DEAR DAUGHTER

Small as the sugar cube
dropped in Father’s mug,
standing over black Mahogany,
you show in morning light
filtered through opaque bathroom window
when I flush acid
I spill like paint.
You show as I swallow
nausea from coffee vapors
rising above his white mug.

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DELIVERY

Forget stale chemical air
flowing through white halls,
green paper gowns.
Forget numbers on monitors,
mumbling speakers warring
with nurses’ quiet tread.
Forget her hair-plastered forehead
expectant faces waiting hours
doctor commanding push.
Forget ice cube errands
her fracturing grip
thick red sheets.
Forget their screams,
wrinkled purple skin.

Remember
heart’s explosion,
her exhausted smile,
minute-old eyes.

Invisible Scars

            A funny smell reaches my nostrils. I start to breath in deeply when I recognize it as gasoline. The hard rocks of the gravel driveway scratch against my cheek. I’m lying on my side, pinning my right arm underneath me. I try to move, but can’t. I lightly lick my lips and taste blood. I can’t remember how I got here. I hear a high-pitched whining intermixed with a rustling sound. I know when I open my eyes what I’ll see. I don’t want to, but I have to. I blink my eyes open and even that hurts. There on the ground less than ten feet away is a dark bag, a garbage bag. It’s moving and the whining is coming from inside. Rusty, it has to be my dog Rusty. I try to push myself up and go to him, help him, but I can’t. I am only ten and I am glued to the ground. I can’t help him; I can’t help myself.

Then white Nike sneakers appear next to the moving bag. I can see the rough blue jeans splattered with white primer and littered with holes. I can see the bottom of a red can tip up in the air and I hear the clear liquid pour out the spout. I know what’s going to happen next. My eyes blur as tears form. I can still see the bag twisting and turning, but the edges are soft now. At the top of my vision a small dot of light appears, it falls and suddenly the dot is now a small, fuzzy fire. My sobbing overrides Rusty’s whining. The light dims a bit because he is standing in front of me, blocking my view. “That dog is dirty. You’re dirty. You’re a dirty little girl. You must be cleansed. Fire cleanses the soul.” His voice is rough like his jeans. The bottom of his sneaker pushes against my left shoulder rolling me onto my back. My right arm is wet and the smell is so strong. Someone please help me! There’s a small flash of light, “This will cleanse your soul-“

Suddenly I sit up in my bed. My breathing is heavy. Just a nightmare, it was just The Nightmare. My whole body is clammy from sweat. I lift my hands to my face, my cheeks are sopping and my right hand is rough against my face. I raise the arm of my nightgown and trace a few of the scars. Shivering slightly I slide out of bed, going back to sleep right now would be an amazing achievement and would probably only lead back to The Nightmare. I tie the waistband of my robe and pad into the kitchen. I get a mug out of the cupboard, pour a packet of Swiss Miss into the bottom, fill it with water and stick it in the microwave on high for forty-five seconds. When it beeps three times I wrap my hands around the warm mug and move into my living room/family room/dining room. I sit on my couch, place my feet on my coffee table and sip my cocoa slowly.

There are four rooms in my small apartment, this one, the kitchen, the bedroom and the bathroom. They’re always in perfect order. I thoroughly scrub one room a day on top of generally cleaning up after I shower, cook or sleep.

I hate cleaning. Unless I’m dusting, I love to dust the few pieces of furniture I own. I always use Pledge and a soft yellow rag. I shake the can, enjoying how it gets cold as the liquid moves around inside. Then I spray the table, the shelf or the desk liberally and slowly wipe all the dust away. I know that I’m cleaning the table. I can see the impurities being removed. I can tell when it’s been cleansed. In the bathroom and the kitchen and deep in the carpet I know germs are hiding. I can’t see them, but they’re there. They laugh at me as I desperately scrub at them; douse them with pungent smelling cleaning solution and scrub until the muscles in my arm cramp in surrender. No matter how hard I scrub I know the toilet will always be dirty. It’s a festering spot of contamination. It’s the next room on my rotation. I’ll spend at least an hour tomorrow locked in that tiny room fighting against the invisible.

I’ve drank half my cup, but it hasn’t helped yet. I look at my plain, white, circular clock hanging on the wall. 1:03 am, that means it’s really 12:55. I set all my clocks ahead by eight minutes, that way I’m never late. I look over at my desk where my monitor sits quietly -dark. He could be on. He stays up late most nights. What would it hurt to just check? He’ll make me feel better if he’s on. Jonathon. I’ve been chatting with him for a couple of months now. The urge grabs a hold of me and now I have to turn my computer on. I sit in my high-back swivel chair impatiently bouncing my leg up and down. As soon as my ocean background pops up I move the mouse over to my Instant Messaging icon and double click.

Nobody types right in chat. No one uses capitals or punctuation and everything is abbreviated. I’ve been using this program for about half a year and haven’t conformed yet. I’m the only person online that uses capitals and punctuation. I rarely shorten my words; it gets too confusing sometimes. I have succumbed to using a few regular chat phrases; such as, lol (laugh out loud), bf (boyfriend), gf (girlfriend) and brb (be right back).

