littlebitofearth

Mercury is in retrograde.

I'm not sure if you're into that hippy dippy astrology stuff, but in case you were wondering, I'm Aquarius with Aquarius rising. I'd say I'm your typical, atypical double-Aquarian, weird in (hopefully) charming ways and not the off-putting ones, all about philanthropy and helping people (plural) while being wary of most people (singular) because true intimacy...quelle horreur! But if the moon can make women go into labor and turn lycans into werewolves, why wouldn't the stars and planets impact us mortals too?

Mercury in retrograde gets a bad rap but it doesn't have to be a death sentence but it usually stings. It comes around three or four times a year to really fuck with your status quo, especially if you carry around a lot of baggage. Its prime directive is teaching you life lessons while leaving your feelings hurt and your ass sore. If you haven't worked through your daddy issues, ex-lover problems, self esteem challenges or the residual anxiety left from your high school bully, Mercury is coming for you. Feel your feelings, work through your emotional mire and pack your baggage in a box and ship it into orbit or you can rest assured it will show back up during a retrograde.

I started this one back in November with a family cruise for Thanksgiving - just laid down and let Mercury kick me in the ribs a few times with that travel choice. If I'd realized what was on the horizon when I booked it over a year ago, I'd seriously have picked a different month. On this cruise, my brother in law and his wife decided to come out to the family as swingers while staying in a room directly across the hall from our kids and our niece AND while sharing a CONNECTED room with my husband and I, upside down pineapple magnets on their door and all. My niece accused my father of staring at her breasts at dinner - fucking perverted old man - Sir, YOU may be deaf but WE can all still see where your eyes are going! And my father in law kept bringing up the time he "surprised" my husband and I by showing up uninvited on a couples cruise we took a few years ago. Wasn't that fun? Wasn't that funny? No, Papa Ken it was not, but your son, at 45, still can't define boundaries with you so you still don't know how badly that pissed us both off. Nothing like having romantic dinners staring at the sea with your father in law in tow. 

Since making landfall, it's just gotten better. My mom called to tell me three days later that they'd discovered my 80 year old father, yes, the pervert, has an eight centimeter mass in his kidney and he's going for surgery in less than a week to have it removed - not the mass, the whole kidney. Is it cancer, mom? Well, yes, but the doctor says it's encapsulated in the kidney so everything will be fine once it's out. EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE? It's crazy, and terrible, but my relationship with my dad is so complicated and fractious that I feel worse about the fact I don't feel anything at this revelation than the fact he has a cancerous kidney.

Within minutes of going back to work after my very relaxing cruise, I discovered an employee of mine, who I've been negotiating with upper management to give a promotion since JUNE, doesn't feel supported and has started interviewing at other places behind our back. We work at a public library! All I can do is advocate for her but government promotions take time! Her perception of her other supervisor and I is so hurtful when we are truly trying to do our best by her.

On Saturday night my son called me from a pawn shop parking lot in South Atlanta at 2 am. He was driving back to college after a concert and his tire exploded on the freeway. He was able to keep control of the vehicle and roll off the exit ramp and now was parked next to a liquor store next door and a sketchy motel. NOT a nice part of town. He was scared and I was scared and I stayed on the phone with him until roadside assistance finally arrived at 4:30 in the morning to get him on his way. Y'all, at one point a cop pulled up next to him and asked him what was up. My son said he had a popped tire and before he could add another word, the cop just said "Cool, man" and DROVE AWAY!!! Just left my 18 year old son with no offer of help. Protect and serve my ass.

And yesterday was the cherry on top of my Mercury Retrograde shit sundae. My best friend's wife and 2 1/2 year old son came into the library to grab some books. I only caught them to say hello as they were checking their books out at the front desk. I ran up and hugged my friend's wife and asked how they were doing and moments later their son collapsed, banging his head hard on the concrete floor. She picked him up screaming and as I watched in horror, his entire body went stiff and he started to have a seizure. This has never happened to him before.

So now I'm yelling to the front desk to call 911 and grabbing our security guard's coat to make this baby comfortable on the library floor between bookshelves as we wait for the ambulance to arrive. It was possibly the worst 15 minutes of my life as this precious boy shook uncontrollably and all his mother and I could do was hold his little head still so he didn't injure himself more. The ambulance came and whisked them both to the hospital where they sedated him and ran him through a CAT scan. Turns out he has the flu and RSV and they think it was a febrile seizure but now they are spending the night at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta instead of playing around their Christmas tree and I'm spending the night replaying the horror of that tiny child seizing on the floor with foam bubbling up on his pale lips.

So what's the lesson, Mercury? What's the goddamned lesson this time?

Right before my son's tire exploded we had an amazing night at an awesome jazz concert. Right before the baby had the seizure, I was blissfully sipping hot cocoa in a Secret Santa party. Right before the girls dropped the bomb on me that my dad continues to be a lecherous old coot, we were all laughing and drinking daquiris and getting our butts kicked at Mean Girls trivia. If the lesson is "You really have no control over your life even if you think you are in charge" or perhaps "Don't get too comfortable, shit can hit the fan at any given moment" well, hell, I already believe these things to the depths of my unmedicated, anxiety-ridden soul. If it's "You are smart to set firm boundaries and protect your peace" then yeah, I was already there. And if it's simply "Mercury is a back-stabbing bastard," I'll drink to that. If the message is, however, "Sometimes life sucks, but in the end we just live it moment to moment and hope for the best," well, I am still trying to accept that one. 

December 15, y'all. That's when Mercury continues on its orbit in the RIGHT direction again. December 15, although it supposedly takes a few more days for us mortals to be completely free of the effects. I am so ready for Sunday. This retrograde has left me feeling like I need to sequester myself in a sensory deprivation chamber for a few days of isolation and cleansing. Somebody light a match and sage this shit. Hopefully, we can all ring in the new year in peace...but don't hold your breath for a quiet March because guess who rolls into town again in just three months? Cheers! 

Like the vast sky teeming with stars, I am full of stories.
A thousand stories, a million.
My stories and yours, some real and some imagined.
I love to hear them, to read them, to consume them.
Come sit by me and tell me about your lover, your mother, your need, your fear.
Across a cafe table, hands curled around a mug. Beside a lacquered bar, balancing a cocktail in a martini glass. Over the desk in my office, a box of tissues between us.
On my computer screen.
Bring me your stories! You will find a sympathetic ear.
From the absurd to the mundane, truth may be stranger than fiction but it is all valuable.
The stories fill me up.

Like a boiling kettle, the stories spill out of me, from my mouth, my steadily typing fingers.
What good is a story that isn't shared?
It is how we amuse or astonish, entreat, explain.
If you have known me for even a minute, you know I have a story for you.
So often our unique loves, our unique pain is not so unique after all.
It connects us, but how do we know if we don't share?
You are not alone. WE are not alone.
The stories bring us together.

Like a penitent heretic, slinking into the last pew, I come here craving the chaotic communion.
I have walked away for one season, or sometimes for years, but I always find myself back in this chapel.
Without this place, this push, a thousand things pull me in a million directions and away from this thing I love.
I just want to write.
The space in my days fills fast but now I type faster.
The stories are enough.

We met just weeks after I started college. It was 1996 and I was your typical American freshman, wide-eyed and tanned from a summer of working as a lifeguard, a plaid flannel shirt tied around my waist and Rum Raisin lipstick staining my mouth.

