Moving

Mindi Leach

Moving

Since they stayed together so long for “the kids”, I have always assumed one parent would consider us, and stay in the district so we wouldn’t have to switch schools. But apparently that’s a little too much to ask for. Dad is planning to move out into one of his rental properties across town, and mom has decided to move us out by grandma, in the middle of nowhere.
Believe me the divorce was best for all of us. My parents didn’t love each other anymore and openly exclaimed that the only reason they were together was for the sake of me and my little sister, Charlotte. But even Charlotte, who mind you is only thirteen years old, knew that this divorce was the answer to our prayers. For as long as I can remember my sister and I would watch through the spindles of wood on the steps, and would hear everything from the stupid fights about mud on the floor from dad’s boots to the more serious one like the accusations of my mom’s affair with the bug man. It was a little creepy how often he was there when we got home from school, but he must have been doing his job because I never saw any bugs. Don’t get me wrong I love both of my parents, just not together.
Usually I would be thinking about Charlotte before worrying about myself, but in this case I know she’ll be fine. I, however, won’t be fine. I have always been really critical of myself. Ever since I can remember I have always been worried about what I look like. Sometimes I stare into a mirror examine everything I do. I have memorized what I look like doing everything and I’ll be honest with you I just look stupid. Since I know how awkward I look I constantly correct myself. I like to refer to it as my voice. I’m not crazy, but that voice follows me and makes doing anything uncomfortable. Imagine walking down the hall and simply smiling at someone only to be bombarded of a vision of how goofy you look. Believe me that will wipe the smile off your face!
If that isn’t bad enough for some reason when it comes to talking to other people I don’t feel normal. I feel like if I’m not criticizing myself whoever I am talking to is. No one has ever said anything, but I know they are. See I have this little problem I know what I want things to sound like when I say them, but the words never come out right. Probably because when I go to speak I get this tingly feeling all over and I can feel my cheeks warm to a light shade of pink. Not only my cheeks but these hideous big red blotches all over my chest area start emerging. I can see the focus of whoever I’m talking to go straight to my blotches. I know that’s what they’re looking at because there’s nothing else down there, yet, to look at.
“Mom? I can’t believe this, aren’t you concerned with the well being of your children?”
“Not really, babe! Everything will work out. You’ll see.”
“Ugh this is so stupid.”
“No, babe, you’re father is stupid. Blame him.” she returns to the obviously more important conversation she’s having on the phone.
She always calls me babe, when she’s trying to be an authority figure, I don’t think she has any idea how much I hate that. I also hate when she tells me to blame my father. He tried, he really did. There’s just no compromise with my mother! She is never happy. She’s always so stressed out. Even though she never seems to actually do anything other than sit on the phone with her friends all day. I love my mom; I shouldn’t say things like that.
“Charlotte! Where were you? I could have used a little back up in there with mom.”
“I’m sorry babe.” she chuckled; she knew how much I hated being called babe. “But you’re overreacting! You always tell me to see the best in a situation, and I don’t think you are trying.”
I absolutely can’t stand this little monster of knowledge. She’s right, and so damn smart. She is so confident. I think a lot of that comes from me. Even though I am a total geek on the outside I’m not all that awkward when you get to know me. I actually have some good advice on how to be cool. Charlotte doesn’t get nervous like I do.
“If I may ask, little Miss Brightside, what is the good in this situation?” I put my hand on my hip and slouch a little. Thankfully my little voice is here to remind me I look chubby when I do this so I readjust my stance.
“Come on, Heidi, who will you really miss when we move? And…”
As much as I want to keep listening to the wisdom of my thirteen year old sister, I drift off into my own thoughts. Who would I miss? Sure those bitches at school are finally learning my name thanks to a few rumors I spread about myself. Who wouldn’t want to know a girl who’s getting breast implants? I wouldn’t miss anyone.
Her perfectly pink lips are still moving, and her long golden hair that I fix every morning, looks the same way it did before I left for school. So wise beyond her years and cool. Thanks to me of course. Charlotte was right. There is a bright side to us moving. She knows just as well as I do that this is the fresh start that I need; a chance to be myself instead of this shy backwards loser. She concludes her long argument with the words that I am simultaneously muttering in my head “You can be who you really are for once.”
I really love this little person sitting on my bed with me. She’s my best friend. It is so crazy how awesome she is. If only I had been more confident and smart when I was her age, I wouldn’t be so weird now. My thoughts are cut short by the vibrating of a phone on my bed we both grab for our phones tangled in my comforter.
“It’s mine!”
Of course it’s hers. It is always hers. She vigorously starts tapping away at the keys on her phone. I know she is thirteen with a phone; I didn’t get a cell phone until I was sixteen. But there’s no time to worry about that. I can’t help but think about who I’m going to be when we switch schools. I don’t know if I want to be the smart girl with a wild side, or the bitchy popular girl who all the boys like. I have this entire section in my closet of clothes I never wear. Mostly, because they’d flaunt my red blotches if someone were to speak to me. I can do this. I start hanging the clothes that are bunched up in the corner of my room, may as well since moving will require me to do so anyway.
“Charrrrrrrrrrrlotte?”
Off she runs to answer the angry sound of my mother’s cry. That’s the only time that girl moves fast. I know nothing is seriously wrong, so there’s no need for me to run out and save her from a tongue lashing. Mom has a different tone for when she needs help and when she’s mad.
For the first time in years I can see the bottom of my closet. I close the closet door only to see the mirror that hangs on the back of the door. I’m faced with my reflection. The positive feeling that briefly filled my heart about moving goes fluttering away and now all I’m left with is this pit in the bottom of my stomach that I am all too familiar with.
I look at myself and see the same thing I usually try to avoid. The person I see in the mirror isn’t the same person who can go to a new school, and be herself, whoever that is. How could I think for one second that a new school will fix these things? Even at a new school there will still be these annoying blotches, minor stutter and this voice bearing down on me all the time. Half the reason I am so nervous when I talk to other people is because of this stupid voice in my head reminding me of what I look like when I make that face or say that word. GO AWAY! I squint my eyes to hold back my tears and rest my head on the closet door. Great, have a fight with yourself psycho.
Charlotte walks in still texting on her phone. Even though I was having an argument with myself I still heard mom ask her to clean the sitting room.
“Everything ok?”
“I can’t do this. We can’t move. I can’t go to a new school. I just want to stay here and go on the way things are.”
I feel my sister kneel down behind me. She twirls my hair and I can’t hold it back anymore. My eyes start welling up with tears. I hate the way I look when this happens. I try and hold back my tears with every ounce of strength I have but they just keep coming. Now for the next couple hours my eyes will be blotchy, swollen and red; my voice on one of its rampages.
“Yes, you can. We can do it together.”
I have to smile at the little monster. “We can do it together” is the same thing I say to her every time she feels bad.
“We won’t really be together. You won’t be walking down the hallways beside me, making everything ok. I’ll be left alone to defend myself to a bunch of new kids. At least I can blend in now. I won’t be able to hide at a new school.”
“Heidi, you don’t really want to blend in. I know you want to be open and be yourself and here is your chance.”
“I CAN’T!!!”
I never told anyone about the voice in my head that bears down on me all the time. But I knew now was time to tell Charlotte.

Today is going to be the first day at my new school. I’m scared and excited at the same time. Charlotte isn’t nervous; at least I can’t tell if she is. I have finally decided on an outfit to wear. I had to make sure it would cover my blotches because I’m sure people will be talking to me and asking who I am.
“Girls, hurry up! You’re going to miss your busses.”
It had only been a month since we moved to the middle of nowhere. We are just now switching schools because mom thought it would be better to finish out the quarter before switching. Surprisingly not too much has changed without my dad around. I have only talked to my dad once on the phone and that was the day after we got here. I sent him an Email a couple weeks ago but he didn’t respond. I used to think highly of my father but lately the comments I used to hate hearing rang true. It’s funny how being away from someone for a period of time can change your entire view of them.
The day before we moved here my sister came up with this crazy plan to leave my “voice” behind. She was so weird that day, way weirder than I have ever been. She lit candles in a circle around a jar. She actually had me pretend to take the voice out of my head and put it in the jar. She sealed it up with a whole roll of duct tape and we left it in my old closet.
I must admit I am feeling much more confident than I ever did before. But I am still planning to blend in today. I’m just not ready to make friends yet. I’m going to attempt to eat lunch in the bathroom. It’s really hard to balance this tray on my legs and eat at the same time, but it’s better than sitting with a bunch of people I don’t know. The sound of my fork hitting the ground makes my day complete. There it is on the floor almost in the other stall. My attention is drawn away from my fork when I see a cute pair of pink converse gym shoes in the stall next to me.
“Hey, who is that?”
“Um, my- my name is Heidi.”
I think it’s awkward that she’s asking me questions but who am I to judge what’s awkward I am eating pizza and corn in a bathroom stall.
“Oh, Heidi, you just moved here right?”
“Yes, about a month ago but today is my first day in school.”
My skin is tingling and I can feel my face warming to the pink shade of embarrassment like it usually does. I look down and I notice that her pink shoes are tapping and moving around as if spelling out every word she was saying. I think she is nervous too.
“Did you by any chance grab an extra pepper packet?”
“No, but would you like me to go get one with you? It’s a little difficult to eat my corn without a fork.”
“Sure”
I know I’m still weird but as we walk down the hall laughing and talking I feel normal, and I know I am going to be happy here.

