crown. My younger brother would take my place as crown prince. He much love public attention and would gladly absorb as much as he can, leaving little to me,” he said slowly.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No. Don’t do that. That is, unless you want to, but not for me. I wouldn’t want to ruin that for you. But, honestly, even assuming this works out, I don’t think I would make a good princess. I’m not from Nuan, and I’m not so much for the being pretty and getting people to like me. There’s a reason I looked into a career behind a computer. Are you sure you don’t want someone else?” Ellen said quietly.</span></span></b></div>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I am afraid I must play the well-meaning contrarian once more as I think you would make an excellent princess. Yes, the foreign status still stands and might act as a barrier, but you work wonderfully under pressure and interact with the press well. My parents were all but in a frenzy when they realized you had been cornered by the media, but you held your own, even in pajamas. You were calm, cool, and collected. Regal. More importantly, you have a great mind and an open heart. You may pretend to be nothing more than a stolid intellectual, but the way you protect your sisters and your work with UNICEF reveal that you have a pure desire to help and nurture as well as the intellect to achieve your goals,” he said. He took her hand, and every nerve came alive in that touch. Her heart thrummed, and she felt a profound happiness she had not experienced for years. </span><br /><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You’re too kind and not half-bad yourself,” she smiled. “So, are you game for trying this out then? Taking it slow? See what happens?” </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I would love to,” he said. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Awesome,” she said. “You know, I think I might have to study up on some romantic poetry things so I can say something better to you than ‘I think I kinda really like you in a romantic-ish sort of way’.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He laughed. “I thought the phrasing was superb.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For a moment, everything ceased to exist as Ellen lounged in the bliss of the moment. However, she soon found herself glancing at her watch, suddenly awakening. “Well, I guess I missed p. chem.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Would you mind missing another lecture?” he asked.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You’re turning out to be a bad influence on me,” she teased. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I think it would be best if you met my parents,” he said solemnly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen’s eyes went wide. “Now? Really? I thought we were taking this slow,” she said, shrinking away, insecurities returning. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">His eyes betrayed mirth. “The brave Ellen Metcalf who can face legions of reporters and declare her emotions more brazenly than a prince balks at meeting an elderly couple?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">His smile was too contagious. She laughed. “Well, it’s just that their king and queen. And well, I kinda seduced their son with my frumpy womanly wiles and loquacious dialogue on robot revolutions,” she said. “Of course, then again, I think you were seducing me with all your bold intellectualism and respect for imagined capes.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Does that mean you’ll meet them?” he asked.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She bit her lip for a moment before nodding. “Sure, but do I need to change into something different? I mean, what’s appropriate for meeting royalty?” she asked. “I don’t actually own a ball gown or really any fancy clothes. You’re talking to a daughter of a plumber here.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You talking to me in what you’re wearing now,” he said. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“True, but you’re in jeans as well. Wait, why are you in jeans anyway? And don’t princes generally have secret service hovering nearby?” she asked.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He looked away shyly, “I needed to speak with you alone. I thought bodyguards might be off-putting, and you taught me that people usually don’t see what they’re not expecting. I’m sorry about that. I was too upset at my brother to bother looking.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Without thinking, Ellen rose up on her toes and gently pressed her lips to his cheek. “I forgive you.” Her worries on the matter suddenly seemed silly and inconsequential. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She wasn’t expecting the return of his affection as he placed his lips on hers, nor was she expecting the sudden fire of feeling warming her body and tingling her fingertips, but she found it to be a good surprise.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yep, I really, really forgive you,” she said after they broke apart. “Okay, I think I have sufficient endorphins to meeting those parents of yours and some angry bodyguards that you managed to give the slip.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I almost forgot,” he said suddenly, turning to retrieve something from his backpack. It was the shoe, all dangly, golden, and perfectly repaired. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So I see you’ve been a successful royal liaison to the shoe doctor, but you know that’s not my shoe. It never really fit anyway,” Ellen said. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I know. Besides, I find your sneakers both practical and alluring,” he said with a grin. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I find your sneakers pretty alluring as well,” she snickered. “And appropriate for lab. With that strappy thing, you could spill ammonia and have shriveled up toes forever. Here, leave it on my desk and I’ll text Marie to come pick it up for her sister. Wait, can I borrow your cell phone? Mine became kinda flooded with calls and messages so I left it at home.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He handed his over, and Ellen quickly sent Marie a message. She handed it back to him quickly before saying, “So, love’s labours won, shoe saved, and now all is left is meeting some heads of state. So, what do you think about the missing Love’s Labour’s Won of Shakespeare? A play lost to the ages or an alternate title for one of his known works?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I think whatever personal theory I espouse, you would take the other,” he said. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Probably, but that’s where all the fun is. Thesis, antithesis, and then the glorious synthesis, taking the better parts of each competing ideals to create a superior whole,” she said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“As much as I appreciate the pioneering analysis methods of Kant and Hegel, I must ask. You’re delaying on purpose, aren’t you?” he asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Maybe,” Ellen said. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He wrapped his fingers through her, and electricity tingled in her fingertips. She wondered if it would always be like that. If she would always have to smile when he smiled. If she would always blush when he held her eyes. If she would never feel empty again. Perhaps there would be time to figure it out. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She squeezed back. “Okay. Let’s do this.”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was strange, the crush of emotions in her chest, the good and the bad, the ecstasy and the nerves. But what was stranger was her response. She kinda liked it. </span></span></b>E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-83241333117764023982012-09-02T08:23:00.003-07:002012-09-02T08:23:59.177-07:00Sister Ella - Chapter Five<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span></b><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen was waiting by the car when Clara and Anabelle got back several hours later.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We were on TV!” Clara declared. “Channel six.” </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“They had us and all of our friends, with John in the middle, scream ‘We’re Joelle de Lafayette’ at the camera,” Anabelle said, still red from the heat of the day as Clara lapsed into giggles.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You should have seen John! He was hilarious! Oh my god, he was flirting with every guy he saw before he would go off and declare he was saving himself for the prince!” Clara explained.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“But, then he would come back,” Anabelle interrupted.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“And say,” Clara said happily.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“But I wouldn’t mind you for dessert!” Both girls fell on top of the car with uncontrollable laughter. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh my god, I don’t think I need to do any exercise today. I’ve burned off a thousand calories just by laughing at John,” Anabelle said, as she struggled to catch her breath. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“But, where did you go, Sister Ella?” Clara asked. “We lost you when we went and found John.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’ve just been here waiting. Reading,” Ellen said quietly, gesturing toward the chemistry textbook she had been staring at. How could she be so stupid and self-conceited? How could she have thought that a prince would fall in love with her by talking about robot revolutions and boron. He was probably glad to be rid of her, but just a little worried about where she ran off to. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And he had to return the shoe. She’d forgotten about the shoe.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then, his brother must have turned it into a circus. Why, for even a second, did she think he loved her?</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, sorry you had to wait, Sister Ella!” Clara said. “Time just got away from us. It’s so much fun, you know. And, oh my god, you should have seen John.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“The prince may not have found his Joelle, but I would pick John any day of the week,” Anabelle said salaciously before the sister lapsed into giggles once more.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As the girls were laughing, Ellen realized all the sadness, angst, and anger was draining away. This was her place, to help her sisters. To be the protector. She could forget the prince, because she had her sisters.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Alright, alright, let’s get you guys home. You have an 8’ o clock class tomorrow, Anabelle,” Ellen said. </span></span></b></div>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Don’t remind me,” Anabelle groaned, but she meekly entered the car. </span><br /><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The giggle chatted happily, recounting memories as Ellen drove, slowly realizing something. All those negative emotions may have drained away because of her sisters, but the positive ones, happiness, excitement, love, they had drained away too. They had drained away when he shook his head, when her father died, when she had found her mother’s box in the attic. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was all gone. All of her emotions. There was nothing inside her now, just an empty shell. That was who she needed to be, though. Empty Sister Ella who could not think of herself, because there was nothing to think of. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was dark outside when her sisters stumbled through the door, still cheerful and chattering. Ellen hung back, excusing herself to look at the moon. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her mother gave herself up for Ellen. She died for her. Ellen didn’t know it for a long time. Her father never told, only saying Mommy was sick and became an angel soon after Ellen was born. It was when Susan decided to move out of the house into a smaller one when the bills started piling up a few years after the accident that Ellen found the box. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Medical records. It was a rather dry label, and she might have ignored except she needed to go through all the paperwork to decide what they needed to keep and what they could throw away. Susan was supposed to help, but she was sick. Even when her body healed, she was still sick. She would still lock herself in her bedroom and cry, even when Clara and Anabelle called for her. But, they had Sister Ella, to cook for them and wash their clothes, and to go through the attic. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The box was very large and was on top of a pile of boxes. She almost fell over pulling it down, but Ellen was getting stronger. She was getting used to pulling heavy loads of laundry up and down the steps and wrangling their giant vacuum cleaner. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She got it down, and she began to search. Many words she didn’t know, but she knew cancer. Breast cancer. She knew “refused treatment”, even if she really didn’t know what “chemotherapy” or “rf ablation” or “radical mastectomy” were. Through hasty notes and waiver release forms, she pieced it together. Her mother was sick, but she could’ve been treated. She could’ve been saved, but it would have killed the child inside of her, Ellen. So, Ellen’s mother died in her place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was part of Ellen’s emptiness. Like that left by her father. Ellen knew no one would ever be there for her. Others had been, a long time ago, but they died. Ellen must be a statue, because when she did feel emotion, it always came to a bitter end. She shouldn’t feel, and then she wouldn’t get hurt. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She wasn’t a little girl anymore. She thought she’d been empty for a long time. She didn’t know what inside decided a guy could change that, but it was wrong. She was supposed to empty. It was who she was. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She stood outside for a long time. It was only after she was sure that her sisters had gone to bed that she went inside. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Are you alright, Sister Ella?” Clara sat at the kitchen table with a mug of tea. “I was about to bring this out to you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Tea?” Ellen smiled. “What’s the occasion?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You’ve just seemed sorta out of it lately. I don’t know. Then, Anabelle and I ran off to leave you worrying by the car. I just wanted to apologize and see if you’re alright,” she said shrugging. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes, I’m fine, Clara,” Ellen said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You’re always fine,” Clara said. “Even when you’re not.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Something was bothering me, but I’m over it now,” she said, shaking her head.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“And I’m guessing you have no intention of telling me what that something is,” Clara pouted playfully. “How come I always tell you my secrets, but I never get told any of yours?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Because I’m Sister Ella. I only hear the confessions,” Ellen joked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Anabelle used to call you the ambulance, because you would always come when we needed you to dry our tears,” Clara smiled. “I used to think you were a superhero, sent to protect us. When Mom had depression, you were the only thing holding us together. And you did it, but no one ever held you. I think it’s time.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Time for what?” Ellen asked.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Time for someone to help you. Tell me a secret. You must have many after keeping quiet for so many years. Tell me one. It always made me feel better after I told you, whether it was breaking a lamp or which boy I liked,” Clara said happily.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“They aren’t secrets if I tell people,” Ellen pointed out.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m not people though. I’m your sister. Sisters should share secrets,” Clara insisted. “Tell me something you never told anyone else.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen leaned in close to Clara’s ear, “I had a peanut butter and banana sandwich yesterday.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Clara laughed and pinched Ellen. “That’s not a real secret. I want a good, honest secret.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What if I don’t have any good secrets?” Ellen asked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“But you do. I want to hear a secret,” she pleaded. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Tomorrow. I’ll try to think up one tonight, but you have school in the morning,” Ellen said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So do you,” Clara said. “You’re not that much of my mom.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I know. I’m going to bed too. Just let me wash these mugs and the rest of the dishes” Ellen said, taking Clara’s empty cup to the sink she now realized was filled. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’ll get a secret out of you someday, Sister Ella,” Clara said, yawning as she retreated to her bedroom. Ellen only smiled tightly. She quickly washed the rest of the dishes that her sisters had piled in the sink, dried them off, and placed them in the cupboard. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She went to bed slowly, but the dark shapes and half-formed thoughts failed to materialize into anything distinct. She dreamed of nothing.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Ellen!” Anabelle screamed from down the hall, dropping something glass that shattered. Suddenly, Ellen was wide awake and jumping from her bed, half-dressed. Anabelle never called her Ellen. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She skidded into the living room and was met with flashes. There were cameras, all outside. She could barely comprehend it before she found herself springing into action.