Before my list even appears inside the IM window another window pops up on my screen. “cjon02: whats wrong?” Okay, so sometimes people use punctuation.

“lil_lizzy22: I had The Nightmare.”

“cjon02: again?”

“lil_lizzy22: Yes. It went on longer than usually too. I can’t go back to sleep yet. I know it’ll come back if I do.”

“cjon02: tell me”

“lil_lizzy22: No Jonathon. Please don’t push. You’ve never pushed before. Don’t tonight.”

“cjon02: yes lizzy i want to know”

“cjon02: tell me about it”

Why is he pushing tonight? Maybe I should just tell him. He’s been talking to me for long enough. If it scares him then I don’t want to talk to him anymore anyway. Well, I do, but I’ll survive. If I don’t like that he knows I’ll just ignore him. He only has my screen name as contact information.

“lil_lizzy22: Well, The Nightmare is really a memory. It happened when I was 10. Are you sure you want to know?”

“cjon02: yes i want to know”

“lil_lizzy22: Alright. My mom had a lot of different bfs when I was growing up. They were always younger, she likes them younger. I was 10 so she was 27, I don’t remember how old her current bf was, probably between 22 and 26. He’d never been violent before, but one night he woke me up. He must’ve been drinking. I think he hit me or something. I really don’t remember very well.”

“lil_lizzy22: Are you really sure you want to hear this? It’s in the past, it doesn’t matter now.”

“cjon02: yes i want to hear this!”

I told him the rest of the story, everything I remember up to the point where I passed out. I also told him about the hospital visit afterwards where everyone was convinced I’d fallen onto a fire that my mom’s boyfriend had started in the backyard. An accident, that’s what everyone called it –an unfortunate accident.

“cjon02: so you have scars?” This was the question I dreaded.

“lil_lizzy22: Yes….You may as well know all of it. My entire right arm and the right side of my neck are covered in scars. They’re deep and rough. I have to do exercises every week to keep my right arm from freezing up.”

“cjon02: wow…i dont know what to say lizzy”

“cjon02: why didnt you tell me earlier?”

“lil_lizzy22: How could I tell you something like that? I like you, you know that.”

“cjon02: but you never want to meet”

“lil_lizzy22: Now you know why. I’m hideous. I wear turtleneck shirts whenever I go out. Even in the summer!”

“cjon02: lol i didnt know you cared what others thought”

“lil_lizzy22: I care very much. I’d scare people if I were to walk around with all my scars showing.”

“cjon02: maybe thats why you dont want to meet”

“cjon02: youre worried about what people will think about our age difference” Jonathon is fifteen years older than me. I’m twenty-two and have been living on my own since I emancipated myself from my mom when I was fifteen. Jonathon told me he was thirty-seven when we first started talking. It had made me uneasy at first, but at least he was honest and told me the truth. A lot of guys hide things about themselves. When you’re online you can be whatever you want to be. I can put up a picture of a model and claim that it’s me. I don’t, but sometimes I want to so that I can be called beautiful.

“cjon02: ?”

“lil_lizzy22: I’m here. It’s not the age difference, it’s how I look. I’m ugly, unclean.”

“cjon02: i want to come over”

“lil_lizzy22: What? Now? You can’t!”

“cjon02: y not?”

“lil_lizzy22: It’s almost 2 am.”

“cjon02: i dont care youre not going to go back to sleep are you?”

“lil_lizzy22: Well, no, probably not. Still, it’s weird. You want to come over at 2 in the morning to meet for the first time?”

“cjon02: yes i do”

“cjon02: you need a hug and im going to give it to you”

“lil_lizzy22: Lol. I don’t know Jonathon. I mean all I really know about you is your name and your age.”

“cjon02: we’ve been talking for 2 months you know more about me than that”

We keep talking; I can feel myself giving in slowly. If he keeps arguing I’m going to let him come over. I don’t really want to be alone right now anyway. He asks for my address and I give him my apartment number after asking if he really wants to come over.

“cjon02: i’ll be over in 30 mins.” That’ll be close to three o’clock. I really do need sleep. I should tell him no, there’s still time.

“lil_lizzy22: Okay.”

“cjon02: see you soon sweetie”

“lil_lizzy22: Bye.” This is crazy. Why did I do that? I don’t really want him to see me. It’s too late now though, he’s on his way. Maybe he’ll get a flat tire, or run out of gas or change his mind.

I pace in front of my desk, checking the screen every five seconds to see if he’s signed back in. After fifteen minutes I realize that he’s not going to sign back in because he really is on his way over. I have to put on something better than my pajamas. Jeans, a t-shirt and a sweatshirt? No, that’ll look like I’m trying and besides it’s late. I pull out my newest pair of sweat pants. They cling slightly to my hips and thighs. I think I look good in them and it won’t look like I’m trying. I keep the sweatshirt on, it has a hood that hides my neck scars.

