so patti blagojevich could possibly be indicted for what her husband might have done and get sent to jail for 7-10 years but a polygamist child abuser only gets one year in jail? in what world is that right or acceptable? btw i highly recommend reading the book Church of Lies by Flora Jessop. it's an amazing and heartbreaking account of her escape from the FLDS polygamist cult and its many abuses as well as her current efforts to save other children just like her. i nearly read the whole book in one day which is amazing considering i don't read non-fiction very often (i.e. almost ever).

The company I work for is incredibly stupid. They constantly want us to get twice the work done with half the people. This week we had to scan and tag every used cd in the store. The brilliant people at corporate estimated it would take four people four hours to get it all done. It took one person one hour to scan half of a fixture the first day. Just scan mind you, not tag as well. somehow we managed to finish it all. this next week we're resetting the front of the book dept which includes moving the best sellers onto a barge which is directly behind a pillar. AND we somehow have to find room for all the displaced bargain books but will only have one empty table for that. Joy. our company is run by morons

"Once Upon a Dream"...part 2

The girl sits alone, a plain, nondescript scarf wrapped ‘round and ‘round her head almost turban style. She sits on a bench, a part of the touring throng of high schoolers and yet apart, taking notes in a plain yellow spiral notebook. No one recognizes her, so she doesn’t go to school with us, but the other girls are intent to ridicule her for her plain clothes, lack of makeup, and sturdy, sensible shoes. And yet they seem marginally afraid of her. Normally they’d tease and torture someone different (I should know) within earshot but acting as if they didn’t know or didn’t mean to be overheard. But with this very strange girl (and being of that genus, I should know the type well), they keep their comments confined to their little pack, cackling quietly enough to not be overheard by either the girl or our teacher, Mrs. Pine. And this girl is strange enough that they even deign to try and include me in their mockery. “Aggy, whadya think? Tragic cancer patient or just really terrible haircut?” “Wow, what choices, Chrys: possibly dying and on some kind of painful treatment for it or shitty hairdresser. Let me think…” Even “slow as Christmas” Chrystyn (yes, two ys) gets my sarcasm…for once. “Well, SlAgatha, if you can’t play nice, you won’t get to play at all. Come on, girls: there’s naked statues in the next room so you know the boys are bound to be there.” Chrys and her rapid pack of wild tramps head off into the sculpture wing behind the tour guide to giggle and pant their way through classic art while I hang back, watching the girl instead. My supposed set-down (as if anyone making fun of my tragically old-fashioned name phases me by this point in my nearly adult life) has gone unnoticed by the girl, leaving me wondering if Chrys’s purile imagination was so far off the mark that she never hit on deaf. I decide to test my theory. “Hi.” She looks up, obviously startled and thus ruling out deaf (guess I’m no better at the ancient art of speculation than half-wit Chrys. Damn), stares at me for a moment (taking in all my plain and unappealing features) and then gives a sort of nod and sad one-quarter smile, quickly going back to her notes. But I’m not one to be deterred. I may not be pretty but I make up for it by being annoyingly tenacious. “I’m Aggy. Agatha really, but I’m sure you can understand why I don’t usually go by that name unless forced to by stubborn teachers and old relatives.” I did better this time. She’s holding back laughter at my rush of irreverent words, but still seems unwilling to commune with me. Guess I’ll have to try harder. “So I know you don’t go to our school. It’s small enough that I would’ve seen you before (and we all rode over here on the same bus—hard to miss you there). So I’m gonna guess you either go to St. Catherine’s over in Shannon or you go to some school I’ve never heard of but I figure it’s nicknamed ‘School of the Worst Uniforms in the History of Ever.’ Am I close?” She laughs this time, one of those tinkling musical laughs they always write about in fairy tales but you never hear in real life…at least not until now. People start to look over, intrigued and surprised by this beautiful yet plainly dressed girl laughing at the plain but bizarrely clown-like clothed girl in front of her (well, maybe not that surprised given my ridiculous but oh-so-awesome patterned leggings and purple-streaked hair only sanctioned because it’s school colors and I argued a lot to keep it). She stops laughing and finally speaks. “Sorry. Um…could you please move? I’m studying this photograph.” “My bad,” I say, moving aside and plopping down next to her on the museum bench, stretching out my multi-colored legs and sneaking a peek at her notebook. “It’s an interesting color composition,” she says, half startling me as I try to covertly look at the doodle I can almost see on the far right of the page. “Huh?” I utter, looking up at the picture. “It’s all in black and white and…greys, I guess. Not much color there.” “No, I meant your tights. The mix and contrast of colors are…neat.” “’Neat’,” I echo. “I really can’t tell if you’re being serious or sarcastic. Very good deadpan you’ve got going on there.” “Oh, no! Serious. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” “No grapes here, man. I just never heard anybody say ‘neat’ unless they were sixty or older or talking about in what state my room should be. Is that—sorry for bein’ nosy but it’s sorta my thing—but is that—It is! You’ve drawn Trevor MacNamara in the margin there. Pretty good likeness, too.” “Please…keep your voice down. I was just…he has a…classically proportioned face and—and I like to sketch and…” “I could call him over, introduce you, if you like.” “No! N-no, I couldn’t. Um…I have to go. It…it was nice meeting you.” “But we didn’t really—“ It’s no use; she’s already jumped up and gone, shooting straight over to Mrs. Pine, giving me that sinking feeling that I’m about to get balled out for scaring away actual patrons from our sad excuse of a museum. But apparently she doesn’t rat me out ‘cuz the Cone never even looks my way let alone yells out my full name in frustration and rage. She just pats the girl on the arm, saying, “That’s just fine, Zella. I’m sorry you couldn’t stay for the whole tour, but do tell your mom ‘Hi’ for me when you get home. I hope you feel better soon. And make sure you take the right bus, dear. I’ll see you in church on Sunday.” “Dear”? She never calls any of us “dear.” Just who is this girl and how’d she get on the Cone’s good side? And what kind of a name is Zella? A sight cooler than Agatha, let me tell you. As she runs out of the museum Trevor inadvertently almost steps in her way, making her pull up short for a moment. Their eyes lock, and suddenly it’s like we’re all trapped in a scene from a Disney movie, all soft misty light and waltz music. Then, like a spell being broken by the requisite evil witch, Chrys calls out to Trevor, making him look away and the girl shake her head and then sprint out the door. The noise of normal life spills in like a toddler’s messy effort at finger-painting, bleaching the scene of its former romanticism. But I know this isn’t the last we’ll see of this girl, Zella. I feel it deep in my bones; there’s something more strange and more compelling about this girl than just her curious clothes and hidden hair. It’s then that both Trevor and I see that she had dropped her notebook when she nearly ran into him. I kneel down, pick it up, and look inside. Zella Carver, Redwood Lane, #23. I snap it shut quickly as Trevor reaches out to rifle through the pages. I may not actually know the girl, but I figure if she was mortified at the thought of meeting Trevor through my introduction, she’d been even more embarrassed to have him see her little sketch. “Aggy, we have to find her.” “I know she seemed mysterious, Trev, but mysterious doesn’t always equal actually interesting. Besides, I don’t think all that conservative apparel masks some wild, randy airhead.” Maybe I came across as too cynical and biting, but Trevor never talks to me unless he needs help with history or math…and never about anything remotely of a social nature…at least he hasn’t since we were all in the fourth grade. Still the look of stunned and horrified shock on his face was not something I expected to see. “Aggy, there’s—there’s something about her.” “Yeah, she’s gorgeous. And…” “No…there’s something…something wrong. Like there’s some dark cloud hanging over her head waiting to unleash a hurricane right on top of her.” “That’s quite a simile there, Trev. But then you are the Wiz with English.” “She needs our help, Aggy. We have to find her and…and help her.” “Well, there’s her address. Go ‘help’ her. You can at least go on the pretense of returning her notebook. Maybe you can get a date out of the deal.” “No, we have to go. Me and you, Aggy. You’re the one that talked to her.” “And freaked her out sufficiently so that the one person who seemed to have a legitimate interest in art left the museum before the tour was over. You’ll have better luck without me.” “Come on. We’ll catch the next bus and head back to school, get my car, and then go over to her house.” “On Redwood? The other side of town? I don’t—“ And now he’s grabbed my hand, something unheard of any boy actually attempting since we were all about seven and I started displaying my odd fashion sense. He pulls me out of the ornate museum doors (and truly the only thing remarkable about our little gem, but I digress) and down the concrete stairs before I can get out any more significant words of protest for our skipping out on the rest of this little field trip. Though I dress a little wild and punky and prefer my history with no rosy bias, I’m a pretty straight-laced school geek when it comes right down to it. My dad has conniptions if I bring home less than 98 +, even if I’m gymnickly challenged, so skipping out on the rest of this day’s school fun (sarcasm meant heavily here) seems like a recipe for detention; but Trevor’s firm, vice-like grip won’t be dissuaded, and soon I find myself sitting next to him on the almost empty mid-day local bus headed back towards our high school. Well, two good things will come from this little unplanned adventure: I’ll finally get to ride in Trevor’s classically cool Mustang while he careens around town at near break-neck speeds, and I’ll cherish the look of sheer disbelief I saw on Chrys’s face as she saw Trevor pull me outside into the bright, golden sunshine.

"Once Upon a Dream..."

