KJ Hannah Greenberg
Inspiration piece

Endless Conversation
By Jewel Beth Davis
Response

Patti Lorde <patti.lorde860@students.nhu.edu>
1/30
Professor Mavis Jules

Dear Professor:

Hi! I am writing to introduce myself as one of your students in your Communication class. We haven’t met yet. I hope it’s okay for me to write. Is there anything you want me to do before I come in to class on the first day? I’m a little nervous. I’m home schooled and I don’t know what to expect.

Love,

Patti Lorde

Professor Mavis Jules < mjules@nhu.edu >
1/30
Patti Lorde

Dear Patti:

Hello. How do you do. It is perfectly fine for you to write to me. There is nothing you need to do for the first day besides print out your syllabus and read through it. Also, buy your book and familiarize yourself with the way it’s set up. We’ll go over the syllabus thoroughly on the first day. Students are often nervous for the first day of class. It’s not unusual. Try to relax. I’ll see you soon.

Patti Lorde patti.lorde860@students.nhu.edu
1/30 8:56 AM
Professor Mavis Jules

Dear Professor:

I was wondering what size poster board you would like for us to bring in next class?

You wanted colored pencils and markers as well, right?

Hope you have a wonderful day and keep warm!!

Love,

Patti Lorde

P.S. Here’s my journal one questions and for some odd reason won’t submit mine on black board?

Professor Mavis Jules  <mjules@nhu.edu>
1/30  9:30 AM
Patti Lorde

Dear Patti,

You must submit your journal to the assignment Dropbox, not email, on BB.

Did you go to the Dropbox?

Also, your poster board should be the biggest size available.

Patti Lorde < patti.lorde860@students.nhu.edu>
1/30 10:19 AM
Professor Mavis Jules

Dear Professor Jules:

Ok, thank you and yes I tried but it won’t submit.

Patti Lorde patti.lorde860@students.nhu.edu
1/30, 11:32 AM
Professor Mavis Jules

I fixed the problem for passing in my homework on blackboard.

For the post board do you want the paper or cardboard post board?

Thank you again for your help!! Hope you have a wonderful day!!

Love;

Patti

Professor Mavis Jules mjules@nhu.edu
1/30 11:57 AM
Patti Lorde

Yay.

Cardboard.

Patti Lorde patti.lorde860@students.nhu.edu
2/7, 10:11 AM
Professor Mavis Jules

Dear Professor Jules,

What is the homework for this week?

Hope you have a safe and wonderful snow day!!

Love:

Patti

Professor Mavis Jules <Mjules@nhu.edu>
2/7 1:51 PM
Patti Lorde

Thanks, Patti. I previously sent out an announcement about homework for next week since we missed today.

Patti Lorde  <patti.lorde860@students.nhu.edu>
2/7 4:22 PM
Professor Mavis Jules

Which announcement is it?  Because there are tons of them on the page.

Your welcome anytime and thank you again!!

Professor Mavis Jules <mjules@nhu.edu>
2/7 5:43 PM
Patti Lorde

I sent an email announcement that tells you what is due next week. Check your emails from me.

Patti Lorde patti.lorde860@students.nhu.edu
2/7 5:50 PM
Professor Mavis Jules

I never got it in my emails?

Professor Mavis Jules  <mjules@nhu.edu>
2/7, 7:03 PM
Patti Lorde

See below. This is what I sent out earlier.

Wed 2/7, 1:37 PM
Happy snow day! We’ll have lots to do next Wednesday. Quiz on Improving Voice is first. So don’t be late! Anyone late will not be able to take the quiz unless I approve your reason. Here are the rest of your assignments. Read carefully.

Quiz Improving Voice

Due February 14: Prepare two contrasting poems for presentation to the class. Poems should be by an established poet or they can be yours. Choose only 8-12 lines. No more. Bring your prepared poems to class. Prepared means you know your material well enough that you are able to glance down at your poems only rarely. Use what you’ve learned about the voice to vocally interpret the poem with your voice to help the audience understand the meaning of the poems. Do not try to wing it. I will know. Read your contrasting poems to the class and through my critique, learn how to bring color and mood into your voice when speaking. You may be asked to redo it several times.

DUE Feb. 14: Read Chapters 4, 5 and 6 Verbal, Nonverbal and Listening, pp.64-117

Any questions, email me.

Patti Lorde  patti.lorde860@students.nhu.edu
2/9 3:09 PM
Professor Mavis Jules

Thank you and that is for the Monday class as well.?

What is the poems that we have to do on.?

Anything else we need to know besides the words for the voice quiz.?

Have a wonderful day and weekend!!

Love:

Patti

Professor Mavis Jules   <mjules@nhu.edu>
2/9 3:51 PM
Patti Lorde

Yes, this is for Monday. You have to choose two poems by famous poets. Those two poems should contrast by subject matter or mood or tone. You will read them with vocal expression before the class. These directions are also in your syllabus.

Patti Lorde  <patti.lorde860@students.nhu.edu>
2/11,  2:32 PM
Professor Mavis Jules

What is it that we are doing today in class that we all have to dress up for? Thank you again for everything!!