Orphan Sasha by Tiaira Smith

Tiaira Smith
10/29/08
Orphan Sasha
We all looked very nice in our sun dresses and sandals of all colors. The “Big Day”, (the annual adoption day) was approaching us in a couple hours. I really didn’t like this day because I knew I would never get adopted. Inez keeps telling me to have hope and I will get adopted some day. We decorated the orphanage so beautifully with bright colors. The tables and chairs were arranged so each family could get one on one time with each orphan. There was lots of food. Good food at that, and we could get however much we liked. Maybe I was being too greedy but when an opportunity like this was given to me I had to take full advantage of it. There was plenty of interaction going on between us and the adopters. When I talked to my ideal family I was stuffing down my throat and talking to them with a mouth full of food. Maybe they thought this was rude of me. Maybe this is why they didn’t choose me.
Ms.Cruellena is always in a bad mood. She didn’t like us. Any of us. She had no husband, no children, and I guess she didn’t have any other family. No one ever came to visit her. Her family probably knew the type of person she was, so they didn’t come around her. I wish I could do the same thing. She has a skin disease in which she had big pink bumps that would appear on her face at anytime. She is so big. She always looks like she could bust at any minute. When she looked at you it seem like she was looking at everything else but you. I hate her. She is blacker than tar. The saying “the blacker the berry the sweeter the juice” didn’t provide any justice for her either. The other ugly detail I have to mention is her teeth are yellow when I first met her but now they are also stained with brown spots. She is just plain ugly.
“Girls it’s time for dinner. It’s five. You all know the routine, eat then sleep by 6.” She said.
“Yes, Ms.Cruellena,” we said in unison
“Don’t spill anything or you will scrub the floors with toothbrushes.” she said.
“Yes ma’am,” we replied in unison.
I always try to eat the food quickly so the taste wouldn’t spoil my appetite, or I would give it to Inez. It is so small in the food headquarters where we ate. The walls are black and the tables and chairs are black. She said we didn’t deserve colors when we asked her could we paint the walls with bright colors. I could barely breath in their especially when I had to sit next to Wendy who had a real foul odor. I talked to Inez the most. We had been in this home together for two years. I trusted her with my deepest secrets. She had dreams her mom would come back to get her. I knew my dad wasn’t coming back, and I wasn’t going to sit around and wait on him. It was pointless, no reason to sell myself any false dreams. Inez is very pretty. She’s the prettiest girl in our home. She has long silky hair, nice caramel skin. She’s very sweet and humble. I didn’t understand why no one had adopted her yet. There were other girls in the home as well; we were all special in our own ways. Megan was raped by her dad and her mother chose to defend her man instead of her daughter which resulted in her being in the orphan with us. Honesty parents were both killed in a car accident on their way to pick her up from school. Shannon’s mother was addicted to heroine. All she talked about was boys, she was obsessed with boys. She never discussed her family. So we all had different backgrounds but we shared one thing in common. We all wanted a family.
Dear Diary:
I really miss my parents. I love how my dad. He use to take me to the store and let me get whatever I wanted. He would take me to the park and let me play until my body wouldn’t allow any more movement. We spend so much time together. He was my best friend. I was daddy’s little girl. I loved when he called me that. We were inseparable until one day he decided to try crack, and this drug sent me on a journey of life and an emotional roller coaster I will never forget. He began to scream at me all the time for no reason, or leave me in the house for hours with no food. I didn’t tell anyone because I loved my daddy and I knew he could treat me better but the drugs were taking over his mind and body. My dad had a good heart, that’s why it causes me so much pain when I think back on how he abandoned me when he knew I had no one else to go to. Whenever I feel down I write to you to ease my mind but I’ll write to you later, Ms Cruellena is coming and I can’t get caught or I’ll have to sleep in the “chamber”.
We did the same thing every single day. We basically ate breakfast and dinner, did an hour of Ms Cruellena’s home school in which she taught us manners and basic reading and writing skills. We cleaned the house and went to sleep. Sometimes we had movie or game night, but that opportunity was very rare. All the girls got along at the house but I guess everyone had been in the system long enough to know that there was no reason to get really attached to anyone because at any second they could be snatched away. Even though we were like family, I still wanted my own family. A real family.
“Inez, have you ever thought about running away from this place.” I asked.
“Of course I have but then I come to my senses and realize I have no where to go. Where will I go Sasha?” she said.
“Well any where away from here would be better to me, I’d rather be homeless then live under these conditions. Ms.Cruellena doesn’t care about us” I said.
“I know she doesn’t. You know she can hear a pin drop with those big ears you better lower your voice before you get sent to the chamber. Besides the big day is coming up, maybe you will get adopted this time.” She said.
“Don’t sell me any false dreams. I’m living in reality, and reality is I’m never going to get adopted. No matter how bad I want to it’s beginning to seem unlikely to happen. I feel like the slaves who died slaves and were never freed of bondage.” I said.
“There you go with that foolish talk. You have to think positive Sasha. There is no point of dwelling on the negative.” We are all orphans who desire to have a family. Everyone else has accepted it. Now you have to accept you are a orphan Sasha. Make the best of it, like the rest of us are trying to do.
This particular night I tried to be positive. I thought about me having good health, and I was grateful to have a friend like Inez.
Dear Diary:
I don’t remember much about my mother, but I do remember how sweet and humble she was. She was very soft spoken. She always told me I could do whatever I put my mind to. I know my life would be much better if she were here. I would have everything I needed and wanted. She probably would have given me a big sweet sixteen birthday full of friends I would have made at school or in our neighborhood. I wonder if I could escape out of here and really get away with it. I want to go find me a family who accepts me for who I am and loves me unconditionally. I want a older brother who would look after me and protect me if something happens to me. I want sister a little older than me who I could talk to about anything and I could listen to her secrets. We could share each others clothes and go to the mall and to the movies. It’s been so long since I’ve went to the mall. I’m going to start planning my runaway but I don’t know if I should do it before or after the Big Day because if I do it before the Big Day I will always wonder if I was going to get adopted on that day. Another thing that scares me is if I get caught Ms. Cruellena will treat me much worse than she treats me now and I
The “Big Day” is two days away. This means extra cleaning. Extra cleaning to Ms.Cruellena is like Spring Cleaning but tripled. As I mentioned before she is never in a good mood except for this day. She was nicer then someone’s grandmother on Christmas. She smiled from ear to ear and told us the day before to never discuss what goes on in “our home”. She dressed us all up in nice clothes we were never able to wear but on this day. She called us precious, sweetie, and baby girl instead of her regular stupid, idiot, or little assholes. If Ms.Cruellena was nice like she was on the “Big Day” everyday it would make my stay there much smoother.
Dear Diary:
I hope after this day I will no longer have to write to you of my troubles. Or maybe I’ll continue to write to you but it will be of happy things. I want to be happy and get adopted into a happy family. I wish my mother was alive. I wonder if my dad could ever go to rehab and get his life together and come get me out of this place. If I don’t get adopted what will happen to me in when I turn 18? Where will I go? At least I will be out of here, but I won’t have anyone to go to. I hope God makes away for me. I really do. Hold on…
“What the hell are you doing little asshole?” Ms Cruellena said.
“Nothing” I said as I turned the flashlight off and put the torn notebook under my hard flat pillow and lifted my head from under the cover.
“You’re doing something. You better not be writing in that journal. I told you no journals in my orphanage. You don’t have time to write your feelings down.” She said.
She couldn’t fit in between out beds because they were so close together and she’s too big. She couldn’t fit between them, and we could barely fit on them. All of our feet’s hang off the bed and we barely had room to roll over. I felt like I was sleeping in a baby’s crib every night. Now my sleeping conditions are going to be worse I thought as I was being carried to the chamber.
“You’re hurting me Ms Cruellena”, I said as she was squeezing my arm so tight I couldn’t feel any circulation in my arms.
“That’s what happens when you disobey me”, she says as she throws me in the “Chamber”
Now I don’t know what will happen to my future. It’s the day before the “Big Day” and I am stuck in the chamber full of spider webs in the corners. It smells like dogs, cats, pigs, and horses in here. It’s just a mixture of things and I can’t bare to be in here. It’s so small. I can’t lie down; all I can do is sit Indian style in the dark hoping she will remember to come get me out of here. It’s cold as the North Pole and I don’t have a blanket. What if she doesn’t let me out before the adopters get here? Well if she doesn’t I’ll be running away from here the day she does chose to let me out of here. As I shiver I bang and kick on the door hoping she will come outside to this shed let me out. She never comes.
Inez eventually comes to rescue me from the chamber. She waited till Ms. Cruellena was snoring so loud that we could hear her in our sleeping headquarters. I know she will get beat if she finds out. I’ll just act like I broke out of here or something.
“Ok my precious angels they’ll be here any second now. You all know what to do and what to say. Don’t embarrass me or you’ll pay later.” She said.
“Yes, Ms.Cruella we won’t.” we said in unison.
Everything was going well until the family I chose to adopt me, chose to adopt Inez. They were a family of five. A mother a father two twin 11 year old girls and a 5 year old son. They were younger than me but I didn’t care they seemed like they had good hearts. So I wanted them to adopt me. A rush of envy had taken control of my heart. I tried to stop it but I couldn’t. I was suppose to be happy for my friend, but I wasn’t. Her humbleness paid off in the long run. I guess I was too negative like she said. I couldn’t believe she was getting adopted. Her dreams became a reality! Our 7th “Big Day” together finally ended with a different resolution. This night it wouldn’t be both of us crying because we were sold false dreams. It would only be me. Inez would no longer feel the wrath of Ms.Cruellena. I still had to feel her wrath because no one felt pity for me even though my father left me on the doorstep of an abandoned building.

Found in the Underworld

I woke up to the sound of dogs barking outside, and the high pitched mechanized growling only the majestic garbage truck could produce. It was really weird. Garbage trucks normally came around 8.

I opened my eyes and the sun was high in the sky, piercing through a gap in the curtains. I rolled over and grabbed my phone off of the night- table to check the time. My stomach sank a little bit. It was 8:32, and I had to be at work in 28 minutes. I must've forgotten to set my alarm the night before— I stayed up past the point of normal functioning ability to finish some of the work I'd started that day.

I couldn't risk losing this job, therefore I couldn't risk being late. It was the first decent job I'd had out of college, and my moving into a nicer place depended on it. Everyone told me it was the next step. I'd worked there for a half a year already, but I was still considered the new guy, and still under the watchful scrutiny of all of my supervisors. I guess I never realized how consuming a real 9 to 5 job would be.

I threw my sheets off and raced to the bathroom. There was no way I was going to get to work on time. Instead of showering like people who are presentable, I slathered on some extra deodorant and liberally applied more after-shave than is socially acceptable. Hopefully my stench would be masked well enough to avoid much notice.

I hurried to throw on the shirt with the least wrinkles (long sleeved to hide my half-sleeves), and franticly struggled with my tie to create the elusive "fastest-decent-looking-knot." I fled my room, didn't bother to get anything to eat, and grabbed my briefcase and cell phone with one arm still hanging out of my jacket. I almost forgot to lock the door behind me on the way out.

I quickly hurried down the cement steps of my row-house, my shoes splashing in the small depressions that accumulated water. It almost always seemed to be raining, here. That day, though, there was just the sense that it had rained recently.

I jogged to my car parked on the opposite side of the street, still struggling to get into my jacket and fumbling with my hands full. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my keys, and attempted to get my fingers on my car key. Unfortunately, my motor skills failed me, and at that moment all I could see was my key ring floating through space in slow motion, and falling between the grates of the sewer my car was parked directly in front of. I heard a faint splash from below.

I looked from my shitty car, to my shitty row-house, to that shitty sewer that was, literally, probably full of shit.

"Shit." That was the first word I'd thought to utter that entire morning. It was fitting.

I looked at my phone. It was nearing 9:00. I felt a complete sense of powerlessness overcome me. I didn't really have anyone to call that could provide any immediate help. I sure was glad I remembered to lock my door! The knowledge that there were spare keys right behind that peeling red paint taunted me.

I released a surrendering sigh. I walked around my car and stood in the gutter, staring directly down into the abysmal pit beneath the grates of the sewer. I put down my briefcase and took off my jacket. It was time to get serious.

I unbuttoned my cuffs and rolled my sleeves up to my elbows. I bent down and tightly gripped two of the bars that covered the storm drain. I pulled as hard as I could. It didn't budge. I tried bracing myself against the sidewalk, and pulling from the opposite direction, but it still wouldn't come up. I clapped the rust from my hands and stood.

