New Life

"Do you even remember what it was like to be alive?" he spoke into the darkness. He knew she wasn't sleeping. They pretended now.

"Well...kind of." She rolled onto her back to stare at the same nothing he saw. "It was like warm, and stretchy."

"Stretchy?" He chuckled. She swatted at his chest.

"Yeah, I don't know how to describe it. But we were aging, we were going to grow old together..." she stopped before regret sounded. "There was past and there was future; the dreams and memories breathed to stretch the present. But now it's just..."

"Dead," he said.

"Dead," she whispered. "Why on earth would anyone leave a living, growing child on our front door? Us? Did they not notice the lifeless neighborhood, the limping houses as they walked up the broken sidewalk?"

"Well, we did have the only lights on that night, enjoying a nice glass of tasteless wine..."

"I could almost taste it!"

He smiled at her outstretched hands. Though they no longer held any warmth, at least they were still there for him to hold. He reached out and took her left in his right.

"So we must have looked like a loving couple. Anyone could mistake us as living if they saw us drinking wine in a lit dining room."

"Yes, an understandable mistake. But it so makes me wonder," she paused. "What sort of person even comes into this neighborhood, and with a child no less. I mean, I haven't seen more than a mangy cat chasing a skeletal mouse in...what year is it now?"

"2010, dear."

"My goodness. Have we really been dead 60 years already? Time flies when...you're not living in it anymore, doesn't it."

"It certainly does. And I don't know what would have inspired anyone to come this way for any reason. There must be some reason."

"I've been thinking about it every moment since she got here. It scares me to death...okay well, it terrifies me to think I'm responsible for the life of another person, so small, so unaware of this ghastly world! How can she be anything but ruined by everything around her?"

"I'm scared, too, dear. But how I almost feel my heart beat again when she smiles at us. Don't you just love that?"

"Oh, I do. I wouldn't trade her for anything. I'd die again for her...like you did for me. Do you think we rushed that decision? Do you think maybe I would have gotten better? Neither of us would have...well, we could have grown old and died together. Maybe...maybe we would be dying now, you and I, in our eighties. Think of that!"

"And now we're just starting the life we never had...There's really no use thinking about 'what ifs', Lucille. We decided and we're stuck with the consequence. I just couldn't have lost you. I would have died anyway, so instead we died together..."

"Sort of." She smiled. He knew she smiled because she always did when she said that. Just enough to where her lips etched a moon-shaped dimple into her cheek that caused a reflective sparkle in her eye. He lived for that smile. Or died for it. Yes, he died for that very smile.

"It's hard work pretending," she continued. "Like eating, breathing, sleeping. Gosh, sleeping is perhaps the most dreadful of all. I mean, not that I don't mind being here with you, but there are just so many other things we could be doing right now."

"But we can't wake her."

"Yes, I know. Not that reading, for example, is loud, you know."

"I know, but we'll get careless if we don't have some sort schedule and stick to it. Children need schedules. It's going to be a big change for us. Everything has changed and will just...keep changing. That's what life is, change."

"Except we're not changing anymore, Will. We don't 'stretch' anymore. Our hearts stopped and our blood stopped and we don't age. How long is she going to fall for that, do you think?"

"Oh...I didn't notice my parents getting older until I was out of the house, I think. Parents hold some sort of ageless charm while the kids grow up, too busy with their own growing to notice those already-grown, adult figures making any changes. I'd say we've got a good sixteen years before she suspects anything. If we stick to pretending." He poked her ribs.

"Ayy!" she squirmed and wrapped a fist around his culprit finger. "But what about warmth? We can't pretend to be warm, living creatures, just by thinking it."

He pulled her close to him, trying not to think of how desperately he wished he could feel that warmth again, reminding himself he was glad just to be with her.

"I've actually been thinking about that. What if we pumped something else warm through these veins of ours...? It couldn't kill us, and they aren't busy doing anything else."

"Are you crazy? What would you suggest, chocolate syrup, butter?"

"You would think of foods first, wouldn't you. My own Betty Crocker. Your cooking was always the very best. You would have your own Betty picture on a famous cook book if...yes, your cooking was the best."

"Aw, sweetie. Don't change the subject. Would that even be possible? Obviously our hearts wouldn't keep pumping whatever liquid we put in our veins. I can't believe I'm even talking about this."

"I was thinking either a gel or an oil. I'll look into it and let you know. For now we can just keep using handwarmers and keep the temperature up, take hot showers, etc. We'll learn how to take care of ourselves as she gets older. We just need to focus on her."

"I agree. I just always thought it was that 'mother's touch' that baby's needed most. And I'm worried that even if I hold her close, she won't be able to tell I love her because I have no heart."

"She will tell by the way she is held, by the way you talk to her, by how you tend to her needs. She doesn't know that she's hungry, but you do, so you feed her. She will trust and love you. Keep your arms and chest warm for now and I don't think she'll realize. This is all rather strange, isn't it?"

"Parenthood. We're parents. Finally, after..."

"After all these years," he spread a hand on her lower abdomen. When he had heard that his son hadn't made it and that she wasn't expected to make it either, he had done the same thing. He laid in their bed next to her, held his wife and spread his hand over her tired womb...He cleared his throat to scatter his thoughts.

"You are going to be an amazing mother," he said. "You can do all those things again, cooking and preparing lavish meals, sewing and mending clothes, living again, for the child."

"Living vicariously through a little girl? It sounds so creepy, really. But I guess one nice thing is I'll never get tired. At least not physically...can you imagine having to raise children as a mortal? I think it would kill me."

"Don't joke about it right now, Lil. It's kind of making me sad."

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I should actually work on that starting now, you know, to get in the habit of thinking like I'm alive."

"That's a good idea. But, not too much. Because you won't bleed anymore if the knife slips and nicks your finger. You'll have to be careful to remember who you are."

"Yes, I will. But I will also do my best to pretend that I am as capable a mother as any living woman."

"And you will do beautifully, I'm sure of it. The world is scary, but there is so much love, too. Think of all the marvelous things this one child could do to change the world? She has changed our world so much already."

"We'll have to move, won't we?"

"She'll need to have friends, we'll have to make friends."

Silence met his ears. He turned his head toward her. Out of habit impossible to kill he saw her chest rise and fall with a characteristic sigh.

"You will do beautifully."

"We will," she said, squeezing his hand. "Thank you for sticking with me."

"Till dusk and till dawn."

A baby's cry echoed down the hall. Lucille leapt out of bed faster than a grasshopper from underfoot.

"I'll go!" And she was wrapped in wails down the hallway.

William crossed his arms behind his head. A father. At last.

Humpty Dumpty Reprise

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the King’s horses and all the King’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.

This is where the nursery rhyme ends:
Crushed to bits, no hope of amends.
So many questions remain unresolved
But here is the truth of how it evolved.

Yes, the king had horses and men,
But of course had more than just them.
He had a wife and eight kids, mostly sons;
In fact seven sons, but daughters just one.

All grown up, these seven King’s sons
Each inherited royal funds
And left the castle in hopes to pursue
Something to learn and for something to do.

And left at home all by herself,
Most often found near the bookshelf,
Was a bright young girl with Humpty for name
But “King’s only daughter” was her wide fame.

It was mom who’d named her Humpty
And the teasers added Dumpty.
Anyone kind, she was sure it was ‘cause
They knew whose talentless daughter she was.

Dad was encouraging and kind;
His smile showed he didn’t mind
That with each contest or game he unveiled
His sweet little Humpty’s true efforts failed.

But she put on her bravest face.
Still, embarrassed by each disgrace,
She felt soon it’d be all she could take:
One quiet sigh more and her heart would break.

Then that fateful day came along
Where everything was going wrong.
The King had a new game she’d have to play
But she just wasn’t in the mood today.

She went, of course, to please her King
And discovered the newest thing
Was a sport with a ball, a bat, a horse,
Two teams, and four plates on a diamond course.

Luck was on Humpty’s side at last
For she rode a horse well and fast
The rest of the game she would just survive
If she didn’t win, at least she would strive.

“Here’s the special, royal baseball,”
Said the King, with his handsome drawl.
“Whoever hits the ball and wins the game,
Gets the ball as prize and receives the fame.”

Up to bat, suited head to toe
Humpty sat on her horse Go-go,
The fastest and strongest horse in the land.
The pitcher wound up a ball in his hand,

She held the bat tight in her fists
At a slight angle from her wrists
And when the ball flew from the pitcher’s mound
Her bat swung through the air without a sound.

Strike one! Her face flushed hotly red
Miss again, she’ll wish to be dead.
The King hollered and cheered his daughter on
Somehow the sound helped her fears to be gone

Bringing the bat to the ready
Her gaze was focused and steady.
Eye on the ball she saw the pitcher wink.
Startled, now she didn’t know what to think.

The ball left the mound in a blaze
Humpty’s elbows swiveled sideways
A sharp cracking noise filled the royal grounds,
Everyone watched the ball sail out of bounds.

“So close!” yelled the King from the stands.
Humpty wiped the sweat from her hands.
She could quit now and not fail at this, too,
But if not now, when? And if not her, who?

She nodded to the pitcher’s mound
Determined to succeed this round.
The ball was pitched, she swung with all her might;
It sailed over the wall and out of sight!

The crowd cheered but Humpty’s face paled.
A lost ball meant loser, meant failed!
She gave Go-go a kick and off they went
Straight for the ball, speed one-hundred-percent.

All the king’s men on their horses
Motioned the right way the course was
But Humpty focused her eye on the wall
She absolutely had to find that ball.

At the wall they came to a stop
Humpty stood up and climbed on top
She looked over her shoulder at the crowd
Deeply hoping to make her Father proud.

Humpty clung tightly to the ledge
And peered slowly over the edge.
She quietly gasped and held back the tears
She had to go on, no matter her fears.

Bringing her limbs into a crouch
All at once she let out an “Ouch!”
Clutching her hand from the rocks beside her
Humpty looked down to see a huge spider!

Humpty began to feel quite faint
But refused to make a complaint
Instead she started to scoot far away
From where that spider determined to stay

But as she inched away from it
She quite forgot where she did sit
Losing her grip, Humpty had a great fall
And was lost from sight right over the wall

Opening her eyes to the sun
First she thought, “This game isn’t fun.”
Then the dreaded shame began to sink in
Tears formed in her eyes and slid to her chin

They dripped and then began to pour
Springing up from a shattered core
And Humpty was sure they would never end
No, not this time; her poor heart would not mend.

From somewhere above or below
She heard a noise begin to grow
A rumbling like a mighty thunderstorm
Great pounding hoofs in cadence uniform.

Here came the King’s horses again
Riding each one were the King’s men
And they would try to comfort and console
Because it was their job to make her whole.

But Humpty’s heart was broken now
And she really didn’t see how
Any kind horses or well-meaning men
Could try putting her together again

But that’s how it went, you recall:
She sat on then fell from the wall
And all the King’s horses, all the King’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.

As her tears soaked into the ground
There came another rumbling sound
The men looked back and the horses made way
For the King was coming to save the day!

He scooped Humpty in an embrace
Wiping the tears from her round face
Just holding her tight, not saying a word
And only her quiet sobs could be heard.

At last when her breathing slowed down
She peered at the man with the crown
And gathered the courage to say something
So she could explain herself to the King.

But he spoke first and said, “Sweetheart,
In everything we play a part
But no one is supposed to win it all.
Sometimes we rise, a lot of times we fall

But do you know what I love most
About my girl, who never boasts?
Every time you make a mistake or fall
You get up and give the next shot your all.

And maybe you’re not the strongest
Or can’t hold your breath the longest
But you are exactly one of a kind
And your heart of gold is the greatest find.”

To hear her father tell her this
Turned discouragement into bliss
What a relief to know that just so long
As she always tried her best to be strong

Humpty would make her father proud.
Her happiness smiled out loud.
He got to his feet and held out his hand
“Okay, let’s go,” said the King of the land.

Humpty stood tall next to her dad.
Humpty’s heart was lifted and glad.
No, the King’s horses and all the King’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.

It took unconditional love
From a knowing father above
To mend a heart in pieces so broken
With a few, simple, perfect words spoken.

Violet Shadow

Have you had dreams in which you interacted with someone whose face you didn’t recognize, someone you had never met? Have you ever had that feeling that someone was watching you, hearing the words you spoke? Have you ever thought to blame your shadow? It’s with you all day, listening, following; but where does it go at night? And what does it do when you’re not paying attention?

Violet was a shadow; her own shadow. She neither remembered how she became so or knew how she could, or if she could, ever return to normal. She wandered the globe without human contact, continually reminded of her last interaction as a human.

“Mother,” Violet tossed an elegant gown on her mother’s bed. “Catherine Miller has the exact same dress as this one – the one the tailor told me was ‘one of a kind’. Oooh,” she flopped down beside the dress and let her clenched fist pound into it. “Nothing makes me more upset than being lied to.”

The mother continued painting makeup on her own porcelain face and replied without feeling. “Should we take it back and ask him to apologize, Violet dear? Or, perhaps we could ask Catherine Miller to take hers back?”

“You’re missing the point, Mother,” Violet snapped, sensing the mocking tone. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to be strolling at The Square and pass by another girl in the exact same dress? You can’t imagine my horror, how quickly I wished to vanish from the presence of the sun!”

Mother shook her head. She began to open her mouth to reply when Violet continued.

“When someone tells me my dress is unique, well, I expect that to be the truth. Why would he even say that? At my age, I need to stand out. None of the boys look at me anymore, Mother, none! I’m practically an old maid already. I should start knitting booties for my hundred cats now, since I will never marry and get to make booties for the children I shall never have.”

“Violet, dear, don't exaggerate. You do remember that I was almost twenty-two years old when I met your father. In my day that was even more humiliating. I wasn’t worried about having the same dress as another girl, I—“

“Mother, he lied! It’s not just the dress. What makes things worse is that Catherine was accompanied by Henry Black! Oh, Mother. He’s one of the last. He may be the last good one. The rest have such sloppy hair and don’t even get me started on the way they dress. Why does Henry waste his time with Catherine? She is so plain.”