Professor Mavis Jules  mjules@nhu.edu
2/11,  3:50 PM
Patti Lourde

Patti,

You are driving me nuts! Do you have to write me every day? Can’t you take personal responsibility for anything. No, I can’t write that. But that’s what I’m thinking. Don’t you ever listen to what I say in class or read what I write on the board. Do I have to hold your hand every step of the way? You’re not in kindergarten. This is college. Is this what homeschooling teaches you? Why don’t you ask another responsible student in the class for the answers to these questions? Even though you’re polite and nice, it doesn’t take away from the fact that you’re demanding an extreme amount of my time and attention. It is time I could be spreading to the other students in the class. Oh, never mind. If I ever wrote a letter like this, I’d lose my job. 

Dear Patti,

We are dressing up for the presentation of the informative speeches.

Professor Jules

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Heitzi Epstein
Inspiration piece

The Mountain Trail
By Jewel Beth Davis
Response

They trudged along in the snow and bitter wind toward the mountains where they thought their grandfather’s cabin to be. They’d been there only once several years ago. It all looked so far away and they had no idea how far the mountains were in actual distance and time. Their phones had run out of battery several hours previously and they had no place to charge them. Besides, their grandfather didn’t have a cell phone. They certainly couldn’t remember his landline number. No one memorized phone numbers these days. There were no more phone books available as far as they knew, so they couldn’t look it up. A sister and a brother running away from home. Trying to find their grandfather. Sue knew they would have thought this through better if they’d had more time, but they were reacting in the midst of crisis and they had to go somewhere. Sue looked at her younger brother, Roman. The tip of his nose was red. He’d pulled his hood up and tied the strings so only a sliver of his face was visible. He’d also wrapped his blue plaid scarf around his head. A very small nine-year old. Still he was plucky and faced this journey without complaint. Sue thought back to earlier in the day and wondered if Roman was thinking about it too.

Sue had walked into Roman’s room to check on him after school while her mother was still at work and saw her stepfather, Steve, on the bed with Roman, touching his private parts. The sight was so shocking that she felt like she’d been slammed by an earthquake. She knew that her life and her brother’s life had turned in an instant. She wondered if she’d imagined it, it seemed so impossible, but no, it had happened. She was sure it had really happened.

She was only twelve, but she roared at Steve, ordering him to get his filthy hands off her brother. She grabbed Roman off the bed and wrapped her arms around him as though she could shield him from what had already happened. Steve jumped off the bed as if it was white hot and took off down the hallway.

“Shut up. Shut the hell up,” he screamed in her face, as he flew by. “You’re too young to understand.” And he took off out the back door. Sue knew she was old enough to understand that what he was doing was bad for Roman and terrible for her mother. She called her mother at the hospital where she worked as a nurse and sobbed out her story to her mother.

She’d expected comfort from her mother. She’d expected outrage and promises of protection from her. Instead, her mother said, “What have you done?” Her mother’s voice didn’t sound like her. It sounded like a stone speaking.

When she didn’t answer, her mother demanded, “Where’s Steve?” She didn’t ask about Roman, whether he was all right. Just, “Where’s Steve?”

At that moment, Sue knew she couldn’t stay at home. She knew she and Roman had to leave. They were no longer safe in their home. She didn’t know of any neighbors that would help without calling her mother. Her aunts and uncles were halfway across the country. Her father was dead, many years gone. She couldn’t call her mother’s parents, she knew. She felt her head spinning and her thoughts somersaulted in her skull. She had to think but she had no time to think. She assumed her mom would come running home to look for Steve. They had to get out and soon.

She threw a few pairs of their underwear and socks into her backpack with their toothbrushes, soap, their phones, chargers, T-shirts, sweaters, blue jeans, A Wrinkle in Time, their favorite book, and the $15 she’d saved. She threw their sneakers into the pack and grabbed bananas, oranges, and granola bars that Roman liked as snacks. Again, she wished she had more time.

“What are you doing?” Roman asked as she flew through the house, trying to think and pack at the same time.

“Put on your snow boots and thick socks,” she told him. “Put on your flannel-lined jeans, your turtle-neck, and a sweater. Grab your scarf and mittens.”

“Where are we going?” Roman’s voice sounded high and panicked.

“We’re going as far away from here as possible. We’re going somewhere safe. Where some skeevy pervert can’t get his hands on you.”

“But what about Mommy?”

“Mommy doesn’t care about us. She only cares about Steve.” Sue wasn’t sure if that was true, but she no longer trusted her mother.

Roman’s face was solemn. “Did I do anything wrong? Is that why we’re leaving?”

“No. No way. You did nothing wrong. Steve did. And Mommy isn’t going to help. I don’t want that to ever happen to you again. Now get your things on. We have to leave now.”

“But where are we going?” Roman’s face reflected fear. His mouth quivered.

She hadn’t known until that moment. They were going to find their grandfather, their Dad’s father. She was sure she could trust him. “Grandpa Boots. Dad’s father.” Roman nodded and seemed satisfied.

They’d been walking for several hours. Once they saw a cop car and Sue had grabbed Roman and hidden behind an evergreen tree at the edge of the road. Now, they’d come out of the valley and into a clearing. The moon was bright and the mountains looked like faded pink and purple mushrooms and ice cream cones.  A long dark road extended into the distance and a mammoth pine tree dwarfed the road hiding the rest of it as it snaked its way up the mountains. Maybe it was her imagination but the longer they continued to walk, the farther away the pine tree and the mountains seemed.