He was your average British exchange student, a rugby player from across the pond. His university was in Godalming, the same English town our college namesake - James Edward Oglethorpe - was born. He was here in the states for just 10 months on a Rotary Club scholarship.

Rarely does a photo exist of the exact moment you meet someone, but there is one of us in The Stormy Petrel Oglethorpe Annual of 96-97. We are standing on the stage in the Student Union cafe holding microphones. One of our close friends - Peter - is up there with us too but at that moment none of us had ever met. We'd shown up separately for karaoke night, one of the freshman orientation week events, and somehow gotten thrown on stage together to sing...what? I wish I could recall now. I am very obviously in the impassioned throes of belting out a song, while Peter is looking sideways at me with concern and Andy, the Brit, is grinning while trying to hide behind his microphone.

I wouldn't call it love at first sight but the chemistry was immediate. Just standing next to Andy onstage I was getting a pheromone high. I kept eyeing him as we made fools of ourselves to...was it "Come on Eileen?" I feel like it was "Come on Eileen."

We left the stage laughing. He was giving me shit for being ridiculous and when I said "Whatever!" he couldn't help but repeat my exclamation, straight out of Clueless, the hard R's rolling around his soft British tongue. "What-everrrr" he parroted back to me, a twinkle in his eye. It was on.

He was a musician - a drummer - who loved movies and talked to me about film and politics and music in a warm South England accent. He had some trauma that made him soulful and he was ambitious and loved to dance. Between that and the impish grin and that rugby body - God, I love a good ass - I fell hard.

Our relationship was tumultuous. We were both young and passionate and had strong feelings about where we were raised and how the world should work. We argued about colonialization and the Royal Family (Ridiculous!), about the IRA (My ancestors are Irish!), about the blasphemy of lemon in tea (I love it!). The conversations were good, the sex was great and our fights were spectacular.

We traveled together. My mom worked for Delta and I could get cheap tickets so on breaks I found rooms in youth hostels and we went to New York, New Orleans, Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon. It was one hell of a ride for an 18 year old. He asked me to be his girlfriend while reminding me daily that he had to go back to London at the end of the year - don't get too attached, don't fall too hard, just enjoy it for what it was. I tried to be that girl but my heart never had a chance.

Andy told me he loved me in the middle of a fight on Valentine's Day, running his hands through his hair and declaring, agonized, "I fucking love you, but you know I have to leave you. After what my dad did to my mum I swore I would never do that to any woman!" and then he dragged me to his chest and kissed me so hard he bruised my lip. I tried to soak up every dramatic, sensual, heated moment of that year, the expiration date just heightening the pleasure, knowing it would all crash to a halt in just a few months.

He was always honest about what came next, and once spring break ended, the finish line was in sight. I knew I had to extract myself from this carnival or I might never recover. In my mind, every day I took a small step backward, slowly weaning myself from this heady love. Slowly shutting the door to my heart. I've always been a master at compartmentalization.

The night before he left for England, after we made love one final, tear-streaked time, we knelt together on the bed in the basement of his host family's house and gave each other final presents, for him a photo collage of our year together, for me, his beloved Beatles tee shirt so I could smell him until the scent of his cologne no longer lingered. I stood to go get dressed and he dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my hips.

"I can't do it," he moaned. "How did I ever think I could leave you? I've been lying to you, lying to myself! I LOVE you. Come to England. Come be with me! Maybe you could get a scholarship..." His words were beseeching but he trailed off, head low. We both knew that wasn't to be. I stared down at him and ran my fingers through his hair, shocked, and pitying him deeply.

How could he do this now? He had told me he was leaving. He told me not to get too attached. I gave him exactly what he wanted. A year of fun and magic and passion like only this American girl could. Even as it had torn me apart with every kiss and every grin, I had honored his love by never expecting more of him than what he could give. And now, in the final hour, I could barely bring myself to lie and say we would figure it out, knowing that for me, this love was coming to its end.

Andy flew home the next day, and I stood at the window of his terminal, marveling at the aptness of that word and watching the plane until it was out of sight. Now alone at the empty gate, I allowed myself an ugly cry, then breathed deeply. It was over, just as he had planned, just as I had promised. Cheers, my love. I was already moving on.

Did any of us make it out of 2020 unscathed? I think everyone got hit with something that year. Physically, emotionally, financially. Maybe you lost your trust in the institutions you've been raised to rely on, maybe you'll never look at the toilet paper aisle again without a hint of anxiety or chagrin. If you walked away from the early days of the Pandemic without a scratch, outside or inside, I am so glad for you, but that wasn't me.

In early January I started following the virus news pretty closely, I am nothing if not a dedicated doom-scroller. I watched as the numbers rose overseas and spread across the world on planes, on a cruise ship as though that app Plague Inc. had come to life. Ever a zombie fan, I'd played it with my teens and now I was on the internet pointing at maps like "See, just like in the game, this city, Wuhan, was the vector. And now you can watch as sick people are traveling around and spreading it everywhere!" The difference was, when we played on my phone the goal was to see how fast you could infect the entire world and that's how you won. Now we were trying to contain it with little to no effect.

In late February I had a Friday off. I went to Walmart and filled two grocery carts with supplies. Flats of canned beans, canned meat. Dried milk and eggs, pasta, vitamins, cough medicine. People looked at me like I was nuts because here in Georgia, no one really believed in the "China Virus" yet. It was political, it was made up...Some people STILL don't believe it was ever real.

I didn't know what was coming but I could see it wasn't good. Are we surprised that one of my mottos in life is "It's better to be prepared than unaware?" My daughter's 16th birthday was in a few weeks and I didn't know what that day would look like for her, for any of us, so I went ahead and picked up cake mix that afternoon, frosting and candles because I had a feeling there wasn't going to be any slumber party with friends or dinner at Cheesecake Factory that year.

Government signs with weird propaganda-esque graphic design started sprouting up around the library where I work reminding you to keep your distance and wash your hands for at least 20 seconds. I side-eyed every person that walked in with a cough and they raised their eyebrows at me if I sniffled a little.

In early March I visited the Capitol in Atlanta for Library Day, when librarians from around the state come and meet their representatives, and serve them lunch to say thank you for supporting us - and PLEASE keep supporting us in the future. Five days later the Georgia General Assembly was suspended and all lawmakers sent home because of a Covid outbreak at the Capitol! My coworkers and I had just been there, in close quarters, innocently serving those viral douchebags hotdogs and onion rings! We all were sent home for a week to wait and see if we were ill.

First school was cancelled for my kids, although they promised it was just for three weeks, due to "An abundance of caution." Does that phrase make you feel mildly nauseated now too? Then the library closed to the public although were were still in the building together and providing curbside service to patrons. And then we were sent home too. My boss said "Your job is to get a storytime online before the week is out and figure out how to take children's services digital now." I learned how to record and edit and upload so people who couldn't leave their homes still had a connection to books in that scary time.

One of my favorite pandemic dystopia memories was visiting the Ingles grocery store near my house, the third place I had gone looking for chicken that day, and walking through a store eerily devoid of humans, with shelves pillaged and empty while Cindi Lauper cheerily sang "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" through the store sound system. Girls just wanna have fun, indeed.

