Lights in the Night Sky

The sky here is beautiful: different from home, though.  This seat feels weird.  Where is he?  He told me to meet him here, by this body of liquid water; I hope I’m at the right place.  I’m at the right place; I’m sure of it.  Mountains are slowly fading into the dark blue of the night sky along with the trees; I can hear the water going back and forth on the shore calmly, quietly, and innocently with a moon that is full, and quite large compared to the planet, reflecting on the water.  I hear a strange call in the distance. One I can’t describe, made by a creature I’m sure that I have read about before coming here.  These clothes are weird. I hear walking; perhaps he is here.

“Peter,” It’s him.  “Or do you want me to call you by your real name, Pietor?” he said as he sat down next to me.

“Whichever you prefer, I’m used to both, Erik.”

“You can call me Erōx, if you feel more comfortable.  It’s just us here, nobody is going to hear us.” I nodded as he told me this.  “That is why I chose this spot. Besides, I always found it calming.”

“It is.”

“So how was your adventure? How long again were you here?”

“I don’t know, for about a year for us I think,” I told him.

“So about what?  One and a quarter years for them?”

“Yes,” I said as I exhaled heavily relaxing in this seat.  “My adventure was fine. I miss her though.”

“Well you could talk to her through your little device, though, right?”

“Yes, but there is something about face-to-face talking.”

“We will get you back to her as soon as we are done here,” he told me.

“What did the other observers say?” I asked him.

“Three were for and three were against.”

“So I’m the tiebreaker?” I asked, frustrated.

“I’m afraid so. You have the weight of this world on your shoulders,” Erōx exclaimed, exhaling heavily.

“Who burdened us with this task anyway?”

“No one knows.  Whoever gave us the machine that allows us to teleport, thousands of years ago.” he told me.

“Why must we do this though?”

“To keep this galaxy safe, to protect it from a galactic war, and to help it prosper,” he explained as the call I heard earlier is sounded again. I jumped.

“What is that?” I said turning around to look behind me, where the sound was coming from.

“It’s called a wolf; a quadruped covered in fur.  It’s a hunter. You should have read about it.”

“I’m not a big fan of reading.”

“Well no one said you had to read. The encyclopedia was just there to help,” he told me.  There is a small fog forming above the water.  “So…what do you think about them?”

“The humans?”

“Well, the other life forms we’re not too worried about. They don’t pose any real threat.  If you ask me, I think they are the ones that could be better protected, even saved, if you voted against.  No pressure though.”

“I’m sure.”


“They are violent,” I told him.  “They destroy, and are at times ignorant of the consequences their actions may lead to.”

“That is what the others were saying.”

“I find that they fight over resources they should be sharing, or instead of fighting, trying to work together to create a new way to power their vehicles.”

“I worry if the same would happen on a cosmic level if the humans and another species discovered a resource,” Erōx added.

“So do I,” I told him.  “They are also destroying their own planet. Forests are being taken down, the air polluted, and other life forms are nearing extinction. They are at times destroying things they don’t even know exist.”


“I feel that they are the biggest threats to their survival, but I do admire how they protect certain pieces of land.  What are they called again?”

“National parks, and we are currently in one called Yellowstone,” he told me.

“I also approve on how they wish to journey as far as they can into space, pushing the limits and boundaries of what seems possible.  They seem to be stubborn, you know, like if you tell them something is impossible they will want to test your opinion,” I said, smiling.

“Yeah, I’ve always found that also.”

“Beings like that could be very helpful in helping unite the galaxy.”

“But they are violent and they destroy, like you said.”

“Yes, but I wonder how they would be if they got rid of country borders.  Would they still fight wars?  Or would they unite under one flag? Creating a peace,” I asked him.

“Who knows; they are very unpredictable,” he responded as we sat in silence for a minute or so.  I looked up at the night sky and noticed that in spite of all the darkness, with those small little points of light, it didn’t seem so dark.  Those little miracles of nature lit up the darkness.

“The humans have created a planet like the night sky: dark and scary, but yet when you take the time to look closely, you find small lights that work together to outshine the darkness and make it seem…”

“Bright and loving,” Erōx said, finishing my sentence.

“Yes.  There is something about them, the humans.  I have been on here a year interacting with them and yet they still surprise me.  They are adventurous, imperfect, and I find that when I begin to lose faith in them because of their violence, the smallest act of good restores my hope for them.  Such as a parent hugging their child, a human taking time out of their day to help another, a young couple falling in love, and just the way they enjoy life sometimes.  They are quite fascinating creatures,” I explained to him.

“I have also found that they seem to have a great understanding of music, and some of them are quite skilled at creating rhythms and songs,” Erōx added.

“I have found that, too. It is quite extraordinary.  Music is a wonderful gift given to the universe.”

“Not to mention it is one of the two most important forms of galactic communication.”

“The other being love,” I said.

“The other being love,” Erōx added.  “What have you learned about the humans and love?” he asked me as I stared off watching the water calmly race up to shore and retreat only to race back up again.  The sand beneath my feet was like the sand back home. I have been on this planet for one year, and my last night here is the first time I found it to feel like home.  “Pietor?”

“I can’t really put a finger on it, but it’s quite beautiful when you see it at work with them.  It’s indescribable,” I said as Erōx smiled and tilted back.

“That’s what I said when I first observed it at work with them.  I observed this ceremony they have called a wedding, where two people unite and become one.  You could feel it in the air all around you.”

“I feel as if many of them don’t understand it, but they trust it you know?” I told him.

“Love is something you cannot fully comprehend. Heck, our species doesn’t even fully understand it, and honestly, I don’t think we ever will.  At least not in this life.”

“I’d be okay with that.”

“Okay with what?” he asked, looking at me perplexed.

“If we don’t fully comprehend or understand it, it gives us something to keep searching for.”

“It’s beautiful though, and if you ask me, it’s the strongest force in the universe.”

“Where do you think it came from?” I asked him.

“A higher power if you ask me. A grand protector of the universe,” Erōx added as we sat in silence for a moment or two.  A wind bristled through the trees as I felt it hit my face.  A vehicle they call a car pulled up about a hundred feet from us.  “So Pietor, I need to hear your decision, do we kill off the humans in order to protect this galaxy and this planet, or do we choose to help them advance their technology and make them allies?” Two humans got out of the car: one male and one female.

“The humans are violent and at times dark. They were given a beautiful planet and seem to be destroying it with war, pollution, and destruction,” The couple stood next to each other. The male had his arm around the female’s shoulders; I think that’s what they call them, yes, shoulders. “However, something must have seen greatness in them to give them such a beautiful planet.”

“The grand protector,” Erōx added.

“Yes.” The male ran to the back of the car and grabbed a wide, long, wavy object.  “What’s that called?” I asked, pointing to the object.

“A blanket,” Erōx said as the human laid it on the ground and they both sat on it.

“I don’t know,” I told Erōx. “What do you think?” I asked as he took a deep breath.  I glanced over to the couple and watched as they pointed at the stars.

“I’ll keep my answer short.  They may be dark like the night sky, something that makes you want to return home, but the longer you stay out, you become attracted to the lights.  They rid the darkness and make you want to stay outside and explore the night sky.  Small points of light working together to help blot out the darkness…it makes me want to help it grow.  I have found good in them, and when I would begin to lose faith in them, a small act of kindness would restore it.”

“Wasn’t exactly short, but…”

“Well no,” he said as we sat in silence for several minutes.  I glanced over to the couple on the blanket. They were laughing, talking, and I could tell they loved each other. It reminded me of her, the one I long to return home to.  They were lost away from reality; it was extraordinary to watch them enjoying life in such a way…and form a love that would grow into something incredible, one that would benefit the universe.  “So, Pietor, what should we do?”

Sometimes the smallest moments of love and light, ones that are missed by most of the world, like the one I was watching, are the most incredible and can make you want to never let them go.  The moments that the universe longs for, and if humans can create these moments on this planet, who knows where that could lead if they had the technology to travel the galaxy.  A light soon shone from Erōx, and when I looked back over at him, he was turning back into his normal form.  Humans might find us to have skin like an animal they call a salamander: a transparent pink with a natural light lighting up our bodies into a subtle glow of different colors of the light spectrum, black eyes, a nose and ears more flattened to the face, five fingers, and feet without spacing in between the toes.

“You are quite locked on those two,” he said.

“I am, they remind me of me and her,” I explained to him.

“It seems as if you have made your decision.”

“I have.”

“Like we said before, sometimes it’s the little things, the small points of light.  Moments like these that rid the darkness.” He took a deep breath and smiled as he stood up to face me.  “They are incredible creatures, aren’t they?” he asked me.

“They are,” I said to him.  He took my hand as he slowly began to teleport away and handed me my teleportation drive.  So I could finally return home, back to her.