She drew in a deep, icy breath. “Roman, did that ever happen to you before?”

Her brother turned his head away from her. “Just once. A month ago. You and Mommy weren’t home. I didn’t know how to stop it.” His voice sounded like he might cry.

“Did you tell Mommy?”

He shook his head. “I thought she’d be mad at me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her brother gulped and hiccoughed. “I was ashamed.”

No matter what else happened, she knew she’d made the right decision to get him out of that place.

“Are you tired? Do you need to rest?”

Without responding, he wrapped his hand around hers, and they continued to walk together towards the mountains.

—————————————————
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Shaune McCarthy
Inspiration piece

Talk to Me
By Jewel Beth Davis
Response

Rudi had a lot to say this evening, but what was unusual was that Gwen wasn’t saying a word. They sat on the white bench in the front yard after dinner as the weather was quite temperate. The lilacs had bloomed only three days before and filled the yard with their perfume that was bordering on too strong. The frogs and crickets were beginning to sing.

“Can you believe that Sean Spicer actually hid in the bushes so that he wouldn’t have to face the press. In the bushes. How much crazier can this administration get?” Rudi laughed and slapped his knee.

Gwen did not respond. That wasn’t like her. She just stared straight ahead.

“Everyday it’s some new embarrassment with 45.” Rudi waited for a response but none was forthcoming. He looked at her. “Gwen?” The expression on her face was set in stone. She appeared so still. Why wasn’t she speaking with him? His mind was filled with possible reasons and scenarios but nothing stood out. He’d taken out the trash and he hadn’t mentioned her weight. It was probably nothing. Just a passing mood. He carried on.

“And did you hear Trump say he was the first president ever to visit the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem? The first! Did you see all the photos of the other presidents visiting the Wailing Wall? Maybe he was thinking of the Wall Mexico is not going to pay for.” Rudi laughed again. “They created a new word just for him. Humble brag.” He broke up over that one. “Humble brag. Not only that, when he stepped off the plane in Israel, he reached for Melania’s hand and she slapped it away. Good for her! No really. It’s true. I saw her do it myself. It was on television.”

There was no reaction from Gwen. Rudi couldn’t understand it. She looked as if she was frozen in time. A woodpecker nailed its beak into a tree.  Several neighbors passed by and waved at them.

“Hi Joey. Hi Patsy. Nice night.” Rudi waved but Gwen didn’t move.

“Gwen, is anything wrong?” She didn’t answer him.

“Hey, by the way, did you hear that Trump told Duterte, the Philippine president, sensitive information; that he’d sent two nuclear subs off the coast of the Korean Peninsula. And he did this even after he told confidential information to Putin’s ambassadors and was criticized for it. He’s being investigated for the Russian hacking of our election Now, his son-in-law, pretty boy, is under investigation for trying to set up some kind of secret communication channel with the Russians. Can you believe he’d be that stupid?”

Gwen broke out of her reverie and faced him. Her voice sounded rusty at first when she spoke. “Yes, Rudi, I did hear that. I heard it from you at least five times, and I read it on the Internet repeatedly. And yes, I can believe he’d be that stupid. And yes, I know the president reached for Melania’s hand and she slapped it away. How could I not know that? The media has played it non-stop, ad infinitum, on every channel on TV. And you’ve reported it to me a number of times. Do you think I’m blind or deaf?”

“No, but…”

Gwen continued without taking a breath. “I know he has said that he’s the first president to touch the Wailing Wall and I know it’s a lie. I saw all the pictures of previous presidents praying at the Wall. Just as he said he had far more people attending his inauguration than attended President Obama’s, which was also a lie.”

“Yes, it’s…” Rudi tried to interrupt.

Gwen blew the hair out of her eyes. “And I saw Sean Spicer hiding in the bushes and then coming out, then hiding in the bushes, and coming out, repeatedly, online, and in numerous memes on the Net. In and out. In and out. Over and over again. I even saw Spicey on SNL going in and out of the bushes.” The timbre of her voice was ascending. There might have been a note of hysteria riding along with each of her words. “What’s more I know that if the GOP insurance plan that passed the House passes in the Senate, 23 million Americans will be without healthcare by 2026. I know this. You don’t have to tell me. I know all about the cuts to Medicaid, Medicare, and Education. I know about the tax cuts for the rich and not for the poor. I realize school loans will be harder to get and much harder to pay off. I know, I know, I know.”

“Gwen, I…” He stopped speaking. He really didn’t know what to say.

Gwen stood up from the bench, stiff and straight like an ancient tree in the forest. “This is the world we live in now, Rudi. I hear and see these things day in and day out and it makes me ill. I’m so unhappy since last November. So, just stop. Stop it. You don’t have to tell me. You don’t have to make it worse.  And you do make it worse. Talking about it non-stop. I suffer every time you open your mouth about it. I don’t want to hear it on the radio or see it on TV or on the computer screen. And most of all, I don’t want to hear it from you.” Her face had deepened to nearly a maroon color. She took another deep breath.

“Because if you do, Rudi. If you do. If you say one more word about Donald Trump over the next three and a half years, I swear I will leave you, and I will leave this marriage.” She let her breath out and composed herself. She quieted her tone, straightened her skirt and tucked her blouse.

“I hope you understand me, Rudi. I really hope you do.” She swept into the house and closed the door.