My daughter turned 16 and to celebrate, we brought brownies to her friends at their homes, positing that if her arm was three feet long and their arm was three feet long we could bring treats to them in their yard and pass them at arms length and snap a picture from a distance and not get sick. I have to hand it to her, she only cried a little that day. The husband of one of my best friends went to the hospital and we sat in her driveway a solid 10 feet apart and I comforted from as close as we dared get.

And then my mother in law was hospitalized too. She had been dealing with balance issues for months and suffered severe brain bleed from a series of falls. Our local hospital looked like something out of a pandemic movie. A large military tent had been set up for triage outside the emergency room and no one was allowed to just walk in or out. Because of Covid protocols, a week passed before were allowed to visit her. We all came, to tell her we were there and we loved her even if we couldn't be at the hospital, but she was comatose, nonverbal and the next day she slipped into a coma she never woke from. She died alone, hemorrhaging as the hospital filled with Covid patients, people wracked with coughs and burning with fever. We couldn't even have a funeral for her for five months because no more than 10 people were allowed to gather for memorial services until the fall.

Should I go on? I won't, because I know my story isn't unique and it isn't special and we're all still dealing with the scars. The fear, sadness, frustration, loneliness, anger...For a control freak, there has never been a time I felt more out of control.

But this is not a story about The Pandemic, for all I may have led you to believe. This is a story about September 2020, and a scavenger hunt, and a golden ticket and candy factory being offered as a prize by a man who called himself The Candyman.

Here in Georgia my kids were back in high school, albeit a month late and the library was open, as long as we all wore masks, but the world still felt shaky. No one could see my smile behind my mask and I was met with a lot of hard eyes as I sat at the children's desk. Into this strangest of times I saw a post on Facebook that said the founder of Jelly Belly Jelly Beans was about to offer a nationwide scavenger hunt to bring some light to these dark times and the grand prize was...a candy factory!

Was it a scam? The guy, David Klein, claimed to be the founder of Jelly Belly Jelly Beans (actually he only created the name and briefly manufactured the beans at his place in Florida. He has been embroiled in lawsuits with the REAL Jelly Belly company for years.) Pictures of him online didn't inspire much confidence. He looked like the rummy uncle that you try to avoid at family reunions. His website claimed he was going to be hiding one "golden ticket" - Willy Wonka, anyone? - in every state in the U.S.

For just $49.98, 1,000 lucky participants could receive a clue, written as a riddle, for a particular state, and let the hunt begin! Find the golden ticket for your state and you'd receive $5,000 and a chance at a final hunt. Find that final golden ticket and you win...a candy factory! Photos of the purported candy factory on Google Earth were also a little sketchy. Was he just trying to pawn off this dump of a building to a contest participant? Was it all a huge hoax? Folks, 2020 was a crazy enough year that I thought "Why the hell not? We love puzzles and Willy Wonka and candy! Let's add a nationwide scavenger hunt with a deranged jellybean purveyor to the bingo card!

I paid for the Georgia clue - one of the first to be released in the country - and waited for the date when it would arrive. It simultaneously popped up in my email and the email boxes of 999 other participants at 11:00 a.m. on September 30.

I can find this middle first in a place
I can not sell it with an arms race
I do not want to fight as I am a happy space.

Ridiculous! What could it mean? I sent the riddle to my husband and kids and we spent the morning tossing out locations, sending Google Map links back and forth - middle like Middle Georgia? Arms Race? A weapon or a basketball game? It was a joy, theorizing, laughing, connecting over this completely manic riddle in a time riddled with fear and uncertainty. We settled on The Coliseum in Macon, a happy place in central Georgia where people raced with their arms. Now to go find the golden ticket! My husband's job was taking him near Macon the next day and we held our breaths hoping no one would get there first.

When he arrived, he started sending pictures. The place looked abandoned, it had been so long since people could gather together somewhere like a stadium. Leaves littered the parking lot and metal police barriers blocked the doors. Where should he even start looking? After a fruitless hunt, he gave up. Maybe this was not the perfect answer we thought it was. He drove home in defeat although we kept guessing all the way. The next day the riddle still hadn't been solved so they sent out a hint.

How do you do,
How are you,
Hello.

In just hours after the new clue the golden ticket was located at a welcome center on the middle of the Florida/Georgia state line. It was hidden beneath an historic cannon on a playground and the next day photos of a family from South Georgia triumphantly holding their treasure showed up online! Would they actually get paid? Yes! They received their $5,000 check and we realized this golden ticket thing was legit! I wanted to try again.

The next few states weren't within driving distance but then they announced Tennessee, just a few hours from home, would go live October 8. I ante'ed up and the clue arrived bright and early on a Thursday morning.

(Ok, I am sorry to tell y'all I cannot find the exact words to the Tennessee riddle. I have hunted and it's just gone. They've disappeared into the amorphous File 13 that is the digital world. Forgive me!)

We played the what if game throughout the day. Could it be here...no there? Based on the clues, we narrowed it down to locations on hills with really big crosses. Have you been to Tennessee? There are multiple locations with these massive, I am talking like six stories high massive crosses - it's quite a testament to redneck Jesus - and I dropped a pin on three of these sites on Google Maps. I came home from work, my kids came home from school and night fell as we formed a plan.

Are we sure?
Definitely sure.
I have to go to work tomorrow!
I don't want someone to get there before us!
We already lost hours today.
Is this crazy?
This is definitely crazy.
I'm in!
Let's go!

We packed snacks and drinks and took some selfies in the garage. I posted this message with all of us in sunglasses as an ode to the Blues Brothers: "There are 106 miles to Tennessee, we have a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark and we're wearing sunglasses." We didn't actually have the cigarettes. We headed out into the night, driving into the mountains, into another state in the autumnal chill.

We hit Tennessee around 11:00 and came to the first location, the Sewanee Memorial Cross, a 60 foot behemoth on the edge of a cliff on the Cumberland Plateau. Lit from below, we spent 45 minutes with our flashlights poking around bushes, looking over under and around trying to find our clue, and disturbed a bevy of spiders but no golden ticket.

We drove another hour east to Chattanooga to explore the three colossal steel crosses beside I-75 on the campus of The Crossing Church. Here the tallest was 125 feet tall with the other two no slouches at 100 feet. We poked around the grounds - these crosses had a whole cross complex, apparently open 24 hours for needy souls or those on scavenger hunts. Now at 1:00 a.m., we even had the opportunity to enter their life-sized replica of the Garden Tomb where Jesus was buried. But no golden ticket.

We had one more location up our sleeve, a massive 65 foot cross in La Folette, Tennessee. We drove the final two hours, now so deep into the night it wasbe early morning, and risked our ankles in a muddy field covered with ant hills to explore this final cross. This was our most remote cross yet and although there was a whole lot of nuthin' out here in East Egypt, Tennessee it did share the lonely exit off I-75 with just a porn shop and liquor store. Whatever floats your boat but...No golden ticket.

Defeated but not depressed, slap happy, running on nothing but caffeine and Pringles, we knew it was time to call it a night. I had to go to work and now, at four in the morning, we were four hours from home! Off the freeway, we got stuck on a two lane road behind a miserable Vote Donald Trump bus that slowed our progress but led to us creating a brilliant rendition of "Fuck the vote BUS!" sung to the tune of "Turn Down for WHAT" and, as we swirled our way through the mountains came up over a hill just in time to see dawn break across the Appalachians in a glorious wash of golden light. It was exquisite. I got home and fell into bed for 45 minutes before rushing to work, giddy with exhaustion and manic energy. What a night!