There was a circular sewer cover on the sidewalk— I figured I might as well try. I shoved my fingers in the small gap and pulled up. It hurt, but I could feel the lid move a little. There must've been some sort of tool for it, but I managed to push through the pain and lift it enough to slide my fingers underneath the dense slab of metal. I pulled up, heaved the cover to the side, and let it fall on the sidewalk with a huge metallic thud.

I looked into the opening I created and saw metal rungs leading down into a very wet underworld. I surveyed the area around me. There were only a few people walking up and down the sidewalks. I assumed most everyone had already made it to their places of work. I hoped no one would really take notice of the man in the suit disappearing into the sewer. But knowing this city, nobody would. It was pretty easy to get lost in a crowd, (or lack thereof).

I put my jacket back on and grabbed my briefcase. I didn't want anyone to steal them. Then, I took my last deep breath of fresh city-air, and stepped backwards onto the metal rungs that led me down into the unknown.

It was like I'd descended into hell—an entirely different world existed right below my apartment that I'd never even considered. I stood at the edge of a huge brick tunnel. I looked both ways, and it seemed indefinite. I was just a point somewhere along infinity.

There were quite a few unidentifiable objects floating on the black surface of the water that flowed between the two ledges of the tunnel. It was impossible to tell how deep it was—it could've been an inch deep or it could've gone down for miles. I didn't really want to find out.

The smell that assaulted my nose at that point was too complex to be properly described. No words in the English language could do it justice. The closest I could get, though, was something like "wet rotting produce and death by feces."

I decided I wanted to find my keys and get out of there as quickly as possible. I looked down the damp brick and searched for some sort of connection to the storm drain I dropped them in. There wasn't anything within sight, so I finally stepped out of the small circle of light that bound me to the streets above.

I walked along the edge for a few yards, dodging water leaks and keeping an intent eye on anything that I thought could've possibly moved. The only sounds were the echoes of my footsteps and the rhythmic dripping bouncing off the rounded walls. It was strange that it was so silent down here when I knew that directly above me were busy city blocks.

I passed a perpendicular connecting tunnel, and I had to stop for a second. I waited until the echoes of my steps diminished, and I swore I heard the faint sound of music.

I looked back at the ray of light splitting the dark where I entered. There was nothing. But still, I swore that I could hear music. I jumped across the water and started down the connecting tunnel. There was something compelling about the haunting experience of following mysterious music to its source that made me forget I was on a tight schedule.

It gradually grew louder the further I went, and the louder it got the more familiar it sounded. It took me a few minutes, but I realized that the ghostly music was turning into heavy metal. I took a few more steps, and stopped. I saw another perpendicular connecting tunnel up ahead. I didn't want to get lost in this hellish labyrinth, but I was pretty sure I was hearing the familiar guitar riffs of Iron Maiden.

I think it spoke to some part of me that had been buried under paperwork and deadlines for the past few years, but I couldn't find it in myself to turn around. Images of the cramped, sweaty venues of my youth filled my mind—deafening music so heavy that it moved people to beat the shit out of other people. But still, there was a unifying sense that everyone understood and respected. Nobody got lost. I remembered I hadn't been to a show in years. The sound of Iron Maiden brought me back to the present, and I continued to follow it to some unknown end.

My feet started to move again of their own accord. Rationally I knew that this was kind of ridiculous. It was possibly too ridiculous to go uninvestigated. I slowly turned the corner and the now clear lyrics to "Number of the Beast" accompanied the image of a man hunched over a pile of garbage. He was pulling on a damp wooden chair, trying to free it from the clutches of trapped debris. There was a small, battery-powered radio sitting on the ledge, safe from the water he was standing knee-deep in.

I took a few steps forward, and then he noticed me. He turned and wiped some sweat from his forehead.

"Oh. Hey," he said.

"Hey," I responded.

This was kind of weird. We looked at each other for a moment.

"Um, what are you doing down here?" I asked.

He really looked at me, this time, and he furrowed his brow a little. I realized how ridiculous I must've looked asking that question. I mean, I was holding a briefcase.

"Just looking, really. Trying to get this chair out. Seems like it could be pretty nice with a little cleaning," he said.

"Ah. You come down here often, then?"

"You know, every now and then," he said, "The name's Simon, by the way." He extended his hand.

I looked at it wearily. It was dirt-covered and slightly damp. His nails were chewed off and had what looked like weeks of built-up gunk underneath them. I swallowed, stepped forward, and shook his hand.

"I'm Jefferson," I said, "Uh… Need any help with that?" I gestured toward the chair he had been working on.

"Sure, that'd be great," he said. He moved the damp, dirty blonde hair out of his eyes. I couldn't tell how old he was exactly, but he was probably around my age. Late twenties, if I had to round up. I felt like I knew him, with his old black t-shirt emblazoned with the Slayer logo. I doubt he felt like he knew me. He was tall, and seemed in control of himself in this environment. I kind of just felt awkward.

I walked to the point where all the trash had started to dam up, put down my briefcase, and began to pull smaller items from around the chair—splintered pieces of wood and fast food trash, among other things. I didn't really mind that I was getting my hands dirty, and I pushed any ideas that I could get diseases from this out of my mind. Something about this guy, or maybe just the fact that I found him in a sewer, made me want to help him out.

"How do you think a chair got down here, anyway?" I asked.

"I don't know, really. Sometimes I think maybe someone brings them down here and just sits. You'd be surprised by some of the things I've found, though." Simon continued to give the chair a few more yanks.

"Oh yeah? What kinds of things?" I was genuinely interested at that point.

"Well, I've found appliances and carpet and things like that. One time I found a rocking horse. Sanded it a little, cleaned it up, and gave it to my sister's little boy."

"That sounds nice," I said, and I smiled a little. "So, what do you do when you're not, uh, down here?"

"Oh, you know. I never stay in one place too long. I always think that there's something more to learn somewhere else, and I end up getting new jobs." He thought for a moment. "What do you do?"

"Oh. Well… I'm working at an office right now. You know, numbers and all that."

"Yeah," he said. "Do you like it?"

I had to think for a minute.

"I don't know," I said, and I looked down. Heavy metal continued to ring throughout the sewer.

He yanked again, and the bottom of the chair was finally released by the mound of debris.

"Oh, nice!" Simon had a very pleased look on his face as he knocked some of the remaining trash from the rungs.

"Well, anyway. I always find the best stuff underneath the storm drains. That's where everyone drops their wallets and their fancy watches and stuff," he said as he admired his new chair.

"Wait. You know how to get under the storm drains?" I said.

"Yeah," he paused. "Why?"

"Well, I dropped my keys down one back there—" I suddenly felt ashamed of being one of those people that Simon only knew by their lost items. I couldn't believe I had turned into one of those guys that drops their shit in storm drains.

"Ah. I was going to ask earlier, but I didn't want to be presumptuous," he said. He had a smile that was unassuming.

"I can show you where to go, if you want," he said.

"That," I replied, "would be great."

"Where'd you come in at?"

I told him to follow, and we made our way back to the original tunnel that I had come down. Simon carried his chair and his hand-held radio with him. We turned a corner, and I pointed toward the ray of light that broke through the dark of the rest of the sewer. He followed me all the way till we were right beneath the opening above us.

"The storm drain right across from here?" He asked, pointing up.

I nodded, and he told me to wait. He set down his chair, and gently placed the radio on top of it. He bent down, and somehow squeezed his body through the small opening at the bottom of the tunnel wall. I took a step back and watched as his feet disappeared. I heard splashing from within, and I could only stand still.

A few moments later, I saw a hand emerge with a ring of keys. Simon slithered out of the small passage, even more coated with wet gunk than he already was.

"These yours?" he asked as he stood, and held up the keys.

I couldn't thank him enough. I grabbed his hand and shook it with both of mine.

"Well, I guess I should be heading up, then." I looked above me and through the opening to the side walk.

"I'll follow you out," he said.

I climbed the rungs and stepped back onto the sidewalk. The air up here actually did smell fresh in comparison. I turned around and watched Simon as he pulled his chair up behind him.

He stepped out onto the sidewalk and stood up straight. He looked taller in the openness and the light, and I noticed that under all the dirt he seemed to look full of color. He looked alive. His eyes shone through the smudges as green instead of black.

"Can I give you a ride?" I asked. It was really the least I could do.

"Sure," he said. I couldn't help but think about how he'd gotten there in the first place.

I helped him put his chair and his radio in the trunk of my car. I walked back to the hole in the sidewalk and looked down it. I pulled one side up, dragged it over, and dropped it back in its original place. I clapped the dirt from my hands, and turned around to see Simon leaning against the side of my car and watching.

"Where you headed?" I asked as we both got into my car. I put the key in the ignition and turned it.

He directed me to a small corner at the edge of the city that I never really knew existed. I drove up to one of the many hovels and pulled in the gravel drive way. It had a lop-sided wooden porch that looked about to give way and collapse. I could tell from the assortment of junk piles in front of the door, and the few mismatched chairs, that this wasn't the first Simon had found in a sewer.

I parked and got out to open the trunk for Simon. He pulled out his new chair and his radio, and set them down on the gravel.

"You on your way to work?" he asked me.

"I don't know," I said.

"Didn't you have a briefcase?"

"Oh," I thought for a moment, "Yeah. I think I left it down in the sewer." We both laughed.

"I guess I should be heading out, then," I said.

He nodded, and looked around.

"Well, you know where I live. You can come over some time and I'll show you some more that I've found."

"Yeah, that sounds good, man."

We shook hands one more time.

I got in my car and watched him carry his chair to his porch, and place it in line with the others— no two the same. He sat in one of the bigger ones, and turned on the radio.

I pulled out of his driveway and made it back to my apartment. I called my work and told them I was sick, and that I wasn't going to be able to make it in that day.

