TED Talks and Why Life Is Great

Yesterday I was battling with a small bout of depression. I’m not clinical or anything. I don’t want anyone to think that I’m this deep artist battling crippling depression and overcoming through creativity. I’m a normal person who sometimes gets a little depressed. Anyway, yesterday was not my best day ever. I got a little cold from my lovely wife, who got it from one of her lovely fourth grade students. I woke up alone at about noon and sat around the house until 3:30 when I went to visit Megan at school before going to my job at 4:30. I was on my swing shift (working until midnight) when I found out that I’d be working today at 7:30am and not getting another day off until Sunday. Suffice it to say, it was not a perfect day. (huh, I rhymed. My poetic skills are blossoming.)

As I was moping around an empty office building(work) and feeling a little sorry about my life right now, I started looking on all my phone apps to alleviate some boredom. A while ago I downloaded the app for TED talks, but haven’t really used it before. Last night, I discovered that the app has a feature that will just play the audio from random talks as long as I let it. TED talks are wonderful because no matter the subject they are always inspiring. I slowly came out of my depressive funk thanks to the wonderful speakers who spoke of a brighter future and reminded me that I’m lucky to live in a world and nation enjoying more prosperity than any other world and nation at any time in the history of humanity.

One talk in particular stuck with me. Probably because I didn’t finish listening to it until my drive to work this morning, which just so happened to coincide with my cold medicine, sleep deprivation and caffeine buzz. This talk, by one Dan Buettner, explored the issue of longevity and examined some cultures of the longest lived peoples on the planet. It’s a wonderful talk, and I highly recommend you listen to it.

One of the major lifestyle components of centenarians is having a purpose in life, or as Dan puts it, “a reason for getting up in the morning.” I know beyond certainty what I want to do in my life, not just as a career, but a lifestyle. That’s why I do this blog, and contrary to what the gap in posts make it seem, I actually do write quite often. It’s a wonderful thing which I’ve explored in another post. This is my reason for getting up in the morning. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. Couple that with my amazing wife, family and friends, and I’m really amazed I could ever feel the slightest bit depressed. Thanks to all of you who make my life awesome. I owe you.

Rights of Man

Here's a story I decided to write to break up my work on a much more serious project. The ending may leave something to be desired, and I may expand it later, but for now I consider it finished. Draw what conclusions you may. I hope you enjoy it.

Rights of Man

The sun shone brightly through cracks between tall buildings as a town car made its way through the city. It wasn’t a particularly noticeable vehicle. It was hardly the only gentleman’s wagon on the street, but it was clean and respectable, with no scratches or blemishes and the green paint on the body dark enough to be almost black was waxed and polished to a respectable shine.  The man inside matched the car perfectly. The consummate gentleman, he wore a respectable suit with a plain, clean tie of modest design bearing the family colors; green for the eyes and red for the hair. He kept his dark, rusty brown hair long enough to toy with if the occasion called for it, but short enough to be manageable. Today it hung loose except for two braids over his forehead to match the braids of his moustache. A cane of dark rosewood lay on the seat next to him, and his gloved hands lay clasped in his lap. Today was a special day for Herr Schraubenzieher. Months of planning and negotiations were coming to a head today. He was nervous about the meeting. It was an uncomfortable feeling and one he wasn’t familiar with. He’d been to many many business meetings before, and each was the same as the next, but today was different. It felt like his first time. Butterflies churned in his stomach, his breath was short and small beads of perspiration broke on his forehead. For all that, he kept his features smooth. It wouldn’t do to show weakness today.

The town car stopped in front of a café on 7^th Street. The street of the Gods, they called it, though nobody understood why. Stories abounded verifying some reason or other why the street deserved the name. In Herr Jacob Schraubenzieher’s mind the street bore the name because of the attention the city’s industry captains lavished upon it. There were no businesses, in the pure sense of the word, on 7^th. It was made up entirely of entertainments: restaurants, cafés, parks, sport halls and other establishments providing physical recreation. There was a minor temple in the middle of the street which all the captains blessed when they passed it, but that was just good business. It wouldn’t do to be seen not respecting the traditions, even if the gods themselves were no longer bound to humanity. Even so, Jacob whispered a quiet prayer as he entered the café.

Immediately upon entering Jacob was greeted by Lawrence, the café’s owner. After exchanging pleasantries, Lawrence led Jacob to the back of the establishment. This was highly irregular. It was customary for captains to meet in the sunlight near the broad windows which decorated the front of every business along the street of the Gods. After all, there was an image to be maintained. Jacob would have been incredibly insulted had he not seen his associate already seated. Evidently, she had asked for privacy. That or Lawrence was retiring from the life business, but either way it was Alicia’s responsibility to deal with any perceived slight. Jacob eyed her as they walked to the table. Alicia was a pretty woman, not beautiful, but pleasantly attractive for a woman in her late forties with long honey colored hair and striking eyes. Her eyes were the first thing people noticed about her, not because of their color a dull green, but because of their intensity. One look at Alicia’s eyes and anybody worth their salt knew they were not dealing with an average woman, even for the nobility. She was clever and ruthless, and she reportedly took great pleasure in manipulating those who were supposed to be her betters. Jacob had avoided business with her for just such reasons, but in her line of work she was absolutely the best, and he needed the best.

Arriving at the table, Jacob thanked Lawrence for his service and gave him a generous tip before seating himself and propping his cane on his leg. He and Alicia refrained from speaking until their cakes and coffee arrived. The server wouldn’t come back unless they called. This was why they had chosen the Café de Lune; the staff understood propriety. Once they had tested the coffee, perfect as always, and each taken a bite or two of cake the meeting officially began.

“So,” Alicia’s voice came out smooth and confident, “I understand you have a proposal for me.”

“Indeed Madame. I believe you understand the basic terms of the deal. Am I correct?”