In the midst of a desperate time, it was cleansing to do something ridiculous with my children, my husband. For one night to not fear the upcoming election or the virus or the sweeping uncertainty of our whole damn existence. We talked for hours on the road, listened to music, sang together, exclaimed over things we discovered in the dark. At one point, around 7:00 am, we were all SO tired, and we were laughing SO hard I nearly had to pull the car over for fear of crashing into a ditch. Priceless.

We didn't find the Tennessee golden ticket. Someone the next afternoon discovered it in a place that had exactly NOTHING to to with crosses. We laughed our asses off at our misguided confidence. We didn't win a candy factory - although some guy in Indiana actually DID after all the clues came out in early 2021. It wasn't a scam, and I don't care what David Klein did to piss off Jelly Belly, to us he really was the Candyman and what he did for my family was well worth the cost of admission.

It only took minutes for my marriage to officially crash and sink, Titanic-like, a rudderless ship on a moonless night, leaving me and my two children standing together on the shore as any security sank from sight.

A long time coming, I really should have known this was how my marriage would end. A lot of people say their partner changed after they got married, just became a completely different person, but not mine. There had been warning signs long before I married him - his quick temper, our nasty fights, his selfish choices, but I chose, as many people in love do, to turn my face away from the negative because, I thought, who am I to want someone perfect when I'm such a mess? When he decided I was the prize, there was no end to what he would do to win me. Romantic letters every day, "Reason Number 124 why I love you..." a deluge of precious gifts and sweet words that amounted to calculated manipulation, to gain trust, to get control. All that ended when we married, and what was left was his inconsideration and petulance on good days and anger and violence on bad ones.

On a chilly January morning, not quite four years after our wedding day, I stood at a park just a week after New Year, stood beside a man I used to love deeply, the father of my children, and knew beyond a doubt that our marriage was really over. Months before, in the summer, as the effects from the recession started to roll into every household, he was laid off from his job due to no fault of his own beside being in the wrong profession when the real estate bottom fell out.

That day he lost his job and drove into work to pick up his final paycheck, I knew he would come home dejected so I prepared myself to be the most supportive wife when he arrived. Instead, he entered yelling. Startling the children yet again and sending them running. He screamed at me that it was "time for me to grow up and get a full-time job because I've been spoiled for too long" (I worked 30 hours a week and watched the children the rest of the time) and that he had supported me for too long. I couldn't have been more offended at his words, but I wasn't surprised.

He had never been a father in the four years since I had our first, always much more consumed with playing video games and arguing with football refs on television. He had no idea what it meant to be a parent and how exhausting my life had been, basically single parenting with another adult in the house because he just didn't care to participate as a father.

When we were dating, those occasional angry outbursts which should've been red flags from the start, those outburst become violent tirades where he would grind his teeth, throw furniture and break things. It was hard for me to admit that I was in the kind of relationships I saw on daytime talk shows. That summer he had grabbed me by my hair and dragged me around our living room while I was holding our little girl because I had interrupted the MMO he was playing on the computer. So when he came home and told me to grow up, I knew immediately it was time for me to not just grow up, but also to get out. I told him I would get a full-time job but we would probably have to move to where I can find work. I started looking for openings in my hometown because I knew, if I was going to be a single mother soon, I could do it there alone. Although my family had long since moved on, it was a place I understood and a place I felt safe.

Hired for a job at a university in my hometown just three weeks later, I started looking for a place to rent. I found a little 800 square foot place in an old neighborhood with a park in walking distance. I was looking for a house that I could afford on my own if it came to that. And as I packed a boxes to move there, I began separating our seven years of time together - unblending our books and movies and packing them in in separate boxes so that when we got where we were going, it would be easy for me to separate us when it was necessary.

So, after a holiday season where the whimsy of having small children at Christmas, watching their joy of Santa Claus and fireworks on New Years, when these moments should've brought us closer together, instead he just continued pushing me away and making it very clear that the only needs that really mattered where his own.

When he turned to me on that January day at the park and said "Hey we should go see a movie together, maybe get a babysitter?" I looked at his soft brown eyes which once seemed as comforting as a warm glass of cocoa, and I just felt cold. Our daughter was on the swings, my son beating a stick on the metal slide and I told my children's father I didn't want to be married to him anymore.

"A date? I don't think so. I don't want to go on dates with you, I wanted a divorce."

He chuckled, thinking I was just fucking around, but then looked at my face and realized I was dead damn serious. There must've been more conversation, but I don't remember it just that within minutes of making that proclamation he said he needed to go back to the house. I continue to play with the children, a million thoughts swirling - What had I done? I had no plan! No family nearby! No savings! and then something inside me told me I needed to go home. We walked quickly back to our house where I caught my children's father putting a bag he had packed in fifteen minutes in his car because he planned to just leave me alone with the children so that he could move back in with his parents who lived four hours away. If he cared at all, wouldn't he try to fight for the marriage? Get a place close by so he could still be in his children's lives?

The first year as a single mother was one of the scariest times of my life. Although he signed the papers, telling a judge that he would pay child support, he soon told me that he didn't make enough at his job to support the agreed upon amount so he gave me what he could, and I was too poor and too scared of lawyers to fight it so money was a struggle every day. I made up a meal called poor mom's dinner, Ramen noodles, a pound of beef, a can of carrots and a can of peas. For a few dollars I could feed us for three days and I just prayed they got actual nutrients at school.

When he left, he took our family SUV. It was in his name, but I begged to buy it. We had purchased it but I'd made the payments on it. Both the kids' car seats fit comfortably in the back, and it was a safe, reliable vehicle to get them where we needed to go. Looking for any way to hurt me, and not caring if it hurt his children too, he insisted on taking the car, leaving me my beat up Corolla with over 200,000 miles on it. Because he'd never been able to keep a job, we never had money for things like oil changes, so the car was basically running on the oil from when I bought it 10 years before. I realized if this was going to be our sole source of transportation it needed to last so I took it in for an oil change and the next day it stopped running forever! I actually think all that old engine gunk and grease was holding the car together. So now completely broke, I had to figure out how to buy a new car.

When I dropped them off with him at his parents house in the car I barely scraped enough money together to purchase and I wasn't sure if I had enough money for gas to even drive home, he told me to go fuck myself. "Why don't you ask your new boyfriend for some money?" he snarled and I was left digging in my car seats and under the floormats trying to find enough change to get home.

A friend of mine taught me the delicate art of kiting checks. I don't know if you could get away with this any longer because everything is digital now, but in 2008 if you were expecting to get your paycheck or a child support payment in a couple days you could write paper checks at the grocery store or the gas station over the weekend and buy your kids a new pair of shoes with money that wasn't there. It was a scary game but when you were as poor as I was, it bought you some play time with the bank's money.

He was supposed to pay for medical insurance for the kids but he never did, so I went on state funded healthcare so that my children could continue to see their pediatrician and get medication when they got strep throat or pink eye. Yet, when my daughter fell off the top of her bunk bed in December, and a goose egg popped up on her forehead that made her look like a bruised unicorn, he screamed at me that I was unfit and neglecting his children. I just pressed my lips together, not wanting a fight, remembering how I had scooped her up sobbing as blood poured from her nose and begged her to sing her ABCs for me so that I knew she wasn't permanently damaged by the fall.