Stars and Nuts; Or How It Doesn't Happen in Star Trek

When Michael Flute joined the crew of the U.S.S. Hercules, he had no idea that he would have to deal with a foolish captain who would, more often than not, put the ship and the entire crew in danger. It wasn’t that Captain William Thompson was a bad person, but Michael certainly didn’t want to end up like a red-shirt just because his commanding officer ticked off the Viochemian Envoy by flirting with one of his many wives. Nor he really didn’t feel like worrying about whether or not the Hercules would get sucked into a black hole simply because the captain thought it would be a good idea to hide behind what he figured was a cloud of stardust to get away from a Alkalian captain he owed money to.
As the first officer was injured as a result of one of the captain’s mishaps in an earlier incident, the only senior officer who had any sense was the second officer, who also happened to be a female android named May Trix. Michael was a bit amused when she filled in the position vacated by the previous second officer, Lieutenant Commander Donald McDude, due to a nervous breakdown, no doubt brought on by Captain Thompson. Evidently, someone at the Earth Alliance Federation High Command must have been watching too much Star Trek: The Next Generation, and must have gotten the bright idea to send an android to keep the captain in line. It was too bad she rarely left the ship during the surface missions in order to keep him out of trouble.
The problem was that whenever Captain Thompson sees a very beautiful woman, there was usually bound to be trouble. Actually, this was how the captain ruffled the Viochemian envoy’s features that fateful day on the surface of Ceedeeius 7.
Michael was on the surface team with the captain and a good number of other crew members during what was supposed to be a peace conference. For some strange reason, most likely due to a collective brain fart on their part, the Earth Alliance Federation decided to send Captain Thompson as their representative.
Michael was acting as first officer on this particular mission. This meant that it was his job to keep the captain in line. This also meant that he had to make sure that the captain made it on time to the meeting with the Viochemian Envoy the following day. This entails that he had to keep track of the captain at all times. Right now, Michael was about to have a nervous breakdown.
“Sir,” a female officer reported. “We’ve found him.”
Michael heaved a sigh of relief. Think goodness, he thought. “Where was he?”
“We found him at the bar,” the female officer replied. “Don’t worry, we didn’t let him have any drinks.”
Just then, a middle aged man with grey hair came into the room, escorted by another female officer. Michael was starting to understand why the captain had chosen so many female officers for this mission. Luckily, the lieutenant commander wouldn’t allow it.
“My, Samantha,” the captain said, looking the other female officer up and down, and slapping her on the rear. “Has anyone ever told you that you look good in red? What about we get to my quarters and discuss physics?”
Michael could tell that this was making both of the female officers uncomfortable, so he had them dismissed. He then turned his attention to the captain.
“You do realize that you had me worried!” Michael told the captain. “The conference is tomorrow, and you were off about to get drunk!”
“Oh, calm down, Fluke,” the captain replied. “You need to learn to loosen up a little. No woman will ever want to hook up with you if you continue to be all uptight like that.”
“It’s Flute, sir,” Michael stated. “And I’m only getting on you because I know that you’re going to end up ticking someone off, as you seem to always do.”
“Ah, Mickey,” the captain retorted. “I was having a little fun. No one’s been hurt with my having fun.”
“Tell that to Commander Watchmin,” Michael said. “He’s on sick leave because you couldn’t keep from hitting on the Bookian princess.”
“Well, okay,” the captain conceded. “I’ll admit that much. But she was worth losing a good first officer temporarily, I’ll tell you that.”
Michael had to remind the captain about the conference taking place at 1700 hours the next day. As it was getting late, he suggested that they retired for the night, and had some male officers escort the captain down to his quarters.
Sometime around 1700 hours the next day, when Captain Thompson didn’t show up for their meeting with Envoy Dolluer, the envoy got a little upset, which was not a state one wanted to get a Viochemian male into. Viochemian males had the temperament of a crocodile after they’ve been rudely woken up from a good nap.
“Your captain better have a good excuse for not being here,” the envoy told Michael.
“Trust me,” Michael said. “I thinking the same thing.”
Michael made certain that Captain Thompson didn’t sneak away, but somehow, the captain managed to slip out of the security detail’s sight. He and a small security team set out to look for him.
As it turns out, the captain got drunk and was found outside the bar, hitting on a beautiful Viochemian female. It also turns out that she was one of the envoy’s 20 wives. Needless to say, this really got the envoy fired up. If Gene Roddenbarry, the creator of Star Trek, was still alive well into the 25th Century to witness this scene, he would have been a little mortified.
Michael was lucky to get out of the firefight that ensured unscathed, or even alive for that matter. No one was killed, but many of the security officers, or “red-shirts” as everyone called them, found themselves in the Hercules’ sick bay, where they most often did wind up when something goes awry.
At this moment, Michael found himself in the ship’s counselor’s office, talking about his grievances with the captain to Ms. Plait, the ship’s young, new counselor. Unfortunately, he felt like he was getting nowhere with her.
“So are you saying that you wish it were you who flirted with Envoy Dolluer’s 17th wife instead of the captain?” the seemingly airheaded blonde counselor asked.
“No, I’m not saying that at all,” Michael said for what appeared to be the 19 billionth time. He was starting to wish that he hadn’t described Envoy Dolluer’s very beautiful, very sexy 17th wife, with her pink skin, orange eyes, and green, ankle-length hair, to the equally gorgeous blue eyed counselor.
Michael was starting to realize how young Ms. Plait looked– she couldn’t be much younger than he was, maybe around 24 years old. Normally counselors were somewhere between their mid 30's to early 50's, and seemed to have their heads screwed on tight. He also noticed that her baby-blue shirt, which was part of her uniform, was adjusted so that her cleavage would be visible, something a lot of the male officers, himself included, would have been more than fine with. However, he just didn’t think, for practical purposes, that this would have been considered professional for a counselor.
The captain must have duped her into thinking this was the dress code for this ship, Michael thought.
Michael refocused his attention and thoughts away from the counselor’s low-cut top to her face, as well as the conversation at hand.
“I just wish the captain would exercise a little more restraint when it comes to women!” he said in a loud voice. “It’s a wonder that he hasn’t been relieved of duty after this incident alone! I mean, an officer of the Earth Alliance Federation Space Navy should behave in the most dignified manner possible, especially when he’s in such a high position as that of a captain!”
Ms. Plait looked at him with those deep-blue eyes of hers, and Michael could tell there was some genuine concern in them. “Ah, you’re stressed, aren’t you?”
“Yes! Yes, I am!” Michael almost shouted. Finally, she was getting it. “The captain’s shenanigans aren’t what I signed up for! I feel like I’m in an episode of Home Improvement instead of one of Star Trek, and I’m Al to the captain’s Tim!”
“Oh! I love Home Improvement!” Ms. Plait said in joy. “Did you see the one where Tim installed a huge home security system after Wilson got robbed?”
“Yeah, I have.” He sighed. He was ready to go into a conversation about all of the crazy antics of the “Tool Man” from the late 20th Century sitcom.
To his surprise, she returned her attention to his situation.
“I know! You should watch maybe two hours of that show sometime during your off-days,” she suggested. She then handed him a rubber Swoosh ball. “And whenever you feel that stress coming back, just give this little guy a little squeeze.”
She then got up and gave Michael a hug. A big hug. He wasn’t sure this was deemed appropriate, or even professional, but at the moment, he really didn’t care.
While Michael was a little relieved, he really wasn’t entirely satisfied. He really wanted someone to talk back to him. Well, okay, the counselor did talk back to him.
As he exited the office, Michael found his friend Johnny Beegoode waiting for him.
“So, how did it go?” Johnny asked with a sly smile on his face. Michael had known Johnny since Kindergarten, so he knew what that smile meant.
“You know, you could go in there and ask her out yourself,” Michael replied. “I did get a hug from her, in case you’re wondering.”
“Tell me more, bro,” Johnny said, patting his fellow lieutenant on the shoulder.
“One thing I did learn from our little session is that she apparently likes Home Improvement as much as we do,” Michael was telling his buddy, after they had gotten into a booth down in the mess hall and ordered themselves a couple of root beers. At that point, they were officially off duty, free from the captain’s insane actions.
“Hey, maybe we should invite Ms. Plait over to our quarters to watch a few episodes tonight,” Johnny suggested. He ran his hand through his neatly combed black hair. “We could get to know her better.”
“I just got done comparing the captain to Tim Allan with her,” Michael told Johnny. “I’d rather watch something from Cory’s endless collection of early 21st Century anime.”
“I would go along with both ideas,” Cory Getalife, who was sitting at their table, said. He was another of Michael’s childhood friends from his school days. He had on a green shirt with black accents, which indicated to the crew that he worked in Engineering.
Cory was known to be a little eccentric when it came to engineering. Once, he built himself a special television set that didn’t need any sort of screen, complete with a snack bar that would automatically hand a person anything that they wanted with a set of robotic arms. Cory soon realized that there were a lot of bugs to be worked out after the snack bar started throwing forks at people, and the special holographic display started showing demonic looking smiley faces. To think that he had built that T.V. set so he could watch hours upon hours of Pokemon.
The only other person who shared Cory’s passion for engineering was Chief Engineer Phillip Jackson, with whom Cory would share ideas on how to improve the efficiency of the Hercules’ jump-engines. To most people, however, this was not a good thing.
“What did Chief Jackson do to the engines, this time?” Johnny asked the engineer.
“The Chief came up with this configuration that involved putting in a couple extra power conduits, making the star-jump engines go faster and smoother than ever before,” Cory explained with pride. “By bi-passing a few circuits, we could go up to 1000 star knots per hour.”
“How long after the modifications were made until the jump-systems gave out?” Johnny raised an eyebrow at Cory, waiting for a response.
“About five minutes,” Cory said, defeated.
Johnny extended his hand toward Michael’s direction.
“Told you– less than ten minutes,” Johnny said, victoriously. “Pay up.”
“Fine,” Michael said. Michael and Johnny always betted with one another over any potential engineering disasters that was bound to occur.
Michael noticed a young looking female officer coming near them. She looked like she was ripped off the pages of Playboy Magazine, as Johnny would put it, except she had all of her clothes on, including a dark red blouse. The only things that looked unnatural were her silver-blue hair and silver-blue eyes. If one hadn’t known better, one could have confused her for a real person.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant Commander,” Michael greeted his superior officer.
“Good Afternoon to you, too, Lieutenant,” May Trix replied. She took a seat next to Leena.
Michael knew that if anyone had just about enough of the captain, it would be May.
“Did the captain make another pass at you, May?” Cory asked. As May was also off duty, there was no need for anyone to address her as “ma’am” or “Lieutenant Commander.”
“Yes,” she replied. “This was his 26th attempt this week. If the captain slaps my seat again, I may have to file a restraining order against him.”
Everyone at the table laughed, although they realized that it was true.
“I hope that I am not interrupting your conversation,” the android lieutenant commander said. “However, I am hoping to discuss matters important involving the captain.”
Michael had spoken with the lieutenant commander the week before, when she told him that the Federation wasn’t going to hold him responsible for the captain’s actions. Nor was she, as she was the one who had picked him for the job of watching over the mission. There was nothing that could have been done.
Michael knew now that what the second officer wanted to talk about was related to rumors of a possible mutiny against the captain. It is said that even the Earth Alliance Federation approves of this mutiny. In fact, Michael, Johnny and Cory had talked some about joining the mutiny, only jokingly, although Michael real did think about it.
“We were only joking about joining the mutiny,” Johnny said defensively. “We really wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“I was hoping to see if I could get you three to reconsider,” May returned. “I feel that it may be necessary to be ready should the captain cause any more problems.”
Michael took a few minutes to think about this. It must be that serious if even an android is contemplating mutiny. Then again, as second officer, it was her job to do whatever necessary to keep the ship, and its crew, in one piece. Of course, it could be that she was getting tired of the captain constantly harassing her on a daily basis. She was, while an android, still a woman.
The four had talked about the plans they would have to enact should the need arise, hoping that the need never would.