Rudi decided to stay out in the yard for a while. He might even go for a ride. There must be other things he could talk about. He didn’t know what yet, but there had to be.

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The Last Tree
By Jewel Beth Davis
Response

After the fire had been extinguished, the landscape, once so beautiful and lush, was empty except for the blackened skeleton of one tree. Ros thought all the shades of gray and black had their own kind of beauty but it was such a lonely artistry. She wandered away from the food table where she’d been serving refreshments to all the firefighters. “I’ll be back in a few,” she told the middle- aged woman she’d worked beside for the last three days.

She walked toward the mountains that had once been thick with pine and other trees. The habitat of thousands of animals had been destroyed and the only movement on the horizon were soft cirrus clouds and drifts of remaining smoke. Not a blade of green grass nor a leaf remained. If the earth were a person, she’d be very depressed.

The fire had started in San Bernadino County in Chino Hills State Park near the Bane Canyon entrance. Ros had worked for hours volunteering with the fire professionals, feeding them, providing water, first aid, clearing underbrush, anything they’d let her do. She was a teacher by trade so helping others was habitual with her. She had used her time from a school break to work with the brigades. It was heartbreaking to witness the devastation that an out of control forest fire could produce. Her face was blackened, her lungs hurt to breathe, but she had stuck it out, side by side with hundreds of other volunteers. They had managed to contain the fire to only forty-eight acres, which was a blessing compared to other forest destruction she had read about.

In an odd way, it was peaceful. She walked along the blackened, crackling earth covered with dead branches and trampled dark grass towards the one tree left standing. It had once been stately and brimming with life, she thought. She reached towards its trunk.

“Hey, don’t touch that,” one of the firefighters yelled. “It will still be extremely hot.” She startled as if out of a soft gray dream. He moved towards her as if to stop her physically. He was very tall and bulky, like a former football player, though he must have been well into his forties. His face was covered in soot like hers so it was difficult to discern his features. She could sense his exhaustion like a gray cloud surrounding him.

“Thank you,” Ros said. “I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to connect with the one tree left standing. I should have known better.”

“You’re tired. When you’re this tired, exhaustion can wear away the last vestiges of common sense we have.” His face and eyes were soft. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

She introduced herself and they stood side by side gazing at the tree that stood at the foot of a range of mountains.

“It’s just the loss of all those animals,” she said. “And the vegetation. And those that are left have no habitat.” She took in a deep breath but all she could smell was scorched earth and trees.

“Well, I won’t tell you it will grow back. We both know that will take a very long time. We stopped it from spreading any further and that’s a good thing. Best we can do.” He squatted down and with thick-gloved hands, he rooted around in the black soil and pine needles. He picked up a chain with dog tags on it. “One of the guys must have lost these,” he said, checking for a name.

“And now they’re found,” Ros said. She smiled and they continued to stand by the tree, looking off into the mountains.

_________________________

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The Day the Ocean Cried Tears
By Jewel Beth Davis
Response

Ceely Foster sat by the ocean looking out at the sea as if it was all that mattered. She was trying not to think because if she did, the pain would come rushing back. She would have to open her mouth and cry out. She could not contain it. And there would be tears. Many of them. There already had been. She pressed her hand into the sand, hoping the particles digging in would stop her from giving in to her feelings. She stood up and brushed the grit from her hands and her backside and began to walk the beach back to where she’d parked her car. The sand was difficult to walk in and seemed to be shifting with every step.
So much had happened in the last few weeks, none of them good.

She could see her sweet dog Jodie lying on the vet table, blind and trusting, as the vet injected her with what would send her to her final sleep. Jodie, kind and loving, always game for everything, had been with her most of her adult life. The little soft-muzzled mutt had been such a comfort throughout the years and all the men moving in and out of her life. She could always count on Jodie. No more. At eighteen, Jodie had just literally worn out. Ceely had known it for some time but she hadn’t been ready to face it until the little dog had lost her sense of smell and had pretty much stopped eating. Ceely felt her chest tighten and squeeze as it had every time Jodie came to her mind, and lately, that had been most of the time.

Then she’d recently auditioned for a part in a Shakespeare play. She’d felt very confident in her readings when she left the theatre. She’d had that feeling that all actors have when they’ve hit it spot on but yesterday she received an email that said, “So many excellent people had auditioned, yada yada, yada… would not be able to use her in the play.” She was stunned. It was the very last thing she’d expected. She had counted on getting in. She needed the group support right now. She felt lost.

Finally, Simon had walked away. Simon whom she’d believed in, Simon who said he’d be there for her, Simon whom she depended on for comfort in the hard times and company in the good. He found someone else and left her. Just like that. No explanation. It just happened, he said. She could hardly bear to think about his face at the moment he walked out, but her mind didn’t care about what she could or could not bear. It just went right on thinking about every painful thing it could, for no good reason she could see.

All the parts of her life that she had relied on had faded and disappeared. She had no floor to stand on anymore, just floating out in the ether unattached.

She lived in Melrose now but had driven to the beach in her hometown, Quincy. In many ways, it was like coming home, even though her family had all moved away from here. She walked towards Pirate’s Cove where she’d parked her old Honda. She remembered watching her friends sail boats in the Cove. She remembered being in the woods next to the Cove and doing things she was far too young to be doing. Somehow she’d escaped without getting into too much trouble. Earlier, she’d attended Camp Fire Girls’ Camp in those woods not far from her home. The smell of pine, soft and sweet under her bare feet, came to her so strongly, as if she were standing in those woods right now.