Finally I'm going to post some of my other writings, but this time I'll post them in smaller, more readable bits (especially since this one's not completely finished yet, but I'm working on that). Please do enjoy _______________________________________________________

Let Down… JLF “Zella, get back in here!” “But, Gilly, I’ll be late.” “I said get back in here. Do what I say when I say it. Understand?” “Yes, Gillian.” “And what did I say about calling me that?” “Sorry…Mom.” “Now what is the rule before leaving the house, Zella?” “Gi—Mom, do I really have to?” “What is the rule, Zella?” “Cover up completely before leaving the house.” “And why must we abide by this rule?” “To keep ourselves safe.” “Safe from what?” “From temptation.” “Right, so take your scarf and wrap up your hair properly.” “All right.” “No, Zella! Do it right. If you wrap it too loose it won’t stay, will it? Let me do it.” “Mom, I have to go. I’m gonna miss the bus. I can tighten it on there. Ow!” “If you would stop arguing I could already have it done. There. Good and tight. Now off you go. And remember: come straight home when the tour is over.” “Of course, Mom. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” “Have fun, Zella. And don’t talk to strangers.”

"Yes, Mom.”

“In Whatever Time We Have”

"In Whatever Time We Have" JLF

My life's history is a series of accidents, sometimes happy, sometimes not even close. To say I'm accident prone would be the understatement of the eon. Sometimes my accidents are commonplace, non-threatening, even funny. But usually my accidents are far from commonplace, decidedly dangerous and/or life-threatening, and highly heart-rending. Of course, those accidents usually have at least one upside. Him. Another history of my life could be told through a series of beautiful, magical, frightful encounters with my savior, my guardian angel, my protector, the love of my life… I have been in love with him since I was five years old. Trust me, I know how weird that sounds, but it's the truth. The cold, hard, unavoidable Truth. Unfortunately for me, this love-of-my-life wasn't some local neighborhood boy who was around the same age as me; no, he looked as if he were approximately twenty-five years old. But looks can be deceiving. His name is Campbell, though he always refused to tell me whether that was his first or last name. He didn't want me researching him, ferreting out all his dark, dirty secrets. But it wasn't because he was secretive or trying to be intentionally mysterious; he was ashamed of certain areas of his past, afraid that if I ever found them out, I would never be able to look at him the same way again. He was right.

* * *

"Is this it? Is this the end?" "No, no, no! Don't say that. Don't even think it. You're gonna be fine; you're not going to…you can't…please…please don't…" "I—I love…I…" "No! Please—please don't leave me. Don't leave me alone. Don't you dare! Don't…don't…oh, God…please…don't do this to me…please…"

* * *

My father used to call me "The Menace Magnet," (with a subtle nod to "Dennis", one of his all-time favorite comics) because, even before I was born, I was attracting danger and peril at every turn. When my mother was pregnant with me, only about a month on the doctors later said as she didn't have any notion she was pregnant, my parents were involved in a nearly life-threatening car crash. Actually, it was almost life-ending and would most likely have negated my as yet unpredicted magnetism were it not for the attentions of another passing motorist who managed to pull both my mother and father from their burning car (cue the movie cliché, I know, but it's true). Their savior never identified himself; he merely drug them from the upturned burning wreckage of their '83 Suburban and then drove away before any emergency personnel even arrived. Then there was my Little Incident when I was five (not really a "little" incident, or even really an "incident;" more like a catastrophic near-fatality were it not for the intervention of another savior). Apparently I'd had earlier mishaps before I was five, but they were nowhere near as nearly catastrophic as my Little Incident. And yet, despite my aforementioned magnetism, my father never wanted to staunch my thirst for adventure (though my poor mother tried and later succeeded). Maybe if he'd known how that penchant for life-threatening situations would've affected him shortly after my seventh birthday, he wouldn't have… But he didn't know. And that time there was no miraculous savior standing by to rescue us.

* * *

"Do you remember my Dad? I know you only met him that one time, but…but you must've seen him when you were watching over me all those times." "Yeah, I do remember him. He was a really good man. A good dad." "If only you could've…" "Could've what?" "I don't know. Been there during the…you were always so good at saving me. Maybe you could've…could've saved him." "Maybe…maybe I could've." "Why do you seem so uncomfortable? It's not like you haven't seen me crying before." "That doesn't mean I like it. Maybe we should talk about something else like—" "—No. I need…to talk about it. Please…you're the only person who could understand. Mom couldn't…wouldn't talk about it. I think she…she blamed me." "Your mother wouldn't blame you for what happened. It was an accident." "Yeah, except for how it was my fault. I wanted to go camping so badly so…Dad took me. Mom said it was a bad idea. She had a bad feeling about it. Besides I was always getting into trouble, getting hurt; she figured taking me out in the woods with wild animals and rivers and…she said she was afraid I'd get lost. But I didn't. I didn't get attacked by wild animals either. But the river…she was right about that. And it was my fault." "Lilie, don't say that. It wasn't—" "—It was! I wanted something out of the backseat…I don't even remember what. So I climbed halfway back and distracted my dad because he kept telling me to get back in my seat and get whatever it was when we stopped. And he didn't see the deer that had wandered out in the road until he almost hit it. So he swerved and…and the truck…went off the bridge. I must've gotten thrown out the back window. That's what the paramedics said when they found me. I was just laying on the riverbank, knocked out, with only a couple of cuts on me. And Dad…Daddy…" "Lilie, stop it. That wasn't your fault. It was an accident. Your dad wouldn't want you to blame yourself. That could've happened to anyone. You should count your lucky stars that you weren't buckled in, or you might not have gotten out of the car so easily." "How…how did you know I wasn't buckled in? I didn't…I didn't say that." "I…I assumed. Because…if you had had your belt on, you wouldn't have been thrown clear of the car." "Unless the seatbelt broke. No, no, you said that like you knew. Like you knew that I…you…you were there? You were there." "No, no, Lilie, I wasn't. I—" "—Yes, you were. Yes, you were! You pulled me out of the river. They said it was miraculous that I didn't drown, but it wasn't. You pulled me out and left me so I wouldn't…so I wouldn't know you'd saved me again. … I…I saw you. Oh my God. I remember you there. I thought it was all in my head, that I was hallucinating. The paramedics told me I was; there wasn't anybody there, they said. Some hikers heard the crash and called when they found my body on the… How could you? How could you?!" "How could I what? Save you? It's kinda my thing, don't you remember?" "No! How—how could you save me and not him? Why didn't you save him, too?" "I tried, Lilie. I did. After I pulled you out of the car and got you to shore, I swam back down to get him. I couldn't pull him out. The belt…it wouldn't come undone. And then I couldn't breathe and I didn't…I didn't know if I would survive without oxygen. I couldn't know; I'd never tested it before. And I wasn't sure if…if you were actually alive. I just pulled you onto the bank and then dove back in. But I couldn't pull him out and…and he was gone anyway. He hit his head on the wheel and…it was too late, Lilie. And I had to make sure you were still…still alive." "But I…I don't matter, Campbell. He did. He was a good man. He loved my mother and…and me. And he helped people, selflessly. And you let him die! Campbell, how could you let him die?!" "I didn't have a choice! All my life I've…well, not all my life. But since you came into it, it seems my whole life has revolved around saving you. The river, those dumb boys, the dog and the car, the car crash—" "—What car crash? I've never been in… Oh! That car crash. I should've known. You were the mysterious motorist who saved them both. Why couldn't you save both of us this time?" "With them, there was time. The wreck wasn't that bad and…and the fire hadn't spread too far. And I didn't know then why…why I felt compelled to stop and help them. I'd never felt that way before. I wasn't all noble and volunteering to be a medic in battle or running into burning houses to rescue kittens. I just tried to stay off the radar my whole life, hoping that no one would notice me, notice that I don't age…or, at least not the conventional way. But that day…it's like I was purposefully driven to that very spot, driven there to rescue you, even though you barely existed at that point. Ever since that day, I stayed close. It's like I knew that…that you would be in danger at some point and…and need me again. And I was right." "Maybe… Or maybe you were meant to save him instead. You should…you should just leave. Just leave. I don't want you here anymore. I don't want you…saving me anymore. Maybe there's a reason I attract so much danger. Maybe I'm not supposed to be here, and you're just messing with the natural order of things. Maybe I'm supposed to die."