“Yes, but I am told you want something special. Special orders always contain inconsistencies with the paperwork. I’d like to hear straight from your mouth exactly what you want.”

“Green eyes. I need green eyes to match the family, and she needs to be well bred.”

“Green eyes I have aplenty, but define for me ‘well bred.’”

“Oh, you know. Finest stock. First class. Proper training. All that.”

Alicia shook her head slightly and fixed Jacob with her intense gaze. “Herr Schraubenzieher, I am a very busy woman, so I will only say this once. When I say I want to hear exactly what you want, I mean exactly. No games. No suppositions. I don’t know what your twisted little mind considers proper training. Do you want a musician? Bodyguard? Dancer? Lover? Daughter? All of the above? These things matter in selection. So I will ask you one more time, what exactly what do you want?”

Jacob felt the sweat bead on his forehead and his voice shook as he answered. “I want a male. Solidly muscled, but still able to properly wear a suit. He should have green eyes, as I stated, and a full head of hair. He should dislike onions. I want him to dance adequately, not well. He should be able to glare menacingly, but I want no combat experience. He is to be an ornament, not a thug. He must be ugly for a noble, but not look like a peasant. I wish to pass him off as family, but not close family. He should not embarrass me, but neither need he impress. If you can fulfill these conditions I am willing to offer you one hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”

“Pounds of what?”

“I would not like to say out loud. I understood you read the proposal?”

“Oh I am aware of your documents, but as you well know writing is fluid. I want assurance. I need to hear it from your mouth with your word attached to it.”

Jacob gulped nervously. He had hoped he wouldn’t have to give such assurances. Not that he was a liar, even on paper, but still once a word was given it couldn’t be rescinded for anything. He had never given his in public. Too much chance of someone overhearing. Still, if she could provide, he would pay the price, but not without assurances of his own. “Very well Madame Bartlett. I will give my word, but before I do, I wish to hear from your mouth that you can provide what I need.”

“Ha. You wish a word from me in return? Do you take me for a fool? I will not be so easily manipulated, my dear, sweet man. I am sorry, but you must try harder than that.”

“I believe, Madame,” Jacob said stiffly, “that your cleverness is leading you to gold. Shiny and smart, but ultimately worthless.” Alicia recoiled at the insult. Good, that should teach her. “If you had listened carefully, you would have noted that I did not ask for your word. I simply wished an assurance from your own mouth.”

“Very, very clever Herr Schraubenzieher. I see now why your family elected you Captain. Very well, you have my assurance. I tell you with my own mouth: I will provide for you exactly as you desire, and I will be held to the Laws of Confirmation in this matter.”

“Very good. Now then, I propose to offer you payment of one hundred thousand pounds of green plants and fifty thousand pounds of eatable meats, from animals of my own making. As assurance and sealant of this bargain I offer you my word: Barnyard. Is it acceptable?”

“A powerful word. You will have what you need Jacob.”

With that Jacob drained his coffee and left the Café, nodding to Lawrence as he passed. He stepped in his town car, and hoped he had made a wise choice. At the table, Alicia smiled.

Revisions Revisions Revisions

Many people who look at this blog (almost all 5 of you!) will have noticed in recent weeks that I've emailed a story around and asked for edits and suggestions. I can now make the educated statement that this is the least fun part of the writing process, as a matter of fact it is downright not fun! On the other hand, it is perhaps the absolute most helpful thing for a writer. I revised my story, and then I revised it again. And then, after careful consideration, I revised more and more things until I came up with a story that I believe is infinitely better. The sad part of all this is for this story to be all it could be, it will need to go through many many more revisions and rewrites. Yet, for now I'm satisfied with where it is. I recently submitted it to a magazine contest in the hopes of winning lots of money and being published. I can't say I'm entirely optimistic about this. I believe it's a good piece of fiction, but as far as success goes I understand it often takes years of hard work, rejection and minor successes, then a giant piece of luck, before one truly "makes" it.

For now, in the spirit of doing things not for fame or fortune or glory but merely for fun and to share the joy of one's own efforts with friends, I present to you my latest draft of When Sarah Smiles.

P.S. I'm not crazy about the title. If anyone has a suggestion on that I'd be happy to hear it.

When Sarah Smiles

Roger sat at his table sipping his champagne and watching, always watching. He watched the servers hurrying back and forth bringing drinks, entrées, salads, and pie and always smiling. Servers only have one emotion, smiling and helpful. They never worry or complain. Customers didn’t like to think about it, but servers are in fact people capable of experiencing the whole myriad of emotional range. They hid it well, but he could see it in them anyway. In those brief moments as they hurried back to the kitchen or turned away from a table, he saw and he knew. Probably they weren’t hiding anything dangerous or unflattering. One young lady was clearly attracted to one of her coworkers, who just as clearly had no idea. Others may have been worried about money, or family. He couldn’t always tell the cause of the pain behind their eyes, but the feeling was always clearly painted on their frames. The diners were no different. Everyone was hiding something. Well, not everyone. The young boy whose heart was being broken by the pretty girl who just wanted a ‘friend’ and a fancy meal wasn’t hiding it well. The girl was. She was exceptionally talented, Roger noted. To any random onlooker she was truly remorseful over the poor boy’s ‘misreading’ of her signals. On the inside though, all the way behind those big, brown eyes, in the furthest reaches of her soul she couldn’t be more pleased. Roger saw it all. It never failed. His lobster arrived. After assuring the young man, who didn’t really care about him, that all was well, he set about cracking the lobster open with real fervor. At Gianni’s they normally did that back in the kitchen, but he always requested the pleasure of performing the task himself. It was the one truly joyful experience in his life. It was the highlight of his first date with Sarah. They had come back here each anniversary and cracking open his lobster reminded him of the most blissful moments of their short marriage.