Dustin Dehne

I Just Want My Mom Back

I was born in 1974 to a nineteen-year-old, free-spirited, peaceful, loving, pot-smoking hippie chick. We lived in a small cabin off the coast of Astoria, Oregon. We had to use kerosene lanterns and milk jugs with candles inside for light because we had no electricity. Until my dad built a bathroom inside, we used an outhouse out back. I hated having to go out there in the early morning or late at night. As a kid, my imagination would often lead me to believe that every scary thing in those woods was, in fact, waiting on the other side of that rickety wooden door just for me. I was often impatient when my mom had to boil water on the wood stove and pour it into a huge metal basin for us to take baths.

My mom baked bread from scratch, canned our fruits and vegetables, and would freeze the meat my dad brought in from hunting. We had a little farm with chickens and pigs, and one time the meat came from our pet pigs, “Bacos” and “Yum-Yum.” I remember seeing them skinned and gutted, hanging upside down above barrels. I went on a “meat strike” as long as I could after that. I had two younger brothers, and we would always say prayers before bed. She homeschooled me while we lived there and would always tell me little sayings to live my life by, like “beauty is only skin deep,” “money can’t buy you happiness,” and “a woman can do anything a man can do.” These moments influenced me in a positive way.

For reasons unknown to me, we ended up moving to the city. It was there that my mom went from Betty Crocker to Betty Ford. We moved from house to house, and my parents partied with their friends day and night. They eventually ended up separating, and my brothers and I went with my mom. From there, it was like we were little bouncy balls, only landing for a split second, bouncing from my grandparents and back to my mom, then with family friends and so on. At some point, my mom just stopped being a mom. She would never cook for us, never say prayers with us, and never wake us up for school. She ended up going to jail, for breaking into someone’s house, I think, and again we went with my grandparents.

While she was in jail, I grew to resent her. I also grew up. At eleven years old, I started drinking and smoking pot. I lost my virginity. When my mom got out of jail, she headed out east to Rhode Island. I was mad at her for that. I was rebelling and needed attention. My grandparents didn’t know how to deal with my new attitude, so they insisted my mom take me. I think they were hoping it would do me some good. It only amplified the wild child inside of me. When I arrived in Rhode Island, my mom and her boyfriend were living at a campground and sleeping in a tent. There was no way in hell I was going for that, and she knew it. The next day she took me into town and introduced me to a couple of girls who were hanging outside a local pizza joint called George’s. Nobody actually claimed to know who George was. The fact that he had the coolest place in town for 80’s degenerates and rocker rebels to play pinball at was good enough for us. My mom then took me to a house and introduced me to her friend, Tracy. She told me that this is where I would be living until she found a house of her own. From there, I ran around in the streets all summer and made friends with every other street kid in town. I ended up with an eighteen-year-old boyfriend, and when I did see my mom, it was at some party where we would get drunk and high together.

My mom finally came looking for me sometime after school had begun, and when she found me, I thought she was going to beat me up right there in the middle of George’s front steps. I had dyed my hair pink and purple, and she grabbed a fistful of it and threw me in the backseat of the car. She had never taken me to a dentist while I was there, so I managed to pull off my braces with old needle nose pliers. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so mad. She took me back to the house where she was staying and told me to get the dye out of my hair. While I was rinsing my hair under the bathtub faucet, I muttered something that sort of rhymed with “itch.” She came out of nowhere. I didn’t even say it loud, but it was like she had been around the corner just anticipating my smart mouth so she could let me have it. She got me good. I have never called her anything but “Mom” since then. After that, she made a futile attempt at forcing me to go to school. I wouldn’t cooperate with anything she tried to make me do, just out of spite. By then, I had made friends with every dropout in town, so she couldn’t find me even when she tried. It wasn’t much longer after that when she sent me back to my grandparents. I can’t tell you how or why, but when I got back to my grandparents, I became a whole different kid. I enjoyed school and even made it on the honor roll. I met a boy named Danny, who I remained loyal to throughout high school. When my grandfather asked me if I was going to marry him, I decided that second, from fear of having a boring life, that it was time to break up.

A month before graduation, my mom went back to Oregon, and I moved in with her. It was then that I watched her struggle the most. She had always had horrible taste in men but this one I truly despised the minute I met him. And for good reason. He knew he had HIV and Hepatitis C and passed it to her anyway, beat on her, tried to distance her from her kids, and, in an attempt to move her across the entire country, eventually landed her and my brother in a Michigan prison for three years. Her “boyfriend” is doing three life sentences for shooting and nearly killing three state police officers. It is hard for me to understand why she still speaks to him, but she does. That was 1994; I was twenty years old, and that is the last time my mom had a boyfriend.

After that, I watched my mom spin out of control. Instead of taking care of herself better, she destroyed herself. She began selling and doing crystal meth, stealing cars and trucks with my brother, Adam, stealing guns and breaking into houses. She acted like life didn’t matter. It was also the first time I saw my mother in a different light. I felt sorry for her instead of angry, and it hurt my heart to see her going through that. I cannot imagine how she must have felt.

I stopped being so resentful, and it allowed us to form a friendship again. She would constantly tell me that I should depend on no one. She also told me not to have children until at least the age of thirty, and all of the sudden, money was VERY important in regards to happiness. She was always bringing up “karma” and how I should always do the right thing and never ever do bad things to good people. She told me to never judge a person or I will surely walk in their shoes. She would call me relentlessly, and still does, as if she worries about me. There would be times when she would have too much to drink and she would ramble on about how sorry she was for not being a good mom. I always tell her that it’s okay. Now that I am older, I understand. We all have struggles in life, and you never know when yours may come.

I have three children of my own now, and a time did come when, as a mother, I had to struggle with drugs, jail, and unhealthy relationships. I judged my mother harshly, and I ended up walking in her shoes. I used to say I would never be the kind of mother that I had, yet I became like her in many ways. The truth is, when I thought she was influencing me in the worst way possible, she was unknowingly teaching me to be a better mother. It’s possible that had I not gone through what I did as a child, I might not have chosen differently with my own kids. I knew I did not want to put my kids through the same things I had gone through. I remember when my daughter was 7; she looked at me so seriously and said, “I just want my mom back.” I knew exactly how she felt.

I see myself in my mother, and I believe I have learned a lot through watching her make mistakes, as my daughter will hopefully learn from watching me make mine. I have been lucky that my children were not like me. They don’t shoot me with arrows full of guilt and shame. They don’t speak about that period in our lives in a negative way, or constantly remind me of my mistakes, and blame me for our struggles at that time. We can actually sit back and laugh about some of the more comical moments when I was not myself. They love me unconditionally and remind me often that they are proud of me.

The unfortunate reality is that no matter how much you think you know, sometimes you just have to learn for yourself. Some of my best lessons have been learned through making my worst mistakes. Whether she was my enemy or my best friend, she was my mother. She tried to make up for where she went wrong, and she never stopped trying to teach me what she thought was right. When I look back on those days now, I see how they shaped me into the person and mother that I have become. I may have been influenced in some pretty bad ways, but I gained so much in a good way as well. My mother has absolutely impacted who I am, and I am okay with that today. I wouldn’t change a thing.

In loving memory of Linda K. Bertrand

Nov 11, 1954 – Oct 8, 2015

Angalee Bertrand

Hallucinogenic Love


I see them dancing on the roof

and no-one seems to care.

Fire weaves its way

feeding on 99 cent novels

making pine trees cry

and I can still trace your love

in every crack on my knuckle.

I wish you would stop

because it bleeds into my ink.

Stars breathe,

according to you.

Worst of all

they remember.

Me, myself, and I

You, yourself, and still I

I, recorded with you in starlight

when all I wanted was a dance

until I started setting fires

and seeing things in you

that simply weren’t there.


Michael Adams



Semper Fidelis

I was sitting in the easy chair next to Eleanor’s bed, holding her hand and nodding in and out of consciousness. I probably wouldn’t have noticed him, but the smell of those Altoids he always chewed gave him away. I remember wondering if he wasn’t the Grim Reaper coming to take her from me.

“Hi Bill,” Danny whispered.

I didn’t bother standing, not that he expected me to; I’d never made much of secret about what I thought of him. He slid a chair over and sat, facing Eleanor more than me. I hoped my silence would gnaw on him, but taking a hint was never one of his strong suits. Once in a while, I’d glance up at him just in time to see his eyes dart away. I was about to ask him what the hell he was gawking at when he spoke up again.

“She looks peaceful.”

No, she didn’t. Her thinning silver curls were oily and flat from being mashed into her pillow and not being washed in a few days, and her forehead showed lines I’d never noticed before. I traced the back of my fingers along her cheekbone, part of me hoping an eyebrow might arch or a finger might twitch. She wasn’t there.

Danny shifted a few times, sucking in now and then like he was going to say something else. One of these days, I figured he’d get around to saying what was really on his mind. Until then, I wasn’t going to waste the last few moments I had with Eleanor waiting on him.