* * *

He never knew what would happen if he actually…well, if he was actually seriously injured. See, Campbell wasn’t like most other guys. Beside the fact that he was really, really old, impossibly so, he didn’t have any clue as to why he was the way he was. When I first met him at the tender age of five, I knew he was something special, someone vastly different from anyone I’d ever met in all my vast, knowledgy years. But I couldn’t really put my finger on whatever it was that set him apart from all the other adults I knew, what made him so…almost magical to me. It was no wonder that I fell in love with him on the spot. Even though he was a stranger (and I knew very well because of the diligent drilling of my mother that I was not supposed to talk to strangers), I immediately trusted him, immediately loved him, almost against my will. It wasn’t just because he’d saved me; it was more because there was just something…something indelible about him that spoke to me, called me to like some siren’s song. He used to call me that, too. His “siren.” He said he could always feel when I was in danger, or about to be, always knew just when he was needed. That didn’t stop him from hanging around, watching over me, just in case danger struck when he wasn’t close enough to stop it. The only time he wasn’t nearby was…was when I was seven. No one was nearby then. * * * “You can’t save me from everything, Cam. I’m not like you. I…someday you’re going to try to save me and…and you won’t be able to. You’re gonna have to find a way to—to live with that. Can you? Because…if you were…if something happened to you, and I couldn’t save you…I don’t know what I would— And I’ve had a lot less practice in saving you from imminent danger and/or death at every turn. Maybe you should just…just give up. Just leave me alone and let…let my life take its course.” “Do you know what would happen if I just left you alone to your own devices? You’d be in hospital as soon as I left city limits.” “Don’t make jokes. I’m being serious. I’m not a child anymore, Cam. I know that I have nowhere near the years and experience and subsequent wisdom that you have but…but I’m not a child. I’m not some little girl who doesn’t know anything about the way the world works. I haven’t been that girl since… So, just stop treating me like a child. I’m serious about this, Cam. What happens to you when you can’t save me?” “That won’t happen.” “Campbell, please stop being an idiot. You’re not invincible! Or at least you don’t know for sure that you are. You’ve been too afraid to test, to experiment. Could you save me from a speeding bullet? Would they just bounce off your skin? What about a bomb? Or an explosion? A fire? An avalanche? Something else too ridiculous and unpredictable to stop? I’m the—the ‘Menace Magnet,’ remember? I’m just not safe for other people to be around. You of all people should know that.” “You haven’t managed to kill me yet, though not for want of trying.” “Ha, real funny, Cam.” “Even so, I’m still here. Still alive. And I’m not going anywhere. Not until you stop attracting danger so prolifically. I’m staying around until…until you don’t need me anymore.” “When will that be, Cam? When I’m dead?” * * * The Little Incident took place when I was five years old. As I said before, I was always something of an adventurous child, able to keep up with the seven and eight year old boys’ thirst for danger and general tomfoolery, which was the only reason they let me hang around. Consequently, I rarely played with other little girls my age. My mother always tried to schedule play dates with other neighborhood moms who had daughters my age, but we never got along. I was always intent on trying to climb out the window and shimmy down the tree next to my two-story bedroom window, just to see if I could do it, whereas the girls who were brought ‘round preferred to dress their Barbies in various outfits and enact bizarre plays with them. When I could be persuaded to play with their dolls, I most often found the most outlandish outfit and then tried to use Barbie as a sort of female Indiana Jones (and yes, this was all before the arrival of Lara Croft). However, the other girls didn’t like my games, especially if I tied their Barbies up and had my adventurer rescuing them. They said Ken should do that; I didn’t see why my Barbie couldn’t do whatever I wanted her to. Wasn’t that sort of the point of their little make-believe game? So I often purposefully ruined the dresses my mother forced me to wear so that she would let me change into shorts, a T-shirt, and my favorite scuffed up sneakers before running out to meet with the neighborhood boys to climb trees and build forts and have water balloon fights and other games which were not so innocuous. When I was five, our favorite game became a game of dares and bravery. Derek Grey, who lived about a block down and across the street from me, had a big backyard and a tree house that he and his dad (mostly his dad) built in a large cottonwood. There was a man who lived next door to the Greys’ and shared a fence with them. A large and vaguely frightening man who had been married a few years earlier but turned surly and mean after his wife left him (or so I later found out from the neighborhood gossips that babysat me while my mother was at work). She had left her husband and her home and her dog, a large and loving German Shepherd named Riley. However, Mr. Donovan (the man with the absent wife and present dog), grew very resentful over his wife’s desertion and took his anger out on Riley, beating him and often chaining him up to the dog house out of reach of his water bowl. Riley, once sweet and loving, longingly licking our fingers through the holes in the fence, turned mean and angry, barking at us furiously anytime we came into the yard. We could see what the man was doing, how he was systematically corrupting Riley into a vicious neighborhood threat, but we didn’t know how to tell anyone, how to make him stop. He was so much bigger than us, so much stronger, an adult, someone we were supposed to look up to and respect and not really question. I tried to tell my parents, but my mom just said it was none of our concern and my dad didn’t say anything, although I think he went and talked to Mr. Donovan, but Donovan apparently slammed the door in his face. So Riley stayed in the backyard next to Derek Grey’s and stayed mean. Our new game started out rather innocently. We were all playing kickball one sunny afternoon, using the tree as home base, when someone kicked the ball close to the shared fence. Jimmy Masterson ran over to get it and throw it to the first baseman when Riley started barking like he was having some sort of rabid fit. He clawed at the fence, bit at it, trying to get through. Jimmy was so scared that he peed his pants and ran back to the house without the ball. Riley kept barking, kept clawing and biting, and we all retreated to the back porch. Finally Derek, the oldest of us at nearly nine years old, bravely and slowly approached the fence and retrieved the ball, running back to the rest of us at the porch after sending Riley into another near frenzy with his mere presence. And that is how the game got started. The tree house was always base, just in case Riley ever did escape the confines of the fence, but you had to climb all the way up for it to count. The only rule was to see just how close you could get to the fence amid Riley’s mad barking before you got to scared and ran away. Whoever actually got the guts to touch the fence would be the biggest winner of all (though we never really determined what the prize would be should anyone achieve this goal). The other boys admired me because I could go just as far as the biggest and oldest and bravest of them, though no one ever succeeded in touching the fence. At least, not until the day of my Little Incident. * * * “Were you trying to get yourself killed?! Those boys could’ve…they could’ve killed you, Lilie. And they wouldn’t have cared much if they did. What were you thinking? … Answer me, Lilie. What were you doing?” “I was being a teenager! A dumb, self-centered teenager. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be?” “You know that wasn’t what I meant.” “That was exactly what you meant! What do you want from me? What do you expect me to do? To feel? You always rushing in, rescuing me from every little thing and then…then you expect me not to need you. Not to—to want you. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t…this halfway… Please, Cam, either love me all the way or—or…” “It’s…it’s not that simple, Lil.” “No, it is that simple. It’s as simple as you wanting me and me wanting you. You are the only thing making any of this not simple.” * * * Everything changed when I found out just how involved in my life he had been. Something in me…I couldn’t take it. I snapped and…and I drove him away. The love of my life, and I drove him away. Sent him packing without even a thought for what it would really mean. I guess I didn’t think he would really leave me alone. I thought he wouldn’t listen like always and insist that it was best for my own safety if he stuck around. All the arguing, all the demands, I never really wanted him to leave me. I needed him, and for more than just protection from whatever danger I managed to stumble into. I needed him like cotton crops need rain without hail. But I just had to be stubborn and hurt and stupid. I just had to drive him away. And now he’s gone…for good this time. No coming back. No more salvation. I don’t even care what kind of danger I wander into now. I just want him back. * * * “You’re that certain that we’re meant to be together?” “Yeah. Nothing can keep us apart. Not even death.” “Lilien, you’re only fifteen. You don’t know what you’re saying.” “Yes, I do. I love you, Campbell, and I know it’s crazy. You’re old enough to be—“ “—Your father?” “I’d say you’re a lot older than that.” “That’s crazy. What would possibly make you say that?” “I may be fifteen, Cam, but I’m not stupid. You look exactly the same as you did ten years ago, when you first rescued me. Exactly the same. You haven’t aged a day. Not one day.” “Maybe I just age well.” “Maybe I have a picture of you that’s ten years old where you look exactly the same as you do now. And maybe…maybe I remember every wrinkle, few though they are, on your face from that day. I was pretty close to it for a good long while.” “And you were five…and somewhat traumatized at the time.” “Which only makes my memory sharper. Nothing’s changed. Nothing that should have changed. No extra lines around your eyes, no grey hairs. The only thing that’s different is that you have a light scar on your right