“Well, she did have the taste to buy the same dress you did, Violet dear.”

Violet sat up to make sure her mother could clearly see the glare on her face. “Every day I become more and more convinced that I am cursed, or I don’t know what, because nobody sees me. No one understands me or how I feel. Least of all you,” she added bitingly.

Her mother stood and placed her hairbrush on the vanity in front of her. “Do you know what it feels like to be Catherine? Do you know how she feels? What about Henry? Maybe he has feelings for her because she listens to him and tries to understand him. You could learn a lot about someone if you just listened and watched them live.”

That’s where the dream usually ended. Violet knew it was a real memory, something that had really happened, because she could not participate in the dream, she could only watch it happen. Again and again, until she stopped visiting her mother’s dreams. She suspected that any time she did visit her mother’s dreams, it was her presence that made the dream come.

At first she would go back, just to feel that someone remembered her. Then she was drawn back just to look upon her mother. And then she began to see the clues within the dream. The last statement her mother makes in the dream must hint to the reason why she became a shadow. Or maybe the part where she hears herself say, “I wished to vanish from the presence of the sun.” She cringed every time, even when she knew it was coming; she couldn’t believe she had really said it.

Violet had been a shadow for more years now than she had been a body that produced one in sunlight. Her memory was fleeting; it nearly erased every time she traded forms. Two sure things she never forgot, though, were that last conversation with her mother and the fact that she was no longer human in form.

And now, as she watched the man of her dreams lie sleeping, she tried to remember why she was choosing to leave. She didn’t want to lose all the memories she had made with him; he had made her feel the closest to human she had felt since … whenever she last was.

She remembered the first time his shadow had crossed her....




Somehow she had merged into the shadow of a small dog and as it walked through a park, a dizzying and aimless promenade, it stopped in the shadow of a trash can and Violet impulsively traded over to the can for a break. The dog shook like it would after a bath and then was gone.

The can’s shadow traced lazily along the walking path and into the grass as the sun stretched over the park. Violet always liked when the shadow she rode with cast across a gentle spread of grass.

Maybe she figured a trash can would get plenty of attention so she wouldn't have to be its shadow for long. A lot of shadows sauntered by, blazed by or briefly made a deposit to the can, but no one’s shadow ever merged enough with the can’s shadow that she could trade over. So day after day she arced from walking trail to grass until she thought she might lose her mind … which made her wonder where her mind even was.

Then he arrived. He leaned on the trash can to yank off his shoe. When he crouched down to lace the shoe to his foot again, the shadow of his face dipped into the shadow of the can. Violet hadn’t really merged via a face before; it felt like a kiss. His face lingered long enough that Violet was able to fully trade to his shadow before he stood.

His head turned side to side and for a moment he stood still.

“Déjà vu,” he whispered in the air. Violet knew her trade was complete. She smiled; it showed up on his lips. He bounced up and down and swung his arms in front and behind him. Then they were off, he and his shadow. And Violet. Running.

When he lay sleeping though, like now, that was her favorite time.



Wendell had run nearly every day since the Two Towers collapsed. It was as if something in him clicked, turned irreversibly to the on position, when he saw the buildings crumble. He would run a mile for every departed person, he would live for them in some minor way since they would never get to run again, and he would never take his heart and lungs and life for granted. He just ran, every day.

In nine years, he had long since covered the memorial miles that initiated the journey, and then he decided he would join the fire house where he lived, so he kept running to ensure he could rescue as many people whenever he could, whenever they were in danger.

Wendell also had a vivid imagination. It constantly interrupted his daytime thoughts and would create realistic—sometimes too realistic—dreams at night. For this reason he slept with a room completely dark and with white noise in the background. He had found this was the only way to keep his imagination at bay; a sort of repellent to the swarms of ideas never satisfied until put on paper.

Editor by profession, firefighter through volunteer hours, artist by hobby (though he’d only say it was doodling), and chef by night, he was a regular, perfect bachelor. He understood that a woman would greatly contribute to his life, but it just wasn’t that simple. Women had a mind of their own, and he never knew where to step, as it were, when a woman was around, fearing to make a wrong move. They weren’t like grammar and punctuation or like pencils and paper or like ingredients—they were constantly inconsistent and unpredictable. It just wasn’t that simple.

He had tried to have girlfriends before. At least he thinks he’d tried. But by the time he felt like he finally figured out where to step, she was gone while he was still watching his feet….

It didn’t hurt. He hadn’t really had anyone to lose yet. So he just kept cooking for one and setting aside money for two, for whenever she came—or whenever he figured out how to let her in.

Another strange thing. Lately he’d been dreaming of a girl he’d never met. Even with the white noise, which seemed to set a dull soundtrack to his subconscious, these dreams came regularly and vividly. Sometimes she was only there briefly or other times she seemed to take up space in his mind all night. He wondered why. Who, too. Why now? What started it?

Sometimes the stories he edited would make him have strange dreams, but he was on an academic project right now. Maybe your imagination is bored, making up an imaginary girlfriend for its entertainment. He shrugged his nose at the thought.

“I could get a girlfriend if I wanted one. I don’t want one right now,” he convinced himself out loud. He was cooking for one again. He snipped some basil on top of his classic burrito fillings and rolled it up. Taking a big bite, he continued.

“Besides,” he muffled to himself, “I’ve got everything I need right here.” He jabbed the dripping burrito toward the rest of his studio apartment. “Oh crap,” he grabbed a towel and wiped the salsa drops off his pants and from the floor.

He sat on the barstool—yes, there was only one—and chewed and swallowed, one bite at a time.



Violet couldn’t believe her luck. The man—her shadow’s current form—slept in complete darkness. No light! That meant no shadows. She couldn’t recall any shadow she had previously joined to ever linger in complete darkness for hours on end. When there was no light she could spread out, stretch and move around. Sometimes she could almost see things, too. It was almost like being human again; as close as she could get, anyway.

But she paid a high price, she thought. All the running! The man almost never walked anywhere he went. It doesn’t even occur to most people how irritating it gets, being a shadow. The constant surface changing, movement, stretching, fading and thickening … How she wished she could detach sometimes and float away in the wind. Oh, the wind. She missed the wind.

And the sun. She missed the sun. And she hated the sun. Whenever there was sun, brightly beaming, her prison was tightest. It gave light to everything except for her. She never felt it because she was always in shadow. She was a shadow: a hollow reflection, no—an outlining, a silhouette of her former self. But she couldn’t be even that; she had to exist behind others. They would be in the spotlight and she would be behind them. Forever. But, she hoped not forever. She didn’t know how it would ever change, but she hoped.



Most people in Alaska had thick, dark window coverings. Wendell had completely solid shutters. They blocked out nearly every particle of light and a lot of noise, too. Not that it was very noisy, but the occasional low-flying bush plane or even a distant train whistle could wake him. He was a light sleeper ever since the attacks, too. Even when he exhausted himself running. And earplugs hurt, he just couldn’t use those. Yeah, so he’s strangely particular. He accepted the fact a long time ago.

He kept his bedside lamp on as he sat up in bed one night. He wasn’t reading or anything; he was hesitating. The woman of his dreams—no, that sounded positive. She wasn’t invited and yet she always came, in anonymous splendor. She was beautiful. Mature, but also young-looking. Her hair was long and he ached to touch it. He knew if she spoke that her voice would sound like leaves rustling in the wind. And another thing that bothered him: she was fully lit up in color, but her eyes seemed to always be hidden in shadow or something. He wanted to see the color of her eyes, to look into them.

But it’s only a dream! He chided himself. A recurring dream, one most welcome to return.

He turned the switch of the lamp and the shapes and colors around him were replaced with black. But then she was there in front of him.

“I’m not asleep,” he said dimly. His hand sprang back to the lamp and light crowded the small room. She wasn’t there. So now his dreams were infiltrating his reality … but only when it was dark? He must be losing his mind.

He sat in the light again until his eyes weighed down, the hourglass sands piling methodically. Wendell put his head down on his pillow figuring that he would be asleep the instant the light turned off and wouldn’t even have time to hallucinate. His arm lethargically reached toward the lamp, hitting it a couple times before he remembered to twist the small knob. His eyes were already closed when the light vanished, so it took a few minutes for the faint glow to register against his eyelids.

He opened one eye first, but it was mostly covered in pillow. The second eye saw the glowing coming from behind him. He moved cautiously, pretending he was just turning over in his sleep and peeked one eye in the direction of the glow. It was her! But she just sat there, often like she did in his dreams, like she didn’t even know she was there, waiting to be included or something.

He sat up quickly and she reacted. Her same shadowy eyes aimed in his direction.

“Who are you?” He demanded.

Violet was completely stunned. She couldn’t speak. Could she speak? She hadn’t tried in … she didn’t even know how long.

“Can … can you see me?” She asked.

Now it was Wendell’s turn to be speechless.

“Can you hear me?” She worried.

Wendell nodded, to him it felt like slow motion.

A smile spread Violet’s lips into her cheeks and she continued, in what felt like fast-forward.

“What do you see? What do I look like? Describe to me what I look like, please.”

“But, I’m not asleep…” he repeated.

“Yes,” she said. “I mean, no, you’re not. I’m here, I’m real. But you’ve been seeing me in your dreams because—“ she hesitated. How much should she reveal, how much would he understand?

“Do you remember a few weeks ago when you were running in the park and you bent over near a trash can to tie your shoe?”

Wendell’s eyes were wide; a mixture of fear, wonder, adrenaline and curiosity filled his body. He searched for the memory and oddly found it with extreme ease.

“Yes,” was all he dared say.

“Well, when you stood up you paused a moment and said, ‘déjà vu', do you remember that?”

He nodded, surprised how well he remembered the moment.

“That was me—well, that is to say…I, uh, I became part of your shadow.” It sounded strange coming from her lips.

He just stared. He blinked a couple times, but his eyes were chained to her glowing form.

“Since then have you felt like someone is always close to you, sometimes a feeling like you’re being watched or overheard?”

His body flinched in agreement and his gaze became distrustful.

“I don’t mean you any harm and I can’t do you any harm,” she explained. “I can hardly ever hear you, either, and I don’t see you when I’m your shadow. I don’t see anything in the light of the sun, in any light. But I feel you move, I sense hesitation, I know when you’re feeling bold and confident or when you’re depressed or when you’re restless. I learn a lot about a person when I linger in their shadow. I know a lot about you, in only three weeks of following you.”

Swarms of questions buzzed loudly between his ears and beat against his teeth, burning to get out, but he sealed his lips and breathed laboriously through his nose. His fight or flight adrenaline was still flowing quickly, but as she spoke he became less worried and more curious. But he was still convinced that he was crazy and didn’t want to play along with his insane mind.

“I can’t harm you,” she repeated. “Speak to me, please. It has been ages since I’ve spoken with anyone.”

“Who are you?” the first question escaped.

“My name is Violet. Violet Aurora Bell. I was born in New York in 1842 to English immigrants Charles and Miranda Bell. I remember that much. It has been so long. At least I think it has...“

“You’d have to be over one hundred and fifty years old,” Wendell said in disbelief. “But you look no more than twenty, twenty-five at the max.”

“Oh, that's right. I was about to turn twenty-four before…before whatever happened.”

“You don’t remember what happened to you? How you became, uh…”

“A shadow.”

“That doesn’t make sense. How can I see you? You’re colorful and like, round and human-looking. It looks like I could reach out and tou—“ He didn’t finish the word.

“What do you see?” she asked again, eagerly.

“You can’t see yourself? You’re all glowy.” Wendell said.

“Well, I suppose that would be like asking the sun to look at itself…I only see blurred light if I look down right now. And I have no idea why. You see me, and for the first, real time, I can see you.”

“Why couldn’t you see me before?”

“Because in shadow there is only darkness; the light is always on the other side of the form I’m following. But what I wonder is why I can see you right now. Or more curiously, why you can see me, why I’m ‘glowing’, as you say.”

Wendell stared.

“I think it must be,” Violet continued, “because there is no light in this room. There is no light so there can be no shadow…and since that’s what I am, then I become free, if only temporarily, from your form—or any form for that matter.”

“That sounds complicated,” Wendell said, just to say something. He didn't understand one bit.

“I guess so. I’ve been living this way for over one hundred and fifty years, you say? Wow. I could feel that New York had changed a lot, but I’m sure it looks like a new world out there. I think one time I followed a wheeled wagon of sorts, but it went incredibly fast. I had to switch forms the moment I could. You have no idea what it feels like to be dragged at those speeds…New York has changed.”

“Since 1840?” Wendell laughed. “Oh yeah, back then there were no cars—that’s what the wheeled wagon is, a car—so a lot has changed since then.”

They were quiet for a minute. Wendell wondered if she realized she was no longer even in New York. He imagined that trying to explain Alaska to a shadow would be like describing a rainbow to a blind man. Suddenly he jumped as a vibrating noise beside him shot into the silence. His cell phone screen lit up. He nearly lurched out of bed reaching for it. His mom. He was supposed to be sleeping, and she knew it. Why would she call?

“Mom?” he affected a sleepy voice.

“Yeah I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be okay? No. Yes. It’s okay. Okay, thanks mom. You too. Night.” He hung up and turned toward Violet.

She was gone. His eyes swept the whole room but the only light was glowing from his cell phone screen.

“Oh, crap,” Wendell realized. He noticed dozens of shadows, including his own, pasted against the walls. “Sorry,” he said into the air, knowing she probably couldn’t hear it.

He let his head fall onto a pillow behind him. His mind raced, but before he knew it, his eyes were snapping open to the alarm sounding, and tiny rays of light were trying to burst the seams of his window shutters. Time for work.