It ended one day in November. The day began like any other day. Sarah told him goodbye, kissed him, and headed off to work. On her lunch break she and some friends decided to go out. They were driving through an intersection when a Ford Explorer hit some ice and slammed into them. Sarah got the worst of it. She hit her head against the window, got a concussion and passed out. She hadn’t woken since. The doctors offered little hope of a recovery. They said even if she did revive, which was unlikely, she probably would have greatly reduced function, living the rest of her life like a newborn. The doctors said better to let her pass, but Roger couldn’t. He visited the hospital every day, and he still felt the pain of her lies every time he looked at her. He needed to know what she had been keeping from him. Not knowing was the worst part, and now he couldn’t ask her. If he let her go he’d never find the truth.

He came back to Gianni’s this year even though she was gone. He watched the people. He ordered champagne. He cracked his lobster, and the activity hadn’t lost its flavor. Normally, he savored every moment of his meal and ordered a mousse for dessert. Today, though, he finished his lobster and champagne quickly. Today, he needed to be gone. He called the waiter over, placed a quick to-go order, paid his tab quietly and left.

During his musings Roger had noticed a man three tables away. The man’s back was to him, but Roger could tell who he was. It was all there in his false bravado and overly friendly manner. There was always something shifty about Glenn that Roger could never quite pin down. The man was something of an enigma.

When Sarah started working with Glenn she had said very little about his shiftiness to Roger. She went on about how nice he was, and how he was the only one in a company full of arrogant, self-centered jerks who had been courteous enough to welcome her to the office and to offer any help when she was still learning her way around. As time went on she talked about him more and more. He had a wife and three children, two girls and a boy. The youngest was seven. Last summer Glenn invited Sarah and Roger to a BBQ at his house. Heather was a wonderful woman. Roger knew that the first time he saw her. Smart. Dependable. Pretty. Honest, or at least as honest as a pretty woman could be. Glenn, on the other hand, while being every bit the gentlemen Sarah had made him out to be, was just a little too friendly. A little too helpful. A little too happy. And there was that mystery about him. The same type of mystery that surrounded Sarah now. He was hiding something, and he was hiding it well, but Roger could see it lurking there behind that grin. He didn’t like Glenn, and he didn’t want to talk about Sarah. So he paid quietly and worked his way around the edge of the restaurant making sure to avoid Glenn’s eyes.

He walked from the restaurant straight to the hospital. He brought Sarah her favorite dessert, blueberry Tiramisu, and a simple necklace. She would never be able to wear it, or eat the dessert, but it was their anniversary and she deserved something. He skipped the front desk. They were oddly strict, he felt, about enforcing visitors’ hours, but Roger found if he simply walked to his wife’s room and didn’t talk to anybody they just left him alone.

The lights blinked on all the monitors in the room. It was dark except for those lights and a sliver spilling in from the hallway through the almost closed door. She lay unmoving in the bed in the center of the room, surrounded by the machines. The slow, steady sound of her breathing matched the beeping of the heart rate monitor. Roger sat slumped down in one of the chairs against the wall. Despite being cushioned the chair felt hard underneath him. The whole room felt hard. He sat there and listened to his wife’s breathing, which was only interrupted every now and then by a loud beep from one of the life support machines. The room smelled like disinfectant. That was the smell that he associated with his wife now. He used to think of her vanilla body spray and the fragrance of her shampoo, but now it was only lifeless disinfectant.

She looked just as she had for the last four months. Someone had brushed her hair today. They didn’t do that every day. She looked beautiful. Peaceful. Roger got out the necklace and held it up to her across the room.

“Happy Anniversary Honey. I got you something. It’s not much, just a golden chain with a heart charm on it. I even got it engraved, see. It says, ‘When Sarah Smiles The Sun Draws Near, No Matter What I’m Happy You Were Here.’ I know, I know. It’s not like me to get sentimental. I just missed you today. I just want to you to know that whatever was going on with you and Glenn, I still love you.”

He felt the darkness pressing down, and the lights stabbing through, and the silence closing in. He felt it all, and he sat in the chair and slumped down a bit further and waited. He sat there, looking at her and trying to make sense of what he said. It was all true, but it wasn’t like him to say it out loud. He talked to her sometimes, but in the dark and the quiet it seemed almost blasphemous to speak. Instead he sat and stared at her and prayed to the silence. He used to pray to God, but he had given that up early. He asked the silence to end. He asked her to move, to do something.

In the end, he settled for just sitting and feeling lost. It was too fresh today to make sense of. He watched Sarah breathing in and out, in and out, in and out. She looked calm and peaceful. After all this time, even unconscious she was hiding it. It never went away. It was so damn frustrating! How could she be so calm when she was the one with the secret?! What kind of game was she playing?! Did she even care about him?! Of course, she had to care or she wouldn’t have been with him, but how much? Did she care that he was miserable? Did she even know? He tried to keep it hidden, but still there had to be signs. There are always signs! Was he really the only one who could see? She wasn’t blind. She had to see! She had to

“Roger? Roger, hey Roger.”

Roger looked up. A blurry Glenn was standing in the doorway.

“Hey man, how are you holding up?”

There was no answer. Roger couldn’t answer. He tried to say something, but what could he say? He worked his mouth for a minute, but nothing came out. Glenn came and sat down beside him.

“I know. It’s crazy, right. I still don’t really believe it sometimes. I feel like I’ll go to work tomorrow and she’ll be there smiling away. It’s been tough, you know, since the divorce. I knew it was coming, I mean, you know when your marriage isn’t working, don’t you? But even knowing, I wasn’t really prepared. Then, when Heather left me, I just fell apart. I couldn’t work or sleep or anything. And I tried not to show it, for the kids, right, but I was drowning and I was pulling them down with me. I put a face on in public, you know, but Sarah saw right through it. She always saw through it, like she had ESP or something. She helped me out of it, made meals for us. You know she would take my kids to a movie every week! Gave me some time to sort things out. She even introduced me to Cathy. I was going to ask her to be my best man. Now she’s just gone and there’s this huge gap in everything, you know? When someone plays that big a part in your life, and then just leaves how do you keep going? . . . I’m sorry man. I didn’t mean to come here to sob to you. Is there anything you need?”