Eventually, he cleared the frogs out and tried some small talk. He sounded like he might hit puberty any day, and his looks didn’t help. I knew he was north of forty, but I bet he’d get carded nine times out of ten. He asked about the kids, whether Amy had made partner yet (yes), whether Emily had had the new baby (no), how Sarah’s residency was going (fine) and if Dawn had been accepted into OCS (yes). Clearly, Eleanor talked to him more than I ever did. She was the sociable one. I made a habit of saying as little as I could to him.

He went silent again after running out of bullshit. The steady gasp and puff of the ventilator filled the void, along with the muffled play-by-play of the Lions game filtering in from across the hall. I tossed a glance his direction as he took a sip of whatever he had in his Starbucks cup. I looked back to Eleanor before he could see I’d been looking at him. He shifted again, clearing his throat.

“Soooo…what are the doctors saying?”

He already knew the answer. I focused on my wedding band and twisted it around the smooth, pale groove that hadn’t seen daylight since Kennedy took office. Our whole life was etched into it: twenty-five years in the Corps, three tours in ‘Nam, the three months I spent in Walter Reed, the births of five children—the death of one… I’d gotten so used to that ring, the only time I noticed it was when I took it off.

“You know, of all the ways I ever thought my marriage would end, I have to admit I never imagined it ending like this.”

I wasn’t sure what I expected him to say, or why I’d even said it. The last thing I expected, though, was nothing. Most times, I couldn’t get that bible-thumper to shut the hell up. He was always riding my ass about needing to quit hanging out with Johnny Walker and the Marlboro Man and get to church. The one time I wanted him to say something, nada. If he’d offered up a token Lord’s Prayer—hell, even a cough or a sniffle or a belch or a fart—it would have been better than listening to that ventilator.

I glared at him. I was hoping the weight of my stare might light a fire under his ass, but he was engrossed in that cup. The old D.I. in me wanted to get right in his beak and bark at him until he cried for his momma like a new boot at Pendleton. Instead, I just watched him bouncing his leg while he fiddled with that cup. He traced the seam with his thumbs and turned it around like he was looking for a way to climb inside it.

I gave Eleanor’s hand a squeeze. Even bony and limp, there was something about having her hand in mine that settled me down. She’d always liked Danny—The Reverend Webber, she called him. Said he was like the son we never had. Every Sunday, she went to church all gussied up like she was meeting the President, but no matter how much she nagged me about it, I never came along. I wasn’t about to let some eight-ball who was still suckin’ his momma’s tit while I was overseas getting my ass shot off tell me what was what. Every once in a while, she’d invite him over for coffee or tea or whatever the hell preachers drink. It’s funny; I can still see her glaring at me over the brim of her glasses while she sat on the couch thumbing through the IGA ad.

“Honestly, William, would it kill you to sit in the same room with him and carry on a civil conversation?”

Might not kill me, I remember thinking. Every time he showed up, though, I’ll be damned if that lawnmower didn’t suddenly need its carburetor rebuilt. One day he tried to buddy up to me. Asked if I needed help. I should have just kept my mouth shut, but my give-a-fuck-inator fell off three beers back. I don’t even remember what I said, but Eleanor heard it. Sometimes on rainy days, I can still feel her boot up my ass.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “If there’s anything I can do…”

My fingers balled. My jaw tightened. Who the hell did he think he was, acting like I needed pity? I swear, if he would have looked at me just then, he’d have pissed himself. Then I looked back at Eleanor and decided it would be unbecoming to deck him in front of her. Snot-nosed kid or not, she liked him.

“God, I need a smoke.”

I looked away. Before long, I found myself fixated on the clock—twenty-fifty-three. It’s funny how time seems to move faster the older you get. Seems like it was just weeks ago that Amy and her husband flew out with the grandkids. Now that I think about it, though—the fireworks, the parade, little Billy with that fishing pole twice as big as him—I guess it was actually months. Now it was different. Now I felt every cold, sharp second slipping through my fingers, and the harder I tried to hang on, the deeper they cut. Maybe it was the universe’s way of telling me it was time to let go. Yeah, well maybe the universe needed to go fuck itself. My eyes drifted to Eleanor’s hand. Her nail polish had started to flake. She’d have hated that.

“How did you think it was going to end?”


“Your marriage. How did you think it would end?”

I rested her hand back on her belly, promising her under my breath I wouldn’t knock him out. When I finally made myself focus on him, I was surprised to see him still in his chair. He was braver than I thought—or stupider. He took another sip and sat there staring at me like he was trying to shrink my head.

“What the hell kind of question is that?” I felt the veins in my neck. I don’t know whether it was nicotine shakes or me getting mad, but my hands trembled. I swear to God, unconscious or not, the boy had Eleanor to thank for his safety. I relaxed my fists and took a long breath to ratchet down the urge to drill him in the running lights. I watched Danny’s eyes dart to my hands. I hoped he would take the hint and back off. Instead, he leaned forward and squared off with me, resting his forearms on his thighs and clasping his hands.

“I don’t know.” He stammered. “You said this was the last way you thought your marriage would end. Were there other possibilities you thought were likely?”

He knew he was poking a hornet’s nest. To this day, I have no idea why I felt like I owed him any explanation at all, but there was something about the way he kept looking at me—into me, really—that I just couldn’t shake. I kept glaring, hoping he’d lose his nerve. A dozen answers ran through my head. He just stayed quiet like he was watching for a tell. Much as I hated to admit it, he was right.

“Doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t understand.”

He crossed his ankle over his knee again, swirling his cup.

“Try me.”

“Yeah. O-kay.” I headed toward the door. “I’m going for a smoke before I… never mind.”

I don’t know whether it was a whole lot of brave or a whole lot of stupid that got into that kid’s head, but he stood between me and the doorway. My jaw clenched. “I’m gonna tell you one time, son. I’m a whole ton of pissed off, so if you like your face—”

“I know it’s not easy to lose someone you care about.”

I felt my nose get hot. My chin quivered. Bile crept from under my tongue. My heart pounded so hard I thought my chest was going to blow like a Claymore. I could feel it coming. Worse, Eleanor was going to see it. If Danny hadn’t been standing in my way just then, I’d have just had my smoke and came back after I’d settled down.

But the son of a bitch was in my way.

I’m not proud of what happened next. It was like I was watching it happen from the outside, all distant and hazy. When everything came back into focus, I had Danny against the wall, my forearm against his throat. His cup spilled by the door. Light tan drips spattered everywhere. I felt his Adam’s apple move. I hadn’t seen terror like that since Khe Sahn.

I heard Eleanor explode. “William Archibald Stevens, you let go of him!” I whipped my head around, expecting to see her scowling and wagging her finger. She was still laying there, her chest rising and falling from the ventilator forcing her body to live. I backed away. Danny stepped away from the wall. He tugged at his collar. How the hell had we gotten here?

I crushed my eyelids shut and hung my head. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I don’t know what to say.” I wiped at my tears. More than ever, I wanted to go crawl under a rock.

“I get it.”

My eyes blew open and burned holes in him. “Do you?”

“Yes. I do.”

“I’ve been married to that woman longer than you’ve been sucking oxygen, son.” I glanced at his hand and lowered my voice to a whisper. “I don’t see any ring on your finger, so you’d best shut your fuckin’ mouth about shit you don’t understand.”

I’m not sure whether it was his silence or the sound of the ventilator, but whatever it was, I couldn’t take it. His eyes were glistening. His jaw was quivering. He looked like he was about to scream or cry or both. He shifted his jaw, grinding his teeth like he was chewing on what he was about to say. Maybe wondering if it was worth pissing me off again. He squared his shoulders and took another step toward me. When his eyes locked on mine, I saw blue-gray steel looking back. Something gripped my insides. I don’t know why, but I felt the need to stand up a little straighter.

I think that was the first time I ever really saw Danny Webber. The man in front of me had been to hell and back—it was goddamned eerie. When he spoke, his voice sounded like rocks scraping together.

“Her name was Sarah.”

My eyes must have been the size of hubcaps.

“I… I didn’t— ”

“We married on 17 June 2006. I deployed four months later.”

I felt like he’d just punched me in the gut.

“When I kissed her goodbye…” His voice trembled. “It was the last kiss I ever gave her.”

I dropped into my chair. I felt sick.

“I never knew that, Danny. Any of it.”

He shook his head. “I don’t talk about it. To anybody. It’s a chapter in my life that’s just better off buried.”

The only words I could put together felt stupid when they came out of my mouth: “What happened?”

When he sat back down, I got the sense we were heading into I-could-tell-you-but-then-I’d-have-to-kill-you territory y.

“Outside of my shipmates, only one other person knows what I’m about to tell you.”

He must have seen the question.

“No, Eleanor doesn’t know.”

I wasn’t sure how to take that. Honored that he trusted me? Worried that he was going to tell me some blood-curdling secret? Either way, Danny Webber was not the man I thought he was.