Violet didn’t come for several days. He feared he’d offended her, or that maybe she decided to be someone else’s shadow. He regretted not answering her one question, what she looked like, and ignoring everything but his own questions. So what if he didn’t understand something, did he always have to understand? He could hardly concentrate at work, he couldn’t remember where he’d run that morning, he burned noodles—how do you burn noodles? He reviewed every thing she had said until he stripped it like chicken from its bones. And he ate burned noodles without tasting.

Even more hopeless than being enchanted by a woman, he chewed robotically, would have to be being spellbound by the shadow of a woman. Wendell smacked his forehead with his palm.

Every night he made sure that his phone was under his pillow, that no light was shining in his room, that he couldn’t make out any shadow in the least and saw only blackness before his eyes. And every night that was all he would see. She didn’t come in his dreams either.

Maybe he was crazy. He had only imagined it; he had been dreaming and his mom had interrupted the dream when she’d called.

One bright morning, putting his running shoes on his feet, Wendell sat on the chair near the door to his room. His wandering thoughts focused for a moment and his eyes intently watched his hands tie the laces. He had done this before. He slowly turned his head to see out the window into the bright sky. It felt like he almost knew what would happen in the next moments, because it seemed he’d already done it.

“Déjà vu…” He hardly muttered it before he shot into the air and landed on his feet, facing his shadow. His heart raced as he looked at it and wanted to hug it, shake her out, talk to her—oh boy, he was nuts!

All during his run he watched his shadow stretch away from him. He had never paid any attention to his shadow before a couple weeks ago. As he looked at it he was convinced it was a different color from the other shadows. It almost seemed purple. Strange. But other than that, it was a normal shadow. He watched how if he advanced, so would his shadow. If he reached to touch it, he would only touch the ground. The only time it got closer was when the sun rose higher, directly above him. But then it was nearly gone and he didn’t want that either. He noticed how he avoided crossing other shadows as well, just in case. Passersby would surely label him as paranoid, or drunk, but he didn’t care. He was entranced by his Violet shadow.

That night he waited. His room was perfectly black. For endless minutes his hope dragged in the darkness. Almost ready to pass out, he closed his eyes, still sitting up. A soft light began to caress his eyelids. His eyebrows pulled together in hopeful anticipation, but he didn’t want to open his eyes and see nothing.

“Hello,” the syllables fluttered like leaves. His eyes snapped open.


They talked every night until he exhausted his energy and fell asleep. She wouldn’t be there when he woke up, but now she knew to move behind his form before the first light shone, so that she wouldn’t get caught in another form’s shadow, like she had the chair’s. When Wendell had finally sat in the chair she had recognized and merged immediately.

Bedtime could never come soon enough and he fought sleep and fatigue as much as he could, but the effects of the bizarre relationship were beginning to show like sores in the other parts of his life. She never tired, she never aged and she always looked the same. Radiant, beautiful and yet, sad. Years of seeing nothing, why could she see him? The more time he spent with her, the more questions he asked, mostly to himself. But now he listened to her. He wanted to know everything. She couldn’t tell him much about her past, except for feelings, things she had felt as a shadow. And even though she was a shadow, she created light within him. He felt stronger and validated any time they were together. And they were always together, he realized. She was becoming part of him, but he feared to admit it.

One night he took a risk.

“Do you think I could touch you?” he asked.

Her shaded eyes widened and looked away. Her cheeks reddened.

“It’s okay, I won’t. I was just wondering if it were possible.”

“Don’t try,” she whispered. “I should desire that you never let go if it you could touch me.”

She was there every night before he fell asleep, and soon he didn’t mind falling asleep because she would come into his dreams, too. She was even shadow to his thoughts, his imagination. She was becoming everything to him. He couldn’t help it. As long as she was there, he was hers.

He loved that she went everywhere with him. Even though he didn’t see her, he was beginning to learn to feel her influence. Once, he tried an experiment. He walked over various surfaces, his shadow trailing obediently. The sidewalk caused him to feel a little anxious; a body of water made him feel almost desperate so he jumped back quickly and felt an immediate relief; on the paved path in the park he felt kind of bored; and when he crossed onto the grass he sensed a sudden elation, a sort of ticklish happiness. He walked slowly across the grass as he sensed her happiness. He would give her some time on the grass before he ran home.




Violet moved closer. She had never touched him, never even tried. She thought about it constantly, though. His form was clear in the darkness. She still didn’t know how she could see him, but she wasn’t going to question a good thing. It wasn’t like she needed to see his shape though. She had it memorized. It was her life.

He was sleeping peacefully, as he usually did. Tonight she wouldn’t slip into his dreams. It pained her to leave him, but it pained her even more to stay with him. She could never have him. More than worlds separated them. Reality separated them.

Standing up, from her usual position at the chair, she moved to the bed. Without a noise she laid her glowing form beside his sleeping form. His chest rose and fell, steadily like the waves, his breathing like the ocean’s lungs. She ached, knowing that, the closer she got, it would only feel that much colder once she left.

Delicately she placed her head on his shoulder. Fire spread through her form, and swiftly but gently, she pressed her hand to his chest, the cage that held his heart. If somehow she could really touch his heart, would she understand? Why him, why now, what had happened to her, could she reverse it, how?

She closed her eyes, his warmth spreading like water, flooding her ephemeral form. She hadn’t spoken to, seen or felt anyone, yes, but she also hadn’t slept in over a century and half either. By his side, her mind was transported somewhere above her, somewhere to the side, another dimension different even from the land of shadow.

She woke, she returned to the present, when she felt him move. He shifted to his side, breathing deeply and stretching his legs as far as they would reach. His eyes fluttered, and lazily opened. He wasn’t surprised to see her next to him. Maybe he thought he was still dreaming.

She drew her hand to his face and brushed her thumb along his eyebrow. He breathed calmly and closed his eyes again. He blindly reached his hand to her cheek. As soon as he touched her his eyes flicked open. She smiled timidly.

Suddenly Violet had a terrible feeling. She knew the sun was going to shine soon, the chill of her fate began distilling inside her like dew gathering before the dawn, like tears gathering in desperate eyes.

Without a word she stretched her neck and pressed her lips to his. She wished with all her heart that somehow it would be a kiss to magically bring her from shadow back to her true form. The depth of feeling weighed inside her soul heavier than the world. The whole world had a constant shadow, casting millions of eyes and hearts and lungs in darkness for a time. She would orbit endlessly, with the dark side of the globe, in constant shadow. He couldn’t come with her, she couldn’t bear the fact that he would inevitably leave her and she would continue on without him. So she decided to leave before she loved him too much.

She pulled back her face to look one last time into his warm eyes. He closed his eyes, as though he felt the moment was too good to be true. She watched his peaceful look become dark as the light crested the silhouette of his face.

"I'll never forget you," she whispered hopefully, eyes memorizing his features. Then she saw no more.

Wendell opened his eyes and his dreamy smile vanished. His extended hand rested on his pillow and not her cheek. He could have sworn she was just there. He sat up quickly, looking in the direction she had been.

The bed showed no evidence of her form. He looked up, seeing his shadow cast dimly on the wall.

The Advocate

For thirty-four years Jacob had worked hard to become more like his father, the judge of the land. He studied, practiced, listened, obeyed, helped others and always sought justice: punishment for the guilty and relief for the innocent (though truth be told, he never did like to see even the guilty man put away for life).

Often when he studied, his dear friend and own brother, James, came to mind. He was sure being twins offered extraordinary connections of mind, thought process and desire, because sometimes he knew the choices his brother would make even before James made them. It was easier to be compassionate that way, but it hurt, too. We only get one life, Jacob would think to himself. Come on, James, choose to do something right…you know what’s right.

Sitting in the empty courtroom at the present moment, waiting for the offender and the judge to enter, Jacob mulled over the years he’d been a practicing legal advocate. One impulsive choice, that’s where it started for everyone, and ended in the courtroom. He thought, though, about his brother. He had made many little choices, poor choices, and the combination culminated in yet another major mistake. It was easier to see this process, being close to his brother; it was most likely that way for every other person he’d defended: little threads of poor choices wrapping into strong, inescapable chords of regret.

His eyes drifted from the top of the room, swaying side to side, taking in the familiar shapes and colors of the courtroom until his gaze alighted absently on his briefcase in front of him. His lungs stretched involuntarily and a sigh pressed from his tired mouth. A new worry weighed on his heart and a new, privatized case was about to begin.

Inside the holding cell below the courtroom, a hardened, unhappy version of his very likeness, his brother, awaited his private trial.

Inside the briefcase, a thick stack of paperwork representing months of research and tests diluted into one, uncaring word: cancer.

Both faced life sentences. So young to have life coming to its end.

Jacob winced. He felt weakness and pain, but he wasn’t sure if it was from his own ailment or because he could feel the suffering of his brother, the additional suffering he would face now that the consequences had finally caught up to him. The charges his brother was guilty of caused a chill to strum along Jacob’s weakened spine.

It’s time. Jacob fixed his tie with trembling hands and stood from his chair, leaning his legs into the solid oak table before him. The judge entered. His usual mantel of authority and confidence wore thick with wrinkles of concern.

“Hello, Father.” Jacob greeted the judge, his lifetime hero.

The doors at the side opened and a chained man in an orange jumpsuit was escorted to the table next to Jacob. The brother’s shoulders seemed able to touch the ground, his heart was so heavy with grief. His face was stone etched by years of unhappy masters of sin. His life, like his body, appeared utterly wasted by the empty look in his moist eyes.

Gone were the jovial days of pranks and laughter. One brother’s life over by choice, the other by defeat of disease. Both sat down before the judge, the unconventional trial began.

A just father looked down at the desk towering between him and his sons, unable to persuade his tears from flowing. He called to his son in handcuffs; the child arose.

“My son,” he paused, swallowed. “You are guilty of a crime that takes the rest of your life in its cold, unmerciful hands.”

James’ shoulders rounded even more. The chains on his wrists and ankles shook as his skeleton rattled against the suppressed sobs in his chest.

“I don’t want you to go into prison, to have your life so severely halted.” The judge spoke more tenderly than Jacob had ever heard. “I wish my love for you could make it all go away.”

James couldn’t find the strength or courage to raise his eyes to his father. Jacob could only stare at the briefcase. The judge closed his eyes, as if reviewing the annals of justice and regaining his position.

“Where law is concerned, justice is my perfect love: equity for all. I must follow through, you must suffer the consequences of your choices, or the entire system is void. There is nothing you can offer to make your life an adequate payment for the debt you have incurred. Your sentence is to spend the rest of your life in prison, as it is the environment your choices have afforded you.”

James swallowed and dared to plead with his father, the judge. “I recognize my sins, Father, your Honor, but does it make no difference that I confessed, that I came willingly and turned myself in? Might the sentence be minimized at all?”

There was a somber cushion of silence around the stuttering gasps of James desperate breathing.

The son with dying in his blood arose then, with help of his hands pressed to the wooden table. He opened his briefcase and pulled out the stack of papers. Unaware of Jacob’s terminal condition, the father looked to his perfect son and somehow felt double the loss, the sadness brimming in his eyes.

“Father, there is a plan.” No need to look at the papers before him, he spoke boldly, with love. “I love my brother.” James all but melted to the floor in shame at his brother’s tone, voice, words. “I love you, Father, and I do not wish to see you suffer as you are to lose your child. I—“ He paused for courage. He loves his brother. Instead he looked to his brother and announced to both, “I am dying.”

The judge jerked straight in his seat and leaned forward. James raised his head to look at his brother.

“I do not have much time. The cancer has spread hatefully through my body and I will not last even three months more.” Looking into his brother’s eyes he continued, “Father must enforce the law, there certainly is no way around it.” His gaze bended reluctantly toward the judge. “Father, send me to prison in his place. I will suffer the consequences he would endure if he will accept to live for me, to take my place as a servant to you and to the public.”

His eyes returned to his brother who had collapsed with awe into his own chair. “Brother, my friend, I have studied long and hard to become like Father, and he is just. He is wise and loving. He does not love to punish, but he serves consequences as they are chosen by the guilty. I will take your place and lose my life if you will learn what you must, every day, to help Father in his work. Ours is a work of helping others. The more love we can show, the more lives are simply improved. I have written you a letter that will help you follow me, learn my ways and help you to succeed. If you follow my instructions—and I know Father will help you if you ask—my death, my sacrifice, will not be in vain.”

His father’s look surprised Jacob, even when he had been sure his father would accept the plan. His rounded cheeks sparkled with tears and his tender smile encouraged him. The son asked with assurance.

“Will you pardon his crime? Here I am and there he stands, we are alike in every way. My life is forfeit and my greatest service for James and for you, Father, will be to make my death worth the life of another. Send me,” and Jacob turned to his brother again, “because I love you.”

He took his seat, suddenly drained from all support, used up more than he had ever felt.

“Son, you have done nothing wrong. I cannot make you do this, and we cannot know if your brother will accept the terms and change his life.”

James rose, shaking, from his chair.

“Father, I have wasted every good thing you have ever given me. I am not worthy to be called your son. I deserve to go to jail.” He paused.

“Brother, I will follow your plan. If you believe that I can, I will take this second chance.”

In his chair the dying son turned to face his hopeful, unhappy brother. James fell to his knees, his heart breaking into overwhelmed pieces of gratitude, tears watering his brother’s feet. He kissed his brother’s thin hands.

“Father,” Jacob answered, “I choose to do this, to give his life a greater purpose. He can do nothing in chains and in prison. Now he can choose to do some good, to build a better relationship with you, in my place. Whether or not he takes advantage of the chance, at least the opportunity will be there.”

Words of endless love and gratitude choked in James’ throat. He pressed Jacob’s hands to his shamed face. “I love you,” James managed through a sob. "I'm so sorry."

The judge looked on with aching love in his own heart. “Through my son, mercy is perfect,” he thought aloud. “Jacob, release your brother. Take from him his guilty robes and loosen the bands of his captivity.”

His savior brother unlocked the chains about his wrists and ankles. In a brief moment, the brothers traded clothing, names, lives.

