Ana Mia.

I thought I saw what was true; hanging, saggy, gelatinous sacks of flesh. Fat; yellow inside and clinging to every part of me, lining my body like insulation on some huge blubbering sea monster. Muscle, just as undesirable; red and moving in rhythm with me. I do not want rhythm or insulation. I want skin against bone against organs against bone. I want to see the shape of my ribs as though I was studying a corpse. I want hip bones that jet out like jagged rocks against hands that touch me. I want cheeks high and shadowed by their own concavity. I want to be like a feather.

What we have is a love affair. Sweet and fulfilling, angry and tumultuous. She loves me one day and hates me the next. She pushes me to control myself in moments when I feel like I might burst at the seems with desire yet allows me to delight in the the unthinkable as long as I handle it accordingly. She lifts me up when I am down and she pushes me down no matter how far up I may seem. She is ingrained into the very fiber of who I am. What began as two is now one and I am she. I am the best and worst of both of us and every thought, decision and idea is shared.

Our life is spent locked in bathrooms and behind closed doors. I buy mirrors, break them and re-buy them. I have mastered the art of self portraits in order to document our success and failures. I am clever at dinner parties and holiday celebrations, knowing exactly what I must do before the doors open and I am invited inside. I am convincing and conniving, lying to the people I love is protection for both them and me. My freedom is more important than their understanding or concern. I have no time to consider the effects of my actions on others, they will never grasp the depth of who we are.

I have adjusted to the stares of gawking strangers. I know they see what I see; a disgusting, worthless pig. I have learned to keep my head down and feet close to the ground. I don't want to be noticed until I am worth looking at. Sometimes I don't know if that day will ever come, and she has to remind me that we are on the right track. We are in control of this and there is no going back. We have come so far, every goal met, smaller and smaller and smaller but never small enough. Never small enough.

I have tricks for days. I know how to get up what has gone down in a matter of seconds in complete silence. I know how to become full with out substance and what a high it is to make it through days with nothing in your body but willpower. She has made me so strong. She has shown me I can be and do and become anything I want. She has taught me to depend only on us. We are aware of what others are not. We know who we are, and there is nothing anyone could say that would change that. With her I have accomplished more than I ever thought possible. I am not sick, and your concern is a front for your envy over the strength that has grown from inside me.

My days are numbered and that is okay. I will die for her.

Goodbye

“I thought I saw someone coming to the door,” she said, sitting back down.

She looked around at the people sitting in front of her. Her mom, her sisters, her brother, her boyfriend, and her favorite uncle were all there. They were all looking at her as though they expected an answer. She couldn’t give them the one that they wanted. They wanted her to go to rehab. They wanted her to stop abusing prescription drugs, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t ready yet.

She had started out simple, the way that most people do. She was just taking them for a back injury. Then she realized how sweet the oblivion was. She realized that the days didn’t seem as long and she wasn’t as edgy if she was blurry from the pills. She started taking more and more until she had to buy them from drug dealers instead of just using her meds. One of the dealers had told her that she would get more bang for her buck if she crushed them up and snorted them, so she had started doing that instead. He was right and she was briefly able to stop using dealers and just using up her prescriptions.

That hadn’t lasted long, however, and soon she was back to hanging out with drug dealers to get enough of her pills to keep her happy. Before long, she was sleeping with them to get what she needed. She didn’t know why she was willing to do that. She loved her boyfriend. They had been high school sweethearts, actually. Lately, she had been impressed with his willingness to pick her up off of the bathroom floor and clean her up. He had cleaned vomit out of her hair and taken all of the intoxicated punches that she dealt. She loved him even more for it, but she wasn’t willing to go to rehab yet.

“I don’t think so, guys,” she said.

She got up and looked out the front window again.

“You know that paranoia is a side-effect of your drug abuse, right? There is and will not be anyone coming through that door,” said her mother.

“When was the last time you looked into a mirror?” asked her sister, with tears brimming on her lower eyelid.

“I know that I am underweight. I know that I am paranoid. You guys aren’t telling me anything that I don’t already know,” she said.

“Well then, why don’t I start telling you some things that you don’t know,” said her boyfriend, sounding resolved, “If you don’t go today, you are going to have to move out. You will not even be allowed back in to get your things, I will be keeping them to make up for the fact that you owe me your half of the rent for several months. No one sitting in this room right now will offer you a place to live.  We won’t even have phone conversations with you unless they pertain to you going to rehab. You will have no one and nothing left if you choose to keep using today.”

She looked around, shocked and scared.

“You guys can’t do this to me. Don’t you love me anymore?” she said, starting to cry.

“We love you too much to be complacent while you kill yourself slowly,” said her brother.

“Fine,” she said, ”I don’t need you. I don’t love you guys anymore either.”

She got up and walked out the door, grabbing her purse from the coat rack. When she got to the bus stop, she rifled through her purse and inventoried the contents. She had about $100, because she had sold some jewelry right before the intervention. She knew a couple of people who squatted in a condemned house downtown. She assumed that she could stay with them, especially if she was willing to share the $100 of dope that she intended to buy.

When the bus stopped downtown, she went and found the guy in the green beanie. He sold her the pills and said he would see her later, which she found funny. Her family wouldn’t see her later, but the drug dealer would. She walked over to the abandoned house and called out for the people she knew. They said that she could squat before she even offered them the drugs. As she sat down on the flattened cardboard box that was to become her bed that night, she noticed that they weren’t doing the same thing with the pills that she normally did. A second later, she noticed the needle.

“Are you in?” one of the men asked.

“Sure,” she said.

Re-Defined

teenager- a perpetual uphill battle which may or may not end to your advantage.

Costco- the opportunity to only have to buy mayonnaise once for the next 10 years.

marriage- like dating only with less sex and more frustration.

"the owl craze"- what ryan gosling told me I started (he was right).

college- a place where as long as you can read and regurgitate large amounts of useless information you will be awarded with a degree which will mean nothing when you are waiting tables at Chili's to pay off the enormous amount of debt you got into attending said place.

Gerard Butler- what God intended man to be, with an awesome accent.

Christmas- when we celebrate the birth of Jesus by mass consumption of all the things he tells us we don't need.

"fashion forward"- looking like a 4 year old whose mom told her she could dress herself and having gay men tell you how creative and edgy you are.

football- a complete waste of everyone's time

coffee- the nectar of the gods, Johns honey, sweet liquid manna from heaven.

Ten definitions.

Practice- that which makes perfect, or gives the hope of achieving perfection.

Femur- the British pronunciation of the American disaster relief organization.

Trust- the act of placing faith in something or someone.

Epic- radtastic, rad, totally B.A.

Ugly- not meeting society's standards of beauty.

Duty- suckatstic days when servicemen should be off of work but aren't. In the Navy this generally means sitting in the barracks or staring at a plane.

Offer- to make oneself available to do or give something to another.

Crack- something that Whitney Houston once claimed was "whack."

Debt- that which should be avoided at all costs.