I move around my tiny apartment, rearranging things and then putting them back in their original spot, opening the fridge door for no reason except to stare at the contents, and flopping down on the couch trying to relax.

Even though I’m constantly straining to hear his footsteps outside my door the sharp knock makes me jump. I stare at the door as though he’ll bust through it, knocking it off its hinges. The door stays upright in the door way and the knock comes again. “Coming!” I meekly shout out. My voice is trembling as much as my body. I slowly walk over to the doorway. It’s just Jonathon. Nothing to be nervous about; you’ve been talking to him for months. It’s just Jonathon.

My head is tilted downwards and I’m staring at the bottom of the door as I open it slowly. The first things I notice are the white Nike brand sneakers. Blue jeans. Holey blue jeans. White painted spattered holey blue jeans. A rough voice says, “Hello Lizzy.”

Etchings

*Note: There is some strong language in this story.

            The rough bark of the huge oak tree scrapes my back through my t-shirt. She’s sitting there, on the other side. Just around the other side. If I lean to my right, carefully, so carefully, I can see her. She’s swinging. Gorgeous. Tiny swings, pushed by the toe tip of her black zip-up calf high boots. Slow swings, sad swings. She’s gorgeous, beautiful, lovely, not a slut, not a whore, not a skank; everyone else is wrong. They call her those filthy names, ugly names, but she’s not, she’s exquisite. The town sees her as unwholesome, unholy, a leech trapping young men in her bed. They’re wrong. They don’t know her, but I do.

            I peek around the tree and see her, still swinging, little swings. The zipper on her left boot has unzipped itself an inch. In the opening there’s a small run in her black tights. The tights cling their way up her toned legs and slip under a thigh short, red and black ruffled plaid skirt. A sliver chain embraces her waist. An inch of creamy, pale belly skin shows in the space between her skirt and top. Her belly is special. Inside is a secret, a precious secret. She knows, I know, everyone knows, but they don’t believe it’s special. It is. The bottom of her shiny green camisole ripples in the wind. The top clings to her breasts, held by two thin spaghetti straps. Her arms are covered by a dark brown pleather jacket. Her head hangs low, eyes focused on her shoes. They’re not special, why does she look at them? She’s special, wonderful.

            The wind picks up making the edges of my loose papers flutter. They don’t fly, can’t. My sketchbook is closed, arm resting on it. How beautiful she is, and I have her here -forever. On the swing she’s not smiling, but in my book she is. She’s doing a lot of things in my book, mostly sitting or standing, looking lost, thoughtful, bored, and once she’s smiling. That was yesterday; she was smiling yesterday. A small smile, like her swings, but it’s a beautiful smile, a loving smile. She was smiling at her belly, rubbing it and smiling. I open my book up and take out my unfinished sketch from yesterday. I’m going to finish it now. I pull my coal pencil out of my pocket and begin to add to the lines I made yesterday.

            Again I turn and peek around the bark; she’s still there, in the same position. I stare at her; she mesmerizes me. My pencil hangs from my finger tips. Suddenly a force pushes it in my hand. I look down and watch as the wind carries my sketch of her off my notebook toward the swing set. No! Oh, no. She might see it. It’s laying there on the ground. It’s closer to me, maybe I can get it. If I’m quiet she won’t hear me.

            My heart presses into my ribs again and again. I can hear it; she’s going to hear it. I set my pad and pencil in-between the twisting tree roots. Be brave. I crouch and take a deep breath. One…..Two…..Three! I can’t. Four…..Five…..Six, taking a deep breath I finally begin to slip my legs silently over the roots. Almost there, if I don’t look at her she won’t see me. I’m there, where the paper should be, but it’s not; her boots are. She’s looking at it, I’m in trouble.

            “What is this?” she asks.

            “H…h….h…h…hi, K…Karen.” I stammer as I struggle to get the words out. It’s hard, hard to enunciate, talk, speak.

            “What are you doing with this Jordan?”

            “N...N…Noth…nothing.”

            “You drew this, didn’t you? Have you been following me?” I wait for her to continue, but she stares at me –waiting.

            “I…I drew.” I take a deep breath, “I like dra…drawing you.”

            She touches the paper, her fingers come away black. “You were just working on this. Where’s your pencil?” She glances at my hands and then back towards the tree. I’m in trouble. She quickly stomps over to the tree and picks up my etchings. Big trouble. She begins flipping through them; I know what she’s seeing. Her face, pretty face, again and again, on every page. “This is me. These are all me.”

            I hang my head and whisper, “There are tr…trees.”

            She keeps flipping through the pages, loose pages, pages still clinging to their binding. She’s going through them all, getting closer to the end, to the secret. My secret, his secret, her secret, our secret. She passes pictures of herself at the river on a bench or rock, pictures of her standing in a hallway or outside of the school building, pictures with her car, in her bedroom (I had to climb into her aunt’s favorite tree to draw that one) and pictures of her sitting in a restaurant booth. She hasn’t gotten to the picture of the alley, the secret.