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Close all the blinds, quickly!” Ellen commanded. “Be careful of the glass. I’ll see what they want.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anabelle nodded. Her face was drained of color and her eyes were wide, revealing the depth of blue of her irises. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What’s going on?” Clara asked groggily, rubbing her eyes. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Help Anabelle close the blinds, don’t step on the glass. I’ll be back in a second,” Ellen said. She couldn’t think. She just had to act to protect her sisters. She took a deep breath and stepped outside without really knowing what she was doing in her pajamas, with bedhead, in front of army of cameras.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A barrage of cameras and microphones met her. Their voices combined as one. Ellen blinked rapidly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Excuse me?” she said loudly. “Can you all please calm down? Please, I can’t understand any of you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“KHOU,” a man said, elbowing his way to the front and stuffing a microphone under her nose. “Are you Ellen Metcalf?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes,” she said carefully. Her brain felt like it was in the middle of a reboot cycle and not quite fully on. She couldn’t quite process what was happening, but there was something lurking in the corner of her psyche that knew exactly what was going on. She just needed to pin it down. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Also known as Joelle de Lafayette?” the man asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There it was. Ellen blinked once as it sunk in. She knew she should have felt something, but she was empty. She could feel nothing. She just had to protect her sisters.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No comment. I would like to ask that everyone please back up to the sidewalk. This is private property, and my sisters and I would appreciate some privacy. Thank you,” Ellen said calmly. Her heart was strangely still beneath her chest, as it observed the fury of motion without emotion. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Will you confirm or deny the speculation that you are Joelle de Lafayette?” the man said, refusing to budge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I won’t answer any questions at this time in this manner. My sisters and I need to get ready and leave for our classes. Individuals requiring a comment from me would be best served by approaching me via email. I would thank you if you would please leave now. Good bye,” Ellen said, as if she were reading from a script. She turned and walked inside, locking the door behind her. She began to walk back through the kitchen to get her laptop.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Is your cell phone going off?” Clara asked. “Mine won’t stop.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s what woke me up, and then I heard knocking,” Anabelle explained.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Sister Ella, don’t-” Clara started.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The sharp pain in her foot alerted her to what Clara had tried to warn her against. “Well, I know where I need to clean up the glass now,” Ellen said, grabbing a nearby chair to sit down on and remove the glass from her foot. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Here, let me help,” Clara said, avoiding the glass to kneel by Ellen.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’ll sweep up the glass,” Anabelle said, grabbing the broom and dustpan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You don’t need to. I can do it,” Ellen said shaking her head.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Of course you can, but I want to help,” Clara said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Did you figure out what’s it all about? All these text messages, well, they don’t make any sense,” Anabelle said, looking incredulously at her phone. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Can we get to that in a moment?” Ellen asked. “Could you get a pair of tweezers, Clara?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Clara nodded and skittered off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“But you do know, right?” Anabelle said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m pretty sure,” Ellen said, as she bent in concentration to carefully pull the glass shards from her foot. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Here’s the tweezers,” Clara said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I think I just got it all out. Thanks, though, Clara,” Ellen said. She smiled as she hopped to the sink to wash off the blood. “Do we have any-”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hydrogen peroxide and a bandage? Yep,” Anabelle said, throwing the glass from her dustpan away to rummage through the cupboard. “Here you go.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Thanks.” Ellen quickly cleaned her wound. She turned to find her two sisters staring at Anabelle’s laptop. “What?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s you, isn’t it?” Anabelle said. “It’s you. Why didn’t I see it before?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s seven thirty. You need to get ready before you’re late to class,” Ellen said. “We’ll leave in five minutes.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“But it’s you. It’s you,” Anabelle said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Why didn’t you tell us?” Clara asked. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Listen, now is not the time for this. I made a mistake, or a mistake that led to a misperception of reality which beget more mistakes. Let’s get to class. We can talk about this after, okay? But it’s my job to get you guys safely to class,” Ellen said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No, it’s not. Why are you always trying to be our mother? You’re not. You’re not even our real sister,” Anabelle said. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Anabelle, no!” Clara said, tugging on her sister’s arm. “Come on. Let’s just listen to Sister Ella.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Her name’s Ellen. Or Joelle. Or whatever it is you’re calling yourself these days. And she’s a liar that won’t ever show her face. It’s strange. I’ve known you for fourteen years, but I don’t know who you are,” Anabelle said. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Of course you do! She’s Sister Ella. She helps us with our homework and feeds us chicken noodle soup when we’re sick,” Clara said. “She’s our sister. She’s nice.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Because of guilt. You brought all this down on us, and you won’t even admit it. They’re not just talking about you, they’re talking about all of us. They’re saying horrible things about us because of you, and you won’t say anything,” Anabelle said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m sorry,” Ellen said quickly. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for this.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“But it happened because of you. Everything’s because of you, and I won’t have you hurting my sister. Get out, and take all of them with you,” Anabelle said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Annie, no,” Clara said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Get out, Ellen!” Anabelle said ferociously. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The emptiness was shaking and breaking. Ellen wasn’t sure what was behind it. She couldn’t face those eyes. She couldn’t think. “I’ll get my stuff.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She dressed quickly, stuffing her textbooks into her backpack as well as a change of clothes and her toothbrush. Anabelle told her to get out, so she would get out. That’s what Sister Ella did. She protected her sisters, even when they said she wasn’t their sister, even if it meant going away. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Stay,” Clara said, coming to meet her in her bedroom. “Stay inside. Don’t go out there. Maybe they’ll leave if we don’t go out. Maybe I can help. Just don’t go.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Clara. Clara reminded Ellen of her role. It pushed back all of her concerns to focus on this.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I have to. I’ve learned ignoring things doesn’t make them go away. It only makes them worse. It’s my fault, Clara. I’ll draw them away. It’s my mistake. I’ll try to make this right again,” Ellen said. “Good bye, Clara.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You said you would tell me a secret today,” Clara said with tears in her eyes. “I think you have a pretty good one.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I have to take care of my sister. Of course I had to figure out a really good secret to tell her,” Ellen said, making Clara smile through her tears. “Don’t worry. They’re just reporters, Clara, and I’m a superhero/ambulance/nun. They can’t hurt me.” That even caused Clara to laugh. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen left.</span></span></b>E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-44494306016951149092012-09-02T08:11:00.002-07:002012-09-02T08:11:49.687-07:00Sister Ella - Chapter Four<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"></b><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Clara and Anabelle were happily blathering all morning about the upcoming audition, which Ellen tried to ignore. It was difficult though when they kept asking her opinion on different articles of clothing or hairstyles, despite the fact that Ellen’s knowledge of fashion rivaled only that of her knowledge of relationships. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">By the time they were all finally walking to class, she was in a rather sulky mood. Just one more day. It had to end, after today. She just had to get through the UNICEF meeting and get her sisters through the audition. Then, she could wash her hands of it. Somehow, she couldn’t convince herself that the end would be so clean cut, leaving her yet another day of hardly absorbing any of her lectures. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ellen dreaded the UNICEF meeting all the morning, and she had half-decided to skip it completely. However, Marie caught her between classes, forcing her to charter her protesting legs toward the the social studies building. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Marie must have caught her mood, as she said nothing the entire trip.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh my god. That’s all I can say, Ellen Metcalf. Oh my fucking god,” Patricia said as soon as she walked through the door. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Technically, your very statement that all you can say is ‘oh my god’ negates your claim,” Ellen said calmly. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I have the draft for the article,” Marie started.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“A prince? A real live prince?” Pat gasped. “Why wouldn’t you tell us you were chummy with him?”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“The first time Ellen falls in love is with a prince. You can’t say she has bad taste,” Dakota observed. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“But why the hell have you stopped talking to him? I’d be all over that piece of meat. I mean, he’s no Channing Tatum, but he’s a frickin’ prince!” Pat exclaimed.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“A frickin’ prince too, not be be confused with a non-frickin’ prince,” Dakota taunted. </span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Yes, Kodiak, a frickin’ prince to differentiate him from the Disney princes which every girl was swooning for before they knew why until they realized the whole race thing. You know, cartoon and reality, it's hard to bridge. But, Ellen, what the hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be off in a horse-drawn carriage to declare your everlasting love for this prince guy?” Patricia said. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Because he’s a prince!” Ellen said, louder than she meant. It was rare to see Ellen display much emotion, and the outburst quieted the room into an uneasy silence. Ellen stared down at her hands for several long moments, breathing as steadily as she could manage. She wanted to run away and hide. She wanted to deny it was her, even though Patricia and Dakota obviously knew. She didn’t to feel like this. She didn’t want to feel. </span></span></b></div>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Are you alright, Ellen?” Dakota hazarded quietly.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes. I’m fine,” she said quickly.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You’d say you were fine if you had an arm lopped off and were dangling over a pit of fire-breathing giant spiders. Spiders that fly too,” Patricia said dismissively. “But, pretending you aren’t Ellen and are capable of expressing emotion regularly, would you say you’re fine?” </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes. It’s just complicated. I didn’t want complicated,” Ellen said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah, well, welcome, to the world of romance, sweetheart. Home to the world’s most complicated feelings and relationships,” Patricia said, clapping Ellen on the shoulder. Patricia gazes drifted for a moment away from Ellen, to where she had been sitting with Dakota, but she quickly returned her attention to Ellen. “Buy you’re all science-y. Don’t you like complicated?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Can we just talk about the article?” Ellen asked. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“The article isn’t in a complicated relationship with a prince,” Dakota pointed out. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I don’t think she wants to talk about it, guys,” Marie said quietly, before more pointedly adding. “Remember, like I said?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I remember. To talk about it, Ellen would have to admit she’s capable of emotion, and we all know that’s blasphemy. Of course she doesn’t want to talk about it, but I do!” Pat said, grinning evily. “So what’s so rough between you and prince-y poo? Why’d you go off and disappear on him? Hell, let’s start from the beginning. Why did you ask him to call you ‘Joelle?’”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Patricia sat down at the table, putting her head in her hands and giving the expression of full attention. Dakota replicated the action. Both were smiling mischievously, suggesting that Ellen was exposing all the uncertainty that she was trying to repress. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She needed to divert the pair’s attention. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ellen grabbed the article out of Marie’s hands and began to read from it. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“‘We want to help,’ is the unofficial motto that the University of Texas at Houston abides by says Historian Marie Hermann. ‘We all have different backgrounds and histories, but it’s what binds us, an insatiable desire to do something good for others.’”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yep, we’re all astonishing humanitarians here who exist for naught but the higher purpose of serving others in need. But-” Pat started, going to grab the paper out of Ellen’s hands. However, Ellen’s grip was firm, and Pat only succeeded in tearing it. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“God, Ellen, what’s with the grip of steel?” Pat asked. “Spending too much time holding onto your dear heart trying to squeeze all the emotion out of it?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There was something in her throat. Something that reminded her of being a child again, before her father died, when she still needed to depend on someone. She couldn’t go back to that girl though, not when she had Clara and Anabelle protect. She should get back to them. That’s where she belonged, protecting her sisters. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” Ellen said slowly. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey, wait! Where are you going?” Pat said. “We didn’t get to hear about Prince Charming! Ellen?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Ellen?” Marie echoed.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ellen pretended not to hear, only walking faster. Damn it, this wasn’t who she was. Why the hell was she feeling like this? And, why was she angry? Stupid emotions popping up where they weren’t wanted. She just needed to get away and straighten her thoughts. She walked home with clenched fists. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey, Sister Ella! You’re home early,” Clara said, stepping from her bedroom. She was wearing a yellow dress and had her blonde hair temporarily dyed brown in a bun at the back of her head. “What do you think? Does it just scream ‘Joelle?’”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You look like a stalk of wheat,” Anabelle taunted while striking a pose. “I’m Joelle!”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Psh, Sister Ella would make a better Joelle than you,” Clara teased back. “Were you going to come with us, Sister Ella? I know you would never want to dress up or anything, but you know, do you want to watch?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sister Ella’s our second mom, of course she’s coming. Who else would look after us and shake her head disapprovingly?”Anabelle asked. When she turned to find Ellen very serious and staring off into space, she added, “You are coming, aren’t you, Sister Ella?”</span></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Yes. Of course. You know I’m always there for my favorite little sisters,” Ellen said, managing to crack a grin. She was used to smiling for them, even when she was sad. It was what she did as a kid so often. When they had nightmares about car crashes and monsters, Ellen would smile and sit beside them, telling them happy stories with a grin on her face. She never told them about her dreams where her father died again and again or where her mother accused Ellen of murdering both Ellen’s father and herself. Ellen just smiled.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">With these memories, Ellen found it easier to put on a happy face. When Clara and Anabelle were about, she could remember who she was supposed to be. She was their big sister, and they needed her. She could forget about the prince, even if they were going to go meet him. