101 Words

A number I don’t recognize, a cryptic text: ‘Damaging information.’

Intrigued, I agree to meet at a cheap restaurant. He arrives, sits, and begins showing me photos of Gina and me passionately entwined. They leave little to the imagination.

“Gina’s my wife.” His glare pierces me. “Or was, before I killed her.”

Panic: Am I next?

He bursts into laughter. “Just kidding. She’s not worth killing. But thanks. Now she’ll get nothing in the divorce, except maybe that stupid Shih Tsu.”

He stands up. I’m confused: Is that it?

“Keep the copies I sent your wife,” he says as he leaves.

“Remember, you only get one chance at love.”

“I know.”

“Good luck.”

Closing her eyes, she leaped. Cold air greeted her with angry teeth, but she never felt it. Below were countless lights filled with cheer.

Laughing, she spun crazily; it was exhilarating.

A metal bird flew by: people pointed with excited fingers. The winds shifted about, causing her to drift near an intimate couple.

At last, she settled on a branch, then felt something warm and wet.

“Hold still, dear, there’s something on your lash,” a voice whispered.

She held on tight and experienced her first kiss. It felt breathtaking.

The words, “You have schizophrenia,” beleaguered Juan as he lay in an asylum, being restrained, suffocated, submerged in water, a singular voice in his mind springing wings and rising louder. He escaped, returning to his empty house, but not his home. Afterward, he sleepwalked to a funeral home and climbed into a casket with a body inside it, causing watchers to scream. Soon homeless, Juan walked out of the bank penniless and was shot, a hole bursting through him like a flower forced to bloom before Spring arrived. Death, dressed in white and drenched in honeysuckle, embraced Juan. He was relieved.

Mili says, “We have a Spelling Bee next week. I want to join.”

I’m not sure if I want her participating in competitions already. She is just learning to read after all.

“Let’s see,” I hedge. “Finish your sandwich first.”

Krish is on the phone, listening to his friend vent about his boss. “He sounds like a dick. Tell him to fuck off,” he advises.

“Don’t say F-U-C-K around the child,” I hiss at him.

Mili repeats, “F-U-C-K.” A moment of intense concentration on her face, then her face clears. “Fyook,” she says proudly.

Guess she’s ready for the Spelling Bee.

The seed blew in on the wind. She almost pulled it up, decided to wait and see. The first year, its pointed leaves were soft. By year three, a prickly bush formed. Summer stretched its limbs. Winter saw it blotched with bundles of berries.

Soon, she would decorate Grandma’s house.

Ice and snow came unexpectedly. They huddled watching the frozen garden. A flock of grey and pink arrived; fruit became covered by feathers. She stood ready to defend her harvest.

An aged hand halted her.

“Waxwings…” Grandma whispered. “Better than Santa!”

Witnesses, they held hands as the bush was stripped bare.

20151209298. Fay recognized the number as soon as it showed up on her arm cuff. She felt a lump in her throat. Not again.

Sitting on the edge of 20151209298’s desk, Fay took a closer look at the chart. Tooth number twelve, worth two dollars. 11:30 p.m. Way past bedtime for a ten-year-old. But 20151209298 was still lying awake. Motionlessness. Listening for those echoing footsteps outside the door that she and Fay had heard time and time again. Fay sighed and spread her wings. She would have to come back later, to pull the tooth out from under the tear-soaked pillow.

When I see you standing by the doorway, I feel a wave of relief. I was afraid you might not be there at all. Some people walk straight past you as if you are invisible or unimportant, but not me. You make me feel safe and able to carry on, quieting my fears, protecting me from danger.

I walk towards you with arms outstretched. Your cool gel drops onto the palms of my hands and I gently rub them together. They’re cleansed and shielded by your transparent screen. In these strange times, it’s reassuring to find sanitizer at every shop entrance.