            “St…Stop. Please, please stop.” I beg.

            She sighs distractedly, “I want to see them all Jordan. What, do you have more of these back in your room? Is this all you do all day? Follow me around like a pervert? Is that what you are, a pervert? Huh, Jordan? What is all this? Why? Why do you do this? What is this?!” She’s practically screaming, but then goes still. It’s a complete stillness as she finds the secret. “What’s this Jordan?” she whispers.

            “You were there Jordan? You saw? Did you try to get help? Why didn’t you get help?” Her voice gets louder as she talks. “How could you? You were there? You saw me. Did you see him? Did you?! Why didn’t you sketch what he did? Why isn’t he in here? Huh?” The page shakes in her hand and rage appears in her eyes. “You saw me, you saw him? Did you see his black sweatshirt? His preppy Aber-fucking-crombie cargo pants? Did you see the ring, the Nike shoes, sunglasses, his hat? Did you see him rap-.” She chokes on her own words and then tears. Her sobs block the flow of her words.

            “I…It’s o…o…okay, K…K….Kar…Karen.” I tentatively reach out and awkwardly stroke her arm. I stand in front of her watching the wind blow her hair around her face. The strands that brush her cheeks stick there solemnly.

            Finally she looks up and shakes her head in mourning. “No, no it’s not Jordan. My aunt doesn’t want me to keep it.”

            I gasp, “Y...You have to…to keep…keep it. Keep the ba…baby Karen.”

            “She’s threatening to throw me out. I have no place to go. Mom won’t take me back. She sent me here so she wouldn’t have to deal with me. No one wants to deal with me. No one understands.”

            “I do.” This makes her smile, but I know she doesn’t believe me. It’s true, her mom sent her away, sent her here. I’ve heard my mom talking. Karen is a sinner she says. Being away from the city was supposed to help her, not hurt her. She’s hurt.

            “Wh…What do you wa…want? Keep ba…baby?”

            Her eyes moisten and new tears travel the old paths down her face. “No one’s ever asked me that before Jordan. I don’t know if I know what I want.” She looks down and presses her palm flat against her stomach. “I’m too young to be a mom.” She looks at me with eyes whose depths are that of a well I once looked down.

            She’s right, she’s too young; too young to be a mom, too young to have a baby, too young to not be someone’s baby, too young to be alone, too young to be scared.

            “I want this baby. I really think I want to keep it Jordan. It’s amazing to think that some tiny person is growing inside me.” She smiles, she actually smiles at me.

            “Ca…Can I f…feel?”

            She laughs; the sound is so precious, like magic. I smile, I love hearing it. “You can’t feel anything yet Jordan. It’s only been a month; it’s not developed enough yet.”

            “Oh.”

            “You’ll be able to feel it kick when it’s closer to birth. Oh, no. I just remembered, who’s going to be with me when the baby’s born?” I can’t help myself. I picture me, myself there beside her. I’d hold her hand, whisper to her, soothe her, help her and then I’d hold the baby, bounce it, rock it, cradle it, sing to it. I’d love her baby; I’d love her. “I have nothing to give this baby Jordan. How can I keep it?”

            “Give l...loves.”

            She smiles again which pleases me. I smile back. “Oh Jordan, if only life were so simple. I wish life could be like that. You don’t know how lucky you are. You have nothing to worry about. You can sketch all day and nobody would bother you.” She looks at the sketch of that night again. She traces the shape of her body as it’s curled up, leaning in the corner formed by the garbage can and brick wall. She sat there for so long I was able to finish capturing every nuance of her body. The tears in her shirt sleeve are dark. Her hair is mussed and the strands surrounding her face damp. Her arms are wrapped around her knees, fingers clenching her arms. You can see the indents they make.

            “Po…Police?” I want to know if she wants to take the drawing to the police.

            “No, no Jordan I can’t take it to them. This doesn’t prove anything and even if you did see I’m not sure they’d believe you. It’s best to leave things the way they are. I have enough to worry about without accusing the most popular guy in school of something. They’d never believe a slut anyway.”

            Truth is sad. I’m glad she didn’t ask me to go to the police, I can’t. He told me I can’t. He saw me when he left. Told me I had to keep the secret, never tell. My mom wouldn’t like it, dad wouldn’t like it, she wouldn’t like it and he wouldn’t like it. He said if I told the secret he’d burn my drawings and then burn me. I can’t tell, won’t tell.

“These are so wonderful Jordan. They’re so real. I didn’t know you could draw like this. I always thought you were scribbling a dog or something. Jordan, can I have one of these? To keep? Please?”

            I take my book from her and pull out the drawing I did of her eating ice cream at an outdoor table with a big yellow and white umbrella. She looks young, so young, pretty in the sunlight. She’s very pretty, gorgeous, she doesn’t know. When the baby’s born I’m going to see it, hold it maybe. I’ll draw it so I can keep it -forever. I’m going to keep Karen -forever.