Roger sat there stunned. Nobody ever just opened up like that. He always had to carefully pry and prod and dig. Like unearthing an extremely fragile skeleton, if the skeleton knew you were there and you couldn’t let it know what you were doing.

“I’m alright.” He got out after a minute. “It’s tough, but I get by. Today was our anniversary.”

“Yeah, I know. I looked for you over at Gianni’s but I guess I missed you. Don’t worry man. I’m not stalking you. Sarah told me you go there on your anniversary. Before the accident she asked me to help her out with something for you. After everything, I just felt like I owed it to her to finish it."

Glenn pulled a small, square package from his coat pocket, about six inches across and two deep. The paper was slightly crumpled from riding in the confined area, but it was obviously professionally gift wrapped. Each corner was perfectly square and an almost perfect bouquet of ribbons adorned the top. The wrapping paper gleamed a little in the light from the monitor, its original golden color transformed into a sickly blue-green. The paper crinkled as Roger accepted it from Glenn. He held it very still for what seemed like ages, too afraid to open it.

Glenn’s voice came out in a croak. “I…um..,” he cleared his throat and spoke again more strongly, “I guess I should get going. Cathy’s waiting.” He stood up and started to leave, then paused just as he got to the door. “Listen, Roger. I know we’ve got our differences, but if you ever want something just call. Okay?” He opened the door slowly, trying to not disturb the stillness in the room, but that only drew the creak out to an embarrassing, long and loud squeal. Roger knew he meant well. Somehow, that only made it more annoying.

He sat there in the hospital room until the nurse came to check on Sarah. The poor fellow didn’t even notice Roger until he was almost finished with his patient. When he finally turned and saw Roger, he jumped half out of his skin and bolted out the door yelling for security. When he returned with two guards the room was empty.

*             *             *

Life went on as usual for Roger. Work. Eat. Work. Hospital. Movie. Drink. Sleep. The little golden package with slightly crumpled corners sat on Sarah’s dresser. Every day he would pick it up, examine it, then place it back where it lay. He wanted desperately to know what was in it, but he couldn’t bring himself to open it. Glenn had said she asked him to help her with it. Glenn. Of all people. Did it hold the answers to his questions? Did it contain her big secret? He had to know! Yet…every time he picked up the box he felt something holding him back. What if it didn’t hold any answers? What if she had worked so hard to give him this and it didn’t mean anything? So, back on the dresser it went, just in front of her Russian nesting doll.

After a month Roger didn’t pick it up anymore. He didn’t even touch it. He didn’t trust himself anymore to hold the package without ripping it open. When he cleaned he dusted everything around the package, but he wouldn’t touch the little, golden box. It sat, in its own quadrilateral of dust, surrounded by cleanliness. It sat on the dresser, and he sat in bed. Watching. Puzzling. Resisting. It fell into his routine. Work. Eat. Work. Hospital. Movie. Drink. Movie. Watch, puzzle, resist. Sleep.

Sarah’s birthday fell on a Tuesday that spring. As usual Roger went to the hospital after work, but he turned away as he saw there was already a crowd in Sarah’s room. Her sister with the new..ish baby. Glenn with his fiancée and the kids. Roger’s sister was there too, with her husband. That explained all the phone calls lately. Thank God he’d ignored them all or he’d have been forced to be in there with all of them. Sarah had them all convinced she was some kind of saint. They stood there, with their sad smiles, eating cake and telling her how much they missed her. He knew her better though. He knew the real Sarah. How she kept things from him with her little smile and, “You wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, would you Honey?” Oh, she loved her surprises. She loved to plot and deceive. It wasn’t any wonder to Roger that Glenn’s wife left him what with all the scheming he’d been up to with Sarah. He wouldn’t stand there with them and parade around telling lies about his wife’s virtues. He knew her virtues, and he knew her vices, and he wouldn’t pretend they weren’t part of the same person.

Roger sat at home that night watching, puzzling resisting, fuming. He didn’t need her gifts or her derision. He was done with it. He snatched the dusty, golden box off its perch and crammed it into his jacket pocket. The next underground to Washington Square was late, but Roger made up for it by speed walking the five blocks to the hospital. After slipping past the front desk, he stomped quietly to her room. She seemed pleased. She looked beautiful.

“Look Sarah, I don’t know what games you’ve been playing at, and I don’t care. Not anymore. I loved you, you know. I loved you so much, and so I looked the other way all that time, but this is too much. You shared your secrets with Glenn, and then you left me all alone. Did you even think about me in all this? Huh? You lie there with your smile and don’t even care. Well, I’m done. I don’t need this, and I don’t need this!”

He pulled the crumpled, golden box from his jacket and tossed it on the table next to her bed. Sarah just lay there looking pleased.

A moment later a nurse poked her head into the room. “Oh, Roger, it’s you. I thought I saw someone in here. I just need to check her fluids. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.” She busied herself with the tubes and buttons plugged into Sarah’s arms and legs and torso. “Happy Birthday, Sarah! You must be so happy that Roger’s come to see you. And don’t you just look sweet today! Oh. What’s this? Someone brought you a gift. And just look how cute it’s wrapped up. Why don’t we see what’s inside?” A part of Roger’s brain screamed for her to stop, but before he could even open his mouth she had picked up the little golden package and tore it open. He watched numbly as she removed a small wooden sailboat and set it on the bedside table.

When he was ten years old, he spent his Christmas vacation in Wyoming with his father, helping him cut wood for sale. It was hard work, but Roger adored it. Christmas Eve, they worked from five am until four in the afternoon when they dropped their last load of wood, got their money, and headed for home. They pulled into town just before midnight, but before going home they stopped at the drugstore for food and presents. Roger’s father told him to go to the deli and find some turkey and potatoes while he grabbed a few gifts. The next morning, the family ate their cold turkey and potatoes and opened one present each. Roger tore open the newspaper wrapped around a wooden toy boat.