“It was a Tuesday. The Ike was underway in the Persian Gulf, and I was in my stateroom for the night when somebody knocked on the hatch. Spaghetti had ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ playing on this cheesy boom box he’d scrounged.” Danny bent his naked ring finger with his thumb until the knuckle cracked. “Part of my duty as chaplain was notifying sailors of family deaths. I’d done it dozens of times over the years. I figured this was another one.”

I watched his eyes drift and stare into space.

“You know, I’ve had grown men collapse in my arms and cry like babies. I’ve seen them double over and dump their guts, then fall down in their own vomit howling like dying animals.”

He rolled up his sleeve and showed me a lumpy worm of a scar that ran across the meat of his forearm, cutting his clipper ship tattoo clean in half.

“Got this from a gyrene after he found out his wife and baby burned to death in a fire. Eleven stitches. You try to be supportive. You tell them you’re sorry for their loss. You let ‘em hug your neck and cuss you out. You do everything you can to walk them through it, but the whole time, somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re thinking you’re glad it’s them and not you.” He blew out a long, quivering breath. “Drunk driver. They had to use the Jaws of Life to get her out. She was medevacked to Riverside, but…”

“She didn’t make it?”

Hearing my own voice felt like I’d just puked on myself. Danny shook his head. A tear dripped down his cheek. He was rocking slowly, rubbing his palms on his thighs. A couple times, I thought he might say something more. He glanced at the mess I’d made, and finally, he blew out a sharp sigh and stood. He yanked a fistful of paper towels out of the wall dispenser and wiped up the spattered coffee. Every once in a while, he looked in my direction, bit his lip, shook his head and went back to wiping. I got the feeling he was arguing with himself. Maybe he was regretting telling me.

I leaned forward. “Something’s on your mind, son. Best way to cure a sick belly is to just puke and get it over with.”

Danny looked at me with an expression that said he just might. He stopped wiping and stuffed the soggy towels into the cup. He stood, leaned against the wall and kneaded at his temples.

“I wasn’t going to come up here tonight. We haven’t exactly seen eye to eye over the years. The fact of the matter is…” His gaze retreated into the ceiling and hung there. When he found me again, his shoulders bobbed in a half-hearted chuckle. “The fact of the matter is you scare the hell out of me sometimes.”

I had to look away for a second. “What changed your mind?” When he didn’t answer, I came back to him. I could see his gears turning.

“God, Bill. God changed my mind.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I’m serious. All night I wrestled with this, and I don’t think I slept more than a couple hours. And all day today, too. I’ve been sitting here ever since I came trying to figure out how to do this.”

“Do what? Last rites? Why would you think I’d have a problem with that? Just do it.”

“I am. I mean, I will. But that’s not what I’m talking about,” he said, nodding at Eleanor. When he looked at me again, it was more like he was looking straight through me. A warm shiver ran down my back. “I’m here for you, Bill.”

My heart pounded in my ears. I grabbed at my chest and crumpled my shirt in my fist. Did he know something I didn’t? I remembered old Fred G. Sanford: “Oh, this is the big one! You hear that, Elizabeth?! I’m coming to join you, honey!” Maybe he was the Grim Reaper, after all.

“I mean God has a message he wants me to give you.”

So that’s what this was all about. Corner the grumpy old bastard when he’s down and confront him with the error of his ways. Drag his ass kicking and screaming onto the straight and narrow whether he likes it or not. I’d heard all I was willing to. I pointed toward the door. “It’s time for you to go, preacher. I don’t care to hear anything he has to say to me.” I jabbed my finger at the ceiling. “If he’s so concerned about me, then why the hell is my Eleanor laying there? Why is my baby girl buried? Why?! Huh? WHY?! You answer me that, and maybe we can talk. Until then, get the fuck out.”

Danny stepped toward me like he was ready to fight. I was ready to oblige.

“Not until I do what I came to do.”

I planted my feet, set my jaw and coiled my fist into a sledgehammer. He stepped into me and gave me a stiff shake. His voice was almost coming apart.

“Bill, this is what God wants to tell you.”

He threw his arms around me and pulled me into a bear hug. I felt swallowed in his arms, just like when my dad—God rest him—hugged me when I was a kid. He buried his face in my neck. He started bawling so hard I thought he might throw up. I gave in. I wrapped my arms around him, too. Something broke. I can’t explain it. My bottom lip trembled. My chest heaved. I fought against the break I felt coming, but everything in me gave way and I collapsed.

It was like stepping out of the cold shadows and into the sun on a fall day. I felt warm. Clean. Kind of like you’ve been working your whole life and nobody ever noticed before, and then the President shows up and you’re the only guy in the world that matters.

He placed his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “Listen to me, Bill. There is a whole lot of stuff in this world that God isn’t happy about. Rain falls on everybody.”

He must have seen my confusion. “What I mean is bad things happen.” He gestured toward Eleanor. “And sometimes they happen to good people. I don’t know why. I don’t know that anybody does.”

I wiped my face on my sleeve.

“What is that supposed to do for me?”

Danny stuffed his hands into his pockets. He wandered to the window and looked into the night. “If you had the answer, what would that do for you? What would it change?”

I rolled his question around, looking for some angle I could argue. “Nothing,” I admitted. “But maybe I’d feel more at peace.”

He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Bill, you don’t need answers to pointless questions to find peace.”


He turned around and smiled. “God just told you everything you need to know.”

I looked up at the ceiling and sniffled back my tears. “If you really needed to rattle my cage, did it have to be a fuckin’ Navy man?”

Danny smirked. “You do realize that the Marines are a department of the navy.”

I nodded. “The men’s department.” Ω

Christopher Williams

The Sense of Me

The plastic squelched in his hand, dribbling a bead of cool water down a line of bruises. A layer of the ice gave way and settled over his hand as he leaned back in the cheap plastic of his seat. The freezing sensation over his left fist was almost as painful as the black and blue knuckles. He moved the ice cubes around, needing to understand that it had really happened. He recalled the shrill ring of the afternoon bell and a stampede of students out into the main commons. He’d been jumped while cutting class and suddenly had an audience of over three hundred faces as he took a swing at the other person. He let himself get boxed in as the crowed ringed around them both. He had no choice but to keep swinging. An ache in his back brought him to the back to the present. That’s right. Campus security had broken up the tussle and he’d been wrestled to the floor, the knee of a 195-pound officer jammed into his back to keep the peace.

Sore ribs and bruised knuckles would be the least of his problems with the way the principal’s secretary glanced at him. He was sure she was typing the immediate incident report for Principal Wells. Every click of the keyboard in the quiet office was surely dredging up the dark secrets of his so called permanent record. He shifted in his seat again, crossing and uncrossing his legs. He sunk a little lower when the secretary, an older woman with pinched lips and eyes the same color of stale coffee, scooted back from her desk. The wheels of her chair snagged on the speckled carpet as she slid back to a row of filing cabinets. Fake nails fished through a manila maze until she freed her prize. The folder was thin, but sticky-noted to high heaven. It had to be his rap sheet. He half expected her to start reading it aloud to him. First name: Caleb, Last name: Evans, Age: 15; every single scrap of information one would expect in a school file. “If only they could see him now,” he fully expected her to say.

She didn’t read it out loud though. She flipped it open instead and kept typing on her desktop. Caleb huffed out a breath, not sure if he should feel relieved or annoyed she didn’t say anything. There were just two doors to the office he sat in, both opposite his peripherals. The door to the main commons was always propped open by the same heap of plastic lining the walls where he sat. The angle was just perfect so that nearly every student that passed by would see who was next on the chopping block. The ice pack sagged in his lap, surely melting with how long the door to the principal’s actual office had been closed. It was quiet enough with the afternoon rush of students going home now long over. Definitely quiet enough to hear the muffled and irate voice from the mother of the teenager Caleb had fought. Her voice rose in pitch, but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. Another storm of words cracked the door to the office and the distraught woman wasn’t far behind. Caleb sucked in a breath, spreading a hand across his face in a vain attempt to hide.

“You!” she exclaimed, pointing a finger as her purse nearly slid from her shoulder. “If you ever come near my son again, I’ll have you arrested.”

“Ms. Powell, the situation is being handled with the upmost care. I can promise you that, but I do not need you harassing and making things worse,” Principal Wells intervened, slipping between Caleb and woman who’d gone red in the face.

“He attacked my boy in front of the entire school and I’m harassing him?”

“The fight is over now, and I’d like to keep the peace. I can assure you the consequences will not be light. Violence on my campus will not be tolerated.”

Caleb kept his eyes fixed to the floor, knowing that at least three sets of eyes were boring into him. The condolences the principal offered made Caleb’s face heat up in anger. Not a single word came to his defense as the woman continued to wave threats. One voice was silent in the aftermath of the fight and Caleb couldn’t bring himself to look up. A burning seemed to crawl up his throat, and his hand twitched out of reflex to the lining in his jacket. The material was frayed enough to create a faux pocket, and it was brilliant for smuggling his cell phone and food into class. He could feel the outline of a box about as large as his palm tucked away in the fabric. The urge was aggravating, but Caleb tugged his hand away. No need to add wood to his pyre just yet. Hugging arms to his chest, he tried to let his face go blank, but the nagging urge in his brain coupled with the hard stare of his older brother made his skin crawl.