Our little rental had two bedrooms so the kids were sharing a room. Before the divorce they slept in the bunkbed, but after the divorce they preferred sleeping curled up around each other in the queen size bed on the floor we kept for when my mom visited. I would read them their stories every night before bedtime and often pass out from exhaustion in that bed and wake up, crunched between their sweaty bodies, three of us clinging to each other like a life-raft.

Many times I had night terrors that something, some amorphus, awful thing was happening to the children in their room and I would run into their bedroom - still asleep - waking when I was by their bedside in a dead panic expecting something catastrophic had happened to them. I actually injured my knee dashing from my room into theirs while sleep panicking. I was wearing slipper socks and slid into their door frame and crashed to the floor crying out, so sure that something was wrong.

I worked at a college and they offered a preschool that was run by both professionals and students for the School of Education. I don't use the word blessing lightly, but that place was a blessing. A place that I could know that my children were safe and loved all day, Where, when I needed to get a few minutes of exercise to work off some of my anxiety and bitterness m, I could leave them early and go to the gym on the campus and get on the rowing machine and sweat until I cried. They were also willing to work with me when I got behind on my childcare payments. My daughter was there for free because we qualified for state sponsored preschool, but my son was only three and it was $800 a month for someone to take care of him while I worked every day. When I was broke, I begged them to give me some grace until February when I could get my tax return and I would square up with them. Miss Heather looked at me with such pity but gave me grace. I couldn't believe with a masters degree and a full-time job I had become a charity case. She let the kids stay and I did pay back everything I owed them, and suddenly, I could breathe again.

I've been through tough times, I've been broke, I've been depressed, but surviving that first year of divorce was life altering. Not only making it through, but doing everything I could to keep my children safe and happy - a soft spot for us all in the eye of the hurricane - felt like a badge of honor.

My daughter's birthday is in late March and spring had just begun in North Georgia. Someone else who lived in my home years before had planted daffodils and crocus bulbs and the happy purple and yellow sprays of flowers were blooming all over my yard. I picked the children up from daycare and stopped by McDonald's for milkshakes on a sunny Friday. The kids wanted to play in the yard so I took a seat in the battered Adirondack chair that had a wedding present just five years before. We should've stained it, painted it, done something to make it last longer, but now it was just a splintered mess, full of termites in the backyard.

The children played by the plastic turtle sandbox and I sat in the chair in the cool of the early evening. A warm breeze rustled my hair and I took a deep breath. In that moment, I realized we had made it through the worst and now spring was coming. I hadn't believed until then, but I knew in that peaceful moment that we were going to be OK. My daughter rushed over and said I looked really pretty and I smiled, honored to be loved by her even if I didn't see it through my own eyes.

She asked if she could take my picture so I handed her my phone and my five-year-old girl snapped a shot of me in that old chair. The photo is definitely the work of a child, my feet cut off and way too much blue sky above my head, but when I looked at it later that night it brought me tears. The woman in that chair was not the bright eyed girl I was in college nor the naïve young woman who married a careless man. She was a survivor. I can see in the knowing look on my face. I can see in the dark smudges under my eyes, the year of exhaustion, of frustration and fear. I can see the determination in the set of my shoulders and my smile that was real and hopeful. And spring was finally here.

90 Minutes to showtime.
"This traffic, man!" Even though he left with plenty of time before the concert it was taking forever to get to the venue. So many people driving in and the cops who were hired to keep things flowing just seemed to make even more of a mess at the intersections! Colin turned his blinker on, the entrance to Lot C finally in sight and rubbed his temples. He'd been feeling a headache coming on all day but he wasn't going to let that stop him. Waved in by the cop, he filed in, just one more ant marching in a long line of cars, grinning as he bumped off the pavement and drove across the gravel field.

"That kid just wants to play with his lightsabers" Colin thought, following the directions of the bored parking attendant pointing out spaces. He squeezed into his allotted spot and took a shaky breath. Alice Cooper! Dude, he was finally here! It had been 30 years since he saw the Godfather of Shock Rock live and there was no way he was going to miss him in Atlanta this year!

He had been 25 years old at that last show. The cinnamon smell of Big Red gum always took him back to that night, where he'd shaken his long hair to No More Mr. Nice Guy and decided, looking at his girlfriend Julie shaking her ass to Poison that he was gonna marry that fine girl and put some babies in her.

That brisk autumn night, sweaty and ecstatic, he thought he'd never miss another Cooper show, but then he had to save up for an engagement ring and pay for a wedding band and then surprise! he was gonna be a daddy at 28 and time marches on and 30 more years passed like a song. Then that damn pandemic happened and no one knew if they'd ever see a live show again. Back in 2020 he vowed, if the world got back to normal and Alice Cooper was ever live on stage, he'd be at the next show no matter what.

So here he was, tickets on his phone instead of squeezed tightly in his fist, but alone this time, because Jules always watched the grandbaby on Tuesdays while his daughter worked her nightshift at the hospital. His hair was a lot shorter and his belly a lot softer than it was back in 1994 but he was still able to squeeze into his faded Special Forces concert shirt he bought that awesome night.

60 minutes to showtime.
Hurrying to the gates, he was caught up in the excitement of the people around him. Guys in jeans and black tees, girls in fishnets and pleather, many sporting Cooper's signature thick and smeared eyeliner on their pale faces. Yeah, they were all quite a bit older and many had brought their own kids tonight but wrinkles and grey hair be damned, they were ready to rock out like it was 1994. It made him grin, even if his head was pounding a little now.

Colin made it through security with no problems and went to check out the merch. "Jesus Christ!" he thought. $50 for a band shirt?" but he had to get one so he could show the world that HE WAS THERE. He cracked open his wallet and pulled out some cash and felt a splash of irritation when the kid pointed to the Card Only sign. Luckily his daughter had showed him how to use ApplePay over the summer so he whipped out his phone like an expert and payed for the shirt. He squinted a little with his rising headache and threw back a couple Tylenol at a water fountain.

Twenty minutes to showtime.
He made his way to his seat. Gone were the days when he'd pay extra to stand in the pit, squeezed shoulder to shoulder with a frothing horde, rocking out with the other sweaty fans. A couple years ago, bursitis started messed with his hip when he stood for too long so he definitely wanted a place to sit for the slow songs.

Ten minutes to showtime.
"Hey, I think you're in my seat..." After booting the dirtbag couple who had snuck into his section and sending them back to the lawn, he got situated and took in the scene. His seat was good, even if he wasn't right down front - those orchestra seats were way too spendy with retirement in the not too distant future. But, seated mid-center, he had a great view of the stage, currently covered with a massive black curtain. "What's going on back there?" he wondered, watching flashes of light flare up. Roadies and techies occasionally hurried out for last minute adjustments. Even with the headache, his heart rate was rising because it was nearly...

Showtime!
The opening notes to Feed My Frankenstein rang through the arena. Colin reached to his pocket for the earplugs his wife insisted he bring but then thought "Fuck It!" He wanted to experience the show in the all its insistent, eardrum-damaging glory even if it did make his head feel like it was about to split open. The crowd roared and his heart raced as the massive black curtain was released and fell to the floor. Center stage stood a pirate-clad Alice Cooper, holding a mic and a sword. The jumbotrons showed closeups of the band and their monstrous lead singer in all his melted-face glory. "Damn, dude's looking OLD...but I guess, so am I," Colin laughed with the man on his right.