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /></span><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It was madness when they arrived. Thousands of people in yellows were thronging in the streets, some ridiculously older or younger than Ellen, some ridiculously the wrong size, some the wrong gender, but they were all eager for the chance to pretend to be Joelle, even when Ellen didn’t want to be Joelle. The only thing that could ever keep her there were her sisters, Ellen realized.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Hey, look, it’s Katie and John, over there!” Clara shouted, attempting to be heard over the din of voices as cameras zoomed all around. Ellen realized she should have worn sunglasses or something. Her hair was even in a bun because she had been in lab earlier that day. She felt ridiculously exposed. What was she doing? </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">She bent down in the pretense of tying her shoe as a video camera swept toward her. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh my god, what is John wearing?” Anabelle giggled. “I have to see this!” The two girls began to push their way through the crowd, even as Ellen was calling them back. She struggled to her feet, but was almost pushed down again by a throng. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">She scanned through the crowd, attempting to find Clara or Anabelle, but everyone was in yellow. Everyone had brown hair. Everyone was trying very hard to look the same, and everyone was squirming restlessly. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ellen could feel her panic rising, but she reminded herself that they were with their friends and that between the pair of them, she had faith that they could probably remember where they parked. Ellen could just walk back to the car and wait for them there. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Relieved that her plan was to get out of this crowd, Ellen quickly set it into action, attempting to wrestle her way back. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“All those auditioning, this way!” someone called through a bullhorn on her right, directly into her ear. “Come on.” She staggered at the blast of noise, grimacing.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A girl caught her arm and pulled her up straight. “Steady there. The line’s here,” she said, tugging her forward.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Wait, what?” Ellen managed, rubbing her ear irritably. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“What?” the girl yelled, attempting to be heard as the man with the bullhorn continued to blare. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ellen looked around as she was shuffled forward as the police barricaded the line on both sides, attempting to restore order. The line was filled with girls in yellow with brown hair. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">No. No. She couldn’t be in the line. She had to get out. No one could figure out who she was. Ellen looked around wildly for an exit. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You should have worn yellow!” the girl who had caught her yelled, placing her arm around her shoulder and ushering her forward.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“What?” Ellen yelled back. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Your hair. It’s a lot like the picture, but you would look more like her in yellow. You could almost be her,” the girl said as they were pushed into a building by the force of the throng of girls behind them. The doorway was like a giant cement maw, and she was being pushed into it. And as she crossed the threshold, she knew she’d been eaten. She couldn’t escape.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ellen looked breathlessly around as cameras flashed and blinked, barely comprehending and mostly panicking. “I shouldn’t be here,” Ellen said quietly. The ruckus had quieted a little, now separated from the crowd outside letting the girl beside her hear her. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Hey, listen. No need to be nervous. You look a lot like her even without the yellow,” the girl said encouragingly. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I need to get out. Do you know a way to get back outside?” Ellen asked. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Calm down. Here, take this,” the girl said, unwinding the sash she had thrown around her waist and placing it around Ellen’s neck. “See, now you have yellow!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I can’t,” Ellen protested. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“No, take it. It’s my gift,” the girl insisted, taking both of Ellen’s hands, forcing Ellen to stop scanning the halls for an escape sign and instead look into the girl’s kind, dark eyes. They were like Atamai’s. They almost sparkled the same way, and suddenly, Ellen couldn’t remember why it was such a bad idea not to meet Atamai again. Maybe it was destiny. Maybe it was like one of those fairy tales that Clara and Anabelle used to read and Ellen used to laugh at. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">No, it was silly. There were no fairy tales, but there were nice people who should be thanked when they try to help, however misguided the effort. There was nothing else Ellen could do now. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Thanks,” Ellen managed to say. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“It’s my pleasure, Joelle de Lafayette,” the girl said smiling.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Did she recognize her? No, it couldn’t be. She was just being nice. All the girls were pretending to Joelle, so that was supposed to be compliment, saying that she was playing her part well. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">After being processed swiftly through security, Ellen found herself pushed into a room with red carpet and a mahogany table. At the table sat the brother, reclining in a chair and chatting up one of the camera men. There was also Atamai. Even with the distance between them, she could tell he looked haggard. She could see the bags under his eyes and an unwonted thinness in his cheeks. His eyes were bloodshot and his mouth was drawn into a thin line. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Had she done that to him? Did he miss her? Was he not sleeping because he couldn’t stop thinking of her, like she couldn’t sleep but think of him? Was that why he wasn’t eating? What had she done?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">She must have faltered as the kind girl behind her nudged her gently. Without Ellen remembering giving her feet the order, she was in the center of the room, and Atamai was staring down at her. His eyes weren’t sparkling anymore, but they were his. They were his eyes. His mouth was a thin line when it had been a clever smile, but it was his mouth. It was him. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ellen felt as if her brain had frozen as she stared into those eyes, waiting for what he might say. Would he be angry at her for hiding? Would he be happy to have found her? Would he just laugh and tell her he was waiting for his cape? Would he be so relieved that he had found her that he would kiss her, on the spot, in front of all these cameras? What was wrong with her heart now? Was it beating still? Would she faint before he could do anything?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But, he was shaking his head now. A man in a uniform was grabbing her elbow and ushering her away, even as the next girl was ushered forward. Those eyes melted off of her as easily as they did a thousand other girls. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ellen did not know why he wasn’t sleeping and eating. Ellen didn’t know why he was so tired and tense, but Ellen knew one thing. It wasn’t because he loved her like she loved him, where she couldn’t think of anything else no matter how hard she tried, where her heart flitted about like a hummingbird at the mere mention of him, where she would see his face at night in her dream and upon waking in her thoughts.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">He didn’t even recognize her. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">How could she be so stupid?</span></span></div>
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</b>E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-84679859496529873712012-09-02T08:10:00.001-07:002012-09-02T08:10:33.907-07:00Sister Ella - Chapter Three<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When Ellen came home, the TV was blaring as Clara was slung over the couch with laptop perched on her lap and Anabelle was spread out on the floor with a pile of textbooks in front of her that garnered only marginal interest from her. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey guys,” Ellen said, letting her backpack fall to the carpet and going into the kitchen for a glass of water. Houston was always hot it seemed. She returned to the living room, taking long gulps from her glass. “So, is your big test-?” </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She stopped mid-sentence as a face flashed on-screen. She swore she knew the face. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“And that’s what makes him the world’s sixth most eligible bachelor,” the TV declared in a flurry of pink hearts. “We’ll be back with the world’s fifth most eligible bachelor after a word from our sponsors.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Tomorrow,” Anabelle groaned, flipping away from the TV. “There’s too much to know. I-”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Who was that?” Ellen asked, still staring intensely at the screen as if in hopes that the face would reappear. However, there was only an advertisement about toilet bowl cleaners. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Huh?” Anabelle asked, looking at the TV screen in confusion.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“The last guy. The last bachelor or whatever. Who was he?” Ellen asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I, I dunno. I forget,” Anabelle said, looking to Clara who shrugged her shoulders. “Why do you care, Ellen?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“He was some prince guy from some island nation,” Clara said. “I don’t remember his name, something foreign. It started with an A.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Atamai?” Ellen asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yeah, that’s it. How did you know?” Clara asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ellen sat down on the arm of the couch. A strange sort of numbness and nausea overcame her. “Look him up, Clara, please. Can you google him for me?” </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Um, okay. Why are you curious about him? He wasn’t even the most attractive they have on here,” Clara said, looking at Ellen dubiously.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Just, please,” Ellen said tonelessly. Clara handed over her computer to the Wikipedia article on Prince Atamai.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It was him.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There was no mistaking. Everything looked exactly as she had seen him two days ago, the same smile, the same hair, the same eyes. Ellen leaned back, staring at the ceiling. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Are you alright, Sister Ella?” Anabelle asked. “What’s so bad about this prince guy?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Nothing.” Ellen shook her head, trying to clear her mind. “Nothing at all. I’m going to go do homework now.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ellen decided she was the biggest idiot to ever walk the planet. Of course he wasn’t being facetious. He was a real prince, born and raised. She had fed him a false name and put on airs of being fancy when she was just another poor, college student. She had lied to a prince and pretended to be someone else. He was probably attempting to retain connections to the French elite, not trading banter with some college girl. She’d been so incredibly stupid. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ellen put her head on the desk, closing her eyes and grimacing. What was she going to do? What could she do? Go out and email him, saying, “Whoopsies, when I said I was a daughter of a French diplomat, what I really meant is that I’m a daughter of a dead plumber. I even got my name wrong. How silly of me. Can I still crush on you in my deranged pseudo-intellectual way of political sparring?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Stupid, stupid, stupid. She had to say something. She had to. She owed it to him if he wasted all that time talking to her and reading her emails under a false notion. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want him to not like her, or Joelle, or whoever he thought she was, as stupid as the concept seemed upon critical thinking. The banter they had shared, well, it still felt special. It almost made her believe in idea of love and communal affection beyond the bonds of family.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No. No, no, no. Ellen Metcalf did not fall in love. Ellen knew better than that. Besides, he had never felt the same way about her back. He didn’t even know who she was, so Ellen’s ponderings on love were inane. She was being so stupid about this. And silly. That’s not who Ellen was. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She opened her laptop us. She needed to do this quickly before her damn repressed emotions reared their ugly, snively head. She was not emotional. She was logical. And logically she knew she must set Atamai in the right, apologize for her misconduct, and then escape from the situation before she could do anything stupid. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There was an email from him in her inbox. She could see the abbreviated first line of his email. It began with </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hello the waxless Joelle, It took me a moment-.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Part of her wanted to open it. </span></span></b><br />
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">No. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t live this lie. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5758892078883946" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She deleted the email and began a new one.</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Prince Iona,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I haven’t been honest with you. I’m not who you think I am. Joelle isn’t even my name. I’m sorry for leading you astray, but I never meant it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m sorry. Please don’t respond to this email or try to contact me.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She sent it without looking at it again. She quickly closed her laptop. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There. Done. She did it. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>If she did what was right, why did she feel so awful? She groaned, leaning her head on her desk once more. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did she have to be so stupid? You’d think with all this college, she learned to be a little smarter. Dakota and Patricia were right. She was a preteen adolescent when it came to emotions. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ellen decided she wanted to become very small and crawl into a dark hole where there were no princes or diplomats or emails. Where there was nothing. Where she wouldn’t have to think and embarrass herself.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ellens throat narrowed as something that felt like emotion was trying to worm its way up, pressing bile into her mouth and attempting to activate lacrimal ducts. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sister Ella, can you help me with anatomy thing? They keep using words like caudal and dorsal and foramen and articulation I have no idea what they’re talking about,” Anabelle said, coming into Ellen’s room with a review sheet. “Wait, are you alright?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Um, yeah,” Ellen said hastily, rubbing her face vigorously as she rose. “I just-, well, it’s just been a long day.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey, you haven’t been studying all day,” Anabelle declared pugnaciously. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“If you call watching TV studying,” Clara put in from the living room. Anabelle scowled and offered Clara a retort. It gave Ellen enough time to collect her thoughts and straighten her priorities. She did not need romance, but Anabelle needed her. She had to put Anabelle first, even if she wasn’t exactly well-versed in anatomy. She would help her sister and forget about herself. That’s what Ellen did. That’s who she was. Not some fancy French diplomat. Ellen was Sister Ella.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ellen slept but fitfully. Thoughts swirled and festered in her head. The Joelle fiasco was a scabbed wound, and she had the insatiable desire to pick at it. It was done. It was over. She must move on and forget about Atamai and how she felt about him. She was being stupid. And silly. And now, very, very tired. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When she arose. Atamai had left her an email. An odd surge of emotion met her. There was anger. There was confusion. There was hope. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She squashed them all, deleting the email before she could read its first sentence. Ellen was not emotional, she had learned a very long time ago how to be empty, and Atamai was awakening all sorts of emotions that needed to be put to rest. She went about her day, distracted and tired. She doubted she absorbed anything through any of her lectures, she mis-measured in her experiment during her quantitative chemistry lab, she wrote faulty code that made no sense, and overall she felt as if she had been pulled very thin and tight, only to be released to make a puddle of stretched-out, wrinkly Ellen. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When she came home. The email from Atamai stared at her from her recycle bin. She closed her laptop and fell on her bed. Was this what normal people felt like in romances? If so, then why in the world did people pursue them? Feeling nothing was much, much superior to this. She needed dreamless sleep, when she knew she couldn’t get any such thing. A time machine would also work, although then she risked breaking the space-time continuum if she stopped herself from ever getting in that dress. Maybe it would mean that there would be a zombie apocalypse or robots would take over the world.