Dodge- One of the five D's of dodgeball.

Last Man Standing

"Hey, what the hell?!!?" Micah looked up at the stucco ceiling as if God was going to respond.

He walked over and yanked the curtains in the kitchen window aside. It was perfectly lovely out. The sun was high in the sky, not a cloud to be seen and a soft breeze glided through the trees; definitely no reason for a power outage.. His face contorted in the glare of the sun as he stepped outside to try and figure out what had happened. No one was outside, which was pretty unusual in this neighborhood. Typically there were kids on bikes cruising the cul-de-sac for adventures and for a moment the silence made him wonder if he was confused about what time it was. He checked his watch, 4:17pm. He looked down the street once more and headed back in the house.

He flipped the light switch in the kitchen just to be sure and headed for the cupboard. His pantry represented the essential bachelor. Chef Boyardee, Ramen, Pringles and warm beer. The fridge wasn't any better so atleast he didn't have to worry about anything spoiling. He popped open a can of raviolis and grabbed a spoon; no need in wasting dishes. He took his dinner of champions out on the front porch and plopped down onto the cracked plastic chair. Still so quiet out there, it just wasn't right. He tried to shrug it off but the fact that NONE of the kids were out really gave him a bad feeling. He took a huge bite of cold raviolis and put the can down deciding to go next door and see if Mrs. Murry and her son Brent where okay. Maybe they knew something he didn't.

He knocked on the door and got no answer. Her silver Prius was in the driveway. He knocked again, nothing. He hustled across the street to old man Jones and knocked heavily against his door. Nothing. Jones was 87 years old and without a license where in the world could HE be?? He banged again on the heavy green door. Feeling something was certainly not normal he jogged back to his house and got his pistol, tucking it into the back of his jeans. He hopped in his car and headed to the Circle K a mile down the road. As he pulled in he noticed cars at the pumps unmanned. He parked and rushed into the store. No one. There was money on the counter and a bottle of Coke on the floor as if someone disappeared into thin air just as they were about to pay.

"HELLO?!?!?" Micah yelled.

He ran back to the car and drove to the next gas station but with the same result. Two hours and 17 business later he was sure he was losing his mind. He sat in the drivers seat open and closing his eyes thinking somehow he would wake up in his bed and understand that this had all been a bad dream. It was dark now and without power the streets were black. He slowly maneuvered his way home. The echo of his slamming car door was unnerving and he hustled into his house to dig out a flashlight. He had no idea what to do with himself other than to sit watch on the porch still hoping at any moment he would jolt awake and see the red numbers on his alarm clock. He wrapped himself in an old flannel blanket and sat down back in the plastic chair. In his lap sat his pistol and a flashlight, and the half eaten can of raviolis sat beside him.

He sat for hours, eyes wide and shifty. He had never been so terrified in his life. Surely there was no way he was the only person still on the earth?? Was this some sick joke played on him by his neighbors, strangers, the whole community? Had he lost his mind and all of this was some delusion meanwhile in reality he was strapped down to a metal bed doped up on pills? His mind raced until he finally drifted to a heavy but unsettled sleep. When he woke the sun was up and he jumped from his chair almost before he even had a chance to get both eyes open. The pistol and flashlight fell to the floor. He ran back to Mrs. Murry's and pounded on the door. Still nothing. He ran to the back of the house, hopping the wooden fence and pressed against the sliding glass door trying to see in. Homework strewn across the dining room table, open fridge and broken mug with spilled coffee on the tile floor....but no sign of life.

Micah dropped to down to the pebbled patio and put his head in his hands. What in the world was happening?

Powerless

The TV flickered and then it turned off completely. The work she had been doing on the computer was gone and the kids looked at her, perplexed. They had been watching Dora, and the little one started to cry.

“What happened, mom?” said the older one.

“Just a power outage, Sweetheart,” she said, smiling.

“What are we going to do now? It’s snowy out and there’s no school,” the child asked, looking annoyed.

“I’ll think of something,” said the mother.

She went into the kitchen and looked around. Since the weather was so bad, it was kind of dark. She began lighting candles and looking around for something they could do. The stove was electric, so baking was out.  Reached into the craft closet and pulled out the Play-Doh, but she thought better of it because the little one might try and eat it.

The next thing she grabbed was the crayons and the coloring book, for the little one. She found some glue, construction paper, and pipe cleaners to build something with the older one. They set to work.

She watched her son’s small hands as they molded the pipe cleaners into a shape. He had gained dexterity over the past few months. He carefully glued the shape to a piece of paper; he didn’t glue any place that he didn’t intend it to be. He made five careful, perfect shapes out of pipe cleaner and glued them all to them to his paper. He wrote his name at the bottom, it was legible. She smiled at him and rumpled his hair, not surprised at how much he had grown.

She looked over at the little one. He was scribbling with the crayons, as expected. He had torn more than one page of the book; he seemed to be chewing on some paper. He held the blue crayon toward her.

“Byoo,” he said, and smiled, before sticking the crayon into his mouth.

She smiled and got up and walked to the window. She looked out at the snow and then said,

“If you will bundle up, we can go outside and build a snowman.”

The older one jumped up and ran to his room. He didn’t even respond because the idea of building the snowman was so exciting to him. She knew he’d like it.

When they got outside, she made sure that their hands were covered and so were their ears. Both of their little noses turned pink immediately. They were so cute and so small. They all stood there, surrounded by the whiteness of the snow. She took a deep breath and set to work, building a snowman with her children. It would melt by the next day and the power would be on soon. The whiteness would be gone.

Her

She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled; or at least came as close to smiling as she had in years. The contents of that box were precious cargo. They held her peace, joy and ability to function. She preferred a higher dosage but whatever she could get her hands on at any given time would suffice. Tonight it would be 1 mg, which was second to highest for her pill of choice, Xanax. Some chemist out there knew exactly what he was doing when he created such a tiny piece of heaven.

She usually picked up her hit from the same dealer but he was out and she knew she couldn't wait till morning so she bused downtown and hit up the corners till she ran into someone who could help her. The dealer had been a scrawny white boy in over sized hooded jacket and pants that hung low enough to reveal most of his secrets. He seemed sketchy but at that point it didn't even matter. Even if they were counterfeit there was a chance that they would have enough of the active drug in them to get her a little bit high. She hadn't ever got counterfeits before and she had been buying for a long time.

It started with her dad. He was prescribed Xanax when she was in the 10th grade. She would have never known what they were except that her boyfriend at the time saw the bottle in the bathroom and made a huge deal about it. He convinced her to take a few for him and she sat watching the night he snorted them. It looked painful and she hadn't ever done drugs before but Marco told her she would never feel better so she tried it. It was painful. Her nose felt like it was on fire and her heartbeat slowed immediately. But within seconds all she felt was peace. Her mind was quiet, her body was relaxed, every movement felt as natural as a tree branch in the breeze. Nothing mattered, and it felt so good. From that moment it was like a switched flipped inside her. It was all she thought about and was soon found out by her dad who's pills were disappearing far faster than they should have been. He started keeping the bottle in his pocket, so she started paying for them.