The next day would be when it would all be decided. The ship was put on red alert, and both he and Johnny had to report to the bridge earlier than they normally would.
“How long have they been there?” the second officer asked.
“Since 0700, sir,” replied Johnny. “They haven’t moved since.”
“Where is Captain Thompson?” Lieutenant Commander Trix inquired.
“We haven’t seen him since this morning,” a female officer replied.
The Hercules had encountered an Viochemian battle cruiser, and everyone in the bridge was on edge. Michael had heard rumors that they had put a bounty on the captain’s head. From the looks of the massively oversized beam cannons, there was truth to that rumor. The problem was that the captain was not on bridge to monitor the situation.
Since the captain was not on bridge, it was decided to send someone to look for him. Somehow, that job fell to Michael.
Michael had a pretty good idea of where to find him. Sure enough, he and a security detail found the captain in his quarters, looking at some swimsuit catalogs. It took about 15 minutes to get him ready and to the bridge.
“Give me the situation, Goodebee,” the Captain told Johnny.
“It’s Beegoode, sir,” Johnny replied. “A Viochemian battle cruiser is right in front of us and aiming its massive cannons at us.”
“Let’s not forget that the ship itself is massive,” Michael added. “And they are waiting for you!”
“Well, then,” Captain Thompson said. He almost looked like he had won a battle that hadn’t even started yet. “Get a channel open. I’ve got some things to say to them.”
A communications channel was open, and soon the face of a purple skinned, blue haired Viochemian captain appeared on screen. “I am Captain Lampow of the Viochemian battle fleet, requesting that Captain William Thompson surrender himself to us, so that no harm may come to your vessel.”
“What if I don’t surrender,” the captain asked.
“Did you not hear me say, ‘so that no harm may come to your vessel’?” the Viochemian captain asked, almost frustrated by the Earthen captain’s question. “If you surrender, I will consider letting your ship go.”
“Well, I refuse to surrender to the likes of you,” the captain shouted in defiance. “You want to know why? Because I have a lot of beautiful women around me, and they would miss me if I go!”
Yeah, right, Michael thought.
“Is that why you decided to hit on our envoy’s 17th wife?” Lampow asked.
“Well, you have to admit, she was pretty hot.”
“True,” Lampow admitted. “I have to say that there isn’t a time that I haven’t envied Dolluer for that. The guy has good taste in women.”
“So I can leave and we can forget that incident ever happened?” the Captain asked.
“Heck no!” the Viochemian captain replied. “I’ve given you enough time, and you’ve wasted it! Besides, you have a pretty hefty bounty on your head.”
“Well you know what,” the captain said, grabbing May, who happened to be the closest woman around. “I am the greatest captain in the Earth Navy! I can blow you out of the water!”
“Captain, I request that you release me this instant,” Lieutenant Commander Trix said. “This is pretty close to harassment, and I have told you that I will file a restraining order against you.”
The bridged began to rock, causing the captain to let go of the lieutenant commander. The Viochemians were firing off some warning shots.
“Damage report,” Lieutenant Commander Trix said.
“Nothing too serious, ma’am,” Cory’s voice said over the intercom. “But if they hit us with those beam cannons, we’re toast!”
Michael knoew he wasnt going to let the ship get destroyed. He turned to the captain, picked him up and sat him down in his captain’s chair.
“You have a choice, Captain,” Michael said. “Either give yourself up to the Viochemians, or risk getting us all blown up. What will it be?”
While this going on, the Hercules had fired off a few beam torpedoes of its own, trying to keep itself from being destroyed.
“Are you kidding me,” the captain said. “I’ve just begun to fight! I’m not going to apologize for having a little fun.”
“Did you not see those massive oversized cannons?” Michael asked.
“So, what?” Thompson replied. “Those cannons are no match for these guns!” The captain then flex his muscles.
“Okay, look,” Michael said. “Right now, as we speak, we are putting Cory’s special T.V. in your quarters.”
“I’ve not scared of Getaclue’s inventions,” the captain said. He had called Michael’s bluff. He knew it was time to take action.
“Okay,” Michael said to everyone on the bridge. “I propose we give the captain to the Viochemians. All for, say ‘Ai!’”
Nearly everyone on the bridge said “Ai!”
“And against!”
Nearly nobody spoke up against the notion. The only person that did was the captain himself.
“Look,” the captain pleaded. “I’ll make it up to everyone! Even if you do send me away, I’ll make up for all of the wrongs that I’ve done!”
“You can start by giving yourself up to the Viochemians,” Michael told him.
“Alright,” the captain said. “At least they won’t hold me for long!”
The Hercules continued to fire on the Viochemian ship, which itself was still firing its smaller cannons. As soon as the lieutenant commander contacted Lampow to tell him that they were turning Captain Thompson over, the Viochemians ceased fire.
Watching as the Viochemian battle cruiser sails away with their captain, Michael, Johnny, and Cory assessed the situation.
“So you think we’ll see the guy again anytime soon?” Johnny asked.
“He be back in a couple of weeks,” Michael said. “That is, of course, if high command decides to have him transferred somewhere where he won’t make any more trouble.”
The three of them chuckled at the thought, because they all knew that once he came back, it would be the same old business as usual. They would have to transfer him somewhere else.
“So how long do you think the jump-engines will last once Chief Jackson adds in those next round of modifications?” Johnny asked Michael.
“I say about ten minutes,” Michael answered.
“Whanna bet?”
“You’re on!”
With that, the three decided to head to Michael and Johnny’s quarters to watch some more episodes of Home Improvement.