When Cooper sang the words "Feed My Frankenstein" and the lights flashed Colin screamed maniacally with the rest of the audience but then grimaced when the flashing cut through his optic nerves like a knife to his brain. Was this a migraine? The pain grew and grew till it exploded in a thousand stars then suddenly stopped. Euphoria spread through Colin's entire body. As Cooper belted out "Well I ain't evil, I'm just good lookin" and the notes poured from the guitars onstage, a red haze spread from Cooper through the arena and Colin glanced around him wondering if anyone else was seeing this crazy shit.

"Feed my Frankenstein, meet my libido!" When Cooper rolled into the chorus, the red haze swirled and took on blue tones that stretched from the stage out over the roiling bodies in the pit and seemed to reach toward Colin. This was like that one time he tried shrooms with his buddy on a camping trip in college except he was pretty sure Tylenol was not going to get you there like this!

Colin's face began to droop and he felt a numbness run down his left arm. What the hell?
He slowly sat down, dropping heavily onto the plastic seat. Cooper howled "Bring you to a simmer right on time, run my greasy fingers up your greasy spine" and the blue mist that coated the concert before Colin like color grading in a film became deeper, muddy purple like a bruise.

As a giant Frankenstein puppet meandered onstage, Colin's right eye shifted back and forth rapidly, panic overtaking him. Now his left leg was numb. He tried to wiggle his toes and felt nothing, tried to call out the the man beside him but his mouth wouldn't move. Jesus, what was wrong with him? Cooper sang "You don't wanna talk, so baby shut up," and the mist above the crowd became a black thing hurtling toward him alone.

With a flash, brighter than the stage lights, brighter than than the screens projecting Cooper's red stained lips, the black mist pummeled into him, straight into his head like a railroad spike to the brain. The concert went completely silent. The smell of Big Red gum filled his senses. Colin slumped in his seat, his collapse unnoticed by the fans on their feet cheering and singing all around him.

Ship's Log: Hemingway's Folly, 07/07/2024
Commercial Seiner, Salmon Fishing Craft
Captain: Marshall Tanner
Crew: Marcus Andrews, Russell Barnes, Yevgeny Sokolov

0700: Underway from Crescent Harbor, Sitka, AK
Winds 7.5 Knots
It's a gorgeous morning for fishing. The winds are coming in softly from the south. Snow melt is almost complete and the sweetvetch is blooming all over the yard in sprays of purple. Emily and I drank our coffee together on the deck this morning before I headed to the wharf. The sun - a magic sight after all those dark months - cast a golden light on the porch and her smiling face. She hates the laugh lines around her eyes now, calls them crow's feet, but they are beautiful and crows are wise and I am lucky to have her. The boys were already at the boat when I got down to the water, setting up the net and checking the engines. They are fine young men and I am lucky to have their help too.

0900: Leave Inside Passage, enter Gulf of Alaska.
Winds 10.8 Knots
Water has been smooth across the Passage. Saw Ahab's Revenge headed NW across the sound just as we hit big water. Neil must have a bead on a big haul out that way. Old son of a bitch and his soothsaying wife seem to find some of the best salmon runs. She's an odd one, with her masks and amulets but Neil swears she can see things. Russell said one of them necklaces she wears has an actual TONGUE in it, but he's one for telling tales if it'll get a laugh or a gasp. I should ask Em to take up the bones and see if she can conjure me a good catch too, ha!


1100: Set boat for drifting, Andrews and Sokolov unspool seine net
Winds 20 Knots
Made our mark just after 11. Feel like I manifested Neil and his weird wife because he radioed the Folly just before we dropped net. He told me through static that his wife got a "nervous feeling" about me today and that maybe I should just head back to shore. To hell you say! Conditions are perfect right now and with the storm forecasted later this week, I gotta get this catch in before I'm grounded. Told him thanks but no thanks and had Marcus and Soko drop the net. Time for lunch while the net sets. Looks like Emily packed me a turkey sandwich with the damn low sodium, baked chips again - that woman is so worried about my heart! Can't a man just eat some salty chips in peace?

1200: Barnes and Sokolov pull in seine net. First Haul Of the Day
Wind 20 Knots
First load was a good load. This shoal of salmon is proving fruitful. Love to see the sparkling scales shine as the fish flop on the deck. If they stay this dense, I may be taking Em out for dinner this weekend! Put on a dress, girl! It's been a while since I spun her around a dancefloor.

1300: Andrews and Sokolov unspool seine net - Drop Two
Wind 25 Knots
Winds are picking up a bit and the sea has some chop. Soko cut his hand as he was dropping the starboard side of the purse. "Don't bleed on the fish, man!" I yelled at him but it was too late. Blood on his boots, blood on the net. Sent him down to the cabin to patch himself up. Not that it mattered, but the sight made me feel a little uneasy after that warning from Neil earlier. I'm sure it's fine. His damn witch-wife getting in my head. Haven't got time for this shit. I want to get in three drops this afternoon so hopefully the winds stay sane for a few more hours.

1400: Andrews and Barnes pull in net. Second Haul of the Day
Wind 25 Knots
Well I'll be goddamned. I've pulled in some crazy things in my net but this beats all. I was up in the cockpit when Marcus and Russell pulled up the catch. Heard the splash of the fish on the deck and then they both started hollering. When I looked out I had to blink twice because, laying on the fiberglass, smack in the middle of a sea of scales was a WOMAN. She was naked and so pale she was practically blue with a curtain of blonde hair pooled around her. The long strands had a green tint to them, like she'd spent too much time in chlorine.

As I rushed down the stairs from the crow's nest I thought surely she was dead, laying there with her eyes closed and salmon flopping around her still body. her lithe body shimmered in the sunlight too, it was unreal. Marcus was dazed so I pushed him back and knelt down beside her. There was no way she could be alive, so far from shore - and in 40 degree water - but I placed my fingers on her throat to be sure. Her skin was so very cold but I could feel a pulse beating below the chilled surface.

"She's alive!" I yelled and Russell ran for the cargo hold, returning with a fleecy blanket. She still hadn't roused so we toweled her off roughly and I carried her below deck to the cabin. Soko was sitting on the couch nursing his bandaged hand when I stumbled in and he stared at the woman, agog. "What in the hell is THAT?" he asked incredulously.

When I said it was a woman he looked shocked and argued that it was "amikuk," Yu'pik for a shapeshifter. I had no idea Soko went in for that supernatural shit. She had to have hypothermia and there was no way I was going to let her die on my watch so I left her below deck with Soko keeping an eye on her where it was warm. Emily's never gonna believe this!

1500: Returning to Crescent Harbor, Sitka, AK
Wind 30 Knots
Russell and Marcus were folding the net as I took off like a shot for Sitka. Winds have really picked up now. Looks like that storm has rushed in earlier then planned. They got the fish in coolers and everything lashed down in record time. I sent them below deck to buckle up for a bumpy ride.

I radioed in to the harbor that we had pulled someone out of the sea and they thought I meant a body. Told me I was full of shit when I insisted she was alive. Neil hopped on my frequency and asked if I'd been drinking. Asshole. I knew he wanted to say "I told you so."