The bus ride home seemed like it took hours. She wished buses had bathrooms so she could just go in and deal with her business. She kept her hand in her coat pocket clutching the little box the whole way. Her mind raced with thoughts as to whether or not she would take all of them tonight, or save a few to get her through the morning before she could get more. She knew she had very little self control and because they weren't a full dosage she would be hard pressed not to take all of them. She could already feel the drip from her sinus cavity down the back of her throat and for a moment thought she might stand up and scream for the driver to hurry the fuck up.

Cam was gone when she finally pushed through the front door, which was good because it meant if she hurried up she wouldn't have to share. He would be pissed but whatever, once it's in it can't be brought back out. She flung her backpack on the dirty grey recliner and hustled over to the couch. Everything she needed was on the coffee table and she quickly got to work. She dumped the box out onto a large Dali coffee table book, which she was pretty sure had never actually been looked at. She pulled out her debit card, something else which was rarely used for its purpose and one by one smashed the little blue pills. Once they were all powder she went back through with the edge of the card and chopped it all into fine granules. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a dollar bill. Line, snort. Line, snort. Line snort. All gone.

When Cam got home she was slumped over on the couch, which seemed odd because she usually never got high enough to pass out, at least not before stumbling to bed.

"Rise and shine!" Cam plopped on the couch next to her which only caused her to slump further away from him. "Wake up Sleeping Beauty I got that douuujaa....." he said in his best Master P voice and waved the little baggy in her face.

She didn't move. He saw the dollar bill in her hand and is stomach dropped. He quickly sat her upright and put his middle and index finger against her neck. She was cold and he felt nothing.

"Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.....!"

He ran to his backpack and fumbled through it digging for his cell.

"911 what is your emergency??"

Her dad hadn't wanted to bother with an autopsy. She died because she was useless and stupid and no medical examiner would prove otherwise. Cam wanted to pay for it but knew that would mean giving up his hits and spending the money on something that could never be reversed. Instead he got high and walked the streets with her picture trying to figure out what she took and who she got it from. He narrowed the trail to two people who were known to sell counterfeits. One of them typically only had fakes with no active ingredients which wouldn't have caused her death. The other he had heard would sometimes sell high doses of Haloperidol, an anti-psychotic, which could be passed off as Xanax. It wouldn't have killed her if she hadn't taken so much of it. Cam remembered her rants about never having time for "half-highs" and took solace in the fact that she went out hardcore. She was hard-fucking-core. He smiled at the thought and headed home to suck up his last $20.

The Box

She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled, she quickened her pace. She wanted to be there before he arrived.  She knew that he was going to be thrilled with her; they had been working on this for a long time. It was going to make them both rich. She reached the door of the hotel, and flung it open. As she stepped in out of the cold, she realized that she was freezing. Her fingers were barely able to grasp the door because of the cold. She hadn’t felt it because she was so excited.

She took a seat in the hotel lobby and ordered a martini. She wouldn’t usually drink on the job, but this was a time for celebration. She folded her mink stole around the back of the chair and stole a glance at her watch. She crossed her legs and wiggled her leg, impatiently. She could not wait to tell Mike that she had it. She was startled out of her thoughts by the man taking a seat across from her.

She looked up, smiling, expecting to see Mike.  The man before her was not Mike, but she knew him. Her smile faded and she grabbed for her purse. Before she could reach inside and grab her gun, the man spoke.

“You’ll be dead before you can get to it, Marishka.”

“Well it was worth a try, wasn’t it,” she said, coolly.

“Why don’t you make this easy and give me the box,” he said.

“Not going to happen,” she said, without flinching.

“I’ll make you a good deal, you won’t regret it,” he said with a smug smile.

“Seamus, it is never going to happen. You can try and take it from me, but you know you won’t be able to. I suggest you leave before Mike gets here, he won’t be as patient as I have been.”

He got up and walked away without further incident. She watched as he went because she knew how badly it hurt him to see her working for the man who had killed his father. She knew that he had loved her and he had been shocked when she had gone with Mike. She had faith in Mike like she had never had faith in anyone else. He had stood up for her that day and she had felt that she owed it to him.

He sat down in front of her and she smiled and said,

“Seamus Grady was here before you. Tried to threaten me with a gun and then bribe me.”

“Well, since you are still sitting here and you don’t seem to be wounded I take it he was unsuccessful,” said Mike.

“Yeah, well, the news that I have learned to take care of myself must be spreading,” she said with a grin.

“I couldn’t have you mugged again, I didn’t want to have to shoot you,” Mike laughed.

She reached into her pocket and slowly slid the box across the table to him. He didn’t even open it; he quickly transferred it to his own pocket.

“Now comes the tricky part,” he said.

“We sell it without getting killed or arrested?” she said.

“That would be it, “ he said.

He ordered a beer; clearly he was in a celebratory mood as well.

“Any ideas on how you want to move it?” she said.

“Yeah, a few. None that I care to discuss at the moment,” he said.

He looked up and noticed her expression. He quickly said,

“Marishka, you know that you would be the first person I told if it were time.”

“I’m not used to you holding out on me,” she said.

“I know,” was the reply.

They finished their drinks and he put her in a cab.  She watched him as her cab drove off and she worried about him. He was too important now to be as solitary as he was. Mr. Grady hadn’t made as much or been involved with as much as Mike was and he had at least two body guards on him at all times. Mike had lots of people working for him, many of whom would have been happy to guard him. She had offered many times and he always declined. He would say that he preferred to be alone and that he could take care of himself.

She disagreed. He was getting older and he wasn’t used to running things. She didn’t think he knew or truly appreciated the dangers that came along with being the boss. It had only been a few years and he had just really started to make a name for himself. She made a quick decision and asked the cab driver to turn around. She knew which way he would walk home, and she intended to accompany him.

The cab pulled around the corner and she saw him walking. He normally walked with his head up, alert. She noticed that his head was down and he looked like he was thinking. She paid the cab driver quickly and jumped out of the cab. Just as she reached him, she noticed the two Asian men coming toward them. She jumped in front of him just as they drew their guns. Before either of them could get off a shot, she kicked the gun from one of them. It flew across the street and was quickly obscured by the traffic. She took advantage of their confusion to jump on the other and knock him unconscious. A crowd was beginning to gather and she could no longer see the man that she had kicked. She grabbed Mike’s arm and they ran until they got to his place.

They were both out of breath.

“Didn’t you see them?” she asked, worried.

“Yeah, Marishka, I saw them. Unlike you, I don’t just leap into action. We have more than one type of dealing with the Chinese, we don’t even know what they wanted,” he said.

“They drew their guns, Mike,” she said.

“Yeah, Marishka, you have a reputation and you came rushing up. I think their guns were a fairly reasonable reaction. I just hope that their boss reaches out to me instead of overreacting to your overreaction,” he said.