forearm. And here I thought that immortals didn’t scar.” “I’m not immortal.” “Really? ‘Cuz I found another picture of you. A daguerreotype. I found it in the library while I was doing research for a school project. It’s a picture from 1816. And you look almost exactly the same as you do now. Maybe a few years difference, but not many. Not 192 years difference anyway.” “Well…that can’t be me then, can it?” “Sure it can. If you’re immortal…which I’m betting you are. My immortal guardian angel. The love of my life.” “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re fifteen. And even if you really believe what you say, that I’m immortal and centuries old, how can you possibly love me after only having met me once?” “Because I do. It’s as simple as that. You’re the love of my life, and you always will be.” * * * I try to stay out of trouble, avoid danger, something very alien to me. But still it finds me. My shoe broke while I was crossing the street yesterday. And not in the normal way, like the heel snapping or a strap popping off. No, it just…sorta fell apart. In the middle of the street. I looked around, saw no cars, so I started gathering up shoe bits, and then suddenly there’s honking horns and swerving cars and I’m dashing for the sidewalk, scraping up my knees and elbows. And there was no Campbell there to warn me, or pull me to safety. I just had to…save myself. Like I said, a bit of an alien concept. * * * “Your turn, Lilie. Betcha can’t do better than me.” “Shut up, Jimmy! Can so. You just watch. At least I won’t break the tree house ladder climbing up like a bitty baby like you did.” “Shut up! I dare you to touch the fence this time. I double dare you.” “I will! And I don’t need to be dared to do it.” “Come on, Lilie, why don’t you do it already?” “Yeah, Lilie, you’re supposed to be all brave. You’re shakin’ like you’re gonna cry.” “Am not, Robert! I can do this. I can do this. Just go up to the fence, touch it, and run away to the tree house. Then I can laugh at Jimmy with the rest of the boys and finally show ‘em that I’m the bravest one of all. Here I go. Just touch the fence and then I’m the—oh! Oh no!” “Lilie, run! Run! Riley’s breaking the fence! RUN!” “Run, Lilie!” “Run!” “Ruuuuunnnnnn!!!!!” “Daddy! DADDY! Help! Help me! Daddy! Just run, just run for the house. Then Daddy will make the doggie go away. Daddy!!!!! Ah! Ow, ow, ow!!!! Stop it! Stop it, Riley! Stop biting! Stop—owwwwwwww!!!” “It’s okay, Lilie. It’s okay. Come on, the dog’s gone now. Hold on tight, okay?” “Ow, ow, I hurt all over. Riley bit me, mister, and it hurts.” “I bet. Here, let me look at it…yeah, that’s pretty bad. Are you okay otherwise?” “I guess so. What happened to Riley?” “No, no, don’t look!” “Oh, poor Riley. He got hit by that car.” “Well, better him than you, Lilien.” “How do you know my name, mister? I don’t know you.” “Don’t try to get up. It’ll just hurt your leg. I’m friends with one of your neighbors, and I came by to visit them. I was just leaving when I saw you running from that dog.” “Yeah, and then I fell down and he bit me and it hurt! And then you grabbed me and picked me up and pulled me out of the street and saved me from Riley…and from that car. I woulda gotten hit by the car just like Riley if you hadn’t of saved me. Thank you.” “You’re awfully serious and eloquent for a five year old.” “How did you know how old I am?” “Uh…my friend, your neighbor, he told me.” “Oh, okay.” “Are you feelin’ all right?” “Yeah, ‘cept for my leg. You know, you talk real funny, mister.” “It only sounds funny ‘cause you’ve never heard a Scottish accent before.” “You sound like Daddy’s favorite spy.” “That is a high compliment, thanks. You sure you’re all right?” “Yeah, but you could kiss it and make it better. That’s what Daddy always does, even though Momma says it doesn’t really make it better, but I always feel better once Daddy’s kissed me. So you could try—“ “—Lilie! Lilien, what happened?! Oh my God, look at your leg! What did you do to my little girl?!” “Momma! He didn’t hurt me; Riley did. And then he got hit by that car.” “Baby, are you all right?” “Yeah, Daddy, I’m fine. This man saved me from Riley and that car over there. He’s my hero.” “It was nothing, really, sir.” “You saved our little girl’s life. I’d say that’s significantly more than nothing.” “She probably needs to go to the emergency room to get those bites treated, and she might need a rabies shot. And you should probably have them check her for shock because she’s handling all this a little too well for a five year old.” “Right. Thanks again. Have we…have we met before?” “No, I don’t think so. I’ve just got one of those faces.” “Thank you so much, sir. Is there anything we could do to repay you?” “No, ma’am, I just did what any other person would’ve done.” “You should at least let us take you out to dinner. Tomorrow night maybe?” “No, that’s all right. I didn’t do anything really special. Besides I’m leaving town tomorrow morning. And here are the ambulances so you can take her to a doctor and get her checked out. And you, little girl, you should be more careful from now on. Stop getting chased by manic dogs.” “I didn’t mean to get chased. And it’s never happened before!” “Right, well, you be careful from now on.” “I will. You never told me your name, mister.” “…Campbell. My name is Campbell.” * * * His name is Campbell, and he’s the love of my life. That sounds stupid, I know, but it’s true. And I know that I’m only fifteen, but sometimes you just know things, you know? You just know that he’s the right guy for you, the only guy. So you do anything to keep him near, even get into all sorts of scrapes and trouble so that he’ll keep saving you. But sometimes…sometimes the saving doesn’t always go all that well. Sometimes he just can’t see you as anything other than a child, a little girl who can’t seem to take care of herself no matter how many warnings are issued. I bet if he knew how often I deliberately seek out trouble just so he can come rescue me, he’d be sooooo furious. But I don’t care. I’ll do anything to keep him near. I’d run out in the middle of traffic, get in a fight, go skydiving and bungee-jumping! Anything. Even take a bullet. But I can’t let him know that; he would be really angry. * * * “Cam…Campbell, please. Please… Oh God…oh please, please don’t leave me. What am I supposed to do…what am I supposed to do without you here to protect me? What am I supposed to do without you? Just hold on. Just hold on! We’re almost there, baby, almost to the hospital. Just…don’t die. Please. You’re not supposed to die…I am. You’re supposed to live forever, remember? See everything, save other people who are accident prone, other ‘Menace Magnets.’ Fall in love with some other girl even though she’s way too young for you. Campbell…come on. Don’t you give up on me! … Don’t close your eyes. Please, Campbell, please…” “Ma’am…ma’am…he’s…he’s gone.” “No. No! No! Campbell, no! Do something! Save him! Please, I can’t…oh, God, please…save him! Don’t let him die! Don’t you dare!” “Ma’am! Please, stop—you’re being hysterical. Stop! Stop hitting him. There’s nothing you can do. Nothing we can do. Ma’am, please, stop hitting the body. Mark, I’m gonna need some help back here. Ma'am, stop hitting the body!” “Don’t say that! Don’t call him ‘the body.’ His name is Campbell. I love him and he loves me…but he only just admitted it so he can’t be gone. He can’t. I’ve waited nineteen years for him to love me back and he can’t be gone now. Keep trying, please…please. He can survive, I know it! He’s been alive for centuries, you know. He looks thirty but he’s really 450 years old. Or somewhere around there. It’s hard to calculate. But he can’t die. He can’t. He—he—he met Shakespeare and George Washington and Wyatt Earp, so he can’t be dead now. There are more famous people to meet and…and I need him. Without him I’ll end up in a coma or—or dead in a ditch somewhere. Please…do something. Save him! Save him!” “Ma’am, stop! Mark! Mark, get back here now. Pull the damn bus over and get back here!” “Campbell, Cam, please wake up! Please…” “Give her a sedative, Mark! I don’t know how much longer I can hold her.” “No, no! Please, help him. Help Campbell. Don’t let him die! Please…please…ple…” “She’s out. Thanks man. She was really flipping out. Did you hear the things she was saying about this guy?” “Whatever happened to the two of them must have put her into major shock. She’ll probably be fine in a few—What the hell?!” * * * I didn’t mean to get into trouble that night. In fact, I had done a pretty good job lately at avoiding the danger that usually followed me like an attention-starved puppy. I made sure to wear sensible shoes (absolutely no heels) and loose-fitting clothing that I could easily run in, I always kept my cell-phone on, I always walked to my car with my keys (and keychain sized mace) in one hand and a small flashlight in the other, and I made it a habit to drive with my seatbelt on about ten miles below the posted speed limit. And I had so far avoided any car crashes, falls off cliffs, or run-ins with rabid animals. But then…then danger came, tracked me down, and pounced on me. It started out like any other night, the frenetic walk from my parking space to the apartment building, the rush into the elevator and pound of the third floor button simultaneously with the “close door” button, the half-sprint to my apartment door, heavy car key clenched between my fore- and middle-finger like one of Wolverine’s claws, as I steadfastly ignored the noise of shouts and heated argument from the apartment next to the elevator, the shouts that come loud and clear through thin walls every night just as I get back home from work. Luckily my apartment is at the other end of the hall, near the stairwell, far enough away to drown out the sound. I should probably be smart and take the stairs since they’re closer to my apartment than the elevator, get some exercise and avoid the noise of the fighting couple in 1302, but the lights in the stairwell always blink as if they’re about to go out…and sometimes people hang out in them, trading things, propositioning things, staring at me predatorily as I rush by avoiding eye contact. So I take the elevator, figuring the shouts and occasional shuddering of the walls are a better trade-off than any possible unpleasantry that might occur in the stairwell. One day the scales are in your favor…and the next day they’re not. On this night, they were not. * * * “Get back in here, you rotten bastard!” “I am through talkin’, Shelly. This is it! I am not stayin’ here, listenin’ to you yell at me night after night, constantly paranoid that I’m out with some other woman when I’m not home.” “Well, that’s