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She groaned. Was even her favorite sci-fi motif ruined for her now? Her father once told her that every struggle taught a lesson. She supposed this one was never to let her emotions get the best of her. They had leaked out in the emails. She needed to stopper them more securely. She needed critical reasoning and science. That’s what drove the world. Emotions made you weak and would always ultimately hurt you.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She pulled herself up and finished her homework and helped her sisters. Enough numbers and figures would drive out the weakness in her. It had to. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Still, she could not sleep that night. Or the next. Or the next. She could not check her email either. Atamai was still wrote her two more emails. She could not face them. She could barely face her laptop. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When the weekend hit, she knew she had to get away. This madness had to end. She needed to find someplace where she could find no trace of him and do something else for awhile. Ellen Metcalf was not this girl who was internally fretting over some guy she met at a party. Ellen Metcalf was a scientist who needed to study for a physical chemistry test. After spending an hour or two in her research lab, she packed up her books and went to the diner across from campus. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The bell tinkled as she walked in. The diner was close to empty, which meant she didn’t feel as evil if she lingered while studying instead of just eating and leaving. She ordered a large cup of coffee and a plain bagel. She didn’t think she could stomach much more and she needed as much caffeine as possible to maintain the inertia to keep moving despite her exhaustion. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She spread her books out on the table, gulping coffee as she began to skim through her notes and reference back to her textbook. She was actually focusing, for the first time in a long time. All the wave functions and quantum equations were enough to drive the drivel from her mind. For a while, she forgot.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Prince Atamai Iona,” the title vibrated in her skull as she looked up sharply. The soft murmur of voices from the diner’s customers had droned into inconsequence with Schrodinger’s equations to think of, but those three words rang out as clearly as a bell. Who had spoken them? Why were they speaking them?</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She looked around quickly, examining every face. The waitress was handing an older couple their sandwiches and fries. Another college student sat with earbuds in, facing a laptop. Parents sat with a gaggle of children, one of whom was blowing bubbles in his milk. A group of high-schoolers were laughing. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Then she looked up at the TV screen and saw him. He was smiling politely at some jest while a man who deeply resembled him sat on his left, gesturing wildly. The host sat across from them was laughing. Ellen found she could not help herself from watching. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So, other than that incident at the hotel, are you and and your brother enjoying Houston,” the host asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh, yes. Of course,” the other man said with a smile. “It has a really similar climate to Nuan. There’s the heat that could grill meat and the humidity enough to swim in. I’ve really grown attached to that feeling of being poached. It really allows me to bond with my breakfast eggs,” he joked glibly. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It raised chortles. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What my younger brother means to say is that we have found the people of Houston to be most hospitable and kind,” Atamai said curtly.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The brother elbowed him. “Don’t be so stiff, Atamai. Being stiff is only suitable for corpses, and the last time I checked, you still had a pulse. Besides, you know I have to balance you out, so however proper and formal you are, that means I have to be that much more impassioned and free. If you become any more dull, I might have skin down to my birthday suit.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The women in the audience of the show catcalled and whistled. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It seems the ladies of Houston are much infatuated with the idea.” the host observed. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes, yes, but I am only enough for one woman, and she has already found my heart,” he said, sighing. A chorus “Aww”s met this declaration. The man smiled, and continued. “My brother, on the other hand could use a lady love after this week.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Atamai’s mouth tightened as he was met with throes of affection from the crowd. His cheeks burned red, and he whispered something to his brother who only laughed.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What happened?” the host asked. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh, the usual love story. A damsel whisked him off his feet at the UNICEF Gala but all for naught. I guess they were emailing or something since he’s been pacing around the computer for the last few days. She’s disappeared though. He’s been trying to find mention of her anywhere since I guess he has her shoe, which he needs to return. She told him her name was Joelle de Lafayette, but that’s not her real name, right?” the brother said. Atamai looked to be in extreme pain. He refused to raise his head as the story was met with sympathetic noises. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey, how about we help my brother out? I got a picture of her when I decided I needed evidence of my brother chatting up some girl. It’s somewhere on my phone,” the man pulled out his phone and was fiddling with the buttons. Atamai made a grab at the phone, but the brother arms were longer so that he could effectively hold Atamai at bay. “Oh, here it is.” He shoved the phone out to the camera, and Ellen stopped breathing.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There she was, for millions to see. It was a bad angle. Part of her face had been cut off by someone’s shoulder, but her nose, her eyes, and her lips were still there. Ellen Metcalf stood in a fancy, golden dress frozen in mid-laugh. It must have been just after she broke the heel of the shoe, as she was barefoot and a strappy thing dangled from her hand. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Everyone was going to know she was a fraud. Everyone was going to know she was a liar. Everything was going to fall apart. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ellen looked around hesitantly, readying herself to face the glares of everyone, but no one was looking at her. The only one that had even glanced at the television was the waitress. She approached Ellen, but only refilled her coffee cup and walked away. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ellen needed to get home before anyone recognized her. She needed to get away. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She stuffed all her books in her backpack and hastily paid the tab.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey, Sister Ella! I thought you said you were going to be in the lab all day. Anyway, could you-. Wait, where are you going?” Clara asked as Ellen made a beeline to her bedroom from the front door. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Uh, bathroom,” she said, altering her path slightly. She quickly locked herself inside, breathing heavily. She shrugged off her backpack and stared at herself in the mirror. It didn’t look like the picture on TV, she realized. Marie had dressed and dolled her up, making her look halfway presentable. Now, without any make-up, a ponytail spewing fly-away hairs, and an overly large t-shirt she got for free at orientation to UT Houston, there was little resemblance to the girl on screen. Maybe no one would recognize her. All of her friends claimed they barely could.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>What would they say? They would know it was her, but they would probably keep quiet if she asked them too, although she would hear no end of it from Dakota and Patricia. Marie would probably be nice about it though. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As if summoned by her thoughts, her phone rang.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ellen fumbled through her backpack to find the device. “Hello?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Ellen?” Marie said. “The guy you were talking to, you didn’t give him your real name, did you?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No.” Ellen sighed. She rubbed her temples with one hand. “I didn’t. I thought we were joking around. I didn’t know he was actually a prince. I thought he was just playing. And now, I don’t know Marie. I don’t know what to do.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well, you could tell him the truth,” Marie started.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I did! Well, sort of. I emailed him and said I wasn’t who I said I was, once I realized he was exactly who he said he was. I even mentioned the name thing. I said I was sorry, and that I didn’t think we should talk anymore. I haven’t looked at any of the other messages he’s sent since then. I tried to cut it off, Marie,” Ellen said, groaning. “I don’t want any attention. I don’t want any drama. I didn’t want this.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Have you been watching any talk shows this morning?” she asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I saw.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So did my sister. She recognized the dress. She wants to call in and tell them that’s her dress and that someone stole it from her. I’ve been stopping her, but you know how she is. I don’t know how long I can convince her not to,” Marie said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Can you bribe her? Anything? I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Ellen said. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I don’t know what to tell you, Ellen,” Marie said. “You can come over, if you want, and we can talk about it.”</span><br /><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I don’t think I want to talk about it. I just want it to go away. Is this was having emotions is like?” Ellen asked glibbly.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Kinda sucks, doesn’t it?” Marie asked. Ellen could almost hear Marie’s quiet, sad smile over the phone. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No kidding,” Ellen said. She pressed her head against the cold tile wall of the bathroom. She could feel her face throbbing and flushing. Maybe, if she just closed her eyes, it would all go away, at least for a moment.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’ll sort out my sister, Ellen. I’ll figure out something. I’ll call Pat and Dakota and tell them not to say anything. Give this a week or two, and it will all blow over. I’m here for you, if you need me,” she said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen wasn’t supposed to need anyone. She was supposed to be the one to provide the succor and help in times of need. She was supposed to be the strong one. Where had everything gone wrong? “Yeah, thanks, Marie. Thanks a lot,” Ellen said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Anytime, Ellen.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’ll see you later.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“See you Monday.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen clicked off her phone. Marie, Pat, and Dakota wouldn’t tell then. She just hoped no one else would recognize her from the photo. She just had to hope.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen flushed the toilet and washed her hands in case Clara was waiting at the door when she came out. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hey, Sister Ella, the internet’s out of whack. Could you look at it?” Clara asked. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Let me put my backpack down, and then I’ll look at the router. Is it just on your laptop or on Anabelle’s too? Have you tried unplugging it and plugging it back in?” Ellen asked. The prosaic problems were a reassuring pressure of normality. Everything would go back to the way it was; all she had to do was wait.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Anabelle’s with Jeremy at the library, and which one’s the router again?” Clara asked. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen restarted the router and was met with a cheer from Clara who promptly collapsed onto the couch with her laptop to check her Facebook. “Also, you need to go to the store because we’re almost out of toilet paper and we need cereal,” Clara said, matching her spine to the curvature of the armrest. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We have cereal,” Ellen started.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We have your cereal, but I don’t like it. It has too many calories and tastes bad. I like the flakes one,” she said, wrinkling her nose.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“They are healthy calories!” Ellen declared, “But alright, is there anything else you need?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I dunno, food? Oh, and maybe some hair dye!” Clara said excitedly. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Why?” Ellen asked.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh this princey guy is looking for someone he met at a party whose disappeared. Since so many people have called in claiming to be her, this TV station is hosting an audition sort of thing. All my friends are going. The name’s Joelle de Lafayette. Here’s the picture they have of her,” Clara explained, handing her laptop over. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was the same picture Atamai’s brother had taken, but it was now inserted in a website asking “Are you Joelle de Lafayette?” There was a link for various user-submitted photos claiming to be from Joelle de Lafayette. It had been less than a couple of hours since the brother had shown the photo on TV, but there were already dozens of photos of girls claiming to be her. Ellen handed the laptop back to Clara as calmly as she could.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So far, Natalie, Rachel, and Piper are going for sure, but Katie and Wendy are thinking about it. John wants to go too, just for fun. Hey, she kinda looks like you. You should come with us!” Clara said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No,” Ellen said sharply. “I have, um, stuff to do. For lab and everything.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I was just trying to be nice,” Clara said quietly, making Ellen regret her harshness. “I guess I will have to text Anabelle and see if she wants to go.” Clara pulled out her cellphone. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen walked numbly back to her room. This didn’t seem to be blowing over rather quickly. Instead, it was expanding with the force of a mushroom cloud. Would it leave long-lasting radiation in its wake which would render the soil infertile for years and the lifeforms mutated or dead? Ellen decided that the analogy comparing this situation to a nuclear bomb was incredibly apropos. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She flipped open her textbook, so she would have something to stare at in her room. A wall of text glared back at her as she looked on, unseeing. Clara didn’t recognize her. Clara was her sister and probably spent as much time with her as anyone, and she didn’t recognize her. It wasn’t a good picture. Ellen had been ridiculously dolled up in makeup and a dress. It was quite possible no one would recognize her. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then, they would just go through this farce where many young women claimed to be her, but Atamai would probably not be fooled. Then, everyone would forget and move on, and this hullabaloo would be gone forever. Her embarrassment will be hidden deep within the depths of her memory, and probably Marie’s, Pat’s, and Dakota’s as well, but it wouldn’t be public knowledge. Life would go on. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen’s phone rang. Perhaps her positive affirmations had been misplaced. She looked at it with a certain sort of dread, wondering if she should answer. But, she had to. Whatever happened, she had to face it. She fumbled to answer it. Somehow, she managed to drop it and kick it across the room as her extreme discomfort made her clumsy. However, with her mind made up, she dutifully ran after it. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hello?” Ellen said breathlessly.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hi Sister Ella!” her stepmother said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, hey, Susan,” Ellen said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“How’s school?” she asked.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen sat down heavily at her desk, still feeling uneasy. “Uh, fine, fine. Everything’s fine. Clara and Anabelle are doing well. Anabelle had an anatomy test earlier this week that she felt alright about, but the scores haven’t come in yet.” Ellen noted her voice came out higher than normal, despite her attempts to stay calm. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, that’s great, honey. Anyway, I don’t suppose you’ve been watching all the talk shows, have you?” Susan asked.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen’s stomach dropped. “Why?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“There’s a prince in Houston! He’s looking for some girl, and she has brown hair, you have brown hair. She has olive skin, you have olive skin,” Susan said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“And?” Ellen said carefully.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, I don’t know,” Susan started.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen thought her heart stopped as she waited to see what her stepmother would say next. Did she know? Did she suspect? Has she said anything? “You haven’t been attending any galas recently, have you?