“James, your new life will not be easy, but it will bring you joy if you so choose. Your brother’s life meets the demands of justice and son,” the son with sore wrists stood forward, “your debt is paid.”

James tightened his tie with trembling hands and took his brother’s letter in his hands. He nodded at his father. He turned to his brother.

Jacob, draped in orange and bound in chain, looked at his liberated brother; he was looking at the new ‘him’.

“I love you, too,” he smiled weakly.

“I will always remember you,” James humbly bowed his head.

No Reason Not To

She has no reason to, but she dresses up cute tonight. Well, there’s no reason not to, either. She looks the final product over in the mirror. A little eccentric, but still cute.

Her short brown hair is pinned on one side with an oversized silver bow; her makeup is quick and fresh; her lips, though, are howling red like the fire engine. The snug black dress is accented at the waist with a silver belt and, to match her lips, two blazing legs smothered in red nylons slink from the frilly skirt into black high heels. She doesn’t care that the pumps will place her even higher above the already too few number of males just in her reach; she won’t be looking out for anyone but herself tonight.

Walking the sidewalk like a runway she gains confidence with each breath. The night is warm, no jacket needed. A pulsing beat sounds from the building ahead and her pace syncs. She gets in for free. It pays to know people.

The opening door blasts sound into her face like a hot wind.

“Hey Michelle,” she yells over the noise.

“Hey, girl! Daaaaang! Give me a squeeze!” Her much shorter friends always get her boobs right in the face when she hugs them. She’s never bothered to ask how they feel about that.

“Who’s on tonight?”

“Oh, just some of my FAVES!” Michelle is always exuberant. She rattles the band names off and stamps her friend’s hand. “Go in, I’ll text you!”

It’s better to text than talk anyway. Not in general, just when both eardrums aren’t being pounded so hard they revise the beat of the heart.

She can hardly understand a word the band sings, but their movement articulates loudly and their sound make grooves in the air. This is a great band. Her favorite thing to do here, though, isn’t to watch the band. The people. They always dress in a way that makes her feel free, like the world is a bigger place. They dance like sea creatures, or peruse the crowd like lions, or pulse like grasshoppers and sweat like construction workers. She sits and reads them like words.

--OMG check out this guy that just walked in!! u r gonna luv him!! <3 oh eff, he might be with another girl. But ur HOTter!!--

Oh Miss Chelle, she smiles. But one thing for sure, she’s right. ‘Luv’ him. Not just cute, tall. (Because why would she love anyone otherwise?) But not just cute and tall. Hot. Cool, smooth. She can read it. Especially on this one. Probably because he knows it. The cute ones always do, and they ruin it. They ruin the cuteness with coolness.

The girl he’s with, they must be together. She’s gorgeous, like he is. She’s tall, too. Yeah, she makes the assumptions just like every other tall person.

Her eyes follow him, and her, but mostly him. They don’t hold hands. They stand by the stage near the hall toward the bathroom. She suddenly needs to go to the bathroom.

--Way cute. No way he’s not taken--

--Steal him! lol no, jk! But stop sitting there and make yourself seen, girl! Don’t waste what God gave u!--

She puts her phone in her clutch and starts threading through the crowd to the little girl’s room. The body-lined trail is luckily aiming to pass right in front of the guy and his lady friend, enough squeezing room in front of the stage.

Usually oblivious to attention, now she can’t help but notice people turning, staring, most of them looking up to see her, some looking down to see if it’s all natural, some looking up and down for a full check out. This aint no library, she thinks in Michelle’s voice for a shot of rousing confidence. But all the attention makes her kind of nervous and she nearly turns to return to her safe sitting position. But how awkward that would be…

Heads above the rest, it couldn’t be avoided much longer. He sees her. He notices her when she’s hesitating and looking positively deerish. A nerd out of bookland like a fish out of water. A fish dressed like sushi, or at least that’s as awkward as she feels. Especially when he doesn’t look away but just keeps blinking slowly, his eyes nibbling a taste. This aint no party platter. Michelle’s voice makes her smile. Oh no, he thinks she’s smiling at him. Keep walking; you started it, you have to finish it.

She refocuses her attention on safe passage through the maze. The farther from the head and the higher the heel, her shoe selection requires proportionate concentration toward the floor. Before she realizes she has forgotten how she’s dressed, she looks up to confirm her path and there he is. She must pass the lady friend and then between him and the stage to get to the restroom.

His eyes are softer than a fresh loaf of bread, and warmer. She feels like the melting butter under his gaze. She keeps her head turned slightly in his direction, steadies her passage with her hand on the stage, and sees him look her down (he’s still taller, even with her heels) as she does her best to walk away in command of her senses.

The mirror reflects the same sight she’d seen an hour ago, only with burning cheeks to match her lips. She doesn’t really have to use the toilet so she touches up her lips, dabs a finger of scent to her neck and behind one ear. Figuring she couldn’t do much about the rest, like it or not, she washes her hands for good measure and leaves.

She looks down and touches her hair as she steps into view of the coral reef crowd. She makes a glance where he should be. He’s gone. The lady friend is still there, cozy with another guy. Hmm, so she’s not with him. Her interest then opens as much as her curious eyes, searching the room for where he might be.

Knowing she can’t stand there and look at everyone from the front of the crowd, she picks a target: Michelle. Sure it’s back at the entrance, but it’s at the back. And she can ask for water for an excuse. He’s nowhere on the way back. But she only looks casually, so maybe he could have been.

Wait, what is she doing? Men don’t rule her attention like this. She’s the boss. She’s yelling at Michelle again.

“Gosh, he’s so cute! You’re right!”

“Emily, Honey, I’m always right!”

“Can I have a water?”

“Would you like a tall glass of water?” Michelle jokes and points behind the flustered, thirsty fish in high heels.

She turns. He is looking at her as though he can feel her, but talking to one of the previous band’s members. The musician looks to see what he’s looking at and Emily blushes. And turns around again to stare Michelle down with wide, accusing eyes. But Michelle just hands her a bottle of water with a radiant smile. Emily goes for a dollar out of her purse and Michelle pushes it away, shaking her head, and texting someone. Still smiling.

Taking a deep breath Emily braces herself to turn around again. She keeps her eyes fully concentrated on the bottle of water in her hands. She tries to twist the lid off. Nothing. She wipes her palm on her hip and tries again. No movement. Using her hip then as stabling support, she tries again, exerting her obvious uselessness. Not gonna happen. She sticks the bottle in the air in front of her and turns her head in Michelle’s direction, speaking with her face.

It says, “Do I gotta be freakin Wonder Woman to get a drink?”

Michelle’s shrug replies, “You are Wonder Woman, you Amazon.” And she smiles.

The bottle in Emily’s hand is snatched from its wimpy perch, and her head snaps back to the direction her body is facing. Superman already has the bottle open and returns it, and the cap, to both her hands.

“Hi,” he says.

“What?” She yells.

He leans in closer and the flame-o-meter gauge spikes inside her. “Hi,” he repeats and she can hear wide ocean waves above the thundering band.

He doesn’t lean back, so she brings the bottle of water between them. He moves a little.

“Thanks,” she says with a twitch of the bottle.

“What?” he yells. And leans close again.

She actually forgets what she said when she realizes she can smell his skin. Sunscreen. No cologne. Heaven smells like sunscreen.

“Um, the water, thanks. For opening it.” She stammers perfectly.

The band member comes and grabs his shoulder.

“Dude, you’re up,” he yells.

He somewhere between shrugs and nods and moves to be swallowed into the crowd. She lets out the air caught unaware in her lungs.

The present band finishes and Michelle brightens the lights slightly and plays another band’s album overhead, while this mystery man sets up his band. Emily hears Michelle’s voice more easily, even while her whole head echoes the throbbing in her ears.

“Ooooooh! What did he say?”

“’Hi.’”

“What! That’s it?”

“Well, and ‘what’. We couldn’t hear each other. He opened my water bottle and I said thanks.”

“So presh!”

“He’s playing. Do you know him?”

“No, seriously brand new. He must be opening for someone or making a break or something.”

“Let’s hear what Good Looking sounds like,” Emily smiles and winks and returns to her sitting area. Perfect view.

The overhead music stops and the lights focus on the man.

“What’s up, guys. We’re three dudes that mostly surf and take romantic walks on the beach at sunset—“

“Not with each other,” pipes in the cellist. A crowd member tosses a holler in the air and laughter ripples through the mass.

“But sometimes we get together and sing, and that’s when our friends—“

“And our moms…”

“Call us ‘Charming’.” Some groupies cheer at the stating of the band name and the drums start the beat.

He sings and plays the guitar. He doesn’t look at his guitar at all, closes his eyes a lot, like a lot of musicians do, and sings like Amos Lee and Bryan Adams, but younger. Cleaner, like in the shower. The drums brush the air with a seductive lullaby and the cello pumps the air with passion. Emily feels her ears slip into a bubble bath. The sound transforms the joint.

Now the coral reef crowd sways in the current of musical tide. The people seem rooted through the floor, bodies and hair waving like branches in a breeze. Emily watches his mouth. That’s her favorite part of any guy. A mouth says more than words about a person.

--Mmmmmmm-- Michelle texts.

--haha agreed.--

Emily sips at her water and the words of the song tell a story about a girl whose footprints he follows in the sand. He likes the look of her walk and wonders why it was alone. He follows the trail, even when he fears for a while the waves washed it away, and finds her. An unabashed romantic. Jeez.

The applause continues as they begin their second song. It’s more upbeat and humorous, but still…charming. That’s just the word for them. For him. And charmers are always trouble, she tells herself. Never to be trusted, especially such talented, good looking ones.

Oh no, now she really does have to pee. She holds it a while, discouraged by the thought of nylons, but mother nature calls and must be answered. Don’t want her leaving any messages…

The third song begins and she moves again through the crowd, watching the ground for her safety. She walks slowly, her ears tugging, begging to stay. At the edge of the stage she looks up and he’s not looking at her (well duh, get over yourself, he only said ‘hi’), so she stands a moment to look at him from that view. (And opened your water bottle. And looked like he wanted to say more…)

The restroom receives her and she wiggles out of her nylons. The wiggling back in after she’s done is always so tedious and takes forever to get just right again. She washes her hands, reviews her face and teeth—no lipstick marks—and walks out again.

The next band is already setting up. Only three songs? And now he’s gone. Three beautiful, charming, simple melodies powerful enough to create life and she knows nothing else. And probably never will. Such is a night on the town.



Saturday, the next day, she decides to go to the temple. No reason not to. She dresses like a spring blossom and floats like a bird as she walks up the sidewalk toward the shimmering edifice. The sun warms her heart through her skin.

She serves as proxy to married persons already passed on so they have an opportunity to choose eternal marriage there where they are. She may not understand everything, but the peace is unmistakable inside the temple. She is happy. She desires to be married there herself. Someday.

After the hour of service pleasantly slips by, she requests to be escorted to the Celestial Room. In the center of the temple and near the top, it has a safe, close feeling. It shines brightly, reflecting the gladness inside her. The quiet is almost loud in her noise-drunk ears, hung over from the night before.

She stands near an occupied chair and leans against a wall, closing her eyes and relaxing her lips into a pensive smile. Life is good. It’s not perfect, but it’s good. It even gets better as time goes by, as she learns and experiences life. She has no reason not to be happy, so she soaks it in.

With a grateful exhale, like an amen after a prayer, she opens her eyes. He is there. Who? Who else? Prince ‘Charming’. Her neck picks her head up from its lean against the wall and her brow twists like a puzzle piece. He sees her. She looks immediately away. Then immediately back. He smiles and walks in her direction. Not happening. Seriously? No way.

He gets close enough to touch but doesn’t say anything. She can’t help but recognize the extreme difference between last night and this moment. Loud, silence. Dark, bright. Sparking passion at his closeness, now fearful nerves. So uncertain. So quiet.

“Hi,” he whispers. Emily smiles. She knows just what to say.

“What?” she winks and tilts her head.

He leans closer.

“Hi, I’m Ryan,” he whispers in her ear. She could smell clean laundry and faded cologne, and still the sunscreen. So close to Heaven in this room...

Did she forget her name?

“I’m Emily,” she remembers.

“Nice to meet you. Nice to see you here. Of all places.”

She nods. Same, ditto.

“Are you busy later?” he asks.

Never been asked out in the Celestial Room, that’s for sure, she muses. She shakes her head no.

“K, I’ll talk to you downstairs whenever you’re done up here.” His eyes gather the features of her face before he leaves to sit by himself in quiet.

Well, so much for a peaceful, settled mind. Impossible with a heart racing in place. But she pretends to think of something other than him, closing her eyes to help the facade. Does it majorly jinx things to be asked on a first date in the Celestial Room of the temple? But stop. He didn’t even ask you out. Did he?

Her mind and heart wrestle without victor. She opens her eyes as her mental composure yields defeat and she walks out of the brilliant room. She changes into her spring dress and wanders through the front lobby, looking, and decides to wait outside for him. If he shows. If he doesn’t, she tells herself, she’ll just be enjoying the weather, reading her scriptures like any person would do.

He’s already there. He bounds from seated on a bench to standing at her side in four sweeping steps.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. Would you like to join me for lunch?”

“Um, sure. No reason not to.” She smiles. “Should we both drive or…”

“Oh,” his thoughts must be excitedly stuck in the present fact that he’s speaking to last night’s water bottle wimp. “I can drive. Or we could walk wherever. Or I can drive. I already said that. But I can bring you back here when we’re done. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

She laughs. “Let’s walk.” She’s actually not normally impulsive toward physical effort, but she chose flats this morning. “Where to?”

He hmms. “Creamery on Ninth is closest.”

“Sounds perfect,” she says. “It’s a nice day.” She throws it out like a belated icebreaker. Very smooth.

He smiles. Very smooth.

“Let me just put my bag in my car, yeah?” she says and he follows.

They walk to the Creamery in company of bright and humorous, very natural conversation, gentle air and affectionate sunshine. Maybe even some butterflies. She knows at least she has them in her stomach.