Ceely felt like she had nothing to look forward to now, hopeless. If she wasn’t so afraid of what came after death, she thought she might have considered suicide. The ocean could sweep her away into its depths and then, blessed sleep. But no, that was not how she wanted to be remembered.

She reached into her bag and took out a hand mirror. She examined her face for traces of blotchiness. The salty crispness of the air had reddened her cheeks. To release some of the pain threatening to pour out, she opened her mouth. With her Hollywood red lipstick, it formed the shape of a heart. A moan escaped. She shook her head and put the mirror away. She wasn’t making sense.

She sat down on a bench and watched the sailboats skim along the cove, jibing and coming about from shore to shore. The wind was stiff. She closed her eyes.

A bird’s eye vision of Jodie came into her mind. Her dog was shiny and healthy again. She barked and it sounded like laughter. Ceely opened her eyes and then closed them again. Jodie was still there, waving a paw as if to touch her arm as she often had. She felt the dog’s presence so strongly as if her old friend were next to her and also enveloping her in warmth.

What the heck? Was she becoming psychic or a medium? She hoped not.

In her mind, Jodie’s message came through to her as clearly as if she
were speaking English.

I’m with you, Ceely, but you’ll only be able to see me fleetingly. Out of the corner of your eye. Not directly. No matter who comes and who goes in your life, I’m always here. Just around the corner.

This is crazy, Ceely thought. Dogs don’t talk. Well, Jodie wasn’t really speaking. The message filtered directly into her mind, bypassing words.

You can’t see into the future and neither can I, but today is just one day in your life and the last two weeks are just a fortnight. A teardrop in the ocean. It all moves, passes, and then connects up again. It’s a continuum, and you won’t always feel the way you do now. So live each day for what it offers and appreciate it all.

The image of Jodie faded away and in its place, Ceely felt a deep serenity and of being loved in the purest way possible. That was all. It would have to do for now. Ceely breathed the sea air deeply into her lungs. She opened her eyes. The sun had gone down to sit on the horizon and the wind had gentled. The tension in her throat and chest eased a little. She rose and made her way back to her car to drive home.

——————————————————
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artist is strictly prohibited.

The Bullfrog’s Vision
By Jewel Beth Davis
Response

“Where are we?” Sarah said.

“Just keep walking,” Sadie told her.

The two sisters moved along the path blanketed in darkness. For Sarah, it didn’t matter since she was blind. She made up for it by talking nonstop. Sadie, on the contrary, was unusually laconic. The twins had left hours earlier for a walk in the woods near their home and had paid no attention to the fact that the sun was starting to set when they began.

“Was that a frog I heard?” Sarah said. Her hearing was acute. The deep throaty rhythmic tones reverberated through the trees, and Sarah felt them in her bones and muscles. She held on to Sadie’s forearm as they walked. She liked going into unfamiliar surroundings with her sister. It made her footing more stable wherever she went.

“Hey, what was that song we used to sing about a frog when we were younger?”

“Jeremiah was a bullfrog. Was a good friend of mine,” Sadie belted the song, partially to scare away any wild animals that might be lurking or perhaps her own fear.

Sarah joined in. “Joy to the world. All the boys and girls.”

“Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea. Joy to you and me,” they both sang out.

After that, the silence was overpowering in contrast. Sarah stopped walking and listened, feeling the cool air blow softly around her face and hair.

“So, Sadie, we’re lost?”

“We’re fine.”

Sadie acknowledged to herself that she couldn’t see any more than Sarah could. In the future, she’d be able to empathize more with her sister, she thought. “We’re not lost. Exactly. We’ve temporarily lost our bearings.”

Sadie reached into the pocket of her windbreaker and then remembered they’d intentionally left their cell phones at home so they could experience nature without distractions. What to do? She began to sense an overwhelming anxiety. Her shoulders began to climb up to her ears. Her breath rate quickened. There was a ringing inside her head. She looked at her sister and Sarah’s face was serene and relaxed. She wondered what it was about being blind that allowed Sarah to remain calm in stressful situations. She’d been like this since they were both children.

“You feel worried to me,” Sarah said.

“Feel worried?”

Sadie sensed movement from Sarah, like a nod, but the darkness was so pervasive she couldn’t be sure.

“I can feel crackly energy all around you. You’re afraid we won’t find our way out.”

Sadie did not respond to the truth of that statement. “You seem fine,” she said.

“Being blind is like being perpetually lost in the woods. This is no different than my usual state, except I’m not as familiar with the environment, the sounds.” She reached out and felt for, then touched her sister’s face and hair. “Do you remember when I dropped Mommy’s multiple strands of real pearls?”

“Mmhm,” Sadie said.

“They broke and rolled into a hundred directions, hiding under things and in crevices. I had to find every single pearl so I could get the necklace fixed. I was frantic. But you were out somewhere. Mommy wasn’t home either, for which I was grateful.”

“Are you sure I wasn’t home? I don’t remember that,” Sadie said. They both felt the wind pick up as it brushed through the branches of surrounding trees and bushes.