He felt crowded suddenly with the principal and the woman standing just beyond him. His brother was stuck in the doorway and couldn’t reach out when Caleb stood abruptly. It clacked the plastic chair against drywall, enough of an alarm to deafen the entire verbal battle. Rubbing at his throat, he let the ice pack pool into the dip in his seat. He scraped up his backpack in one fluid motion and fled out the door, baffling everyone in the room. He walked like the world was on fire for the front exit, but opted to detour instead. He wouldn’t let them find him, not until he had himself sorted. The back hallways of his school were all cement and linoleum, multiple passages leading to the locker rooms and the kitchens. He fumbled in the dim light, shaking out the pack of cigarettes from his jacket. He clenched one between his lips, snapping off a match as he walked.

Caleb stood just before a set of double doors leading out to the football field. A curl of smoke wafted upwards as he took a long and slow drag on his cigarette. The sensation tickled his throat until he exhaled. He liked to think of the smoke as a curtain, something to pull in front of the world so he could focus. Another drag had his shaken nerves finally taking a breath. He leaned against the door, closing his eyes for just a moment to think. A slight breeze whistled through the gap in the doors, whispering of the waning afternoon and last trails of day. Caleb figured he should just walk home and spare Parker the embarrassment of having to haul him out the front door. He frowned, pulling the cigarette to his lips again. Parker had stared at him in such disappointment. Caleb inhaled once more in the vain hope to wash the sensation away.

A sudden flare of light in the dim hall was almost blinding, Caleb dropping the cigarette in surprise as his hands flew up to block out the steady beam. It jerked as heavy footfalls descended upon him and a sick feeling grappled in his stomach. A gruff hand, campus security issue, wrapped around his upper arm and pulled him from the doors. The curtain of smoke he’d so carefully created was pulled apart like cobweb. Caleb felt the lecture more so than heard it as he was manhandled back down the hall to the main office. He hadn’t made a clean getaway after all when he ran roughshod from the principal and his brother. Finishing a fight and then lighting up in the back halls of Westbank High School, that had to be a new record for him at least. Getting busted for one thing was always worse when he got busted for two. Caleb saw the office coming into view and acted on instinct, digging his heels into the carpet. He could just barely see Parker and Principal Wells talking. The mother of the other teen was gone at least. Their voices got louder and Caleb stopped walking altogether when he caught Parker’s voice interrupting the principal.

“I have to go after him,” his older brother gestured, sound almost a little erratic.

“We have things we need to discuss here, Mr. Evans,” the principal returned. “Your brother is in very serious trouble. Fighting on school grounds is not something I can let slide. Especially since it’s his third incident this year.”

“I understand that. I really do, but Caleb’s well-being has to be my top priority right now.”

“Are you even considering what could happen to him now that he’s back in my office? He punched out another student. That is grounds enough for an expulsion.”

“Expulsion? You’re not seriously considering that…”

“I am, Mr. Evans.”

Caleb heard Parker grow silent in his defense, face hidden while his back was turned through the glass. The moment was numbing to Caleb when the security guard finally got him walking again. Forced through the main entrance, the burning need to run had Caleb turning around in the officer’s hands. The guard’s burly stature kept him from slipping back out and he found himself cornered once more. Gripped by the shoulders, he was made to turn around, facing both the principal and his only sibling. A mixture of something appeared in Parker’s eyes, and for a moment he almost looked like their father. A sharp twinge was brought on by the thought and Caleb dropped his head again to hide the burning in his face.

“Is it alright if I take him home now?” Parker spoke up suddenly. “He’s been through a lot today.”

“And what of his actions here?” the principal answered.

“That’s why I’d like to schedule a more formal meeting for us to discuss that. I think we all need to catch our breath.”

“I know you’re no liar, Parker. Considering you were one of my best students, I’ll allow it. I understand that it’s not easy raising a teenager on your own.”

Caleb bit his tongue at the principal’s last remark, knowing he meant nothing by it, but it burned nonetheless. He shook off the guard’s hand, staring back in contempt when Parker collected him instead. He shrugged his backpack on, following after his brother as they headed out for the parking lot. Most of the cars were already gone, save for most in the faculty parking. Guest parking held just a bare minimum of vehicles, including Parker’s used pickup. Rusted around the back tire well and dented along the front fender, it had seen Parker through the majority of high school and college. It fit right in now that his older brother was back at home. Shoving his backpack into the floorboards, he pulled himself inside, settling into the cracked leather. He ran his fingers along an edge he always picked at, imagining it like a river he had fished alongside his dad when he was twelve.

The driver side door opened, shaking the cab of the truck when Parker sat back on the edge of the seat. The door hung open, and his legs stretched out on their heels into the parking lot. Caleb knew what his brother was thinking from the way his shoulders sagged to the way he kept running a hand through his hair. Still nothing was said between the two when the truck finally did start and they pulled out onto the main road. The neighborhoods stretched out, houses buried in the long shadows of afternoon. He thought he recognized someone drifting along the sidewalk on a bike, but a blinking turn to the left interrupted his thoughts. A temptation to fill the silence weighed heavily in his thoughts, a hand reaching out to the radio. A sidelong glance from Parker, brows pulled down at his little brother had Caleb retracting his hand almost immediately. That burning need returned full force, reminding him of his remaining cigarettes. He rolled the window down a crack, plucking one from the crumpled cardboard. He didn’t even have time to pull a match free when it was yanked from his mouth.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Parker exclaimed, fist closing and crushing the roll. “And right now of all times? You’ve got balls, Caleb. I’ll give you that.”

“Those aren’t cheap you know,” Caleb muttered, crossing his arms to stare out the window.

“I can’t believe you. Do you even care that you might be expelled?”

“Why should I?”

“You punched another student. You literally beat him.”

He jumped me. It was self-defense!”

Caleb swallowed around the lump in his throat, fists white-knuckled atop his jeans. The quiet rumble of the engine remained the only thing he could focus on when Parker didn’t respond. He looked to the worn door handle, wanting to yank the passenger side open to get away. The moving world around him kept him locked in their suspended moment, and Caleb found himself wishing that Parker would speak up. He wanted to hear yelling, a scolding, or anything, but an uncomfortable silence. Parker did nothing though, just guiding the truck where it had to go to get home. His hair was a mess and a slight shadow sat beneath his eyes. His eyelids drooped before he fluttered them back open, face pinching and concentrating on the road. Caleb vaguely recalled seeing Parker awake, working on his laptop when he’d gone out the night before with some friends. It must have been roughly two, maybe three in the morning.

The truck rumbled to a stop shortly after, finding its home in a short one car driveway. The small two-story house it stretched from was a sun-bleached white with navy blue shutters and black shingles. A pot of flowers sat on the edge of the first step to the front door. His mother always insisted on guests having a little color added to their day when they visited. She always kept it filled with marigolds or mums. The welcome mat was gone, so weather worn that no one could walk over it without tripping up and down the stairs. The grass was getting a little high, sprouting tall in certain patches. Caleb sighed, glancing to the shed in their equally un-mowed backyard. Maybe if he spruced up the yard, Parker could worry less. The truck shut off with a grunt, keys jangling in Parker’s hand. He kept one hand on the wheel, face still turned forward and focused on the chain link fence that ran the span of the property.

“I have to go to class in twenty minutes, and I won’t be home until nine,” he said offhandedly, undoing his seatbelt in the same sentence. “I left enough money on the corner if you want to get takeout from Chen’s. Other than that, stay at home. Please.”

“What about…?”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“I didn’t start that fight.”

“I know.”

Caleb’s head snapped up in surprise, wondering if he’d heard his brother correctly. The disappointment in his eyes was gone, painted over by an expression too old for a twenty-four year-old. He opened his mouth, voice cracking as he tried to find something to say. The words locked in his throat, jumbling into something he couldn’t understand. He managed a nod at least, feeling rotten when he stepped out of the truck. He kept idling though, leaning on the open door wanting to actually say something to Parker. His brother had his head cocked to the side, confused and waiting. Caleb glanced around the truck’s interior to avoid what he was really thinking and mumbled a quiet “be safe” to Parker before letting the door shut. He knew the weight of those words and looked through the glass to the other’s widened eyes. The shock slipped into a knowing smile, Parker nodding without a word to him.