where you are, and don’t bother to deny it!” “No, you crazy bitch! For the last time, I am not cheatin’ on you! Though who could possibly blame me if I was, mean as you are. No, when I’m out I’m workin’, tryin’ to help pay for all the goddamn liquor you put away every night. Well, I am done puttin’ up with your crazy shit and done puttin’ up with you. I’m gone, Shelly.” “You’re damn right you’re gone! You won’t be running around on me…or anyone else anymore. You’ll be gone for good after I’m done with you!” “Baby, baby, what are you doin’? Just—just put the gun down and we’ll talk about this. Come on, baby, let’s just…you don’t want to do this. Not with this nice young girl standin’ at the end of the hall watchin’.” “I don’t care who’s watchin’, you good for nothin’ asshole. She’s probably one of the whores you been runnin’ around with. Let her watch! I’m done with you and all the grief you bring me.” “No, Shelly, NO!!!” “Get down, Lilie! For God’s sake, GET DOWN!!!” “Cam…Campbell, no. What—what were you thinking? You’re not supposed to save me anymore, remember?” “Vaguely, but I kinda ignored that. Good thing, too. You would’ve gotten shot just now if not for me.” “Yeah, instead you got shot. But you’re gonna be all right. We’re gonna call an ambulance. You! Sir, please, call 911.” “I think—“ “Dammit, just call 911!” “You really don’t have to yell at the guy, Lil. He’s just stunned. It’s not every—uh—every day that you see someone get shot right outside your door.” “Just be quiet, Cam. Don’t strain yourself. I should…I need to stop the bleeding. I need—here, I’ll use my jacket. Here’s where all my training comes in handy.” “Wh—what training?” “My ‘Menace Magnet’ training. I should know a good bit about triage by now, don’t you think?” “It’s a—agh! Ah, that…that hurts.” “Sorry.” “It’s a stomach wound. Those are almost always fatal.” “You don’t know that!” “I’ve learned a bit about wounds and triage, too, Lil.” “Really, how’s that? Are you some kind of expert even though you’ve never been really wounded?” “No, but I’ve watched a fair amount of ER and old war movies.” “Right, ‘cuz TV and movies are always totally factual.” “Sometimes they are. Stomach wounds are supposed to be the worst, aren’t they?” “It doesn’t matter. You’re gonna be fine. I’m still gonna need a lot more saving, you know?” “Whatever you’re doing, I think it’s working. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore. I don’t think I can feel it at all. Wait…isn’t that supposed to be bad?” “I’m sure it’s fine. Just hold on, Campbell, please. Where is the damn ambulance?!” “They say they’re on their way, miss. Is there…can I do anything else to—to help?” “Yeah, maybe some towels or something for the…the bleeding. I need to…I have to stop this bleeding.” “I want…I have to tell you something, Lilien. Something important. But I—I can’t think of it right now. My head feels so…I can’t think straight.” “Don’t worry about it, Cam. You can tell me whatever it is later, when you’re feeling better.” “I don’t…don’t know if I’ll be feeling better, Lil.” “Yes, you will! Don’t talk like that. You’re gonna be fine. The ambulance is almost here and they’re gonna fix you and you’re gonna keep saving me and I’ll keep loving you and we’ll just make the best of the time we have. Please, just hold on, baby. Just—“ “—This sounds cliché but…but is it getting dark in here?” “No, Cam, it’s still—" “—I can’t…I can’t see your face anymore, Lil. I can’t…” “I’m still here, Cam. I’m…just hold on, please.” “Is this it? Is this the end?” “No, no, no! Don’t say that. Don’t even think it. You’re gonna be fine; you’re not going to…you can’t…please…please don’t…” “I—I love…I…” “No! Please—please don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone. Don’t you dare! Don’t…don’t…oh, God…please…don’t do this to me…please…” *** When I opened my eyes, the world was not as I had thought it would be. There were no glaringly bright hospital lights or claustrophobic hospitals walls surrounding me, no nurse or doctor checking my vitals or whatever it is they busy themselves with; instead, there was a clear night sky full of stars staring down at me, that distinct smell of snow in the air even though it had just recently turned cold and was far too early for such weather, and I could vaguely see a man’s slightly strained face rising and falling above me in a very odd fashion. It took me a second to reconcile what I was seeing with the last thing I remembered. The ambulance, the paramedics, …Campbell. “Campbell…Cam, what’s…how…I don’t…” “Shh, it’s okay, Lilie. You’re fine; we’re both fine.” He had slowed down, coming to a stop before gingerly laying me down on the ground. He brushed my hair from my face, smiling reassuringly as I took in the trees and well-manicured grass. “Where…where are we?” “That park you always talked about going walking in but never actually did…thank goodness. You probably wouldn’t gotten abducted or at the very least mugged. It was close and I figured the most inconspicuous place we could be since it’s late and no one’s here. How do you feel?” “Woozy and confused. What about you? You were…you were…” “Yeah, I was. Guess you were right all along after all. Though I think I can go another 400 years without having to find that out in such a vivid way.” “What happened? The last thing I remember the paramedics were…they said they couldn’t save you. You were gone. You were gone! And then I freaked out and they sedated me. And…how did this happen? You just woke up?” “Yeah, it gave those paramedics quite a shock. One of them fainted dead away…pardon my speech, and the other one…well, I had to knock him out to get the both of us away. I figured we probably shouldn’t go to hospital what with my new exciting talents. I don’t exactly fancy being some sort of E.T. government experiment.” “So…so what does this mean?” “I am…immortal, I guess.” “Ugh, thank you Christopher Lambert.” “No need to be exasperated, luv. It is what you predicted several years ago, you know.” “I meant, what does this mean for us? What happens now? I can’t exactly go back to my apartment and my job and my life without having to answer some pretty tough questions…unless you just want me to say I just woke up here alone and have no idea what happened in the ambulance after they sedated me.” “Why would I want you to do that?” “So you could…could go back to whatever it is you’ve been doing since I told you to leave me alone.” “Lilien, despite your usual intuitiveness and intelligence, sometimes you can be completely daft. If I was off doing something other than what I’ve made my job since before you were born, do you think I would’ve been there tonight to save you?” “I just thought you’d had one of your bad feelings and known I would need major rescuing.” “I’ve been here, the whole time, watching you, making sure you didn’t need ‘major rescuing’. I never actually left, just…I pretended that I had to make you happy. You have no idea how hard it was to sit back and watch you almost get hurt and not…not intervene. But this time I couldn’t. I knew there was no way you would…come out of that alive if I didn’t do something. And you were right: I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.” “So you decided to test your longevity by throwing yourself in front of a speeding bullet for me? Thanks a whole bunch, Superman.” “No, I…I thought that was it for me. I knew I could be injured so I thought…I didn’t want to try and live in this world if you weren’t in it. So I figured I’d already had plenty of time to live and experience the world.” I pushed myself off of the ground, brushing past Campbell and steadying myself on a tree, ignoring his hands. “What’s wrong, Lilie?” “You’re an idiot, that’s what wrong!” “What?” “You figured it was best to kill yourself?” “I wasn’t exactly alone in the murder attempt if you remember.” “What if you—you hadn’t come back? What would I…you thought it would be easier for me to lose you than for you to lose me? That’s…that’s ridiculous. I don’t want a life if you’re not in it. Don’t…don’t you ever do anything like that to me again!” “I wasn’t planning on it!” “Besides, what the hell would I have done if you had actually…what would’ve happened the next time I was shot at or nearly run over by a speeding car and you weren’t…” “Is that all you want me for? Saving you from your stupid mishaps? Is that all I’m good for?” “What other reason do you have for sticking around other than your insane need to protect the basically unprotectable?” “Because I love you, you idiot!” Before I consciously remember making the decision, I was suddenly kissing him just as I had always wanted to kiss him but never had because he was always pushing me away or because I was afraid of him rejecting me. Campbell seemed stunned by my sudden turn, but this time he didn’t push me away or tell me it was wrong or a bad idea (perhaps because I was kissing him so forcefully). When I finally pulled back, he finally seemed just as disconcerted and flustered as I usually felt after being in his presence. “I’ve been waiting a really long time for you to say that.” “Sorry to keep you waiting. If it’s any consolation, I’ve been wanting to say it for a really long time. And I’m planning to keep saying it for as long as you want to hear it…if that’s all right with you.” “What happens when…when I get older and it starts to look weird that I’m dating a much younger man?” “Then we move somewhere no one knows us, or somewhere isolated, and just live our lives as best we can. We’ll just see where that takes us for now.” “Good enough for me.” He swept me up into his arms again, surprising a laugh from me. “I think I can walk on my own, Cam.” “Absolutely not. You are far too accident prone; you might trip and inadvertently cause my death again. That was bad enough the first time.” “Don’t joke about that! And really I can walk on my own.” “I’m not taking any chances with you, ‘Menace Magnet’. I plan to make the best of the time we have together. Now where to?” “Well, I always wanted to see Scotland. It does hold a certain charm for me.” “Easier said than done. You don’t exactly have your passport on your person, do you?” “I figured you’d know more covert ways to travel.” “Maybe I do, but they’re not exactly pleasant.” “As long as we’re together, I don’t care.” “Okay. I’ll see what I can do. I love you, Lilien.” “I love you, too, Campbell. Any chance you’re ever gonna tell me your full name?” “Hmm…maybe.” _____________________________________________________ Works Cited and Consulted Schwartz, Stephen. “In Whatever Time We Have.” Children of Eden: Highlights. RCA Victor Broadway, 1998.Niffenegger, Audrey. The Time Traveler’s Wife. Orlando: Harcourt Books, 2003.