All That Glitters by Jacqueline Decembly

Rebecca leaned against the wall, straining to hear the voices heading towards the elevator. She could hear the door open and the sound of laughter as high heeled shoes click-clacked on the floor. I have to move fast, Rebecca thought before slowly easing around the corner. I have just enough to time to sneak into Brooke's room, spray her dress with pepper spray and make it back to the lobby before anyone notices. She took the bottom of her floor length gown into one hand and tiptoed down the hallway. Her black clutch bounced against her leg as she searched for the door. Here it is, she said to herself as she looked at the number five etched on the door. She undid the buckle of her purse to grab the key. It had been too easy to get the key to the room. The receptionist had been eager to help when she went crying to the front desk, explaining she had been locked out of her room. The young woman didn't even ask her for identification but instead gave her a Kleenex and a spare key to the room. A green light blinked as she swiped the keycard and then turned the knob. Rebecca slid her hand across the wall until she found the light switch.
Her eyes surveyed the room hoping to find the reason she had snuck into Brooke's room. There hanging on the door of the bathroom was a white Dolce & Gabbana garment bag. Placing the bag on the bed, Rebecca hurried to unzip the bag. The light blue fabric glimmered in the light. Slowly taking the dress out of the bag, she lifted it to take a better look. The sleeveless ball gown had a fitted bodice that flowed into light blue, turquoise and green at the bottom. Little silver beads were scattered along the front of the dress. Rebecca had to admit that Brooke had impeccable taste and for a moment she regretted what she was about to do.
She didn't want to physically hurt Brooke but she wanted to do something that would take her out of the competition. At first she thought about ruining the dress completely but she just couldn't imagine doing that. So instead, she decided that putting pepper spay on her dress would take Brooke out of the competition and cause her to suffer, just a little. Rebecca could see Brooke's large blue eyes becoming red and puffy after putting on the pepper sprayed dress. She could see Brooke at first ignoring the itchiness and irritation of her eyes. Brooke would instead toss her hair from side to side and admire her reflection in one of the mirrors backstage. After smiling back at the reflection, Brooke would begin lining up for the competition. Little by little her eyes and face would become red and puffy from the pepper spray. Then just when the interview portion of the competition began, Brooke would be unable to fake it any more. Instead of her usual poised saunter, the water buildup in her eyes would cause her movements to be sloppy. Walking out onto the stage Brooke unable to see clearly would fall, ripping the tiny sliver beads from her dress as she fell. Her blond hair lying in a heap around her face, Brooke would struggle to get up from the wooden stage. Her perfect makeup would be smeared like a rainbow across her face, and the echo of beads rolling around on stage would fill the room. Unable to control the itchiness, water spouting from her eyes and her sheer embarrassment, Brooke would have no choice but to drop out of the competition.
Brooke was the kind of girl everyone was jealous of. She had perfect long blonde hair, a small slender nose, a perfect body and lots of expensive clothes. Not to mention that she had won every beauty pageant that Rebecca had competed in the last ten years. First it was the Little Miss Liberty pageant, the Mayflower Princess pageant, the Harris County Sweetheart pageant, the Little Miss Grand Prix of Houston, Miss Preteen Texas, Houston's Perfect Miss, Houston's Outstanding Teen, Miss Texas Teen World US and the Miss Teen Pearl Scholarship pageant. With every competition, Rebecca sulked silently as Brooke took home the sparkling crowns, sashes and prize money, while she took first runner-up and complimentary roses.
Unlike the other beauty pageant contestants, this time Brooke had been given a separate room. Competitors were usually assigned one or two other roommates that were randomly picked from a hat when the girls arrived at the hotel. Brooke, however, had insisted that she was a terrible snorer and she didn't want to be responsible for another girl not getting enough beauty rest. Rebecca remembered rolling her eyes during the welcome reception as the other girls nodded in agreement, thanking Brooke for being so sweet. Just when you thought she was being sincere, Brooke always found a way to make you feel bad.
"I just don't know what I would do if someone didn't make top 10 because of my loud snoring," Brooke had said placing her French-manicured hand on her chest. From far away her long sandy blonde hair and tall frame stood out among the short dark-haired girls that surrounded her. She let out a sigh and invited the girls to come to her room to talk, or watch a movie.
"That room is so big, I'm so jealous that you girls get to bond with one another, while I'm stuck looking at all my suitcases," Brooke said drawing out her words to over emphasize her southern accent.
What a bitch, Rebecca had thought to herself. A few of the girls had laughed nervously thinking about the four-bag limit that the organizers had instituted for the competition. But of course Brooke had found a way to have six suitcases brought up to her room. She had told the organizers that only four of the suitcases were filled with her gowns, two swimsuits, and makeup for the competition. The other two were filled with vitamins and hair care products that she claimed were essential for maintaining her beauty regimen.
In a way Rebecca felt bad for the girls who fell for Brooke's "sweetness." She had seen exactly how "sweet" she was competing against her for ten years. Forced into beauty pageants at the age of five by her mother, a former Miss Texas, Rebecca spent most of her early competition years dreading the costumes, the questions, and the large crowds. Rebecca's mom believed pageants would be a great way for her shy daughter to make friends, and it of course allowed her to be paraded around town. She thought back to the day she first met Brooke. They were both twelve years old and competing in the Little Miss Liberty pageant. The winner of the pageant got a chance to ride a float in the Fourth of July parade. Houston was known for its parade, and it was televised on all the major networks.
This had been the very first competition that Rebecca had gotten excited about. She spent months practicing the dance routine choreographed by her mother and had even practiced the wave she would give to the crowd as she sat on the float. That is until Brooke went and stole the competition right from under her.
At first she had been thrilled when the tall blonde girl had sauntered over after rehearsing the opening number. Her blue eyes sparkling, Brooke had extended her hand and introduced herself to Rebecca. Rebecca had watched her during rehearsal, her long slender arms and legs moved gracefully across the stage. There is no way I will ever look like that, she thought bitterly as tears began to form in her dark brown eyes.
"Is this your first competition?" she had asked looking over Rebecca.
"No, I've been competing for about seven years now," Rebecca answered.
"Really, do you just do the local pageants?" Brooke asked. "I didn't mean anything by it. Just that you know, THIS is a pretty big competition," Brooke said tossing her hair to the side.
"I usually do a lot of fairs and county competitions," she answered fidgeting in her black leotard and pink leggings. She didn't know if Brooke was trying to make her feel bad or if she wanted to help. But every time she looked up Brooke was smilingly sweetly at her.
"What are you doing for the talent portion?" Brooke asked picking up a small duffle bag and placing it on her shoulder.
"A ballet routine that my mom choreographed to My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion," Rebecca said. She loved that song and knew every word by heart.
"I'm doing a tap dance to a Frank Sinatra song. I've been taking tap and ballet since I was three," Brooke said.
The girls stood in silence as the other girls packed up their things to leave. I better get my stuff together too, she thought. Her mom would be there shortly and would want to hear all about rehearsal. She bent down and began taking off her dance shoes when Brooke stopped her.
"Since I've been dancing for such a long time, you could show me your dance and I can tell you if you need to fix anything," Brooke said.
She does seem to know a lot about dancing and beauty pageants…so maybe she can help me. Rebecca stood and began to start the routine but Brooke raised her hand for her to stop. Brooke watched as the last of the girls walked out of the dance studio and motioned for her to begin. Rebecca took a deep breath and began doing her routine. She imagined Celine's voice as she flowed into a series of pirouettes, jetes; spot turns and ended the routine in an arabesque. Wiping tiny beads of sweat from her forehead, Rebecca stood there beaming from ear to ear. Brooke's bright smile turned into a look of pure shock. Her mouth hung open in disbelief and she blinked her eyes for several seconds before responding.
"I…I think it's a great start but your turns are not as graceful as the other girls. But I don't think it was too bad," she said to her while forcing a smile.
"Oh, is that bad?" Rebecca asked.
"Well, I'm sure the judges will understand that this is your first city beauty pageant. Good luck with your dance, and I'll see you tomorrow at rehearsal," Brooke said turning to leave. Rebecca sighed and then bent down to gather her things into her duffle bag. Before she could put her dance shoes into her bag she felt someone tap her lightly on the shoulder.
"You know maybe I can help you," Brooke said shrugging her shoulders. "If you come to my house we can videotape your dance and then we can look at your mistakes. What do you think?"
Rebecca was relived. With all of Brooke's experience she was sure to win first place with her help. "Okay, I'll have my mom drop me off at your house," Rebecca answered.
For the next two days Rebecca went to Brooke's house to practice her routine. They watched the tape over and over again going over every detail of the dance. The night before the competition Rebecca could hardly sleep, and instead spent hours in front of the mirror making sure she hit every movement with precision. She did each part of the routine over and over again until her muscles ached.
The morning of the competition, Rebecca waited behind the curtains as Brooke stepped onto the stage. She could barely hear Brooke's name being called because of all the noise she heard backstage. There were girls fixing their hair in tall full-length mirrors, girls reciting monologues or rehearsing songs, and even instruments being tuned in the background. But she leaned closer to the curtain anxious to see Brooke's performance. She was confused when she heard a familiar song playing on the loudspeaker, and for a second her heart skipped a beat. Maybe they meant to call my name instead of Brooke's, she thought. They'll see that I'm going next and they'll stop the song. But to her horror, Brooke smiled and gracefully glided across the stage doing pirouettes and jetes. Wait that's my routine! What is she doing? Rebecca closed her eyes hoping that it was a dream. When she opened her eyes, she saw the crowd giving Brooke a standing ovation. Brooke smiled innocently and bowed before exiting the stage.
"Brooke that was my routine you did!" Rebecca said as she stood there shaking. "Why would you do that?"
"Oh, we both know that I did that routine way better than you ever could. Besides no one would believe that I stole it from you," she answered shrugging her shoulders as she continued toward the dressing room.
Rebecca had been terrified when her name got called. I have no idea what I'm going to do now. She fought back tears as she made her way onto the stage. She looked out into the audience searching for her mother. There in the front row, her mother sat nodding for Rebecca to dance. The heat from the stage lights made tiny beads of sweat pour from the top of her forehead, and onto her face ruining her makeup. She tried to wipe her face, before motioning to the stage director to start the music. This time instead of Celine Dion's voice, the raspy voice of Frank Sinatra echoed from the loudspeakers. Rebecca closed her eyes again trying to calm herself down. There must be something I can do, she thought. Somewhere inside of herself, Rebecca found the courage to dance without the routine. Her heart pounding in her ear, Rebecca remembered a jazz routine that she had learned the year before. She had hated performing the routine as part of her dance studio's annual parent night. But with all eyes on her, it was the only routine she could go think of. She twirled herself around in a circle, mimicking the chorus line steps from the routine. With every spiral turn and leg kick, Rebecca could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. To make matters even worse, she watched Brooke walked away with the sash, title, and the honor of riding on the float, while she came in first place. Her mother had wanted to go the pageant directors and report Brooke, but Rebecca just wanted to forget the whole thing. At home her family tried cheering her up telling her winning first runner-up wasn't so bad. But she was never able to forget how sad she felt losing the competition.
It had taken Rebecca months to compete after the Miss Liberty incident. Instead of being sad, she pushed herself even harder in every competition. She spent hours taking extra dance classes and coaching from pageant professionals. She also made friends with the other contestants at the competitions by inviting them to her house after rehearsals. She helped calm nerves on competition day by telling jokes to the girls, or helping them with their makeup. Her best friends Terry and Amanda were girls that she had met at pageants. She kept in touch with the girls she met by sending them Christmas and birthday cards, get-well cards and even e-mails. Rebecca even organized a salon trip after the welcome banquet, where girls met one another, and bonded. And every time she came in second place to Brooke, Rebecca pushed herself even harder. But no matter how hard she tried, Brooke always found a way to embarrass her.
It all began with Brooke bringing photographs from past competitions to show the other girls. Instead of picking flattering pictures of Rebecca, Brooke showed the pictures of her the year she got braces, or the year she had a severe case of acne, and even the year she had gained ten pounds. Brooke would always say that it had taken a little longer for Rebecca to grow into her beauty. The other girls would smile but Rebecca would sit there fuming to herself. But this year, Brooke topped it all by bringing in a video of the Little Miss Liberty pageant. She even had the nerve to show her "winning dance routine," as Rebecca fought back the urge to out her to the other girls. And to her horror, Brooke had also shown Rebecca's routine. Brooke smiled sweetly as she took in all of the compliments, and claimed that her mother had choreographed the routine. Rebecca unable to hold back tears, she complained of a headache, and returned to her room.
Even now as Rebecca eyed the collection of small pearl earrings, diamonds necklaces and an array of chokers sprawled across the dresser, her chest tightened thinking about her disappointment. She took one of the necklaces into her hands and placed it around her neck. She studied her reflection in the mirror and admired how the necklace accented her dark olive skin. Her dark brown hair and the black gown she was wearing made her look exotic. Where does she get all of this jewelry from, she pondered as she set the necklace back on the dresser.
After years of watching Brooke fool everyone with her "sweetness," Rebecca decided that Brooke needed to be taught a lesson. Let's see how sweet she is when she has to drop out of the competition, she thought mischievously. She reached for the clutch purse she had set on the dresser and pulled out the small canister of pepper spray. When her mother first gave her the pepper spray, Rebecca had laughed thinking that she would never be able to act fast enough to use it on an attacker. Who knew it would come in so handy after all, she thought smiling. She hung the dress back on the bathroom door and stood back from the gown. Lightly spraying the canister in the direction of the dress, Rebecca waited for the fumes and particles to settle before placing the dress back into the bag. She took out a small bottle of perfume and sprayed the room hoping to mask the smell. Glancing around the room one final time, she turned off the light and closed the door.
Rebecca ran her hands over her gown smoothing out the small wrinkles of her dress as she walked out of the elevator. Rebecca eyed the hundreds of red, white and blue balloons that covered the ceiling and filled the tables of the ballroom. A white banner with the Texas flag that read Good Luck Miss Teen Texas Contestants hung in black letters above the podium. Rebecca slipped into the ballroom and surveyed the room for an empty seat. Nearly all of the seats were taken except for a seat in the center of the room. She sat down and didn't notice the blonde woman sitting at the table.
"We were starting to wonder where you were," a familiar voice said from the table.
Rebecca's eyes followed the voice and looked right into Brooke's eyes. Of all of the people I had to sit with, I can't believe this. She smiled and took her seat praying for the awards banquet to start. While Brooke and the other girls talked about who they thought would win awards, Rebecca found it hard to look at Brooke without thinking about what she had done. She could see herself spraying the dress over and over again.
Suddenly the lights dimmed, and Brooke took a deep breath before turning her head towards the podium. Pictures from the week long competition filled the screen, while soft music played in the background. There in the midst of tank tops, blue jean skirts and Capri's, Rebecca stood laughing with her arm around Terry and Amanda in front of the University of Texas Tower. In another picture, Rebecca and the other contestants posed with the conductor of The 'Dillo, the green trolley that took them all over downtown. Then there was the picture of Rebecca shrieking, and then laughing after a monkey threw food in her hair at the zoo. There were pictures of the girls in business casual attire from the welcome reception, and girls wearing gym shorts and sleeveless shirts during production rehearsals. In all of the pictures Rebecca saw the smiles and laughter on everyone's faces. She must have zoned out because all of a sudden Brooke was saying her name and smiling. Rebecca turned around and saw the whole room clapping their hands. What's going on, she thought.
"Go up there silly and get your award," Brooke screamed over the applause.
Still a little confused, Rebecca made her way to the podium. Rebecca bent her head down hoping to avoid the smiling faces that she saw. I will just walk up get whatever award this is and get out of here as fast as I can, she thought angrily. She tapped her foot nervously waiting for the pageant director to come over with her award. The director placed a white sash over her head and gave her a hug before joining in with the applause. Unable to hear anything but the applause she looked down at the sash and read Miss Congeniality. Her throat swelled and she could feel herself getting light headed. I don't deserve this award, she thought as she said thank you to all of the girls who had come up to hug her after the ceremony. It was hard for her to keep a smile on her face when she felt like the crying inside. She wanted to escape but instead she stood there taking pictures feeling like an imposter. I wonder what these girls would think if they knew what I did, she thought trying to fight the knot rising in her stomach.
That night the image of Brooke's dress haunted her as she tried to sleep. She could see Brooke's eyes swelling and water, making her unable to finish the competition. She tossed from side to side fighting the guilt she felt. Would she really be able to let Brooke wear the dress? Could she really be that mean?
The next day, Rebecca and the other contestants listened from behind the curtain for the big announcement. It was the big moment; the top five contestants would be named. The girls would have just enough time to change their swimsuits and slip into their gowns for evening wear. Although she felt happy to hear her name called as walked on the stage, she felt a pang of guilt when she heard Brooke's name.
Rebecca had just a couple of minutes to make her move before the girls rushed in to get ready. She had been unable to concentrate during the competition thinking about Brooke's dress. She found the light blue dress hanging on the rack next to Brooke's chair. How can I stop her from wearing the dress? There sitting on the makeup stand was a small bottle of perfume. She remembered that if sprayed it correctly, perfume could leave dark spots on the fabric. Glancing over her shoulder to see make sure none of the contestants saw her, she picked up the perfume. She stood next to the dress spraying the bottle so that the perfume landed on the silk fabric. Please let there be a spot, she murmured inspecting the dress. There right in the center of the dress was a round wet spot. Rebecca stood next to the dress and again sprayed the perfume. Quietly placing the perfume back on the stand she waited for the other girls to come rushing into the dressing room. She coyly eyed Brooke as she stopped in front of the dress. Brooke was beginning to take the dress of the hook when she paused, narrowing her eyes at the center of the dress.
"I can't believe this!" she said as she shook her head in disbelief.
"What's wrong?" Rebecca asked avoiding eye contact.
"It's just weird," Brooke said still studying the dress. "I had this dress cleaned."
Rebecca could feel her cheeks burning and the tiny flutter of butterflies in her stomach. Oh no, she thought. Maybe she knows.
"Oh well, I guess it's a good thing I bring so much luggage with me. You never know when you'll need it. Besides this dress is so two seasons ago anyway", she said flashing her bright smile.
What a bitch! Rebecca thought rolling her eyes and smiling to herself. She glanced once more at Brooke who pulled a purple sequenced gown from her garment bag before turning to examine her reflection in the mirror.
Rebecca stood on stage with Brooke waiting for the final announcement. They had announced the second-runner up and in moments the winner would be announced. Rebecca's heart pounded as she saw the faces of her mother and father in the crowd. She let her eyes drift to the crown held in a glass case by the pageant director. Even in the glass case, the silver diamonds sparkled and for a second Rebecca tried to envision wearing it on her head. She could see herself smiling wearing not the crown but the first-runner up sash, and holding a small red bouquet as Brooke was crowned. Rebecca glanced over at Brooke before turning her attention back to the announcer.
"The results are in," he said. "This year's first runner-up is……"