After his father died, Roger received a box full of childhood memories, but to his dismay the boat hadn’t been there. He called everyone who might know something. He called his sister. He called his mother. He called the movers and the estate lawyers. But the boat remained lost forever. Or, until now. He moved woodenly to the bedside table, picked up the boat and turned it over. On the bottom two letters were painted in black watercolor: RB.

The nurse finished checking her patient and set the box on the table before leaving. Inside Roger saw a card. He picked it up and read: For memories lost and found again. For my love and my best friend. Sarah.

I had a great title for this, but then found that it was already used about a thousand times for other things online.

So, like I mentioned, this story is now, currently untitled. Any suggestions will be taken with the utmost deference and reviewed against some very fierce criteria. In other words, help me. Oh, and I hope you enjoy the story. It's not finished yet. Look for the final first draft sometime in the next week or two.

P.S. If anybody who reads this speaks French, particular Quebec French, feel free to correct the one line of it I attempted with the help of the internet.


Untitled Thingamajig

Katherine lay in her sleeping bag on the ground. She had a tent, but when the weather was good she preferred sleeping under the stars. That’s a lie really. She didn’t give a damn about sleeping under the stars, and anyway the stars were still above her when she was in the tent now weren’t they. She really cared about being awake in the open where she could see the sky and the stars and the universe. Tonight, she stared at the sky trying to pick out the constellations. The constellations, in Katherine’s opinion, were the most ambitious of all human endeavors. The ancients had looked at the sky and on the infinite black and the unknown worlds they had imposed order. In constellations the human race had conquered space centuries before they had even suspected there was such a thing.

Draco was by far her favorite human imposition on the black, but she could never find it without help. She could see the two Dippers, the Northern Cross and Cassiopeia, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t find the Dragon. It was her white stag, and she felt whenever she spied it her own universe was suddenly ordered. Entropy reversed its steady crawl and she was master…mistress…mastress of her destiny. She was alone tonight, and although she tried her best, destiny remained out of reach.

She stared at the sky until it became difficult to keep her eyes open.  She was still awake enough to know she was dreaming when she started talking with the Dragon. It swooped out of the stars, silver and shiny and tremendous. It descended gracefully, gliding on currents of air until it came to rest beside her. How did it do that without wings? They stared at each other for a moment, then the Dragon settled itself down beside her on the ground staring at the sky. In a deep, rumbling voice it began to point out the constellations she had missed. It talked like a mountain would have talked, if mountains had voices, and of course Katherine knew mountains had no voices, but this was a dream and in dreams mountains can have voices and sentences can be as long as conjunctions remain.

In her dream the Dragon pointed to Hercules, the heroic Greek and it told Katherine of his glorious trials, but of course the Dragon knew the real Hercules had been a scrawny little kid, with just a touch of crazy and an overactive imagination. He had written all the stories himself, and after his death historians believed them to be..if not true, at least mythical. It pointed out the Bears. When Katherine informed it she had found the Dippers just fine on her own, it merely shook its great head and told her there was more in those stars than cooking utensils.

Katherine worked up her courage as it pointed to Bootes and Lyra and Cygnus and told her secrets that stories never would, and just as she was about to ask it why it always hid from her the great Dragon leapt into the sky and hung just above her suspended for a moment in terrific anger. Then it opened its mouth.

In an instant it was screaming a terrible, long, soulless wail like a train screeching to a halt. Then the fire burst from its mouth, hot and molten and liquid—No. Not a liquid like lava or magma, which really is the same substance. It enveloped her like the hot stink you feel when you walk by the exhaust of a double-decker bus—No. It wasn’t gaseous either. …plasmic? Is that a word? Technically she knew fire was a plasma, which is not a liquid or a gas but something between. Properties of both. It covered her completely, yet was easily permeable. It overpowered her, yet she moved through it like a hot wind. It was horrific and painful, yet washed over her without leaving a mark. It lasted a lifetime, or at least a dreamtime, and every second the heat and light and noise increased until it filled her so completely she didn’t even hear herself screaming. Nothing. Suddenly, there was nothing.

Everything was black when Katherine opened her eyes. No light. No noise. Her skin still retained the essence of the heat the way a good sunburn will, but she could feel it leaking out of her. Soon she was shivering violently, her teeth playing a lively, skeletal tune. She went into the tent and grabbed her warmest coat and hat and gloves. When she emerged she tried to build a fire. Something about that struck her as odd. Unnecessary. She had gathered a small pile of wood next to the pit so she wouldn’t have to hunt it in the morning, and she had her newspaper and lighter and a box of matches in her ruck, which she kept next to her sleeping bag in case she wanted the jerky or toilet paper in the night. As she stumbled around the campsite though, she couldn’t locate a damn thing.

She found plenty of things with her head, or her big toe, or shins. The first thing she found was her truck. The metal rang out in time with her head. She tried to find the door handle, but after pawing around a bit, she determined to light the fire without assistance from her headlights. The next thing she tripped over was her ruck, which sent her headfirst into the wood pile. When she reached out to stop her fall her left hand found the remains of her fire and kicked up a good deal of ash into her face.

After the appropriate amount of swearing, Katherine sat down to breathe and get her bearings. In. Out. In. Out. Now she could hear wind in the trees, which sounded like the ocean and she breathed in time to it. In . . . Out . . . . In . . . Out . . . . In . . Wait. Where is the moon? She didn’t need to be stumbling around blind, it was a full moon that night. But where was it? When she looked up, she didn’t see a thing. Just black. But what about her fire? She couldn’t have slept more than twenty minutes. There should still be a large quantity of brightly glowing coals, but when she had fallen in the fire pit they felt like they had just come out of the freezer.