"you could catch a cold just being alone"

For a writing class I had this past semester, we had to choose novels and short story collections and plays to read and then respond to in some writerly-type fashion, which actually helped inspire an idea which had been ruminating in my had for a little while. So, for the short story collection, I read Susanna Clarke’s The Ladies of Grace Adeiu and, because of its sort of fairy tale-esque feel, I decided to write something a bit fairy tale-esque and yet something sort of unconventional and different. I hope it fits that description.

_______________________________

Who’s Afraid…

JLF

“Once upon a time there was a dear little girl who was loved by every one who looked at her…”

Running through the woods, howling coming from all around me, echoing off the endless trees that block out any source of light. Stubbornness got me here; but will it get me out?

“’Set out before it gets hot, and when you are going, walk nicely and quietly and do not run off the path, or you may fall and break the bottle’…”

Praying I don’t stumble like some cheesy horror movie cliché, sealing my own fate with clumsiness. That would be so like me, though, and yet I keep running, my dainty feet which often belay that supposed grace that should come to those of the dainty feet keep pounding into the ground pell-mell, refusing to trip each other up as they are usually prone to do. Internally I thank them for that small favor; otherwise I would’ve been dog food long before now. And somehow I don’t think my dry and tasteless pound cake or quaint little bottle of half-drunk cheap wine “borrowed” from my parents would sate their hunger or thirst either.

“The wolf thought to himself, ‘What a tender young creature. What a nice plump mouthful, she will be better to eat than the old woman. I must act craftily, so as to catch both.’…”

Howling gets closer for a moment, and I swear I can almost hear snapping teeth so close on my heels that I imagine the feeling of flying saliva slapping the backs of my calves. I long to turn and look, see if they really are that close or if I am, as I fervently hope, imagining it all, but I know that’s truly my path to destruction. As surely as a characteristic trip and scramble would end this chase, so would my looking back. All the horror movies say so, ever since the turning of Lot’s wife and her subsequent saltiness.

“And so she ran from the path into the wood to look for flowers. And whenever she had picked one, she fancied that she saw a still prettier one farther on, and ran after it, and so got deeper and deeper into the wood…”

Running straight-forwardly is my only salvation it would seem. Well, at least until I either run out of breath or energy or strength or even will to keep running. But that hasn’t happened yet. All I can pray for, other than not tripping and resisting the urge to turn and see my pursuers, is to find some sort of haven before my meager and uncharacteristic running streak wears out.

“Meanwhile the wolf ran straight to the grandmother's house and knocked at the door…”

Seeing it finally nearly causes a fatal fall, but instead I turn my almost fall into a veer for the cabin which is sorta the source of all my trouble. Why couldn’t the old lady just live in town like all the rest of us? That would’ve been too kind. Instead she has to live miles deep into the woods which aren’t as friendly or as magical as I always imagined them to be as a child. At least tonight they aren’t.

“The wolf lifted the latch, the door sprang open…”

Knowing the door will be unlocked because she never entertains fears of break-ins and in fact longs for people to just “come right on in” to alleviate her loneliness, I run straight for it, arm stretched out as if that will make the knob rush into my hand that much quicker. the howling is louder, filling my head, making me want to scream to drown it out, but that would be a waste of far too precious breath and might give them the time to catch up to me.

“She was surprised to find the cottage-door standing open, and when she went into the room, she had such a strange feeling that she said to herself, 'oh dear, how uneasy I feel to-day, and at other times I like being with grandmother so much '…”

Toppling into the door, knob in hand and turned so quick that I practically tumble inside, finally tripping and scrapping my knees on the floor. I roll and kick the door closed just as a set of snapping teeth come into view. The door slams shut, and I manage to crawl to it, throwing myself against it as I slam the bolt into place, feeling the reverberations as something snarlingly angry throws its own weight against it. I’m surprised at the feeling of moisture on my cheeks but not surprised at the rapidness of my breathing.

“’Oh, grandmother," she said, "what big ears you have.’” “’The better to hear you with, my child," was the reply…”

“My dear, what is going on? What is all that noise out there? Are some dogs chasing something out in the woods?”

“No, Gram. It’s wolves. Big, mean, scary wolves.”

“Don’t be silly, my dear. There haven’t been wolves in these woods for nigh on twenty years.”

“Well, they’re back and in full force tonight, Gram. I need something to barricade the door. And you should probably call the police or fire department or possibly animal control.”

"’But, grandmother, what big eyes you have," she said.

"’The better to see you with, my dear.’…"

“Oh, my dear, just look at the state of your lovely little red sweater that I made for you; it’s all torn and dirty from your scrambling about on the floor.”

“Darn, I guess it’s ruined. I won’t be able to wear it anymore. But that’s really not so impor—“

“—Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll have it cleaned up right as rain come morning.”

“Gee thanks, Gram, but we sorta have bigger problems than a dirty sweater. How ‘bout that phone call?”

“I think there’s something wrong with the phone, my dear. There’s no dial tone.”

“Since when are wolves smart enough to cut phone lines?”

“What was that, my dear?”

“Nothing, Gram. Just the signature on our death certificates. No big.”

“’But, grandmother, what large hands you have.’ “’The better to hug you with.’…”

Shuddering door against my back reminds me that I have bigger problems at the moment. Problems that can’t be solved by sarcastic comments made under my breath.

“It’s okay, Gram. I have my cell—well, at least I did. It must have fallen out while I was running. Shit!”

“Raeffe, language! Young ladies shouldn’t talk—“

“—We don’t really have time for propriety lessons at the moment, Gram! Big wolves throwing themselves against the door, trying to get in and eat us like some wacky fairy tale, and we have no way to contact anyone for help.”

“Didn’t I used to read you a story about a little girl and a wolf, my dear?”

“Probably, but that really doesn’t help us now.”

“Didn’t that wolf eat the little girl, my dear?”

“Helpful thoughts, Gram! Think you can help me move this bookcase in front of the door?”

“’Oh, but, grandmother, what a terrible big mouth you have.’

“‘The better to eat you with.’…”

“My dear, why should we move that in front of the door? Besides it’s far too heavy for me to even think about moving when I feel the way I do. You should come and sit down, my dear.”

“Just one problem, Gram: I think if I leave the door, they’ll get in.”

“Who will get in, my dear?”

“The wolves, Gram. The wolves.”

“But, my dear, there aren’t any wolves.”

Howling surrounds the cabin, so loud that I wonder how Gram could believe such a fairy tale. No wolves? Then what exactly is making that noise outside? And since when do wolves try to batter down a door?

“There’s something really weird going on, Gram. If it’s not wolves, then I’m not sure I wanna know what else it could be. You might wanna start looking for a weapon of some kind.”

“Weapon? Now why would I have some kind of weapon in the house, my dear?”

“Gram, just get something sharp and/or heavy! Please! And—ow!”

Banging so hard it throws me away from the door for a second, making for a nice return slam back into it. Things get quiet for a moment, making me believe that the wolf slamming into it knocked itself out with that last hit, but then I hear growling that sounds like a motorcycle revving, and the door shudders again, complete with ominous cracking noises. Then I feel the door break and slam me into the opposite wall, and then, I feel nothing.

“And scarcely had the wolf said this, than with one bound he was out of bed and swallowed up Little Red Riding Hood.”

ώ

“I will do everything you tell me, mother.”

“Don’t sass me, Rae! Now get going.”

“Can I at least take the car?”

“It’s only a ½ a mile through the woods, Raeffe; why would you need the car? You used to love walking through those woods to your grandmother’s house.”

“I also used to love Hanson and the Spice Girls but I somehow grew out of that purgatory. Come on, Mom. It’ll be dark by the time I’m on my way back, and I could get lost or kidnapped or raped or brutally murdered or something. Do you really want your precious, darling daughter reduced to a tragic ten o’clock news story?”

“That’s not funny at all, Raeffe. If you would just go instead of whining and arguing with me, you could get home in plenty of time.”

“Fine, fine, I’m going.”

“It also might help if you don’t stop at the park to hang out with Theron and all those other boys like you normally do. Then you might not have to worry at all about it getting dark.”

“Sure thing, Mom.”

“Curb that sarcasm right now, young lady. If you talk like that to your grandmother, you’ll upset her and then you really will be in trouble. And don’t forget your sweater. ... No, the red one.”

“Mom!”

“Your grandmother made that especially for you. I’m not asking you to wear it every day, just for today when you go to her house and back.”

“Fine! I’m going. Take one last look at your daughter before she gets eaten up by the big bad world.”

Stupid red sweater with is bedazzled red hood. Draws the eyes like a matador’s cape. And it completely clashes with my skin tone; makes me look like some rotten tomato. What was Gram thinking. “It’ll look darling on you, dearie.” No, Gram, it really won’t. And who calls people “dearie” now anyways? Weird old ladies your parents force you to visit without the aid of a possibly life-saving car…oh my God. She hasn’t been calling me “dearie” all night. Instead it’s been…

ώ

“My dear, how are you feeling?”

“Who are you, and what have done with my grandmother?”

“What are you talking about, dear child? I am your grandmother.”

“No, you’re really not.”

“You might as well give up the ghost, Daciana. She’s not falling for your little charade anymore. Besides, it served its purpose.”

Walking slowly out of the shadows, at first all I can make out of him is that he is a him (and that I only gleaned from the voice). First I see bare feet, feet which look as though they should be in pain from the uneven rocky floor, but he walks steadily, fluidly towards me without flinching, without that funny dance I always do when I have to walk barefoot over rough gravel. These feet are followed by plain black pants, but not plain in the cheap kind of way, more plain in the they’re-too-expensive-to-be-frivolous-and-flashy kind of way. The light from the broken door travels slowly upwards, revealing bit by bit, a simple grey button-up shirt with long, tapered fingers doing up the middle buttons as if he were just getting dressed. Then, finally, a face, and yet somehow not the face I was expecting (though how I could be expecting anything from these strange people who for some reason use wolves to drive me into a cabin/trap with a grandmother impersonator). This face is…sorta unassuming, a face that doesn’t stand out. Average chin, average mouth, average nose, average forehead, average everything…except for the eyes. The eyes are…golden, I guess would be the best description. Like molten gold (though I’m really just guessing as I’ve never seen molten gold on anything other than TV), molten gold that pierces into your soul and steals all your secrets before you even have a chance to try and hide them.