“Oh…” she said, looking a little bit sheepish.

They entered his home and went immediately to his office. Sure enough, there was a message from the head of the Chinese Mafia. He returned the call promptly and glossed over the situation. The men had merely been approaching him about buying the box from him. The Chinese would definitely want it; it suited their ends very well. They had made him an excellent offer. He told them that he wasn’t sure and they gave him forty-eight hours to get back to them.

“I can’t believe you already have an offer,” she said.

“I can. It was a hard to procure item, Marishka, a lot of people are bound to want it,” he said.

“Seamus Grady wanted it, but he didn’t want to pay for it,” she said.

‘Yes but Grady is broke. Ever since I left and killed his father, he has lost a lot of business. If he gets it, he won’t get it by buying it,” said Mike.

“You know that you will make a lot of enemies by selling it, right?” she asked.

“Yes, that’s why I want to be careful who I sell it to,” he replied.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“Boss? I have an idea,” she said, “I don’t think you’re going to like it. “

“Well now I am interested,” he said.

“Well, you know that that chip contains the plans and prints to counterfeit virtually any type of currency in the world. You and I both know that you don’t want to get into counterfeiting; you’re most a procurer and a supplier. The Chinese and the Russians already have their hands in counterfeiting, and Grady probably wants it because if he got into it he could shove them out. He needs a new edge,” she said.

“You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know, Marishka,” he said, calmly.

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in, Miles,” called Mike.

Miles was an errand-runner and an enforcer in Mike’s organization. She didn’t know him well, but he she knew that he was ruthless. He had been one of Mr. Grady’s bodyguards and top enforcers.

“Mike,’ said Miles, “I have something important to tell you. You aren’t going to like it.”

“Go on,” Mike said.

“Rodney Gill, the guy you had looking for the Russians’ missing prostitute? Well, we are pretty sure he’s a snitch. Saw him leaving FBI headquarters, tucking a card into his jacket. No one had seen him for days before and there is no arrest record. Russians find out there is a snitch? They won’t do business with us anymore. They’re our best customers,” Miles said quickly.

“Invite him to dinner, take him out, make it clean. If he has a family, send them ten thousand dollars and pay for the funeral. Pay for the funeral either way,” said Mike.

“Got it, boss,” replied Miles. He quickly left the room.

“Go ahead, Marishka,” said Mike.

‘Well, what would you think if we didn’t sell it to any of them? I think we should keep it. I think we should hold onto it for a rainy day. The CIA and the FBI would love to have it. It could come in really handy someday, Boss,” she finished hurriedly.

“You spent two years looking for that chip, Kid. Two years and I know that some of what you had to do to get it wasn’t pleasant. Why would you want to sit on it? You know that your share of the pay out will be huge. You could retire,” he said.

“I’m not just thinking of myself, Boss. You saved my life. You brought me in. You have trusted me. I just want to help you out as much as possible,” she said.

His expression softened and he smiled at her. She smiled back.

“You are the closest thing I have to a daughter, Kid,” he said warmly, “I’ll think about it.”

“I’m going to get one of your drivers to take me home, Mike,” she said, “It’s cold and I have had enough action for one day.”

“See ya tomorrow, Kid,” he said.

She left his office and walked toward his garage. She spotted Frankie, the driver she liked best and asked him for a ride. He said he would meet her in front in ten minutes.

She turned to walk toward the front door and she came to a stop. Miles was standing in front of her, holding a gun.

“Sorry, Kid. Seamus Grady doesn’t want Mike holding onto that chip,” he said.

Then everything went black.

Golden Gate.

She stood in the park and looked around. She could see the bridge. She could smell and feel the fog. She could hear the sounds of the city. She could picture the people walking and the buildings that she was so familiar with. She lived in paradise. She lived in the city of her dreams. But she was lonely and she was unhappy. She took off her shoes and felt the grass beneath her feet. She bent down and rolled up her pant legs. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She imagined that she could hear her favorite song playing, and she began to dance.  

When she was done, she put her shoes back on. Immediately, she missed the feel of the grass. She began walking and she left the park. The city kept moving around her. The people kept to their daily lives. She would still be lonely that night, but she would have the city. San Francisco had saved her. It saved her every day. Her heart beat for the city by the bay.

ATL

The heat and stick of summer adhere to your body like a second layer of clothing. It rolls through houses as folk’s open and close doors to get in and out. It fills cars until dashboards become fire and leather is sweating. Thunderstorms creep overhead midday making use of open blinds and candles. Tomato’s spring from vines and are meant to be eaten as apples. Fall falls in hues of orange, maroon and chocolate. The air becomes crisp and cool and in the early morning you can see your breath dance in front of you when you exhale. By day the sun beams without creating warmth and everyday feels like Halloween. Hooded jackets are home and the wise fill their pockets with clove cigarettes. Winter gives just enough room for drowning in knitted deliciousness and wrapping fingers around warm mugs full of liquid comfort. Feet fit best into slippers and hands find homes in gloves. Spring arrives with the fervor of a red lipstick clad Aunt Fran bearing mountains of magnolias and the stench of blossoming dogwoods. Every living thing becomes green and in full bloom coercing you away from the closed doors and well heated rooms of winter. The air itself is life giving and accomplishing things of value fall short next to rocking in wooden chairs on front porches. The city skyline smiles back at me, as I call this place my home.

Just Betty.

She was so in love. Any idea she thought she had about what that meant prior to now had been a horrible misunderstanding. Every time she woke up and saw the disheveled curls strewn about on the pillow next to hers she felt like she had won the lottery. Some mornings she would curl her body into his as close and tight as she could possibly get without actually being inside his skin. It didn't matter how awkward or uncomfortable the position was or if it caused her to become hot or cold. Every time he exhaled she inhaled trying to catch his very breath. If he opened his eyes and saw her his lips immediately curled up and he pulled her even closer into himself.

He had asked her to marry him on the third date and as badly as she wanted to say yes she simply couldn't. Her heart had been broken too many times to jump into something so final. She saw the disappointment in his eyes the moment she brushed him off as being silly and many nights thereafter she wished she had responded differently. Part of her feared she wouldn't have the option for a redo, and every time he kissed her goodnight she hesitated hoping he would ask again. He was everything she could have dreamed. From the moment they met her life had become a cheesy romantic comedy in which everything falls perfectly into place and kisses always conjure butterflies. The only difference is that neither of them had screwed up. It was like the first 45min of the movie on repeat.

He had asked her at the very last minute to head upstate and meet his parents. She couldn't possibly say no, and the moment she got off work on Friday she practically jumped out of her coveralls and into her most flattering sundress. They decided they would take his car, a 32 Ford roadster, because summer had just settled in and the weather was perfect for a ride up the coast with nothing keeping them from the wind and sun. He picked her up around 4pm and they started on the ride to Monterey, CA. They played silly games where he would pick one word and she would have to come up with as many songs as she could that had that word in it. They listened to both music and silence. She rested her head on his shoulder and took in the beauty of what had become her life. They stopped and ate dinner around 8pm. They still had a ways to go and she was already feeling exhausted. Almost as quickly as they started moving again she fell asleep, wrapped up in his navy blue work jacket.