The house was quiet as he kicked his shoes off by the couch. He let his backpack fall next to them and he padded towards the kitchen. A twenty-dollar bill was exactly where Parker said it would be. He shoved it into his pocket, trying to decide what he wanted to do next. The clock on the wall said 3:45 p.m. and Caleb realized just how long he’d been trapped in the principal’s office. He lifted his hand, knuckles black and blue still. He grimaced when he ran a finger over them and decided more ice might be the best idea. Wrapping ice cubes in a rag, he kept it over his hand as he wandered to the second floor. Three bedrooms and a bathroom spread out down the single hallway. Caleb headed straight for his room, keeping his eyes from wandering to the dark brown oak for the very first door on the right. He was rooted though when he noticed its brass knob turned and the door ajar. The crack let a faint ray of sunlight through.

“Mom?” Caleb muttered in a cold sweat.

He reached forward, a tremble to his hand and pushed against the door. The heavy material creaked inwards, letting more sunlight escape. He could only see the closet from his angle and beating tremor made it hard to move around the corner. Caleb exhaled and made himself move forward, eyes starting to sting when he found the room empty. The only bed in the room was made up with a downy soft comforter, pillows fluffed and arranged. The dresser top was empty save for a few photo frames and a closed book. The sight was completely normal to Caleb except for one thing. Sunlight streamed in from the wide bay window, spilling across floorboards. The curtains were drawn aside. They were never drawn aside. Never. Caleb held onto the doorframe, unwilling to disturb the picture when he knew at least Parker had the nerve to.

His shoulders dropped in a shuddering heave when he pried himself from the doorway. His temper flared suddenly and he slammed the door. There was enough force in the slam for Caleb to hear something drop on the other side and shatter. He yanked it back open as quickly as he could, the door pushing pieces of glass and wood. The broken frame was laying facedown when he freed the bent photo from underneath it. The edge was torn and bits of glass still stuck to it from the fall. A familiar sting came to his eyes again as he looked over the picture of his family. He had a copy just like it sitting in an album under his bed. A beach shot of everyone on their last trip up north. He recognized the lakeshore framed in the background. His parents were seated on one of the many benches posted along the shoreline, just before the sand and grass met. Parker stood behind them, looking frazzled after scrambling back to get into the photo before the timer went off. Caleb saw himself as well, sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of his dad’s legs.

Something warm ran down his cheek, startling him from the little piece of time. The photo fluttered from his grasp when he realized what is was. His breath came back to him short and ragged as he backed away. He lingered for a moment, trying to gather himself when he couldn’t take the feeling anymore. It was strangling to be back in that room, to be back in that moment. It was all a reminder, a constant and nagging voice that drove him back downstairs to the front door. He tugged on his shoes haphazardly and pulled his hood up. It was late afternoon at best as he took off across the lawn and across the street. He’d made it a block when he started to run. The afternoon breeze was starting to cool, gathering in the gaps of his hood. Rubber met cement as his feet pounded across blacktop and dirt. His lungs burned and it felt refreshing. He kept pushing himself to run. If he could run faster, maybe he could outrun the things he’d left at the house.

The muscles in his legs ached, carrying him past a car that honked as he ran across its path. He kept running until he couldn’t breathe and kept running past that. He came to a familiar corner and cursed out loud. He didn’t want to be here, anywhere but here. He looked about wildly, chest expanding fast when he tore right and kept running. He staggered as he came to a curb, burning his knee along concrete until he picked himself up to take another step. He managed one more desperate sprint before stumbling over the lip of a slab of sidewalk. He fell face first into the grass and weeds and found he didn’t have the strength to pick himself back up. Everything felt like it was on fire from his legs to his lungs to his eyes. Breathing hard, Caleb slung his arm over his face and bit into the thick sleeve. The sob hurt as it wracked his throat, but he kept his teeth clenched. The tears returned and blurred the paling sky overhead. He rubbed them away, but more fell as he tried to catch his breath. A fast vibration in his pants pocket made him suck in a shaky breath as he fumbled to get it. The phone continued to vibrate until he managed to hit answer.

“Parker?” he croaked, hating the rough pitch in his voice.

“Caleb, where the hell are you? I told you to stay at the house!”

“Y-you’re home?”

“I left my wallet on my nightstand when I had to rush out of bed to get you today. This was my only day off this week from work and then with night classes, I’m running on near empty right now. The least you can do is stay home, so I have one less thing to worry about!”

“I’m sorry…” Caleb hiccuped, trying to muffle the sound with his sleeve.

“Are you…what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Caleb, you’re crying. Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m…I think I’m on Clark Street.”

“Clark Street?” Something like a click of a lock filled the line before Parker continued. “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

“It’s my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s. My. Fault.”

“Stay there.”

The line went silent as Caleb held the phone in the air. He let it slip from his grasp as he cradled his face with both hands. A harder sob worked itself. It felt like a lead weight had settled atop his chest. He could barely breathe and he didn’t know if it was from running or the overwhelming tide he found himself trapped in. His eyes stung as he rubbed at them, but the tears wouldn’t stop. A faint squeal of tires broke his daze for only a moment and he imagined seeing a gray car on the street. It looked like the one his parents drove. The illusion faded when he got to the street corner and his mouth quivered into a hard line. More tears streamed loose and he couldn’t bear to look anymore. Clouds, lazy and large, drifted overhead streaked in pink and orange like the flowers his mother always put on the steps.

The tires he’d overheard weren’t his imagination as the same rusted pickup turned onto his street and stopped at the curb. A heavy creak of metal and a slap of a door had Parker standing in the grass just feet away. Caleb didn’t move, still breathing hard. A thick and slow feeling of shame hit Caleb when his brother closed the gap and he couldn’t stop another sob. He found himself being pulled up by his arms, muscles feeling like jelly and ready to collapse back into the grass. Caleb barely protested when Parked wrapped him in his own arms. The close hug only made the weight on his chest worse and Caleb buried his face into Parker’s shoulder. The tears fell heavy and sluggish. A comforting hand patted his back and he found himself falling back into a pit he’d kept at bay for over a year.

“It’s my fault,” he sobbed, repeating the phrase while Parker held him tight.

“No, it’s not,” Parker protested, staring out across darkening evening.

“It is.”

“It was an accident. It…it can happen to anyone.”

“They were looking for me when it happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“I snuck out. They had to go look for me and now they’re dead!”

“Don’t say that stuff like that, Caleb. Their accident…it wasn’t your fault.”

Caleb didn’t have more to say as his eyes blurred over once again. He sobbed out another apology, gripping at Parker’s sleeve. His whole body shook with the effort it took to cry. Parker sighed, resting his cheek on Caleb’s head and kept a steady gaze upwards to the purpling sky and fading clouds. A hum of energy filled the air, streetlights beginning to waken and disturb the shadows. Evening closed around both the brothers, their own shadows disturbed by the halo of light cast over the rusted truck and concrete road.

Sarah Sullivan


The quick, sudden thing

left without remorse.

It took away the beating,

skipping that my elated heart

favored, and gave me

an ache that elevated—

choked. The dread settled

in, leaving me for dead.

But, the taste it left on my lips;

a sweet cherry recently

stained and harbored.

My tongue wiped the

sweetened stain, and

every day I had to

steal that taste.

Until recently, that sweet

taste became bitter, and I

could no longer savor

my memory.


Danielle Lambert

Empire City

Rising, rising through the Empire City,

 the moon light shimmers

against ninety flights of glowing glass.

On top of the city, the streets bustle with life.

Against the merciless wind,

the iron wrought fence turns crimson

in the breeze.

At touch, the oxidized metal feels calloused

against your hand.

Despite the intoxicating stench

of iron lingering

in the air, 

across the sky, city lights dance

against the starry abyss.

Fiddling with a penny in your hand,

how fast can Abraham fly?

Beneath the empty gaze,

thousands of cars hum

against the beaten path.

Trudging through the light filled city,

normal people resemble ants

through the city that never sleeps.

In the distance,

boats beat against the Atlantic,

bellowing as they navigate

amongst the sea.

Past the ships,

the Brooklyn Bridge yields

to traffic as it comes;

it too, fights the  ocean’s onslaught.

As mesmerizing as the horizon may be,

a whole new world awaits below.

At ground level, the babble

of passing pedestrians fills the air

along with the aroma

of rising dough and freshly brewed coffee

from dimly lit bakeries and coffee shops

advertising the city’s best bread and coffee.

Beyond the pack,

a quiet street gives way to a moon burning

through the placid dusk.

As you peek

up through the crowd,

colossal sky scrapers appear

to peek just into the heavens.

This foreign land, New York City,

a city so great, they named it twice.

New York City,

how will you ever live



Ashley LaClair

The Story of “Le Petit Blanc”

I lived in Gabon, Africa for fifteen years, but I was born in Bucharest, Romania from a Christian-Orthodox Romanian mother and a Shia-Muslim Lebanese father. When I was three years old, my Mom and I moved to Gabon. I stayed there until I graduated from a French high school, and most of my culture there was French. Because France colonized Gabon, most of what I was eating, watching on TV, and learning was French or about France. When I was a kid, I didn’t know anything about the difference between other people and me. I am what is often referred to as the “third race.” I am a multiracial and multicultural person. Because of my vast diversity, I never felt like I belonged to any community.