“Oh, I’m sure. I spent hours alone on the floor, searching out small white balls. They were everywhere. They were smooth and slippery and kept rolling away from my hands. The task seemed impossible, never ending, and even when I thought I’d found every one, I knew I’d never know for sure. That was so much harder to me than being lost in the woods. It’s the not knowing that can drive you crazy.”

“I never considered it from that perspective,” Sadie said.

They hadn’t been walking, but now they started up again. This time, Sarah led the way, taking Sadie’s hand. She touched the trees before and beside her and listened intently. Soon, light reached them from the road, followed by car sounds. Sadie felt her anxiety break like a storm and her breathing slowed. They walked the road, hugging the shoulder for safety. Finally, in the distance, they could see the dark outlines of their home and the winding driveway leading up to it. Light poured out of one of the windows but only Sadie could see that. The house was in shadows and looked familiar and unknown at the same time.

“We’re home,” Sarah said with certainty. Sadie squeezed her sister’s hand and they made their way up the winding road to the familiar unknown.

I stare into the pool at my reflection. All I see is a wavy blue face staring back at me. The water lines move in little ripples across the reflection. The sun lights up the changing surface of the water. It’s disconcerting and relaxing at the same time. Dreamlike. I gaze at myself in a disassociative trance.

At this moment, I hope I’m on mind changing drugs because then the wavy lines on my face would make more sense. I’m not sure whether the lines are from the water or my age. If this is what my face looks like, I definitely do not want to look at the reflection of my body in the pool water. I rise on shaky legs from my kneeling position at the edge of the pool. The strings of my bikini top hang down my sides like external seams. At least the ones around my neck are still connected. I fumble in my backspace with the strings and eventually get them tied. Then, I dive in, enjoying the anonymity the pool affords me.

How much pot did I smoke last night? Did I smoke pot? I feel hung over though I didn’t drink anything; at least I don’t think I did. And I have a lingering memory of some strange occurrences. It’s vaguely uncomfortable. I sink to the bottom of the pool to try to call the memories back. Nothing. When I can’t hold my breath anymore, I swim up again and break the surface.

And there buzzing around my head is that damn fairy. Like a gnat or a horse fly. I seem to remember it being here earlier. It is the size of a hummingbird and has numerous feathers on its back. Creepy.

“Would you just freaking leave me alone? Get away from me,” I say as I roll into a back float.

The fairy just circles my head smiling sweetly. It’s tough to know whether it’s a girl fairy or a boy. The face is very feminine, sweet and soft, but the hair length and body are masculine.

“So,” I say, as I float like a dead log across the pool. “Are you a girl or a boy fairy? You’re either a gay male or a dikey female.”

The fairy’s laughter is like little tinkling silver bells. “Silly,” the fairy says, “Fairies don’t have genders. We can’t procreate.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you to have sex. I just wanted to know…oh, never mind. What’s your name?”

“Sandy.”

“Well, that could go either way. Gender wise. I knew a guy once named Sandy. His whole name was Sanderson S. Herman, III.” I wait for a response but none is forthcoming. I’m a little curious about this particular fairy attaching itself to me. “Were you here with me last night?”

“Oh yeah,” Sandy says in a high shrill voice. “You were quite popular last night.”

Shit. I groan. Still, I’m not surprised. “I don’t want to hear it. Whatever it was, I’m pretending it never happened.”

I stand in the shallow end and climb out of the pool. Sandy flies just above my head. I swat at it with one hand. I wrap a thick blue and white striped towel around me and though I’m on firm ground, my insides feel like I’m still in the water, or I am the water. Everything is still moving. Everything is transparent, with sunlight dappling the surface.

I sit down at the white circular metal table that is poolside, trying not to make any sudden moves or the watery sensation might develop into fully formed nausea instead of a vague queasiness. I squint and screen my eyes with my hands.

“So, I don’t remember seeing you before. You waiting for someone? Someone in the hotel?”

“Boy,” Sandy says. “You’re a big one, aren’t you? You’re the size of a small planet.”

“Screw you.” I look up. “I’m not that big. I’m normal sized. I don’t know who you’ve been hanging out with.”

Sandy snorted. “I’m here to protect my investment. That’s what I’m doing here. That’s all. And it’s a good thing I am, or you’d be floating in that pool right now. Face down.”

Investment? What can this little schnook possibly be talking about? I tried to think back, remember what I’d done last night, but everything was so hazy. Did I have a performance last night? Tonight? Was I supposed to be somewhere? Crap. What kind of stuff did I take last night?

“I didn’t know you guys did that–invest. I thought you just flitted around and made pests of yourself.”

“Yeah, well, I invested in your recovery. In your future. And if you don’t pull yourself together, I’ll get nothing.”

Double shit, it was one of those fairies. I knew about them. They attach themselves to some lost soul and try to bring them back from the brink. Am I really that far gone? I don’t need to think long about that. Apparently I am.

“Well,” I say, “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m doing fine.”

“Oh,” Sandy says. “It’s no bother. It’s what we do. Like Santa Claus, Clara Barton, or…”

“Mother Theresa?” I say.

“If you like.”