 ********

It was a struggle to open her eyes and every time she managed a peak she was blinded by light. Her body was heavy and stiff, she couldn't life her arms or move her lips to cry for help. She thought briefly that she must be having a bad dream and willed Jacob to shake her awake and tell her everything was okay, but he never did. She fought through the struggle of her eyelids wanting to remain closed forever and opened them only to see perforated ceiling tiles and flickering florescent lights. She couldn't move her neck to the left or right and had no idea what was happening around her other than that she heard someone yell for a doctor. A doctor. She was in a hospital. JACOB! Was he there? Was he beside her holding her hand and she just couldn't see or feel him? She tried to speak but nothing came out. She realized she had a breathing tube and began to panic.

"Where is Jacob? Where is Jacob?! He was with me, we were driving, he was driving we...." she stammered frantically having difficulty finding the words she needed to ask questions.

"Calm down Betty. Calm down, we will explain everything but you need to focus on breathing right now," responded the middle aged woman who stood beside her bed stroking her hair.

Her hair. Her hair. She had no hair. The woman's touch was so distinct and obvious she knew there was nothing keeping her from literally petting her scalp.

"You've been in an accident dear. You are very lucky to be alive, but I am afraid I cannot say the same for the person driving the car."

She lost her breath.

"It is August 25, 2008, you have been in a coma for almost 3 months."

She felt the heat of tears rolling down the sides of her face.

"You suffered massive brain injuries and frankly it is a miracle you are understanding a word I say."

She blacked out.

***

The moment she opened the door to her apartment she smelled him. His "Live Fast Die Young" jacket was thrown over the back of the sofa and his coffee cup from the day of the accident sat half full on the coffee table. She wept for days unable to move from her bed. The world felt like it had fallen away and she was the last one standing, trapped in her tiny apartment full of nothing but memories. Over a week had passed as she lay on her side staring at a stack of car magazines on his side of the bed. She couldn't take her eyes off of them and before she knew what had happened the whole lot of them flew across the room. Terrified she jumped from the bed and ran to the bathroom not knowing what to do. Did that really happen or did she imagine it? Did she make that happen? She was losing her mind. She quickly ran out to the living room and looked around. She had never moved his jacket from the sofa and she stared at it from a few feet away. It slowly lifted itself and hovered before falling back onto the seat cushion.

It was her. Something had happened. She was not the same.

Little Davey

Little Davey hated that he could never go swimming with the other boys. He hated that he wasn’t normal. He had little wings growing out of his back and they worked. He could fly. The other kids would probably think it was cool, but his mom didn’t seem to think so.  She thought it was something that needed to be kept a secret. He also wasn’t allowed to play sports because he was stronger than the other kids and his mom thought it gave him an unfair advantage.

He was resigned to reading a lot of comics and collecting bugs. He wasn’t very cool. It was hard to make friends when there was something important about yourself that you couldn’t tell anyone. He was only 11-years-old and he felt like his future was already decided for him. He was different and, supposedly, special. He wouldn’t be able to go to college or get a real job. He would probably never get married and he would probably die young, fighting some sort of crime.

His grandpa had gotten lucky. He had lost a leg in a war and couldn’t use his wings and his strength to fight crime, so he was still alive. His great-grandfather hadn’t been so lucky. He had saved a lot of lives, but he had died in the end. For some reason, his mom didn’t have the wings or the strength. Maybe because she was a she, maybe it was only passed on to the men. No one knew and since they didn’t want to become science experiments in some government laboratory, they hadn’t ever asked a doctor.

He put down the comic book that he was reading and looked around. He wished that he didn’t have to be so private. It would be nice to have a friend.  He took of his shirt; he was going to go for a flight. He did it several times per week because his mom and his grandpa both said that it was an important skill to hone. They didn’t need to push him to do it because it was amazing. The wind in his hair and the smells and the breeze all gave him total freedom. There was no feeling like it in the whole world. If he had a friend, he would have taken him or her for a flight. It was an amazing gift that he wished he could share.

He zipped and zoomed around as fast as he could. He made sharp turns and came to screeching halts. He flew as high as he could and then dipped as low as he could. The buzzing his wings made was soothing. It was rhythmic and perfect, like the buzzing sound that a bee makes when it flies near your ear. When he got tired, he landed. As he was putting his shirt on, he heard a noise. He turned quickly and got ready to hide.

A girl stepped out from behind the trees.

“Hi,” she said, “ you can fly, that’s cool.”

And right then he knew that everything was different.