Lost Tradition

Princess Leilani broke tradition when she was born. Never before had the first expected child of the royal line survived the trauma of coming into the world. For as long as stories have been told, the first child conceived by each new Kernathian king and queen has died immediately upon birth. The baby was always a small female with a full head of blond hair and bright blue eyes, even in death. Not only did Leilani survive, but she grew over 3 inches of hair in her first week of life; this is a sign of a strong Kernathian child.

            Leilani could claim to be the first at a lot of things. She was the first first-born child to survive birth. She was also the first Kernathian who lacked a full head of buttery blond hair. Although she was born with it, on her fourth birthday she woke up with strands of red hair starting to grow in the front to the left of her part. By her fifth birthday her perfect blond tresses were contrasted by a thick lock of sunset red hair. Lastly, she was the first Kernathian princess to have to find a groom who would take over ruling the country from her father.

            The latter scared her the most. For centuries the second child to be born was a boy, a miniature ruler in training. Princess Leilani did not have a younger brother nor would one be coming within her father’s lifetime. Bearing this in mind Leilani searched throughout her father’s rather small country for a suitable Prince-to-be. All the eligible men (and those who were already spoken for) were either too old or not old enough to give the King grandchildren before he died. This is how Leilani began her journey through lands unknown to her.

••••••

            Leilani lost count of how many days she spent searching her home hillside for a groom. Finally she was able to swear by her thumbs that she had seen every male specimen and none were suitable. When she relayed this devastating news to her father her body was tense and all her senses were on alert to run, duck or call for the healer. Instead he bowed his head so low that in the space where no hairs dared to grow Leilani could see her reflection looking just as perplexed as she felt. Two minutes, two hours or perhaps two days later he suddenly sighed and flicked two fingers in Leilani’s direction. She turned her back to him and skittishly fled the room. Unlike Lot’s brave wife she did not turn back to glance one last time at her father.

            The next morning Leilani awoke to find her younger sister, Isa, in the room. Isa had turned eight years old fifty-nine moons ago. She was blessed with amazingly thick, tight blond curls that bounced up and down as she did. She raised her hand and excitedly beaconed Leilani out the door. Leilani yawned and slide out of bed. She smiled affectionately at Isa, “I see this morning hasn’t unlocked your mouth. Perhaps when tomorrow’s flowers open up so will your mouth for something other than eating. Now take me to him my little cursed one.” The entire hillside believed that the Queen’s treasonous acts had inflicted Isa with the breath of silence. It is said that Isa will continue to be as quiet as a hunted mouse until the day the Queen returns.

            Isa did not lead Leilani to the fireside room where the King normally resided, but half dragged her through the gardens. The King stood underneath the green apple tree feeding one of its apples to the strangest horse Leilani had ever seen. There were two peculiar things about this horse, not its height nor its weight, but the creature was tinted blue and one wing was a tenth of the size of the other. “That thing will never get off the ground,” she said to Isa. “Why do you think Father bought it?” Leilani looked down at Isa; the girl’s eyes were brightly filled with joy and fixated on the horse. “Perhaps he bought it so that you could have something to stare at all day.” Isa’s curls softly struck her face as she swiftly shook her head.

            “There you are. Come, come, quickly. You and Glacier must get acquainted quickly if you are going to leave tomorrow.”

            “Leave? Tomorrow? What are you talking about? I’m not going any where, especially not with that thing.”

            The King’s eyes narrowed, “You will be leaving tomorrow. You will travel through the forest to the East and you shall not return until you have found someone to take my place. If there are none who suit you in the East then you will head either North or South; it is your decision. You are forbidden to return until you have found a willing groom. If you wish to seek love above someone suitable then so be it. Remember this though daughter of mine, love is weak and takes longer to find then a suitable mate. If it is your wish to be wandering the forest for 100 moons or more then I suggest you pack a lot of food.

            “My bloodline must continue! You, Princess Leilani, you must not fail me, the country, and the future of Kernath. Nothing has gone as planned, but you shall change things. I will not see the future of this kingdom rest upon the bloodline of adultery and deceit!” The King’s right pointer finger trembled as it stabbed the air in Isa’s direction.

            Leilani stifled a sigh, “Yes Father.” She’d heard this before. “Does this mean that my traveling companion is to be this blue, decapitated bird?”

Suddenly two sets of white teeth bit down on the soft flesh of her arm. Leilani was so startled she jumped and landed hard on her back, hitting her head on a tree root. Isa jumped up and down while the King laughed. “You two will get along wonderfully I see.” The smile disappeared, “You leave tomorrow soon after the moon leaves the sky.” He turned and began walking away, “Girl! Inside with you homeless bastard of mine.” Isa scurried after the King.

Leilani stared at Glacier from the ground. “At least you have some spirit in you even if you can’t fly.” Glacier shook her mane and jumped into the air. She flapped her wings, the smaller beating as fast as a mouse’s heart. By some ill fate she was able to fly back and forth in a wobbly zigzag pattern. After showing off her “talent” for a few yards Glacier began to fly in ever-tightening circles until she landed back on the ground. “Oh, so you can fly. Is that what you were trying to say? You’re lucky someone didn’t shoot you and put you out of your misery.” Leilani laughed, “Come on then, we’ve got a big day ahead of us.” Glacier stamped her foot and lightly bumped against Leilani.

