101 Words

Alice is perched on the bridge, arms outstretched behind her like a mermaid on a pirate ship. She slips a little on loose gravel as she adjusts her footing. Pebbles ricochet off larger rocks as they plunge into the water, creating a symphony that Alice longs to join. Deep down, she knows jumping is the only way to avoid facing everyone’s disappointment and ridicule, yet second thoughts overcome her again. Alice hangs her head low, heart thumping, and retreats to the safe side of the railing.

“Chicken!” yells Billy as he cannonballs into the river, accompanied by an orchestra of laughter.

One evening, Gajton returned from work with a surprise.

“Why would you bring that thing into our home?” his wife shrieked as soon as he walked through the door. “Around the kids!” She rushed both children into their rooms and locked each door. “What were you thinking?” she continued. “It must go.”

Gajton tried to explain that the one he’d chosen was harmless. And young, too—about only two months. Cute, and still trainable.

“No!” his wife persisted. “This species is just way too dangerous. We’ll stay at Mother’s for a while. Make sure that human is gone before we’re back.”

Jill and I want details.

Not just that the college student cracked her head open but how she slid off the pickup’s tailgate to land on a rock.

Not just a lumber accident but how his hand got stuck in the shredder (and why the rest of him slowly followed).

Not just because he went to the dentist on that fateful day. But in the chair? Was it the drill?

It started in medical school, together, dissecting cadavers, wondering about their pasts.

We aren’t ashamed of wanting the specifics of unimaginable losses; instead, we become determined to live ferociously another day.

Most kids tell me I’m lucky. I have no nightmares. Never. I sleep peacefully, every night. I don’t dream either, but it’s better than screaming in my sleep.

Sleeping is the best part of my day, but Dr. Phelps tells me dreams, even nightmares, serve a purpose. Dreams filter the day’s problems; nightmares scare off our demons. But since I seem well adjusted, he tells me not to worry.

I trust him.

This morning, I woke to sunshine and birds singing outside my window.

As always, Dad was standing beside my bed, his belt dangling from his fist.

Who needs nightmares?

Candy floss dissolves in your mouth as the smell of burnt sugar gives way to fried onions.

Time for hot doughnuts and burgers when you’re shivering bone-deep, waiting for him to finish work.

Jostling through screams, laughter, music, bells, hucksters’ cries, and flashing lights, you spot him dodging the bumper cars. Music swells; cars jerk forward.

At the edge, a girl smiles. His hand takes hers.

You remember its warmth, holding yours. He meets your gaze.

An eyebrow lifts. A shoulder shrugs. That heart-stopping smile is confident of forgiveness.

And you would forgive, if only you knew where he’ll be tomorrow.

Carla surprised herself when she decided to go to Jack’s funeral. It had been twenty years since he’d dumped her for Ellen.

Ellen was there; tense, stone-faced, staring at the simple coffin. She was not surprised to see her former best friend. They considered each other, reliving that heartbreaking betrayal. Finally, Ellen said unemotionally, “So glad you came.”

As Jack was lowered into the dirt, Carla began to cry.

“I’m so sorry,” Ellen said, hugging Carla stiffly, adding, “But cheer up, it was the worst twenty years of my life.”

After a thoughtful moment, Carla asked, “Should we get a drink?”

I always shut Master’s study room door with shaking hands. Tossing aside my cleaning cloth, I open his book to the page containing colorful pictures of spiral galaxies swirling with dust and stars. For a few minutes, I am engrossed in reading, my servant duties forgotten, my senses oblivious to everything else.

Yesterday, I did not hear the door open, only felt the whack of Master’s stick striking my arm; but I’m back today, dusting the room, trying to resist the book’s gravitational pull. I study my tender bruises—bright pink and purple, like galaxies dotted with pinpricks of red stars.