He is tall and grand and mega hot, but he is, unlike she assumed, unaware of it. She observes that he just seems to want to absorb as much life as he can, and it beams from him in rays of simple joy. She mistook it for conceit. He is genuine. She says ‘stop it’ to her tumbling heart many times. If it starts in the heart, well then the head starts falling over the heels and life gets messy.

In line to order food, she’s grateful it takes the woman in front of them about ten entire minutes to order for her five children and husband, a group that isn’t hard to miss, spilling out of a booth in the dining area. Ryan and Emily nudge each other and watch the kids wrestle and reach over each other while the dad silently wishes for at least five more arms, or restraining harnesses.

She has a hard time deciding what she wants to order, that’s why. But it’s their turn now.

“What do you want,” Ryan asks. She looks at him with confessing eyes.

“I think I want a corn dog,” she says. “It just sounds good.”

“Okay, two corn dogs,” he says.

“You want one, too?”

“No, you will want two. You can’t eat just one. Or if for some reason you can, then I’ll eat it. What else do you want?”

Besides you?

“And garlic bread,” she admits and covers half her face with her hand.

“And garlic bread,” he says, smiling. “And I’ll have a cheeseburger with no pickles, and fries.”

“A drink for either of you?” the young man, probably a freshman, asks.

“Water,” she says without his prompting.

“Water for me, too,” he says. “We’ll come back for ice cream.”

She likes him.

They sit with a clear but discreet view of the family of seven.

“No pickles?” she says.

“I don’t like cucumbers. How could I like one that’s been fermented inside a jar of vinegar?” Completely logical.

“Ever tried a pickle, and not a sweet pickle, cuz those are sick.”

“Yes, I’ve tried every pickle there is, and I like none of them,” even the tone of his voice smiles.

They watch the family of seven try to share two large baskets of fries.

“How many kids in your family,” he asks.

“Six, I’m third.”

“Middle child. Yeah, you seem chill like a middle child.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, that’s a good thing. Very good.”

She smiles. He gets up to get their ready order. She knows it doesn’t take many muscles to carry two corndogs and a burger, but he sure looks good in that just-right white shirt and loosening tie.

“Your dogs and garlic bread, m’lady,” his mouth twists as he holds back certain teasing.

“I’ll get some ketchup,” she says.

“No!” He gets up again. “I’ll get it.”

“Okay, then get mustard, too.”

He places the condiments on the table and sits down. But he waits, arms elevated like a football running back, in case she needs anything else.

“Thank you, slave,” she responds. “That is all.”

He laughs out loud and unwraps his burger.

They watch as the first child starts to cry and another child is disciplined for causing the tears.

“How many in your family?” she asks him.

“Well, I’m the baby of ten, actually.”

Her eyes widen to the size of a corndog. “Ten,” she whistles.

“Yeah, my dad is eighty years old, can you believe that?”

“I can. That’s how my mom’s family is.”

And the parents in the booth try to calm two more crying, whining children when finally they give up and leave with dramatic displays of pleading for ice cream. No, they misbehaved. Their chance was lost, etc., etc.

“Been there,” he said. “That kid trying to kick the mom there, that was probably me. The spoiled baby. All my siblings would testify.”

They get ice cream. She orders rocky road as usual and he goes for bubble gum. Charming, baby boy.

The sun scooting across the sky pulls behind it speckled clouds. The two new friends don’t realize how the room darkens throughout their conversation until one hears a purr of thunder.

“Was that thunder?” he says, leaning back in his chair to look out the window.

“I didn’t hear—“

Lightning interrupts.

“Oh no, let’s go, quick!” he starts to clear the paper and trash and corndog sticks. “Before it rains.”

The moment they rush outside, the clouds liberate the captive drops. Titan drops attack the parched sidewalk and road. Summer rain. The smells swell into the humid air. They run, but then she slows to a walk and he turns around.

“There’s no use,” she yells over the pouring sound. “You’re already soaked!" She laughs. "Take it easy.” She runs both fingers under her eyes to test for mascara streaks. Clean.

“I’ll take it easy if you take my hand,” he practically sings the words as he returns to match her pace.

“I see no reason not to,” she says and slips a wet hand into his.

Despite the warm rain and air, she is shivering when they get back to the temple grounds.

“Oh, you’re cold!” his wet shirt clings to his shaped form. She can’t not notice. He stops and pulls her into his arms. They stand under a leafy maple.

“You’re so w-warm,” she stutters. She has her own arms clutched into her chest and the limbs absorb heat between their bodies. He continues to hold her, radiate that man-made heat, and breathe his steady breaths. It calms her nerves and dissolves her chills.

Slowly she slips her arms from in between them and pulls herself into a perfect hug. His chin rests lightly on her head that rests lightly on his chest. She hears dripping leaves in one ear and beating heart in the other. He leans his shoulders into the trunk of the tree and widens his stance.

“Comfy?” she asks, her cheek presses into his chest from her smile.

He squeezes her and nods. She feels his chin move up and down on top of her head.

“Can I call you?” he asks

“What would you like to call me,” she mentally smacks herself for trying to be clever. Why does she do that?

“A whole list of things,” he plays along. Nice. “Delightful, beautiful, and charming, too.”

“Charming?” she leans back into his arms and looks at his face. It’s so beautiful that she instinctively pulls her own hands to her face to wipe her fingers under her eyes again. Amazingly still clean. He smiles.

“Yes, charming. And adorable, cute, sexy, funny.”

“Whoa, okay-ay,” she laughs.

“Sorry. But it’s true. But I can keep it to myself.”

“You may call me. But you’ll need my number.”

He keeps holding on to her with one arm while the other reaches into his pocket for his phone. In seconds she’s in his phone. If only it were so easy to be in his life like that. That could be a fun time.

Phone back in the pocket, his arm resumes his latch at her waist. She puts her arms again around his middle. The rain stops and the sun peeks over to see what happened while he was gone. Emily imagines that this little rainstorm was in answer to one of the times she sang, “rain, rain, go away, come again another day.” That was perfectly fun.

“Emily,” he squeezes her. “I need to go.” His reluctance shows as she watches his eyes dart from one of hers to the other, to her lips and back around again. “But I’ll call you. I want to see you again.”

She has more than one thing to say and all the words tug like children for immediate attention.

“I see no reason why not,” comes out of her mouth first; lazy habit phrase.

He laughs out loud like popped balloon. She smiles. They walk hand in hand to her car.

Heather's Heart

Heather had one of those hearts that connected to everyone. Even losing half of her right foot to a riding lawn mower at age five, she held no bitterness; her heart probably only got bigger. As seems true to all hearts an innate capacity to love more and more people, still Heather had a way of helping those she loved turn and better love those around them. She’s younger and shorter than I but somehow has always possessed a certain independence that surpasses my own. She may not know it, but she worked miracles. This is the story of Heather’s miracles.

Ten months ago, my life couldn’t have been better. The “holiday season” was just beginning and love was just pouring out everywhere. I was living with my boyfriend of three years, Wayne, whom I’d met Halloween night a little over three years before. We’d just had an awesome Halloween anniversary of sorts, dressing up as Mr. and Mrs. Smith. That worked well since Wayne’s even better looking than Brad Pitt and, well, I’ve got long hair and big lips. So I was up swirling in some rose-colored clouds starting into the holiday season (hoping this Christmas might finally be the one where two lives became one!).

Trouble started when I was out shopping with my best friend Mary. Guilty of being card-holding, wallet-drooling shop-aholics, we allowed ourselves only window shopping, but at least we did it together. We passed by a storefront stuffed with ostentatious wedding gowns and stopped to ooh and ahh. Mary put her hands around my arm like a three year old that wanted candy.

“Let’s go try some on, Em. I swear we won’t buy even a bead, but we’ve never just tried any on before! We’ll pretend you’re getting married.”

“What? Oh no, you know I’m a terrible liar.”

“It’s not lying,” she coaxed in her softly faded Australian accent. “It’s pretending. And you’ve got a great imagination and a great, long-time, handsome-if-somewhat-husky boyfriend whom you’d like to marry, so it won’t be far from the truth at all. Come on.”

She dragged me toward the door marked “pull” before I could protest. And we all know I didn’t really want to protest. I wanted to pretend.

“Good afternoon,” the lady tagged Alice said brightly, pins hanging carefully between her lips. She was kneeling on the floor at the hem of a beautiful cream dress when she looked up. She placed a measuring tape over her shoulders and pushed her glasses up her nose. She opened her mouth and let the pins drop into a magnetic pin cushion. “How may I help you?”

“My dear Emily here is getting married in March.” I swallowed as Mary continued. “We want to try on some dresses. Is it okay if I try some on, too, just for fun?” Way to make it to the point, Mary.

“You know, dears,” said sweet Alice in an accent . . . I’m guessing Irish, “I don’t care if neither of ya’s gettin’ married. It’s been a few hours since anybody came through, let’s have ya try on any dress that ya like.”

Mary clapped like that three-year-old again and I smiled in relief to not have even to pretend. Alice smiled wisely.

“Okay dearies, come to the mirror here and I’ll measure ya.” It wasn’t a job for Alice and we were happy to oblige to her every direction for the rest of the afternoon.

Mary, who looked perfect in any rags, looked heart breaking in every dress. How she wasn’t taken was a mystery to me. I knew the entire history of past boyfriends that she couldn’t seem to keep more than a couple months, and I knew her favorite and least favorite foods, movies, music, books, movie stars, hairdos, everything. I already had three sisters, but she was like the sister I got to choose, even though we really were divinely put together anyway.

***
When I met Mary, we were both in a helpless secondhand store, both trying to quell scaling desires to be in a bigger, more expensive store buying fancier, more expensive things, both pushing carts overflowing with mostly clothes we didn’t need. We pulled up to the dressing room about the same time and selected our first eight items to try on. I peeked over to Mary and basically saw my reflection, although much more petite. We had similar tastes in our first eight selections; the biggest difference obviously being size. Her size zero five foot-two frame made me feel like an ogre, even though I’m only a size eight in most styles. But it’s the two inches over six feet that usually gets the most attention.

She smiled when she caught me looking at her cart. I think right then I should have known she was reading my mind; I’ve learned that look since.

“It looks like you and me have a bit of a shopping problem,” I joked.

She smiled again, with a quick puff of air through her nose. “Problem, eh?” I heard her accent right away, even the way she was trying to lose it. I could tell. “A disease. A tragedy. An epic epidemic of lies to ourselves: ‘I need it’.”

“Yeah,” I laughed at her dramatics. “It’s so true.”

“Okay, well, come let’s try all this stuff on. We’ll tell each other how good we look and then we won’t buy even a zipper.” I just loved how zipper sounded like ‘zippah’. That was the beginning.

We left the store not a penny poorer, but a perfect friendship richer.

I knew she hated being foreign. She didn’t want anyone to know she grew up Australian much like I didn’t want people knowing I grew up Mormon. “People treat me different when they know I’m Australian,” she’d said. I replied, “I know…. Good thing I knew you were a shop-aholic before I knew you were an Aussi.” She smiled.

I knew she got just about anything with her smile. I knew just about everything about her, except for her family. I knew her “mum” was dead only because she revealed that one night when she was super drunk and uber-depressed about a bad break up. Anything else about her family was locked deeper than trust and farther than inebriation could open. But if she wasn’t going to say, I wasn’t going to ask. She seemed to want to just squeeze into my own eight-person family and I was fine with that.

***

The dress that Mary was in now was $1800.00. On her body its value seemed to go up. She twirled and swayed. I watched Alice watch her and suddenly wondered if Alice had any daughters or if she was as daughterless as Mary was motherless. Their smiles matched, though, as if this moment couldn’t have existed without the completing smiles.

“Okay, I love this one the best. Your turn, Em! Go on, get dressed.” She didn’t look at me but pointed to the dressing room, staring at her reflection and posing.

The first dress I tried on was sleeveless. I knew my mom would hate it but it was gorgeous. But still, it managed to make even me look stumpy. Next I tried a $2000.00 gown (dream on!) by Maggie Sottero. I didn’t tell anyone, but I already knew about this dress. It was the dress. It even had slight sleeves so Mother would be satisfied, but what I loved was how it made me look long and slim and feel like a magnificently comfortable bride. I lifted the gown as I took two steps to stand in front of the mirrors. Still in her favorite dress, Mary pulsed with joy.

“Aaah! Made for you! If Wayne were here, he’d be on his knee on the spot.” She teased, but I could tell she was sincere, too. I looked and tried to see what she saw. I stared.

“He won’t marry me,” I said, more honestly than I could pretend. “No matter what dress.”

“Em! Don’t say that! Just because he’s a blundering oaf, doesn’t mean he’s an idiot! He would be an idiot if he didn’t marry you. You are—“ she paused and hopped up the steps to put her tiny arms around my cinched waist, “the most perfect woman I’ve ever met.” She smiled into the mirror and into my furrowed eyes. Blast that girl, I couldn’t help but smile back.

“What time is it?” I asked abruptly.

“Oh! Dinner!” Mary grabbed the dress at her knees and lunged off to the dressing room like a cowgirl.

“It’s 4:25, my dear,” said Alice. “You really do look beautiful in that dress. This Wayne will come to his senses or you’ll find someone else and you’ll be glad because he’ll have better sense. I know that’s what they all say an’ it never helps, but it’s absolutely true. Absolutely true.” She knelt down again to hem and hum with pins in her mouth.

“Sure,” I said. Why was I getting break up advice when I’m nowhere near a break up? And Wayne isn’t an oaf, I thought. But then I smiled and went to take off the dress. An oaf and an ogre…

Walking to the door we said farewell to Alice.

“When you girls get on to truly be gettin’ married, come back here and I’ll get ya the perfect weddin’ package, okay?”

“Yes, Alice,” said Mary for us both, reaching out for Alice’s hand. “You’re the best!” I smiled my goodbye and we ducked into the rainy afternoon toward my car.