Black Betty

betty (noun, beh-tee): Slang term used to describe a female who associates with the punk rock/alternative/hotrod subculture(s). The term originates from pin-up model Bettie Page's signature haircut with short bangs, a common fashion trait for girls in these subcultures.   "Well aren't I just the prettiest picture this evening", she laughed at her reflection.    Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail and a black bandana lie flat against her skull tied as a headband to catch her sweat. Her  coveralls were gray and worn, covered in grease and every other sort of automobile fluid you can imagine. Her hands were practically dyed black from oil and dirt and so was one of her eyebrows where she had at some point had an itch. She had 20 minutes to clean herself up before her first ever blind date; well as blind is it could be with internet access. The shower was running hot and steam filled her small bathroom. She unzipped her dirty clothes and stepped into the claw-foot tub.   She had no idea what to expect about this guy other than that he was super hot and into cars, much like every other guy she went out with. Most of them were more into being under the hood of something than being under her....for more than a night anyways. She didn't blame them, she was pretty in love with hot rod culture too, but she was getting older and knew that she couldn't fall asleep at night next to her '51 Mercury (whom she had lovingly named Pearl). Plus, she wanted little baby greaser boys in rolled up dark denim and white t-shirts. She thought about her last serious boyfriend Jacob and the nights they lied awake talking about what their kids would look like and who got to pick names. She missed him. She should have died in the car with him that night and sometimes she wished she had.    She sat impatiently at the table of the restaurant her new beau had picked. It was some new sushi place whose name she couldn't pronounce and she had already cracked open every last edamame from the tiny little bowl given to her 5min ago. She was starving and really wished he had picked a place that served heaping plates of something made predominantly of carbohydrates.   "Betty?" a deep, strong voice said from behind her.   She turned around quickly not sure if she should stay seated or stand. She stood.   "Hi...Lucas," she extended her hand and smiled. "Nice to meet you."   He was exceptionally handsome, more so than any online picture could do justice to. His hair was practically black and well kept, short on the sides and blending up into a sort of faux mohawk. His eyes were strikingly green and his jaw line was like that of a god. He was wearing a fitted black button down pearl-snap, snug black jeans and oxblood Dr.Martins. Head to toe stunner. Watching him take a seat across from her she immediately felt insecure and was embarrassed by the bowl full of edamame shells.   "So, have you been here before?" Betty asked in attempt to start conversation. "Yeah, actually. I live in the apartments right upstairs so I was here pretty much the moment they opened the doors. I love sushi, and they have the best I have been able to find in town."  "Well I hope they aren't charging for the edamame because I definately didn't save you any." Lucas looked at the bowl and smiled. "No worries, I don't like much of anything green."   The conversation took off from there. They got so into talking about her job at the shop and his as a data entry clerk (so weird), an hour passed before they even got around to ordering. They shared a couple of rolls and 2 orders of sake before he invited her up to his apartment. Typically she would have declined, at least until date number 2, but this guy was smoking hot, laughing at her jokes and she didn't even have to drive to get back to his place. She quickly accessed the pros and cons in her head (cons-0) and agreed. From the moment she stood his hand was on the small of her back, and it remained there until she found a seat on his couch. His apartment was pretty much what you would expect of a bachelor/gear-head/data entry guy. The walls were covered with posters of everything from cars to half naked girls with cars to Einstein sticking his tongue out. He had a desk in the corner of the living room that was stacked high with papers and an open laptop. Work, she figured. He had run to the corner store to get them beers and she made herself comfortable, picking up what looked to be some thick, artsy coffee table book. She opened it up and realized the pages had been cut out to form an opening. She knew immediately she should shut the book and mind her business but something caught her eye. It was the corner of a photograph and she recognized the tile in it. It was her bathroom tile. She picked up a stack of papers and found underneath a stack of photographs, all of her. Her at work, her in her car, her at the grocery store, her in her living room cuddling with her cat. "What the hell is this????" she mumbled She dropped the photos and being sifting through the papers speed reading in an attempt to understand what the hell was going on. She found a cover sheet and read in astonishment. Client: Betty Roman a.k.a. Black Betty Powers: mind; photographic memory, ability to see into the future, move objects and cause thoughts in individuals which they would not have otherwise had. Client may or may not have super strength when needed. Threat: High; client believed to be working for Su Yan a.k.a The Machine. Assignment: Find and kill. Body is to be taken to headquarters for examination. The door opened and Betty quickly slammed the book and placed it on the table.  "I'm back!They didn't have any of the IPA you said you liked so I just got some other random expensive micro-brew. I picked the one with the coolest label." Lucas smiled and held up the 6 pack. She quickly assessed the situation, his build, his pockets, the exit. "Oh, yeah thanks. I've had this one before it's really good..." she stood and pulled a bottle from the pack.  Lucas turned to his left to sit the rest of the beer on the side table and she quickly hit him over the head with her bottle. The smell of beer hit as Lucas, now drenched, stumbled backwards towards the door. She took 4 large steps back and looked at the couch. It moved across the room blocking him from getting to her. Next was the entertainment center and his crappy little box tv. As she followed them with her eyes they stacked themselves atop the couch. Everything she looked at made its way to the pile from the radio to his desk which sent papers flying everywhere. In less than a moment everything in the room was in front of him. "Who are you?!?" Betty demanded She couldn't see his face through the pile.   "WHO ARE YOU?!!?!?" she screamed.  Lucas laughed, lifted his hand and touched the items she had stacked in front of him. They immediately disintegrated into a pile of dust. "Grey Ghost." she said as she looked into his eyes, no longer green but the color of ash. He made a leap towards her as she searched her mind for the image of the closest exit. She remembered the window to the left of the couch and turned towards it. They were 5 stories up and she knew that even super strength wouldn't save her from the damage of that fall. Before she had a chance to consider another option Grey Ghost had tackled her. She quickly pushed him off using every bit of strength she could muster and sent him flying across the room. His head hit a corner cabinet and for a second he was almost unconcious. That second was long enough to allow her to get into his head.  "You're confused, you have forgotten where you are and what you are doing. You have no recollection of any assignment and you've no idea who I am," Betty whispered under her breath as she glared hard enough at Grey that it was as if she was looking through him. His eyes fluttered. He struggled to get them open and quickly attempted standing, although it took a few tries.  "What the hell is this? What is going on? Who are you?" he muttered, looking around confused and agitated. Betty smiled. She knew it wouldn't be long before his memory came back and she didn't want to be around when it did. She grabbed the coffee table book off the floor as she headed towards the door.  "HEY! WHERE AM I AND WHO ARE YOU AND WHY IS THIS PLACE SO WRECKED???!" Grey Ghost yelled from the back of the room. She didn't turn to answer him, and the moment she was out that door she was running. The only person who wanted her dead shouldn't know she was alive, much less where she was living. She knew all that she had accomplished with The Machine was now in jeopardy, as well as the lives of anyone involved. It was going to be a long night.

The B-Man

He stood on the roof of the building, eagle-eyed. He stood watch there every day for about an hour. He would intervene in muggings, mostly. That was how it was at 6 p.m. in downtown New York in the summer. It got grittier at night, but it was always nice to prevent a mugging because it was the littlest things that sometimes counted the most. It was also nice because it was one of the times of the day that he interacted with regular New Yorkers, not just the ones that robbed banks or tried to blow up important buildings.

It was a wonder that people still tried to pull of muggings in that area of New York. He caught them one hundred percent of the time, and most of them knew it. They knew that The B-Man would catch them and they’d end up in jail, but the economy was bad and people were desperate. He saw a man grab a purse and try to run. He swooped down and felt his wings expanding. He flew toward the man and made contract with his jaw. He knocked him clean out and returned the purse to its owner, simple as could be. He exchanged some niceties with the woman and took a picture with her kids.

Pictures of him, with his striped costume and black mask, were popular with the tourists. He was always happy to oblige. He loved people and he loved kids. He was a married man, with a family and a dog. He had a day job and he had barbecues with his coworkers. It was just a genetic marvel that he also had wings and super strength. He had known early on, from his grandfather, that these were gifts that he should use for the good of all mankind.

There was a time when he used to just lurk in alleys, saving random people from minor crimes. Then he had met his wife, she sewed his uniform, and he began making a name for himself as the protector of the big city. He was ambivalent about it, sometimes he loved the fact that he was saving the world but other times he worried about seeing his kids grow up.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of a siren. He leapt into action, flying over the buildings until he spotted the crime. Someone was robbing a bank, typical. He slowed his flight and came to a stop in front of the leading officer.

“B-Man! I was hoping you would show up! They’ve got hostages in there and lots of money,” said the policeman.

“I’m going in through the fire exit on the roof, make sure you hold off until I come out. There shouldn’t be any need for you to enter at all,” said The B-Man.

“Right, see you shortly then.”

B-Man zoomed off, he enjoyed the feel of the wind on his face and as he flew higher he enjoyed the increased warmth of the sun. That was the best part of this gig, the flying.  It was the epitome of freedom for him. He would trade the strength for the flying without hesitation. He got sick of breaking things by accident and once he had almost broken his wife’s arm, stopping her from falling. It was a pain, in every day life.