••••••

The next day Leilani kissed Isa’s smooth forehead just as the moon was fading in the sky. Isa had slept with Leilani last night as she often did. “Stay out of his way and be quiet little one. I’ll be back before the sun turns purple.” Leilani climbed onto Glacier’s back and set off at a quick pace. She didn’t look back for fear that Isa would turn to dust if she did.

Traveling was hard on Leilani. She was not used to sleeping in the open, but luckily Glacier was happy to spread her healthy wing over Leilani. This provided Leilani with a small comfort and a bit of warmth. After three days of traveling through the forest Leilani had found five homes making up one village and farther away a hut. The hut’s torn roof and slumping walls told Leilani that no one lived there, but still she went inside. Inside the hut was one room containing two pieces of furniture, a bed and a table. On the table lay a pile of dust shaped like a bowl and a family of spiders. In the bed lay a pile of bones in the shape of a human. Briefly Leilani thought about returning with these as the future ruler, but didn’t want to uproot the mouse’s den resting in the chest cavity.

The village, though it could hardly be called that, had proven more futile. The best it had to offer was a baby who had not even seen his 300^th moon. The second and third best were two elderly invalids who reeked of rotten cheese. Leilani spent a few hours visiting with the families before moving on.

That evening Leilani and Glacier stopped to eat by a clear stream. As Leilani was washing an apple in the cool waters she saw a reflection across from hers. The small ripples made by Leilani’s hands distorted the image, but Leilani knew that she would soon be returning home. She looked up and there was the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen.

Short feet were wrapped in tough cloth for protection. Slender ankles flowed up into toned calves. Fingers on one hand curled around a small hunting bow. Lanky, slightly muscular arms extended out of a green tunic. Long dandelion yellow hair hung to either side of an oval face. Small, slightly pointed ears accented and contrasted the oval shape and lastly, Leilani saw green eyes that were framed by dark eyelashes. An elf! The ears gave it away and Leilani had seen one before. As Leilani stared into the elf’s dark green eyes she felt a light happiness that echoed throughout her soul.

“Welcome, I am called Kadian. I have seen you before, in my dreams and imaginations. I have sculpted your face out of clay, but never allowed myself to hope that I would one day see the real thing. Now you are here and I feel I belong to you. I am at your service.”

“Kadian. The name fits you. I am Leilani the first-born princess of Kernath. I have been searching for a mate, my mate, for many moons. I believe I have found it in you. Are you willing to come with me to Kernath, be married under the light of the crescent moon and rule alongside me?”

With a smile Kadian jumped across the small stream. “For you I would go anywhere and do anything. I want to serve you, be with you,” Kadian said with a bow. “When’s the next crescent moon?”

Leilani laughed as she climbed onto Glacier’s back followed by Kadian. Glacier leapt into the air and began to fly haphazardly home. The flight took more than a day and Leilani felt like her stomach was trying to fight its way up her throat the entire time. She and Kadian talked about their lives to try and distract themselves from the flight, but it was little use.

••••••

Finally Leilani was able to spot her home in the distance, so she urged Glacier to fly faster. Glacier complied, but it made the rest of the flight even worse. When they landed Leilani was so happy she almost kissed the ground. Instead she blew it a kiss, grabbed Kadian’s hand and they raced inside. The first person that ran into them, literally, was Isa. When Isa saw Leilani she ran down the hall and plowed into her, squeezing her around the waist.

“It’s good to see you too sister. This is Kadian. I need to find father and tell him we want to be married under tonight’s moon.” Isa’s eyes grew larger and more round than Leilani had ever seen. Her eyes flickered from Leilani to Kadian and back again. Slowly she took three steps backwards, away from the couple, shaking her head. “You’re right, he won’t be happy, but he’ll find a way to survive. This is what I want. Go hide in my room until all this passes. Everything will be fine. I’ll see you tonight.”

Isa ran down the hall towards Leilani’s room. Leilani smiled grimly at Kadian and lead the way to the fireside room. The King sat facing the fireplace, his back to the door. “Father, I have brought home Kadian the elf. We wish to be married and are willing to take over leadership of Kernath immediately after the wedding.”

The King stood and turned, the joyous smile on his face changing quickly into a contorted sneer when he saw Kadian. Enraged he turned to Leilani, “What is the meaning of this? You thought to pull a…a joke on me? What in the hell-“

“Daddy! I went out and found a mate just as you asked of me. I love Kadian and we wish to be married.”

“No! I forbid it. You were supposed to return with a ruler, someone to help carry on the bloodline! I would rather this country be ruled by your bastard sister and an ogre’s son then two incompetent…females. What did you think you were doing bringing a dyke like yourself back here? Did you think it’d be fun to break yet another tradition? Do you want to end this family’s bloodline? Do you not care about the kingdom? Who’s going to rule after you are gone if you do not produce an heir? Get out! Get that tramp out or so help me I don’t know what I’ll do!”