Running a hand through auburn but slightly greying hair (hair that looks too old on a face that averagely young, but then the eyes belie all that appearance of youth), he looks back at me with a mocking half-smile (though I think the mock is meant more for himself than me) before beginning to speak again in that slightly indiscernible, but possibly European accent.

“I must apologize for my companion, Daciana. She’s one of those actors who gets so into character that she doesn’t want to leave it when the role’s done. You may leave us now.”

“But, sir, she—“

Saying nothing, he simply looks at her, but that look is far from simple. I feel as if it would make blood boil, and maybe I’m not far off as the person he calls Daciana, the one wearing a my-grandmother suit, cringes away from her seemingly caring, grandmotherly position next to me and slinks towards the door, whimpering slightly, like a dog with its tail between its legs. She pulls the largest piece of door into place behind her, the piece that succeeded in knocking me into the wall and unconscious when it was broken, plunging the cabin into near darkness and me into sudden but inevitable and understandable terror. I think I’m beginning to figure things out about these…these people.

“So sorry about all this. I would’ve preferred a more subtle way to meet you, but time was not on my side. You see, I need your help, Raeffe.”

“How…how do you know my name?”

Pacing around me, his all too human face belies his true nature. I stay still on the floor, almost hugging my knees to my chest as if I’m five years old and in bed again, having some nightmare about wolves under the bed or in the closet.

“Do you know what your name means?”

“Not so much. Don’t see why is would matter?”

“I like you. You cower there all frightened but you snap at me with your words. … The meaning of names has always fascinated me. There is so much about us that is contained in our names. Names used to be sacred, a thing secret and hidden, a thing of power; now they’re merely feeble adornments with no real meaning, often clashing with who and what we really are. But sometimes, without really meaning to, they seem to fit…perfectly. You see, one might assume that your name meant ‘red’ or ‘red-haired,’ something like that. But no, ‘Raeffe’, at least the conventional form ‘Rafe’, means ‘wolf counsel.’ Funny, isn’t it? I assume by now that you’re…figuring things out about us.”

“Yeah, I think I am.”

“You see, you’re more like us than you know.”

“Really? ‘Cuz I totally missed the part where I turn into a monster all of a sudden-like. Typically a little hard to miss, wouldn’t you say?”

Pushing too far, you idiot. Now he’s got me, cutting off my air supply and hauling me off the ground and into the air so that my toes barely brush the floor.

“Let’s not get snippy now, shall we? Think you can be polite for a little while?”

Nodding, just barely because it’s a little hard to move at the moment. He lets me go, not seeming to mind as I slump to the floor, choking and gasping for air.

“Good. Now maybe we can come to some sort of understanding, hmm?”

“What do you want with me? And what did you do with my grandmother?”

“We need you, Raeffe. You’re the answer we’ve been searching for.”

“You didn’t answer my other question.”

“My, you’re persistent. I like that. Your grandmother is…safe. And nearby.”

“Okay, one question down. Now moving on. If I’m the answer, what’s the question?”

“Our survival.”

“That’s not really a question.”

“Our survival is threatened. Overexpansion, the tearing down of our natural habitats, loss of dependable food sources, not to mention pesky old human weapons. They’re getting far too efficient at killing us. Our numbers dwindle day by day and we need you to save us.”

“How exactly am I supposed to do that? I’m just a…a girl.”

“You’re not just some girl. You’re special, Raeffe. You’re meant to be one of us. And more than that, you’re meant to protect us, protect our way of life. We need…modernity, someone who better understands this world than we do. We thought it would be good enough to…to be in league with some humans. Let them keep sanctuaries for us, but still…still I watch my family fall. We’ve been too reluctant of late to…to introduce new blood into the family, too afraid of causing a stir and bringing attention. But I am tired of living in the shadows. I need someone with ingenuity and a sense of drama. I need you, Raeffe, to bring us into the new millennium.”

“How…how am I supposed to do that exactly?”

“Well, first, you’ve got to become one of us. And then…well, we’ll work things out from there.”

Turning away from me, he doesn’t see the commotion outside, a woman flying by one of the holes in the shattered door followed by a familiar looking boy with shaggy gold hair landing punches on another guy I’ve never seen before. Then they disappear and he turns back to me, spearing me with those startlingly gold eyes.

“Do I…uh…get a say in this?”

“Of course...to a point. That’s what all this little chat has been about.”

“Okay, then I’d like to respectfully decline the…joining of your family thing.”

“But, you see, that’s the thing: you’re already one of us.”

“Huh, now? I don’t wanna seem ‘snippy’ but I thought we already covered that part. I don’t really remember ever turning into a…a wolf or anything.”

“No, you wouldn’t remember because you haven’t…yet. But you will. Soon. You just need a little…grooming. But not here. This’ll be the first place they’ll look for you. And we don’t want that.”

“You…I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Faolan. It means—“

“—‘Wolf.’”

“Good guess.”

Stretching out a hand like I have a choice in all this, like my fate isn’t already sealed. Though at first I couldn’t, wouldn’t believe what he said. Now…now it’s like it’s all starting to sink in, like I know, I’ve always known deep down inside that what he’s saying now is true. I’m something…wrong. It’s why I never really got along with the people who were supposed to be my friends. Except for…for Theron. Theron…

Falling on top of me, his average but still substantial weight pins me against the wall and floor. Then there’s a hand, a pair of them pulling me out from under his body, pulling me out into the sunlight trickling through the trees.

“Rae, come on. Snap out of it! We’ve gotta run before any of these guys wake up.”

“Theron? What are you…how’d you find me?”

“Run now, ask questions later. Come on!”

ώ

“The huntsman was just passing the house, and thought to himself, how the old woman is snoring. I must just see if she wants anything.”

“I think we should be safe now, Rae.”

“I don’t think so, Ther.”

“Do you know what those guys were, Rae?”

“Yeah, I kinda got the whole picture. Do you know what they were?”

“Yeah, werewolves. It’s sorta what my family does.”

“And now’s my cue to give a big resounding ‘huh’?”

“We hunt werewolves. Been doing it for generations. But there haven’t been any wolves around for years until…I don’t know what brought them back. Or why they attacked you and your grandmother. Did that guy say anything about what they were up to?”

“Uh…no, he just talked a lot of nonsense. Do you…did you see my grandmother? He said she was nearby but…he might’ve been lying.”

“We’ll find her, Rae. We’ve just gotta get back to my house and get my dad and brothers. Then we’ll go back and get rid of all those monsters.”

“Really? That makes me feel so much better.”

Howling in my head again, but Theron doesn’t seem to hear it. Part of me wants to warn him, start running again for the safety of town and his family of apparently able wolf-hunters. But some other part of me, some deeper part, feels the need to protect Faolan and the others. I also feel a sudden urge to…to growl.

“Rae, why’d you stop? We need to get to town. They won’t have too much trouble tracking us once they’re up so we need to get to my family before they can catch up.”

“I…there’s something wrong with…my ankle. It hurts…too much to walk. You should…you should go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

“Rae, that—that won’t work. They catch you again and God knows what they’ll do to you.”

“They won’t hurt me, Theron. But you…you should go. Before something bad happens. Before I…do something.”

“Raeffe, what are you talking about?”

“It wasn’t some accident that they came after me. There’s something…something that connects me…to...to them.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Rae. Those things are monsters, and you have nothing to do with them.”

“Theron, you should go. You should go now. They’re close and…I don’t know what they’ll do to you if they find you. Just go…please.”

“Rae—“

“—Theron, go!”

Pushing him away forcefully enough that he seems frightened of me, as well he should be. The growling is building up, working its way into a howl that wants to be free of my chest, out in the air. Theron looks at me in fear as my breathing comes faster and faster, scrambling to his feet and backing away from me until he runs into a tree. Then he turns and runs towards town full out, no looking back. Tears come to my eyes hot and fast as I sink to the ground, fighting against the pain rising up in my chest. For a moment I think that the hand on my shoulder is Theron come back despite his rightful fear, but as I feel eyes burning into me like molten gold, I realize that Theron is long gone and so is any life in which I knew him as a friend.

“Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“N-no. He thought he was saving me. But I can’t be saved, can I?”

“You don’t need saving, Raeffe. You are exactly what you are supposed to be. You are exactly where you are supposed to be.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”

“We should go now. Before the rest of them come.”

“Time to join my new family, huh? Let’s go.”

“And upon saying these words, this wicked Wolfe fell upon the little Red Riding-Hood, and eat her up.”

“The Moral From this short story easy we discern What conduct all young people ought to learn. But above all, the growing ladies fair, Whose orient rosy Blooms begin t'appear: Who, Beauties in the fragrant spring of age! With pretty airs young hearts are apt t'engage.

Ill do they listen to all sorts of tongues, Since some enchant and lure like Syrens songs. No wonder therefore 'tis if overpower'd, So many of them has the Wolfe devour'd. The Wolfe, I say, for Wolves too sure there are Of every sort, and every character. Some of them mild and gentle-humour'd be Of noise and gall, and rancour wholly free; Who tame, familiar, full of complaisance; ogle and leer, languish, cajole and glance; With luring tongues, and language wondrous sweet, Follow young ladies as they walk the street,

Ev'n to their very houses and bedside, And though their true designs they artful hide, Yet ah! these simpring Wolves, who does not see Most dang'rous of all Wolves in fact to be?”