He reached the roof, and he pulled the exit door off of its hinges with little effort.  He ran down the stairs and took a moment to look around and gauge the situation. There were only three robbers, although they were heavily armed, and there were several hostages. Luckily, the robbers were standing together discussing their next move. It was like taking candy from a baby.

The B-Man burst in and rushed the robbers. He grabbed their weapons first and hurtled them through the bank windows. He was able to grab most of them easily, but one of the robbers was nimble and escaped his hold, wielding a knife. He focused on dodging her and knocking out the other two criminals. It was simple, two well placed kicks and one swing of the fist and they were both down.

He turned his attention to the nimble, knife-wielding one.

“Do you really want to do this the hard way?” he said.

“As far as I know, B-Man, you are not impervious to being stabbed,” she said, with no small hint of arrogance in her voice.

“I’m not, but I am smarter, faster, and stronger than you. I’ve also been doing this for a while,” he said, coolly.

She lunged with the knife and he flew out of the way. She lunged again and he grabbed her wrist. He only used a fraction of his strength to bend her wrist back and break her grip on the knife. She dropped it, but she twisted out of his grip and rolled away.

He was impressed with her fighting skills, but now she was weaponless and he knew it would only be a moment. This time, he went on the offensive and lunged for her. She kicked him and her kick was well placed, but he grabbed her ankle and she fell to the ground. Before she could make another move, he subdued her.

He carried all three villains out and handed them over to the police. It was just another day in the life of The B-Man and it was only 6:30 p.m.

Meet the Boss.

He glanced at his watch impatiently; he tapped his foot in rhythm with the vibration of the floor beneath his feet.  She was never on time. She was always late and one of these days they were both going to get killed because of it. She was supposed to drop it off to him and then he was supposed to take it immediately to the boss’s house. They hated when he was late, and sometimes she was so late that no amount of rushing could get him there on time. Last time they had told him that if he were late again, they would shoot him in the kneecaps. He wasn’t very keen on that idea.

They had only partnered him with her because everyone else refused to work with her, and would have shot her the second time she had been late. She was distantly related to the boss, so they wanted her partnered with someone who wouldn’t be so quick to off her. He couldn’t stand her, but he wasn’t quick to anger and as long as he could make up the time from her being late, he didn’t mind working with her.

He stamped his foot one last time and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. Just as he was about to light it, she came around the corner. She looked unkempt and she was wringing her hands. Immediately he noticed that she didn’t have the satchel in her hands. Her hands were empty. As she got closer, he noticed that he lipstick was smeared and she had a run in her stockings. She came to a stop in front of him.

“I need help,” she said.

“I can see that. Where’s the bag? If we don’t make that delivery one, or both, of us are toast,” he replied.

“They took it, before I got into the cab. Just some kids, but they jumped me. They probably thought it had money in it. They punched me, kicked me, worked me over, and then they took the bag and they also took my purse. Mike, I know I am already on thin ice. They’re going to shoot me. I know it.”

“Kid, you’re lucky that they already haven’t,” he replied, “if you worked with anyone else they would have by now.”

“What do I do?” she said.

“We go and tell them, Kid, and we hope for the best,” he responded.

They set off toward the house. It was several blocks away, but they covered them quickly. Along the way he let her know that she should let him do the talking. He would tell them that it could’ve happened to anyone. The package came weekly, and they could find the boss more heroin in the meantime. He didn’t think there was much of a chance of recovering it. Once the kids who stole it realized it wasn’t money, they would just find someone to sell it to.

When they got to the front door, they were patted down as usual. Then when they told the men that they didn’t have the bag, they were taken in to see the boss. He was in the room with a group of women, shooting them up, as he did every day at that time. That was his business. He received kidnapped women from the Russian mob, got them strung out, and then they became his workforce. They worked the streets for money and he got most of it because he had them so hooked on smack that they didn’t care about anything else. That was why it was so important that he and the girl be on time, because he liked them to get their doses at just the right moment. He wanted them to be longing for it, aching for it, but not to the point of having full withdrawal symptoms.

It was a really ugly business and he hated himself just a little for being involved. He hadn’t really known what he was getting into and he had been in on it since he was a teenager. He used to see how the guys who ran errands for the boss flashed their money around and he wished that he had money of his own. He had started hanging around with them, gotten in good, and started running errands on his own. By the time he was sixteen, he had seven shoeboxes with a total of twenty-three thousand dollars hidden under his bed.

He loved it. No one messed with him, he had money, the girls found him interesting, and he was able to help his mom out with the bills. He had respect and it was addicting. He was addicted to the lifestyle. By the time he was twenty-one, he was an extremely trusted courier. He met with all of the deliveries and personally brought them to the boss. He was paid very well for his efforts and this was the first time in nearly ten years that he had failed to deliver a package. Fortunately for him, it hadn’t been lost in his possession and the person who lost it wasn’t a well-respected member of the organization.

As they entered the office they could hear the girls talking, they knew that they must have already gotten their doses because they sounded out there and far away, not jumpy and pained. They sat down and listened to the girls wrap up their talk with the boss and then leave the room out the other side. That was the way that he liked it done because he didn’t want the girls to know what they looked like, he didn’t want them tracking either of them down and hitting them up for drugs when it wasn’t time. After the girls were gone, the boss came in and he did not look even the littlest bit happy.

“Marishka, please explain this to me,” he said, with absolutely no expression.

“Mr. Grady,” interjected Mike, “as the person in charge of bringing all deliveries to you, I think that I should be the one to explain.”

“Fine,” said Grady, as he took a seat at his desk.

“Mr. Grady, Marishka was late to meet me, later than usual, and when she got to me I immediately noticed the rip in her stockings and her unkempt appearance. She told me that some kids mugged her and they took her purse too. I think they saw the bag and saw the way she was dressed. They must have assumed that she was carrying money.”

“I agree with you, Mike, but the fact is that this is the last in a series of failures by Marishka. She is continually late and the other errands and jobs that I send her on are frequently unsuccessful. You waste two hours per week on this meaningless chore that is a waste of your time and value because you are the only one who can tolerate her. It’s unacceptable; I can’t work with her any longer. She now owes me thousands of dollars worth of heroin. We both agree that it’s not something we can recover. She has to pay it back, but she also doesn’t work here anymore. She has six days to pay it back. $17,000 in six days or I put a bullet in each kneecap.”

Mike walked out of the room, leaving Marishka to talk with the boss. He thought long and hard about what he did for a living, what he did with his life. He was a rich man. He lived a nice life. She would never be able to find or come up with that kind of money. He knew that she lived in a dump and that this was her only source of income. It was likely that the boss would make her an offer, to become one of his junkie whores or to lose her ability to walk. Either way, she would still have to pay the money back.

Marishka came out of the office, wringing her hands, with tears in her eyes.

“How much do you have stashed?” he asked.

“About $3,500, I told him I will be back with it later,” she said.