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Why would I attend a gala?” Ellen asked, deliberately hurdling the question.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, don’t be so serious, Sister Ella. There was just a resemblance, that’s all. Are your sisters doing anything about it? I hear they are having all the girls claiming to be the mystery girl go on a show or something,” Susan said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen breathed again. “Yeah, Clara is planning on going down with her friends. I’m not sure about Anabelle.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, make sure they stay safe, Sister Ella. I’m sure there’s many people down there just waiting to take advantage of this commotion. They need their older sister watching over them,” Susan said.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You know I always do,” Ellen said. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Alright. Love you all bunches!” Susan said. “Talk to you later.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Bye.” Ellen hung up. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was another reason she had to make sure no one knew she was the girl in the photo. It would affect Clara and Anabelle too. She couldn’t let anything harm her sisters. She had to protect them. If the media was attacking this story with such ferocity when they didn’t know who the girl was, what would happen if they did? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Very bad things. She had to keep quiet. It was blow over. Eventually. It had to. She just had to make sure no one recognized her. She just had to stay quiet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She went to the store, as requested by Clara, but kept her head down and wore sunglasses, feeling more than faintly ridiculous. No one gave her a second look. She was just one among a hundred people grabbing up groceries. Nothing distinguished her. How many young women had brown hair and olive skin? It had to be millions. Her stepmother and sisters didn’t recognize her, so no one else would. It would blow over. It had to. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was another email from Atamai when she got back. She wanted to open it. She had a million things she needed to say to him, but she couldn’t. Her stomach clenched and her heart thudded at the mere notion. Answering the email would only throw oil on the flame. She had to ignore it and ignore everything. Then, it would be alright. Then everything would go back to normal. Then Ellen could forget about silly things like romance and princes. She could be Sister Ella again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She deleted the email. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Monday and Tuesday came and passed slowly. Her physical chemistry test did not go as well as she would have liked. Equations and concepts fled as her brain refused to concentrate on anything. It did nothing to improve her mood, which had quietly soured as Clara and Anabelle excitedly discussed how they were planning to make themselves look more like the girl in the photo. Both had rummaged through their closets to find the closest thing to the golden dress in the photo and suddenly, the knot of hair upheld by a pen was all the rage. Ellen made a note to avoid yellow and gold colors and wear her hair down as much as possible. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Marie said this would blow over. Marie said she just needed to wait. No one had recognized her. Not her sisters, not Susan, no one at school. If she stayed quiet, everything would quiet down after this ruckus with the audition for Joelle. She had to believe it, or she did not know what she would do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As Ellen pretended to sleep, she thought about the consequences of trying to contact Atamai again. Would he even believe who she was when there were all these people pretending to be her? No one else knew her email, but someone could probably hack it to take control. After all, her birth date wasn’t a ridiculously difficult password. Maybe he was aware of the lack of security in personal email and treat any contact as dubious. And, what would she say even if she did?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Would he even recognize her if he saw her? Clara and Anabelle both seemed incapable of connecting the girl in the golden dress to her, so the other way around would probably be just as difficult. That is, unless, he truly saw her. If those sparkling eyes were sparkling for her. If he had felt that selfsame odd rush that allowed her to memorize his features and burn them into her cerebrum. Then, he would know. If he didn’t see her as a meme like Sister Ella, but saw through it all to the things she tried to keep hidden, he would know. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tomorrow would be Wednesday. If she survived the UNICEF meeting and getting her sisters home safe from pretending to be her, then there would be nothing more. No one could track her. It would all die down. It had to. She just had to forget.</span></span></b>E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-56390709442510625812012-08-30T20:15:00.000-07:002012-08-30T20:15:10.297-07:00Sister Ella - Chapter Two<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span></b><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was quite dark as Ellen slid into the driver’s seat of her old Volkswagen Beetle, and chills immediately crept down the length of her spin. It always happened when she drove at night. Every part of her childhood was highlighted in excruciating detail, and it squeezed her chest in a vice for an excruciating moment before she could shake it off. No matter how many years had past, she always got that feeling.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It wasn’t exactly her fault, although it took several years to accept that. She had been moody and grumpy. Her father had gone and got remarried to some woman who had two little daughters with blue eyes and blond curls. He loved them, which, in seven-year-old logic, meant he loved her less, and she hated him for it. She said many an atrocious thing to him, accusing him of hating her and never loving her mother who died shortly after giving birth to Ellen.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He had shouldered it all, calmly repeating that he loved Ellen and her mother, but he also loved Susan and her little girls. He thought she would eventually understand, which was why he proceeded with the wedding, but Ellen was stubborn. She refused to listen to him or to talk to any of the three new members of the family, shutting herself up in her room with her books. She spat mean words at her new stepsisters, and she kicked anyone who tried to approach her. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Susan and her girls didn’t like Ellen either. They mistakenly called her “Ella,” and her father never corrected them because he thought it “cute.” They whispered things about her when they thought she wasn’t listening. They would have dinner and go to movies without her when she refused to eat with her stepmother and stepsisters. Ergo, it was not out of the ordinary when her father announced that they were going to a restaurant that Ellen locked her bedroom door and recalcitrantly ignored the announcement. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her father, stepmother, and stepsisters left soon after. They were gone for many hours, and Ellen grew more furious with every passing second. Her father was abandoning her to go frolic with a new family. Why didn’t he just go put her in an orphanage if he hated her so much? She stomped around her bedroom, thinking how much easier life would be if she were an orphan. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He didn’t come home as hours slipped past her bedtime. She was far too upset to sleep, and so she sat up with her favorite stuffed Allosaurus, Alli, and waited. She moved down from her bedroom to the couch in the living room. She would stare at them when they came it expressing her loathing in a creased brow and wrinkled nose. She would tell her father exactly what she had thought earlier, that she’d be happier as an orphan. She wouldn’t listen to his response. Instead, she would march up to her room and slam the door as loud as she could. Then she would lock her door and go read about kids without parents who went on adventures. Ellen waited for the moment to enact her plan. </span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then, the phone started to ring. She didn’t answer it. She hated answering phones, but the answering machine performed the task for her. The evil device began spewing horrible stories of car crashes and hospitals. But they were just stories, weren’t they?</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen crawled under the dining room table, wrapping a blanket around her head to block out the noise while holding onto Alli tightly with all her strength.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It couldn’t be true. Things like that didn’t happen. They couldn’t happen. They were probably just playing a mean joke on her. It wasn’t true, so she didn’t need to cry. She just had to stay angry. She just had to hold onto Alli, and then her father would come home soon, and he would say he loved her and that the woman and her little girls wouldn’t live with them anymore. Then, they would happy together again. That was it. It had to be it.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The phone started addressing her by name, but she didn’t answer it. She kept her place, convinced her father would be striding through the front door at any moment.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The sun was spilling over the horizon when the knock finally came at the door. Ellen didn’t hear it. Her ear-protective equipment was too powerful over the timid knock. Then she saw uniformed legs entered the house. She knew she was wrong about the joke. Something seemed to snap shut inside of her.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It took a lot of coaxing from a friendly-faced, young police officer to convince Ellen to move from underneath the table. It took more to get her into the squad car with Alli still squeezed against her chest, a blanket dragging from one fist, and a thin nightgown over her shoulders.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The aseptic wards were always painted in vivid detail in her memory. The police officer walked beside Ellen, and all the nurses seemed to be staring. The whole thing was so white, it was like standing in a blizzard that chilled her from head to toe. She felt very cold.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They let her see her father, and she knew he was going to die. He had so many tubes and wires, he didn’t seem human, but some sort of cyborg like in the movies she and him watched before the woman and her girls had come. She walked to his side. His eyes were closed. He was covered in bandages. He wasn’t the right color, the normal color, anymore, but shades of pasty white, vomit yellow, and a palette of fuchsia.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She didn’t know what part of him she could touch. Everything seemed to be attached to wires or some sort of strange colors. His eyes were closed. He looked helpless. But, more than that, he looked sad. Sad at his helplessness. As if he realized in some far off place that he was leaving his daughter behind. His </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">three</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> daughters and a wife.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It hit her in that moment why he could have so easily given his heart away to that woman. Because she needed him. Just as Ellen herself had needed her father growing up. The woman and her girls needed someone to take care of them. Her father did what was needed.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And so would she.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen asked to see her stepsisters. They were talking sadly to each other. One had a broken leg, the other a large bandage around her head. They both froze as Ellen approached. She knew had been awful to the younger girls before, and she could understand their trepidation.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Here you go, Anabelle,” Ellen handed the older one her blanket. “It will keep you warm even when it’s snowing.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Here you go, Clara,” Ellen handed the younger one Alli. “Alli is an Allosaurus and will protect you from anything. “</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She realized it was the first time she had used their names, instead of referring to them as “the girls” when she was feeling nice or many more unpleasant names when she wasn’t.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For some odd reason, the police officer seemed to find Ellen’s actions sweet, and was smiling softly at her with glistening eyes. Ellen didn’t understand, but asked to go see her stepmother. She, like Ellen’s father, was connected to many wires and tubes, but Susan was conscious. Her eyes stared deep into the white ceiling above her.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen approached, standing solemnly at the bedside, as straight as a soldier. “Clara and Anabelle are talking. They are fine. I made Alli protect them. I’m sorry for being mean to you before,” she said swiftly. The woman reached out her hand and grasped Ellen’s. Ellen remembered staring at it, not quite understanding the purpose of the motion.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Thank you,” Susan croaked. Ellen just nodded. She left the hospital.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen fell easily into the role of caregiver, as she was the only one left physically unhurt. She made their meals, and she learned how to use the dishwasher and washing machine from the helpful neighbors that assisted her at first. Ellen never let anyone see her sad, but tried to remain as her father did: solid as a rock and always giving.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At first, it had been hard. Ellen cried at night a few times. She would muffle her tears in a pillow so no one would hear her. Ellen always got the feeling that maybe, if she had decided to go, they would’ve left at a different time and not get hit by the drowsy truck driver. She told herself a million times that it made no difference now. Her father would never come back. Even when she felt lost and cold, she had to keep going. She had to, even through tears.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But then, it got easier. She knew it’s what her father would’ve wanted, and she found enormous strength through that. She cared for her younger sisters exactingly. She comforted Susan when the woman lapsed into tears at the scars on her body or the loss of her second husband. She became the comforter, but it seemed that did not improve her family’s memory of her name. She was still Ella. But now, they had jokingly referred to her as Sister Ella, because her solemn dedication to care was resembling that of a nun, they said. She did not feel like a nun, she just felt empty, but she did not reject it.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It had been many years since then. She had graduated high school, and gone to college on a scholarship. She had tutored her sisters to no end until they too managed scholarships two and three years after her. They were now attending school with her, Anabelle studying nursing and Clara, teaching.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen freed herself from her car, attempting to lose the memories with it. It was strange, but even with such vivid recollections, she felt as if her father was fading into the shadows of her memory. He was almost becoming a myth or legend or the personification of enlightenment ideals more than an actual person. She couldn’t remember his laugh.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She shook her head, trying to clear up her brain and its darn preponderance for personal history and introspection. She could maybe get a few hours of sleep before the Clara and Anabelle woke up.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hey Sister Ella!” Clara declared jovially. She was dressed head-to-toe in pink yoga clothes. “Early class on Sunday. Wanna come?” She had a round face and utterly sunshine-like personality that made her seem several years younger than her eighteen years.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Still, the happiness was almost grating after a night of cleaning. Ellen rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. “Do you want me to come? I thought Anabelle always went with you.”</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Anabelle says she doesn’t feel well,” Clara explained.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Then, I’d best go look after her,” Ellen said, tracing the line to the bedroom across the hall where she knew Anabelle would be sleeping.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“But, I don’t want to go alone!” Clara pouted.</span></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Okay, fine, but give me five minutes to check on Anabelle and get some caffeine in me,” Ellen said, attempting to rouse herself into action. She met a drowsy Anabelle with a cup of tea, a heated blanket, and a quick foot rub. She then pulled on some sweatpants and a t-shirt and made a fool of herself in the stifling hot yoga class while her younger sister easily accomplished each pose.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The constant failure did not upset her, and she she even managed to continue the energy to keep trying as her thoughts were diverted elsewhere. She thought of the guy.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She wasn’t positive of his name. She had given him a false name, so he could just as easily given her one. His name could be something more generic, like Aidan or Alex or Alan or something completely different. Still, he seemed like a smart, nice guy, even if he did support economic separation of education.</span></span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.8302488881163299" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen started composing emails to him, thinking of the political topics she could write about or anecdotes she could share. She felt she still fell in the range of mildly socially awkward, but she was working on it. And he was the one who instigated the conversation, so she couldn’t be that repulsive.