_____________________________________________ Works Cited

The Grimm Brothers. “Little Red Riding Hood.” Grimm’s Complete Fairy Tales. Barnes & Noble, Inc., 1993.

Charles Perrault. “Little Red Riding Hood.” Histories, or Tales of Past Times. London: J. Pote and R. Montagu, 1729.

"I'll Never Tell"

So nothing new to report really. Made out with an asshole a few weeks ago...regret it now. But over and done with. I've made some new friends, even set up a couple of 'em and it's working out good for them so far. Now it's their turn to reciprocate. Until then, I'll leave my gentle (non)-readers with a little fiction piece I wrote for my class this week that's based on some of my very dear friends and a little running gag we have. Hope you (if "you" actually entails that anyone is reading this) enjoy! ***********************************************************************************

The Accidental Widow

JLF

Dedicated to my friend/faux husband Chuck…because he wanted a story about him. Be careful what you wish for.

That’s me down there…

All dead and corpsified.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Kinda cliché thing to say, I know, but my neck definitely wasn’t supposed to be at that angle. But really, I was supposed to have this very charmed, very easy, very picture-perfect life.

Then she came along.

Wait, sorry, that was way too noirish. But that is where everything went horribly wrong. With her. My lovely, loving, completely devoted wife.

“You bitch! You ruined my life!” Yeah, that’s basically the gist of our marriage…at least now that I can look back with some perspective. At the point in time before I ended up dead, I had no idea just how bad things were.

It was supposed to be one of those idyllically perfect marriages. She was sweet and cute, only a few years older than me (clue #1 that this was a bad deal: I used to joke, “You know, I don’t usually go for cougars, but for you, baby, I’ll make an exception.” And she never laughed. Shoulda paid more attention to that), oh and she was one hell of a cook. She wanted to take care of me, a welcome change from most of my previous significantly not-so-caring others. I guess I just didn’t realize how crazy she was about wanting to “take care of me,” you know, in the Godfather sense of the phrase.

So here I am lying in a pool of my own blood with my neck turned at a very Exorcist-esque angle and my limbs strewn in what would be an exceedingly awkward position if I was alive to have feeling in them at the bottom of the steep flight of stairs that lead to my mistress’s apartment. Ouch, right?

Okay, I know. A mistress, bad me, slap my hand, but don’t kill me, okay? But what was I supposed to do? My oh-so-misleadingly-loving wife said I could have one.

“Whatever makes you happy, baby. You know I’d do anything for you. Besides it’s kinda my fault we don’t…well, you know…all that much. Go out and enjoy yourself. Just…you know, be careful.” A sweet little kiss on my forehead, that lingering brush of her hand down my shoulder and forearm meant to steal my soul in more than just the pop culture sense that I used to love. Why shouldn’t I take her at her word? Our relationship was never one based on…well, “the squelchy part.”

Sounds weird, right? A marriage with middling-to-no sex? That’s insa—okay, it’s really not all that unusual for most couples, I guess. But seriously, we were never about the sex. We just got along really well, had a lot in common, and we both felt it was the smart thing to do (getting married, I mean, not the not having sex part). We wouldn’t be so lonely anymore, would have someone to come home to, someone there for us, plus the convenience of split rent and bills (because she was very adamant on that). She was a refreshing change from most of the girls I had dated: they all saw the huge house my parents own (i.e. my parents, not me) and thought, Hey, I should hook him; he’s got major moolah. But she saw the house, met my uncomfortably uptight and pretentious dad over an uncomfortably expensive and gloat-inducing dinner and didn’t immediately pounce on me for an engagement. She wasn’t even phased; said she was a small town girl who’d never really cared about money and big houses and all those frivolous things (I didn’t even have to tell her that my dad and I were on shaky terms at best, so I wasn’t likely to be coming into any of his money at any point in the near or far future…of course I did tell her later, just in case she was far more subtle than any of the other girls I’d dated. But she still didn’t care). In fact, after that dinner she begged me to take her to Wendys for some $.99 menu fun.

That was the night I asked her to marry me.

Of course, clue #2, she laughed at that instead of my cougar joke. But even I didn’t think I was serious about that proposal when I said it. I was just impressed by her sheer ballsyness at standing up to my dad and then asking for the two cheeseburgers, accompanying fries, nuggets, and a shake. But then I said it, and she laughed, and my first thought was, Damn! I was totally serious. Now how do I get her to say yes?

Now, of course, I see that for the colossally huge mistake it was. Well, technically I don’t see anything at the moment, but you get the picture.

And here come the paramedics, because someone finally found my stiff and slightly frozen corpse. I guess that’s what I get for coming over here at such an ungodly hour. The next part is where this all goes straight to hell.

***

When they take her in to identify my body, she looks appropriately stunned, turns all pale and sort of yellow/green for a second before averting her face. The handsomely strong young officer escorting her into the dank and appropriately light-flickering morgue (I wonder if that’s my fault, since I’m all floaty and ghosty? Hmm…) puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and she leans into him for a moment. Not as affected as I thought. “I know it’s pretty gruesome, ma’am, but we just need a quick identification and then you can get out of here.” “I’m—I’m all right. I can do this. Thank you,” looking up at him with those adoring eyes half-filled with tears and a secret promise which I never ever saw that sets my nonexistent teeth on edge. “Take your time, ma’am.” She walks up to that (I imagine) cold metal table and stares at my grotesque former form for a moment, her eyes wide in terror and horror. “Oh my God! Oh my God.” “Ma’am, we—“ “—That’s him. That’s my—my husband…Chuck. I just…oh my God. Baby…” “It’s all right. We can go now if—“ “—No! No, I’m…I just…I just need a minute. Can I…can I have a minute alone with…with him? Please?” The silent coroner and the condolent officer give her her minute, the latter turning back for a moment as she quietly starts to cry, her face in my general former direction but not really looking at my body. But then, he too exits, and she’s finally alone with just me and my body. “Oh, Chuck…oh, baby. I just can’t believe this. I just can’t believe…that it turned out this well. You absolute moron. You had to be feeling those chest pains when you went up the stairs and yet, you still went through with it and then tried to take two flights of stairs back down again. Well, at least it doesn’t tie all this back to me in any way. I was gone to my conference and you were just visiting our dear old friend—my dear old friend—Blair. You know, when I said you could have an affair I meant you could have one with someone I didn’t know and would never have to know. Someone inconsequential. Someone to take away that pesky little burden of having to have sex with you. Did you really think that I just didn’t really ever want to have sex? Because I didn’t…at least not with you. So sure, I gave you permission to have a mistress, someone to keep you busy and out of my hair…and certainly out of my pants. But not Blair. Not my best friend and closest thing to family I have left in this world. How could either of you have ever thought it would be even remotely okay for you to—“ She pauses for a second, seems to actually be on the verge of some kind of emotional display, something to finally break that statuesque façade, but then she catches it. Gives a little laugh and a smile, though I’m not sure if she’s laughing at my deadened state or her own almost blunder. “Oh well, now I don’t have to worry about some pesky, messy divorce where you might eventually figure out just how much money I had tucked away and try to take half of it. You never even suspected, did you? You thought I was just some sweet, quiet little country girl whose parents had died and left her all alone with no one in the world to help her. Some hardy girl who pulled herself up by her bootstraps in that time-honored American fashion. Silly, silly boy. Don’t you think I would’ve gotten some settlement after they were killed? And my quaint little writing hobby that you thought was so cute, so adorable, so absolutely unnecessarily because we made enough already to support us. You had no idea that I’ve already had three books published and one even made it on the bestseller’s list…somewhere near the bottom sure, but it was on there. Trust me, baby, I had more than enough to get by. But I couldn’t let you know that. Couldn’t let you take it. You were always so worried about money since you were accustomed to having so much of it. Even though you always seemed so keen on my thrifty economics, I just couldn’t risk my little nest egg in your greedy little hands. I needed that money for my own fun.” Here she laughs, almost giddy, but she stifles it so the waiting cop and coroner don’t come rushing in, thinking she’s crazy or possibly just hysteric. I’d bank on the first option, boys. But no need, she’s too in control. I used to love that about her: How in control she was, how sure of herself. But now, I can definitely see how that controlling-ness did not pay off for me. “And it was so simple, baby. Your lover even gave me the idea. ‘Potassium shot right to heart!’ Of course, I couldn’t be so dramatic. That would be too easy to trace. But a few crushed potassium vitamins in your food now and then, over an extended period, and you die of a very convenient and tragically normal heart attack. And now, with your extra accident on top of all that, I’m even more in the clear. Even if they do find some extra potassium in your system, well, you did like your bananas. So thanks, baby, you made things so easy on me.” She stands up and turns, ready to leave, but then turns back and seems to look right at me, right at the real me floating somewhere above the old me. “If you would’ve really known me, the real me, you would’ve known that I would never call someone I actually loved ‘baby.’ See ya, Chuck.” And then she’s gone. That bitch.

"can't hurry love"

saw 27 Dresses at the preview show thursday. it was awesome! james marsden was so absolutely adorable. i totally want to go see it again when it comes out for real.