Colesfred- Cole Emoff

Cole Emoff
10/29/2008
Colesfred
I find myself in this situation all too often. Sitting here in the back of this dull second-grade classroom waiting for all of these morons to finish up their math quiz, staring at the backside of my off-white test paper. Everyone acts like being smart is a good thing. What a joke! Being smart gets me nothing that really matters. Good grades, a good job as a young paperboy, a mansion, none of these things matter to me. She is what I want. She is what I need. But girls always go for the idiotic guys, the guys who have pompadours and rolled up sleeves. Girls like the kind of guy who can bench-press a jukebox and arm-wrestle an alligator. But then again, Mrs. Schwartz is no ordinary girl. She is the most attractive girl I have ever seen. Her eyes are so beautiful. They are like the two baby blue cat eye marbles in the center of my collection just begging me to touch them. Her ears are slightly smaller than her nose, making her look like an adorable comic strip character that would be seen in the Sunday paper. From her four foot-three, two hundred pound frame to the way her eyebrows are connected by several strands of hair, she is pure perfection. And she is cool too! I mean come on, it’ll be years before I can even grow a peach fuzz mustache, and she has accomplished the arduous feat of growing a pretty good mustache at the young age of fifty-two.
“Colesfred, you want a book or magazine? Something to keep you busy?”
“Oh, no thanks, I’m fine.”
“Okay, hun, just let me know if you do.”
“Heh, okay.”
Oh my God, did she just call me hun? That is unbelievable. I wonder if it was a “cute little kid” hun, or a “I want to go on a romantic adventure with you” hun.
Anyway, I wish these morons would finish up their tests. Of course, everyone is done besides Marcus and Levi. These two are the epitome of the term “wiener kid”. This is a term that is used all the time at school. It means a stupid kid who tries really hard to be cool, but everyone knows that they aren’t cool in any way. They are annoying and stupid. I don’t know why I have to be in the same school as these idiots. Marcus, the uglier of the two, is about three feet tall with bucked-teeth and a rat-tail. He is like a one-point-o version of Dewey from Malcolm in the Middle. Well you know, when that same kid played the young version of “Joe Dirt”? That’s what Marcus looks like.
“Psst, Colesfred!”
“What?”
“Still coming over today?”
“Yeah, just finish your test!”
Yeah… I go over to Marcus’ house a lot, him being my best friend and all.
In case you are wondering why I am so anxious for everyone to finish their tests, it is because of what Mrs. Schwartz does when everyone is done. I feel all warm inside just thinking about it. Well, before we take the tests, she puts up a little white piece of cardboard over the clock. I really don’t know why she does it. It would make more sense if she kept it up the whole class, so people wouldn’t pack up their things ten minutes early, since they wouldn’t know what time it is. But I’m sure she has a good reason for doing it; her brain is just as beautiful as her body. So anyway, after everyone is done with their tests she reaches up to take down the piece of card-board. Her sleeves are just short enough, usually, that a few pieces of her armpit hair just pop right out. Oh my God, it is so absolutely enthralling. Sometimes, when I am lucky, the room is just hot enough for her little black and grey strands of hair to be damp with the remnants of condensation. It sends out a vapor that is absolutely breath taking. Before I set foot in this second grade classroom I had no idea how captivating a fragrance could be.
“Okay, everyone done with your tests? Good. Now I can reach up and take down the piece of cardboard that I put up every time you guys take your tests. Wow, my sleeves are exceptionally short today making it very hard for me to reach up this high.”
“Psst, hey Colesfred!”
“Marcus, hold on!”
“I was just wondering if you are ever going to tell me about that girl that you have a crush on.”
“Please just be quiet!” Man, I just want to witness this holy moment in all its glory.
“Colesfred, I just-”
“SHUT UP!” Ah, Maybe I shouldn’t have said that so loud.
“Colesfred!”
“Yes Mrs. Schwartz?”
“I want to see you after class, you have been acting rather strange lately.”
“Oh… Yes ma’am.”
Rather strange? I wonder what she means by that?
“In case you are wondering what I mean by that, I will tell you later when we have privacy.”
“Yes ma’am”
Okay, it’s pretty obvious now what she means. She knows that I love her. She caught on to the subtle hints, like how I have our names with a heart drawn around them on every page of my notebook, or how I always choose her to give my Valentine’s Day cards to. I have never been faced with this situation before. I must win her over today. I have the chance to be all alone with her to read her the Dr. Seussian sonnets that I have written about my pac-man hi-score. Well one thing’s for sure, I have to look my best if I want her to fall for me. Well, my calculator has a reflective plastic cover over the screen, I can check myself out in the reflection.
“Hey Marcus, I need my calculator back.”
“Okay, pal, here it is.”
It doesn’t even look like my calculator. It is covered in some kind of crusty greenish-brown layer of something. Marcus is always doing gross stuff like this. I never do anything gross. I never spill anything on myself, pick my nose, brush my teeth, I never do any of that stuff.
“What did you do to it?”
“Oh yeah, sorry, I used it to wipe my mouth on sloppy-joe day. Remember, it was that day you came to lunch with your pants all wet?”
“Yeah, okay whatever you can keep it.” Why the hell did he use it to wipe his mouth?
Well that only leaves one option…
“Mrs. Schwartz?”
“Yes, what is it now Colesfred?”
“May I use the restroom?”
“Sure, but make it fast because there are only ten minutes left in class.”
“Yes ma’am.”
I hate using public restrooms. They are like torture chambers. There is always water dripping. There are puddles all over the ground. That’s about all I know about torture chambers. It seems like eternity walking form my classroom to the restroom. It’s like walking The Green Mile. But, it is the only place I can primp for my date with Mrs. Schwartz. Oh, did I say walking The Green Mile? Sorry, I meant to say watching The Green Mile. That movie is like three hours long.
God, this place is absolutely revolting. There is all kinds of graffiti covering the sea-foam blue walls, stuff like “Marcus Mcbribe is a wiener kid” and “Mrs. Schwartz is hot” and there are other things on the wall that I didn’t write too. Well while I’m in here I might as well urinate so I don’t have to go when I am talking to my love. Primping and peeing in one visit, killing two birds with one stone, why isn’t everyone this smart?
One thing I don’t understand about adults is why they don’t pull their pants down all the way to their ankles when they pee. It makes everything so easy, so free. In fact, it’s one of the only ways I can express my freedom in this drab establishment.
Okay, now that that is done, time to make sure I look good for my sweet princess. This mirror is filthy, don’t the commoners clean this bathroom at all? Well I look alright, my bowl-cut is looking exceptionally even today, I am really going to… wait… what’s that? Aw man! I got urine on my pant leg. Damn it! Okay, okay, keep calm Colesfred, you can just dry it off with this classy golf towel I carry around for just such occasions and she won’t notice.
“What in Sam Hell are you doing kid?”
“Oh, Principal McSherry, I was just-”
“You are just what? If school wasn’t a few minutes from being over I would take you to see the counselor. That’s pretty sick what you are doing with that paper towel.” “But sir, I was just”
“Okay, poindexter, spare the details, and just get back to class!”
“Yes sir.”
Okay so I’m walking to class to confront my lover with a huge pee stain on my pants. Not exactly how I had pictured it, but I will have to work with it. I will just have to keep my hands over the stain, it’s as easy as that! Man, this walk from the bathroom to the class is just as long as the walk from the class to the bathroom. I feel like I’m watching Forest Gump again. Forest Gump? Or was it Splash? Either way, it was a Tom Hanks Movie- Wait, what? Where is everyone? More importantly, where is Mrs. Schwartz?
“Excuse me, Principal McSherry, where has everyone gone?”
“Oh my oh my, where has everyone gone? I haven’t the slightest clue, maybe they went home since school was over five minutes ago. I’ll tell you what kid, you’ve got to be one of the weirdest people I’ve ever seen. I see you still didn’t get that pee off your pants, loser!” McSherry says as he walks away with his backwards hat and overalls.
I find myself in this situation all too often. I am walking home from school alone, dreaming about my sweet love, with a urine stain on my pants. Only this time I had a chance to tell her how I feel. I had a chance to get her in my grasp and pull her in like a fish on the reel. But, I blew it. Maybe tomorrow. I wonder if the flower shop is open. She loves Tulips.