</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen was exhausted and sweaty when she came home. Still, she sat herself down to compose the email as Clara used the house’s only shower.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hey Prince Atamai,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just thought I’d send you a preliminary email so you know mine for when the shoe doctor finishes his rounds.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I really enjoyed our conversation, and I’d like to continue our discussion on educational reform sometime and perhaps the resulting robot revolution.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All the best,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Joelle</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">P.S. Robot for President in 2108! :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen smiled as she pressed send, but her busy brain instantly sought the thousand different misinterpretations Atamai could have of her email. What if he didn’t know she was joking? Had she been too casual? Had she been too formal? Had she been too forward?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Luckily, she was saved for such second-guessing by Clara freeing up the shower. The rest of the day dissolved into repetitive homework (her own and her sisters’) and slogging up to the computational chemistry lab she was in to work on her program. These activities required just enough brain power to silence any nagging thoughts, but not so much she wasn’t able to complete the tasks with her foggy, sleep-deprived brain.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>By the time she dropped into bed, almost falling asleep before she hit the pillow, she had forgotten about the email.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Her alarm clock was ringing. Ellen gave an enormous groan and summoned herself from bed. She put some coffee in the coffee machine, and lit up the small kitchen with the light of her laptop. She always had eleven new e-mails each morning, from various spam, word-of-the-days, quote-of-the-days, newsletters, and the like that always appeared every morning. She had twelve today. She scrolled through, and found one by Atamai. A funny feeling started in her toes and squirmed its way to her ears. She didn’t know what it was, but it made her nervous enough so that she opened and read every other email beside that one first.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Then, she clicked the email, but chickened out. Ellen quickly opened another browser to check the news instead before she could read a word of what was written. She scanned a couple of articles before she convinced herself she was being silly. Then, and only, then, did she click back to Atamai’s email with a deep breath.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hello Joelle,</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I am afraid I forgot that the shoe doctor was on sabbatical for a while in New Zealand. He’ll be back soon for this urgent surgery.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I’d love to discuss educational reform more, that is unless you think I’m heartless for the truck driver comment. If so, perhaps we can talk about my recent million dollar contribution to the Global Education Fund. :)</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The party was very enjoyable. I heard the auction raised one hundred fifty thousand dollars for UNICEF.</span><br /><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What do you think about the new European stimulus package? I cannot say that I agree with all ideas of Keynesian economics so I find the idea of spending a trillion dollars on building new roads when you are several trillion dollars in debt absurd.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cheers,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Atamai</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">P.S. Cyborg for President in 2096!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She was smiling, ear-to-ear smiling at 5:30 am. Now that was a rarity. She didn’t quite know why she was so happy. But she was. Still smiling, she formulated a response.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Greetings Atamai,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How goes it? The whole cobbler thing is completely fine. I can hardly complain if I am getting something for nothing, right?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As for the economic stimulus, I think there is something to Keynesian Economics (I mean, if you’re poor, so you save money and do nothing else, you’re still going to be poor. I think there might be a parable in the Christian Bible to that effect). However, I believe this only applies as long as the money is spent in the right places, namely education and research. I must admit, I am probably pretty darn biased as an active participant in both, but I believe that the success of a nation hinges on those two things. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sure, make-work projects are nice and all, but you don’t really get much out of it. You’re just pumping your country full of hot air when you pay people money you don’t have. It’s not going to fix the holes, but it might work temporarily. I think if you want to do make-work projects, you should at least do it in something that the people need, like food. That way, foods costs less and the poor can eat. Win, win. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yeah, so I am probably oversimplifying economics incredibly, but with all of my twenty one years of knowledge, this is the solution I come to. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What do you think about nuclear power? I think it shouldn’t be an option until we think of a better way of getting rid of the radioactive waste than burying it. Moreover, the consequences of things going wrong with a nuclear power plant are just too large for it to be considered seriously. As callous as it may sound, a tanker sinks, you kill some cute little seals. If a nuclear power plants goes Chernobyl on you, then you have miles of now uninhabitable land and fallout for millions of people. Nuclear power also takes up more water per a kilowatt hour than any energy source besides biofuel. That’s why I think we should do more research on solar, wind, and tidal energy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thoughts?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sincerely,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Joelle de Lafayette the Education-Promoting, Nuclear-Destroying Computational Chemist</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">P.S. I think I am going to get a cape with the above title on it to wear around lab and to formal occasions. I’ll get for one for you that will say Prince Atamai the Keynesian-Denying, Global-Education-Fund-Donating, Royal Liaison to the Shoe Doctor. :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her coffee was now cold, but she downed it in one gulp, oddly energized even without it. However, life soon had a way of taking away that energy as she was put through the wringer of several lectures, an unending chemistry lab, and her own research. When Ellen finally returned home, she could barely keep her eyes open, but she checked her e-mail quickly anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hello Joelle,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That is perhaps the most incredible cape of which I have heard. I may just have to get one made. Somehow, though, I do not believe my parents would be terribly pleased if I modeled it during galas and balls. It is a rather terrible shame. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I think the problem with attempting to employ the poor to farm is the amount of arable land and the location of the work. The urban poor are the ones desperately in need of jobs. Beyond that, there is little return from farming besides the immediate gain of food. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As for nuclear power, it has one of the greatest potential for cleanly supplying energy to an entire multi-billion member population. Solar is still terribly inefficient, which would mean an awful lot of land covered by panels. With wind, you alter avian migration patterns. Plus, they can be aesthetically detrimental. Recently, homeowners vetoed the proposed wind farm on Martha’s Vineyard for exactly that reason. With both solar and wind, you also must have a means of storing the energy, and our current batteries are not prepared to match the need we would have. With hydroelectric power, habitat destruction is intrinsic. It is the same with tidal power, which also has the detriment of the previously mentioned storage problem. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hence why I am a Uranium fan! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As a chemist, do you have a favorite element?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From your incredibly contrary but always well-meaning friend,</span></div>
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Atamai</span></div>
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ellen felt awake again. It was funny, how each argument he put forth made her feel more invigorated. She was a little abashed at how easily he poked holes in her arguments, but she was not beat. She quickly googled different topics to make sure her points were valid as she typed up her rebuttal, and she smiled while doing it. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Salutations to my incredibly contrary but always well-meaning friend, </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>So, let’s start with the urban poor thing. One option would be to provide transportation from urban areas to farming areas along with housing and educational opportunities. Of course, whenever you try to round up people in cattle cars for the “betterment of society,” they best be doing it under their own free will. (I’m not Hitler, I swear!) I think most people, if they were jobless, would jump on the opportunity to have work, food, and a house.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>You also point out the finite quantity of arable land available. That is also a big problem, not just in an economic downturn, but for future development of humanity. However, I think society will begin to instigate urban farms to help with this problem. Then, we wouldn’t even need to move people. This development would also mean long-term gains as it is really only through actually working with urban farms that their structures and cultivation methods can be optimized. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As to your concerns about alternative energy: enter scientists. Many scientists are currently working on all those problems. Then, we can have utterly clean energy without being the acne on the face of the world. Obviously we couldn’t switch to renewable energy overnight, but I definitely think we should put our research focus in that area instead of playing with uranium.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As to my favorite element, I think I would have to say boron. It has a rebel side, saying ‘eff you’ to the octet rule they all taught us in freshman chemistry, and it’s an awesome lewis acid without hydrogen. Hydroboration-oxidation can be one’s saving grace in the middle of a nasty organic chemistry final. Boron also forms these awesomely geometric carborane compounds that can be nido (looks kinda like a nest), arachno (looks kinda like a spider), or closo (looks kinda like a cage for a very tiny prisoner. If I were an evil, super genius, I think I would shrink down the hero and put him in said cage while laughing maniacally). I always picture boron as the laid back type of guy in the periodic table that’s very humble and under-appreciated, but has an aforementioned wild side and does amazing things. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>That was probably more than you ever wanted to know about boron, but you asked a chemist what her favorite element was so you must deal with the consequences. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I’m trying to think up some controversial subject we can debate. Gay marriage? Abortion? Gun rights? Grossly overpaid musicians and athletes? Take your pick. As you might guess, I’ve got definite opinions on all of them. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Without wax,</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Joelle</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Satisfied with her email, Ellen collapsed into bed and fell promptly asleep.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ellen woke up late the next day. This meant she was all but running to her first class, barely dressed and backpack half shut. She jumped from class to class without a moment’s rest until noon when the UNICEF council met. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey guys,” Ellen said breathlessly as she walked in, dumped her backpack unceremoniously on the table, and collapsed into a chair. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So, how goes wee Ellen’s budding relationship?” Pat asked immediately, turning around in her chair with fingers templed and an eyebrow raised. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“We’ve just emailed,” Ellen said, shrugging in an attempt at nonchalance. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Pat and Dakota looked at eachother, then burst out laughing.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What?” Ellen asked, ears growing hot as she examined both faces.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’s so cute to see Ellen all in love,” Pat taunted.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I never said I was in love,” Ellen said, her blush deepening. “I just said we’ve emailed.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“If we lived like five hundred years ago, you’d be at each other’s balconies. Ellen, oh Ellen. Wherefore art thou Ellen? Deny thy major and refuse thy brain. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and we shall intellectualize our emotions,” Pat declared dramatically. Dakota applauded.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Let’s work on UNICEF stuff for a while, okay? I’ve gone through the data, and we raised $142,650 thanks to Marie’s and her parents’ wonderful connections,” Ellen said, pulling out her folder. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Holy hell, that’s a lot of money. That could, like, pay for cousin’s med school,” Pat exclaimed.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Or a house or a really, really, nice car,” Dakota said, leaning back in his chair to imagine such a vehicle. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Or a lot of vaccinations and wells,” Ellen said, grateful to be out of the spotlight. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I was contacted earlier today by a UNICEF representative. They wanted to do a short story on us for their newsletter. Is that okay with everyone? I was going to give them a few pictures from the auction and that trip to Ecuador we did last summer,” Marie said.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Show ‘em the one where I introduce the kids to real football,” Dakota said eagerly.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Puh-lease, that’s so not real football. I mean, the ‘ball’ isn’t round, and most of the time you don’t kick it. They should call it hand-egg,” Pat said. “American football is just a sport for fat kids in a country of fat kids.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hey, you’re a kid in that country of fat kids,” Dakota countered.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“But, I am no longer a kid,” Pat said.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Come on, don’t kid yourself. Being twenty-one doesn’t make you a real adult,” Dakota said.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“First, kudos on the pun. Second, if twenty-one isn’t the age of adults, what is?” Pat continued.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So, pictures of American football in Ecuador. Does anyone else have any other requests?” Marie asked.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I nominate a picture of Ellen in a dress. I mean, a gem of that value should be published in a scientific paper,” Pat said.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Remember, Ellen wouldn’t let us get a photograph though,” Marie said. Ellen was very much relieved of that fact. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What about the mysterious cutie she was chatting up?” Pat asked, turning to Ellen. “Did he snap a picture of you to show to all his friends back home?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ellen shook her head.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What is his name anyway? You’ve emailed him, so assumably you’re calling him besides ‘the love interest of Ellen Metcalf,’” Dakota asked. “Is he anyone politically connected?”</span><br /><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Honestly, I have no idea. We were just joking and pretending to be all aristocratic. I think the last one I addressed to ‘my incredibly contrary but always well-meaning friend,’” Ellen shrugged.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“The last one, eh? As in, you’ve already exchanged an extensive series of emails? And you say you’re not in love. You know what </span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> would love? To see Ellen try to seduce this guy,” Pat said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I can just see it. ‘Are you made of copper and tellurium, because you are CuTe,’” Dakota said, pushing up an invisible pair of glasses on his nose. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“‘You must be a good benzene ring because you’re pleasantly aromatic,’” Pat said salaciously to Dakota, swirling an invisible erlenmeyer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“‘Oh baby, quench me and work me up!’” Dakota exclaimed, whipping of his invisible glasses.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Alright, alright you guys,” Ellen said forcefully, glowing bright red. “That’s enough.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pat and Dakota dissolved into chuckles. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Marie, I got the card of the photographer who was there, if you want to contact her about photographs of the event,” Ellen said, trying to regain her coolness but a brilliant pink still tickling her cheeks as she combed through her backpack.