The Folly galloped across the wake and I called down to Soko to see how our mystery lady was doing. No answer. Then I yelled for Russell and Marcus and was met with silence too. What are they up to? I slowed the motor to trolling speed and headed below deck.

The door to the cabin was closed and there was a smear of red across the porthole. What the hell...Was that blood? Within I heard a thumping sound that set my senses on edge. I peered through the glass and discovered carnage within.

Soko lay on the floor, pale as a cod, his eyes wide and his throat ripped open. I could see Marcus' legs tangled in a pool of blood beneath the table. Russell sat on the couch, head lolled back, as the cold woman squatted over him, vile lips clamped to his throat. His face was a rictus of pain and pleasure as she drained his blood, his restless leg tapping out the slowing beats of his heart.

When the tapping ceased she pulled back, a tongue like a moray eel flicking out to lick the blood from her lips. To my horror I noted her color was much healthier now that she had devoured the lives of my comrades. She turned toward the cabin door and her hungry eyes, the deep blue green of the Alaskan gulf, found mine through the glass. Wheeling backwards, I shoved a metal fish cooler against the door and prayed it would be enough to hold her in.

1600: Running With Stern Toward the Waves off coast of Sitka, Alaska
Wind 35 Knots
The storm rose up before me, all purple clouds and crashing waves. I've had to change course, back toward the sea, to avoid the lashing rain of the gale. She is trying to get out, the cold woman, battering herself against the door and walls of the cabin below to get to me. It's only a matter of time before the wood splinters and she escapes with her hungry mouth and terrible tongue. My options are limited. If I stay on board I will have to face her. If I try to swim I surely freeze. I have a flare gun and plan to make a stand as best I can. Looks like Neil's wife was right after all...I should have just gone home.

Please, if you find this, please tell Emily I love her always. And tell her to stay away from the water!

Final Ship's Log Entry, Hemingway's Folly, 07/07/2024

"Matt's dad is old," I said, taking a swig of orange juice from my favorite Garfield mug.

"He's not that old," my mom answered, reaching into our olive green fridge for some bologna.

"He IS that old" I answered. "His hair is gray and he limps when he walks. Can you put extra mayo on my sandwich?"

"Mr. Finlay is a vet."

"No he isn't! Matt says he's a soldier!" I interrupted.

She laughed. "Right, not a vet like a veterinarian, a vet like a military veteran. He was in the Army in Vietnam. That's how he hurt his leg." She poured red Kool-Aid into my Care Bear Thermos, the one that didn't leak.

"Is that cherry or tropical punch?" I asked. "He's kinda grumpy - like all the time. Matt says last week his dad got mad and smashed up his Lego spaceship - just into a million pieces - and he's been working on it since his birthday!"

My mom gave me a measured look. "It's tropical punch. And, sometimes when you go through something hard, like being in a war, it changes you. Melinda says he wasn't like this when they got married..." she trailed off.

She handed me my bologna and cheese, wrapped up in a plastic sandwich bag, and my Thermos. "Put these in your backpack," she said. "And, just be polite and don't say anything about his limp - he's a hero!"

Matt lived four houses away in our subdivision outside of Atlanta. It was one of many suburban developments that sprung up in the early 80's, hundreds of houses with streetlights and sidewalks connecting meandering roads. At one end, the gates at the front of the neighborhoods sported names like Everwood or Monticello - ours was Williamsport - and at the other end, you'd find a swimming pool, tennis courts and a clubhouse perfect for hosting birthday parties. There were a lot of kids in that neighborhood, so that clubhouse saw a lot of action.

At eight years old, I would wake up at dawn and ride my bike to Matt's house where he'd join me on the street and we'd cruise the mile or so down to the pool for swim team practice. I'd run home to grab lunch and then wouldn't come home again until my curfew, which my mom proclaimed as "When the fireflies come out." It was idyllic, a suburban utopia with cookie cutter homes and a Tupperware tray of cookies on every counter, but I know for a fact what went on behind closed doors in Williamsport was a lot less sweet.

Mr. Finlay scared me a little. He was nice enough most of the time but when you were around as much as I was, parents kind of forgot you existed, and they stop being polite in front of you. I'd seen him bellow at Matt's mom and shake her till her teeth rattled. I watched wide-eyed when Matt spilled a drink on the carpet while we played Monopoly one afternoon and his dad dragged him out in the backyard to hold him by one arm and slap him until he couldn't stand up. No stranger to corporal punishment myself, it seemed a little extreme, but I figured, who hadn't been hit by their dad, right? When it happened, we just averted our eyes and acted like we didn't notice our friend's tear-stained cheeks and voices raw from crying.

At a swim meet earlier in the week, Matt's dad had proposed a day hike to my parents. While our neighborhood was a tribute to late-20th century civilized living, it was surrounded by miles and miles of unkempt woodland and he wanted to check it out. My parents agreed and that was how I found myself on a slightly sandy logging trail marching along with my best friend and his mercurial, limping father.

The woods were still, roasting in the heat of the late summer's afternoon. Dog day cicadas droned endlessly, a vibrating cadence that rose and fell, rose and fell, as we walked, the crackled chorus lulling me to sleepiness. All the animals Matt's dad had hoped to show us were resting in burrows and nests until twilight cooled the oven-baked air of the forest. We disturbed a crow that rose to the air, cawing furiously. Matt's dad startled too, ducking his head and glancing back at us nervously.

Never a quiet child, when I got bored I talked so I began to prattle on about whatever came to my mind. Did Matt see the Gummy Bears show on Saturday morning, it was really funny...I went back-to-school shopping with my mom and she wouldn't let me get the Trapper Keeper I wanted because she said it was just "expensive junk" but I did get a notebook with this sparkly dolphin on it that was really cool...Do you like Doritos or Fritos better? I love Doritos - especially Cool Ranch Doritos! - but barbecue Fritos are so good...Hey, Mr. Finlay, my mom say's you're a vet, like a war vet, not a veterinarian. How did you hurt your leg?"

Matt's dad fully stopped walking for a moment and turned to stare at me and I could see the anger in his eyes. Matt looked from his dad's face to mine and went a little white.

Woops.

Mr. Finlay's jaw worked for a moment before he answered me. "Yes, I am a war veteran, but it isn't something I like to talk about, or think about" he muttered under his breath. He started to walk again and beside me, Matt breathed a sign of relief.

But it was obvious something had changed. His dad's back was stiffer as we walked and now and then I could hear him muttering to himself. He kept glancing fretfully into the thick growth around the path. I didn't want to be in the woods with this man.

"Hey, Mr. Finlay, are you ready to go back now?" I asked.

"No, there's something I want to show you."

"I think I want to go back..."

"I want to show you and Matt something and it's only about a klick from here now."

"Click? I think I need to go to the bathroom. I want to go back."

In the distance, there was a thrumming sound from the sky.

Matt and I looked up curiously, but Mr. Finlay glanced up with fear.

"Do you hear that?" he whispered.

"Yeah, I think it's a helicopter!" Matt said with excitement.

The sound grew louder. Matt's dad stood frozen staring at the sky. The helicopter came into site off in the distance.

Matt cried out "Look dad! It IS a helicopter!" but Mr. Finlay grabbed him tight and covered his mouth. Matt's eyes were wide over his father's hand clutching his face.