Early in my childhood, I realized that I was different. When I lived in Gabon, people would not call me by my name. They would usually refer to me as “Le petit blanc,” or “Le petit chinois,” which means the little white boy or the little Chinese boy. It didn’t take long for my physical difference to be the only source of ridicule for my peers. Soon, the way I ate, what I ate, or hobbies I had adopted were also sources of ridicule. Often people would say, “You can’t do that or eat that, you are white!” As I grew older, the names people called me or comments people made toward me became more aggressive. “You better go back to your country, the colonial time is done!” Even younger kids than me used some profane language toward me. Once, when I was playing arcades, a young child shut the game off because I refused to let him have my credit. I couldn’t say or do anything in my defense because they had friends, brothers, and family, but I was alone. When I tried, it didn’t go in my favor.

During my childhood, I thought it is just because most black people didn’t like white people. As I grew and matured, I realized even if I could change the color of my skin, nothing would change. Being different would cause problems anywhere I went. Later I realized this was not unique to black people, but rather humanity as a whole. When I traveled back for the first time to my birth country, I realized that people changed their attitude when they heard my Arabic name. “You are not Romanian?” “Where are you from?” When I would say I am Romanian they would laugh and make jokes about me. I remember when I was in high school French students were making jokes at me through miserable pictures of poor peasants to show how poor and undeveloped Romania was. My experiences confirmed my suspicion that, wherever I go, people have a problem with me.

I have always loved to travel, and I have been lucky enough to visit and live in more than 12 countries. But my travel experiences were always mixed with a bitter taste of racism. In France, I was ridiculed for my Romanian origins. In Romania, I was stereotyped due to my Arabic heritage. In Africa, I was discriminated against because I was thought to be white. It seemed incredibly ironic because all of my years in Africa, people didn’t like me because I was white. When I came to the US, people made me realize that I was not what can be qualified as “white.” Maybe my interests for travel and learning about other cultures was for me the way to find an answer to the question, who am I? But as in most pursuit for knowledge, the more I knew, the more I felt even more lost and lonely.

I am today a product of my experiences. While many of my experiences have been tough, I think they have also made me better, if not at least more understanding of others’ miseries. I now see myself as a Westerner without a concrete attachment to any country of my origins or culture, but am very comfortable and attached to the United States and its Constitution. Despite the existing racism in the US, it is the single place in the world where I feel at home. Approximately 98% of the population will never be able to tell me that this land can’t be mine too, because like me they are all from somewhere else. The diversity of this nation has offered me a place that I can call home and where, as time passes, I feel more and more American. I have come to understand I couldn’t relate to anyone until I discovered a home, my home, and realized I was not alone.

Ali Kahil

Lonely Knowing

I believe in the warmth within you.
I watched it light the cold corners of your eyes.
I thought: I could believe anything you’d say if you’d let me.

You mumbled of the swirling suction, which pulled you into that dark place.
Your feelings were a black hole, and you swore you were falling in.
You refused to explain, but I knew what you were feeling.
I felt it, too.
We both feared the same thing.

You loved me for a night, and I knew you wouldn’t remember.
You don’t remember.
We fell asleep sharing a sweet, subtle secret.
When I woke up, I was the only one who knew.


Meaghan Hayman


The monotonous sound of my shoes pounding against the cement reminded me how tired I was. I clicked my volume up two notches to drown the noise out. I had been tired for a long time. I was used to it. The upbeat music pounding into my ears didn’t help like I had hoped. I focused on breathing instead. I reached the end of the paved road and continued on slipping through the gravel filled path. I picked up a warm smoky breeze coming from the campgrounds up ahead. Dane and I used to camp there. It was only two miles down the road but made a nice retreat from home. I would work on setting up our dwarf sized tent while he attempted to start a fire. I don’t think either of us knew what we were doing. The tent was always crooked and our fire would sizzle out after an hour or so. On more than one occasion we just laughed at the mess and drove home. I missed the sound of our individual laughter combined to make one booming sound. We hadn’t been camping much in the past year. A lot had changed. When I realized my lack of sleep had caught up with me, I decided to head home.


I could see the driveway was empty from studying the house from a distance. It made sense when I checked the time on my phone. One advantage to my insomnia was starting my runs before he was awake. Sometimes I would catch him on his way out the door. We would exchange an awkward “Have a good day.” I don’t know if either of us meant it. We pretended a lot. It spanned from our fake greetings to playing nice around his family. Pretending was so exhausting. I was relieved to be avoiding our fake greetings today.

I dropped my sandbag of a body on the couch. I could feel myself being sucked into the throw pillows. I sat there for a while as if I was completely paralyzed. I studied the room. Pictures from our wedding day covered the walls. Two strangers stared back at me. It was hard to believe we were ever that in love. The one next to it show the strangers sharing a passionate kiss at the altar. The last one I stared at for a little longer. I recognized the people in it. It hadn’t been as long since I had seen them. Dane’s family was the only family I knew now.  With both of my parents gone and no siblings it was hard to even say I had a family. I think that’s why the pretending was worth it. I loved them like my own and I didn’t want to leave them either. I sat there for a while longer until I realized I had sweat drying on my body. I looked down at my sorry-looking shoes and untied them carefully. I was happy they had made it through another run. I thought about getting new ones a while ago. They really were on their last life. I didn’t like the thought of having to settle on new pair. I really liked these. And with new shoes came new blisters. It would be painful to adjust to new shoes. When I realized I wasn’t deciding on shoes I picked them up and threw them in the closet.

I battled the stairway to get the shower started. I turned the knob to the hottest temperature possible then adjusted it so I wouldn’t scald myself. I pulled my shirt over my head along with my sports bra. I started a pile on the floor. I added my running shorts and socks to it and stared at myself in the mirror. I noticed the black and blue marks fading to an ugly brownish color. I was happy to see them healing with the cuts above my right eye. I stared at my skeleton figure in the mirror for a while. I pushed my stomach out as far as possible while I held my breath. I tried to remember what my stomach looked like rounded again. After the last miscarriage, we decided to take a break. The break had lasted a while now and I wasn’t sure it was a break anymore. I used to pray to God for a miracle but stopped after the last one. I hadn’t talked with God for a while. I didn’t trust him anymore.

Pregnancy had ruined my marriage. The second pregnancy was just filled with anxiety. I began running around that time. When we lost her, my doctor had suggested I do something healthy to take my mind off of the “situation.” I hated how she danced around the word miscarriage. I knew what the fuck it meant. She was right about running, though. It saved my life. I slept an hour or two more every night. I could feel the anxiety fade a little after each run. And I noticed muscle starting to bubble from under my tired skin. I wish the doctor would have had a talk with Dane that day. His resolve to the second loss was more whiskey. I wish I could blame our issues on the whiskey. I often did but always realized it was the man behind the bottle. He would stumble home most nights from the bar. I really couldn’t remember the last time I had a normal sober conversation. When his drinking first started getting worse I tried to help. I would ask him things like, “Why do you need alcohol when you have me to talk to?” He would usually hang his head and say, “Just give me a minute to think.” His minute would turn into what felt like hours. I couldn’t handle the silence so I would keep talking until talking turned into yelling. We would scream at eat other until our voices were gone. Thank goodness our neighbors were half a mile away.

When we realized talking didn’t do us any good we stopped. The house was quiet without all the arguments, but it wasn’t a serene quiet. I think we both knew we were still thinking about what we wanted to say. I don’t know about him, but the thoughts in my head were much louder than any screaming match we had ever been in. I thought of something to say to him every day. I would muster up the courage all day but lose it at first sight of him. How did it get so bad? Why are we still doing this to ourselves? I knew the answers to these questions but didn’t like them. I think I just kept asking myself them to look for a different answer.

When my parents both passed away suddenly they left me everything. I had no siblings and my parents had no one else to care for. Dane knew his homely job as a carpenter wouldn’t pay the bills. I wasn’t happy with our marriage but it was better than coming home to an empty house. With no relatives on speaking terms, children, or even a dog that liked me, what would I do with my life? At least with Dane around I had another warm body in the house with me. I thought about leaving a lot. I would make plans and write them out in a notebook. At one point I had decided to move to Clearwater, Florida. It was about a twenty two hour drive from my freezing Michigan home. I would pack up everything I could and leave. Reality set in quickly. This wasn’t a Hallmark movie. I couldn’t just pack up my Jeep and drive thousands of miles with no place to live. I ended up using the notebook to kill a man-eating spider one night and threw it in the garbage with the corpse. I realized I was still standing in the bathroom bearing all that I had to show. I carefully stepped into the shower.


I grabbed the pile of pizza menus that delivered to our lonely home. Cooking wasn’t on my list of things to do tonight. I knew Dane would eat whatever leftovers in the fridge. I guess that was the one good thing about his habits. My eyes grazed over the options. I was starving as usual but nothing sounded like it would cure my hunger. I was crazy for pizza with my last pregnancy. I would have Dane order three medium pizzas for the two of us and finish them all by the next day. I had a little hope for the last pregnancy. I was feeling much healthier, and something was different this time. It was like my body finally agreed to help me out for once. I still wonder what we would have named it. We never even got to find out if it was a boy or a girl. I had names picked out for both.