I’m beginning to feel furious. What right has Mini-Sister of Mercy to stage an intervention? This is a pest of the highest order. You don’t see me butting my nose into anyone else’s business. Live and let live is my motto. Live free or die. If I only have one life, let me live it as a… I can see I’m getting carried away at this point. I try to breathe slowly but my head is banging, my stomach hurts, I’ve got vertigo, and if I move too much too quickly, I might puke. I just want to sleep for a week and deal with the consequences later.

“Look, Fairy…”

“Sandy.” It smiles serenely, which pisses me off even more.

“Look, Sandy,” I emphasize its name. “I don’t care what your name is, who you are, or who hired you. I don’t care about your neurotic desire to help. I just want you to take off. Vamoose. Sayonara. Hasta luego.”

“Sorry. No can do. I’m here to stay. To save you from yourself.”

The damned fairy drops down closer, next to my eyes, and sprinkles some sparkly fairy dust in them. Within seconds, my head clears and I no longer feel pukey or tired. Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

But I’ve thought too soon. Suddenly I’m remembering everything. Everything I’d done last night and for several nights before. It is horrifying and painful. Each memory burns me as it comes faster than the next. I see the things I took, what I drank, the men, the women, the sex acts, the excesses of every variety, the devastation of my life. I scream for it to stop but it keeps on and on, searing into every cell in my body. I pray for oblivion. I beg for death, which is preferable to this pain. Finally, after an indeterminate length of time, it stops. Oblivion comes and I sleep. When I awake, I feel…what? Clean. I distinctly hear the words in my mind, “Just a little housekeeping.”

My eyes snap open and I look around. The fairy is gone. In the distance, I can almost hear the sound of laughter like tinkling bells.

Round and Round
By Jewel Beth Davis
Response

“Get that Gee-awful beanie off the counter,” my mother says.

We are at the Town Clerk’s office in the town of Rollinsford, New Hampshire. She is paying for the auto registration for her “Cerulean” blue Honda Fit and paying out that much money always puts her in a bad mood.

“Three checks! Three Gee-Dee checks I have to write out!” She doesn’t like to swear so she says Gee-Dee instead. Like everyone doesn’t know what that means. She moves the hair out of her eyes and it falls back immediately. She grabs a light blue bandana out of her bag and ties it around her head biker-style. She gives me the look that says, Don’t you dare make any comments about hippies, bikers or dogs. She tucks the strands of dyed hair under the bandana.

“No credit cards, no debit cards, just checks and cash. Did you know it’s still the Dark Ages here? One check goes to the Town of Rollinsford for the Gee-Dee town tax. Whatever that’s for,” my mother says to the ceiling. “Gee only knows what they spend that on.”  The ceiling must be interested because she continues addressing her comments to it. “The second to the Town of Rollinsford for the town portion of the registration fee. Two checks. You can’t even write out one.”

I can hear the ceiling now, Yeah, right. What the heck is their problem that they couldn’t just let you write one? That’s a waste of trees for Gee Dee’s sake.

I guess the ceiling doesn’t like to curse either.

“Everyone talks about going Green but the truth is no one gives a flip about the trees or this planet,” my mother says. I didn’t realize my mother cared. Seems like my mother and the ceiling think alike.

“And then another flipping check to the NH DMV with an extra $35 tacked on as a surcharge. A surcharge for what? We did fine all those years without the surcharge. Now we get it with no explanation. It’s plain theft, that’s what it is. They can charge us whatever they flipping want and we just have to pay it. We don’t have any power. Who the helicopter are we? Just the citizens of this fine state but we get no say. Live Free or Die, my gluteus maximus. More like, Live expensive and Die of Poverty, if you ask me.” My mother has puffed and blown like a whale and now she seems to have run out of steam. Or so I think.

“And I told you to get that Gee-awful beanie off that filthy counter. Your head could be crawling with germs or bugs the next time you put it on.” I scratch my head from the thought.

“I don’t know why your father bought you that thing. It makes you look bi-polar. Or schizophrenic. Or psychotic or something. Whatever the latest trendy whack-job is on Dr. Phil. Hey, maybe I should call Dr. Phil and put you on his show.”

That’s a nice thing for a mother to say to her kid, huh?  But I’m used to it so I ignore it. The head covering my mother is talking about is not Gee-awful or psychosis-producing. It is magic. It is the magic propeller beanie my father got me when he was down in Florida on business. It’s got red, blue, green and yellow triangles all sewn together. The pinwheel on top spins just like a real propeller on an old airplane. And when I need it to, it lifts me right out of difficult situations. Okay, I know you’re thinking that sounds crazy, that my mother is right. But it’s true. I can fly or time travel or something because I rise up to the ceiling and can see my body down below. That’s only been happening since I’ve been wearing the beanie.

Part of me is listening to my mother and part of me is listening to the man in front of my mother. He’s old like 79 or maybe he’s 70. I don’t know. He’s got a big head of wavy white hair and a big belly with a saggy face. And he’s talking and talking to the Town Clerk. She’s nice and she keeps nodding her head like she’s really interested in everything he’s saying but she doesn’t smile. Then I remember her from when my mom came to vote and she didn’t smile then either.

The old guy says, “My son-in-law is a big wig scientist-doctor. So he bought me this fancy car. A Mercedes-Benz Roadster. Costs around $125,000.”

The Town Clerk says, “You’ll need to come down and register it.”

He says, “Are you nuts? I’m not going to drive that thing out of my garage. Too afraid to wreck it. I’ve had it a year now and it sits in my garage.”