Power Play by Emma Southard

Power Play
By Emma Southard

Tied up in the closet Brian felt pleasantly helpless. That’s what Helen would never understand. He didn’t consider it cheating because he felt nothing for Veronique; it was simply business for her. Still, he worried of Helen finding out because he knew she would never approve - she would think it was immoral.
Sometimes he wondered why he had married such a devout Christian. But he didn’t know that when they married, all he knew was that she was cute and paid attention to him. And now every Sunday that same cute girl would put on her flowery, puffy-sleeved, Sunday dress, iron extra curls into her hair and expect him to drive her to church. She never told him that she wanted him to attend the service with her, but if he was going to drive all the way across town to drop her off he may as well stay with her rather than go home and come back to get her. So he’d attend the service in his button down shirt and tie, just to listen to the pastor tell him everything that he was doing wrong. After the service, with Helen on his arm, he would walk around and smile at the other couples, stopping to say a few words here and there. He knew that this was Helen’s favorite part of going to church.
“We can go if you want,” she’d always whisper in his ear as the congregation moved to the large room in the back of the church for doughnuts and coffee. “It’s up to you.”
“Let’s go,” he’d say some Sundays, but other days they would stay and eat the jelly-filled fat. Watching the other parishioners shove the rings down their throats like they had never seen food before, powdered sugar clinging to their sweaty faces. And Helen would stay there, on his arm, gazing up at him waiting for his lead. He would watch Helen eyeing the pastor’s family who were usually busy by the punch bowl dolling out cups to all of their children. If he happened to be feeling more tolerant on any given Sunday he may lead Helen over to the pastor’s family for the dreaded fake smiles and chitchat that would inevitably follow.
“Reverend McAlistar,” Helen would smile putting her hand on his arm. “What a great sermon today, I really appreciated what you said about giving with your whole self, the reading really spoke to me today.”
“I am so glad you liked it Helen,” the pastor responded. “Lynn here knows I sure spent a lot of time on that one.” He smiled at his wife.
“Oh Helen, do you think you could pour little Jimmy there a cup of punch?” Lynn asked, adjusting the infant in her arms and gesturing to the toddler in a tiny jacket and bowtie pulling at the bottom of her skirt.
“Of course,” Helen detached herself from Brian’s arm to help Jimmy with the punch.
It was always when the pastor smiled at Brian and mentioned that the boys club needs an extra chaperone for their camping trip that Brian would finally lose his nerve and ask Helen if she was ready to go. Just to drive her back across town to their upstairs townhouse.
When they first married his brother thought Brian was so lucky to marry a girl who didn’t have her driver’s license.
“You never have to worry about her sneaking around,” he said, “She can’t go anywhere without you.” At first Brian tried to be happy about this fact, like the rest of the guys. He would always know where Helen was, he told himself; he didn’t have to worry. But he couldn’t help but be curious about the type of relationship they would have if he had the luxury of that worry.
He would come home from work and start to tell Helen about his day “David messed up the Booker account, if I hadn’t caught it we could have had a lawsuit on our hands.”
Helen would nod, her stringy hair falling in her eyes, acting as if she knew what he was talking about, but Brian knew she was just waiting to interject; she always had a million questions for him - what should she buy at the grocery store, does he think the sink has been leaking, will he drive her to her sister’s? Sometimes Brian would get so exhausted with her, but it was always at these times when he was about to explode that he would get a call from the office. His secretary would inform him of an emergency meeting to make an immediate decision on the Booker account, or a colleague would insist that Brian had to choose the menu for the staff Christmas party, or a client was in the office or on the phone and refused to speak to anyone but Brian.
At these times, despite the fact that he had his pretty blonde wife standing meekly in front of him with a list of wants and needs, he would return to the office, where everyone would flock to him again, with their demands and questions. Time off requests, calls on hold, executive meetings across town, it all fell on him. Even if he could escape the office and the wife and head out to the bar where his brother hung out, he couldn’t get away from the demands of questions and decisions. Even at the bar, the men would congregate around him wanting to know his opinion on whether the tits of the bartender were real or not. They wanted to know what he thought of the game last night, did he think that Will could beat Jason at darts, or pool or whatever. Everyone wanted something.

That’s why his time with Veronique was so valuable.
Brian struggled against the ropes that tied his feet to the plastic chair trying to slightly reposition without causing the knots to grow tighter. He let a low growl escape his lips. Around the edges of the blindfold he could see the glow of the cheap motel lights trickling through the folding door of the closet.
He’d found Veronique’s ad on Craig’s List. He hadn’t known that services like hers were on such a common website until he saw a special feature on the evening news. He and Helen had been sitting in their small living room and Helen was rapidly swaying in her rocking chair. With each rock the chair made an irritating creak that was timed perfectly with the clicking of her knitting needles. Brian had to work very hard to ignore the sounds and focus his attention on the nightly news.
“Coming up next, exchange of erotic services on Craig’s List,” the broadcaster stated in a deep dramatic voice. The screen showed a woman in tight angular lingerie, her face blurred smacking the handle of a whip against her hand.
“Brian could you turn that off? I really don’t think we need to witness that debauchery.” Helen had asked with a tight smile. Brian turned off the television and left the room.
It wasn’t until Helen had asked Brian if they could get a new headboard for their large bed that he found himself first exploring Craig’s List. Directly beneath the “For Sale” section, where he was about to click on the “furniture” link, was the “Services” section, which had links for “labor,” “financial” and “erotic” among other things. He thought back to the blurred picture of the woman with the whip that he remembered from the news and clicked on the link. The following screen hosted a list of warnings and disclaimers clarifying that the following ads were not for prostitution or solicitation purposes. At this point Brian almost closed out of the screen, unsure of what he was getting himself into but he inevitably clicked the below link agreeing to release Craig’s List from any liability that may arise.
By the time he found Veronique’s ad he had already spent an hour and a half exploring the page. Veronique’s headline stood out among the misspellings, abbreviations, and all capital letters, it said simply- in all lower-case letters- “domination” and was missing the obligatory w4m, t4m, or m4m that seemed to accompany every other headline. Her ad stated that she was a dominatrix that would “fulfill all of your BDSM fantasies.” Unlike the other ads that talked about payment of 150 hugs for a half hour or a donation of $40 for fifteen minutes of “massage,” Veronique’s ad didn’t state anything about payment. And instead of a picture of her “better parts” in little to no clothing she simply had a picture of handcuffs on her page.
It wasn’t until his secretary spoke to him over the intercom to make sure he was ready for his conference call, that Brian finally closed the page and deleted his website history.
Brian and Veronique arranged to meet at a coffee shop. He spotted her immediately; she was a rush of long nails, fishnet stockings and lipstick. She demanded the attention of the coffee shop, and when he went to her he was uncomfortably aware of all the eyes on him.
“Veronique?” he asked.
Her response was a slight flutter of dark lashes.
Brian looked around nervously. “Let’s get out of here,” she nodded.

Brian tugged on the ropes wrapped tightly around his wrists; he flexed his fists to keep the blood flowing. His briefs had ridden up in the back and his bare bottom was sticking to the plastic chair. He yelled against the ball gag that filled his mouth.
Brian and Veronique always conducted their business in trashy motels alongside the highway. He was impressed with her businesslike demeanor. She started by asking him what he wanted, but when the only answer he could give were some awkward mumblings about restraint and a statement that this was his first time she pulled out a typed list.
“This is everything I’ll do, so just tell me what you want.” She didn’t look at him while she talked, her eyes were focused down accentuating the curve of her long lashes, which Brian could now see were coated with thick mascara. She sat on the desk, critiquing her slightly pointed scarlet nails, while Brian nervously sat on the standard motel print comforter. He loosened his tie as he read: some of these thing’s he’d never heard of before, and he was shocked to realize that the list went on to the back of the paper. The list included everything from tickling, to triple penetration, whips, wooden paddles, tattooing, spanking, kneeling, and hot wax.
“I suppose, some sort of gentle restraint,” he stared at the list instead of at her, “ehh… ropes? And umm… yelling,” he finally decided. She nodded, her streaked hair falling in her eyes. She got up and started searching in her body-sized duffle bag.
“Get naked,” she demanded, turning on him.
“Oh… umm, well I didn’t really want to do anything, so explicitly…sexual.”
“That’s fine. Get naked,” she screamed this time.


By their sixth meeting Brian had developed somewhat of a comfortable routine. Every Saturday afternoon he would drive Helen to her sister’s house for the day and then he would rendezvous with Veronique for a few hours. In the car driving to her sister’s house Brian would always find himself feeling surprisingly nervous. He had convinced himself that he wasn’t doing anything wrong, it wasn’t an affair exactly because he and Veronique never had sex. But on those Saturdays in the car with Helen he would notice her soft hands and the small curves of her petite body and at times he would become overwhelmed. He would consider turning the car around, heading back to their townhouse, the bedroom, their large bed. He would think of Helen laying on their bed begging him to be inside of her, pulling him towards her- both of them hot and wet with sweat, Helen digging her neatly manicured nails into his flesh as he came inside of her.
But then he would look at the woman sitting next to him in the passenger seat of his BMW, and he knew that those small soft hands could never dig into his flesh the way Veronique’s did and Helen’s demeanor was too soft and gentle for her to ever raise her voice at him. He knew that all he could expect when they made love was for her to lie silently on her back while he moved around inside of her. Helen was incapable of ever comprehending that there were lists out there like the one he and Veronique worked from.
As their meetings continued Brian and Veronique began to experiment with more items on her list. Veronique would scream at him about how his company was going to fail. She would smack a riding crop against her hand, dig her nails into his shoulders and tell him that Helen hated him, that one of these days Helen was going to blow up at him, walk out on him. And when Veronique would tie him to the bed, gag him, and leave the motel room for what seemed like hours, Brian felt euphoric. He would scream, and struggle, and just remain there, helpless because he had no alternative. Veronique would always come back after a time period they had previously agreed upon. She always untied him, un-gagged him, set him free, and he always paid her, in cash for both the motel room and her services.
He would arrive to pick up Helen from her sister’s feeling relieved and jovial, so that when they went home, he wouldn’t feel annoyed that he had to pay the bills while Helen made purchases online, he wouldn’t get upset with her when he had to make the decision about what to eat for dinner, and he wouldn’t mind that while they made love he did all the work. Those few hours of powerlessness seemed to make up for all of demands of his life. Those few weekly hours with Veronique were enough to release the tension and stress of his daily life and carry him through the following week. It didn’t matter if he had scratch marks on his back that he had to carefully hide from Helen, or that he had to be careful the pastor didn’t notice his raw wrist when they shook hands on Sunday mornings, or that he had to pay off the receptionist in the lobby of the hotel to keep her from reporting the screams she heard coming from his room. Brian knew that no matter what he had to go through Veronique would be there after the allotted time to set him free.