As usual, Mary put her hands around my arm and pulled herself close as we walked. I didn’t normally take to blatant affection or closeness of women, but that’s just how Mary was. But she seemed less energetic now. Was it the rain? My cloudy mood about Wayne after the sunny dress demo? I noticed something was off.

“How are you doing?” I asked casually. Just then she kind of tripped over her feet, half yelping and then laughing to cover her fall.

“Mary,” I laughed hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m – I” she held her arms to her chest. I put my hands on her shoulders and turned her to me to make her stop walking forward.

“What’s wr—” her head rolled forward and she went limp under my hands. I lunged to hold her from falling, easing her to the ground in disbelief. “Mary?”

Now I yelled. “Alice! Alice, help!” She heard me and came with surprising agility, dodging through the rain.

“What happened?” she called as she ran.

“I don’t know! She just – she seemed faint and I asked her how she – she put her arms up like this and -- what do we do?” My words came impossibly slower than my frantic thoughts.

“I’ll call an ambulance.” Alice turned about and joggled back to her store in a rush. “Check to see if she’s breathing and has a pulse!” she called back.

I shook my head and widened my eyes, hoping to bring back any first aid and CPR memories. I knew her neck was fine so I propped it nose-up and put my ear to her face, looking at the rest of her body. Her skin was so pale. Tears from my eyes started to drop like the rain onto her face.

“Mary” I said prayerfully. I saw a slight rise of her small ribs and started breathing quickly, maybe as if to do for her what she could not on her own. “Mary, can you hear me?” I put two shaking fingers on her Adam’s apple and slid them to the groove of that side neck muscle. I thought I could feel a pulse, but it was so faint and my imagination was pulsing so wildly I couldn’t tell.

“Mary,” I said now like a trained nurse, “listen to me.” I pushed my blue cardigan under her head so it would stay put. “You’re alive and you’re fine and I’ll kill you if you die, so just keep breathing.”

I knelt by her feet and lifted her legs into my arms. If her heart was struggling for blood then it wasn’t doing any good in her legs, right? Elevate the feet? That was taught in first aid somewhere….

It seemed like hours before I heard the sirens, but Alice could have been back only a few minutes when the paramedics arrived. That’s when I really lost it. Like when you scrape your knee, and you know you’re fine, but then mom asks if you’re okay and you break down? The presence of the ambulance made it too real, surreal, and it rained harder, and people gathered, and it felt like a funeral somehow and I got up to motion people on their way, wiping hot tears from my chilled, dripping face.

My cell phone rang. “Mom? Mom!” And then I couldn’t talk at all. I sobbed through her “honey? Honey what’s the matter? Emily what happened, are you okay?” All the while her voice flooded with emotion like the gutter filled with rain and I only added to the stream with flowing tears.

After trying to start the mouth motor with a bunch of stuttered “I, I, I,” I managed, “Mary. Fell. We’re going. To. The. Hospital!” I heaved sobbing breaths between each word.

I was watching Mary be put on a gurney and I didn’t hear whatever Mom said. The paramedics motioned me to join them in the ambulance and I walked toward them. Or maybe I drifted, or Alice pushed me. But I got to the step and realized my mom was still on the phone.

“Oh, Mom, I gotta go – oh, shi—”

I slipped on the step, hit my head on the open truck door and I fell, breaking my fall with my left arm on the curb’s edge. Searing pain in my forearm was the last thing I remember before my head smacked the pebbled ground.


Head pain was the first thing I recognized waking up. Tears were already gliding down into my ears and hair before I remembered Mary and then I opened my eyes and saw where I was and saw my mom and started really crying.

“Emmy. Oh Em, are you okay?” My mother’s presence was comforting but still incomplete. Her question sobered me surprisingly. I calmed my breathing.

“I don’t know, you probably know better than I do how I am.” I felt tired. Does the body rest when it’s unconscious or is it just on pause? The aches, the memories, the questions all came to the front of my senses.

“Sister?” It was Heather. I turned my head to the other side of the bed.

“Heather!” I breathed. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to surprise you at dinner,” she said sadly. “I am so sorry.”

“Sorry? Wait, Mary…what about Mary? Why are you saying sorry?”

“Oh, no no, no I’m sorry, Mary’s fine! Oh Em, she’s fine and awake and smiling and everything. I just meant I’m sorry I brought bad luck with my surprise.”

“Oh Heather, that’s nonsense,” said Mom. “This isn’t your fault, it isn’t anyone’s fault. Emmy, sweetheart, Mary has a heart condition and she's just had an episode. It actually looks like you got the worse end of the deal for the day.”

She looked me over. So, so did I. I moved my toes and flexed my ankles and legs with no discomfort.

Mom caught on and quickly listed my injuries before I found them out the hard way. She’s a nurse herself, so she named all the medical versions of my body parts and I only understood because she pointed to the areas as she spoke.

“You fractured two ribs on your left side, shattered your left forearm, dislocated your left shoulder and have a slight concussion. And a scratch on your left temple from the ambulance door. I guess that’s a good door to injure yourself on if anything, since help would be near by. And I guess it’s nice that all the injuries are on one side.”

Sometimes mom thought some things were comforting that I did not.

“Em, you look pretty beat up,” said Heather. “Can we do anything for you?”

I closed my eyes and sighed. “Mary’s okay?” They didn’t say anything and my eyes shot open again with an accusing glare.

“You said she was fine! Is she okay?” Mom’s mouth searched for an answer and I looked to Heather. She didn’t look at me.

“WHAT is going on? Tell me now!

Heather took a characteristically deep breath, sighed, and commenced the explanation.

“Mary’s heart is really weak. I didn’t understand all that the doctor said, but since we aren’t family I guess we wouldn’t get the whole story anyway. But her heart isn’t really going to get better this time, I guess. She looks fine on the outside, just a little tired, but what’s on the inside counts this time, and, well, each beat is counting down to the end unless she gets a transplant.”

“How long does she have? Why didn’t she ever tell me this!” My blood sped hotly through my body. “What’s the fuh—effing point of this stupid life if the best people get the worst hearts and die? Why wasn’t she resting? I would have made her stay home and—”

“Em, I think that’s why she didn’t tell you. She didn’t want to be treated differently. She wanted you to be real around her and she was just being herself. We all feel really bad about it, but we can’t change anything. I’m so sorry, sister. We all love her so much. We are praying for her.”

I grabbed at the blanket with my fists and cringed from the pain that caused, then clenched my teeth to try holding back the rising tears.

“Why pray? You said so yourself, we can’t change anything, prayer can’t change anything.” I knew they expected me to say as much and I knew they would reply.

“Well, it can change our hearts—” I knew she spoke figuratively, but it stung all the same. I let out a sob and turned my head toward the Mom side of the bed. There were too many people in this room.

“I think I want to be alone now.”

“Em, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—” Heather said timidly.

“Now,” I said curtly.

I didn’t want to be mean. Just alone. They quietly left the room and soon I cried myself to sleep. Can’t change a heart. Not even one that deserves it.


When I woke next it was to Mary’s voice. “Emily?” She had five small fingers in my right hand and I squeezed them softly.

“Mary, why didn’t you tell me?”

“There’s lots of crap about me I haven’t told you,” she shot at me. “I have a rubbish heart. We’re all gonna die. Should I put a sign on my neck that says ‘don’t come near, don’t get to know me, I’m just going to die, it’s not worth it’?”

“Oh, stop. Mary, but we did so many things that must have been so bad for you…for your heart.”

“So I have to stop living my life just because my heart might quit sooner than later? So it’ll quit and that will be it. I’m not sitting at home for it to quit. I’d rather die mid-jump into the Grand Canyon than at home in bed. Or in a hospital.”

I noticed she was in a wheelchair. A pouch of fluid hung above her on a portable hook, a clear tube connecting to some vein. Her eyes were bright but her skin still looked faded.

“I’m mad at you. I’m sorry, but you’re my best friend and now I have to think about the rest of my life, growing old without you, finding another maid of honor, a babysitter for my kids, someone to call up and vent to—”

“Emily! You talk like I’m the only person you know! You’ve got a mom and sisters, an amazing family that loves you…and prays for you.” She split her beautiful face with an ironic smile. “They pray for me, too. I think that’s kinda cool, don’t you? I don’t think anyone’s ever prayed for me before. They’re really churchy people, do you think it will work?”

“Don’t ask me that. I don’t pray, no one’s listening. We can only do what we can do and then we die. Prayer can’t change anything.”

She was quiet and looked at our hands. “It could change our attitude maybe?”

“Are you being serious? I don’t know if I feel like being serious.” I sighed.

“I think I’m serious. I guess sometimes I do think about dying. I know I can’t stop death, but what if something’s there after? Should I try to get to know it before I get there? Is that possible?”

“It’s not possible. No one could really know anything beyond what’s here and now. They might guess, but they couldn’t know. How could they know?”

A nurse came into the room.

“Excuse me, Miss Murphy?” Mary turned her head toward him. “You need to take your medication. And you need to rest. I’m here to take you back to your room.”

“I’m talking to my friend Emily here, uh, what’s your name?”

“Andrew.”

“Andrew. Emily, Andrew. Andrew, Emily. Emily is my best friend and I have probably a very short time left alive to talk to her, so if maybe I could take that medicine later, that would be very great.” She smiled, but neither Andrew nor myself were going to buy it. Andrew was already moving behind her chair.

“Mary,” I said, “take your medicine so that we can talk again later. Take her away, Andrew.”

He smiled. “I’ll tell your doctor you’re awake. He has news for you.”

“Thanks.” I guess. News? Whatever.

My doctor said I was free to go home. I asked if I could just go up to be with Mary and he ordered for me to take some pain medication and rest at home and when I felt stronger, in maybe a day or two, that I could come during visiting hours.

I was assisted in dressing my body and wheeled tenderly to the front of the hospital where my mom and Heather were waiting for me. I stood and walked, my top half limping—if that’s possible, and got into the van. We drove home in silence.


I called Wayne and got his voicemail.

“Hey babe. Sorry I haven’t called in a couple days. You probably heard I was in the hospital, so…yeah. Well now I’m out. My mom brought me to her house so I’ll come by later to see you. I miss you! I’ve got this huge cast on my arm and that’s in a sling and there’s a brace around my chest…well, anyway I’ll be seeing you later. Love you.”

No missed calls in three days. Well, Mom must have called him so he didn’t worry, didn’t need to call. But if he had been in the hospital, I would have been instantly and constantly at his side… I got a new worry, in my stomach. Oh, Wayne. Not after three years.

Mom drove me to my place that afternoon. I didn’t see Wayne’s car in the lot. My heart crept closer to my stomach. Inside the apartment, all my suspicions dissolved…into more tears. His stuff was gone. All of it. Even the love seat we’d picked out together. I leaned against the bar counter and stopped experiencing all the vital symptoms of life: heartbeat, breathing, thinking. One word from my mom, though, and they all picked up with impossible speed.

“Honey--”

“Did you call him, Mom? When I went into the hospital?”

“He—I called, he didn’t answer. I left a message.”

“Oh, PERFECT!” I lost it. “He got just the chance he needed, then: three Emily-free days to pack up all his SHIT (I yelled it as loud as I could since I couldn’t hit or throw anything) and leave me. Me. Three years! Asshole.” I was so tired.

“Mom, take me back to your place tonight. I’ll come burn this place down tomorrow.”

“Oh Emmy.”

“Let’s go.”


A week went by where I only slept and cried. I couldn’t eat. Anything that a heart usually helped promote—health, appetite, desire, living—I didn’t do. I couldn’t do. Worse than ribs or forearms or heads is breaking the heart. Is having the heart broken. Twice. In one week. I just wanted to go see Mary and spend as much time as I could with her. But I couldn’t move. Muscle or spirit.

Heather came to my room like a nurse to a sick bed, every day convincing me to eat, helping me sit and get up so I could go to the bathroom. She didn’t say much, for which I was grateful. I didn’t want to hear anything nice, soothing, condoling, helpful, hopeful or religious, especially religious. God couldn’t exist, not now. For sure not now. At least not for me. For everyone else, fine, maybe he cared, but not for me. Obviously not for me.

“Emily, it’s been two weeks, it looks like skin and bones is all that’s left of you. You need to get out.” Mom opened my window blinds and I squinted from the brilliant haze of sun and snow.

“It snowed?” I pulled the blanket over my head. I would have liked to roll away from the window, but that would have been onto my left arm and shoulder.

“I don’t work at the hospital today and I’m going to church now. Would you like to come?”

“No.”

“Everyone from the ward would love—“

“Mom, no.”

“Okay. Well when I’m back we can go to the hospital and see Mary. Can I do that for you?”

I peeked from the blanket and nodded. “Yes. Please.”

“Everything for your shower is in the bathroom, can you get there and wash yourself without breaking any more bones?”

“Wow, I’m not so clumsy as that I hope. Yeah I’ll be fine. See ya in three hours.”

“Okay honey. Call if you need anything.”

“Mom?” I couldn’t go on stubborn like this forever.

“Yeah sweetie?”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

She went to the door to let herself out. “Love you, Emmy.”

I smiled briefly under the covers; she knew I loved her, too.


The greatest project Heather did on her weeks-extended Thanksgiving stay was for me: to go to my apartment and pack all my things up and get them transported to Mom’s house until I knew what I’d be doing next with my life. Who does that? Packs for someone? A whole house of stuff!

I gave her a tender, one-armed hug when she left and said, “I am grateful for you, Fethy.”

“I am grateful for you, sister!” She said as only she does. “I’ll be back for Christmas. It won’t be a surprise so I won’t bring any bad luck, okay?”

“Oh boo. None of this was bad luck! Shit happens. Oh, sorry. Crap happens.”

She smiled. “I’ll see you in a month, sis. I expect you to be all better by then!”