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Thanks, Ellen,” Marie said as Ellen handed over the card. “Is there any information that anyone wants me to tell the writer for the newsletter?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Dakota ‘the Kodiak’ Bear is a purveyor of football knowledge to the underprivileged,” Dakota announced. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">American</span><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> football, not real football,” Pat interrupted, rolling her eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Any serious suggestions?” Ellen asked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You know Dakota and I are incapable of being serious,” Patricia said, crossing her arms. “That’s biased.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen smiled and shook her head. “I think you’re good Marie.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Good. They want to do the interview tomorrow. Next week I’ll show you the draft and everyone can approve it,” Marie said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Awesomeness. Anywho, if we’re all wrapped up here, I have a hot date with some dead guy’s poetry, so I’ll just skip right off to it,” Pat said, clapping her hands together. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Is that John Donne thing due tomorrow?” Dakota asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Why else would I be doing it?” Pat countered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dakota groaned, sliding down in his seat. “Dammit, so much for trying to work out today.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Come on, the pale and tubby look is all the rage these days. Come to the library and we can discuss how horny the old bastard was when he wrote ‘The Flea,’” Pat said as she retrieved her backpack. “You can call on Zeus to smite to John Donne later.”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dakota left with Pat, and Ellen scampered off to play with her program some more. </span></span></b>E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8869469603379190535.post-68353009589690158692012-08-27T19:41:00.000-07:002012-08-30T20:15:26.646-07:00Sister Ella - Chapter One<br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Ugh, I hate parties,” Patricia said as she collapsed into a chair. “I never want to serve another drink in my life. I don’t care if it’s for charity and those are some dignitaries I am supposed to be honored to meet. That fat old, guy spilled jelly down my shirt, and this is my last white shirt! I mean, it was on sale for six bucks at Wal-Mart, but still!”</span></span></b></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ellen and Dakota joined her. Ellen pushed the bangs she was growing out out of her eyes for the hundredth time as Dakota began drinking from one of champagne flutes from the tray he was carrying.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Think of the starving children in Africa, Pat,” Dakota said, wiping the champagne from off his lips. “Yech, people pay lots of money for this? Give me a soda over this any day of the week.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“We are such plebes with our Wal-Mart clothes and our sponsored by Pepsi beverage preferences,” Ellen said with a self-defacing laugh. “On the bright side, I think we have the rich people liquored up enough so that they’ll be stumbling over themselves to outbid each other for the auction.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“What are you guys, vampires?” Marie opened the kitchen door and turned on the light. She was unique in the fact that she wasn’t dressed in the uniform of a server, but in a glittery ball gown. </span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Yes, and now we’re melting. Oh, what a world!” Patricia declared, sliding farther in her seat and onto to the dusty floor. The party had been catered by some outside company who had jumped at the opportunity to serve food for rich people and call themselves philanthropists, which left the kitchen conveniently empty, hence the grouping of servers.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Really, guys. What are you doing down here?” Marie asked. As she moved, the silver dress she wore sparkled magnificently, even in the harsh fluorescent light. Her hair had been perfectly coiffed into an intricate braided bun with small ringlets hanging at appropriate places. She looked as at place with the ragtag servers as a rose among weeds.</span></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“If I have to inquire if the sir or madam would like an </span></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px;">hors d'oeuvre </span></span><b style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">one more time, I’ll strangle someone,” Pat explained.</span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I was thirsty,” Dakota said, raising his champagne flute, which he was draining despite his aforementioned distaste of the drink.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Out of drinks, and I saw Pat and Dakota disappearing, so I figured I would emulate.” Ellen waved her tray back and forth to demonstrate its emptiness.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You guys, they have all sorts of important people out there. I mean, Dakota, don’t you want to meet the French ambassador? And there’s that senator and even the Vice President,” Marie nudged.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Although, I’d prefer it if the way I started my political career was not by serving the ambassador drinks,” Dakota groaned, standing up.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Sit back down, Kodiak. She’s just pulling your chain because she doesn’t want to mingle with the minglers all by herself,” Patricia said as she rubbed her temples. Marie decided to ignore the comment.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You can just tell him that you’re the vice president of the UNICEF chapter at the University of Texas, Houston and that your very interested in his policies with France,” Marie explained.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“All I hear is, ‘Pwease come with me because I’m too afraid to goggle at a hot politician’s son by myself.’ Personally, m’dear historian, I’d say you’d have better luck finding someone already in a pretty dress to oogle with you. I thought you said your little sister was coming with you and your parents,” Patricia commented.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well, you know Sophia. She’s only fifteen, and she thought her dress didn’t fit her right and got a little angry when my mother didn’t rush off to buy her a new one. She says she won’t eat until the dress fits her. She’s indisposed to say the least.” Marie blushed slightly and gave a grim smile.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“God, and I thought my little sister was a brat,” Pat exhaled. “Dakota, don’t go with her. I saw that French ambassador, and he was schnockered. You’d be wasting your breath.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I don’t really want to go out there, not dressed as a waiter. It’s not what we are supposed to do anyway. Plus, I thought your parents wanted you to be out there making political connections on your own,” Dakota said finally.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Marie deflated. She stuck out her bottom lip and gave a pout, before she realized what she was doing and retracted the lip. Pat had already burst out laughing however.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Ellen, can you come out with me?” Marie asked, switching tactics.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Only to serve you a drink,” Ellen said. “Dakota’s right. As </span></span></b><b style="font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">servers, we should probably only serve the guests, not mingle with them. We only have about four more hours until the party’s over.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Then, we spend the next six cleaning-up and return to our respective abodes deader than doornails,” Pat interjected. “That’s a strange phrase to think about, ‘dead as a doornail.’ Why is a doornail so dead?”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well, I’ve read that the phrase came from around a hundred years before Shakespeare. To make a nail ‘dead,’ they would flatten the opposite side so that it couldn’t be removed or used again. This made the bond stronger, which was important since they hadn’t invented the screw yet. Appending door to nail was probably just for the alliteration besides that the nails used in doors were commonly ‘deadened’,” Ellen explained cheerfully.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“How come you always answer my rhetorical questions?” Patricia asked with a groan.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Because they are still questions that can be answered,” Ellen smiled.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Note to self: never invite the trivia-collecting, all-knowing science geek again or risk being educated,” Pat said good-naturedly.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Wait, Ellen, you are about my sister’s size. Do you want to put on her dress and come with me?” Marie asked.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh my god, do it,” Patricia exclaimed, suddenly forgetting her tiredness and jumping from her chair.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I haven’t wore a dress in years,” Ellen said, shaking her head.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“All the more reason. Let’s see some evidence of that second x chromosome,” Dakota added.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ellen laughed. “You know, dressing up wouldn’t prove I’m a girl. I mean, there have been plenty of spies who have posed as women in order to infiltrate different areas. In particular, there was a case where I heard about a man during eighteenth century France-” Ellen countered.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Enough with historical figures, what about your life? You have to go put on that dress. It would give me so much joy it’s hard to articulate,” Pat declared.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Think about it logically. You like logic. When is the next time you’ll get the opportunity to rub shoulders with the political elite?” Dakota asked.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Probably not until you are an old, gray, distinguish Nobel Laureate, i.e. in fifty years,” Pat returned. “Come on. Take the chance!”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“But, don’t you guys need me to help serve?” Ellen asked weakly.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Hell no! I plan to spend most of my evening back here anyway, but now I can do it with a stupid grin on my face, imagining you in pumps. Have you ever worn high-heeled shoes? I mean, ever?” Pat asked.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well, no,” Ellen admitted.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“That’s it, you’re going. Come hell or high water!” Patricia asserted. Dakota nodded his affirmation.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ellen examined their faces and glanced at her watch. She bit her lip, thinking.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Please,” Marie said, bright eyes opening wide in a perfect facsimile of a small child. Ellen sighed, realizing she was beaten. </span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Fine, but only for an hour. I really don’t like fancy clothes, and I have a tendency of spilling whatever I’m eating or drinking on them,” Ellen said. “I mean, that dress could probably feed twelve African children.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“With this fundraiser, we’ll feed thousands. Now get up there and make me happy,” Patricia proclaimed.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Marie led Ellen up the stairs to give her the flouncy, golden dress. It was too big in some places, too small in others, and it showed. The moderate heels was enough to cause Ellen to wobble miserably. The most that could be done with the rat’s nest of curls was a simple bun restrained by Ellen’s pen, and it took the combined efforts of Dakota, Patricia, and Marie needle and wheedling for any amount of make-up to be applied.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I feel silly,” Ellen said as the process was complete, scrunching her face and lips as she tested the flexibility of the make-up. “I’m sure a dead fish would look more appropriate in this dress than I do. I’m just not meant for the high life. Give me a night in the lab in my pajamas any day over this.”</span></span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’ve heard you were a girl, but I’ve never seen the evidence until now. I’m going to take a picture,” Patricia declared, fumbling for her pockets in glee.</span></span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No, please don’t,” Ellen begged, her blush overcoming the make-up.</span></span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Fine. But you hardly look like you anyway. I swear, I could show it to your stepmom, and she would have no idea who she was looking at,” Patricia humphed.</span></span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b style="font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I hardly have any idea who I’m looking at,” Dakota agreed.</span></span></b><br />
<b style="font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b style="font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Yes, yes. I’m all dressed up. Now, can I get this over with? Your sister must have a tiny rib cage, I can hardly breath. Does the reduced lung capacity affect her aerobic performance, out of curiosity?” Ellen asked.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Patricia rolled her eyes. “Please, Marie, take her away before she goes all science on your ass. It will get all over your sister’s pretty dress. Then, you’ll sister will start spouting Newtonian Laws and it’ll be a sign of the apocalypse!”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Hey, Newton’s cool,” Ellen protested.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Come on. Let’s leave the children alone,” Marie said, pulling Ellen away.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ellen did not know what to think as they descended into the ballroom. It was different as a server where everyone ignored her and refused to look at her face when they raided her tray. Now, people looked, mostly at the stunning young woman on her right, but she was included in that field of vision.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“How can you stand it?” Ellen asked in a whisper.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Now you know why I wanted back up. They laughed at me, but it truly is frightening,” Marie returned. “I’m going to get a drink, do you want anything?”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“No, I’d just spill it on the dress,” Ellen said.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Wait here, then.” Marie disappeared among the throngs of people, and Ellen was alone. She was quite unsure what she was supposed to be doing. She was in the middle of the room, where everyone around her had formed into circles, discussing one topic or another. She knew none of the people, so it felt rude to join a circle, but it felt awkward to stand out in the center. Not to mention that each seemed like they had enough money for its representation in dollar bills to span from the Earth to Jupiter and enough political pull to declare war on Switzerland.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ellen was quite sure Marie had gotten lost before she saw her chatting privately with a young man around her age. Marie’s cheeks were bright red and she had an ear-to-ear smile that showed off each one of her perfect teeth. Well, Marie didn’t need Ellen anymore. Maybe she could just sneak back to the kitchen as the dress was quite itchy and the shoes, impossible.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” someone said from behind her. It was a tall, dark, thin, young man in a expensive-looking black suit. He gave her a small bow and raised her hand to his lips</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Suddenly, she wanted to laugh. It was all entirely too ridiculous. People didn’t actually act like this, did they? He was probably in a similar boat to her and was joking around. With this in mind, Ellen made her introduction. “My name is Mademoiselle Joelle de Lafayette.” She had no idea why she decided upon French lineage when she didn’t look remotely French, but she went for it with the help of the Marquis de Lafayette of the American Revolution. She attempted a haughty look, but couldn’t keep it, and she burst out laughing. The man, however, was better at keeping a straight face throughout the charade. He only smiled lightly.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I am pleased to meet your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Lafayette. My name is Atamai Iona, Crown Prince of Naun,” he said with a grave air.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Nice to meet you, Prince Iona,” she smiled back, curtsied, then completely abandoned the pretense. As she knew she must look out of place, she decided to explain herself. “My friend back there begged me to come with her, and then she decided to go make goo-goo eyes at the blonde guy. How come you’re standing in the middle of the circle of isolation?”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“The circle of isolation?” he asked.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">She traced the circle around them with a finger. “You know, they stand around and talk, and you feel too awkward to attempt to squirm your way into the conversation. You don’t know anybody, so you stand in the circle of isolation, attempting to look like you’re doing something and not a complete loner. At least, that’s where I was at.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well, I saw a very pretty, young little lady-” he started.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I’m not nearly as young as I bet you’re thinking. I’m not prepubescent; I just have a baby face. My twenty-first birthday was actually earlier this month. And you don’t need to attempt the pretty stuff either. I know what I’ve got is up here,” she tapped the side of her head, “Not here.” She gestured broadly to her body.