Leilani and Kadian fled the room. Leilani looked back and saw a murderous look glowing in the King’s eyes. When they reached Leilani’s bedroom Kadian said, “Perhaps I should leave.”

“No.”

“Your father is going to kill me.”

“No, he’d never harm someone he doesn’t know, but….We shall think of something.”

Isa was still upset so Leilani sat on the bed soothing the child by running her fingers through her hair. “Everything will be alright Isa. Trust me.”

Leilani met Kadian’s eyes, “I know what we shall do. The law states that once the child of the current king and queen is married that king and queen must step down. We shall marry tonight without Father’s knowledge and tomorrow we will rule. He won’t be able to stop us. There is nothing he can do.” Kadian agreed to the plan and Leilani began to quietly make arrangements.

Just before leaving to conduct the marriage ceremony Leilani spoke to Isa, “Everything will go as planned. Everything will be alright. Sleep in my bed tonight. I shall come in as soon as the ceremony is complete.” As she left the room she didn’t look back to see the silent tears like tiny waterfalls sliding down Isa’s face.

That night, while the ceremony was secretly being conducted, the King slowly pushed open Leilani’s door with the tip of a gleaming metal blade. In the dark he found his way next to the bed. He raised the knife into the air and whispered, “This is the only way.” The knife plunged down and returned to the air, red. Again and again it swiftly mimicked its first path. Dark blotches appeared in the victim’s curly sunflower hair. The King stopped and stared at the hair. That’s when he realized the only red in the hair had spilt from the veins. He sunk to the floor just as Leilani and Kadian crowded the doorway.

••••••

The next day a man was hung in the center of the small country of Kernath. The orders came from the new rulers of Kernath, Queen Leilani and Queen Kadian. As his energy drained away with his breath his head fell forward. Leilani watched and in the shiny bald spot saw her reflection fiercely staring back at her.

Baby Changes

            The sound of glass breaking and a loud cat’s meow woke Acacia. Throwing the covers back, she hurried to the baby’s room, crossed immediately to the window, put her hand out and left fingertip prints on the pane. She whipped around to the baby’s crib. Reaching down she lifted the perfectly placed blanket; only the mattress lay beneath. Gasping she turned back to the window and grabbed the phone off the dusty dresser under it. Her breath blew hot against the window pane as she dialed.

            Five miles away a persistent buzzing woke 46-year-old Eliseo. For a second he thought about not answering the cell, but knew it’d continue if he didn’t. He reached over the arm of the couch, grabbing it off the cardboard box serving as an end table. Without opening his eyes he knew who it was. “Hello Acacia, what’s wrong this time?”

            “They took Maya. They took our baby.”

            “What happened?”

            “I heard glass breaking, went in and Maya’s not here.”

            “Glass? Are you sure? Have you checked the windows? Are any broken?”

            “Eli, I just said they took Maya. You have to come help me.”

            The broken glass worried him. “I’ll be over in twenty minutes. Don’t call the police.” A dial tone was the only reply. He hit end and blinked to focus on the time: 3:30. He sighed at another loss of a full night’s sleep, then got up, grabbed his work pants off the floor, threw on a shirt, and left his small studio apartment.

            With a little sweet talk his truck turned over. It was in need of a tune-up, but all his money the past few months had been going to rent, utilities and mortgage on the house he hadn’t slept in since June. As he drove, he prayed he’d get to the construction site on time. The foreman had pulled him aside the last time he’d been late. Explaining the situation with his wife wouldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t be fired, and he didn’t want to be the favorite conversation topic on the site. With summer drawing to an end, construction jobs would be scarce, and he couldn’t afford to go more than two weeks without a pay check.

            He usually remembered to replace the house key in his glove compartment after his nightly treks like this, but he leaned over to double check. Moving aside a few papers he saw it lying there, but closed the compartment without taking it out. As he straightened up he noticed the crack that ran down the passenger side door panel. It had been that way for years, but wasn’t a big enough problem for him to fix. He used to love seeing it, because it reminded him of the beginning of his life with his wife.

            They’d waited until after marriage to get physical. Maybe that’s why during the first few years their passion reflected that of frisky teenagers. After dinner dates, they frequently found dark streets to park and make-out on. It was during one of those times that the pressure behind her high heel cracked the plastic. No matter how hard he tried to feign anger, the sparkle in her eyes and smirk on her face made him smile, like always. Laughter filled the truck, foiled their attempts to kiss and sparked them to drive home.

            He missed the laughter and the teasing looks she gave him in those moments.

In the passenger seat a manila envelope waited. Inside a stack of papers covered in print proclaimed the end of an old life or the start of a new one. Lines requiring signatures remained blank. He’d read every line, knew all the conditions, but couldn’t adopt the impassiveness the papers held in order to sign. He also never found the right timing to give them to his wife. It didn’t seem right or fair, but he couldn’t live with her anymore, and he couldn’t remain partially separated.