I spent every non-working hour with Mary. It was really easy to do since where I worked was across the street from the hospital. She slept a lot and so I read and wrote a lot. And thought. About dying. Not my own death, but about dying in general. All the Mormon doctrines stirred faintly in my mind, but I seemed to be fuzzy on a lot of the answers. But anyway, no one could really know about death, or beyond death. It’s not like anyone came back to say—oh wait, Jesus did. Well, but he already knew everything anyway. Whatever, that thinking made my head hurt.

“Hey, Em,” Mary gathered my eyes from inside a book. “Don’t you have anything better to do than be here? Isn’t there a world outside this hospital or has the end come already?”

“It’s over, yeah. We’re the last two alive, actually.”

“Not for long, though. My heart has, what, two weeks maybe three weeks of beats remaining? What will you do when I’m gone, the only woman left on Earth?”

“I could give you my heart if you like,” I said, maybe too seriously. “I mean, it’s broken, but if you’d like to live, I’d rather not live without you. You could have mine.”

Mary’s teasing smile vanished and her lips pouted.

“That’s a terrible thing to say. Your heart’s not broken, it’s just fine! You keep it! At least you have a soon-to-be husband/oaf to take care of it. You have a lot more—”

I don’t usually express emotion very obviously, but Mary is much too good at reading me and she knew without me having to say. For which I was grateful. I didn’t feel like crying just now. Not over a stupid man that doesn’t want my tears or deserve my love. More like he took my love and only left me with tears. Jerk. Stupid, stupid jerk. All this Mary could read.

“He’ll die a horrible death, dear. Don’t worry.”

And that’s all she needed to say. I laughed. I laughed like I hadn’t laughed in months. I hadn’t laughed, actually, for a whole month. I laughed until I cried and she laughed and cried with me until a monitor alarm started beeping and we both kind of freaked out. But a nurse came and it stopped after a few moments even though she couldn’t figure out why it had started. Mary smiled at me; we’d had our laugh. It was fine now.

Then one afternoon I came to her room and Mary had changed completely. Actually, physically she was the same: pale skin, all bones, lovely face. Her eyes, though. Usually bright, today they were cross, confused, fearful. Before I could even ask she spoke.

“Emily,” she didn’t look at me. “You can’t come visit me any more. I’m ruining your life, you need to go do normal things and just let me die. Just think of me as already dead if it helps, but I can’t have you come here any more and I won’t let them let you in to visit me. Please,” she choked back tears, “don’t come here any more.”

I didn’t know what falling down an endless tunnel felt like before that moment. No explanation, no conclusion, seeing nothing and reaching out but getting nothing, never knowing when to expect the moment when you’d hit bottom; never sure there would be a way out.
There were no words. I could tell she meant it. The pieces of my heart broke again. I don’t remember how I made it home.


Every day after work I still went to the hospital. I went to the cafeteria to sit and stare at a bowl of tapioca that I never ate, always hoping that somehow Mary would sense I was there and change her mind and not freaking die before I’d get to see her again.

My imagination concocted dozens of reasons and explanations for why she really threw me out, for why my life was pure shit, for why life had no purpose in general, for why my parents were splitting up after 28 years (yeah, more good news), for why men grew tired of perfectly reliable and loving women without warning and without balls, slinking away when she needed him most. I guess that all men did, even God. What was His strategy? Take everything away so I have nothing left to lose? Was that happiness? Having nothing to lose? Screw that. I want everything to lose!

The cleaning lady came to wash the floors so I knew it was time to leave to go to bed to not sleep so I could get up and go to work for another day.

As I left I stopped just for a moment to consider a cup of coffee. I guess I’m glad I didn’t because then I didn’t spill hot coffee all over me when this great sloth of a man threw open the door right as I reached it, slamming it into my left, yes my left, arm and shoulder and lancing me to the floor, on which I slid quite some distance since it was newly wet with mop water.

At first I couldn’t believe my luck and laughed as whatever just happened replayed in my imagination. Then the shock passed and the pain set in.

“Oh, dear God!” Came a thick Australian brogue. The sound could have soothed my pain had the pounding not been so extreme. There’s just something about that accent…but I squirmed, breathless, in the mop water and people began to gather.

“Should we call a doctor?” he asked.

“Oh no, that would take too long,” I said. “Call for an ambulance.”

His eyes sprang even wider, but in the shape of confusion. He must not have expected sarcasm with my first words of reaction.

“This one’s already broken, this one’s probably been re-located once again, and maybe I broke a couple more ribs. But other than that, I’m fine. I’m not seeing stars.” I looked at the cleaning lady and said, “but I am seeing an Australian kneeling at my right. Is that real?”

She nodded and twisted her eyebrows. Then she shook her head and put up the ‘caution wet floors’ sign.

The great Australian at my side spoke again.

“May I help you up?”

“Well, you did help me down. It would only make sense.”

Suddenly I was entirely in the air, supported by his arms. Luckily I was already used to heights because he must have been six-foot-four.

“So where can I take you?”

“Good grief, I can walk, ya know.” But I didn’t want to get down just yet. “I was headed that way before I got sent back this way.” I pointed to the door out. He passed through it, very gracefully this time, and kept walking.

“Now where.”

This couldn’t seriously be happening, right? I was dreaming. I closed my eyes tight and shook my head to open them again. The Australian still awaited direction.

“My car is parked out on the street. I’m going home.”

He carried me in a silence of substantial awkwardness. He cleared his throat.

“I’m, uh… I’m really sorry about my carelessness back there. Are you sure you’re not…more hurt?” He looked at my arm.

“My body is fine. My pride is a little bruised ,I guess. Oh, and my heart is broken. But you didn’t do that.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that, that is for certain.”

My mind paused. Whatever that meant. But we were at my car about then, so I told him he could put me down.

“Are you sure you can drive?” he asked fatherly.

“I must have gotten this car here somehow, right?”

“My name is Kyle,” he stuck out his hand. I didn’t see the point of introductions. On his other hand I also didn’t see a wedding ring. Girls notice these things…But whatever, I wouldn’t see him again. What were the odds? He was obviously very Australian, with a tan like that in Utah in December. Plus, from now on I’d be watching doors a lot more closely, so running into him would be less likely, and less painful.

“Emily,” I said and put my hand in his. He gave it a quick shake and let go. I reached in my coat for my keys. “Um, thanks for…the lift.” I added.

“I’m so sorry. You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine. Thanks.” I unlocked my car and he was still there. “So, well, have a good night, then.”

“Right. Good night, Emily.”


But I thought wrong. I still went to the cafeteria every day and sat in the corner behind my tapioca, but I saw that Australian man every day. He never saw me, though; he always just came in, grabbed a piece of fruit and a muffin and left again out that villainous door.

I knew he wasn’t a doctor since he’d offered to call one after he mowed me down with the door. But everything I observed about him told me nothing about what he was doing at the hospital every day. I guessed he was just a visitor. One actually allowed to see his sick friend, a friend that was practically family.

It had been a week now since I’d seen Mary. I figured she was still alive because I was certain I would be the first notified of her death. I don’t know. Maybe they’d check the recent phone calls from her phone and see they were all from me so they’d call me back first. I’m a dreamer, I think stuff like that. It was now also one week from Christmas. In two days I wouldn’t have to work at all and I could spend all day in the cafeteria. Whoopie.

Five days from Christmas, I didn’t sleep in even though I didn’t have to work. Even though I had nothing to live for, I made a special effort this day. I had an uncommonly positive feeling about the day. Maybe I would get to see Mary today. Maybe she would change her mind. I put on nice clothes, “church clothes” as they say, did my hair, put on makeup and even perfume. I did more in one day than I had in a month and a half. And all one-handed.

When the nurse at the counter still wouldn’t let me go back to see poor Mary, my heart and my lungs and my soul breathed out a sad sigh and I took the elevator back to the cafeteria. I walked cautiously through that door and luckily looked up. Looking down and charging purposefully forward was that tall Australian again…Kyle wasn’t it?

“Kyle?” I tried.

“Emily!” He halted. “We meet again. Our lucky doorway. Hello. How are you today?”

“Hi. I’m fine.”

“You look beautiful. Did you go to church today?”

“What? No. I don’t go to church. Why do you ask me that? Are you Mormon?”

“Um, well, I was just asking. I know a lot of people go to church around here. Sorry to assume.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I’m actually Mormon. Well, I think I still am. I don’t know. I was baptized when I was eight like everyone else.”

“Oh? Does everyone get baptized at age eight then?”

“No, I mean, my siblings were, before me. I grew up Mormon. But I stopped believing that stuff years ago.”

“Huh. Well, you must have come here all dressed up for some reason. Surely not just to see me?”

I laughed. “Oh, that was my only hope. No, I came to see a friend. But she’s…she’s sleeping. So I figured I’d just wait down here.” Uh oh. He read right through my terrible lie.

“Okay then. My friend is sleeping, too, actually. Mind if I join you? We’ll keep each other company until our friends are awake. Sound good?”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

I got tapioca and ate it as he told me all about Australia and his job as a magazine journalist. I oozed with jealousy seeing my own life’s fantasies being fulfilled by a stranger. He tried asking questions about me, but I deflected them as much as I could, using short answers with seamless transitions into new subjects.

After some time he had to go. He asked if he could see me again.

“We might run into each other here again, sure.”

His face already said what his mouth then spoke, “You are just full of non-answers, miss Emily. Well, let me help you out. I’ll give you a subject. If I see you again, we’ll talk about this Mormon church you no longer believe in. I have a feeling you could have a lot to say about that. Be prepared, yeh?”

He had a smile that I was sure got him anything. That reminded me of Mary. That reminded me that I was sad.

“Okay sure.” I painted on a smile. “It was nice talking to you, Kyle.”

“No, it was nice talking to you. I did all the talking. Next time it’s your turn.”

Next time was actually the next day. I hadn’t prepared anything. I already knew what to say about Mormons and Mormonism. It’s a nice little place for the goody-goody weirdos to gather and talk about Jesus and judge each other and those they’ve cast out and not let in yet. That was all I’d say and that would be enough. We sat down at a table and he spoke first.

“I guess maybe first I should tell you that I’m Mormon, too.” He tried not to smile.

“You’re kidding me. I thought you were Australian.” Mental hand slapping against the forehead. Oh, what a thing to say.

He laughed loud enough for the whole cafeteria to shake a bit. I shrugged my shoulders and slouched, hoping to shrink from view.

“I mean, I guess…I mean. Oh, I’m retarded. I really just didn’t peg you as a Mormon. Sorry.”

“Yeh, there are Australian Mormons, believe it or not. We’re not all kangaroos and dingos down there; we’re people, too, you know. With minds and beliefs and hearts…” I covered my blushing face with my right hand. “And we also have a sense of humor.” He nudged my elbow so that it dropped off the table and showed my face again.

“I’ve actually been living in Colorado for a little over a year now, for work. I met a girl—she actually looks kinda like you, only shorter. Huh, just noticed that. Wow. Yeh, you really do look alike, you two. You could be sisters.”

“Well I actually do have a sister who lives in Colorado.”

“Oh, that would be too much. Her name is Heather.” He stopped. Probably for the look of incredulity on my face. “Heather Fields. I thought it was the most beautiful name that it had to be made up.”

“I’ve thought the same thing, too. A beautiful name for an equally beautiful girl, though she hasn’t had much luck with fields…”

“So she is your sister! Emily Fields. Well, that’s nice, too. What do you mean she hasn’t had luck with fields?”

I told him about the time she lost her toes to the lawn mower in the field next to our house. He was a little grossed out about her toes flying out over the grass, but the conversation kept going on about Heather. It was pleasing to hear how everyone he knew that knew Heather out in Colorado just loved her and were so impressed with her. It felt good to be her sister, though no one would perceive us as alike except for our looks.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on God, you know.” He said randomly.

“What?”

“Well, I’m guessing you have observed a lot of unfortunate things happen in the church, that people do to one another. But that doesn’t mean God’s behind it. If Jesus wouldn’t do it, then it’s not of Him. People make mistakes. God doesn’t.”

“God also doesn’t answer prayers sometimes, and that makes us make a lot of mistakes.”

“Hmm. I can see what you mean.” He sipped at his hot chocolate that couldn’t possibly be warm anymore.

“So…” I wanted to change the subject quickly. “Did you join the church for a girl?”

“Oh, no. Your sister invited me to a fireside. It was musical and she figured I would appreciate it. I don’t know why. Maybe because I always had that camera around my neck so she figured I appreciated the finer things of life. Well, I actually did go—and yes, at that time, it was more just to go since she asked me—but I got hooked. It ruined me. Okay, not really. It ruined the old me…which was necessary in some ways. I couldn’t have done that on my own, so I know there’s a power in the church. And I know that it doesn’t come from the people in it, but from the Spirit behind it, and from the atonement it’s built on. I wasn’t an easy fix for God. But He did it. And look at me now.” He spread his arms and his smile out wide to his sides.

I smiled and suddenly, I was melting and melting inside. “Look at me now” I repeated, looking down at my spoon. I imagined what I looked like then. I hadn’t eaten in months, I hadn’t prayed in years; I was a lot more broken than I could ever admit.

I didn’t realize I was crying until Kyle reached a hand to my cheek and brushed tears away with his thumb. A stranger posing as my friend. It was sweet of him, but I, I—

“I should go.” I stood up and pushed back my chair. I got a slight rush to the head and leaned against the table. He stood and reached out to assist me. “No, I’m fine. I’ll see you later.”

“Emily,” he said. “Mary talks in her sleep sometimes. . .” He paused and I froze entirely. “I don’t think she has much longer actually. She’s really stubborn, I think we have that in common. But I think she needs you. You’re the only…real family she has. I will take you in to see her tomorrow, okay?”

I couldn’t say anything. I think the word for how I left the hospital is fled. I fled to my car. I drove for hours. I drove nowhere; I drove dangerously, I’m sure. I don’t remember. I couldn’t see much through my tears, my swelling eyes, my convulsing sobs.


Of all places to park, I pulled up to a curb on a street alongside the Salt Lake City temple. I always loved that temple. Its indestructible strength and beauty reminded me of God. Of course I’d never met Him, but I thought of Him as a temple. Only, one that was personable and loving, open and always listening and answering.