My deep thoughts with the pizza menu were interrupted by the front door. I heard the key attempting to make it into the lock. Then I listened to a few angry grunts. I decided to help the shithead. I took my time walking to the door though. When I finally opened it I saw a tired- looking man. His blond hair was twisted every which way but you could still see the line from his hat. His broad shoulders were hunched over as if he had just been punched in the stomach. He had obviously stopped by the bar after work. His dusty work boots matched his filthy outfit. He looked at me with his baby blue eyes. They had changed a lot since we had met. They no longer made me smile when I looked at them. These days they were bloodshot and darting around the room as if they had never seen the house before. After the giant stumbled past me I looked out the door to see if his car had made it hone too. It did. You would think he would learn from his mistakes.

I dialed the number for Marco’s Pizza and put in my usual order. “That will be about an hour, ma’am. Is that alright?” Is that alright? No, but it was a done deal now. “Sure,” I responded and hung up. Heavy footsteps were pounding through the house. What the hell was he doing? I decided to check the situation out.

I found him butt naked trying to pick up his t-shirt at the wrong moment. I turned away until I was sure he was upright. When I looked back at him I met his stare with rosy cheeks. “Sorry,” he slurred. “I was just looking for some clean clothes.” I let him know I had left a pile of them on top of the washer. He stumbled into the laundry room. I decided to turn on the TV and wait for dinner to arrive. I had hoped he wouldn’t join me. I couldn’t handle his inebriated presence tonight. I thought about the car again when I passed by the window. Chills ran through my body. His brand new F150 wasn’t a purchase we planned on making. His last truck didn’t make it through the accident. I suddenly felt hot as I thought about what else we lost that day.


My body was keeping up with the last pregnancy. I had complications but not like before. I was on bedrest so I sat home most nights reading various books about how to raise a healthy baby. Dane and I were also doing well. He decided that he wanted to take me out to dinner with the doctor’s permission. We called the doctor and she gave us a time limit of an hour. I attempted to make myself presentable while Dane called in reservations to our favorite restaurant. I could tell he had been drinking but he still seemed to be functioning normally. I let him drive since he insisted I was in no condition.  I should have told him the same thing.

The next thing I remember is the truck spinning and rolling into one of the deepest ditches on our road. They blamed the icy road in the police report, but we know there were other factors involved. When they pulled my body out of the ditch, my skin had a pale blue tint to it. I lost consciousness a lot so I don’t remember much until I woke up in the hospital bed. Dane was sleeping in a chair next to me. His wrist was wrapped and his bruised skin matched mine now that I was looking at it. I looked around the room and back at my limp body. I could tell something was terribly wrong just from looking at my torso. Dane jumped up as soon as he realized I was awake, too. His tearstained cheeks confirmed my suspicions. I didn’t cry when the doctor repeated the news everyone had already heard. I just sat there and stared at the ceiling. I didn’t think. I just stared at the creamy orange-colored paint. I remember not feeling the pain even when they took me off the morphine. I just felt numb. There was nothing I could do. We had lost our last baby.

The doorbell threw me off the couch as if there were springs in my ass. I grabbed my wallet out of the kitchen and gave the zit-faced kid a twenty and told him to keep the change. Dane suddenly appeared in the room. The smell of pizza must have made its way to wherever he had been. I didn’t want to look at him tonight. How could he drive drunk again after what happened? I called him every name I could think of without actually saying them out loud. He looked at me with a twisted face and dropped the pizza. “Who the hell puts pineapple on a pizza?” I would normally ignore his inebriated talk but I had too much on my mind today to hold another thing in. “It’s called a Hawaiian. Most people don’t complain about pizza they didn’t buy.”

“Really? You’re going to lay that shit on me again?”

“You asked…”

“If you‘re so unhappy, why don’t you take your trust fund and leave me the hell alone?”

I thought about it for a minute. Agreeing is what he wanted right now. I decided to change the subject and talk about what I really wanted to know.

“Why are you driving drunk, Dane? Didn’t you learn when you killed…”

I stopped because if I finished that sentence, it would hurt him more than me. I didn’t really like him right now, but no one deserved that. I didn’t have to finish my sentence though. The damage was done. He punched the wall on the way out of the room. Shit. I was going to have to fix this. I didn’t want to apologize but he was out of whiskey. Nothing good happened when the bottle was empty. I followed him into the next room. His head was between his knees.

I sat there staring at him. I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. Why could I defend pineapple on pizza but I couldn’t talk about our failing marriage? I seriously needed to visit that therapist. When he noticed me standing there he scoffed and slurred out, “I don’t know what you want me to do. If you hate me, why don’t you just leave? Why do you stick around this dump? Why do you sit with garbage like me?” I thought about answers to all the questions he repetitively kept asking. I didn’t really know the answer besides being lonely scared the hell out of me. I interrupted his quizzing with, “Where would I go? You’re the only family I have.” I could tell he was stumped now. We both sat in silence. The escalated anxiety was sitting around the room with us. I was done talking until he decided to answer me. Maybe he knew the answer to the question I had been asking myself for a long time now. I would like to hear his opinion. His answer was laughter. Laughter! What the fuck was so funny? I repeated my question out loud.

“You would have no one to live with and I would have nowhere to live. I can’t afford this shitty house on my own.”

I still didn’t find it funny but answered with, “Well I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

He replied, “Why don’t you get a dog? That might be better company than a drunk.” He went into a fit of laughter. I’m pretty sure the alcohol was slowly melting his brain into nothing. I started thinking about that notebook again and my dream home on the Florida coast.

“Where would you go if I left with my ‘trust fund?’”

“I don’t know. I’d probably stay with Ma and Roger until I got myself a place.”

He got up and slowly made his way up the steps. Before he walked upstairs, he turned around and said, “Meg, you got to do something with yourself. We ain’t no good for each other. Hangin’ round here is only making the past hurt more.” He made his way to the second floor and I listened as his footsteps pounded into the bedroom before I started crying.

The emotion felt good. It was as if a balloon had popped inside of me. I felt all the sadness from the loss of our children but the happiness of knowing there could be a future. How could my husband, the drunk, figure that out but not me? When I was through with my concoction of emotions I decided the couch was more of a bed tonight than sharing one with Dane. I snuck into the dark room filled with snoring and grabbed my pajamas and my favorite pillow. I shoved the full pizza boxes into the empty fridge. I watched reruns of Friends until I felt the warmth of sleep take over my tired body.

That night I dreamt about running through the sand. The feeling of the grains filling in between my toes each time I took a step felt so real. The sun shined on the back of my neck. I stopped to take a break from the heat under a small wooden bridge. The salty air filled my nostrils and I sat there listening to the waves move in and out. When I felt cooled enough, I ran back the same direction. I knew where I was going. A small blue beach house waited at the end of a narrow road. The backyard was replaced with sandy shores leading into the bright blue water I had ran next to earlier that day. I made my way up the steps to the screen door. A medium sized black Labrador greeted me with licking the salty perspiration off my body. I laughed as the grainy tongue tickled my skin. I decided to thank him by sitting on the tile cold tile floor. I scratched behind his ears and all the way back to the dock of his tail. His little body squirmed all around as I made my way back to his ears. I heard a door shut from behind me and looked around the house. Panic overturned my happiness. There was no other door shut besides the one behind me. I thought maybe my panicked state pulled me out of my dream, but I realized it was our front door being closed behind Dane.


I listened as the truck door shut behind him and started the engine start up. He took his time backing out of the long driveway. Little rocks popped under the large tires. The dream felt so real and I tried to close my eyes and get back to my new friend. I gave up after a few minutes of tossing and turning. I sat up and thought about how refreshed I was. I had gotten my first full night’s sleep in over a year. I couldn’t give the couch credit though. Last night had changed something.

I hobbled up the steps. I was only half awake but already in a better mood thanks to my dream. I pulled out a fresh pair of shorts. I put on the clean sport bra and an old t-shirt I had gotten from Mackinaw Island on our honeymoon. I made my way to the dark closet at the bottom of the steps.

I pulled my sad looking shoes back on my feet. I tied them very carefully and thought about this being their last run.  The fading colors from what used to be a bright pink with green stripes were now some sort of odd gray. I stared at them a little longer and thought about how I really didn’t even recognize them. It was almost like they were completely different shoes. They were filled with little rips in the mesh. The bottom of the left one was peeling off the main part of the shoe. I prayed they’d hold up for their last run. I decided I was ready for a new pair.

My feet tapped against the pavement in a different way today.  Each one was filled with springy energy. I decided to take a new path today. I wanted to get to know the neighborhood a little better.

Lauren Hamel