Maybe…no. But what if…not that either. There simply wasn’t an explanation. As she sat thinking and breathing, a cold feeling crept up her spine. What if it was something terrible? What if she really had been burned by a dragon? Or a bomb? What if she was dead? She didn’t feel dead. But then, she had never been dead before. Maybe this is what dead felt like. It was dark and cold and slightly frightening, so yeah, actually this is exactly what dead feels like. It was slightly uncomfortable, but she was grateful it wasn’t too hot. She sat for a time thinking about being dead. I suppose that makes me a ghost. What does a ghost do? It haunts, I guess. I mean, I’m not going anywhere else. I wonder if there is a God. She’d never put much stock in the idea of a supremely powerful being who cared at all if she fucked her life up or not, but if there’s an afterlife then maybe there’s a God too. For now, it didn’t seem like He? She? It? like God was coming to get her, so she might as well utilize her time to get a little payback. First off, she could go to Quebec and look up a couple old friends. First Brad and then—

She started to cry. What was she doing? Barely an hour dead and she was already on the warpath. She really was a horrible person. And now she was DEAD! She wouldn’t ever be able to change. She couldn’t be kind or benevolent—speaking of changing, she was going to spend eternity covered in dust and ash and soot and..FLANNEL! If there was a God, she hated him. How could He take her now while she was sleeping!? In the WOODS! It wasn’t fair at all. And now she was crying and her entire afterlife would be spent with crylines in the soot on her face, and now she just wanted to cry more.

The light came from her truck. Not from her truck, but that was the direction. It blinded her at first, but after a moment her eyes…nope..no…it blinded her. After another moment a figure appeared in the light. It looked a small, dark person. Not a pygmy, if that’s what you’re thinking. It was dark because the light shone from behind it. It moved slowly toward Katherine until it stood just a few feet in front of her, but she still couldn’t make out any features.

“Mon Dieu! La rondelle ne roule pas pour vous! Êtes-vous d'accord?”

It was a man’s voice, evidently a Frenchman, and also probably an asshole. Katherine normally liked the Frenchies, but she wasn’t in any kind of a mood for liking anything right now.

“Fuck off Frenchy.”

Not extremely tactful, she knew, but still it got the little man moving. He rushed back into the light which promptly shut off. Just as Katherine was hoping the afterlife wasn’t entirely populated with French midgets the light came back on just as bright and just as blinding, but this time it was a deal more bothersome. Also different this time, the figure in the light was a normal sized man and when he spoke, he spoke English.

“Soarry, eh. Let me help you up there. We didn’t mean to be such hosers. We didn’t see anybody out here. We just parked to look at the GPS readings and figure out how far we were from the capital.”

He spoke with an exaggerated Canadian accent, as if the only thing he knew about Canada he had learned from Strange Brew. Katherine was still annoyed, but at least she could understand this one. After a minute of silence, she realized he had asked her a question.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said soarry about Rhonda, he didn’t mean to frighten you. Would you care for a donut?”

“Why would I want a donut?”

“Just being polite. Could we at least give you a ride somewhere, seeing as we squashed your…uh…um…thrach, no no no, uh…ttttrrook….”

“My truck?”

“Yes, soarry, aboat that. Some of the diphthongs are difficult for me and then my whole language system just collapses.”

“Nevermind about that. What did you mean about squashing my truck?”

“I’m afraid we landed on it, see. It didn’t stand a chance, I’m afraid, not with our reinforced plating. Like I 

said, we didn’t think anybody was here, and we didn’t see your Tttttrrrrock until we were on top of it.”

“Truck.”

“Eh?”

“Sound it out with me. T”

“T”

“Rrr”

“Rrr”

“Uh”

“Uh“

“Kah”

“Kah”

“Now say it fast. Truck.”

“Thrack.”

“Holy shit, are you stupid or something?”

“No, I’m actually very clever. I have approximately 347 of your IQ points, but I’m afraid this specific diphthong collapses my language system.”

“Fuck your language system. Where are you going to take me? Heaven?”

“Sure. Is that where you need to go?”

“Sure beats the alternative. Alright. Off to heaven!”

Katherine got up out of the dirt. As she stood, she could make out the features of the man a little better. He was big, bigger than she had thought. Probably over 200 centimeters. And bald. In the light his skin looked a bit gray, and his eyes looked a little too big. Probably been dead a little too long, but at least he was giving her a ride. As she got closer to the light source, she realized it was a vehicle of some kind. It reminded her of the flying saucers from classic science fiction stories, except it had wings and something jutted out of the top at an angle, with a rectangular box sitting on top of that. Altogether, it was the strangest thing she’d ever seen. She hoped nobody would be looking out of the pearly gates when she arrived. As long as it was only Peter she’d be fine. He was old, so to him this thing probably didn’t seem any stranger than a Scion box car.

Inside the odd looking vehicle everything glowed with a soft blue light. There were hallways and rooms and what looked like soundboards and buttons and blinking lights. The only sounds were of soft feet scurrying along hallways and something whirring, like a distant turbine.

When Sarah Smiles

I've finally completed a full short story. It's taken a while, and it's much longer than my other posts, but I hope you take the time to read and enjoy it anyway. Just a word of insecure warning, this is a first draft. I welcome any critiques, but please be gentle.