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You’re an academic?” he asked.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“A computational chemist in training. I don’t get my bachelor’s until the end of this year. Then, I’ll get my PhD. And, who knows? Maybe I can become a science advisor to Congress and clear up some of their continued misinformation on climate change, alternative energies, and the like,” she explained. “What about you?”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I graduated with a political science degree from Oxford,” Atamai returned.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“So, are you going to become a politician?” Ellen asked.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well, that’s the current plan,” he said with a smile.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Awesomeness. My friend wants to become a politician too. He’s a server, and was quite disappointed that the French ambassador was too drunk to converse with,” Ellen said. “His big thing he wants to fix is global education. His brother was a computer science major, so together they are attempting to build a cheap computer with capabilities to connect to the Internet via satellite along with some elementary school software. If they can distribute them and get everything working, a little girl from Zimbabwe can still learn mathematics like any American girl.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“He has big plans,” Atamai returned.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“My friends all do. It is what college brings out in you: the idea that you can change the world. It is the reason that I wished it was easier for more people to attend college. Ideally, everyone would be educated to about a college level as with a democracy, you can’t afford to have an uneducated public.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“It’s ridiculous that in times of economic hardship, college tuition can skyrocket and they cut funding to scientific research. Instead, they provide stimulus to banks and auto manufacturers? Really, science and education are the two keys to making the country greater. They push the world forward,” Ellen concluded.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I do not mean to contradict you, but have you ever thought that completing college doesn’t make achievers, but it’s just that achievers are the type to at least make attempts to attend college? Surely you’ve heard of the successful college dropouts: Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, Mark Zuckerberg,” he returned.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">She gave a sly smile. “You don’t mean to contradict me? Please, by all means, contradict. It is only through contradiction that better opinions can be formed. You know, thesis, antithesis, and the final, superior synthesis. Yes, college does attract more of the academically- and success-oriented people, but there is still an inherent instillation of drive to most people that attend. I couldn’t help but notice all the successful drop-outs you named were computer people. Why not Frank Lloyd Wright or Buckminster Fuller?”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I did not know that Wright dropped out of college. You said you were a computational chemist?” he asked.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“And endless collector of historical trivia. Don’t ask me why, but little stories like that stick in my head. Be glad I remember the name though. Usually, it’s more like, ‘Did you know there was this one guy who did this really cool thing-’” Ellen said bashfully.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">He smiled. “So, do you believe college education should be free, Mademoiselle Lafayette?”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Please, call me Joelle,” she said, laughing as she failed in her attempt to seem as if her first name was reserved for none but the closest of companions. “And as for your question, Prince Iona, we come to a difficult conundrum. Part of the reason people work so hard in college that it does cost them money, so they don’t want to waste it. If it were made free, it might end up like high school all over again. And if we simply made if of maintaining a certain GPA, than the professor would be overwhelmed with whimpering students begging for their grades to be bumped up. It’d be worse than the pre-med gunners! It is almost as if we need another value commodity to trade in exchange for schooling.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“And what would that value commodity be, Joelle?”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well, that is where I am at an impasse. I’ve also thought that we could have students pay for their education by doing research, but after working in a lab for a couple of years, I’ve realized that that is impractical. If you take enough classes, then you cannot do enough research, and vice versa, Prince Iona,” Ellen returned.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“If you don’t mind, call me Atamai. I mean this in the most amiable way, but it seems you are more than capable of listing many problems, but have you suggestions for solutions? Imperfection is the nature of the world, and unless some greater alternative can be reached, was is the result of bemoaning it?” he asked.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Actually, I do, well sorta. I think the solution lies a lot in how underprivileged Americans and the world view education. If we can get the message to them that education can build a better life, then we can have leagues of innovators from every walk of life that need no prodding to study. We could make college free. I mean I study plenty hard even though I’m on scholarship, so surely this can be extended to many more students. Then, we bump taxes up a little to pay for it, and you won’t have a bunch of people voting some guy in as president because he reminded them of their favorite actor who once played a president.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">He gave her a questioning look, and she explained. “It’s why my sister voted for our last president.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You have definite opinions, Joelle. Implementation is always more difficult that saying, ‘bump up taxes,’” he said with a laugh.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Too true.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“And you forget that some feel that the metaphysical subjects most often associated with a college education could never improve their lives. Moreover, if everyone is a scientist or a doctor or a computer programmer, who will be the truck drivers and the janitors?” he continued.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“So, correct me if I’m wrong, but you are saying we should allow the economic barriers between the underprivileged and an education stand because we need someone to clean up our trash?” Ellen asked, eyebrows raised.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">He seemed ready to offer a retort before he looked at Ellen who had one eyebrow raised expectantly. He shook his head and smiled. “I suppose it makes me seem a little heartless when you phrase it in that matter."</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Just a wee bit, Atamai.” She grinned back. “But we would need no truck drivers or janitors if our computer programmers were able to create robots to do those menial labor tasks for us. Ah, but I forgot the robot revolution that would be on our hands. We would have to start giving them voting rights and offering them an opportunity to attend college, and we would be right where we started.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I’m not quite sure how, but you went from public education to a robot revolution. I’m quite impressed, Joelle,” he laughed. It was a genuine laugh. It made his dark eyes gleam brilliantly, breaking the cool, polished demeanor of the hideously rich.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well, I am quite impressive,” Ellen said, attempting a false aristocratic air, but failing as she lapsed into laughter half-way through and fell off her high heels. He caught her hand, but she waved him off.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Whoever designed high-heeled shoes hated women. Oh wait, I know this. They were designed for keeping nobles above the sewage in the streets, but historians theorize that like the lotus feet-binding of Asia, eventually served to limit the movements of women. However, it was, huh, who was it? One of the Medici women." Ellen bit her lip, trying to probe her memory, but gave up on tracing the name. </span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"Anyway, she was said to popularize them as a fashion statement. So, I guess it depends on who you want to credit with the invention of high heels, and I’m rambling again, sorry. There’s too much in my brain that I want to sputter out all at once,” she said with a laugh. She took off the shoes and examined one of them. “That’s quite unfortunate; I managed to crack the heel of this one. I borrowed them, and I would rather not replace them. They probably cost as much I get from working in the lab for a month or two. They don’t even have a label!”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“My family has a cobbler if you wish me to see if he could fix it,” Atamai said.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“You have a cobbler?!? I’m sorry, but that is made of incredibly 16th century awesomeness. That’d be very nice if he could fix this though,” she handed him the shoe. “Here, you can have my email.” She fished out the pen she was using to secure her bun, allowing her hair to tumble down her shoulders and her bangs directly into her eyes. She blew them out of the way with short burst of breath while she went to write on his hand, but he looked confused.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Can I write my email on your hand? Or here, you give me yours, and I’ll email you,” she said, taking the pen back to apply to her own hand.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">He gave her his email, which she jotted down quickly. She noticed that Dakota and Patricia were both out and about, darting around to groups of people quickly. The auction must be starting soon, and they had to do their best to make people drunk and lenient with their wallets. She should help, as Marie no longer needed her.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I have to go, but I’ll email you,” she said with a wave. He might’ve said something to her, but she didn’t hear. She ducked around people, before she found her way to the kitchen. She quickly scrubbed off her make-up, undid the dress, and hopped back into her server uniform and spent the rest of the night serving drinks, and cleaning up afterwards.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Marie joined them to clean-up with an enormous smile. “So, who was the blond guy that swept you off your feet? Ellen was telling us she went out there with you only to have you disappear on her,” Patricia taunted, complete with kissy noises. She leaned on her broom.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Marie blushed. “It was the ambassador’s son. His name’s Raoul.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Ooh lah lah, Raoul! Does he have a sexy French accent and call you his ‘mon chouchou’?” Patricia asked. “It’s not every day one of us gets all flirty with a fancy French guy, spill the dirt!”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Marie was blushing so furiously now that it seemed her golden blond hair had taken on a warm tint. She batted her eyes in embarrassment as she attempted to find some spot of floor she could comfortably avert her eyes to. “We just talked.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Just ‘talked’, eh? I think we all know what that's code for,” Pat was winking heartily, and Dakota was attempting to stifle his laughter. Even Ellen was smiling at the obvious fluster Marie was getting herself into.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Ellen was talking to a boy too!” Marie blurted. Both Dakota and Pat whipped their heads around so quickly, Pat tripped on her broom and fell into a pile of tattered napkins and streamers. Still, even spread on the ground, Pat stared. The whole group falling into an utter stunned silence. Ellen quickly took a step back, finding herself uncomfortably at the center of attention.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“What?” Pat exclaimed after a moment.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“No way! Not Ellen!” Dakota echoed.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Nuh-uh.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“It can’t be.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“It’s a sure sign of the Apocalypse.” The two stared at Ellen, expecting her to dismiss the accusation quickly. When she didn’t, the two turned to each other, enormous grins growing on their face.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Oh my god, this is the happiest day of my life!” Pat exclaimed. “Ellen. Our Ellen Metcalf with a boy. I never thought the day would come when we could finally find evidence that Ellen is indeed human with carnal desires. So much for that ivory tower you have been constructing all these years. Now that you have a boy, you can have we little Ellen-lings-”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on there, fellas,” Ellen said, finally regaining herself. “We talked for like ten minutes, tops. We were just joking around. I didn’t even give him my real-”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Do you like him,” Dakota asked suddenly, cutting off Ellen’s explanation.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ellen could feel the weight of their stares glaring into her. She felt as if they could see into her, sense any lie or falsification she made. She gulped, noting that their grins were growing. “He was nice.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Pat jumped from the ground and did a sort of mid-air jig. Marie was smiling calmly and benignly as she took Ellen’s hand, “I think it’s sweet.”</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Hey, look guys. Calm your horses. We are adults here, not preteen adolescents snickering about who likes who,” Ellen said, trying to find her way back into her stable emotionless bubble.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Have you ever even kissed anybody?” Pat asked.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Well, no-” Ellen started. Her ears felt hot. She must be blushing, and she hated herself for it. She wasn’t ashamed of herself. She kept busy throughout high school and college; there was little time for fraternizing, and she liked it that way. Still, their demeaning laughs made her feel like a child again.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; white-space: pre-wrap;">“For all intents and purposes then, you are still a preteen adolescent, at least romantically.” Pat was beside herself.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“She has a point,” Dakota noted.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Can we please get off my lack of a love life and the fact I talked with a male of similar age,” she asked. It was strange, but even as they were annoying her, it was hard to get angry. She felt as if someone had inflated a balloon in her stomach, lightening every load from her shoulders. She couldn’t figure out what the feeling was coming from.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“We should, you guys,” Marie assented.</span></span></b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Okay, okay. Fine. But let me know one thing: did you guys have plans to meet again or exchange phone numbers?” Pat asked, settling herself back to leaning on the broom.</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“No,” Ellen said, glorious in the triumph of a poorly worded question.</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“What’s on your hand then?” Dakota asked. Ellen immediately withdrew the offending limb behind her and was summarily accosted by Pat and Dakota.</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Hey, you guys,” Ellen laughed. It was now almost preposterous their curiosity.</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Pat had wrested one of Ellen’s arms from her side while Dakota had the other. “Read it, Kodiak,” Pat ordered attempting to restrain Ellen’s squirming hand.</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“It’s an email address,” Dakota said triumphantly before Ellen wiggled free.</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Ah, so you’re going to email, Prince Charming, eh?” Pat asked, heartily winking.</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Marie talked to a guy too, how come I get all the attention now?” Ellen asked.</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Because you’re Ellen,” Dakota responded in a way that he suggested this was a very reasonable argument. The others nodded their agreement.</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Fine. I have his email. I was going to email him because he offered to have one of the shoes I borrowed repaired because I kinda broke it. By the way, sorry, Marie. But that’s it. End of story. No princes nor pumpkins nor fairy godmothers,” Ellen said, shaking her head. “Let’s finish cleaning up before it’s too early in the morning.”</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Who uses ‘nor’ anymore?” Dakota asked in a reflective manner.</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Ellen and dead, white guys,” Pat said with a nod, beginning to resume her sweep of the room. “Who else?”</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Dakota gave a laugh, but eventually eveyone’s desire to go home and sleep overcame their need to torture Ellen, for which she was exceedingly grateful.</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Ellen and a guy. Now that is gonna keep me merry for a while,” Pat whispered under breath as they left the hall.</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It seemed strange to Ellen that they had suddenly thrust her into this relationship, but the even stranger thing was that she wasn’t even that repelled by it. She guessed she hadn’t known the guy enough to dislike him. That must be it. Familiarity bred contempt.</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>E.E.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02246174038365783521noreply@blogger.com0