            Stopping at the curb, he grabbed the house key out of the glove compartment and strode up the short walkway to the door. He tested the knob first, and then inserted the key. Boots rubbed against his leg in greeting. Reaching down, he half-heartedly stroked the twelve year old cat. He’d bought Boots four years after he bought the house to take place of the child he and Acacia had been trying to conceive.

“We’re not giving up,” he’d said when he brought Boots home. “We’re just taking a break so we can relax and remember that sex is supposed to be fun.” She’d frowned, but fell in love with the awkward cat that usually missed the jump from the coffee table to the couch.

            The house was small. Its two bedrooms perfect for a family of three. The shades were up, and it didn’t take him long to see the windows were intact as he made his way to the back of the house. He paused before stepping into the nursery. The room hadn’t changed since they’d set it up in mid-December. He hated the sight of the pale yellow walls with Winnie-the-Pooh figures. He hated the rocking chair in the corner surrounded by stuffed animals, but above all he hated the crib in the middle with the mobile that played Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star.

She stood over the crib, holding a baby blanket.

            He turned on the light, making them both blink. Dried tears highlighted her high cheek bones, and he noticed the aged sorrow that filled her eyes. Opening his arms, he sighed at the feel of her milky skin as she laid her head on his shoulder.

            “Eli?”

            “I’m here, Honey.”

            “She’s gone. She’s really gone.”

            “I know, Honey. I know.” Maybe tonight would be a good night and she’d remember. He led her out of the nursery to the family room. He sat and pulled her down next to him, but kept his arms wrapped around her. “You didn’t call the police, did you?” When she shook her head he said, “Good girl.” Having to explain the situation to the police would require a phone call to the hospital and would make him late to work for sure.

            Holding her close, he smelled the citrus shampoo she used. Her scent had been the same the day he met her as everyday throughout the sixteen years that followed. She was twenty-eight when they married, set in her career, and ready to start a family. Their engagement had been short, but she justified it by saying, “The time it took us to meet was so long.” The family they wanted hadn’t come. Their doctor recommended a procedure, but the price exceeded their income. All they could do was hope for a miracle.

Years passed, and when she missed her period one month in her mid-forties, they feared it was menopause coming on early. His reaction when she called from the doctor’s office was immediate. “You’re pregnant? You’re actually pregnant? I can’t believe it, after all this time. I’m going to clean out and paint the extra room this weekend. We’ve got so many things to get, a crib and dresser.” That was the beginning of the changes. Doctor visits became monthly outings to ensure her and the baby’s health. Even with all the precautions, she got sick around Christmas. He remembered holding her close in bed as coughs shook her body.

The cold persisted for weeks, until one night she began having abdominal pains. He put her in the truck and accelerated with every hitched breath she took. “You’ll be okay Honey. We’re almost there.” At the hospital he was forced to pace the waiting room. The stale air clogged his lungs and dried the sweat pooling on his nose. After that night, days passed with a psychologist in and out of her room before the doctor let him sign her release papers. The hospital stillness followed them and took place of the laughter that used to fill the house.

Sitting on the couch, his chest tightened at the thought of the hospital. Stroking her hair, he looked at the clock. He had to get on the road soon. “I’m going to get you a glass of water, then put you to bed. You have to be up for work in a few hours.” He went to the bathroom and filled the mug she kept there before returning to the family room.

“Maya’s not in her crib, is she?”

“No.” He handed her the mug.

“Where is she?”

“She’s in a better place, safe. You need to let her go.”

Her eyes went distant. “I hear her crying at night, but I’m afraid to go to her. She needs you.”

He sat and grabbed her shoulders. “No, she doesn’t. She doesn’t need either of us now. We can’t help her now.”

“You haven’t forgotten about her, have you?”

He took a deep breath. “How could I forget about her? You remind me about her all the time. I wish you’d stop.”

“She does need us. When are you coming home? It’s so hard without you here. Maya needs both of us. I can’t keep her safe without you.”

Grabbing the untouched water, he took it back to the bathroom. When he slammed it down, it spilled. He opened the bottom cupboard to get a towel. As he reached in, he noticed an unopened package of diapers. His left hand clenched the counter as he slammed the door with his right. In the mirror, he saw his eyes start to water. He swallowed and took deep breathes until his image was clear. Leaving the spilt water, he moved swiftly back out to the room.

“I can’t do this anymore. I won’t be coming back again. I hope you’ll understand by tomorrow.” He sighed. “Come on. You need to get more rest.”

After helping her get back in bed he walked out to his truck, opened the passenger door, took a breath, and grabbed the envelope. Back in the house he laid it on the counter, got the broom and dust pan out of the closet, and swept up pieces of a water glass. Pulling the papers out, he signed numerous lines. Then he went back down the hall, kissed his sleeping wife’s forehead and looked in the nursery one last time before placing his house key next to the manila envelope and locking the door as he left.