“That leaves you owing $13,500. Is there any way you can make that happen?”

“Not without indebting myself to people who are just as bad as Grady, and probably ending up dead anyways,” she said.

“What if you wound up in debt to me?”

“What do you mean, Mike?” she asked with wide eyes.

“I’ve been thinking of starting my own business. I’ve earned enough, I’ve earned enough respect and I’ve made the connections. I could make more. I could be the boss.”

“You better watch what you’re saying, you’ll wind up at the bottom of a landfill,” she said.

“I ain’t worried about that,” he said.

With that, he turned around and walked straight back into the boss’s office. The next thing she heard was a gunshot. Mike walked out. The men in the adjoining room didn’t come after him; they came with him. There was a new boss in town.

Untitled.

 8:00am

He glanced at his watch impatiently as her voice continued to drone on and on. She wasn't even looking at him and if she had been she certainly would have found more to complain about. His lips moved with every word he knew she would say, mocking her rehearsed rules and regulations. His eyes rolled with every piece of advice and threat of consequence should he partake in the action. 
"I have to go mom, I'm gonna be late for school."
"Well you remember what we have talked about this morning Joseph. Remember it well because when you walk in that door at curfew, which is 1am in case you are unsure, my mothering senses will heighten and I will know exactly what kind of night you had."
"Bye mom, see you at 1."
The door slams.

"Remember our 'conversation'....." Joseph mumbled under his breath as the cold air hit him like a brick.
There hadn't been a conversation. There never was. The relationship he had with his mother was 100% dictatorship, which was fine when he was a little boy, but at 18 and a senior in high school it had long become old. He slid into the seat of his 1997 Honda Civic and started her up. Backing out of the driveway was like taking his first real breath of the day.

As the door slammed her head fell and she put down the plate she was washing.
"Lord Jesus I don't think that boy listens to one word that comes out of my mouth." Josephs mother whispered in defeat. 
Everything she did she did for him. The long hours at work, the nights cooking dinner when all she wanted to do is order pizza and tell everyone to fend for themselves. She had put every single desire and dream she had on hold in order to give him everything she could. She had not yet made it to Italy, Greece or even across 2 states to the Grand Canyon and doubted she ever will. By the time Joseph was out of the house she would be up to her ears in his college debt. She had not had one relationship since her husband left, fearing that one wrong guy would traumatize her sons forever. For the past 18 years it was like she hadn't been able to take one real life giving breath. 

 1:30pm

"She is impossible dude. It's like I can't do anything without her making sure I don't have any fun, and if I do, she's gonna know about it and if she knows about it I'm gonna pay for it. I cannot wait to get to college." Joseph inhaled his cigarette and held it in until his lungs burned. "Technically I am an adult, I can do what I want. I'm a couple months away from grad, it's Friday night, my girlfriend is having a party and not only am I going, but I am going to have fun, without worrying about her bullshit 'spidey senses' and what will happen when I get home." He threw the butt of his cigarette and grabbed Chloe by the waist. "May I escort you to 6th period?" 

"Thank you for calling  Comcast could you hold please?" She pressed the next blinking switch. "Thank you for calling Comcast could you hold please? Farrah it is after one and I haven't even taken a break, I am starving."
"Go ahead and eat- just please hurry, this switchboard looks like the 4th of July!" Farrah shooed her in the direction of the break room.
The oppressive fluorescent lighting felt like weights on her shoulders as she walked down the corridor to the lunchroom. Everyone else had eaten lunch and she was grateful not to have to make small talk as she sat in the quiet room. 1:30pm....that would put Joseph on his way to 6th period, math. He hated math. She smiled as she recalled his 8th grade teacher calling her to let her know he was refusing to math all together stating that it was 'inhumane'. He was always such a free thinker. She admired that about him and knew it was a trait inherited from his father. She practically inhaled her ham sandwich and hustled back to her little cubical.
"Thank you for calling Comcast may I please have your account number?"

 7:00pm

"Who in the hell did you convince to buy you alcohol?!?" Joseph smiled as he bumped knuckles with Aaron.
"Some of it I snatched from the liquor cabinet at home and some of it I paid my sister to hustle from work," the greasy haired adolescent replied with a nod of the head.
"SWEET! This party is gonna be sick. Chloe is in the kitchen with the bag she bought from K. He said it was the best he has had in awhile. Purple sticky punch for everyone!!" Joseph mimicked Pauly Shore, and walked toward the kitchen.
"Whats up Aaron," Chloe looked up. "Holy shit that's a lot of booze. Put it over on the counter with the soda, Sarah should be here with the keg like, now."
Joseph walked up behind Chloe and wrapped his arms around her waist. She put down the papers and leaned into him.
"I'm glad you're here," she said.
"Me too babe." Joseph replied.

The house was dark as she pushed open the front door, hands full of mail. She flipped the light switch and fumbled into the kitchen where she dropped everything on the table. She was too tired to bother finding real food and headed to the junk cabinet for a bag of chips. Doritos, dinner of champions. She grabbed the $2 bottle of wine from the fridge and didn't bother getting a glass. As she sank into the couch, shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She was tired. Actually, tired was an understatement. She was worn, exhausted and on the verge of losing hope that there was anything better for her. She sat in silence and finished off both the Doritos and the wine. 

4:45am

Joseph opened the door so slowly it took over a minute to get it wide enough to wedge himself through. The house was dark and still. He shut the door and didn't bother to turn the lock knowing that it would make noise. He clenched his keys in his palm so not to jingle them and he began to move slowly on his toes toward his room in the back of the house. He wasn't drunk or high, although he had a few drinks and taken a hit or two. He was pretty good at moderation and didn't actually have the desire to get all out wasted anyways. He could count on Chloe to do enough for both of them and knew he needed to have his wits to deal with her. As he tiptoed through the living room he saw a silhouette on the sofa. His mom had fallen asleep waiting to chew him out, he was sure. She was still in her work clothes and had the orange glow of Doritos crumbs in the corners of her mouth. She looked sad even in her sleep. Risking being found out he grabbed the throw off the top of the couch and covered her. She didn't even flinch. Relieved he dropped his guard and fumbled through the dark to his room.

7:00am

She had no idea what time it was when she fell asleep, but she knew for sure it was past curfew. She had drifted off in the midst of  rehearsing all the things she would say to him when he walked through the door. How disrespectful, unthoughtful and immature he was. He would probably smell of a mix between cigarettes and alcohol an she needed to be ready with her argument. The half bottle of wine had gotten the better of her and her anger subsided into a quiet, peaceful sleep. She sat up slowly realizing Joseph had covered her when he came in. Moving the blanket and pushing herself up she headed toward his room ready to not only give him an earful but to drag him from bed and put him to work. His door was open and the sun was coming through the blinds onto his disheveled body. He was still fully dressed from the day before and hadn't even bothered to get under the covers. She stood in the doorway and watched him for a long time before she shut his door and headed toward the kitchen to make coffee.