101 Words

Cautiously, the producer approaches Flame on the film set with a troubled look on his face. Since his last encounter, he learns to maintain a respectful distance.

Flame studies him through a slit in her eye, displays a toothy grin and waits expectantly.

“Too many of our sets have recently disappeared in a puff of smoke.

“And due to budgetary restrictions, I have to replace you with a computer-generated image of a dragon.”

Flame encircles the producer’s body with her red scaly tail and carries him off. “Let us talk about it,” he shouts as his voice fades into the distance.

The rain was drizzling lightly as Evan lay in bed with his wife, Julie. He squeezed her small feeble hand, listening to the wind. He was thankful to be with Julie and owed his life to her.

During his early twenties, Evan had been a compulsive gambler and within six months had racked up substantial debt. Everything in his world began to collapse until he met Julie.

She helped save his life then, and now he wanted to be with her forever. Evan stroked her pallid cheek and said, “I’ll be with you soon, my darling,” and then swallowed more arsenic.

I stood on the edge; arms spread out. The foam pit below seemed safe. It’s a dizzying height. Acrophobia wasn’t what gripped my chest and lungs. My traitorous brain lengthened the jump’s height and shrunk the size of the pit. Would I survive? “Do a jump like in the video game?” friends said.

As my stiff muscles chained me down, the gymnast supervisor placed his hand on me and said, “Jump.”

I did, jumping forward with my arms spread out like the eagle and fell into the soft blocky sea. “Whoa,” escaping my mouth. The flush of comfort sighed with me.

We take a family photo.

Dad, older sister Nancy, and I try to form a circle, lying on the back lawn, a labyrinth of hands and history.

The top of the circle is missing. Missing pieces. We need completion.

Nancy brings out a derelict mannequin she filched years ago. Here’s Mother.

Mother’s smile holds slyness, verve.

She’s calling us nicknames, Nicky, Nan. Speaking that foreign word. Love. She’s not crying and listening to Tchaikovsky. She’s not playing hide and seek under trains and in white rooms.

She’s smiling.

The circle wobbles.

We try again.

It wobbles.

Sometimes pieces are just gone.

I was born in Wuhan, a small province in China. Mother birthed me to save herself. So I went to the butcher’s market and followed a man to his village. Anything to save my mother.

From China, I accompanied a European and an Asian, traveling far and wide. I reached the pools of Hawaii and sat in the empty Colosseum. I particularly liked Italy and New York.

I am a toddler, so chaos ensued everywhere I went. The world screamed at me to stop, but the streets remained quiet. Now the seas are finally clear and stars discernible.

Mother alleviates me.

‘Dearest Mike, I can’t go on. Love, Leslie.’

When I picked up the scrap of paper from the sidewalk, my first impulse was to call 9-1-1. But what would I say? I didn’t know either one. Was Leslie ending their relationship or her life? Did she throw the note away before sending it? Or had Mike tossed it after reading it? Was he that callous? Did he even love her? Clearly, Mike didn’t deserve someone like Leslie.

I had to take her point-of-view. What else could I do? In the end, it was all too much. I threw the note away.