That’s what I thought back in the day. But then I just…doubted. I wondered could it really be possible, a being like that? And that made room for trouble. And I got into it. And I didn’t want to admit that I needed out of it, or wanted out of it, so I blamed the church and pushed God away. He couldn’t be where I was, anyway. I found a man that had made me feel happy. That was Wayne. I had found Mary and she…she completed me. We were so different, but we were perfect. And thinking of her dying. Well it meant I would die, too. At least, a piece of me would. A piece that could never be replaced, never heal or grow back.

Like Heather’s foot.

Whoa, that was random. Why would I think of that just now? Heather had never complained that she had lost a piece of herself that she could never get back. Did she ever wonder why? Why her? How was she always so damn positive and faithful about everything? What was it that she always said? ‘Nothing happens for nothing’? Something like that.

Where was that kind of faith made? I needed some. I looked at the temple, its glowing spires reaching to heaven. They reached and they reached, but they could only reach so far. God would have to come the rest of the way.

“God,” I prayed at long last. “I don’t think I can even reach all the way right now, and no, not because my shoulder is busted and my arm is broken. I think I forgot how to pray.” I must have sounded like a real winner. “I’m so broken I can’t be put together again,” I said.

The ridiculous nursery rhyme of Humpty Dumpty then popped into my head. What? I thought. I’m going crazy. ‘All the king’s horses, and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Humpty together again.’

In my mind then, as clear as my own voice came this imaginative conclusion:
“Let the King through, came the call of the crowd
He is the one with power endowed
He will take all the pieces into His hands
Put them together, as He understands.”

I smiled in spite of myself. What an imagination. I pressed my forehead into the steering wheel and pushed all my broken pieces into His Hands with the little faith I imagined I had, and prayed and cried myself to sleep.


An urgent tapping noise woke me.

“Miss, Officer Brady. Miss, are you all right?”

I was slouched over and pinned between the door and steering wheel and it felt like I’d broken my neck to get that way, but somehow I peeled myself upright and squinted toward the cop. I tried nodding but my neck was stuck.

“Yeah,” I croaked. No doubt I looked like a smashed toad; mascara stains down my face, swollen eyes, car upholstery pattern pressed into my skin. Woof.

Amazingly, the cop just nodded and walked on. Oh, just a traffic cop. Fine. As long as I didn’t have a ticket – nope, all good. It was seven in the morning. I had three missed calls. Two from Mom, one from Heather. I would see mom in a few minutes, I called Heather.

“Hey,” I said. “Is it too early?”

“Sister! No, I’m up,” she chimed. “Guess who called me last night?”

“Um, I don’t know. Why would I know?” I laughed.

“My friend Kyle! He said that he ran into you at the hospital and apparently you’ve made quite the impression on him.”

“Actually, he did run into me, making quite a solid impression himself.”

“What? He didn’t say anything. What happened?”

We talked for the whole forty-minute drive home and laughed about Kyle and about all the drama that was him becoming Mormon in a short month. Then we reminisced about Christmases past, laughing until our sides hurt and our smiles ached.

“I’ll be driving up either Tuesday night or Wednesday day.”

“Wednesday day, duh. Roads are bad enough during the day. No surprises, just come Wednesday day.”

“Okay,” she laughed. “You sound good, Em. I love your laugh. I’ll go visit Mary with you when I come, K? We’ll keep her cheered up for Christmas. She has to have one more Christmas!”

“Yeah, okay Feth. Thanks for talking; it made the drive go faster.”

“Drive from where?”

“Salt Lake,” I said. “I cried myself to sleep looking at the temple.”

“Oh, Em. You’re going to make it through all this. God can really help, too. He’d like you to ask Him to, though. He doesn’t want to barge in uninvited but he wants to help. Always.”

“I know.” I was surprised the preaching didn’t bother me this time.

“You do?” Her voice popped. “Oh that’s good,” she tried to sound unexcited.

“You can gloat if you want, Fethy. I think I had a break down moment last night and I’m done wrestling God. He won. Don’t get your hopes up for church right away, but God and I, we’re speaking again.”

“Gloat! Oh Sister! I’m so happy for you. And for God. Imagine all that time He didn’t get to talk to you! What if I didn’t get to speak to you for that many years! I would be so sad!” (Yes, she does speak with that many exclamations.)

“O-ho-kay, Sis. Well I’m home now. I’ll see you Wednesday night. Love you.”

“I love you! Oh I’m so happy. Okay, see you Wednesday, Sister. Muah!”

I wouldn’t tell Mom quite yet. I’d just let her find out. She likes figuring things out on her own. But some of the pieces were beginning to rejoin. I told Mom I wasn’t feeling well and asked if she had some Tylenol PM. I took three pills and slept all day. I think a reunion with God was all I could handle for this day; Mary would have to be the next.


In the Cafeteria the next day I sat right by the door. I’d made myself up again, this time for him, yes. I may have been broken, but I was still a female…But he didn’t come. For hours. I began to dread that he wouldn’t come at all. But that would mean that he was gone, and that would mean Mary was dead. No! Not yet.

I bolted out the door and into the elevator. I willed the beastly contraption to go faster and impatiently pressed the floor button again and again. When the door finally opened I rushed to the desk but stopped when I saw Kyle pacing in a waiting area. I walked toward his tall, anxious frame.

“Kyle?” He looked up. Without warning he took me into his arms and let out a long breath. “Oh no," I said, "please no. Is she…?”

“The doctor says she has a day left.” He let me loose but kept his hands on my shoulders. I placed my hands on his elbows, unsure of what else to do. He was proving to be an openly affectionate man.

“One day.” I repeated. I closed my eyes and watched seconds tick by on the back of my eyelids. Could the count down actually be under a day?

The doctor came out.

“She’s awake and fine for now. You can go in and see her if you like.” He eyed me, probably wondering what wing of the hospital I’d wandered from.

Kyle and I walked to the room that held our precious Mary. She was awake, but her eyes were heavy and tired. When she saw me with Kyle she wrinkled her brow. The heart monitor rhythm sped up, too.

“Mary, please don’t be mad that I’m here. I can’t stay away any longer.”

“Kyle told me you have come every day since I told you not to.”

I looked at Kyle, kind of jealous that he’d had the time with her, and grateful he’d spoken of me, kept me alive in her.

“Yeah, and I’ve been praying for you. I bet he didn’t know that.” Kyle looked sideways at me and then back at his sister.

“I stopped praying for me,” she said.

“Why?” I puzzled. “I didn’t know you’d started, but why stop?”

“Well, because one night I realized what I was really praying for: for someone else to die so that I could live. How selfish is that? I’ve lived a good life. Why should anyone else have to give up all of life’s opportunities just so I could have a few more decades on Earth? Do I deserve that more than someone else? I can’t ask for that.”

We were all quiet for some time.

“Why did you tell me not to come see you, Mary? I needed you.” I confessed.

Kyle spoke this time for her.

“That’s my fault,” he said. “I found her and she was upset that I finally did. She knew I wouldn’t leave her side and, since she hates me, she didn’t want you to have to be around me every day…and I probably would have sent you away myself, unknowingly. I worry too much about her. That’s why I’ve been looking for her for so long. I got lucky and finally found her house, but not her, unlucky when I found her in the hospital. I’m glad I ran into you…literally. I should have allowed visitors. I’m sorry.”

“You hate him?” I asked Mary. “I think he’s delightful.” His lip tipped upward briefly and I blushed.

“I knew you would. I know he’s delightful and I didn’t want you to like him. But I hate him for controlling my life like he was my father. They are both so over protective because of my mum. They didn’t want me to live, all so I could just stay alive, so I ran away. That was five years ago.”

“You haven’t seen Kyle in five years? Wow. Well either you’re good at hiding or he’s a terrible detective.”

“Both,” they both said and smiled that easy smile.

“But don’t give up yet, Mary,” I encouraged. “Christmas is just over a day away. Stick around for the holidays, yeah?”

“One day is all he said I have left. I’ll do my best.”

We didn’t talk much, because she was tired. But I held her skeletal hand and just basked in her presence. Even only half-alive she was still a positive charge for me. I didn’t go home. I stayed in the bedside chair all night and Kyle snored softly in the neighboring empty bed he’d offered me. I’d declined. I wasn’t tired.

Wednesday was similar. Kyle ‘fetched’ the breakfast. Mary moved food around on her tray but didn’t eat. I pestered her, and I would to the bitter end, to eat and get her strength. She surrendered, but still she couldn’t eat much and every effort exhausted her. She slept a lot, off and on.

My phone rang and it made both Mary and I jump. I grabbed it and slipped into the hall.

“Heather, hey. How’s the drive going?”

“Oh, okay. The roads are pretty scary! But I’m coming along fine. Just stopped for gas. How’s Mary. I had a feeling I should just call and see how things were going.”

“She’s tired. The doctor said she had one day left. That was yesterday. So, I’m just staying here every minute with her and Kyle.”

“Oh, tell him hi for me! Em, that must be so weird. I don’t know what I’d do if I knew my best friend was dying. It’s impossible to prepare for goodbye, even when you know precisely when it’s coming.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Will you go to Mom’s or will you just come straight to the hospital?”

“Well, I just talked to Mom, actually. She’s at the hospital, too, so I’ll just come straight there. I’ll call you when I’m closer, K? Tell Mary to hang in there! I’m praying for her!”

“Oh, she said something about that. She said she stopped praying for herself. She doesn’t want someone else to die so that she can live. I can understand that. What a hard thing to live with.”

“Well, but if she will live life to the fullest, she may just get a heart. She would make the most of every day.”

“Yeah, she always has.”

“Jesus died so that we could live,” Heather thought aloud. “He loves us a lot.”

“Can he really let us suffer so much, though, and then die?”

“There are worse things than death. And sometimes death makes some things better. Suffering ends, hearts soften and people draw closer to that Being that created them. God has an interesting way of moving all the pieces.”

“He’s the only one that can put them all back together again,” I smiled to myself.

“Yeah, totally. Keep up this attitude, Em. I like it!” She made a stretching noise. “Okay, I better get back on the road again.” She sang the last part.

“See you soon! I love you.”

“Love you more, with all my heart! See you!” She hung up.

I turned my phone to silent and went back into the room. It was the last I would hear Heather’s voice.


“Alice came by to see me, did I tell you that?” Mary said when she woke once.

“Alice?” I asked.

“Irish Alice, the wedding dress fairy lady.”

“Oh really! That’s funny.”

“She gave me a pin cushion in the shape of a heart.” She pointed to the bedside table. “It even has pins in it.” Her laugh was weak and spacious.

“She didn’t seem one for a tender approach to things.” I pushed a few stray pins deeper into the cushion. “How funny.”

Sometimes when Mary slept Kyle and I walked through the halls and talked. Time ticked away. I was beginning to need him already. If Mary had to leave I would need backup. He could become my new best friend. We walked with matching steps.

“Kyle Murphy, paging Kyle Murphy. Please return to your sister’s room immediately.”

We ran. We found an anxious doctor with a layered clipboard standing at the door. He approached us with pen and board extended.

“A heart just arrived and your sister can have it,” he said to Kyle. “We need you to sign here and we will begin the transplant immediately. The surgeon is already getting ready.”

Kyle looked at me with hurried concern and it seemed I stared into his eyes for eternity. I didn’t move. I wouldn’t be a part of this choice. I couldn’t. He signed.

We followed the doctor and a couple nurses to Mary’s room. She awoke as they mobilized the bed.

“What’s happening?” She spoke, her eyes still closed.

“There’s a heart,” Kyle told her.

“Someone died? Just before Christmas? Oh no.” She seemed like she spoke from inside a dream.

“Young woman, car accident, severe head trauma. Nothing we could do,” said the doctor. “She was an organ donor and…” he paused. “Actually her mother works at the hospital here. She bravely gave us the go-ahead. A really sad moment.”

Mary’s eyes shot open and blazed with knowing into my own where I stopped dead on my feet. She rolled away quickly and out of sight as they turned a corner I could hear her call my name; she may have started sobbing. Kyle saw I wasn’t following and stopped to return to me.

“Emily,” he worried. What’s—?”

He stopped because something behind me caught his attention. I turned, not of my own effort though…like a ballerina in a music box. A nurse with bright scrubs covered in blood was walking briskly in our direction.

“Oh, Mom,” I gasped. “Mom, no! No, no, no!” The word kept cascading from my mouth as I fell to the ground, to my knees; no support left in my exhausted soul, I crumbled into my mother’s arms, pressing my form to the last blood of Heather’s heart.

Mother and sister we cried until our heads were completely crammed with pain, our eyes entirely drained of liquid and our hearts empty of grief. I felt like a great stone, emotionless, useless except for weighing things down. Mom wanted to change her clothes, so she went home. I refused to leave.

When Mom left, Kyle returned from his respectful distance and silently put him arms around me and pressed his cheek to my head. I held his middle and let lifeless tears soak into his shirt. We stayed that way, and I fell asleep waiting for the doctor to come again.

That Christmas I spent the whole day listening to the beep of my sister’s heart in my best friend’s body. She had received the gift of life this year. No one can give or receive more than that.




* * * * * *
Six months later, Mary and I walked down a familiar pebbled sidewalk. She held on to my arm and squealed with excitement. We pulled open the door and were greeted by a knowing, motherly smile.

“Okay, so which one of ya’s will be lookin’ to get my perfect weddin’ package?” Alice looked out from behind a row of dresses.

I raised my sparkling left hand a bit and Mary pushed my elbow to make it shoot high into the air.

“This one, right here,” she proudly announced. “With my brother! Bring out a dress with sleeves, Alice. These Mormons will be getting married in a temple!”

Alice brought out my dress, the dress.

“Don’t forget a dress for me, too,” Mary said. “Just for fun. You only live once.”

We all smiled.

Mary had one of those hearts that connected to everyone.