When Sarah Smiles

Roger sat at his table sipping at his champagne and watching, always watching. He watched the servers hurrying back and forth bringing drinks, meat, salads, and pie but never worry. He could see it in them anyway. In those brief moments as they hurried back to the kitchen, or as they turned away from a table, he saw and he knew. The biggest kept secret of the service industry: Workers are people too. Probably they weren’t hiding anything dangerous or unflattering. One young lady was clearly attracted to one of her coworkers who just as clearly had no idea. Others may have been worried about money, or family. He couldn’t always see the cause of the pain behind the eyes, but the feeling was always clearly painted on their frames. The diners were no different. Everyone was hiding something. Well, not everyone. The young boy whose heart was being broken by the pretty girl who just wanted a “friend” and a fancy meal wasn’t hiding it well. The girl was. She was exceptionally talented, Roger noted. To any random onlooker she was in true remorse over the poor boy’s ‘misreading’ her signals. On the inside though, way behind those big, brown eyes, in the furthest reaches of her soul she couldn’t be more pleased. Roger saw it all. It was his gift. And it never failed. His lobster arrived. After assuring the young man who didn’t really care about him that all was well, he set about cracking the lobster’s legs open with true fervor. They normally did that back in the kitchen, but he always requested the pleasure of doing it himself. It was the one truly joyful experience of his life. It was his secret highlight of his first date with Sarah. They came back here each anniversary and cracking open his own lobster provided some of the most blissful moments of their short marriage. He still came back every year by himself, and the activity never lost its flavor. His gift was what had ended it with her. He had looked into her eyes and seen all her lies laid bare.

He finished his lobster and champagne and paid his tab. Normally he got a mousse for dessert, but today he needed to be gone.

It all ended one day in November. She told him goodbye, kissed him, and headed off to work. On her lunch break that day she and some friends decided to go out. They were driving through an intersection when a Ford Explorer hit some ice and slammed into them. Sarah got the worst of it. She hit her head against the window, got a concussion and passed out. She hadn’t woken up since. The doctors told Roger to let her pass, but he couldn’t. He still saw her lies every time he looked at her, and he needed to know what she had been keeping from him. Not knowing was the worst part, and now he couldn’t ask her. If he let her go, he’d never find the truth and he couldn’t bear the thought of it.

During his musings Roger had noticed a man eating three tables away. The man’s back was to him, but Roger could tell who he was. It was all there in his false bravado and slightly casual manner. There was always something shifty about Glenn that Roger could never quite pin down. The man was something of an enigma. When Sarah started working for him she had said very little about it to Roger. She went on about how nice he was, and how he was the only one in a company full of arrogant, self-centered jerks who had been courteous enough to welcome her to the office and to offer any help when she was still learning her way around. As time went on she talked about him more and more. He had a wife and three children. Two girls and a boy. The youngest was seven. When summer came around Glenn invited Sarah and Roger to a BBQ at his house. Heather was a wonderful woman. Roger knew that the first time he saw her. Smart. Dependable. Pretty. And honest, or at least as honest as a pretty woman can be. Glenn, on the other hand, while being every bit the gentlemen Sarah had made him out to be was just a little too friendly. A little too helpful. A little too interested. And there was that mystery about him. The same type of mystery that surrounded Sarah now. He was hiding something, and he was hiding it well, but Roger could see it lurking there behind that grin. He didn’t like Glenn and he didn’t want to talk about Sarah. So he paid quietly and worked his way around the edge of the restaurant making sure to avoid Glenn’s eyes.

He walked from the restaurant straight to the hospital. He brought Sarah her favorite dessert, blueberry Tiramisu, and a simple necklace. She would never be able to wear it, or eat the dessert, but it was their anniversary and she deserved something. He skipped the front desk, they were oddly strict about enforcing visitors’ hours, but Roger found if simply walked to his wife’s room and didn’t talk to anybody they just left him alone. She looked just as she had for the last four months. Someone had brushed her hair today. They didn’t do that every day. She looked beautiful. Peaceful. Roger sat down and squeezed her hand. He got out the necklace.

“Happy Anniversary honey. I got you something. It’s not much. Just a little golden chain with a heart charm on it. I even got it engraved, see. It says, ‘When Sarah Smiles The Sun Draws Near, No Matter What I’m Happy You Were Here.’ I know, I know. It’s not like me to get sentimental. I just missed you today baby. I just want to you to know that whatever was going on with you and Glenn, I still love you.”

Roger sat there after that looking at her, trying to make sense of what he said. It was all true, but it wasn’t like him to say it out loud. He tried to think about that. To analyze it. But in the end he settled for just sitting and feeling lost. It was too fresh today to make sense of. He watched Sarah breathing in and out, in and out, in and out. She looked calm and peaceful. After all this time, even unconscious she was hiding it. It never went away. It’s so damn frustrating! How can she be so calm when she’s the one with the secret?! What kind of game was she playing?! Did she even care about him?! Of course, she had to care or she wouldn’t have been with him, but how much did she care? Did she care that he was miserable? Did she even know? He tried to keep it hidden, but still there had to be signs. There are always signs! Was he really the only one who could see? She wasn’t blind. She had to see! She had to

“Roger? Roger, hey Roger.”

Roger looked up. A blurry Glenn was standing in the doorway.

“Hey man, how are you holding up?”

There was no answer. Roger couldn’t answer. He tried to say something, but what could he say? He worked his mouth for a minute, but nothing came out. Glenn came and sat down beside him.

“I know. It’s crazy right. I still don’t really believe it sometimes. I feel like I’ll go to work tomorrow and she’ll be there smiling away. It’s been tough, you know, since the divorce. After Heather left me for that other one, I fell apart. I couldn’t work or sleep or anything. And I tried not to show it, for the kids, right, but I was drowning and I was pulling them down with me. I put a face on in public, you know, but she saw right through it. She helped me out of it, made meals for us. You know she would take my kids to a movie every week! Gave me some time to sort things out. She even introduced me to Cathy. If things worked out with us, I was going to ask her to be my best man. Now she’s just gone and there’s this huge gap in everything, you know. When someone plays that big a part in your life, and then just leaves how do you keep going? I’m sorry man. I didn’t mean to come here to sob to you. Is there anything you need?”

Roger sat there stunned. Nobody ever just opened up like that. He always had to carefully pry and prod and dig. Like unearthing an extremely fragile skeleton, if the skeleton knew you were there and you couldn’t let it know what you were doing.