The helicopter shot over us and in the distance we could see more coming in a line.

"SHHHH!" he whispered aggressively, pulling his hand from Matt's mouth. "We've got to get off the trail! Run for those trees!" He pointed to a stand of pines with kudzu vines climbing up the base.

I thought we were playing war. That we were PRETENDING the helicopters were coming to get us, but I knew it wasn't real! I got that little zing of faux-fear you could generate in the pit of your stomach when you played imaginary monster games with your friends. I was grinning as I ran down the sandy trail heading for the kudzu, Matt beside me and his dad breathing heavily behind us. THIS was exciting!

But when I got to the tree, and paused because there could be snakes under the vines, Mr. Finlay unceremoniously shoved me under the kudzu and squeezed in beside Matt and I. It was like a viney green tent with pine branches above and brown needles beneath us. The helicopters flew by, the whup whup whup of their blades rumbling like thunder. I wondered what was next in the game. Had Matt's dad planned this all along?

His father pulled a vine to the side and peered out toward the trail. When he looked back his face was white with anxiety. If he was pretending, he was doing a pretty great job of it! "I need you to stay here, I have to recon the area" he whispered to us. "You'll be safe. I'll come back as soon as I can."

I nodded gamely and he crawled out on his hands and knees, then stood up, crouching low, hugging the tree line and slowly headed away from us until he disappeared around a curve in the trail.

I turned to Matt, ready to exclaim how cool this was and saw he was silently crying, gulping air with terror etched on his face and tears streaming down his cheeks.

Matt was so brave! Matt was usually the first person to propose a game of cops and robbers or Empire versus Rebels!
"Are you ok?" I asked him. "It's just a game!"

"It's...It's not a game to him," he responded. "Sometimes he gets like this and, he thinks it's real!"

"Oh." I didn't know someone could pretend something so hard it became real. "Does he do it a lot?"

"Not a lot, but enough. I don't know if he even realizes he does it."

I was a kid, I didn't know what to say. That sounded really scary.
I put my hand on his knee. "I'm sorry."

Chin wobbling, Matt shook his head and angrily wiped the tears from his eyes. "I'm fine. Do you want to eat now?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Sure. I think my mom packed some Fruit Roll Ups for us to share!"
I fished in my backpack and Matt gratefully took one when I offered it to him.

"Do you think your dad will be back soon?"

"Dunno," Matt said. "But he always calms down sometime."

Mr. Finlay did come back. About an hour later. Walking tall down the middle of the trail, the little limp in his step. We called out to him from the tent of vines and he came back to us with a little laugh.

"I see you had your lunch. Are you ready to head home?" he asked, like nothing had happened. Was he just pretending now too, or did he not remember his earlier flip out?

Matt looked at me meaningfully. "Yeah dad, let's go home."

And the three of us started back toward the subdivision.

When I told my mom at dinner that night what had happened, about the helicopter and hiding and how scared Matt's dad was, she laughed lightly to me.

"Oh, I'm sure it was just a game!" she said, ruffling my hair. But I knew, in the way she and my father made eye contact across the table, that there was so much that wasn't being said.

I think about you a lot. It's been 11 years since we parted ways - mostly - and not a day goes by that you don't pop into my head, unbidden, sometimes as a whisper and other times a shout. And why wouldn't you? There are SO MANY reminders everywhere I go, subtle, screaming, sneaky.

There you are, sensuous in the early morning, in the flavor of my husband's kiss as he leaves for work. At midday, you peer beguilingly into my office door when a coworker asks if anyone wants a little somethin' from Starbucks. At night, you grab for me hard, knowing when I am weakest. Already tired, but seeing groceries and homework and dinner on the horizon, a long way to go until the respite of my bed, I am lured by the charming logos of boba tea shops, the insistent promises you whisper in my blood when I remember what you do for me.

Sometimes I give in, and it feels so damn good I practically revel in my lack of self control, feeling my good intentions condensate and trickle over my fingertips as they clutch an icy to-go cup. I rationalize, justify...This isn't a problem, it's just one time, it just TASTES good! But I know my vulnerability and my appetite and you are so seductive. You are the most accepted drug in the world, a beloved, celebrated stimulant - in fact, me trying to even resist you makes me a freak among my peers and family! But you are a drug nonetheless and you were fucking up my life, so Caffeine, I try to quit you.

When I dumped Caffeine officially, in 2013, it was because I started suffering from insomnia in the weeks before I opened a new library. I couldn't put the anxious voices in my head to bed, so I started staying up later, and drinking more coffee and tea during the day which made me stay up later...and increased my anxiety so I stayed up later... and a vicious cycle began. I was short tempered with my children, falling prey to frequent migraines and not sure if I was running toward a heart attack or a panic attack or a tiger attack. I was constantly on high alert and grinding my teeth to nubs.

The situation wasn't tenable. With a long weekend, I decided to quit Caffeine cold turkey. No more morning coffee, no 3 P.M. Earl Gray. No Coca Cola for dinner, or McDonald's sweet tea (nectar of the gods) in the drive-thru. Y'all, you would have thought I was getting off some Class 1 drug. I had the shakes, headaches, I felt in turns nauseated or ravenous. My energy was at an all time low and I was both depressed and pissed for days. The CAFFEINE was pissed for days! How dare I try to unceremoniously end our relationship? Hadn't he always done me right? Hadn't he been there for me at my lowest, kept me going long after everyone else fell asleep? The Caffeine wanted me back, but I am, if anything, a stubborn bitch and after wrestling him for five days, like some slippery Biblical demon, I woke up feeling clear-headed and carried on with my life.

But it's true, what they say about addiction - even an addiction as pedestrian as Caffeine - you are always just recovering, never cured. When an old lover makes you feel like Caffeine made me feel, it's hard to just turn away when they walk by and wink. And they are ALWAYS freakin' winking. That singing in my blood, every synapse in my brain awake and humming, nerves finely tuned...it was a perfect symphony and Caffeine a brilliant conductor. Look at me, waxing eloquent about my captor! Stockholm syndrome at its finest.

I fight it, mostly. But there are times I give in - vacations are particularly bad - and then I have to gently wean myself again, suffering beastly headaches, their grip around my temples that can't be reached by Extra Strength Tylenol or God. And I am willing to risk it, time and again, for a few days of wide-eyed caffeination a year!

I was talking to a coworker a while back about how much I missed my 3:00 teatime the most. That little bump was what I needed to get me through the midday slump and stay productive until closing time.

"So what did you replace it with?" he asked me.
"Replace it?"
"Yeah, what do you do now to get past the slump if you can't have tea?"
"Oh, now I just eat some candy every afternoon!" I responded blithely.
He nodded slowly and a sad little lightbulb went on in my brain.

Hello everyone, let me introduce you to my new favorite addiction, Sugar.

Oh, I have missed y'all!

Just created this Dreamwidth account so I (formerly monkeysugarmama, formerly messygorgeous on LJ) could participate in my favorite type of creative release/self flagellation/cheap therapy once again by joining this LJ Idol mini season.

I was torn - summer is my busiest season - but when I saw who else was in I couldn't resist. I loved seeing names I remember and new faces in the Green Room and can't wait to read you all again!

Cheers to the last minute - it's the only time I get things done, but I am so pleased to be back.