My mother is shifting from one foot to another and she’s no longer talking to the ceiling. She’s watching this guy talk and talk and I don’t think she’s any too happy with him. She makes a loud ahem sound a couple of times but he ignores it and goes on telling his story.

“He made all his money because he invented a blood test that tells whether you have a bunch of different diseases in ten minutes. Pretty smart fella, my son-in-law. But what do I need a car like that for? I’m never going to drive it on the road. So I’m not registering it.”

“Up to you,” the Town Clerk says.

“You’re darn right, it is,” the old guy says.

My mother’s face is turning purple and she raises her eyes to the ceiling and says, “Oh, well, I suppose I have all day to wait here in line. I have nothing better to do. Let’s all just tell stories around the campfire. Live Free, Wait in Line, and Die.”

The guy ignores her and keeps talking. Finally, he stops for a moment and starts writing out all three checks. Slowly. My mother looks like she’s going to explode so I just fly out of there through the two heavy gunmetal doors so I don’t have to hear what she says to the old guy and the Town Clerk. I can imagine all the Gee-dees and Gee- awfuls that will shoot out of her mouth like machine gun fire. I don’t need to be there to know that. I don’t know how the doors get open. Maybe some people come in then or I fly right through them but I’m outside. My beanie is working just fine and sets me down next to the Town Hall steps.

I look up and I see those green seed things from maple trees that look just like my beanie propeller twirling down from the big tree next to the building. Hundreds and hundreds of those little green propellers twirling down. I just stand there and watch them, hypnotized, and feeling really good for the first time today.

A Small Miracle

By Jewel Beth Davis

Cass stepped out of her cabin in the woods and stood on her doorstep. Her lank blond hair hung down well past her shoulders looking as enervated as she did. She was wand slender and her long fingers clasped a cat to her chest. The sun was bright. Too bright. She blinked and buried her face in the cat’s fur. She didn’t want to see the sun. It made her feel like there was hope and there was no hope. She lowered herself and the cat to the stoop.

Cass’ cabin was badly in need of upkeep, but she had no strength or resources to do it. The cabin was a dingy off-white that hadn’t been painted in thirty years. The paint was curling and peeling or just worn off in spots. It looked like a poor Depression child whose mother hadn’t bathed it often enough.  It was a one-story log cabin with a thin slate roof.  Everything was in one room, except for the tiny bathroom. There was a door in the front and one tiny window on each of the remaining three walls.

Cass had been coming here for years. It had been her Uncle Ben’s before he died and he’d left it to her. The cabin was isolated and miles from the country store and the closest neighbors. That’s what she wanted.

She took a deep breath and coughed. Her chest hurt. The orange cat, offended, jumped off her lap. Cass coughed spasmodically. There was a speck of blood on her tissue. Blue veins ran up and down her arms and pulsed in her temples. Her skin was so thin it was translucent. She put a hand to her forehead to hold the weight of it.

She had come to the cabin to rest. The air was clean. She thought it would help. It hadn’t. She knew she was worse. She was going down, down. She would not get better. And she was alone except for the cat. Her husband had stayed back in town when she decided to come up to the mountains. It was just as well. He wasn’t much help when it came to illness or any kind of weakness. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her or care but he couldn’t face it.

A butterfly net leaned against the corner of the house nearest the door. How long had it been there? She couldn’t remember. Cass wondered who’d brought and left it there. Sitting on the stoop, she reached out and picked up the long handle of the net. Deep in the bowl of the netting was a butterfly frozen in death. It had once been beautiful with swirls of black and yellow. Now it was rigid and brittle. She removed the butterfly and set it gently on the ground. She didn’t want to press it between two pages of a heavy book. Smashed flat for eternity. She wanted it to return in its own way, in its own time, to the Earth that had spawned it. She stared at the butterfly, trying to see its essence on some cellular level, as though doing so would change something for her.

She stood up. Still grasping the net, Cass moved with halting steps toward the enormous bushes as the side of the house. They were beautiful and full, more like trees than bushes. She didn’t know what kind they were. Their green was a glorious shade like the first leaf of spring partly unfurled, with branches the color of espresso. Large boulders forming an edging ringed them.  She accepted the blessing that they offered. She thought perhaps there were other butterflies near these bushes. She wanted…she wasn’t sure what she wanted, but maybe it was to capture one last butterfly.  And set it free.

Her heart palpitated as she spotted a flash of color on the far side of one of the bushes. Heart red and fruit orange, those were the colors of this perfect creation. She moved toward it so slowly, it reminded her of the crazy man taking an hour to stick his head inside the old man’s room in Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart. So slowly, only the butterfly knew she was moving. She edged closer to the small miracle and expected the butterfly to fly away any moment. It did not; it was so very still. It seemed that it allowed her to lower the net over it as it perched on the thin branch. She turned the net over and there it was fluttering spasmodically in the bottom of the net.

It will be all right, Cass told the butterfly silently.

Where she stood, the bushes transformed from green and brown to silver and gold. They glimmered as if tinged with phosphorescence. How very strange, Cass thought. The butterfly glowed and flew out of the net. She looked at her arm that was holding the net. It shimmered from pale pink to silver, the change moving progressively up towards her heart. Smiling, she fell, like a leaf in autumn drifts, slowly, inevitably to the ground.