“I’m alright.” He got out after a minute. “It’s tough, but I get by. Today was our anniversary.”

“Yeah. I know. I looked for you over at Giulio’s but I guess I missed you. Don’t worry man. I’m not stalking you. Sarah told me you go there on your anniversary. Before the accident she asked me to help her out with something for you. After everything, I just felt like I owed it to her to finish it.

Glenn pulled a small package from his coat pocket. The paper was slightly crumpled from riding in the confined area, but it was obviously professionally gift wrapped. Each corner was perfectly square and an almost perfect bouquet of ribbons adorned the top. The wrapping paper gleamed a little in the light from the monitor, its original golden color transformed into a sickly blue-green. The paper crinkled as Roger accepted it from Glenn. He held it very still for what seemed like ages, too afraid to open it. Glenn shifted his feet a little and checked the door.

Glenn’s voice came out in a croak. “I…um..,” he cleared his throat and spoke again more strongly, “I guess I should get going. Cathy’s waiting.” He started to leave, then paused just as he got to the door. “Listen, Roger. I know we’ve got our differences, but if you ever want something just call, okay.” He opened the door slowly, trying to not disturb the stillness in the room, but that only drew the creak out to an embarrassing, long, and loud squeal. Roger knew he meant well, but that only served to make it more annoying.

He sat there in the hospital room until the nurse came to check on Sarah. The poor fellow didn’t notice Roger until he was almost finished with his patient. When he saw Roger, he jumped half out of his skin and ran to get security, but when he returned with two guards the room was empty.

*             *             *

Life went on as usual for Roger. Work. Eat. Work. Hospital. Movie. Drink. Sleep. The little golden package with slightly crumpled corners sat on Sarah’s dresser. Every day he would pick it up, examine it, then place it back where it lay. He wanted desperately to know what was in it, but he couldn’t bring himself to open it. Glenn had said she asked him to help her with it. Glenn. Of all people. Did it hold the answers to his questions? Did it contain her big secret? He had to know! Yet…every time he picked up the little box he felt something holding him back. What if it didn’t hold any answers? What if she had worked so hard to give him this and it didn’t mean anything? So, back on the dresser it went, just in front of her little, wooden Russian nest doll.

After a month Roger didn’t trust himself anymore to hold the package without ripping it open. Even when he 

cleaned he dusted everything around the package, but he wouldn’t touch the little, golden box. It sat, in its own quadrilateral of dust, surrounded by cleanliness. It sat on the dresser, and he sat in bed. Watching. Puzzling. Resisting. It fell into his routine. Work. Eat. Work. Hospital. Movie. Drink. Movie. Watch, puzzle, resist. Sleep.

Sarah’s birthday fell on a Tuesday that spring. As usual Roger was at the hospital. He stopped by after work, but there was already a crowd in Sarah’s room. Her sister with the new..ish baby. Glenn with his fiancée and the kids. Roger’s sister was there too, with her husband. That explained all the phone calls lately. Thank God he’d ignored them all or he’d have been forced to be in there with all of them. She had them all convinced she was some kind of saint. They stood there, with their sad smiles, eating cake and telling her how much they missed her. He knew her better though. He knew the real Sarah. How she kept things from him with her little smile and, “You wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, would you Honey?” Oh, she loved her little surprises. She loved to plot and deceive. It wasn’t any wonder to Roger that Glenn’s wife left him what with all the scheming he’d been up to with Sarah. He wouldn’t stand there with them and parade around telling lies about his wife’s virtues. He knew her virtues, and he knew her vices, and he wouldn’t pretend they weren’t one and the same.

He sat that night watching, puzzling resisting, fuming. He didn’t need her gifts or her derision. He was done with it. He snatched the dusty, golden box off its perch and crammed it into his jacket pocket. He caught the next underground to Washington Square and walked the five blocks to the hospital. He stomped quietly to her room. She seemed pleased. She looked beautiful.

“Look Sarah, I don’t know what games you’ve been playing at, and I don’t care. Not anymore. I loved you, you know. I loved you so much, and so I looked the other way all those years, but this is too much. You shared your little secrets with Glenn, and then you left me all alone. Did you even think about me in all this? Huh? You lay there with your smile and don’t even care. Well, I’m done. I don’t need this, and I don’t need this!”

He pulled the crumpled, little box from his jacket and tossed it on the table next to her bed. Sarah just lay there looking pleased and beautiful.

A moment later a nurse poked her head into the room. “Oh, Roger. It’s you. I thought I saw someone in here. I just need to check her fluids. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.” She busied herself with the tubes and buttons plugged into Sarah’s arms and legs and torso. “Happy Birthday Sarah! You must be so happy that Roger’s come to see you. And don’t you just look sweet today! Oh. What’s this? Someone brought you a little gift. And just look how cute it’s wrapped up. Why don’t we see what’s inside?” Roger watched numbly as she picked up the little, golden package and tore it open.

He recognized the little, wooden sailboat inside immediately. When he was ten years old, he spent his Christmas vacation in Wyoming with his father, helping him cut wood for sale. It was hard work, but Roger adored it. Christmas Eve, they worked from five am until four in the afternoon when they dropped their last load of wood, got their money, and headed for home. They pulled into town just before midnight, but before going home they stopped at the drugstore for food and presents. Roger’s father told him to go to the deli and find some turkey and potatoes while he grabbed a few gifts. The next morning, the family ate their cold turkey and potatoes and opened one present each. Roger tore open the newspaper wrapping a little, wooden boat. After his father died, Roger received a box full of childhood memories, but to his dismay the boat had been lost forever. Or, until now. He moved woodenly to the bedside table, picked up the boat and turned it over. On the bottom was an RB painted in black watercolor.

The nurse finished checking her patient and set the little box on the table before leaving. Inside Roger saw a card. He picked it up and read: For memories lost and found again. For my love and my best friend. Sarah.